13290	----	Proofreading Team. MARTIN RATTLER BY R M BALLANTYNE 1858 EDITOR'S NOTE "MARTIN RATTLER" was one of, Robert Michael Ballantyne's early books. Born at Edinburgh in 1825,[1] he was sent to Rupert's Land as a trading-clerk in the Hudson Bay Fur Company's service when he left school, a boy of sixteen. There, to relieve his home-sickness, he first practised his pen in long letters home to his mother. Soon after his return to Scotland in 1848 he published a first book on Hudson's Bay. Then he passed some years in a Scottish publisher's office; and in 1855 a chance suggestion from another publisher led to his writing his first book for boys--"Snowflakes and Sunbeams, or The Young Fur Traders." That story showed he had found his vocation, and he poured forth its successors to the tune in all of some fourscore volumes. "Martin Rattler" appeared in 1858. In his "Personal Reminiscences" Ballantyne wrote: "How many thousands of lads have an intense liking for the idea of a sailor's life!" and he pointed out there the other side of the romantic picture: the long watches "in dirty unromantic weather," and the hard work of holystoning the decks, scraping down the masts and cleaning out the coal-hole. But though his books show something of this reverse side too, there is no doubt they have helped to set many boys dreaming of "Wrecks, buccaneers, black flags, and desert lands On which, alone, the second Crusoe stands." [Footnote 1: See Note to "The Coral Island" in this series.] Among these persuasions to the life of adventure "Martin Rattler" is still one of the favourite among all his books. Ballantyne himself was fated to die on foreign soil in 1894, at Rome, where he lies buried in the English Protestant cemetery. The following is a list of Ballantyne's chief romances, tales of adventure, and descriptive works:-- "Hudson's Bay, or Every-day Life in the Wilds of North America," etc., 1848; "Snowflakes and Sunbeams, or the Young Fur Traders," 1856. In 1857 and 1858 appeared, under the pseudonym of "Comus": "The Butterfly's Ball and the Grasshopper's Feast" (in verse by Roscoe), ed. with music, coloured illustrations, and a prose version; "Mister Fox"; "My Mother"; "The Robber Kitten" (by the author of "Three Little Kittens"). "The Coral Island, a Tale of the Pacific Ocean" (with a preface subscribed "Ralph Rover"), 1858 (1857); "Ungava, a Tale of Esquimaux Land," 1858 (1857); "Martin Rattler, or a Boy's Adventures in the Forests of Brazil," 1858; "Ships, the _Great Eastern_ and lesser Craft" (with illustrations), 1859; "Mee-a-ow! or Good Advice to Cats and Kittens," 1859; "The World of Ice, or Adventures in the Polar Regions," 1860 (1859); "The Dog Crusoe, a Tale of the Western Prairies," 1861 (1860); "The Golden Dream, or Adventures in the Far West," 1861 (1860); "The Gorilla Hunters, a Tale of the Wilds of Africa," 1861; "The Red Eric, or the Whaler's Last Cruise," 1861; "Man on the Ocean, a Book for Boys," 1863 (1862); "The Wild Man of the West, a Tale of the Rocky Mountains," 1863 (1862); "Gascoyne, the Sandal-wood Trader, a Tale of the Pacific," 1864 (1863); "The Lifeboat, a Tale of our Coast Heroes," 1864; "Freaks on the Fells, or Three Months' Rustication," and "Why I did not become a Sailor," etc., 1865 (1861); "The Lighthouse, being the Story of a Great Fight between Man and the Sea," etc., 1865; "Shifting Winds, a Tough Yarn," etc., 1866; "Silver Lake, or Lost in the Snow," 1867; "A Rescue in the Rocky Mountains," 1867; "Fighting the Flames, a Tale of the London Fire Brigade," 1868; "Away in the Wilderness, or Life among the Red Indians and Fur Traders of North America," 1869; "Erling the Bold, a Tale of the Norse Sea-kings," with illustrations by the author, 1869; "Deep Down, a Tale of the Cornish Mines," 1869; "The Floating Light of the Goodwin Sands," with illustrations by the author, 1870; "The Iron Horse, or Life on the Line, a Tale of the Grand National Trunk Railway," 1871; "The Norsemen in the West, or America before Columbus," 1872; "The Pioneers, a Tale of the Western Wilderness, illustrative of the Adventures and Discoveries of Sir A. Mackenzie," 1872; "Black Ivory, a Tale of Adventure among the Slaves of East Africa," 1873; "Life in the Red Brigade, a Story for Boys," 1873; "The Ocean and its Wonders," 1874; "The Pirate City, an Algerine Tale," 1875; "Under the Waves, or Diving in Deep Waters," 1876; "Rivers of Ice, a Tale illustrative of Alpine Adventure and Glacier Action," 1876; "The Settler and the Savage, a Tale of Peace and War in South Africa," 1877; "Jarwin and Cuffy" (Incident and Adventure Library), 1878; "In the Track of the Troops, a Tale of Modern War," 1878; "Six Months at the Cape, or Letters to Periwinkle from South Africa," 1879 (1878); "Post Haste, a Tale of Her Majesty's Mails," 1880 (1879); "The Red Man's Revenge, a Tale of the Red River Flood," 1880; "Philosopher Jack, a Tale of the Southern Seas," 1880; "The Lonely Island, or the Refuge of the Mutineers," 1880; "The Robber Kitten" (in volume of tales by two or three authors), 1880; "The Collected Works of Ensign Sopht, late of the Volunteers, illustrated by himself," 1881; "My Doggie and I," etc., 1881; "The Giant of the North, or Pokings round the Pole," 1882 (1881); "The Kitten Pilgrims, or Great Battles and Grand Victories," 1882; "The Madman and the Pirate," 1883; "The Battery and the Boiler, or Adventures in the Laying of Submarine Cables," etc., 1883; "Battles with the Sea, or Heroes of the Lifeboat and Rocket," 1883; "Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished, a Tale of City-arab Life and Adventure," 1884 (1862); "Twice Bought, a Tale of the Oregon Gold-fields," 1885 (1863); "The Island Queen, a Tale of the Southern Hemisphere," etc., 1885; "The Rover of the Andes, a Tale of Adventure in South America," 1885; "Red Rooney, or the Last of the Crew," 1886; "The Big Otter, a Tale of the Great Nor'-West," 1887 (1864); "The Middy of the Moors, an Algerine Story," 1888; "Blue Lights, or Hot Work in the Soudan, a Tale of Soldier Life," 1888; "The Crew of the _Water Wagtail_, a Story of Newfoundland," 1889; "A Gallant Rescue" (stories jolly, stories new, etc.), 1889; "The Fight on the Green" (Miles' Fifty-two Stories for Boys), 1889; "Charlie to the Rescue, a Tale of the Sea and the Rockies," with illustrations by the author, 1890; "The Garret and the Garden..., or the Young Coast-guardsman," 1890; "The Coxswain's Bride, or the Rising Tide, and other Tales," with illustrations by the author, 1891; "The Hot Swamp, a Romance of Old Albion," 1892; "Hunted and Harried, a Tale of the Scottish Covenanters," 1892; "The Walrus Hunters, a Romance of the Realms of Ice," 1893. Ballantyne's Miscellany was started in 1863. MY DEAR YOUNG READERS, In presenting this book to you I have only to repeat what I have said in the prefaces of my former works,--namely, that all the important points and anecdotes are true; only the minor and unimportant ones being mingled with fiction. With this single remark I commit my work to your hands, and wish you a pleasant ramble, in spirit, through the romantic forests of Brazil. Yours affectionately, R.M. BALLANTYNE. [October, 1858.] MARTIN RATTLER CHAPTER I THE HERO AND HIS ONLY RELATIVE Martin Rattler was a very bad boy. At least his aunt, Mrs. Dorothy Grumbit, said so; and certainly she ought to have known, if anybody should, for Martin lived with her, and was, as she herself expressed it, "the bane of her existence,--the very torment of her life." No doubt of it whatever, according to Aunt Dorothy Grumbit's showing, Martin Rattler was "a remarkably bad boy." It is a curious fact, however, that, although most of the people in the village of Ashford seemed to agree with Mrs. Grumbit in her opinion of Martin, there were very few of them who did not smile cheerfully on the child when they met him, and say, "Good day, lad!" as heartily as if they thought him the best boy in the place. No one seemed to bear Martin Rattler ill-will, notwithstanding his alleged badness. Men laughed when they said he was a bad boy, as if they did not quite believe their own assertion. The vicar, an old whiteheaded man, with a kind, hearty countenance, said that the child was full of mischief, full of mischief; but he would improve as he grew older, he was quite certain of that. And the vicar was a good judge, for he had five boys of his own, besides three other boys, the sons of a distant relative, who boarded with him; and he had lived forty years in a parish overflowing with boys, and he was particularly fond of boys in general. Not so the doctor, a pursy little man with a terrific frown, who hated boys, especially little ones, with a very powerful hatred. The doctor said that Martin was a scamp. And yet Martin had not the appearance of a scamp. He had fat rosy cheeks, a round rosy mouth, a straight delicately-formed nose, a firm massive chin, and a broad forehead. But the latter was seldom visible, owing to the thickly-clustering fair curls that overhung it. When asleep Martin's face was the perfection of gentle innocence. But the instant he opened his dark-brown eyes, a thousand dimples and wrinkles played over his visage, chiefly at the corners of his mouth and round his eyes; as if the spirit of fun and the spirit of mischief had got entire possession of the boy, and were determined to make the most of him. When deeply interested in anything, Martin was as grave and serious as a philosopher. Aunt Dorothy Grumbit had a turned-up nose,--a very much turned-up nose; so much so, indeed, that it presented a front view of the nostrils! It was an aggravating nose, too for the old lady's spectacles refused to rest on any part of it except the extreme point. Mrs. Grumbit invariably placed them on the right part of her nose, and they as invariably slid down the curved slope until they were brought up by the little hillock at the end. There they condescended to repose in peace. Mrs. Grumbit was mild, and gentle, and little, and thin, and old,--perhaps seventy-five; but no one knew her age for certain, not even herself. She wore an old-fashioned, high-crowned cap, and a gown of bed-curtain chintz, with flowers on it the size of a saucer. It was a curious gown, and very cheap, for Mrs. Grumbit was poor. No one knew the extent of her poverty, any more than they did her age; but she herself knew it, and felt it deeply,--never so deeply, perhaps, as when her orphan nephew Martin grew old enough to be put to school, and she had not wherewithal to send him. But love is quick-witted and resolute. A residence of six years in Germany had taught her to knit stockings at a rate that cannot be described, neither conceived unless seen. She knitted two dozen pairs. The vicar took one dozen, the doctor took the other. The fact soon became known. Shops were not numerous in the village in those days; and the wares they supplied were only second rate. Orders came pouring in, Mrs. Grumbit's knitting wires clicked, and her little old hands wagged with incomprehensible rapidity and unflagging regularity,--and Martin Rattler was sent to school. While occupied with her knitting, she sat in a high-backed chair in a very small deep window, through which the sun streamed nearly the whole day; and out of which there was the most charming imaginable view of the gardens and orchards of the villagers, with a little dancing brook in the midst, and the green fields of the farmers beyond, studded with sheep and cattle and knolls of woodland, and bounded in the far distance by the bright blue sea. It was a lovely scene, such an one as causes the eye to brighten and the heart to melt as we gaze upon it, and think, perchance, of its Creator. Yes, it was a scene worth looking at; but Mrs. Grumbit never looked at it, for the simple reason that she could not have seen it if she had. Half way across her own little parlour was the extent of her natural vision. By the aid of spectacles and a steady concentrated effort, she could see the fire-place at the other end of the room; and the portrait of her deceased husband, who had been a sea-captain; and the white kitten that usually sat on the rug before the fire. To be sure she saw them very indistinctly. The picture was a hazy blue patch, which was the captain's coat; with a white patch down the middle of it, which was his waistcoat; and a yellow ball on the top of it, which was his head. It was rather an indistinct and generalized view, no doubt; but she _saw_ it, and that was a great comfort. CHAPTER II IN DISGRACE Fire was the cause of Martin's getting into disgrace at school for the first time; and this is how it happened. "Go and poke the fire, Martin Rattler," said the school-master, "and put on a bit of coal, and see that you don't send the sparks flying about the floor." Martin sprang with alacrity to obey; for he was standing up with the class at the time, and was glad of the temporary relaxation. He stirred the fire with great care, and put on several pieces of coal very slowly, and rearranged them two or three times; after which he stirred the fire a little more, and examined it carefully to see that it was all right; but he did not seem quite satisfied, and was proceeding to re-adjust the coals when Bob Croaker, one of the big boys, who was a bullying, ill-tempered fellow, and had a spite against Martin, called out,-- "Please, sir, Rattler's playin' at the fire." "Come back to your place, sir!" cried the master, sternly. Martin returned in haste, and resumed his position in the class. As he did so he observed that his fore-finger was covered with soot. Immediately a smile of glee overspread his features; and, while the master was busy with one of the boys, he drew his black finger gently down the forehead and nose of the boy next to him. "What part of the earth was peopled by the descendants of Ham?" cried the master, pointing to the dux. "Shem!" shrieked a small boy near the foot of the class. "Silence!" thundered the master, with a frown that caused the small boy to quake down to the points of his toes. "Asia!" answered dux. "Next?" "Turkey!" "Next, next, next? Hallo! John Ward," cried the master, starting up in anger from his seat, "what do you mean by that, sir?" "What, sir?" said John Ward, tremulously, while a suppressed titter ran round the class. "Your face, sir! Who blacked your face, eh?" "I--I--don't know," said the boy, drawing his sleeve across his face, which had the effect of covering it with sooty streaks. An uncontrollable shout of laughter burst from the whole school, which was instantly followed by a silence so awful and profound that a pin might have been heard to fall. "Martin Rattler, you did that! I know you did,--I see the marks on your fingers. Come here, sir! Now tell me; _did_ you do it?" Martin Rattler never told falsehoods. His old aunt had laboured to impress upon him from infancy that to lie was to commit a sin which is abhorred by God and scorned by man; and her teaching had not been in vain. The child would have suffered any punishment rather than have told a deliberate lie. He looked straight in the master's face and said, "Yes, sir, I did it." "Very well, go to your seat, and remain in school during the play-hour." With a heavy heart Martin obeyed; and soon after the school was dismissed. "I say, Rattler," whispered Bob Croaker, as he passed, "I'm going to teach your white kitten to swim just now. Won't you come and see it?" The malicious laugh with which the boy accompanied this remark convinced Martin that he intended to put his threat in execution. For a moment he thought of rushing out after him to protect his pet kitten; but a glance at the stern brow of the master, as he sat at his desk reading, restrained him; so, crushing down his feelings of mingled fear and anger, he endeavoured to while away the time by watching the boys as they played in the fields before the windows of the school. CHAPTER III THE GREAT FIGHT "Martin!" said the school-master, in a severe tone, looking up from the book with which he was engaged, "don't look out at the window, sir; turn your back to it." "Please, sir, I can't help it," replied the boy, trembling with eagerness as he stared across the fields. "Turn your back on it, I say!" reiterated the master in a loud tone, at the same time striking the desk violently with his cane. "Oh, sir, let me out! There's Bob Croaker with my kitten. He's going to drown it. I know he is,--he said he would; and if he does aunty will die, for she loves it next to me; and I _must_ save it, and--and, if you _don't_ let me out--you'll be a murderer!" At this concluding burst, Martin sprang forward and stood before his master with clenched fists and a face blazing with excitement. The schoolmaster's gaze of astonishment gradually gave place to a dark frown strangely mingled with a smile, and, when the boy concluded, he said quietly--"You may go." No second bidding was needed. The door flew open with a bang; and the gravel of the play-ground, spurned right and left, dashed against the window panes as Martin flew across it. The paling that fenced it off from the fields beyond was low, but too high for a jump. Never a boy in all the school had crossed that paling at a spring, without laying his hands upon it; but Martin did. We do not mean to say that he did anything superhuman; but he rushed at it like a charge of cavalry, sprang from the ground like a deer, kicked away the top bar, tumbled completely over, landed on his head, and rolled down the slope on the other side as fast as he could have run down,--perhaps faster. It would have required sharper eyes than yours or mine to have observed how Martin got on his legs again, but he did it in a twinkling, and was half across the field almost before you could wink, and panting on the heels of Bob Croaker. Bob saw him coming and instantly started off at a hard run, followed by the whole school. A few minutes brought them to the banks of the stream, where Bob Croaker halted, and, turning round, held the white kitten up by the nape of the neck. "O spare it! spare it, Bob!--don't do it--please don't, don't do it!" gasped Martin, as he strove in vain to run faster. "There you go!" shouted Bob, with a coarse laugh, sending the kitten high into the air, whence it fell with a loud splash into the water. It was a dreadful shock to feline nerves, no doubt, but that white kitten was no ordinary animal. Its little heart beat bravely when it rose to the surface, and, before its young master came up, it had regained the bank. But, alas! what a change! It went into the stream a fat, round, comfortable ball of eider-down. It came out--a scraggy blotch of white paint, with its black eyes glaring like two great glass beads! No sooner did it crawl out of the water than Bob Croaker seized it, and whirled it round his head, amid suppressed cries of "Shame!" intending to throw it in again; but at that instant Martin Rattler seized Bob by the collar of his coat with both hands, and, letting himself drop suddenly, dragged the cruel boy to the ground, while the kitten crept humbly away and hid itself in a thick tuft of grass. A moment sufficed to enable Bob Croaker, who was nearly twice Martin's weight, to free himself from the grasp of his panting antagonist, whom he threw on his back, and doubled his fist, intending to strike Martin on the face; but a general rush of the boys prevented this. "Shame, shame, fair play!" cried several; "don't hit him when he's down!" "Then let him rise up and come on!" cried Bob, fiercely, as he sprang up and released Martin. "Ay, that's fair. Now then, Martin, remember the kitten!" "Strike men of your own size!" cried several of the bigger boys, as they interposed to prevent Martin from rushing into the unequal contest. "So I will," cried Bob Croaker, glaring round with passion. "Come on any of you that likes. I don't care a button for the biggest of you." No one accepted this challenge, for Bob was the oldest and the strongest boy in the school, although, as is usually the case with bullies, by no means the bravest. Seeing that no one intended to fight with him, and that a crowd of boys strove to hold Martin Rattler back, while they assured him that he had not the smallest chance in the world, Bob turned towards the kitten, which was quietly and busily employed in licking itself dry, and said, "Now, Martin, you coward, I'll give it another swim for your impudence." "Stop, stop!" cried Martin earnestly. "Bob Croaker, I would rather do anything than fight. I would give you everything I have to save my kitten; but if you won't spare it unless I fight, I'll do it. If you throw it in before you fight me, you're the greatest coward that ever walked. Just give me five minutes to breathe and a drink of water, and I'll fight you as long as I can stand." Bob looked at his little foe in surprise. "Well, that's fair. I'm your man; but if you don't lick me I'll drown the kitten, that's all." Having said this, he quietly divested himself of his jacket and neckcloth, while several boys assisted Martin to do the same, and brought him a draught of water in the crown of one of their caps. In five minutes all was ready, and the two boys stood face to face and foot to foot, with their fists doubled and revolving, and a ring of boys around them. Just at this moment the kitten, having found the process of licking itself dry more fatiguing than it had expected, gave vent to a faint mew of distress. It was all that was wanting to set Martin's indignant heart into a blaze of inexpressible fury. Bob Croaker's visage instantly received a shower of sharp, stinging blows, that had the double effect of taking that youth by surprise and throwing him down upon the green sward. But Martin could not hope to do this a second time. Bob now knew the vigour of his assailant, and braced himself warily to the combat, commencing operations by giving Martin a tremendous blow on the point of his nose, and another on the chest. These had the effect of tempering Martin's rage with a salutary degree of caution, and of eliciting from the spectators sundry cries of warning on the one hand, and admiration on the other, while the young champions revolved warily round each other, and panted vehemently. The battle that was fought that day was one of a thousand. It created as great a sensation in the village school as did the battle of Waterloo in England. It was a notable fight; such as had not taken place within the memory of the oldest boy in the village, and from which, in after years, events of juvenile history were dated,--especially pugilistic events, of which, when a good one came off, it used to be said that "such a battle had not taken place since the year of the _Great Fight_" Bob Croaker was a noted fighter. Martin Rattler was, up to this date, an untried hero. Although fond of rough play and boisterous mischief, he had an unconquerable aversion to _earnest_ fighting, and very rarely indeed returned home with a black eye,--much to the satisfaction of Aunt Dorothy Grumbit, who objected to all fighting from principle, and frequently asserted, in gentle tones, that there should be no soldiers or sailors (fighting sailors, she meant) at all, but that people ought all to settle everything the best way they could without fighting, and live peaceably with one another, as the Bible told them to do. They would be far happier and better off, she was sure of that; and if everybody was of her way of thinking, there would be neither swords, nor guns, nor pistols, nor squibs, nor anything else at all! Dear old lady. It would indeed be a blessing if her principles could be carried out in this warring and jarring world. But as this is rather difficult, what we ought to be careful about is, that we never fight except in a good cause and with a clear conscience. It was well for Martin Rattler, on that great day, that the formation of the ground favoured him. The spot on which the fight took place was uneven, and covered with little hillocks and hollows, over which Bob Croaker stumbled, and into which he fell,--being a clumsy boy on his legs,--and did himself considerable damage; while Martin, who was firmly knit and active as a kitten, scarcely ever fell, or, if he did, sprang up again like an India-rubber ball. Fair-play was embedded deep in the centre of Martin's heart, so that he scorned to hit his adversary when he was down or in the act of rising; but the thought of the fate that awaited the white kitten if he were conquered, acted like lightning in his veins, and scarcely had Bob time to double his fists after a fall, when he was knocked back again into the hollow out of which he had risen. There were no _rounds_ in this fight,--no pausing to recover breath. Martin's anger rose with every blow, whether given or received; and although he was knocked down flat four or five times, he rose again, and, without a second's delay, rushed headlong at his enemy. Feeling that he was too little and light to make much impression on Bob Croaker by means of mere blows, he endeavoured as much as possible to throw his weight against him at each assault; but Bob stood his ground well, and after a time seemed even to be recovering strength a little. Suddenly he made a rush at Martin, and, dealing him a successful blow on the forehead, knocked him down; at the same time he himself tripped over a molehill and fell upon his face. Both were on their legs in an instant. Martin grew desperate. The white kitten swimming for its life seemed to rise before him, and new energy was infused into his frame. He retreated a step or two, and then darted forward like an arrow from a bow. Uttering a loud cry, he sprang completely in the air and plunged--head and fists together, as if he were taking a dive--into Bob Croaker's bosom! The effect was tremendous. Bob went down like a shock of grain before the sickle; and having, in their prolonged movements, approached close to the brink of the stream, both he and Martin went with a sounding splash into the deep pool and disappeared. It was but for a moment, however, Martin's head emerged first, with eyes and mouth distended to the utmost. Instantly, on finding bottom, he turned to deal his opponent another blow; but it was not needed. When Bob Croaker's head rose to the surface there was no motion in the features, and the eyes were closed. The intended blow was changed into a friendly grasp; and, exerting himself to the utmost, Martin dragged his insensible school-fellow to the bank, where, in a few minutes, he recovered sufficiently to declare in a sulky tone that he would fight no more! "Bob Croaker," said Martin, holding out his hand, "I'm sorry we've had to fight. I wouldn't have done it, but to save my kitten. You compelled me to do it, you know that. Come, let's be friends again." Bob made no reply, but slowly and with some difficulty put on his vest and jacket. "I'm sure," continued Martin, "there's no reason in bearing me ill-will. I've done nothing unfair, and I'm very sorry we've had to fight. Won't you shake hands?" Bob was silent. "Come, come, Bob!" cried several of the bigger boys, "don't be sulky, man; shake hands and be friends. Martin has licked you this time, and you'll lick him next time, no doubt, and that's all about it." "Arrah, then, ye're out there, intirely. Bob Croaker'll niver lick Martin Rattler though he wos to live to the age of the great M'Thuselah!'" said a deep-toned voice close to the spot where the fight had taken place. All eyes were instantly turned in the direction whence it proceeded, and the boys now became aware, for the first time, that the combat had been witnessed by a sailor, who, with a smile of approval beaming on his good-humoured countenance, sat under the shade of a neighbouring tree smoking a pipe of that excessive shortness and blackness that seems to be peculiarly beloved by Irishmen in the humbler ranks of life. The man was very tall and broad-shouldered, and carried himself with a free-and-easy swagger, as he rose and approached the group of boys. "He'll niver bate ye, Martin, avic, as long as there's two timbers of ye houldin' togither." The seaman patted Martin on the head as he spoke; and, turning to Bob Croaker, continued: "Ye ought to be proud, ye spalpeen, o' bein' wopped by sich a young hero as this. Come here and shake hands with him: d'ye hear? Troth an' it's besmearin' ye with too much honour that same. There, that'll do. Don't say ye're sorry now, for it's lies ye'd be tellin' if ye did. Come along, Martin, an' I'll convarse with ye as ye go home. Ye'll be a man yet, as sure as my name is Barney O'Flannagan." Martin took the white kitten in his arms and thrust its wet little body into his equally wet bosom, where the warmth began soon to exercise a soothing influence on the kitten's depressed spirits, so that, ere long, it began to purr. He then walked with the sailor towards the village, with his face black and blue, and swelled and covered with blood, while Bob Croaker and his companions returned to the school. The distance to Martin's residence was not great, but it was sufficient to enable the voluble Irishman to recount a series of the most wonderful adventures and stories of foreign lands, that set Martin's heart on fire with desire to go to sea,--a desire which was by no means new to him, and which recurred violently every time he paid a visit to the small sea-port of Bilton, which lay about five miles to the southward of his native village. Moreover, Barney suggested that it was time Martin should be doing for himself (he was now ten years old), and said that if he would join his ship, he could get him a berth, for he was much in want of an active lad to help him with the coppers. But Martin Rattler sighed deeply, and said that, although his heart was set upon going to sea, he did not see how it was to be managed, for his aunt would not let him go. Before they separated, however, it was arranged that Martin should pay the sailor's ship a visit, when he would hear a good deal more about foreign lands; and that, in the meantime, he should make another attempt to induce Aunt Dorothy Grumbit to give her consent to his going to sea. CHAPTER IV A LESSON TO ALL STOCKING-KNITTERS--MARTIN'S PROSPECTS BEGIN TO OPEN UP In the small sea-port of Bilton, before mentioned, there dwelt an old and wealthy merchant and ship-owner, who devoted a small portion of his time to business, and a very large portion of it to what is usually termed "doing good," This old gentleman was short, and stout, and rosy, and bald, and active, and sharp as a needle. In the short time that Mr. Arthur Jollyboy devoted to business, he accomplished as much as most men do in the course of a long day. There was not a benevolent society in the town, of which Arthur Jollyboy, Esquire, of the Old Hulk (as he styled his cottage), was not a member, director, secretary, and treasurer, all in one, and all at once! If it had been possible for man to be ubiquitous, Mr. Jollyboy would have been so naturally; or, if not naturally, he would have made himself so by force of will. Yet he made no talk about it. His step was quiet, though quick; and his voice was gentle, though rapid; and he was chiefly famous for _talking_ little and _doing_ much. Some time after the opening of our tale, Mr. Jollyboy had received information of Mrs. Grumbit's stocking movement. That same afternoon he put on his broad-brimmed white hat, and, walking out to the village in which she lived, called upon the vicar, who was a particular and intimate friend of his. Having ascertained from the vicar that Mrs. Grumbit would not accept of charity, he said abruptly,-- "And why not,--is she too proud?" "By no means," replied the vicar. "She says that she would think shame to take money from friends as long as she can work, because every penny that she would thus get would be so much less to go to the helpless poor; of whom, she says, with much truth, there are enough and to spare. And I quite agree with her as regards her principle; but it does not apply fully to her, for she cannot work so as to procure a sufficient livelihood without injury to her health." "Is she clever?" inquired Mr. Jollyboy. "Why, no, not particularly. In fact, she does not often exert her reasoning faculties, except in the common-place matters of ordinary and every-day routine." "Then she's cleverer than most people," said Mr. Jollyboy, shortly. "Is she obstinate?" "No, not in the least," returned the vicar with a puzzled smile. "Ah, well, good-bye, good-bye; that's all I want to know." Mr. Jollyboy rose, and hurrying through the village, tapped at the cottage door, and was soon closeted with Mrs. Dorothy Grumbit. In the course of half an hour, Mr. Jollyboy drew from Mrs. Grumbit as much about her private affairs as he could, without appearing rude. But he found the old lady very close and sensitive on that point. Not so, however, when he got her upon the subject of her nephew. She had enough, and more than enough, to say about him. It is true she began by remarking, sadly, that he was a very bad boy; but, as she continued to talk about him, she somehow or other gave her visitor the impression that he was a very _good_ boy! They had a wonderfully long and confidential talk about Martin, during which Mr. Jollyboy struck Mrs. Grumbit nearly dumb with horror by stating positively what he would do for the boy,--he would send him to sea! Then, seeing that he had hit the wrongest possible nail on the head, he said that he would make the lad a clerk in his office, where he would be sure to rise to a place of trust; whereat Mrs. Grumbit danced, if we may so speak, into herself for joy. "And now, ma'am, about these stockings. I want two thousand pairs as soon as I can get them!" "Sir?" said Mrs. Grumbit. "Of course, not for my own use, ma'am; nor for the use of my family, for I have no family; and if I had, that would be an unnecessarily large supply. The fact is, Mrs. Grumbit, I am a merchant, and I send very large supplies of home-made articles to foreign lands, and two thousand pairs of socks are a mere driblet. Of course I do not expect you to make them all for me, but I wish you to make as many pairs as you can." "I shall be very happy--" began Mrs. Grumbit. "But, Mrs. Grumbit, there is a peculiar formation which I require in my socks that will give you extra trouble, I fear; but I must have it, whatever the additional expense may be. What is your charge for the pair you are now making?" "Three shillings," said Mrs. Grumbit. "Ah! very good. Now, take up the wires if you please, ma'am, and do what I tell you. Now, drop that stitch,--good; and take up this one,--capital; and pull this one across that way,--so; and that one across this way,--exactly. Now, what is the result?" The result was a complicated knot; and Mrs. Grumbit, after staring a few seconds at the old gentleman in surprise, said so, and begged to know what use it was of. "Oh, never mind, never mind. We merchants have strange fancies, and foreigners have curious tastes now and then. Please to make all my socks with a hitch like that in them all round, just above the ankle. It will form an ornamental ring. I'm sorry to put you to the trouble, but of course I pay extra for fancy-work. Will six shillings a pair do for these?" "My dear sir," said Mrs. Grumbit, "it is no additional--" "Well, well, never mind," said Mr. Jollyboy. "Two thousand pairs, remember, as soon as possible,--close knitted, plain stitch, rather coarse worsted; and don't forget the hitch, Mrs. Grumbit, don't forget the hitch." Ah! reader, there are many Mrs. Grumbits in this world, requiring _hitches_ to be made in their stockings! At this moment the door burst open. Mrs. Dorothy Grumbit uttered a piercing scream, Mr. Jollyboy dropped his spectacles and sat down on his hat, and Martin Rattler stood before them with the white kitten in his arms. For a few seconds there was a dead silence, while an expression of puzzled disappointment passed over Mr. Jollyboy's ruddy countenance. At last he said,-- "Is this, madam, the nephew who, you told me a little ago, is not addicted to fighting?" "Yes," answered the old lady faintly, and covering her eyes with her hands, "that is Martin." "If my aunt told you that, sir, she told you the truth," said Martin, setting down the blood-stained white kitten, which forthwith began to stretch its limbs and lick itself dry. "I don't ever fight if I can help it, but I couldn't help it to-day." With a great deal of energy, and a revival of much of his former indignation, when he spoke of the kitten's sufferings, Martin recounted all the circumstances of the fight; during the recital of which Mrs. Dorothy Grumbit took his hand in hers and patted it, gazing the while into his swelled visage, and weeping plentifully, but very silently. When he had finished, Mr. Jollyboy shook hands with him, and said he was a trump, at the same time recommending him to go and wash his face. Then he whispered a few words in Mrs. Grumbit's ear, which seemed to give that excellent lady much pleasure; after which he endeavoured to straighten his crushed hat; in which attempt he failed, took his leave, promised to call again very soon, and went back to the Old Hulk--chuckling. CHAPTER V MARTIN, BEING WILLING TO GO TO SEA, GOES TO SEA AGAINST HIS WILL Four years rolled away, casting chequered light and shadow over the little village of Ashford in their silent passage,--whitening the forelocks of the aged, and strengthening the muscles of the young. Death, too, touched a hearth here and there, and carried desolation to a home; for four years cannot wing their flight without enforcing on us the lesson--which we are so often taught, and yet take so long to learn--that this is not our rest,--that here we have no abiding city. Did we but ponder this lesson more frequently and earnestly, instead of making us sad, it would nerve our hearts and hands to fight and work more diligently,--to work in the cause of our Redeemer,--the only cause that is worth the life-long energy of immortal beings,--the great cause that includes all others; and it would teach us to remember that our little day of opportunity will soon be spent, and that the night is at hand in which no man can work. Four years rolled away, and during this time Martin, having failed to obtain his aunt's consent to his going to sea, continued at school, doing his best to curb the roving spirit that strove within him. Martin was not particularly bright at the dead languages; to the rules of grammar he entertained a rooted aversion; and at history he was inclined to yawn, except when it happened to touch upon the names and deeds of such men as Vasco di Gama and Columbus. But in geography he was perfect; and in arithmetic and book-keeping he was quite a proficient, to the delight of Mrs. Dorothy Grumbit, whose household books he summed up; and to the satisfaction of his fast friend, Mr. Arthur Jollyboy, whose ledgers he was--in that old gentleman's secret resolves--destined to keep. Martin was now fourteen, broad and strong, and tall for his age. He was the idol of the school,--dashing, daring, reckless, and good-natured. There was almost nothing that he would not attempt, and there were very few things that he could not do. He never fought, however--from principle; and his strength and size often saved him from the necessity. But he often prevented other boys from fighting, except when he thought there was good reason for it; then he stood by and saw fair play. There was a strange mixture of philosophical gravity, too, in Martin. As he grew older he became more enthusiastic and less boisterous. Bob Croaker was still at the school, and was, from prudential motives, a fast friend of Martin. But he bore him a secret grudge, for he could not forget the great fight. One day Bob took Martin by the arm, and said, "I say, Rattler, come with me to Bilton, and have some fun among the shipping." "Well, I don't mind if I do," said Martin. "I'm just in the mood for a ramble, and I'm not expected home till bed-time." In little more than an hour the two boys were wandering about the dock-yards of the sea-port town, and deeply engaged in examining the complicated rigging of the ships. While thus occupied, the clanking of a windlass and the merry "Yo heave O! and away she goes," of the sailors, attracted their attention. "Hallo! there goes the _Firefly_, bound for the South Seas," cried Bob Croaker; "come, let's see her start. I say, Martin, isn't your friend, Barney O'Flannagan, on board?" "Yes, he is. He tries to get me to go out every voyage, and I wish I could. Come quickly; I want to say good-bye to him before he starts." "Why don't you run away, Rattler?" inquired Bob, as they hurried round the docks to where the vessel was warping out. "Because I don't need to. My aunt has given me leave to go if I like; but she says it would break her heart if I do; and I would rather be screwed down to a desk for ever than do that, Bob Croaker." The vessel, upon the deck of which the two boys now leaped, was a large, heavy-built barque. Her sails were hanging loose, and the captain was giving orders to the men, who had their attention divided between their duties on board and their mothers, wives, and sisters, who still lingered to take a last farewell. "Now, then, those who don't want to go to sea had better go ashore," roared the captain. There was an immediate rush to the side. "I say, Martin," whispered Barney, as he hurried past, "jump down below for'ard; you can go out o' the harbour mouth with us and get ashore in one o' the shore-boats alongside. They'll not cast off till we're well out. I want to speak to you--" "Man the fore top-sail halyards," shouted the first mate. "Ay ay, sir-r-r," and the men sprang to obey. Just then the ship touched on the bar at the mouth of the harbour, and in another moment she was aground. "There, now, she's hard and fast!" roared the captain, as he stormed about the deck in a paroxysm of rage. But man's rage could avail nothing. They had missed the passage by a few feet, and now they had to wait the fall and rise again of the tide ere they could hope to get off. In the confusion that followed, Bob Croaker suggested that Martin and he should take one of the punts, or small boats which hovered round the vessel, and put out to sea, where they might spend the day pleasantly in rowing and fishing. "Capital!" exclaimed Martin. "Let's go at once. Yonder's a little fellow who will let us have his punt for a few pence. I know him. Hallo, Tom!" "Ay, ay," squeaked a boy who was so small that he could scarcely lift the oar, light though it was, with which he sculled his punt cleverly along. "Shove alongside, like a good fellow; we want your boat for a little to row out a bit." "It's a-blowin' too hard," squeaked the small boy, as he ranged alongside. "I'm afeared you'll be blowed out." "Nonsense!" cried Bob Croaker, grasping the rope which the boy threw to him. "Jump on board, younker; we don't want you to help us, and you're too heavy for ballast. Slip down the side, Martin, and get in while I hold on to the rope. All right? now I'll follow. Here, shrimp, hold the rope till I'm in, and then cast off. Look alive!" As Bob spoke, he handed the rope to the little boy; but, in doing so, let it accidentally slip out of his hand. "Catch hold o' the main chains, Martin,--quick!" But Martin was too late. The current that swept out of the harbour whirled the light punt away from the ship's side, and carried it out seaward. Martin instantly sprang to the oar, and turned the boat's head round. He was a stout and expert rower, and would soon have regained the ship; but the wind increased at the moment, and blew in a squall off shore, which carried him further out despite his utmost efforts. Seeing that all further attempts were useless, Martin stood up and waved his hand to Bob Croaker, shouting as he did so, "Never mind, Bob, I'll make for the South Point. Run round and meet me, and we'll row back together." The South Point was a low cape of land which stretched a considerable distance out to sea, about three miles to the southward of Bilton harbour. It formed a large bay, across which, in ordinary weather, a small boat might be rowed in safety. Martin Rattler was well known at the sea-port as a strong and fearless boy, so that no apprehension was entertained for his safety by those who saw him blown away. Bob Croaker immediately started for the Point on foot, a distance of about four miles by land; and the crew of the _Firefly_ were so busied with their stranded vessel that they took no notice of the doings of the boys. But the weather now became more and more stormy. Thick clouds gathered on the horizon. The wind began to blow with steady violence, and shifted a couple of points to the southward; so that Martin found it impossible to keep straight for the Point. Still he worked perseveringly at his single oar, and sculled rapidly over the sea; but, as he approached the Point, he soon perceived that no effort of which he was capable could enable him to gain it. But Martin's heart was stout. He strove with all the energy of hope, until the Point was passed; and then, turning the head of his little boat towards it, he strove with all the energy of despair, until he fell down exhausted. The wind and tide swept him rapidly out to sea; and when his terrified comrade reached the Point, the little boat was but a speck on the seaward horizon. Well was it then for Martin Rattler that a friendly heart beat for him on board the _Firefly_, Bob Croaker carried the news to the town; but no one was found daring enough to risk his life out in a boat on that stormy evening. The little punt had been long out of sight ere the news reached them, and the wind had increased to a gale. But Barney O'Flannagan questioned Bob Croaker closely, and took particular note of the point of the compass at which Martin had disappeared; and when the _Firefly_ at length got under weigh, he climbed to the fore-top cross-trees, and stood there scanning the horizon with an anxious eye. It was getting dark, and a feeling of despair began to creep over the seaman's heart as he gazed round the wide expanse of water, on which nothing was to be seen except the white foam that crested the rising billows. "Starboard, hard!" he shouted suddenly. "Starboard it is!" replied the man at the wheel, with prompt obedience. In another moment Barney slid down the back-stay and stood on the deck, while the ship rounded to and narrowly missed striking a small boat that floated keel up on the water. There was no cry from the boat; and it might have been passed as a mere wreck, had not the lynx eye of Barney noticed a dark object clinging to it. "Lower away a boat, lads," cried the Irishman, springing overboard; and the words had scarcely passed his lips when the water closed over his head. The _Firefly_ was hove to, a boat was lowered and rowed towards Barney, whose strong voice guided his shipmates towards him. In less than a quarter of an hour the bold sailor and his young friend Martin Rattler were safe on board, and the ship's head was again turned out to sea. It was full half an hour before Martin was restored to consciousness in the forecastle, to which his deliverer had conveyed him. "Musha, lad, but ye're booked for the blue wather now, an' no mistake!" said Barney, looking with an expression of deep sympathy at the poor boy, who sat staring before him quite speechless. "The capting'll not let ye out o' this ship till ye git to the gould coast, or some sich place. He couldn't turn back av he wanted iver so much; but he doesn't want to, for he needs a smart lad like you, an' he'll keep you now, for sartin." Barney sat down by Martin's side and stroked his fair curls, as he sought in his own quaint fashion to console him. But in vain. Martin grew quite desperate as he thought of the misery into which poor Aunt Dorothy Grumbit would be plunged, on learning that he had been swept out to sea in a little boat, and drowned, as she would naturally suppose. In his frenzy he entreated and implored the captain to send him back in the boat, and even threatened to knock out his brains with a handspike if he did not; but the captain smiled and told him that it was his own fault. He had no business to be putting to sea in a small boat in rough weather, and he might be thankful he wasn't drowned. He wouldn't turn back now for fifty pounds twice told. At length Martin became convinced that all hope of returning home was gone. He went quietly below, threw himself into one of the sailor's berths, turned his face to the wall, and wept long and bitterly. CHAPTER VI THE VOYAGE, A PIRATE, CHASE, WRECK, AND ESCAPE Time reconciles a man to almost anything. In the course of time Martin Rattler became reconciled to his fate, and went about the ordinary duties of a cabin-boy on board the _Firefly_ just as if he had been appointed to that office in the ordinary way,--with the consent of the owners and by the advice of his friends. The captain, Skinflint by name, and as surly an old fellow as ever walked a quarter-deck, agreed to pay him wages "if he behaved well." The steward, under whose immediate authority he was placed, turned out to be a hearty, good-natured young fellow, and was very kind to him. But Martin's great friend was Barney O'Flannagan, the cook, with whom he spent many an hour in the night watches, talking over plans, and prospects, and retrospects, and foreign lands. As Martin had no clothes except those on his back, which fortunately happened to be new and good, Barney gave him a couple of blue striped shirts, and made him a jacket, pantaloons, and slippers of canvas; and, what was of much greater importance, taught him how to make and mend the same for himself. "Ye see, Martin, lad," he said, while thus employed one day, many weeks after leaving port, "it's a great thing, intirely, to be able to help yerself. For my part, I niver travel without my work-box in my pocket." "Your work-box!" said Martin, laughing. "Jist so. An' it consists of wan sail-maker's needle, a ball o' twine, and a clasp-knife. Set me down with these before a roll o' canvas and I'll make you a'most anything." "You seem to have a turn for everything, Barney," said Martin. "How came you to be a cook?" "That's more nor I can tell ye, lad. As far as I remimber, I began with murphies, when I was two feet high, in my father's cabin in ould Ireland. But that was on my own account intirely, and not as a purfession; and a sorrowful time I had of it, too, for I was for iver burnin' my fingers promiskiously, and fallin' into the fire ivery day more or less--" "Stand by to hoist top-gallant-sails," shouted the captain. "How's her head?" "South and by east, sir," answered the man at the wheel. "Keep her away two points. Look alive lads. Hand me the glass, Martin." The ship was close hauled when these abrupt orders were given, battling in the teeth of a stiff breeze, off the coast of South America. About this time, several piratical vessels had succeeded in cutting off a number of merchantmen near the coast of Brazil. They had not only taken the valuable parts of their cargoes, but had murdered the crews under circumstances of great cruelty; and ships trading to these regions were, consequently, exceedingly careful to avoid all suspicious craft as much as possible. It was, therefore, with some anxiety that the men watched the captain's face as he examined the strange sail through the telescope. "A Spanish schooner," muttered the captain, as he shut up the glass with a bang. "I won't trust her. Up with the royals and rig out stun'-sails, Mr. Wilson, (to the mate). Let her fall away, keep her head nor'-west, d'ye hear?" "Ay, ay, sir." "Let go the lee braces and square the yards. Look sharp, now, lads. If that blackguard gets hold of us ye'll have to walk the plank, every man of ye." In a few minutes the ship's course was completely altered; a cloud of canvas spread out from the yards, and the _Firefly_ bounded on her course like a fresh race-horse. But it soon became evident that the heavy barque was no match for the schooner, which crowded sail and bore down at a rate that bade fair to overhaul them in a few hours. The chase continued till evening, when suddenly the look-out at the mast-head shouted, "Land, ho!" "Where away?" cried the captain. "Right ahead," sang out the man. "I'll run her ashore sooner than be taken," muttered the captain, with an angry scowl at the schooner, which was now almost within range on the weather quarter, with the dreaded black flag flying at her peak. In a few minutes breakers were descried ahead. "D'ye see anything like a passage?" shouted the captain. "Yes, sir; two points on the weather bow." At this moment a white cloud burst from the schooner's bow, and a shot, evidently from a heavy gun, came ricochetting over the sea. It was well aimed, for it cut right through the barque's main-mast, just below the yard, and brought the main-top-mast, with all the yards, sails, and gearing above it, down upon the deck. The weight of the wreck, also, carried away the fore-top-mast, and, in a single instant, the _Firefly_ was completely disabled. "Lower away the boats," cried the captain; "look alive, now; we'll give them the slip yet. It'll be dark in two minutes." The captain was right. In tropical regions there is little or no twilight. Night succeeds day almost instantaneously. Before the boats were lowered and the men embarked it was becoming quite dark. The schooner observed the movement, however, and, as she did not dare to venture through the reef in the dark, her boats were also lowered and the chase was recommenced. The reef was passed in safety, and now a hard struggle took place, for the shore was still far distant. As it chanced to be cloudy weather the darkness became intense, and progress could only be guessed at by the sound of the oars; but these soon told too plainly that the boats of the schooner were overtaking those of the barque. "Pull with a will, lads," cried the captain; "we can't be more than half a mile from shore; give way, my hearties." "Surely, captain, we can fight them, we've most of us got pistols and cutlasses," said one of the men in a sulky tone. "Fight them!" cried the captain, "they're four times our number, and every man armed to the teeth. If ye don't fancy walking the plank or dancing on nothing at the yard-arm, ye'd better pull away and hold your jaw." By this time they could just see the schooner's boats in the dim light, about half-musket range astern. "Back you' oars," shouted a stern voice in broken English, "or I blow you out de watter in one oder moment,--black-yards!" This order was enforced by a musket shot, which whizzed over the boat within an inch of the captain's head. The men ceased rowing and the boats of the pirate ranged close up. "Now then, Martin," whispered Barney O'Flannagan, who sat at the bow oar, "I'm goin' to swim ashore; jist you slip arter me as quiet as ye can." "But the sharks!" suggested Martin. "Bad luck to them," said Barney as he slipped over the side, "they're welcome to me. Til take my chance. They'll find me mortial tough, anyhow. Come along, lad, look sharp!" Without a moment's hesitation Martin slid over the gunwale into the sea, and, just as the pirate boats grappled with those of the barque, he and Barney found themselves gliding as silently as otters towards the shore. So quietly had the manoeuvre been accomplished, that the men in their own boat were ignorant of their absence. In a few minutes they were beyond the chance of detection. "Keep close to me, lad," whispered the Irishman. "If we separate in the darkness we'll niver forgather again. Catch hould o; my shoulder if ye get blowed, and splutter as much as ye like. They can't hear us now, and it'll help to frighten the sharks." "All right," replied Martin; "I can swim like a cork in such warm water as this. Just go a little slower and I'll do famously." Thus encouraging each other, and keeping close together, lest they should get separated in the thick darkness of the night, the two friends struck out bravely for the shore. CHAPTER VII MARTIN AND BARNEY GET LOST IN A GREAT FOREST, WHERE THEY SEE STRANGE AND TERRIBLE THINGS On gaining the beach, the first thing that Barney did, after shaking himself like a huge Newfoundland dog, was to ascertain that his pistol and cutlass were safe; for, although the former could be of no use in its present condition, still, as he sagaciously remarked, "it was a good thing to have, for they might chance to git powder wan day or other, and the flint would make fire, anyhow." Fortunately the weather was extremely warm; so they were enabled to take off and wring their clothes without much inconvenience, except that in a short time a few adventurous mosquitoes--probably sea-faring ones--came down out of the woods and attacked their bare bodies so vigorously that they were fain to hurry on their clothes again before they were quite dry. The clouds began to clear away soon after they landed, and the brilliant light of the southern constellations revealed to them dimly the appearance of the coast. It was a low sandy beach skirting the sea and extending back for about a quarter of a mile in the form of a grassy plain, dotted here and there with scrubby underwood. Beyond this was a dark line of forest. The light was not sufficient to enable them to ascertain the appearance of the interior. Barney and Martin now cast about in their minds how they were to spend the night. "Ye see," said the Irishman, "it's of no use goin' to look for houses, because there's maybe none at all on this coast; an' there's no sayin' but we may fall in with savages--for them parts swarms with them; so we'd better go into the woods an'--" Barney was interrupted here by a low howl, which proceeded from the woods referred to, and was most unlike any cry they had ever heard before. "Och, but I'll think better of it. P'raps it'll be as well _not_ to go into the woods, but to camp where we are." "I think so too," said Martin, searching about for small twigs and drift-wood with which to make a fire. "There is no saying what sort of wild beasts may be in the forest, so we had better wait till daylight." A fire was quickly lighted by means of the pistol-flint and a little dry grass, which, when well bruised and put into the pan, caught a spark after one or two attempts, and was soon blown into a flame. But no wood large enough to keep the fire burning for any length of time could be found; so Barney said he would go up to the forest and fetch some. "I'll lave my shoes and socks, Martin, to dry at the fire. See ye don't let them burn." Traversing the meadow with hasty strides, the bold sailor quickly reached the edge of the forest, where he began to lop off several dead branches from the trees with his cutlass. While thus engaged the howl which had formerly startled him was repeated. "Av I only knowed what ye was," muttered Barney in a serious tone, "it would be some sort o' comfort." A loud cry of a different kind here interrupted his soliloquy, and soon after the first cry was repeated louder than before. Clenching his teeth and knitting his brows the perplexed Irishman resumed his work with a desperate resolve not to be again interrupted. But he had miscalculated the strength of his nerves. Albeit as brave a man as ever stepped, when his enemy was before him, Barney was, nevertheless, strongly imbued with superstitious feelings; and the conflict between his physical courage and his mental cowardice produced a species of wild exasperation, which, he often asserted, was very hard to bear. Scarcely had he resumed his work when a bat of enormous size brushed past his nose so noiselessly that it seemed more like a phantom than a reality. Barney had never seen anything of the sort before, and a cold perspiration broke out upon him, when he fancied it might be a ghost. Again the bat swept past close to his eyes. "Musha, but I'll kill ye, ghost or no ghost," he ejaculated, gazing all round into the gloomy depths of the woods with his cutlass uplifted. Instead of flying again in front of him, as he had expected, the bat flew with a whirring noise past his ear. Down came the cutlass with a sudden thwack, cutting deep into the trunk of a small tree, which trembled under the shock and sent a shower of ripe nuts of a large size down upon the sailor's head. Startled as he was, he sprang backward with a wild cry; then, half ashamed of his groundless fears, he collected the wood he had cut, threw it hastily on his shoulder and went with a quick step out of the woods. In doing so he put his foot upon the head of a small snake, which wriggled up round his ankle and leg. If there was anything on earth that Barney abhorred and dreaded it was a snake. No sooner did he feel its cold form writhing under his foot, than he uttered a tremendous yell of terror, dropped his bundle of sticks, and fled precipitately to the beach, where he did not hall till he found himself knee-deep in the sea. "Och, Martin, boy," gasped the affrighted sailor, "it's my belafe that all the evil spirits on arth live in yonder wood; indeed I do." "Nonsense, Barney," said Martin, laughing; "there are no such things as ghosts; at any rate I'm resolved to face them, for if we don't get some sticks the fire will go out and leave us very comfortless. Come, I'll go up with you." "Put on yer shoes then, avic, for the sarpints are no ghosts, anyhow, and I'm tould they're pisonous sometimes." They soon found the bundle of dry sticks that Barney had thrown down, and returning with it to the beach, they speedily kindled a roaring fire, which made them feel quite cheerful. True, they had nothing to eat; but having had a good dinner on board the barque late that afternoon, they were not much in want of food. While they sat thus on the sand of the sea-shore, spreading their hands before the blaze and talking over their strange position, a low rumbling of distant thunder was heard. Barney's countenance instantly fell. "What's the matter, Barney?" inquired Martin, as he observed his companion gaze anxiously up at the sky. "Och, it's comin', sure enough." "And what though it does come?" returned Martin; "we can creep under one of these thick bushes till the shower is past." "Did ye iver see a thunder-storm in the tropics?" inquired Barney. "No, never," replied Martin. "Then if ye don't want to feel and see it both at wance, come with me as quick as iver ye can." Barney started up as he spoke, stuck his cutlass and pistol into his belt, and set off towards the woods at a sharp run, followed closely by his wondering companion. Their haste was by no means unnecessary. Great black clouds rushed up towards the zenith from all points of the compass, and, just as they reached the woods, darkness so thick that it might almost be felt overspread the scene. Then there was a flash of lightning so vivid that it seemed as if a bright day had been created and extinguished in a moment, leaving the darkness ten times more oppressive. It was followed instantaneously by a crash and a prolonged rattle, that sounded as if a universe of solid worlds were rushing into contact overhead and bursting into atoms. The flash was so far useful to the fugitives, that it enabled them to observe a many-stemmed tree with dense and heavy foliage, under which they darted. They were just in time, and had scarcely seated themselves among its branches when the rain came down in a way not only that Martin had never seen, but that he had never conceived of before. It fell, as it were, in broad heavy sheets, and its sound was a loud, continuous roar. The wind soon after burst upon the forest and added to the hideous shriek of elements. The trees bent before it; the rain was whirled and dashed about in water-spouts; and huge limbs were rent from some of the larger trees with a crash like thunder, and swept far away into the forest. The very earth trembled and seemed terrified at the dreadful conflict going on above. It seemed to the two friends as if the end of the world were come; and they could do nothing but cower among the branches of the tree and watch the storm in silence; while they felt, in a way they had never before experienced, how utterly helpless they were and unable to foresee or avert the many dangers by which they were surrounded, and how absolutely dependent they were on God for protection. For several hours the storm continued. Then it ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and the bright stars again shone down upon a peaceful scene. When it was over, Martin and his comrade descended the tree and endeavoured to find their way back to the beach. But this was no easy matter. The haste with which they had run into the woods, and the confusion of the storm, had made them uncertain in which direction it lay; and the more they tried to get out, the deeper they penetrated into the forest. At length, wearied with fruitless wandering and stumbling about in the dark, they resolved to spend the night where they were. Coming to a place which was more open than usual, and where they could see a portion of the starry sky overhead, they sat down on a dry spot under the shelter of a spreading tree, and, leaning their backs against the trunk, very soon fell sound asleep. CHAPTER VIII AN ENCHANTING LAND--AN UNCOMFORTABLE BED AND A QUEER BREAKFAST--MANY SURPRISES AND A FEW FRIGHTS, TOGETHER WITH A NOTABLE DISCOVERY "I've woked in paradise!" Such was the exclamation that aroused Martin Rattler on the morning after his landing on the coast of South America. It was uttered by Barney O'Flannagan, who lay at full length on his back, his head propped up by a root of the tree under which they had slept, and his eyes staring right before him with an expression of concentrated amazement. When Martin opened his eyes, he too was struck dumb with surprise. And well might they gaze with astonishment; for the last ray of departing daylight on the night before had flickered over the open sea, and now the first gleam of returning sunshine revealed to them the magnificent forests of Brazil. Yes, well might they gaze and gaze again in boundless admiration; for the tropical sun shone down on a scene of dazzling and luxuriant vegetation, so resplendent that it seemed to them the realization of a fairy tale. Plants and shrubs and flowers were there, of the most curious and brilliant description, and of which they neither knew the uses nor the names. Majestic trees were there, with foliage of every shape and size and hue; some with stems twenty feet in circumference; others more slender in form, straight and tall; and some twisted in a bunch together and rising upwards like fluted pillars: a few had buttresses, or natural planks, several feet broad, ranged all round their trunks, as if to support them; while many bent gracefully beneath the load of their clustering fruit and heavy foliage. Orange-trees with their ripe fruit shone in the sunbeams like gold. Stately palms rose above the surrounding trees and waved their feathery plumes in the air, and bananas with broad enormous leaves rustled in the breeze and cast a cool shadow on the ground. Well might they gaze in great surprise; for all these curious and beautiful trees were surrounded by and entwined in the embrace of luxuriant and remarkable climbing plants. The parasitic vanilla with its star-like blossoms crept up their trunks and along their branches, where it hung in graceful festoons, or drooped back again almost to the ground. So rich and numerous were these creepers, that in many cases they killed the strong giants whom they embraced so lovingly. Some of them hung from the tree-tops like stays from the masts of a ship, and many of them mingled their brilliant flowers so closely with the leaves, that the climbing-plants and their supporters could not be distinguished from each other, and it seemed as though the trees themselves had become gigantic flowering shrubs. Birds, too, were there in myriads,--and such birds! Their feathers were green and gold and scarlet and yellow and blue--fresh and bright and brilliant as the sky beneath which they were nurtured. The great toucan, with a beak nearly as big as his body, flew clumsily from stem to stem. The tiny, delicate humming-birds, scarce larger than bees, fluttered from flower to flower and spray to spray, like points of brilliant green. But they were irritable, passionate little creatures, these lovely things, and quarrelled with each other and fought like very wasps! Enormous butterflies, with wings of deep metallic blue, shot past or hovered in the air like gleams of light; and green paroquets swooped from tree to tree and chattered joyfully over their morning meal. Well might they gaze with wonder, and smile too with extreme merriment, for monkeys stared at them from between the leaves with expressions of undisguised amazement, and bounded away shrieking and chattering in consternation, swinging from branch to branch with incredible speed, and not scrupling to use each other's tails to swing by when occasion offered. Some were big and red and ugly,--as ugly as you can possibly imagine, with blue faces and fiercely grinning teeth; others were delicately formed and sad of countenance, as if they were for ever bewailing the loss of near and dear relations, and could by no means come at consolation; and some were small and pretty, with faces no bigger than a halfpenny. As a general rule, it seemed to Barney, the smaller the monkey the longer the tail. Yes, well might they gaze and gaze again in surprise and in excessive admiration; and well might Barney O'Flannagan--under the circumstances, with such sights and sounds around him, and the delightful odours of myrtle trees arid orange blossoms and the Cape jessamine stealing up his nostrils--deem himself the tenant of another world, and evince his conviction of the fact in that memorable expression--"I've woked in paradise!" But Barney began to find "paradise" not quite so comfortable as it ought to be; for when he tried to get up he found his bones pained and stiff from sleeping in damp clothes; and moreover, his face was very much swelled, owing to the myriads of mosquitoes which had supped of it during the night. "Arrah, then, _won't_ ye be done!" he cried, angrily, giving his face a slap that killed at least two or three hundred of his tormentors. But thousands more attacked him instantly, and he soon found out,--what every one finds out sooner or later in hot climates,--that _patience_ is one of the best remedies for mosquito bites. He also discovered shortly afterwards that smoke is not a bad remedy, in connection with patience. "What are we to have for breakfast, Barney?" inquired Martin as he rose and yawned and stretched his limbs. "Help yersilf to what ye plase," said Barney, with a polite bow, waving his hand round him, as if the forest were his private property and Martin Rattler his honoured guest. "Well, I vote for oranges," said Martin, going towards a tree which was laden with ripe fruit. "An' I'll try plums, by way of variety," added his companion. In a few minutes several kinds of fruit and nuts were gathered and spread at the foot of the tree under which they had reposed. Then Barney proceeded to kindle a fire,--not that he had anything to cook, but he said it looked sociable-like, and the smoke would keep off the flies. The operation, however, was by no means easy. Everything had been soaked by the rain of the previous night, and a bit of dry grass could scarcely be found. At length he procured a little; and by rubbing it in the damp gunpowder which he had extracted from his pistol, and drying it in the sun, he formed a sort of tinder that caught fire after much persevering effort. Some of the fruits they found to be good,--others bad. The good they ate,--the bad they threw away. After their frugal fare they felt much refreshed, and then began to talk of what they should do. "We can't live here with parrots and monkeys, you know," said Martin; "we must try to find a village or town of some sort; or get to the coast, and then we shall perhaps meet with a ship." "True, lad," replied Barney, knitting his brows and looking extremely sagacious; "the fact is, since neither of us knows nothing about anything, or the way to any place, my advice is to walk straight for'ard till we come to something." "So think I," replied Martin; "therefore the sooner we set off the better." Having no luggage to pack and no arrangements of any kind to make, the two friends rose from their primitive breakfast-table, and walked away straight before them into the forest. All that day they travelled patiently forward, conversing pleasantly about the various and wonderful trees, and flowers, and animals they met with by the way; but no signs were discovered that indicated the presence of man. Towards evening, however, they fell upon a track or foot-path,--which discovery rejoiced them much; and here, before proceeding further, they sat down to eat a little more fruit,--which, indeed, they had done several times during the day. They walked nearly thirty miles that day without seeing a human being; but they met with many strange and beautiful birds and beasts,--some of which were of so fierce an aspect that they would have been very glad to have had guns to defend themselves with. Fortunately, however, all the animals seemed to be much more afraid of them than they were of the animals; so they travelled in safety. Several times during the course of the day they saw snakes and serpents, which glided away into the jungle on their approach, and could not be overtaken, although Barney made repeated darts at them, intending to attack them with his cutlass; which assaults always proved fruitless. Once they were charged by a herd of peccaries,--a species of pig or wild hog,--from which they escaped by jumping actively to one side; but the peccaries turned and rushed at them again, and it was only by springing up the branches of a neighbouring tree that they escaped their fury. These peccaries are the fiercest and most dauntless animals in the forests of Brazil. They do not know what fear is,--they will rush in the face of anything; and, unlike all other animals, are quite indifferent to the report of fire-arms. Their bodies are covered with long bristles, resembling very much the quills of the porcupine. As the evening drew on, the birds and beasts and the innumerable insects, that had kept up a perpetual noise during the day, retired to rest; and then the nocturnal animals began to creep out of their holes and go about. Huge vampire-bats, one of which had given Barney such a fright the night before, flew silently past them; and the wild howlings commenced again. They now discovered that one of the most dismal of the howls proceeded from a species of monkey: at which discovery Martin laughed very much, and rallied his companion on being so easily frightened; but Barney gladly joined in the laugh against himself, for, to say truth, he felt quite relieved and light-hearted at discovering that his ghosts were converted into bats and monkeys! There was one roar, however, which, when they heard it ever and anon, gave them considerable uneasiness. "D'ye think there's lions in them parts?" inquired Barney, glancing with an expression of regret at his empty pistol, and laying his hand on the hilt of his cutlass. "I think not," replied Martin, in a low tone of voice. "I have read in my school geography that there are tigers of some sort,--jaguars, or ounces, I think they are called,--but there are no--" Martin's speech was cut short by a terrific roar, which rang through the woods, and the next instant a magnificent jaguar, or South American tiger, bounded on to the track a few yards in advance, and, wheeling round, glared fiercely at the travellers. It seemed, in the uncertain light, as if his eyes were two balls of living fire. Though not so large as the royal Bengal tiger of India, this animal was nevertheless of immense size, and had a very ferocious aspect. His roar was so sudden and awful, and his appearance so unexpected, that the blood was sent thrilling back into the hearts of the travellers, who stood rooted to the spot, absolutely unable to move. This was the first large animal of the cat kind that either of them had seen in all the terrible majesty of its wild condition; and, for the first time, Martin and his friend felt that awful sensation of dread that will assail even the bravest heart when a new species of imminent danger is suddenly presented. It is said that no animal can withstand the steady gaze of a human eye; and many travellers in wild countries have proved this to be a fact. On the present occasion our adventurers stared long and steadily at the wild creature before them, from a mingled feeling of surprise and horror. In a few seconds the jaguar showed signs of being disconcerted. It turned its head from side to side slightly, and dropped its eyes, as if to avoid their gaze. Then turning slowly and stealthily round, it sprang with a magnificent bound into the jungle, and disappeared. Both Martin and Barney heaved a deep sigh of relief. "What a mercy it did not attack us!" said the former, wiping the cold perspiration from his forehead. "We should have had no chance against such a terrible beast with a cutlass, I fear." "True, boy, true," replied his friend, gravely; "it would have been little better than a penknife in the ribs o' sich a cratur. I niver thought that it was in the power o' man or baste to put me in sich a fright; but the longer we live we learn, boy." Barney's disposition to make light of everything was thoroughly subdued by this incident, and he felt none of his usual inclination to regard all that he saw in the Brazilian forests with a comical eye. The danger they had escaped was too real and terrible, and their almost unarmed condition too serious, to be lightly esteemed. For the next hour or two he continued to walk by Martin's side either in total silence, or in earnest, grave conversation; but by degrees these feelings wore off, and his buoyant spirits gradually returned. The country over which they had passed during the day was of a mingled character. At one time they traversed a portion of dark forest, heavy and choked up with the dense and gigantic foliage peculiar to those countries that lie near to the equator; then they emerged from this upon what to their eyes seemed most beautiful scenery,--mingled plain and woodland,--where the excessive brilliancy and beauty of the tropical vegetation was brought to perfection by exposure to the light of the blue sky and the warm rays of the sun. In such lovely spots they travelled more slowly and rested more frequently, enjoying to the full the sight of the gaily-coloured birds and insects that fluttered busily around them, and the delicious perfume of the flowers that decked the ground and clambered up the trees. At other times they came to plains, or _campos_, as they are termed, where there were no trees at all, and few shrubs, and where the grass was burned brown and dry by the sun. Over such they hurried as quickly as they could; and fortunately, where they chanced to travel, such places were neither numerous nor extensive, although in some districts of Brazil there are campos hundreds of miles in extent. A small stream meandered through the forest, and enabled them to refresh themselves frequently; which was very fortunate, for the heat, especially towards noon, became extremely intense, and they could not have existed without water. So great, indeed, was the heat about mid-day, that, by mutual consent, they resolved to seek the cool shade of a spreading tree, and try to sleep if possible. At this time they learned, to their surprise, that all animated nature did likewise, and sought repose at noon. God had implanted in the breast of every bird and insect in that mighty forest an instinct which taught it to rest and find refreshment during the excessive heat of mid-day; so that, during the space of two or three hours, not a thing with life was seen, and not a sound was heard. Even the troublesome mosquitoes, so active at all other times, day and night, were silent now. The change was very great and striking, and difficult for those who have not observed it to comprehend. All the forenoon, screams, and cries, and croaks, and grunts, and whistles, ring out through the woods incessantly; while, if you listen attentively, you hear the low, deep, and never-ending buzz and hum of millions upon millions of insects, that dance in the air and creep on every leaf and blade upon the ground. About noon all this is hushed. The hot rays of the sun beat perpendicularly down upon what seems a vast untenanted solitude, and not a single chirp breaks the death-like stillness of the great forest, with the solitary exception of the metallic note of the uruponga, or bell-bird, which seems to mount guard when all the rest of the world has gone to sleep. As the afternoon approaches they all wake up, refreshed by their siesta, active and lively as fairies, and ready for another spell of work and another deep-toned noisy chorus. The country through which our adventurers travelled, as evening approached, became gradually more hilly, and their march consequently more toilsome. They were just about to give up all thought of proceeding further that night, when, on reaching the summit of a little hill, they beheld a bright red light shining at a considerable distance in the valley beyond. With light steps and hearts full of hope they descended the hill and hastened towards it. CHAPTER IX THE HERMIT It was now quite dark, and the whole country seemed alive with fire-flies. These beautiful little insects sat upon the trees and bushes, spangling them as with living diamonds, and flew about in the air like little wandering stars. Barney had seen them before, in the West Indies, but Martin had only heard of them; and his delight and amazement at their extreme brilliancy were very great. Although he was naturally anxious to reach the light in the valley, in the hope that it might prove to proceed from some cottage, he could not refrain from stopping once or twice to catch these lovely creatures; and when he succeeded in doing so, and placed one on the palm of his hand, the light emitted from it was more brilliant than that of a small taper, and much more beautiful, for it was of a bluish colour, and very intense,--more like the light reflected from a jewel than a flame of fire. He could have read a book by means of it quite easily. In half an hour they drew near to the light, which they found proceeded from the window of a small cottage or hut. "Whist, Martin," whispered Barney, as they approached the hut on tiptoe; "there may be savages into it, an' there's no sayin' what sort o' craturs they are in them parts." When about fifty yards distant, they could see through the open window into the room where the light burned; and what they beheld there was well calculated to fill them with surprise. On a rude wooden chair, at a rough unpainted table, a man was seated, with his head resting on his hand, and his eyes fixed intently on a book. Owing to the distance, and the few leaves and branches that intervened between them and the hut, they could not observe him very distinctly. But it was evident that he was a large and strong man, a little past the prime of life. The hair of his head and beard was black and bushy, and streaked with silver-grey. His face was massive, and of a dark olive complexion, with an expression of sadness on it, strangely mingled with stern gravity. His broad shoulders--and, indeed, his whole person--were enveloped in the coarse folds of a long gown or robe, gathered in at the waist with a broad band of leather. The room in which he sat--or rather the hut, for there was but one room in it--was destitute of all furniture, except that already mentioned, besides one or two roughly-formed stools; but the walls were completely covered with strange-looking implements and trophies of the chase; and in a corner lay a confused pile of books, some of which were, from their appearance, extremely ancient. All this the benighted wanderers observed as they continued to approach cautiously on tiptoe. So cautious did they become as they drew near, and came within the light of the lamp, that Barney at length attempted to step over his own shadow for fear of making a noise; and, in doing so, tripped and fell with considerable noise through a hedge of prickly shrubs that encircled the strange man's dwelling. The hermit--for such he appeared to be--betrayed no symptom of surprise or fear at the sudden sound; but, rising quietly though quickly from his seat, took down a musket that hung on the wall, and, stepping to the open door, demanded sternly, in the Portuguese language, "Who goes there?" "Arrah, then, if ye'd help a fellow-cratur to rise, instead o' talkin' gibberish like that, it would be more to your credit!" exclaimed the Irishman, as he scrambled to his feet and presented himself, along with Martin, at the hermit's door. A peculiar smile lighted up the man's features as he retreated into the hut, and invited the strangers to enter. "Come in," said he, in good English, although with a slightly foreign accent. "I am most happy to see you. You are English. I know the voice and the language very well. Lived among them once, but long time past now--very long. Have not seen one of you for many years." With many such speeches, and much expression of good-will, the hospitable hermit invited Martin and his companion to sit down at his rude table, on which he quickly spread several plates of ripe and dried fruits, a few cakes, and a jar of excellent honey, with a stone bottle of cool water. When they were busily engaged with these viands, he began to make inquiries as to where his visitors had come from. "We've comed from the sae," replied Barney, as he devoted himself to a magnificent pineapple. "Och but yer victuals is mighty good, Mister--what's yer name?--'ticklerly to them that's a'most starvin'." "The fact is," said Martin, "our ship has been taken by pirates, and we two swam ashore, and lost ourselves in the woods; and now we have stumbled upon your dwelling, friend, which is a great comfort." "Hoigh, an' that's true," sighed Barney, as he finished the last slice of the pineapple. They now explained to their entertainer all the circumstances attending the capture of the _Firefly_, and their subsequent adventures and vicissitudes in the forest; all of which Barney detailed in a most graphic manner, and to all of which their new friend listened with grave attention and unbroken silence. When they had concluded he said,-- "Very good. You have seen much in very short time. Perhaps you shall see more by-and-by. For the present you will go to rest, for you must be fatigued. I will _think_ to-night,--to-morrow I will _speak_" "An', if I may make so bould," said Barney, glancing with a somewhat rueful expression round the hard earthen floor of the hut, "where-abouts may I take the liberty of sleepin'?" The hermit replied by going to a corner, whence, from beneath a heap of rubbish, he dragged two hammocks, curiously wrought in a sort of light net-work. These he slung across the hut, at one end, from wall to wall, and, throwing a sheet or coverlet into each, he turned with a smile to his visitors,-- "Behold your beds! I wish you a very good sleep,--adios!" So saying, this strange individual sat down at the table, and was soon as deeply engaged with his large book as if he had suffered no interruption; while Martin and Barney, having gazed gravely and abstractedly at him for five minutes, turned and smiled to each other, jumped into their hammocks, and were soon buried in deep slumber. CHAPTER X AN ENEMY IN THE NIGHT--THE VAMPIRE BAT--THE HERMIT DISCOURSES ON STRANGE, AND CURIOUS, AND INTERESTING THINGS Next morning Martin Rattler awoke with a feeling of lightness in his head, and a sensation of extreme weakness pervading his entire frame. Turning his head round to the right he observed that a third hammock was slung across the further end of the hut; which was, no doubt, that in which the hermit had passed the night. But it was empty now. Martin did not require to turn his head to the other side to see if Barney O'Flannagan was there, for that worthy individual made his presence known, for a distance of at least sixty yards all round the outside of the hut, by means of his nose, which he was in the habit of using as a trumpet when asleep. It was as well that Martin did not require to look round; for he found, to his surprise, that he had scarcely strength to do so. While he was wondering in a dreamy sort of manner what could be the matter with him, the hermit entered the hut bearing a small deer upon his shoulders. Resting his gun in a corner of the room, he advanced to Martin's hammock. "My boy," he exclaimed, in surprise, "what is wrong with you?" "I'm sure I don't know," said Martin, faintly; "I think there is something wet about my feet." Turning up the sheet, he found that Martin's feet were covered with blood! For a few seconds the hermit growled forth a number of apparently very pithy sentences in Portuguese, in a deep guttural voice, which awakened Barney with a start. Springing from his hammock with a bound like a tiger, he exclaimed, "Och! ye blackguard, would ye murther the boy before me very nose?" and seizing the hermit in his powerful grasp, he would infallibly have hurled him, big though he was, through his own doorway, had not Martin cried out, "Stop, stop, Barney. It's all right; he's done nothing:" on hearing which the Irishman loosened his hold, and turned towards his friend. "What's the matter, honey?" said Barney, in a soothing tone of voice, as a mother might address her infant son. The hermit, whose composure had not been in the slightest degree disturbed, here said-- "The poor child has been sucked by a vampire bat." "Ochone!" groaned Barney, sitting down on the table, and looking at his host with a face of horror. "Yes, these are the worst animals in Brazil for sucking the blood of men and cattle. I find it quite impossible to keep my mules alive, they are so bad." Barney groaned. "They have killed two cows which I tried to keep here, and one young horse--a foal you call him, I think; and now I have no cattle remaining, they are so bad." Barney groaned again, and the hermit went on to enumerate the wicked deeds of the vampire bats, while he applied poultices of certain herbs to Martin's toe, in order to check the bleeding, and then bandaged it up; after which he sat down to relate to his visitors the manner in which the bat carries on its bloody operations. He explained, first of all, that the vampire bats are so large and ferocious that they often kill horses and cattle by sucking their blood out. Of course they cannot do this at one meal, but they attack the poor animals again and again, and the blood continues to flow from the wounds they make long afterwards, so that the creatures attacked soon grow weak and die. They attack men, too,--as Martin knew to his cost; and they usually fix upon the toes and other extremities. So gentle are they in their operations, that sleepers frequently do not feel the puncture, which they make, it is supposed, with the sharp hooked nail of their thumb; and the unconscious victim knows nothing of the enemy who has been draining his blood until he awakens, faint and exhausted, in the morning. Moreover, the hermit told them that these vampire bats have very sharp, carnivorous teeth, besides a tongue which is furnished with the curious organs by which they suck the life-blood of their fellow-creatures; that they have a peculiar, leaf-like, overhanging lip; and that he had a stuffed specimen of a bat that measured no less than two feet across the expanded wings, from tip to tip, "Och, the blood-thirsty spalpeen!" exclaimed Barney, as he rose and crossed the room to examine the bat in question, which was nailed against the wall. "Bad luck to them, they've ruined Martin intirely." "O no," remarked the hermit with a smile. "It will do the boy much good the loss of the blood; much good, and he will not be sick at all to-morrow." "I'm glad to hear you say so," said Martin, "for it would be a great bore to be obliged to lie here when I've so many things to see. In fact I feel better already, and if you will be so kind as to give me a little breakfast I shall be quite well," While Martin was speaking, the obliging hermit,--who, by the way, was now habited in a loose short hunting-coat of brown cotton,--spread a plentiful repast upon his table; to which, having assisted Martin to get out of his hammock, they all proceeded to do ample justice: for the travellers were very hungry after the fatigue of the previous day; and as for the hermit, he looked like a man whose appetite was always sharp set and whose food agreed with him. They had cold meat of several kinds, and a hot steak of venison just killed that morning, which the hermit cooked while his guests were engaged with the other viands. There was also excellent coffee, and superb cream, besides cakes made of a species of coarse flour or meal, fruits of various kinds, arid very fine honey. "Arrah! ye've the hoith o' livin' here!" cried Barney, smacking his lips as he held out his plate for another supply of a species of meat which resembled chicken in tenderness and flavour. "What sort o' bird or baste may that be, now, av' I may ask ye, Mister--what's yer name?" "My name is Carlos," replied the hermit, gravely; "and this is the flesh of the Armadillo." "Arma--what--o?" inquired Barney. "Arma_dillo_," repeated the hermit. "He is very good to eat, but very difficult to catch. He digs down so fast we cannot catch him, and must smoke him out of his hole." "Have you many cows?" inquired Martin, as he replenished his cup with coffee. "Cows?" echoed the hermit, "I have got no cows." "Where do you get such capital cream, then?" asked Martin in surprise. The hermit smiled. "Ah! my friends, that cream has come from a very curious cow. It is from a cow that grows in the ground." "Grows!" ejaculated his guests. "Yes, he grows. I will show him to you one day." The hermit's broad shoulders shook with a quiet internal laugh. "I will explain a little of that you behold on my table. "The coffee I get from the trees. There are plenty of them here. Much money is made in Brazil by the export of coffee,--very much. The cakes are made from the mandioca-root, which I grow near my house. The root is dried and ground into flour, which, under the general _name farina_, is used all over the country. It is almost the only food used by the Indians and Negroes." "Then there are Injins and Niggers here, are there?" inquired Barney. "Yes, a great many. Most of the Negroes are slaves; some of the Indians too; and the people who are descended from the Portuguese who came and took the country long ago, they are the masters.--Well, the honey I get in holes in the trees. There are different kinds of honey here; some of it is _sour_ honey. And the fruits and roots, the plantains, and bananas, and yams, and cocoa-nuts, and oranges, and plums, all grow in the forest, and much more besides, which you will see for yourselves if you stay long here." "It's a quare country, intirely," remarked Barney, as he wiped his mouth and heaved a sigh of contentment. Then, drawing his hand over his chin, he looked earnestly in the hermit's face, and, with a peculiar twinkle in his eye, said-- "I s'pose ye couldn't favour me with the lind of a raazor, could ye?" "No, my friend; I never use that foolish weapon." "Ah, well, as there's only monkeys and jaguars, and sich like to see me, it don't much signify; but my mustaches is gitin' mighty long, for I've been two weeks already without a shave." Martin laughed heartily at the grave, anxious expression of his comrade's face. "Never mind, Barney," he said, "a beard and moustache will improve you vastly. Besides, they will be a great protection against mosquitoes; for you are such a hairy monster, that when they grow nothing of your face will be exposed except your eyes and cheek-bones. And now," continued Martin, climbing into his hammock again and addressing the hermit, "since you won't allow me to go out a-hunting to-day, I would like very much if you would tell me something more about this strange country." "An' may be," suggested Barney, modestly, "ye won't object to tell us something about yersilf,--how you came for to live in this quare, solitary kind of a way." The hermit looked gravely from one to the other, and stroked his beard. Drawing his rude chair towards the door of the hut, he folded his arms, and crossed his legs, and gazed dreamily forth upon the rich landscape. Then, glancing again at his guests, he said, slowly: "Yes, I will do what you ask,--I will tell you my story." "An', if I might make so bould as to inquire," said Barney, with a deprecatory smile, while he drew a short black pipe from his pocket, "have ye got such a thing as 'baccy in them parts?" The hermit rose, and going to a small box which stood in a corner, returned with a quantity of cut tobacco in one hand, and a cigar not far short of a foot long in the other! In a few seconds the cigar was going in full force, like a factory chimney; and the short black pipe glowed like a miniature furnace, while its owner seated himself on a low stool, crossed his arms on his breast, leaned his back against the door-post, and smiled,--as only an Irishman can smile under such circumstances. The smoke soon formed a thick cloud, which effectually drove the mosquitoes out of the hut, and through which Martin, lying in his hammock, gazed out upon the sunlit orange and coffee trees, and tall palms with their rich festoons of creeping plants, and sweet-scented flowers, that clambered over and round the hut and peeped in at the open door and windows, while he listened to the hermit, who continued for at least ten minutes to murmur slowly, between the puffs of his cigar, "Yes, I will do it; I will tell you my story." CHAPTER XI THE HERMIT'S STORY "My ancestors," began the hermit, "were among the first to land upon Brazil, after the country was taken possession of in the name of the King of Portugal, in the year 1500. In the first year of the century, Vincent Yanez Pinçon, a companion of the famed Columbus, discovered Brazil; and in the next year, Pedro Alvarez Cabral, a Portuguese commander, took possession of it in the name of the King of Portugal. In 1503, Americus Vespucius discovered the Bay of All Saints, and took home a cargo of Brazil-wood, monkeys and parrots; but no permanent settlement was effected upon the shores of the new continent, and the rich treasures of this great country remained for some years longer buried and unknown to man,--for the wild Indians who lived here knew not their value. "It was on a dark and stormy night in the year 1510. A group of swarthy and naked savages encircled a small fire on the edge of the forest on the east coast of Brazil. The spot where their watchfire was kindled is now covered by the flourishing city of Bahia. At that time it was a wilderness. Before them stretched the noble bay which is now termed _Bahia de Todos Santos,_--All Saints' Bay. "The savages talked earnestly and with excited looks as they stood upon the shore, for the memory of the wondrous ships of the white men that had visited them a few years before was deeply engraven on their minds; and now, in the midst of the howling storm, another ship was seen approaching their land. It was a small vessel, shattered and tempest-tossed, that drove into the Bahia de Todos Santos on that stormy night. Long had it battled with the waves of the Atlantic, and the brave hearts that manned it had remained stanch to duty and strong in hope, remembering the recent glorious example of Columbus. But the storm was fierce and the bark was frail. The top-masts were broken and the sails rent; and worst of all, just as land hove in sight and cheered the drooping spirits of the crew, a tremendous wave dashed upon the ship's stern and carried away the rudder. "As they drove helplessly before the gale towards the shore, the naked savages crowded down upon the beach and gazed in awe and astonishment at the mysterious ship. A few of them had seen the vessels of Americus Vespucius and Cabral. The rumour of the white men and their floating castle had been wafted far and wide along the coast and into the interior of Brazil, and with breathless wonder the natives had listened to the strange account. But now the vision was before them in reality. On came the floating castle, the white foam dashing from her bows and the torn sails and ropes flying from her masts as she surged over the billows and loomed through the driving spray. "It was a grand sight to see that ship dashing straight towards the shore at fearful speed; and those who looked on seemed to be impressed with a vague feeling that she had power to spring upon the strand and continue her swift career through the forest, as she had hitherto cleft her passage through the sea. As she approached, the savages shrank back in fear. Suddenly her frame trembled with a mighty shock. A terrible cry was borne to land by the gale, and all her masts went overboard. A huge wave lifted the vessel on its crest and flung her further on the shore, where she remained firmly fixed, while the waves dashed in foam around her and soon began to break her up. Ere this happened, however, a rope was thrown ashore and fastened to a rock by the natives. By means of this the crew were saved. But it would have been well for these bold navigators of Portugal if they had perished in the stormy sea, for they were spared by the ocean only to be murdered by the wild savages on whose shore they had been cast. "All were slain save one,--Diego Alvarez Carreo, the captain of the ship. Before grasping the rope by which he reached the shore, he thrust several cartridges into his bosom and caught up a loaded musket. Wrapping the lock in several folds of cloth to keep it dry, he slid along the rope and gained the beach in safety. Here he was seized by the natives, and would no doubt have been barbarously slain with his unfortunate companions; but, being a very powerful man, he dashed aside the foremost, and, breaking through their ranks, rushed towards the wood. The fleet savages, however, overtook him in an instant, and were about to seize him when a young Indian woman interposed between them and their victim. This girl was the chiefs daughter, and respect for her rank induced them to hesitate for a moment; but in another instant the Portuguese captain was surrounded. In the scuffle that ensued his musket exploded, but fortunately wounded no one. Instantly the horrified savages fled in all directions leaving Carreo alone! "The captain was quick-witted. He knew that among hundreds of savages it was madness to attempt either to fight or fly, and the happy effect of the musket explosion induced him to adopt another course of action. He drew himself up proudly to his full height, and beckoned the savages to return. This they did, casting many glances of fear at the dreaded musket. Going up to one who, from his bearing and ornaments, seemed to be a chief, Carreo laid his musket on the sand, and, stepping over it so that he left it behind him, held out his hand frankly to the chief. The savage looked at him in surprise, and suffered the captain to take his hand and pat it; after which he began to examine the stranger's dress with much curiosity. Seeing that their chief was friendly to the white man, the other savages hurried him to the campfire, where he soon stripped off his wet clothes and ate the food which they put before him. Thus Diego Carreo was spared. "Next day, the Indians lined the beach and collected the stores of the wrecked vessel. While thus employed, Carreo shot a gull with his musket; which so astonished the natives that they regarded him with fear and respect amounting almost to veneration. A considerable quantity of powder and shot was saved from the wreck, so that the captain was enabled to keep his ascendency over the ignorant natives; and at length he became a man of great importance in the tribe, and married the daughter of the chief. He went by the name of _Caramuru_,--'The man of fire.' This man founded the city of Bahia. "The coasts of Brazil began soon after this to be settled in various places by the Portuguese; who, however, were much annoyed by the Spaniards, who claimed a share in the rich prize. The Dutch and English also formed settlements; but the Portuguese still retained possession of the country, and continued to prosper. Meanwhile Diego Caramuru, 'the man of fire,' had a son who in course of time became a prosperous settler; and as his sons grew up he trained them to become cultivators of the soil and traders in the valuable products of the New World. He took a piece of ground, far removed from the spot where his father had been cast ashore, and a short distance in the interior of the country. Here the eldest sons of the family dwelt, laboured, and died, for many generations. "In the year 1808 Portugal was invaded by Napoleon Buonaparte, and the sovereign of that kingdom, John VI., fled to Brazil, accompanied by his court and a large body of emigrants. The king was warmly received by the Brazilians, and immediately set about improving the condition of the country. He threw open its ports to all nations; freed the land from all marks of colonial dependence; established newspapers; made the press free, and did everything to promote education and industry. But although much was done, the good was greatly hindered, especially in the inland districts, by the vice, ignorance, and stupidity of many of the Roman Catholic priests, who totally neglected their duties,--which, indeed, they were incompetent to perform,--and in many instances, were no better than miscreants in disguise, teaching the people vice instead of virtue. "Foremost among the priests who opposed advancement was a descendant of the 'man of fire,' Padre Caramuru dwelt for some years with an English merchant in the capital of Brazil, Rio de Janeiro. The padre was not an immoral man, but he was a fiery bigot, and fiercely opposed everything that tended to advance the education of the people. This he did, firmly believing that education was dangerous to the lower orders. His church taught him, too, that the Bible was a dangerous book; and whenever a copy fell into his hands he immediately destroyed it. During the disturbances that took place after the time of King John's departure for Portugal, and just before Brazil became an independent state under his son, the Emperor Don Pedro I., Padre Caramuru lost a beloved and only brother. He was quite a youth, and had joined the army only a few months previously, at the desire of his elder brother the padre, who was so overwhelmed by the blow that he ceased to take an active part in church or political affairs and buried himself in a retired part of his native valley. Here he sought relief and comfort in the study of the beauties of Nature by which he was surrounded, but found none. Then he turned his mind to the doctrines of his church, and took pleasure in verifying them from the Bible. But as he proceeded he found, to his great surprise, that these doctrines were, many of them, not to be found there; nay, further, that some of them were absolutely contradicted by the word of God. "Padre Caramuru had been in the habit of commanding his people not to listen to the Bible when any one offered to read it; but in the Bible itself he found these words, 'Search the Scriptures.' He had been in the habit of praying to the Virgin Mary, and begging her to intercede with God for him; but in the Bible he found these words: 'There is one mediator between God and man, the man Christ Jesus.' These things perplexed him much. But while he was thus searching, as it were, for silver, the ignorant padre found gold! He found that he did not require to _work_ for salvation, but to _ask_ for it. He discovered that the atonement had been made once for all by Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God; and he read with a thrilling heart these words: 'God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' "Long and earnestly did the padre ponder these words and pray over them; and gradually the Holy Spirit enlightened his mind, and he saw how hateful that system was which could forbid or discourage the reading of the blessed word of God. He soon resolved to forsake the priesthood. But when he had done so, he knew not what to turn his hand to. He had no one like-minded to consult with, and he felt that it was wrong to eat the bread of idleness. Being thus uncertain what to do, he resolved in the meantime to carry goods into the interior of the country, and offer them for sale. The land round his dwelling and his own gun would supply him with food; and for the rest, he would spend his time in the study of the Bible, and seek for more light and direction from God. "Such," continued the hermit, "is a slight sketch of the history of my country and of myself." "Yourself?" exclaimed Martin. "Yes. I am the Padre Caramuru, or rather I _was_. I am Padre no longer, but Senhor Carlos Caramuru, a merchant. Yet I know not what to do. When I look round upon my country, and see how they know not the precious word of God, my heart burns in me, and I sometimes think that it is my duty to go forth and preach." "No doubt ye are right," said Barney. "I've always bin of opinion that when a man feels very strong in his heart on any partic'lar subject, it's a sure sign that the Almighty intends him to have something more to do with that subject than other men who don't feel about it at all." The hermit remained silent for a few minutes. "I think you are right, friend," he said; "but I am very ignorant yet. I have no one to explain difficulties to me; and I fear to go about preaching, lest I should preach what is not true. I will study yet for a time, and pray. After that, perhaps, I may go forth." "But you have told us nothing yet about the trade of the country," said Martin, "or its size, or anything of that sort." "I will soon tell you of that when I have lighted another cigar. This one does not draw well. Have you got a full pipe still, my friend?" "All right, Mr. Carrymooroo," replied Barney, knocking out the ashes. "I'll jist load wance more, and then,--fire away." In a few minutes the big cigar and short pipe were in full play, and the hermit continued:-- "This country is very large and very rich, but it is not well worked. The people are lazy, many of them, and have not much enterprise. Much is done, no doubt; but very much more _might_ be done. "The empire of Brazil occupies nearly one-half of the whole continent of South America. It is 2600 miles long, and 2500 miles broad; which, as you know perhaps, is a little larger than all Europe. The surface of the country is beautiful and varied. The hilly regions are very wild, although none of the mountains are very high, and the woods are magnificent; but a great part of the land consists of vast grassy plains, which are called llanos, or campos, or silvas. The campos along the banks of the River Amazon are equal to six times the size of France; and there is one great plain which lies between the Sierra Ibiapaba and the River Tocantins which is 600 miles long by 400 miles broad. There are very few lakes in Brazil, and only one worth speaking of--the Lagoa dos Platos--which is 150 miles long. But our rivers are the finest in the whole world, being so long, and wide, and deep, and free from falls, that they afford splendid communication with the interior of the land. But, alas! there are few ships on these rivers yet, very few. The rivers in the north part of Brazil are so numerous and interlaced that they are much like the veins in the human body; and the great River Amazon and a few of its chief tributaries resemble the arteries. "Then as to our produce," continued the hermit, "who can tell it all? We export sugar, and coffee, and cotton, and gold, silver, lead, zinc, quicksilver, and amethysts, and we have diamond mines--" "Di'mond mines!" echoed Barney; "och but I would like for to see them. Sure they would sparkle most beautiful. Are they far off, Mr. Carrymooroo?" "Yes, very far off. Then we export dye-woods, and cabinet-woods, and drugs, and gums, and hides,--a great many hides, for the campos are full of wild cattle, and men hunt them on horseback, and catch them with a long rope called the _lasso_." "How I should like to have a gallop over these great plains," murmured Martin. "Then we have," continued the hermit, "rice, tapioca, cocoa, maize, wheat, mandioca, beans, bananas, pepper, cinnamon, oranges, figs, ginger, pineapples, yams, lemons, mangoes, and many other fruits and vegetables. The mandioca you have eaten in the shape of farina. It is very good food; one acre gives as much nutriment as six acres of wheat. "Of the trees you have seen something. There are thousands of kinds, and most magnificent. Some of them are more than thirty feet round about. There are two hundred different kinds of palms, and so thick stand the giant trees in many places, with creeping plants growing between, that it is not possible for man to cut his way through the forests in some parts. Language cannot describe the grandeur and glory of the Brazilian forests. "We have numbers of wild horses, and hogs, and goats; and in the woods are tiger-cats, jaguars, tapirs, hyenas, sloths, porcupines, and--but you have seen many things already. If you live you will see more. I need not tell you of these things; very soon I will show you some. "The population of my country consists of the descendants of Portuguese settlers, native Indians, and Negroes. Of the latter, some are free, some slaves. The Indians go about nearly naked. Most of them are in a savage state: they paint their skins, and wear gaudy ornaments. The religion of the country is Roman Catholic, but all religions are tolerated; and I have much hope for the future of Brazil, in spite of the priests." "And do ye git much out o' the di'mond mines?" inquired Barney, whose mind was running on this subject. "O yes, a great deal. Every year many are got, and Government gets one-fifth of the value of all the gold and diamonds found in the country. One diamond was found a short time ago which was worth £40,000." "Ye don't say so!" exclaimed Barney in great surprise, as he blew an immense cloud of smoke from his lips. "Now, that's extror'nary. Why don't everybody go to the mines and dig up their fortin at wance?" "Because men cannot _eat_ diamonds," replied the hermit gravely. "Troth, I niver thought o' that; ye're right." Martin laughed heartily as he lay in his hammock and watched his friend's expression while pondering this weighty subject. "Moreover," resumed the hermit, "you will be surprised to hear that diamond and gold finding is not the most profitable employment in this country. "The man who cultivates the ground is better off than anybody. It is a fact, a very great fact, a fact that you should get firmly fixed in your memory--that in less than _two years_ the exports of sugar and coffee amounted to more than the value of all the diamonds found in _eighty_ years. Yes, that is true. But the people of Brazil are not well off. They have everything that is necessary to make a great nation; but we are not a great nation, far from it." The hermit sighed deeply as he ceased speaking, and fell into an abstracted frame of mind. "It's a great country intirely," said Barney, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and placing that much-loved implement carefully in his pocket; "a great country, but there's a tremendous big screw loose somewhere." "It seems curious to me," said Martin, in a ruminating tone of voice, "that people should not get on better in a country in which there is everything that man can desire to make him rich and happy. I wonder what it wants; perhaps it's too hot, and the people want energy of character." "Want energy!" shouted the hermit, leaping from his seat, and regarding his guests for a few moments with a stern expression of countenance; then, stretching forth his hand, he continued, in an excited tone: "Brazil does not want energy; it has only one want,--it wants the Bible! When a country is sunk down in superstition and ignorance and moral depravity, so that the people know not right from wrong, there is only one cure for her,--the Bible. Religion here is a mockery and a shame; such as, if it were better known, would make the heathen laugh in scorn. The priests are a curse to the land, not a blessing. Perhaps they are better in other lands,--I know not; but well I know they are many of them false and wicked here. No truth is taught to the people,--no Bible is read in their ears; religion is not taught,--even morality is not taught; men follow the devices and desires of their own hearts, and there is no voice raised to say, 'You are doing wrong.' My country is sunk very low; and she cannot hope to rise, for the word of her Maker is not in her hand. True, there are a few, a very few Bibles in the great cities; but that is all: that cannot save her hundreds of towns and villages. Thousands of her people are slaves in body,--all, all are slaves in soul; and yet you ask me what she wants. Ha! she wants _truth_,--she wants to be purged of falsehood. She has bones and muscles, and arteries and veins,--everything to make a strong and healthy nation; but she wants blood,--she has no vital stream; yes, Brazil, my country, wants the Bible!" CHAPTER XII A HUNTING EXPEDITION, IN WHICH ARE SEEN STONES THAT CAN RUN, AND COWS THAT REQUIRE NO FOOD--BESIDES A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER WITH A JAGUAR, AND OTHER STRANGE THINGS For many weeks Martin Rattler and his friend Barney O'Flannagan continued to dwell with the hermit in his forest-home, enjoying his entertaining and instructive discourse, and joining with him in the hunting expeditions which he undertook for the purpose of procuring fresh food for his table. In these rambles they made constant discoveries of something new and surprising, both in reference to the vegetables and animals of that extraordinary region of the earth. They also had many adventures,--some amusing and some terrible,--which we cannot enlarge on here, for they would fill ten volumes such as this, were they to be all recorded in detail. One day the hermit roused them earlier than usual and told them to get ready, as he intended to go a considerable distance that day, and he wished to reach a particular spot before the heat of noon. So Martin and Barney despatched breakfast in as short a time as possible, and the hermit read them a chapter out of his large and well-thumbed Bible, after which they equipped themselves for the chase. When Martin and his friend escaped from the pirates and landed on the coast of Brazil, they were clothed in sailor-like costume, namely, white duck trousers, coloured flannel shirts, blue jackets, round straw hats, and strong shoes. This costume was not very suitable for the warm climate in which they now found themselves, so their hospitable friend the hermit gave them two loose light cotton coats or jackets, of a blue colour, and broad brimmed straw hats similar to his own. He also gave them two curious garments called _ponchos_. The poncho serves the purpose of cloak and blanket. It is simply a square dark-coloured blanket with a hole in the middle of it, through which the head is thrust in rainy weather, and the garment hangs down all round. At night the poncho is useful as a covering. The hermit wore a loose open hunting coat, and underneath it a girdle, in which was a long sharp knife and a brace of pistols. His trousers were of blue-striped cotton. He usually carried a double-barrelled gun over his shoulder, and a powder-horn and bullet-bag were slung round his neck. Barney now procured from this hospitable man a supply of powder and shot for his large brass-mounted cavalry pistol. The hermit also made him a present of a long hunting-knife; and he gave one of a smaller size to Martin. As Martin had no weapon, the hermit manufactured for him a stout bow and quiver full of arrows; with which, after some practice, he became reasonably expert. Thus armed they sallied forth, and, following the foot-path that conducted from the door of the hut to the brow of the hill opposite, they were soon buried in the shades of the great forest. On this particular morning Barney observed that the hermit carried with him a stout spear, which he was not usually in the habit of doing. Being of an inquisitive disposition, he inquired the reason of his taking it. "I expect to find a jaguar to-day," answered the hermit. "I saw him yesterday go down into the small valley in which my cows grow. I will show you my cows soon, Martin." The hermit stopped short suddenly as he spoke, and pointed to a large bird, about fifty yards in advance of them. It seemed to bear a particular ill-will to a round rough stone which it pecked most energetically. After a few minutes the bird ceased its attacks and flew off; whereupon the rough stone opened itself out, and, running quickly away, burrowed into a little hole and disappeared! "That is an armadillo," remarked the hermit, continuing to lead the way through the woods; "it is covered with a coat of mail, as you see; and when enemies come it rolls itself up like a ball and lies like a hard stone till they go away. But it has four little legs, and with them it burrows so quickly that we cannot dig it up, and must smoke it out of its hole,--which I do often, because it is very good to eat, as you very well know." While they continued thus to walk through the woods conversing, Martin and Barney were again interested and amused by the immense number of brilliant parrots and toucans which swooped about, chattering from tree to tree, in large flocks. Sometimes thirty or forty of the latter would come screaming through the woods and settle upon the dark-green foliage of a coffee-tree; the effect of which was to give the tree the appearance of having been suddenly loaded with ripe golden fruit. Then the birds would catch sight of the travellers and fly screaming away, leaving the tree dark-green and fruitless as before. The little green parrots were the most outrageously noisy things that ever lived. Not content with screaming when they flew, they continued to shriek, apparently with delight, while they devoured the seeds of the gorgeous sun-flowers: and more than once Martin was prompted to scatter a handful of stones among them, as a hint to be less noisy; but this only made them worse,--like a bad baby, which, the more you tell it to be quiet, sets to work the more earnestly to increase and add to the vigour of its roaring. So Martin wisely let the parrots alone. They also startled, in passing through swampy places, several large blue herons, and long-legged cranes; and on many of the trees they observed the curious hanging nests of a bird, which the hermit told them was the large oriole. These nests hung in long strings from the tops of the palm-trees, and the birds were very actively employed moving about and chattering round their swinging villages: on seeing which Martin could not help remarking that it would astonish the colony not a little, if the top house were to give way and let all the mansions below come tumbling to the ground! They were disappointed, however, in not seeing monkeys gambolling among the trees, as they had expected. "Ah! my friends," said the hermit, "travellers in my country are very often disappointed. They come here expecting to see everything all at once; but although there are jaguars, and serpents, and bears, and monkeys, plenty of them, as your ears can tell you, these creatures keep out of the sight of man as much as possible. They won't come out of the woods and show themselves to please travellers! You have been very lucky since you arrived. Many travellers go about for months together and do not see half so much as you." "That's thrue," observed Barney, with his head a little on one side, and his eyes cast up in a sort of meditative frown, as if he were engaged in subjecting the hermit's remarks to a process of severe philosophical contemplation; "but I would be very well plazed av the wild bastes would show themselves now and then, for--" Martin Rattler burst into a loud laugh, for Barney's upward glance of contemplation was suddenly transformed into a gaze of intense astonishment, as he beheld the blue countenance of a large red monkey staring down upon him from amid the branches of an overhanging tree. The monkey's face expressed, if possible, greater surprise than that of the Irishman, and its mouth was partially open and thrust forward in a sort of threatening and inquiring manner. There seemed to be some bond of sympathy between the monkey and the man, for while _its_ mouth opened _his_ mouth opened too. "A-a-a-a-a--ah!" exclaimed the monkey. A facetious smile overspread Barney's face--"Och! be all manes; the same to you, kindly," said he, taking off his hat and making a low bow. The civility did not seem to be appreciated, however; for the monkey put on a most indignant frown and displayed a terrific double-row of long brilliant teeth and red gums, while it uttered a shriek of passion, twisted its long tail round a branch, and hurled itself, with a motion more like that of a bird than a beast, into the midst of the tree and disappeared, leaving Martin and Barney and the hermit each with a very broad grin on his countenance. The hunters now arrived at an open space where there were several large umbrageous trees, and as it was approaching mid-day they resolved to rest here for a couple of hours. Birds and insects were gradually becoming more and more silent, and soon afterwards the only sounds that broke upon their ears were the curious metallic notes of the urupongas, or bell-birds; which were so like to the rapid beating of a smith's hammer on an anvil, that it was with the greatest difficulty Barney was restrained from going off by himself in search of the "smiddy." Indeed he began to suspect that the worthy hermit was deceiving him, and was only fully convinced at last when he saw one of the birds. It was pure white, about the size of a thrush, and had a curious horn or fleshy tubercle upon its head. Having rested and refreshed themselves, they resumed their journey a short time before the noisy inhabitants of the woods recommenced their active afternoon operations. "Hallo! what's that?" cried Barney, starting back and drawing his pistol, while Martin hastily fitted an arrow to his bow. Not ten paces in front of them a frightful monster ran across their path, which seemed so hideous to Martin that his mind instantly reverted to the fable of St. George and the Dragon, and he almost expected to see fire issuing from its mouth. It was a huge lizard, with a body about three feet long, covered with bright scales. It had a long, thick tail. Its head was clumsy and misshapen, and altogether its aspect was very horrible. Before either Martin or Barney could fire, the hermit dropped his gun and spear, sprang quickly forward, caught the animal by the tail, and, putting forth his great strength to the utmost, swung it round his head and dashed its brains out against a tree. Barney and Martin could only stare with amazement. "This we call an iguana," said the hermit, as he piled a number of heavy stones on the carcase to preserve it from other animals. "It is very good to eat,--as good as chicken. This is not a very big one; they are sometimes five feet long, but almost quite harmless,--not venomous at all; and the only means he has to defend himself is the tail, which is very powerful, and gives a tremendously hard blow; but, as you see, if you catch him quick he can do nothing." "It's all very well for you, or even Barney here, to talk of catching him by the tail," said Martin, smiling; "but it would have puzzled me to swing that fellow round my head." "Arrah! ye're right, boy; I doubt if I could have done it mesilf," said Barney. "No fear," said the hermit, patting Martin's broad shoulders as he passed him and led the way; "you will be strong enough for that very soon,--as strong as me in a year or two." They now proceeded down into a somewhat dark and closely wooded valley, through which meandered a small rivulet. Here they had some difficulty in forcing their way through the dense underwood and broad leaves, most of which seemed very strange to Martin and his comrade, being so gigantic. There were also many kinds of ferns, which sometimes arched over their heads and completely shut out the view, while some of them crept up the trees like climbing-plants. Emerging from this, they came upon a more open space, in the midst of which grew a number of majestic trees. "There are my cows!" said the hermit, pausing as he spoke, and pointing towards a group of tall straight-stemmed trees that were the noblest in appearance they had yet seen. "Good cows they are," he continued, going up to one and making a notch in the bark with his axe: "they need no feeding or looking after, yet, as you see, they are always ready to give me cream." While he spoke, a thick white liquid flowed from the notch in the bark into a cocoa-nut drinking-cup, which the hermit always carried at his girdle. In a few minutes he presented his visitors with a draught of what they declared was most excellent cream. The masseranduba, or milk-tree, as it is called, is indeed one of the most wonderful of all the extraordinary trees in the forests of Brazil, and is one among many instances of the bountiful manner in which God provides for the wants of His creatures. No doubt this might with equal truth be said of all the gifts that a beneficent Creator bestows upon mankind; but when, as in the case of this milk-tree, the provision for our wants comes in a singular and striking manner, it seems fitting and appropriate that we should specially acknowledge the gift as coming from the hand of Him who giveth us all things liberally to enjoy. The milk-tree rises with a straight stem to an enormous height, and the fruit, about the size of a small apple, is full of rich and juicy pulp, and is very good. The timber, also, is hard, fine-grained, and durable,--particularly adapted for such works as are exposed to the weather. But its most remarkable peculiarity is the rich vegetable milk which flows in abundance from it when the bark is cut. This milk is so like to that of the cow in taste, that it can scarcely be distinguished from it, having only a very slight peculiarity of flavour, which is rather agreeable than otherwise. In tea and coffee it has the same effect as rich cream, and, indeed, is so thick that it requires to be diluted with water before being used. This milk is also employed as glue. It hardens when exposed to the air, and becomes very tough and slightly elastic, and is said to be quite as good and useful as ordinary glue. Having partaken of as much milk as they desired, they continued their journey a little further, when they came to a spur of the sierra, or mountain range, that cuts through that part of the country. Here the ground became more rugged, but still densely covered with wood, and rocks lay piled about in many places, forming several dark and gloomy caverns. The hermit now unslung his gun and advanced to the foot of a cliff, near the further end of which there were several caves, the mouths of which were partially closed with long ferns and masses of luxuriant vegetation. "Now we must be prepared," said the hermit, feeling the point of his spear. "I think there is a jaguar here. I saw him yesterday, and I am quite sure he will not go away till he tries to do some mischief. He little knows that there is nothing here to hurt but me." The hermit chuckled as he said this, and resting his gun against the cliff near the entrance to the first cave, which was a small one, he passed on to the next. Holding the spear in his left hand, he threw a stone violently into the cavern. Barney and Martin listened and gazed in silent expectation; but they only heard the hollow sound of the falling stone as it dashed against the sides of the cave; then all was still. "Och, then, he's off," cried Barney. "Hush," said Martin; "don't speak till he has tried the other cave." Without taking notice of their remarks, the hermit repeated the experiment at the mouths of two caverns further on, with the like result. "Maybe the spalpeen's hidin' in the little cave where ye laid down yer gun," suggested Barney, going towards the place as he spoke. "Och, then, come here, friend; sure it must be the mouth of a mine, for there's two o' the beautifulest di'monds I iver--" Barney's speech was cut short by a low peculiar sound, that seemed like the muttering of far-distant thunder. At the same moment the hermit pulled him violently back, and, placing himself in a firm attitude full in front of the cavern, held the point of the spear advanced before him. "Martin," he whispered, "shoot an arrow straight into that hole,--quick!" Martin obeyed, and the arrow whizzed through the aperture. Instantly there issued from it a savage and tremendous roar, so awful that it seemed as if the very mountain were bellowing and that the cavern were its mouth. But not a muscle of the hermit's figure moved. He stood like a bronze statue,--his head thrown back and his chest advanced, with one foot planted firmly before him and the spear pointing towards the cave. It seemed strange to Martin that a man should face what appeared to him unknown danger so boldly and calmly; but he did not consider that the hermit knew exactly the amount of danger before him. He knew precisely the manner in which it would assail him, and he knew just what was necessary to be done in order to avert it; and in the strength of that knowledge he stood unmoved, with a slight smile upon his tightly compressed lips. Scarcely had the roar ceased when it was repeated with tenfold fierceness; the bushes and fern leaves shook violently, and an enormous and beautifully spotted jaguar shot through the air as if it had been discharged from a cannon's mouth. The hermit's eye wavered not; he bent forward a hair's-breadth; the glittering spear-point touched the animal's breast, pierced through it, and came out at its side below the ribs. But the force of the bound was too great for the strength of the weapon: the handle snapped in twain, and the transfixed jaguar struck down the hermit and fell writhing upon him! In the excitement of the moment Barney drew his pistol from his belt and snapped it at the animal. It was well for the hermit at that moment that Barney had forgotten to prime his weapon; for, although he aimed at the jaguar's skull, there is no doubt whatever that he would have blown out the hermit's brains. Before he could make a second attempt, Martin sprang towards the gun which leaned against the cliff, and, running quickly up, he placed the muzzle close to the jaguar's ear and lodged a bullet in its brain. All this was done in a few seconds, and the hermit regained his legs just as the animal fell dead. Fortunately he was not hurt, having adroitly avoided the sharp claws of his enemy. "Arrah! Mister Hermit," said Barney, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, "it's yersilf that was well-nigh done for this time, an' no mistake. Did iver I see sich a spring! an' ye stud the charge jist like a stone wall,--niver moved a fut!" "Are you not hurt?" inquired Martin, somewhat anxiously; "your face is all covered with blood." "Yes, boy, but it is the blood of the jaguar; thanks to you for your quick hand, I am not hurt at all." The hermit washed his face in the neighbouring brook, and then proceeded to skin the jaguar, the carcase being worthless. After which they retraced their steps through the woods as quickly as possible, for the day was now far spent, and the twilight, as we have before remarked, is so short in tropical latitudes that travellers require to make sure of reaching the end of the day's journey towards evening, unless they choose to risk losing their way, and spending the night in the forest. They picked up the iguana in passing; and, on reaching the spot where the armadillo had burrowed, the hermit paused and kindled a small fire over the hole, by means of his flint, steel, and tinder-box. He thus contrived to render the creature's habitation so uncomfortable that it rushed hurriedly out; then, observing that its enemies were waiting, it doubled its head and tail together, and became the image of a rough stone. "Poor thing," said Martin, as the hermit killed it, "that reminds me of the ostrich of the desert, which, I'm told, when it is chased over the plains by men on horseback, and finds that it cannot escape, thrusts its head into a bush, and fancies, no doubt, that it cannot be seen, although its great body is visible a mile off!" "Martin," said Barney, "this arth is full o' quare craturs intirely." "That's true, Barney; and not the least 'quare' among them is an Irishman, a particular friend of mine." "Hould yer tongue, ye spalpeen, or I'll put yer head in the wather!" "I wish ye would, Barney, for it is terribly hot and mosquito-bitten, and you couldn't have suggested anything more delightful. But here we are once more at our forest home; and now for a magnificent cup of coffee and a mandioca-cake." "Not to mintion," added Barney, "a juicy steak of Igu Anny, an' a tender chop o' Army Dillo." CHAPTER XIII MARTIN AND BARNEY CONTINUE THEIR TRAVELS, AND SEE STRANGE THINGS--AMONG OTHERS, THEY SEE LIVING JEWELS--THEY GO TO SEE A FESTA--THEY FIGHT AND RUN AWAY Martin Rattler and Barney O'Flannagan soon after this began to entertain a desire to travel further into the interior of Brazil, and behold with their own eyes the wonders of which they had heard so much from their kind and hospitable friend the hermit. Martin was especially anxious to see the great river Amazon, about which he entertained the most romantic ideas,--as well he might, for there is not such another river in the world for size, and for the many curious things connected with its waters and its banks. Barney, too, was smitten with an intense desire to visit the diamond mines, which he fancied must be the most brilliant and beautiful sight in the whole world; and when Martin asked him what sort of place he expected to see, he used to say that he "pictur'd in his mind a great many deep and lofty caverns, windin' in an' out an' round about, with the sides and the floors and the ceilin's all of a blaze with glittering di'monds, an' top'zes, an' purls, an' what not; with Naiggurs be the dozen picking them up in handfuls. An' sure," he would add, "if we was wance there, we could fill our pockets in no time, an' then, hooray for ould Ireland! an' live like Imperors for ivermore." "But you forget, Barney, the account the hermit has given us of the mines. He evidently does not think that much is to be made of them." "Och! niver mind the hermit. There's always good luck attends Barney O'Flanngan; an' sure if nobody wint for fear they would git nothing, all the di'monds that iver came out o' the mines would be lyin' there still; an' didn't he tell us there was wan got only a short time since, worth I don't know how many thousand pounds? Arrah! if I don't go to the mines an' git one the size o' me head, I'll let ye rig me out with a long tail an' set me adrift in the woods for a blue-faced monkey." It so happened that this was the time when the hermit was in the habit of setting out on one of his trading trips; and when Martin told him of the desire that he and Barney entertained to visit the interior, he told them that he would be happy to take them along with him, provided they would act the part of muleteers. To this they readily agreed, being only too glad of an opportunity of making some return to their friend, who refused to accept any payment for his hospitality, although Barney earnestly begged of him to accept of his watch, which was the only object of value he was possessed of,--and that wasn't worth much, being made of pinch-beck, and utterly incapable of going! Moreover, he relieved their minds, by telling them that they would easily obtain employment as canoe-men on the Amazon, for men were very difficult to be got on that river to man the boats; and if they could stand the heat, and were willing to work like Indians, they might travel as far as they pleased. To which Martin replied, in his ignorance, that he thought he could stand anything; and Barney roundly asserted that, having been burnt to a cinder long ago in the "East Injies," it was impossible to overdo him any more. Under these circumstances, therefore, they started three weeks later to visit a populous town about twenty miles off, from which they set out on their travels, with a string of heavily laden mules, crossed the low countries or campos lying near to the sea, and began to ascend the sierras that divide this portion of Brazil from the country which is watered by the innumerable rivers that flow into the mighty Amazon. The cavalcade consisted of ten mules, each with two goodly sized bales of merchandise on its back. They were driven and attended to by Negroes, whose costume consisted of a light cotton shirt with short sleeves, and a pair of loose cotton drawers reaching down to the knee. With the exception of a straw hat this was all they wore. Martin, and Barney, and the hermit each bestrode a mule, with a small bale slung on either side; over the front of which their legs dangled comfortably. They had ponchos with them, strapped to the mules' backs, and each carried a clumsy umbrella to shield him from the fierce rays of the sun; but our two adventurers soon became so hardened and used to the climate, that they dispensed with the umbrellas altogether. The sierra, or mountain range, over which they passed was about thirty miles in extent, being in some places quite level and open, but in others somewhat rugged and covered with large but thinly scattered trees, the most common of which had fine dark-green glossy leaves, with spikes of bright yellow flowers terminating the branchlets. There were also many peculiar shrubs and flowering plants, of a sort that the travellers had never seen the like of in their native land. "How I wish," said Martin with a sigh, as he rode along beside his friend Barney, "that I knew something of botany." Barney opened his eyes in surprise. "Arrah! it's too much of a philosopher ye are already, lad. What good would it do ye to know all the hard names that men have given to the flowers? Sure I wance wint after the doctor o' a ship, to carry his box for him when he wint on what he called botanical excursions; and the poor cratur used to be pokin' his nose for iver down at the ground, an' peerin' through his green spectacles at miserable bits o' plants, an' niver seemin' to enjoy anything; when all the time _I_ was lookin' far fornint me, an' all around me, an' up at the sky, seem' ivery beautiful thing, and snifterin' up the sweet smells, an' in fact enjoyin' the whole univarse--an my pipe to boot--like an intelligent cratur." Barney looked round as he spoke, with a bland, self-satisfied expression of countenance, as if he felt that he had given a lucid definition of the very highest style of philosophy, and proved that he, Barney O'Flannagan, was possessed of the same in no common degree. "Well, Barney," rejoined Martin, "since you give me credit for being a philosopher, I must continue to talk philosophically. Your botanical friend took a _microscopic_ view of nature, while you took a _telescopic_ view of it. Each view is good, but both views are better; and I can't help wishing that I were more of a philosopher than I am, especially in reference to botany." "Humph!" ejaculated Barney, who seemed not quite to understand his young friend, "yer observations are remarkably thrue, and do ye great credit, for yer years. Ah! Mr. Hermit, good luck to ye! I'm glad to see that ye've got some consideration for man and baste. I'm quite ready for my victuals, and so's my mule; aren't you, avic?" Barney's latter remark was addressed to his patient charger, from whose back he sprang as he spoke, and slackened its girths. It was now approaching mid-day, and the hermit had pitched upon a large tree as a fitting spot for rest and refreshment. Water had been brought up the mountain in a huge calabash; but they did not require to use it, as they found a quantity in the hollow stump of a tree. There were several frogs swimming about in this miniature lake; but it was found to be fresh and clear and good notwithstanding. Towards evening they passed a string of mules going towards the town which they had just left. They were driven by Negroes, most of whom were slaves, and nearly quite naked. A Brazilian merchant, wearing a picturesque broad-brimmed, high-crowned straw-hat, a poncho, and brown leather boots armed at the heels with large sharp spurs, rode at the head, and gave the strangers a surly nod of his head as they passed. Soon after, they descended into the plain, and came to a halt at a sort of roadside public-house, where there was no sleeping accommodation, but where they found an open shed in which travellers placed their goods, and slung their hammocks, and attended to themselves. At the venda, close beside it, they purchased a large bag of farina, being short of that necessary article of food, and then set to work to prepare supper in the open air; while the merry Negroes, who seemed to enjoy life most thoroughly, laughed and sang as they removed the bales from the mules' backs and cooked their simple fare. Barney's cooking propensities now came into full play; and, with the variety of fruits and vegetables which the country afforded, he exercised his ingenuity, and produced several dishes of so savoury a nature that the hermit was compelled to open his eyes in amazement, and smack his lips with satisfaction, being quite unable to express his sentiments in words. While thus busily and agreeably employed, they were told by the owner of the venda that a festa was being celebrated at a village about a league distant from where they stood. "I should like to see it above all things," said Martin eagerly; "could we not go?" The hermit frowned. "Yes, we can go, but it will be to behold folly. Perhaps it will be a good lesson, from which much may be learned. We will go." "It's not a step that I'll budge till I've finished me pipe," said Barney, pulling away at that bosom friend with unexampled energy. "To smoke," he continued, winking gently with one eye, "is the first law of nature; jist give me ten minutes more, an' _I'm_ your man for anything," Being a fine evening, they proceeded on foot. In about an hour after setting out they approached the village, which lay in a beautiful valley below them. Sounds of mirth and music rose like a distant murmur on the air, and mingled with the songs of birds and insects. Then the sun went down, and in a few minutes it grew dark, while the brilliant fire-flies began their nocturnal gambols. Suddenly a bright flame burst over the village, and a flight of magnificent rockets shot up into the sky, and burst in a hundred bright and variously-coloured stars, which paled for a few seconds the lights of nature. But they vanished in a moment, and the clear stars shed abroad their undying lustre,--seeming, in their quiet, unfading beauty, a gentle satire on the short-lived and gairish productions of man. "Mighty purty, no doubt," exclaimed Barney. "Is this the Imperor's birth-day?" "No," replied the hermit, shaking his head; "that is the way in which the false priests amuse the people. The poor Indian and the Negro, and, indeed, the ignorant Brazilian, thinks it very grand; and the priests let them think it is pleasing to the God of heaven. Ah! here comes an old Negro; we will ask him." Several country people, in varied and picturesque costumes, hurried past the travellers towards the village; and as they came to a foot-path that joined the road, an old Negro approached them. Saluting him in the Portuguese language, the hermit said, "Friend, why do they let off rockets to-night?" "For Dios" (for God), answered the old man, looking and pointing upwards with grave solemnity. Without vouchsafing another word, he hurried away. "So they think," said the hermit, "and so they are taught by the priests. Music, noise, and fire-works please these ignorant people; and so the priests, who are mostly as ignorant as the people, tell them it is a good part of religious ceremony." Presently a band of young girls came laughing and singing along the road. They were dressed in pure white, their rich black tresses being uncovered and ornamented with flowers, and what appeared to be bright jewels. "Hallo!" exclaimed Martin, gazing after them; "what splendid jewels! surely these must be the daughters of very rich people." "Och, but they've been at the di'mond mines for certain! Did iver ye sae the like?" The girls did indeed seem to blaze with jewels, which not only sparkled in their hair, but fringed their white robes, and were worked round the edges of their slippers; so that a positive light shone around their persons, and fell upon the path like a halo, giving them more the appearance of lovely supernatural beings than the daughters of earth. "These jewels," said the hermit, "were never polished by the hands of men. They are fire-flies." "Fire-flies!" exclaimed Martin and Barney simultaneously. "Yes, they are living fire-flies. The girls very often catch them and tie them up in little bits of gauze, and put them, as you see, on their dresses and in their hair. To my mind they seem more beautiful far than diamonds. Sometimes the Indians, when they travel at night, fix fire-flies to their feet, and so have good lamps to their path." While Barney was expressing his surprise at this information, in very racy language, they entered the village; and, mingling with the throng of holiday-keepers, followed the stream towards the grand square. The church, which seemed to be a centre of attraction, and was brilliantly illuminated, was a neat wooden building with two towers. The streets of the village were broad and straggling; and so luxuriant was the vegetation, and so lazy the nature of the inhabitants, that it seemed as if the whole place were overgrown with gigantic weeds. Shrubs and creeping-plants grew in the neglected gardens, climbed over the palings, and straggled about the streets. Plants grew on the tops of the houses, ferns peeped out under the eaves; and, in short, on looking at it one had the feeling that ere long the whole place, people and all, must be smothered in superabundant vegetation! The houses were all painted white or yellow, with the doors and windows bright green,--just like grown-up toys; and sounds of revelry, with now and then the noise of disputation, issued from many of them. It is impossible to describe minutely the appearance of the motley crowd through which our adventurers elbowed their way, gazing curiously on the strange scene, which seemed to them more like a dream than reality, after their long sojourn in the solitudes of the forest. Processions headed by long-robed priests with flambeaux and crucifixes; young girls in light costumes and long white cotton shawls, selling sweet cakes of mandioca flour, and bonbons; swarthy Brazilians, some in white jackets, loose cotton drawers, and straw hats, others in brown leather boots and ponchos; Negroes in short white drawers and shirts, besides many without any clothing above their waists; Indians from the interior, copper-coloured, and some of them, fine-looking men, having only a strip of cloth about their loins;--such were the strange crew whose loud voices added to the whiz of rockets, squibs, crackers, guns, and musical instruments, created a deafening noise. In the midst of the village there was a tree of such enormous size that it quite took our travellers by surprise. It was a wild fig-tree, capable of sheltering a thousand persons under its shadow! Here a spirited fandango was going on, and they stood for some time watching the movements of the performers. Growing tired of this, they wandered about until they came to a less crowded part of the village, and entered a pleasant grove of trees skirting the road by which they had arrived. While sauntering here, enjoying the cool night breeze and delicious perfume of flowers, a woman uttered a piercing shriek near to them. It was instantly followed by loud voices in altercation. Ever ready to fly to the help of womankind, and, generally, to assist in a "row," Barney darted through the bushes, and came upon the scene of action just in time to see the white skirt of a female's dress disappear down an avenue, and to behold two Brazilians savagely writhing in mortal strife. At the moment he came up, one of the combatants had overcome the other, and a fierce smile of triumph crossed his swarthy countenance as he raised his gleaming knife. "Och, ye murtherer! would ye attimpt that same?" cried Barney, catching the man by the wrist and hurling him on his back. The other sprang up on being thus unexpectedly freed, and darted away, while the thwarted man uttered a yell of disappointment and sprang like a tiger at Barney's throat. A blow, however, from the Irishman's fist, quietly delivered, and straight between the eyes, stretched the Brazilian on the ground. At the same moment a party of men, attracted by the cries, burst through the bushes and surrounded the successful champion. Seeing their countryman apparently dead upon the ground, they rushed upon Barney in a body; but the first who came within reach was floored in an instant, and the others were checked in their career by the sudden appearance of the hermit and Martin Rattler. The noise of many voices, as of people hastening towards them, was heard at the same time. "We have no time to lose, do as I bid you," whispered the hermit. Whirling a heavy stick round his head the hermit shouted the single word "Charge!" and dashed forward. Barney and Martin obeyed. Three Brazilians went down like ninepins; the rest turned and fled precipitately. "Now, run for life!" cried the hermit, setting the example. Barney hesitated to follow what he deemed a cowardly flight, but the yells of the natives returning in strong force decided the question. He and Martin took to their heels with right good will, and in a few minutes the three friends were far on the road which led to their night bivouac; while the villagers, finding pursuit hopeless, returned to the village, and continued the wild orgies of their festa. CHAPTER XIV COGITATIONS AND CANOEING ON THE AMAZON--BARNEY'S EXPLOIT WITH AN ALLIGATOR--STUBBORN FACTS--REMARKABLE MODE OF SLEEPING It is pleasant, when the sun is bright, and the trees are green, and when flowering shrubs and sweet-smelling tropical trees scent the balmy atmosphere at eventide, to lie extended at full length in a canoe, and drop easily, silently, yet quickly, down the current of a noble river, under the grateful shadow of overhanging foliage; and to look lazily up at the bright blue sky which appears in broken patches among the verdant leaves; or down at the river in which that bright sky and those green leaves are reflected; or aside at the mud-banks where greedy vultures are searching for prey, and lazy alligators are basking in the sun; and to listen, the while, to the innumerable cries and notes of monkeys, toucans, parrots, orioles, bemtevi or fly-catchers, white-winged and blue chatterers, and all the myriads of birds and beasts that cause the forests of Brazil, above all other forests in the world probably, to resound with the gleeful songs of animated nature! It is pleasant to be thus situated, especially when a cool breeze blows the mosquitoes and other insects off the water, and relieves you for a time from their incessant attacks. Martin Rattler found it pleasant, as he thus lay on his back with his diminutive pet marmoset monkey seated on his breast quietly picking the kernel out of a nut. And Barney O'Flannagan found it pleasant, as he lay extended in the bow of the canoe with his head leaning over the edge gazing abstractedly at his own reflected visage, while his hands trailed through the cool water, and his young dog--a shaggy indescribable beast with a bluff nose and a bushy tail--watched him intently, as a mother might watch an only child in a dangerous situation. And the old sun-dried, and storm-battered, and time-shrivelled mulatto trader, in those canoe they were embarked and whose servants they had become, found it pleasant, as he sat there perched in his little montaria, like an exceedingly ancient and overgrown monkey, guiding it safely down the waters of the great river of the Tocantins. Some months have passed since we last parted from our daring adventurers. During that period they had crossed an immense tract of country, and reached the head waters of one of the many streams that carry the surplus moisture of central Brazil into the Amazon. Here they found an old trader, a free mulatto, whose crew of Indians had deserted him,--a common thing in that country,--and who gladly accepted their services, agreeing to pay them a small wage. And here they sorrowfully, and with many expressions of good-will, parted from their kind friend and entertainer the hermit. His last gift to Martin was the wonderfully small marmoset monkey before mentioned; and his parting souvenir to Barney was the bluff-nosed dog that watched over him with maternal care, and loved him next to itself;--as well it might; for if everybody had been of the same spirit as Barney O'Flannagan, the Act for the prevention of cruelty to animals would never have been passed in Britain. It was a peculiar and remarkable and altogether extraordinary monkey, that tiny marmoset. There was a sort of romance connected with it, too; for it had been the mother of an indescribably small infant-monkey, which was killed at the time of its mother's capture. It drank coffee, too, like--like a Frenchman; and would by no means retire to rest at night until it had had its usual allowance. Then it would fold its delicate little hands on its bosom, and close its eyes with an expression of solemn grief, as if, having had its last earthly wish gratified, it now resigned itself to--sleep. Martin loved it deeply, but his love was unrequited; for, strange to say, that small monkey lavished all its affection on Barney's shaggy dog. And the dog knew it, and was evidently proud of it, and made no objection whatever to the monkey sitting on his back, or his head, or his nose, or doing, in fact, whatever it chose whenever it pleased. When in the canoe, the marmoset played with Grampus, as the dog was named; and when on shore it invariably travelled on his back. Martin used to lie in the canoe half asleep and watch the little face of the marmoset, until, by some unaccountable mental process, he came to think of Aunt Dorothy Grumbit. Often did poor Martin dream of his dear old aunt, while sleeping under the shelter of these strange-leaved tropical trees and surrounded by the wild sounds of that distant land, until he dreamed himself back again in the old village. Then he would rush to the well-known school, and find all the boys there except Bob Croaker, who he felt certain must be away drowning the white kitten; and off he would go and catch him, sure enough, in the very act, and would give him the old thrashing over again, with all the additional vigour acquired during his rambles abroad thrown into it. Then he would run home in eager haste, and find old Mrs. Grumbit hard at the one thousand nine hundred and ninety-ninth pair of worsted socks; and fat Mr. Arthur Jollyboy sitting opposite to her, dressed in the old lady's bed-curtain chintz and high-crowned cap, with the white kitten in his arms and his spectacles on his chin, watching the process with intense interest, and cautioning her not to forget the "hitch" by any means; whereupon the kitten would fly up in his face, and Mr. Jollyboy would dash through the window with a loud howl, and Mrs. Grumbit's face would turn blue; and, uncoiling an enormous tail, she would bound shrieking after him in among the trees and disappear! Martin usually wakened at this point, and found the marmoset gazing in his face with an expression of sorrowful solemnity, and the old sun-dried trader staring vacantly before him as he steered his light craft down the broad stream of the Tocantins. The trader could speak little more English than sufficed to enable him to say "yes" and "no"; Barney could speak about as much Portuguese as enabled him to say "no" and "yes"; while Martin, by means of a slight smattering of that language, which he had picked up by ear during the last few months, mixed now and then with a word or two of Latin, and helped out by a clever use of the language of signs, succeeded in becoming the link of communication between the two. For many weeks they continued to descend the river; paddling energetically when the stream was sluggish, and resting comfortably when the stream was strong, and sometimes dragging their canoe over rocks and sand-banks to avoid rapids--passing many villages and plantations of the natives by the way--till at last they swept out upon the bosom of the great Amazon River. The very first thing they saw upon entering it was an enormous alligator, fully eighteen feet long, sound asleep on a mud-bank. "Och! put ashore, ye Naygur," cried Barney, seizing his pistol and rising up in the bow of the canoe. The old man complied quickly, for his spirit was high and easily roused. "Look out now, Martin, an' hould back the dog for fear he wakes him up," said Barney, in a hoarse whisper, as he stepped ashore and hastened stealthily towards the sleeping monster; catching up a handful of gravel as he went, and ramming it down the barrel of his pistol. It was a wonderful pistol that--an Irish one by birth, and absolutely incapable of bursting, else assuredly it would have gone, as its owner said, to "smithereens" long ago. Barney was not a good stalker. The alligator awoke and made for the water as fast as it could waddle. The Irishman rushed forward close up, as it plunged into the river, and discharged the compound of lead and stones right against the back of its head. He might as well have fired at the boiler of a steam-engine. The entire body of an alligator--back and belly, head and tail--is so completely covered with thick hard scales, that shot has no effect on it; and even a bullet cannot pierce its coat of mail, except in one or two vulnerable places. Nevertheless the shot had been fired so close to it that the animal was stunned, and rolled over on its back in the water. Seeing this, the old trader rushed in up to his chin, and caught it by the tail; but at the same moment the monster recovered, and, turning round, displayed its terrific rows of teeth. The old man uttered a dreadful roar, and struggled to the land as fast as he could; while the alligator, equally frightened, no doubt, gave a magnificent flourish and splash with its tail, and dived to the bottom of the river. The travellers returned disgusted to their canoe, and resumed their journey up the Amazon in silence. The vulnerable places about an alligator are the soft parts under the throat and the joints of the legs. This is well known to the jaguar, its mortal foe, which attacks it on land, and fastening on these soft parts, soon succeeds in killing it; but should the alligator get the jaguar into its powerful jaws or catch it in the water, it is certain to come off the conqueror. The Amazon, at its mouth, is more like a wide lake or arm of the sea than a river. Mention has been already made of this noble stream in the Hermit's Story; but it is worthy of more particular notice, for truly the Amazon is in many respects a wonderful river. It is the largest, though not quite the longest, in the world. Taking its rise among the rocky solitudes of the great mountain range of the Andes, it flows through nearly four thousand miles of the continent in an easterly direction, trending northward towards its mouth, and entering the Atlantic Ocean on the northern coast of South America, directly under the Equator. In its course it receives the waters of nearly all the great rivers of central South America, and thousands of smaller tributaries; so that when it reaches the ocean its volume of water is enormous. Some idea may be formed of its majestic size, from the fact that one of its tributaries--the Rio Negro--is fifteen hundred miles long, and varying in breadth; being a mile wide not far from its mouth, while higher up it spreads out in some places into sheets of ten miles in width. The Madeira, another tributary, is also a river of the largest size. The Amazon is divided into two branches at its mouth by the island of Marajo, the larger branch being ninety-six miles in width. About two thousand miles from its mouth it is upwards of a mile wide. So great is the force of this flood of water, that it flows into the sea unmixed for nearly two hundred miles. The tide affects the river to a distance of about four hundred miles inland; and it is navigable from the sea for a distance of three thousand miles inland. On the north bank of the Amazon there are ranges of low hills, partly bare and partly covered with thickets. These hills vary from three hundred to a thousand feet high, and extend about two hundred miles inland. Beyond them the shores of the river are low and flat for more than two thousand miles, till the spurs of the Andes are reached. During the rainy season the Amazon overflows all its banks, like the Nile, for many hundreds of miles; during which season, as Martin Rattler truly remarked, the natives may be appropriately called aquatic animals. Towns and villages, and plantations belonging to Brazilians, foreign settlers, and half-civilized Indians, occur at intervals throughout the whole course of the river; and a little trade in dye-woods, India-rubber, medicinal drugs, Brazil nuts, coffee, &c., is done; but nothing to what might and ought to be, and perhaps would be, were this splendid country in the hands of an enterprising people. But the Amazonians are lazy, and the greater part of the resources of one of the richest countries in the world is totally neglected. "Arrah!" said Barney, scratching his head and wrinkling his forehead intensely, as all that we have just written, and a great deal more, was told to him by a Scotch settler whom he found superintending a cattle estate and a saw-mill on the banks of the Amazon--"Faix, then, I'm jist as wise now as before ye begun to spake. I've no head for fagures whatsumdiver; an' to tell me that the strame is ninety-six miles long and three thousand miles broad at the mouth, and sich like calcerlations, is o' no manner o' use, and jist goes in at wan ear an' out at the tother." Whereupon the Scotch settler smiled and said, "Well, then, if ye can remember that the Amazon is longer than all Europe is broad; that it opens up to the ocean not less than ten thousand miles of the interior of Brazil; and that, _comparatively_ speaking, no use is made of it whatever, ye'll remember enough to think about with profit for some time to come." And Barney did think about it, and ponder it, and revolve it in his mind, for many days after, while he worked with Martin and the old trader at the paddles of their montaria. They found the work of canoeing easier than had been anticipated; for during the summer months the wind blows steadily up the river, and they were enabled to hoist their mat-sail, and bowl along before it against the stream. Hotels and inns there were none; for Brazil does not boast of many such conveniences, except in the chief towns; so they were obliged, in travelling, to make use of an empty hut or shed, when they chanced to stop at a village, and to cook their own victuals. More frequently, however, they preferred to encamp in the woods--slinging their hammocks between the stems of the trees, and making a fire sometimes, to frighten away the jaguars, which, although seldom seen, were often heard at night. They met large canoes and montarias occasionally coming down the stream, and saw them hauled up on shore, while their owners were cooking their breakfast in the woods; and once they came upon a solitary old Indian in a very curious position. They had entered a small stream in order to procure a few turtles' eggs, of which there were many in that place buried in the sand-banks. On turning a point where the stream was narrow and overhung with bushes and trees, they beheld a canoe tied to the stem of a tree, and a hammock slung between two branches overhanging the water. In this an old Indian lay extended, quite naked and fast asleep! The old fellow had grown weary with paddling his little canoe; and, finding the thicket along the river's banks so impenetrable that he could not land, he slung his hammock over the water, and thus quietly took his siesta. A flock of paroquets were screaming like little green demons just above him, and several alligators gave him a passing glance as they floundered heavily in the water below; but the red man cared not for such trifles. Almost involuntarily Martin began to hum the popular nursery rhyme-- "Hushy ba, baby, on the tree top; When the wind blows the cradle will rock." "Arrah, if he was only two foot lower, its thirty pair o' long teeth would be stuck into his flank in wan minute, or I'm no prophet," said Barney, with a broad grin. "Suppose we give him a touch with the paddle in passing," suggested Martin. At this moment Barney started up, shaded his eyes with his hand, and, after gazing for a few seconds at some object ahead of the canoe, he gave utterance to an exclamation of mingled surprise and consternation. CHAPTER XV THE GREAT ANACONDA'S DINNER--BARNEY GETS A FRIGHT--TURTLES' EGGS, OMELETS AND ALLIGATORS' TAILS--SENHOR ANTONIO'S PLANTATION--PREPARATIONS FOR A GREAT HUNT The object which called forth the cry from our Irish friend, as related in the last chapter, was neither more nor less than a serpent of dimensions more enormous than Barney had ever before conceived of. It was upwards of sixteen feet long, and nearly as thick as a man's body; but about the neck it was three times that size. This serpent was not, indeed, of the largest size. In South America they grow to nearly forty feet in length. But it was fabulously gigantic in the eyes of our adventurers, who had never seen a serpent of any kind before. "Oh!" cried Martin, eagerly, "that must be an anaconda. Is it not?" he inquired, turning to the old trader. "Yees; it dead," was the short reply. "So it is!" cried Martin, who, on a nearer approach, observed that the brute's body was cut in two just below the swelling at the neck. "Now, did ye iver," cried Barney with increased surprise, "see a sarpint with a cow's horns growin' out at its mouth? Put ashore, old boy; we must have a Vestigation o' this remarkable cratur." The canoe was soon aground, and in another minute the three travellers busily engaged in turning over the carcass of the huge reptile, which they found, to the amazement of Martin and Barney, had actually swallowed an ox whole, with the exception of the horns, which protruded from its mouth! After much questioning, in bad Portuguese, broken English, and remarkable signs, Martin succeeded in drawing from the old trader the information that anacondas of a large size are often in the habit of thus bolting horses and oxen at a mouthful. There is not the slightest exaggeration in this fact. Readers who are inclined to disbelieve it may refer to the works of Wallace and Gardner on Brazil,--authorities which cannot be doubted. The reptile commences by patiently watching until an unfortunate animal strays near to where it is lying, when it darts upon it, encircles it in its massive coils, and crushes it to death in an instant. Then it squeezes the body and broken bones into a shapeless mass; after which it licks the carcass all over, and covers it with a thick coating of saliva. Having thus prepared its mouthful, the andaconda begins at the tail and gradually engulfs its victim, while its elastic jaws, and throat, and stomach are distended sufficiently to let it in; after which it lies in a torpid state for many weeks, till the morsel is digested, when it is ready for another meal. A horse goes down entire, but a cow sticks at the horns, which the anaconda cannot swallow. They are allowed to protrude from its mouth until they decay and drop off. They were at a loss at first to account for the creature being killed; but the old trader suggested that it had been found in a torpid state, and slain by the Indian whom they had seen a short time ago enjoying his siesta among the trees. Having cut it open, in order to convince themselves beyond a doubt that it had swallowed an entire ox, Martin and the old trader re-embarked in the canoe, and Barney was on the point of joining them when the bushes close beside him were slightly stirred. Looking quickly round, he beheld the head and the glittering eyes of another anaconda, apparently as large as the dead one, ready to dart upon him,--at least so he fancied; but he did not wait to give it a chance. He fled instantly, and sprang towards the boat, which he nearly upset as he leaped into it, and pushed out into the stream. On reaching the middle of the river they looked back, but the anaconda was gone. Soon after this they came to a long sandbank, where the old trader said they should find as many turtles' eggs as they wished for, although to Barney and Martin there seemed to be nothing on the bank at all. The fresh-water turtle of the Amazon, of which there are various species, is one of the most useful of reptiles. Its flesh supplies abundance of good food; and the eggs, besides being eaten, afford an excellent oil. The largest species grow to the length of three feet, and have a flattish oval shell of a dark colour, and quite smooth. Turtles lay their eggs about the beginning of September, when the sand-banks begin to be uncovered. They scrape deep holes for them, and cover them carefully over, beating down the sand quite flat, and walking across the place several times, for the purpose of concealment. The eggs are then left to be hatched by the heat of the sun. But, alas for the poor turtles! men are too clever for them. The eggs are collected by the natives in thousands, and, when oil is to be made of them, they are thrown into a canoe, smashed and mixed up together, and left to stand, when the oil rises to the top, and is skimmed off and boiled. It keeps well, and is used both for lamps and cooking. Very few of the millions of eggs that are annually laid arrive at maturity. When the young turtles issue forth and run to the water, there are many enemies watching for them. Great alligators open their jaws and swallow them by hundreds; jaguars come out of the forests and feed upon them; eagles and buzzards and wood ibises are there, too, to claim their share of the feast; and, if they are fortunate enough to escape all these, there are many large and ravenous fishes ready to seize them in the stream. It seems a marvel that any escape at all. In a few minutes the old trader scraped up about a hundred eggs, to the immense satisfaction of Martin and Barney. Then he took a bow and arrow from the bottom of the montaria and shot a large turtle in the water, while his companions kindled a fire, intending to dine. Only the nose of the turtle was visible above water; but the old man was so expert in the use of the bow, that he succeeded in transfixing the soft part of the animal's neck with an arrow, although that part was under water. It was a large turtle, and very fat and heavy, so that it was with difficulty the trader lifted it upon his old shoulders and bore it in triumph to the spot where his companions were busily engaged with their cooking operations. Turtles are frequently shot with the arrow by the natives; they are also taken in great numbers with the hook and the net. Dinner was soon ready. Barney concocted an immense and savoury omelet, and the old trader cooked an excellent turtle-steak, while Martin prepared a junk of jaguar meat, which he roasted, being curious to taste it, as he had been told that the Indians like it very much. It was pretty good, but not equal to the turtle-eggs. The shell of the egg is leathery, and the yolk only is eaten. The Indians sometimes cat them raw, mixed with farina. Cakes of farina, and excellent coffee, concluded their repast; and Barney declared he had never had such a satisfactory "blow out" in his life; a sentiment with which Martin entirely agreed, and the old trader--if one might judge from the expression of his black countenance--sympathized. For many weeks our adventurers continued to ascend the Amazon, sometimes sailing before the wind; at other times, when it fell calm, pushing the montaria up the current by means of long poles, or advancing more easily with the paddles. Occasionally they halted for a day at the residence of a wealthy cacao planter, in order to sell him some merchandise; for which purpose the canoe was unloaded, and the bales were opened out for his inspection. Most of these planters were Brazilians, a few were Yankee adventurers, and one or two were Scotch and English; but nearly all had married Brazilian ladies, who, with their daughters, proved good customers to the old trader. Some of these ladies were extremely "purty craturs," as Barney expressed it; but most of them were totally uneducated and very ignorant,--not knowing half so much as a child of seven or eight years old in more favoured lands. They were very fond of fine dresses and ornaments, of which considerable supplies were sent to them from Europe and the United States, in exchange for the valuable produce of their country. But, although their dresses were fine and themselves elegant, their houses were generally very poor affairs--made of wood and thatched with broad leaves; and it was no uncommon thing to see a lady, who seemed from her gay dress to be fitted for a drawing-room, seated on an earthen floor. But there were all sorts of extremes in this strange land; for at the next place they came to, perhaps, they found a population of Negroes and Indians, and most of the grown-up people were half naked, while all the children were entirely so. At one plantation, where they resolved to spend a few days, the owner had a pond which was much frequented by alligators. These he was in the habit of hunting periodically, for the sake of their fat, which he converted into oil. At the time of their arrival, he was on the eve of starting on a hunting expedition to the lake, which was about eight miles distant; so Barney and Martin determined to go and "see the fun," as the latter said. "Martin, lad," remarked Barney, as they followed the Negro slave who had been sent by Senhor Antonio, the planter, to conduct them to the lake, while he remained behind for an hour or two to examine the bales of the old trader; "this is the quarest country, I believe, that iver was made; what with bastes, and varmints, and riptiles, and traes, and bushes, and rivers, it bates all creation." "Certainly it does, Barney; and it is a pity there are so few people in it who know how to make use of the things that are scattered all around them. I'm inclined to think the hermit was right when he said that they wanted the Bible. They are too far sunk in laziness and idleness to be raised up by anything else. Just look," continued Martin, glancing round, "what a wonderful place this is! It seems as if all the birds and curious trees in Brazil had congregated here to meet us." "So't does," said Barney, stopping to gaze on the scene through which they were passing, with an expression of perplexity on his face, as if he found the sight rather too much even for _his_ comprehension. Besides the parrots and scarlet and yellow macaws, and other strange-looking birds which we have elsewhere mentioned, there were long-tailed light-coloured cuckoos flying about from tree to tree, not calling like the cuckoo of Europe at all, but giving forth a sound like the creaking of a rusty hinge; there were hawks and buzzards of many different kinds, and red-breasted orioles in the bushes, and black vultures flying overhead, and Muscovy ducks sweeping past with whizzing wings, and flocks of the great wood-ibis sailing in the air on noiseless pinions, and hundreds of other birds that it would require an ornithologist to name; and myriads of insects,--especially ants and spiders, great and small,--that no entomologist could chronicle in a lifetime; all these were heard and seen at once; while of the animals that were heard, but not so often seen, there were black and spotted jaguars, and pacas, and cotias, and armadillos, and deer, and many others, that would take _pages_ to enumerate and whole books to describe. But the noise was the great point. That was the thing that took Martin and Barney quite aback, although it was by no means new to them; but they could not get used to it. And no wonder! Ten thousand paroquets shrieking passionately, like a hundred knife-grinders at work, is no joke; especially when their melodies are mingled with the discordant cries of herons, and bitterns, and cranes, and the ceaseless buzz and hum of insects, like the bagpipe's drone, and the dismal croaking of boat-bills and frogs,--one kind of which latter, by the way, doesn't croak at all, but _whistles_, ay, better than many a bird! The universal hubbub is tremendous! I tell you, reader, that you _don't_ understand it, and you _can't_ understand it; and if, after I had used the utmost excess of exaggerated language to convey a correct impression of the reality, you were to imagine that you really _did_ understand it, you would be very lamentably mistaken--that's all! Nevertheless, you must not run away with the idea that the whole empire of Brazil is like this. There are dark thick solitudes in these vast forests, which are solemn and silent enough at times; and there are wide grassy campos, and great sandy plains, where such sounds are absent. Yet there are also thousands of such spots as I have just described, where all nature, in earth, air, and water, is instinct with noisy animal life. After two hours' walk, Martin and his companion reached the lake, and here active preparations were making for the alligator hunt. "Is that the only place ye have to spind the night in, Sambo?" said Barney to their conductor, as he pointed to a wooden shed near which some fifteen or twenty Negro slaves were overhauling the fishing tackle. "Yis, massa," answered the black, showing his white teeth; "dat is de bottle of dis great city." Sambo could speak a little English, having wrought for several years on the coffee plantation of a Yankee settler. He was a bit of a wag, too, much to the indignation of his grave master, the Senhor Antonio, who abhorred jesting. "Ye're too cliver, avic," said Barney, with a patronizing smile; "take care ye don't use up yer intellect too fast. It hurts the constitution in the long-run." "I say, Barney," cried Martin, who had gone ahead of his companions, "come here, man, and just look at this pond. It's literally crammed full of alligators." "Musha, but there's more alligators than wather, I belave!" exclaimed Barney. The pond was indeed swarming with these ferocious reptiles, which were constantly thrusting their ugly snouts above the surface and then disappearing with a flourish of their powerful tails. During the rainy season this lake was much larger, and afforded ample room for its inhabitants; but at the height of the dry season, which it was at this time, there was little water, and it was much overstocked. When alligators are thus put upon short allowance of water, they frequently bury themselves in the wet mud, and lie dormant for a long time, while the water continues to retire and leaves them buried. But when the first shower of the rainy season falls, they burst open their tomb and drag their dry bodies to the lake or river on whose margin they went to sleep. An hour or two later the Senhor Antonio arrived; but as it was getting dark, nothing could be done until the following morning; so they slung their hammocks under the wooden shed on the margin of the lake, and, in order to save themselves as much as possible from the bites of the tormenting mosquitoes, went to sleep with their heads tied up in their handkerchiefs, and their hands thrust into their breeches pockets! The occasional splash and snort of contending alligators, about twenty yards off, varied the monotony of the hours of darkness, while the frogs and cranes and jaguars sang their lullaby. CHAPTER XVI AN ALLIGATOR HUNT--REMARKABLE EXPLOSIONS--THE RAINY SEASON USHERED IN BY AN AWFUL RESURRECTION At sunrise an expressive shout in Portuguese set the black slaves on their feet; and, after a hasty breakfast of alligator-tail and farina, they commenced operations. Alligator-tail is by no means bad food, and after the first mouthful,--taken with hesitation and swallowed with difficulty,--Martin and Barney both pronounced it "capital." Sambo, who had cooked the delicate morsel, and stood watching them, smacked his lips and added, "Fuss rate." All being now ready for the hunt, a number of Negroes entered the water, which was nowhere very deep, with long poles in their hands. This appeared to Martin and Barney a very reckless and dangerous thing to do, as no doubt it was. Nevertheless accidents, they were told, very rarely happened. Sambo, who was the overseer of the party, was the first to dash up to the middle in the water. "Hi," exclaimed that dingy individual, making a torrent of remarks in Portuguese, while he darted his long pole hither and thither; then, observing that Martin and Barney were gazing at him open mouthed, he shouted, "Look out, boys! here Jim comes! Take care, ole feller, or he jump right down you' throat! hi-i-i!" As he spoke, a large alligator, having been rudely stirred up from his muddy bed, floundered on the surface of the lake and Sambo instantly gave it a thump over the back and a blow under the ribs; which had the effect of driving it in the direction of the shore. Here a number of Negroes were ready for him; and the moment he came within reach, a coil of rope with a noose on the end of it, called a lasso, was adroitly thrown over the reptile's head: ten or twelve men then hauled the lasso and dragged it ashore amid shouts of triumph. This alligator was twenty feet long, with an enormous misshapen head and fearful rows of teeth that were terrible to behold. The monster did not submit to be captured, however, without a struggle; and the Negroes grew wild with excitement as they yelled and leaped madly about seeking to avoid its dangerous jaws and the blows of its powerful tail. After some trouble, a second lasso was thrown over the tail, which was thus somewhat restrained in its movements; and Sambo, approaching cautiously with an axe, cut a deep gash just at the root of that formidable appendage, which rendered it harmless. "Hi-i," shouted Sambo in triumph, as he sprang towards the animal's head, and inflicted a similar gash in the neck; "dare, you quite finish, ole feller." "Musha but that's thrue!" ejaculated Barney, who stood staring at the whole proceeding like one in a trance. "Did ye iver git a bite, Sambo?" Barney received no answer, for his sable friend was already up to his waist in the water with five or six of his brethren, who were flourishing their long poles and driving the snorting alligators towards the shore, where their comrades, with lassos and harpoons, awaited them. Sometimes they harpooned the alligators, and then, fastening lassos to their heads and tails, or to a hind leg, dragged them ashore; at other times they threw the lasso over their heads at once, without taking the trouble to harpoon them. It was a terrible and a wonderful sight to witness the Negroes in the very midst of a shoal of these creatures, any one of which could have taken a man into his jaws quite easily,--whence, once between these long saw-like rows of teeth, no man could have escaped to tell how sharp they were. The creatures were so numerous that it was impossible to thrust a pole into the mud without stirring up one of them; but they were so terrified at the sudden attack and the shouts of the Negroes, that they thought only of escape. Suddenly there arose a great cry. One of the lassos had snapt, and the alligator was floundering back into the water, when Sambo rushed in up to the arm-pits, and caught the end of the rope. At the same moment two alligators made at the Negro with open jaws. It is probable that the animals went in his direction by mere accident, and would have brushed past him in blind haste; but to Martin and Barney it seemed as if the poor man's fate were sealed, and they uttered a loud shout of horror as they bounded simultaneously into the water, not knowing what to do, but being unable to restrain the impulse to spring to Sambo's aid. Fortunately, however, one of the other Negroes was near Sambo. He sprang forward, and dealt the alligators two tremendous blows with his pole on their snouts, right and left, which turned them off. Then other Negroes came up, laid hold of Sambo, who would not let go his hold and was being dragged into deep water, caught the end of the rope, and in ten minutes hauled their victim to the shore, when it was quickly despatched in the usual manner. By this time about a dozen alligators, varying from ten to twenty feet in length, had been captured; and Barney at length became so bold that he requested to be allowed to try his hand at throwing the lasso, the dexterous use of which by the Negroes had filled him with admiration. A loud burst of laughter greeted this proposal, and Sambo showed a set of teeth that might have made even the alligators envious, as he handed the Irishman a coil of line. "Now don't miss, Barney," cried Martin, laughing heartily, as his comrade advanced to the edge of the lake and watched his opportunity. "Mind, your credit as an expert hunter is at stake." The Senhor Antonio stood close behind the Irishman, with his arms folded and a sarcastic smile on his countenance. "Don't send it down him's throat," yelled Sambo. "Hi-i; dat's de vay to swing urn round. Stir um up, boys!--poke um up, villains, hi!" The Negroes in the water obeyed with frantic glee, and the terrified monsters surged about in all directions, so that Barney found it almost impossible to fix his attention on any particular individual. At length he made up his mind, whirled the coil round his head, discharged the noose, caught the Senhor Antonio round the neck, and jerked him violently to the ground! There was a simultaneous pause of horror among the slaves; but it was too much for their risible faculties to withstand; with one accord they rushed howling into the water to conceal their laughter, and began to stir up and belabour the alligators with their poles, until the surface of the lake was a sheet of foam. Meanwhile the Senhor Antonio sprang to his feet and began to bluster considerably in Portuguese; but poor Barney seemed awfully crest-fallen, arid the deep concern which wrinkled his face, and the genuine regret that sounded in the tones of his voice, at length soothed the indignant Brazilian, who frowned gravely, and waving his hand, as if to signify that Barney had his forgiveness, he stalked up to the shed, lighted a cigarito, and lay down in his hammock. "Well!" said Martin, in an under-tone, "you did it that time, Barney. I verily thought the old fellow was hanged. He became quite livid in the face." "Och! bad luck to the lasso, say I. May I niver more see the swate groves o' Killarney if iver I meddle with wan again." "Hi-i; you is fuss rate," said Sambo, as he and his comrades returned and busied themselves in cutting up the dead alligators. "You beat de Niggers all to not'ing. Not any of dis yere chiles eber lasso Sen'or Antonio yet; no, neber!" It was some time before the Negroes could effectually subdue their merriment, but at length they succeeded, and applied themselves vigorously to the work of cutting out the fat. The alligators were all cut open,--a work of no small difficulty, owing to the hard scales which covered them as with coats of mail; then the fat, which accumulates in large quantities about the intestines, was cut out and made up into packets in the skins of the smaller ones, which were taken off for this purpose. These packets were afterwards carried to the Senhor's dwelling, and the fat melted down into oil, which served for burning in lamps quite as well as train oil. The flesh of a smaller species of alligator, some of which were also taken, is considered excellent food; and, while the Negroes were engaged in their work, Barney made himself useful by kindling a large fire and preparing a savoury dish for "all hands," plentifully seasoned with salt and pepper, with which condiments the country is well supplied, and of which the people are exceedingly fond. There was also caught in this lake a large species of fish called pirarucu, which, strangely enough, found it possible to exist in spite of alligators. They were splendid creatures, from five to six feet long, and covered with large scales more than an inch in diameter, which were beautifully marked and spotted with red. These fish were most delicately flavoured, and Barney exerted his talents to the utmost in order to do them justice. Martin also did his best to prove himself a willing and efficient assistant, and cleaned and washed the pirarucu steaks and the junks of alligator-tail to admiration. In short, the exertions of the two strangers in this way quite won the hearts of the Negroes, and after dinner the Senhor Antonio had quite recovered his good humour. While staying at this place Martin had an opportunity of seeing a great variety of the curious fish with which the Amazon is stocked. These are so numerous that sometimes, when sailing up stream with a fair wind, they were seen leaping all round the canoe in shoals, so that it was only necessary to strike the water with the paddles in order to kill a few. The peixe boi, or cow-fish, is one of the most curious of the inhabitants of the Amazon. It is about six feet long, and no less than five feet in circumference at its thickest part. It is a perfectly smooth, and what we may call _dumpy_ fish, of a leaden colour, with a semi-circular flat tail, and a large mouth with thick fleshy lips resembling those of a cow. There are stiff bristles on the lips, and a few scattered hairs over the body. It has two fins just behind the head; and below these, in the females, there are two breasts, from which good white milk flows when pressure is applied. The cow-fish feeds on grass at the borders of rivers and lakes; and when suckling its young it carries it in its fins or flippers, and clasps the little one to its breast, just as a mother clasps her baby! It is harpooned and taken for the sake of its fat, from which oil is made. The flesh is also very good, resembling beef in quality, and it was much relished by Martin and Barney, who frequently dined on beef-steaks cut from this remarkable cow-fish. There was also another fish which surprised our adventurers not a little the first time they met with it. One evening Senhor Antonio had ordered a net to be thrown into the river, being desirous of procuring a few fresh fish for the use of his establishment. The Indians and Negroes soon after commenced dragging, and in a few minutes afterwards the sandy bank of the river was strewn with an immense variety of small fish, among which were a few of a larger kind. Martin and Barney became excited as they saw them leaping and spluttering about, and ran in amongst them to assist in gathering them into baskets. But scarcely had the latter advanced a few steps when there was a loud report, as if a pistol had gone off under his feet. "Hallo!" exclaimed the Irishman, leaping two feet into the air. On his reaching the ground again, a similar explosion occurred, and Barney dashed aside, overturning Martin in his haste. Martin's heel caught on a stone, and he fell flat on the ground, when instantly there was a report as if he had fallen upon and burst an inflated paper bag. The natives laughed loud and long, while the unfortunate couple sprang up the bank, half inclined to think that an earthquake was about to take place. The cause of their fright was then pointed out. It was a species of small fish which has the power of inflating the fore part of its body into a complete ball, and which, when stamped upon, explodes with a loud noise. There were great numbers of these scattered among the other fish, and also large quantities of a little fish armed with long spines, which inflict a serious wound when trodden upon. At this place adventures on a small scale crowded upon our travellers so thickly that Martin began to look upon sudden surprises as a necessary of life, and Barney said that "if it wint on any longer he feared his eye-brows would get fixed near the top of his head, and niver more come down," One evening, soon after their departure from the residence of Senhor Antonio, the old trader was sitting steering in the stern of his canoe, which was running up before a pretty stiff breeze. Martin was lying on his back, as was his wont in such easy circumstances, amusing himself with Marmoset; and Barney was reclining in the bow talking solemnly to Grampus; when suddenly the wind ceased, and it became a dead calm. The current was so strong that they could scarcely paddle against it, so they resolved to go no further that night, and ran the canoe ashore on a low point of mud, intending to encamp under the trees, no human habitation being near them. The mud bank was hard and dry, and cracked with the heat; for it was now the end of the dry season, and the river had long since retired from it. "Not a very comfortable place, Barney," said Martin, looking round, as he threw down one of the bales which he had just carried up from the canoe. "Hallo! there's a hut, I declare. Come, that's a comfort anyhow." As he spoke Martin pointed to one of the solitary and rudely constructed huts or sheds which the natives of the banks of the Amazon sometimes erect during the dry season, and forsake when the river overflows its banks. The hut was a very old one, and had evidently been inundated, for the floor was a mass of dry, solid mud, and the palm-leaf roof was much damaged. However, it was better than nothing, so they slung their hammocks under it, kindled a fire, and prepared supper. While they were busy discussing this meal, a few dark and ominous clouds gathered in the sky, and the old trader, glancing uneasily about him, gave them to understand that he feared the rainy season was going to begin. "Well then," said Barney, lighting his pipe and stretching himself at full length in his hammock, with a leg swinging to and fro over one side and his head leaning over the other, as was his wont when he felt particularly comfortable in mind and body; "Well then, avic, let it begin. If we're sure to have it anyhow, the sooner it begins the better, to my thinkin'." "I don't know that," said Martin, who was seated on a large stone beside the fire sipping a can of coffee, which he shared equally with Marmoset. The monkey sat on his shoulder gazing anxiously into his face, with an expression that seemed as if the creature were mentally exclaiming, "Now me, now you; now me, now you," during the whole process. "It would be better, I think, if we were in a more sheltered position before it begins. Ha! there it comes though, in earnest." A smart shower began to fall as he spoke, and, percolating through the old roof, descended rather copiously on the mud floor. In a few minutes there was a heaving of the ground under their feet! "Ochone!" cried Barney, taking his pipe out of his mouth and looking down with a disturbed expression, "there's an arthquake, I do belave." For a few seconds there was a dead silence. "Nonsense," whispered Martin uneasily. "It's dramin' I must have been," sighed Barney, resuming his pipe. Again the ground heaved and cracked, and Martin and the old trader had just time to spring to their feet when the mud floor of the hut burst upwards and a huge dried-up-looking alligator crawled forth, as if from the bowels of the earth! It glanced up at Barney; opened its tremendous jaws, and made as if it would run at the terrified old trader; then, observing the doorway, it waddled out, and, trundling down the bank, plunged into the river and disappeared. Barney could find no words to express his feelings, but continued to gaze with an unbelieving expression down into the hole out of which the monster had come, and in which it had buried itself many weeks before, when the whole country was covered with soft mud. At that time it had probably regarded the shelter of the inundated hut as of some advantage, and had lain down to repose. The water retiring had left it there buried, and--as we have already mentioned in reference to alligators--when the first shower of the rainy season fell it was led by instinct to burst its earthy prison, and seek its native element. Before Barney or his companions could recover from their surprise, they had other and more urgent matters to think about. The dark clouds burst overhead, and the rain descended like a continued water-spout,--not in drops but in heavy sheets and masses; the roof of the hut gave way in several places, driving them into a corner for shelter; the river began to rise rapidly, soon flooding the hut; and, when darkness overspread the land, they found themselves drenched to the skin and suspended in their hammocks over a running stream of water! This event brought about an entire change in the aspect of nature, and was the cause of a sad and momentous era in the adventures of Martin Rattler and his companion. CHAPTER XVII THE CAPO--INTERRUPTIONS--GRAMPUS AND MARMOSET--CANOEING IN THE WOODS--A NIGHT ON A FLOATING ISLAND There is a peculiar and very striking feature in the character of the great Amazon, which affects the distinctive appearance of that river and materially alters the manners and customs of those who dwell beside it. This peculiarity is the periodical overflow of its low banks; and the part thus overflowed is called the _Gapo_. It extends from a little above the town of San-tarem up to the confines of Peru, a distance of about seventeen hundred miles; and varies in width from one to twenty miles: so that the country when inundated assumes in many places the appearance of an extensive lake with forest trees growing out of the water; and travellers may proceed many hundreds of miles in their canoes without once entering the main stream of the river. At this time the natives become almost aquatic animals. Several tribes of Indians inhabit the Gapo; such as the Purupurus, Muras; and others. They build small movable huts on the sandy shores during the dry season, and on rafts in the wet They subsist on turtle, cow-fish, and the other fish with which the river abounds, and live almost entirely in their canoes; while at night they frequently sling their hammocks between the branches of trees and sleep suspended over the deep water. Some of the animals found in the Gapo are peculiar to it, being attracted by the fruit-trees which are found growing only there. The Indians assert that every tree that grows in the Gapo is distinct from all those that grow in other districts; and when we consider that these trees are submerged for six months every year, till they are tall enough to rise above the highest water-level, we may well believe their constitution is somewhat different from those that are reared on ordinary ground. The Indians are wonderfully expert in finding their way among the trackless mazes of the Gapo, being guided by the broken twigs and scraped bark that indicate the route followed by previous travellers. Owing to this sudden commencement of the rainy season, the old trader resolved to return to a small village and there spend several months. Martin and Barney were much annoyed at this; for the former was impatient to penetrate further into the interior, and the latter had firmly made up his mind to visit the diamond mines, about which he entertained the most extravagant notions. He did not, indeed, know in the least how to get to these mines, nor even in which direction they lay; but he had a strong impression that as long as he continued travelling he was approaching gradually nearer to them, and he had no doubt whatever that he would get to them at last. It was, therefore, with no small degree of impatience that they awaited the pleasure of their sable master, who explained to them that when the waters reached their height he would proceed. Everything comes to an end, even a long story. After many weeks had passed slowly by, their sojourn in this village came to an end too. It was a dull place, very dull, and they had nothing to do; and the few poor people who lived there seemed to have very little or nothing to do. We will, therefore, pass it over, and resume our narrative at the point when the old trader announced to Barney that the flood was at its height and they would now continue their journey. They embarked once more in their old canoe with their goods and chattels, not forgetting Marmoset and Grampus, whose friendship during their inactive life had become more close than ever. This friendship was evidenced chiefly by the matter-of-course way in which Grampus permitted the monkey to mount his back and ride about the village and through the woods, where dry places could be found, as long as she pleased. Marmoset was fonder of riding than walking, so that Grampus had enough to do; but he did not put himself much about. He trotted, walked, galloped, and lay down, when, and where, and as often as he chose, without any reference to the small monkey; and Marmoset held on through thick and thin, and nibbled nuts or whatever else it picked up, utterly regardless of where it was going to or the pace at which it went. It was sharp, though, that small monkey, sharp as a needle, and had its little black eyes glancing on all sides; so that when Grampus dashed through underwood, and the branches threatened to sweep it off, it ducked its head; or, lying flat down, shut its eyes and held on with all its teeth and four hands like a limpet to a rock. Marmoset was not careful as to her attitude on dog-back. She sat with her face to the front or rear, just as her fancy or convenience dictated. After leaving the village they travelled for many days and nights through the Gapo. Although afloat on the waters of the Amazon, they never entered the main river after the first few days, but wound their way, in a creeping, serpentine sort of fashion, through small streams and lakes and swamps, from which the light was partially excluded by the thick foliage of the forest. It was a strange scene that illimitable watery waste, and aroused new sensations in the breasts of our travellers. As Barney said, it made him "feel quite solemn-like and eerie to travel through the woods by wather." The canoe was forced under branches and among dense bushes, till they got into a part where the trees were loftier and a deep gloom prevailed. Here the lowest branches were on a level with the surface of the water, and many of them were putting forth beautiful flowers. On one occasion they came to a grove of small palms, which were so deep in the water that the leaves were only a few feet above the surface. Indeed they were so low that one of them caught Martin's straw-hat and swept it overboard. "Hallo! stop!" cried Martin, interrupting the silence so suddenly that Grampus sprang up with a growl, under the impression that game was in view; and Marmoset scampered off behind a packing-box with an angry shriek. "What's wrong, lad?" inquired Barney. "Back water, quick! my hat's overboard, and there's an alligator going to snap it up. Look alive, man!" In a few seconds the canoe was backed and the straw-hat rescued from its perilous position. "It's an ill wind that blows nae guid, as the Scotch say," remarked Barney, rising in the canoe and reaching towards something among the overhanging branches. "Here's wan o' them trees that old black-face calls a maraja, with some splendid bunches o' fruit on it. Hould yer hat, Martin; there's more nor enough for supper anyhow," As he spoke a rustling in the leaves told that monkeys were watching us, and Marmoset kept peeping up as if she half expected they might be relations. But the moment the travellers caught sight of them they bounded away screaming. Having gathered as much fruit as they required, they continued their voyage, and presently emerged into the pleasant sunshine in a large grassy lake, which was filled with lilies and beautiful water-plants, little yellow bladder-worts, with several other plants of which they knew not the names; especially one with a thick swollen stalk, curious leaves, and bright blue flowers. This lake was soon passed, and they again entered into the gloomy forest, and paddled among the lofty trunks of the trees, which rose like massive columns out of the deep water. There was enough of animal life there, however, to amuse and interest them. The constant plash of falling fruit showed that birds were feeding overhead. Sometimes a flock of parrots or bright blue chatterers swept from tree to tree, or atrogon swooped at a falling bunch of fruit and caught it ere it reached the water; while ungainly toucans plumped clumsily down upon the branches, and sat, in striking contrast, beside the lovely pompadours, with their claret-coloured plumage and delicate white wings. Vieing with these birds in splendour were several large bright-yellow flowers of the creeping-plants, which twined round the trees. Some of these plants had white, spotted, and purple blossoms; and there was one splendid species, called by the natives the flor de Santa Anna--the flower of St. Ann--which emitted a delightful odour and was four inches in diameter. Having traversed this part of the wood, they once more emerged upon the main stream of the Amazon. It was covered with water-fowl. Large logs of trees and numerous floating islands of grass were sailing down; and on these sat hundreds of white gulls, demurely and comfortably voyaging to the ocean; for the sea would be their final resting-place if they sat on these logs and islands until they descended several hundreds of miles of the great river. "I wish," said Martin, after a long silence, during which the travellers had been gazing on the watery waste as they paddled up stream--"I wish that we could fall in with solid land, where we might have something cooked. I'm desperately hungry now; but I don't see a spot of earth large enough for a mosquito to rest his foot on." "We'll jist have to take to farhina and wather," remarked Barney, laying down his paddle and proceeding leisurely to light his pipe. "It's a blissin' we've got baccy, any how. Tis mesilf that could niver git on without it." "I wish you joy of it, Barney. It may fill your mouth, but it can't stop your hunger." "Och, boy, it's little ye know! Sure it stops the cravin's o' hunger, and kapes yer stumick from callin' out for iver, till ye fall in with somethin' to ate." "It does not seem to stop the mouth then, Barney, for you call out for grub oftener than I do; and then you say that you couldn't get on without it; so you're a slave to it, old boy. I wouldn't be a slave to anything if I could help it." "Martin, lad, ye're gittin' deep. Take care now, or ye'll be in mettlefeesics soon. I say, ould black-face,"--Barney was not on ceremony with the old trader,--"is there no land in thim parts at all?" "No, not dis night," "Och, then, we'll have to git up a tree and try to cook somethin' there; for I'm not goin' to work on flour and wather. Hallo! hould on! There's an island, or the portrait o' wan! Port your helm, Naygur! hard aport! D'ye hear?" The old man heard, but, as usual, paid no attention to the Irishman's remarks; and the canoe would have passed straight on, had not Barney used his bow-paddle so energetically that he managed to steer her, as he expressed it, by the nose, and ran her against a mass of floating logs which had caught firmly in a thicket, and were so covered with grass and broken twigs as to have very much the appearance of a real island. Here they landed, so to speak, kindled a small fire, made some coffee, roasted a few fish, baked several cakes, and were soon as happy and comfortable as hungry and wearied men usually are when they obtain rest and food. "This is what I call jolly," remarked Barney. "What's jolly?" inquired Martin. "Why _this_, to be sure,--grub to begin with, and a smoke and a convanient snooze in prospect," The hopes which Barney cherished, however, were destined to be blighted, at least in part. To the victuals he did ample justice; the pipe was delightful, and in good working order; but when they lay down to repose, they were attacked by swarms of stinging ants, which the heat of the fire had driven out of the old logs. These and mosquitoes effectually banished sleep from their eye-lids, and caused them to reflect very seriously, and to state to each other more than once very impressively, that, with all their beauties and wonders, tropical lands had their disadvantages, and there was no place like the "ould country," after all. CHAPTER XVIII THE SAD AND MOMENTOUS ERA REFERRED TO AT THE CLOSE OF THE CHAPTER PRECEDING THE LAST One sultry evening, many weeks after our travellers had passed the uncomfortable night on the floating island in the Gapo, they came to a place where the banks of the river rose boldly up in rugged rocks and hemmed in the waters of the Amazon, which were by this time somewhat abated. Here they put ashore, intending to kindle their fire and encamp for the night, having been up and hard at work since daybreak. The evening was calm and beautiful, and the troublesome insects not so numerous as usual,--probably owing to the nature of the ground. One or two monkeys showed themselves for a moment, as if to enquire who was there, and then ran away screaming; a porcupine also crossed their path, and several small bright snakes, of a harmless species, glided over the rocks, and sought refuge among the small bushes; but beyond these there were few of the sights and sounds that were wont to greet them in the forest. "I think things look well to-night," remarked Martin as he threw down a bundle of sticks which he had gathered for the fire; "we shall have a comfortable snooze for certain, if the mosquitoes don't wake up." "I'm not so sure of that," replied Barney, striking a light with flint and steel and stooping to puff the smouldering spark into a flame. "I've larned by exparience that ye niver can be--puff--sure o' nothin' in this--puff--remarkable country. Jist look at Darkey now," continued the Irishman, sitting down on a stone before the fire, which now began to kindle up, and stuffing the tobacco into his pipe with his little finger. "There he is, a livin' Naygur, aliftin' of the provision-bag out o' the canoe. Well, if he was all of a suddent to turn into Marmoset an' swaller himself, an' then jump down the throat of Grampus, and the whole consarn, canoe and all, to disappear, I don't think that I would be much surprised." "Would you not, Barney? I suspect that I should be, a little, under the circumstances; perhaps the old Nigger would be more so." "Niver a taste," continued Barney. "Ye see, if that was to happen, I would then know that it was all a drame. I've more than wance expected to wake up since I comed into furrin parts; the only thing that kapes me in doubt about it is the baccy." "How so, Barney?" "Why, bekase it tastes so rael, good luck to it! that I can't git myself to think it's only a drame. Jist look, now," he continued, in the same tone of voice; "if it wasn't a drame, how could I see sich a thing as that standin' on the rock over there?" Martin glanced towards the spot pointed out by his friend, and immediately started up with surprise. "Hallo! Barney, that's no dream, I'll vouch for it. He's an Indian, and a very ugly one too, I declare. I say, old fellow, do you know what sort of savage that is?" "Not know," answered the trader, glancing uneasily at the stranger. "He might have the dacency to put on more close, anyhow," muttered Barney, as he gazed inquiringly at the savage. The being who had thus appeared so suddenly before the travellers belonged to one of the numerous tribes of Indians inhabiting the country near the head-waters of some of the chief tributaries of the Amazon. He was almost entirely naked, having merely a scanty covering on his loins; and carried a small quiver full of arrows at his back, and what appeared to be a long spear in his hand. His figure was strongly but not well formed; and his face, which was of a dark copper hue, was disfigured in a most remarkable manner. A mass of coarse black hair formed the only covering to his head. His cheeks were painted with curious marks of jet black. But the most remarkable points about him were the huge pieces of wood which formed ornaments in his ears and under lip. They were round and flat like the wooden wheel of a toy-cart, about half an inch thick, and larger than an old-fashioned watch. These were fitted into enormous slits made in the ears and under lip, and the latter projected more than two inches from his mouth! Indeed, the cut that had been made to receive this ornament was so large that the lip had been almost cut off altogether, and merely hung by each corner of his mouth! The aspect of the man was very hideous, and it was by no means improved when, having recovered from his surprise at unexpectedly encountering strangers, he opened his mouth to the full extent and uttered a savage yell. The cry was answered immediately. In a few minutes a troop of upwards of thirty savages sprang from the woods, and, ascending the rock on which their comrade stood, gazed down on the travellers in surprise, and, by their movements, seemed to be making hasty preparations for an attack. By this time Barney had recovered his self-possession, and became thoroughly convinced of the reality of the apparition before him. Drawing his pistol hastily from his belt, he caught up a handful of gravel, wherewith he loaded it to the muzzle, ramming down the charge with a bit of mandioca-cake in lieu of a wad; then drawing his cutlass he handed it to Martin, exclaiming, "Come, lad, we're in for it now. Take you the cutlass and Til try their skulls with the butt o' my pistol: it has done good work before now in that way. If there's no more o' the blackguards in the background we'll bate them aisy." Martin instinctively grasped the cutlass, and there is no doubt that, under the impulse of that remarkable quality, British valour, which utterly despises odds, they would have hurled themselves recklessly upon the savages, when the horrified old trader threw himself on Barney's neck and implored him not to fight; for if he did they would all be killed, and if he only kept quiet the savages would perhaps do them no harm. At the same moment about fifty additional Indians arrived upon the scene of action. This, and the old man's earnest entreaties, induced them to hesitate for an instant, and, before they could determine what to do, they were surprised by some of the savages, who rushed upon them from behind and took them prisoners. Barney struggled long and fiercely, but he was at length overpowered by numbers. The pistol, which missed fire, was wrenched from his grasp, and his hands were speedily bound behind his back. Martin was likewise disarmed and secured; not, however, before he made a desperate slash at one of the savages, which narrowly missed his skull, and cut away his lip ornament. As for the old trader, he made no resistance at all, but submitted quietly to his fate. The savages did not seem to think it worth their while to bind him. Grampus bounced and barked round the party savagely, but did not attack; and Marmoset slept in the canoe in blissful ignorance of the whole transaction. The hands of the two prisoners being firmly bound, they were allowed to do as they pleased; so they sat down on a rock in gloomy silence, and watched the naked savages as they rifled the canoe and danced joyfully round the treasures which their active knives and fingers soon exposed to view. The old trader took things philosophically. Knowing that it was absolutely impossible to escape, he sat quietly down on a stone, rested his chin on his hands, heaved one or two deep sighs, and thereafter seemed to be nothing more than an ebony statue. The ransacking of the canoe and appropriating of its contents occupied the savages but a short time, after which they packed everything up in small bundles, which they strapped upon their backs. Then, making signs to their prisoners to rise, they all marched away into the forest. Just as they were departing, Marmoset, observing that she was about to be left behind, uttered a frantic cry, which brought Grampus gambolling to her side. With an active bound the monkey mounted its charger, and away they went into the forest in the track of the band of savages. During the first part of their march Martin and Barney were permitted to walk beside each other, and they conversed in low, anxious tones. "Surely," said Barney, as they marched along surrounded by Indians, "thim long poles the savages have got are not spears; I don't see no point to them." "And what's more remarkable," added Martin, "is that they all carry quivers full of arrows, but none of them have bows." "There's a raison for iverything," said Barney, pointing to one of the Indians in advance; "that fellow explains the mystery." As he spoke, the savage referred to lowered the pole, which seemed to be about thirteen feet long, and pushing an arrow into a hole in the end of it, applied it to his mouth. In another moment the arrow flew through the air and grazed a bird that was sitting on a branch hard by. "Tis a blow-pipe, and no mistake!" cried Barney. "And a poisoned arrow, I'm quite sure," added Martin; "for it only ruffled the bird's feathers, and see, it has fallen to the ground." "Och, then, but we'd have stood a bad chance in a fight, if thim's the wipons they use. Och, the dirty spalpeens! Martin, dear, we're done for. There's no chance for us at all." This impression seemed to take such deep hold of Barney's mind, that his usually reckless and half jesting disposition was completely subdued, and he walked along in gloomy silence, while a feeling of deep dejection filled the heart of his young companion. The blow-pipe which these Indians use is an ingeniously contrived weapon. It is made from a species of palm-tree. When an Indian wants one, he goes into the woods and selects a tree with a long slender stem of less than an inch in diameter; he extracts the pith out of this, and then cuts another stem, so much larger than the first that he can push the small tube into the bore of the large one,--thus the slight bend in one is counteracted by the other, and a perfectly straight pipe is formed. The mouthpiece is afterwards neatly finished off. The arrows used are very short, having a little ball of cotton at the end to fill the tube of the blow-pipe. The points are dipped in a peculiar poison, which has the effect of producing death when introduced into the blood by a mere scratch of the skin. The Indians can send these arrows an immense distance, and with unerring aim, as Martin and Barney had many an opportunity of witnessing during their long and weary journey on foot to the forest-home of the savages. CHAPTER XIX WORSE AND WORSE--EVERYTHING SEEMS TO GO WRONG TOGETHER Although the Indians did not maltreat the unfortunate strangers who had thus fallen into their hands, they made them proceed by forced marches through the wilderness; and as neither Barney nor Martin had been of late much used to long walks, they felt the journey very severely. The old trader had been accustomed to everything wretched and unfortunate and uncomfortable from his childhood, so he plodded onward in silent indifference. The country through which they passed became every day more and more rugged, until at length it assumed the character of a wild mountainous district. Sometimes they wound their way in a zigzag manner up the mountain sides, by paths so narrow that they could scarcely find a foot-hold. At other times they descended into narrow valleys where they saw great numbers of wild animals of various kinds, some of which the Indians killed for food. After they reached the mountain district they loosed the hands of their prisoners, in order to enable them to climb more easily. Indeed in many places they had to scramble so carefully that it would have been impossible for any one to climb with his hands tied behind his back. But the Indians knew full well that they ran no risk of losing their prisoners; for if they had attempted to escape, dozens of their number were on the watch, before, behind, and on either side, ready to dart away in pursuit. Moreover, Barney had a feeling of horror at the bare idea of the poisoned arrows, that effectually prevented him from making the smallest attempt at escape. With a cutlass or a heavy stick he would have attacked the whole tribe single-handed, and have fought till his brains were knocked out; but when he thought of the small arrows that would pour upon him in hundreds if he made a dash for the woods, and the certain death that would follow the slightest scratch, he discarded all idea of rebellion. One of the animals killed by the Indians at this time was a black jaguar,--a magnificent animal, and very fierce. He was discovered crouching in a thicket backed by a precipice, from which he could only escape by charging through the ranks of his enemies. He did it nobly. With a roar that rebounded from the face of the high cliff and echoed through the valley like a peal of thunder, he sprang out and rushed at the savages in front, who scattered like chaff right and left. But at the same instant fifty blow-pipes sent their poisoned shafts into his body, and, after a few convulsive bounds, the splendid monarch of the American forests fell dead on the ground. The black jaguar is a somewhat rare animal, and is very seldom seen. This one was therefore hailed as a great prize, and the skin and claws were carefully preserved. On the afternoon of the same day the party came to a broad stream, over which they, or some other of the numerous tribes in the country, had constructed a very simple and curious bridge. It was a single rope attached to an immense mass of rock on one side and to the stem of a large tree on the other. On this tight-rope was fastened a simple loop of cord, so constructed that it could encircle the waist of a man and at the same time traverse from one end of the tight-rope to the other. Barney put on a comical frown when he came to this and saw the leader of the party rest his weight in the loop, and, in clinging with hands and legs to the long rope, work himself slowly across. "Arrah! it's well for us, Martin, that we're used to goin' aloft," said he, "or that same bridge would try our narves a little." "So it would, Barney. I've seldom seen a more uncomfortable-looking contrivance. If we lost our hold we should first be dashed to pieces on the rocks, and then be drowned in the river." Difficult though the passage seemed, however? it was soon accomplished by the active savages in safety. The only one of the party likely to be left behind was Grampus; whom his master, after much entreaty in dumb-show, was permitted to carry over by tying him firmly to his shoulders. Marmoset crossed over walking, like a tight-rope dancer, being quite _au fait_ at such work. Soon after they came to another curious bridge over a ravine. It had been constructed by simply felling two tall trees on the edge of it in such a manner that they fell across. They were bound together with the supple vines that grew there in profusion. Nature had soon covered the whole over with climbing plants and luxuriant verdure; and the bridge had become a broad and solid structure over which the whole party marched with perfect ease. Several such bridges were crossed, and also a few of the rope kind, during the journey. After many weeks' constant travelling, the Indians came to a beautiful valley one evening just about sunset, and began to make the usual preparations for encamping. The spot they selected was a singular one. It was at the foot of a rocky gorge, up which might be seen trees and bushes mingled with jagged rocks and dark caverns, with a lofty sierra or mountain range in the background. In front was the beautiful valley which they had just crossed. On a huge rock there grew a tree of considerable size, the roots of which projected beyond the rock several yards, and then, bending downwards, struck into the ground. Creeping plants had twined thickly among the roots, and thus formed a sort of lattice-work which enclosed a large space of ground. In this natural arbour the chiefs of the Indians took up their quarters and kindled their fire in the centre of it, while the main body of the party pitched their camp outside. The three prisoners were allotted a corner in the arbour; and, after having supped, they spread their ponchos on a pile of ferns, and found themselves very snug indeed. "Martin," said Barney, gravely, as he smoked his pipe and patted the head of his dog, "d'ye know I'm beginning to feel tired o' the company o' thim naked rascals, and I've been revolvin' in my mind what we should do to escape. Moreover, I've corned to a conclusion." "And what's that?" inquired Martin. "That it's unposs'ble to escape at all, and I don't know what to do." "That's not a satisfactory conclusion, Barney. I, too, have been cogitating a good deal about these Indians, and it is my opinion that they have been on a war expedition, for I've noticed that several of them have been wounded; and, besides, I cannot fancy what else could take them so far from home." "True, Martin, true. I wonder what they intind to do with us. They don't mean to kill us, anyhow; for if they did they would niver take the trouble to bring us here. Ochone! me heart's beginnin' to go down altogether; for we are miles and miles away from anywrhere now, and I don't know the direction o' no place whatsumdiver." "Never mind, Barney, cheer up," said Martin with a smile; "if they don't kill us that's all we need care about. I'm sure we shall manage to escape somehow or other in the long-run." While they thus conversed the old trader spread his poncho over himself and was soon sound asleep; while the Indians, after finishing supper, held an animated conversation. At times they seemed to be disputing, and spoke angrily and with violent gesticulations, glancing now and then at the corner where their prisoners lay. "It's my belafe," whispered Barney, "that they're spakin' about us. I'm afeard they don't mean us any good. Och, but if I wance had my pistol and the ould cutlass. Well, well, it's of no manner o' use frettin'. Good-night, Martin, good-night!" The Irishman knocked the ashes out of his pipe, turned his face to the wall, and, heaving a deep sigh, speedily forgot his cares in sleep. The Indians also lay down, the camp-fires died slowly out; and the deep breathing of the savages alone betokened the presence of man in that lone wilderness. Barney's forebodings proved to be only too well founded; for next morning, instead of pursuing their way together, as usual, the savages divided their forces into two separate bands, placing the Irishman and the old trader in the midst of one, and Martin Rattler with the other. "Surely they're niver goin' to part us, Martin," said Barney with a care-worn expression on his honest countenance that indicated the anxious suspicions in his heart. "I fear it much," replied Martin with a startled look, as he watched the proceedings of the Indians. "We must fight now, Barney, if we should die for it. We _must_ not be separated." Martin spoke with intense fervour and gazed anxiously in the face of his friend. A dark frown had gathered there. The sudden prospect of being forcibly torn from his young companion, whom he regarded with almost a mother's tenderness, stirred his enthusiastic and fiery temperament to its centre, and he gazed wildly about, as if for some weapon. But the savages anticipated his intention; ere he could grasp any offensive weapon two of their number leaped upon him, and at the same moment Martin's arms were pinioned in a powerful grasp. "Och, ye murderin' blackguards!" cried Barney, hitting out right and left and knocking down a savage at each blow. "Now or niver! come on, ye kangaroos!" A general rush was made upon the Irishman, who was fairly overturned by the mass of men. Martin struggled fiercely to free himself, and would have succeeded had not two powerful Indians hastened to the help of the one who had first seized him. Despite his frantic efforts, he was dragged forcibly up the mountain gorge, the echoes of which rang with his cries as he shouted despairingly the name of his friend. Barney fought like a tiger; but he could make no impression on such numbers. Although at least a dozen Indians lay around him bleeding and stunned by the savage blows of his fists,--a species of warfare which was entirely new to them,--fresh savages crowded round. But they did not wish to kill him, and numerous though they were, they found it no easy matter to secure so powerful a man; and when Martin turned a last despairing glance towards the camp, ere a turn in the path shut it out from view, the hammer-like fists of his comrade were still smashing down the naked creatures who danced like monkeys round him, and the war-like shouts of his stentorian voice reverberated among the cliffs and caverns of the mountain pass long after he was hid from view. Thus Martin and Barney were separated in the wild regions near the Sierra dos Parecis of Brazil. CHAPTER XX MARTIN REFLECTS MUCH, AND FORMS A FIRM RESOLVE--THE INDIAN VILLAGE When the mind has been overwhelmed by some sudden and terrible calamity, it is long ere it again recovers its wonted elasticity. An aching void seems to exist in the heart, and a dead weight appears to press upon the brain, so that ordinary objects make but little impression, and the soul seems to turn inwards and brood drearily upon itself. The spirit of fun arid frolick, that had filled Martin Rattler's heart ever since he landed in Brazil, was now so thoroughly and rudely crushed, that he felt as if it were utterly impossible that he should ever smile again. He had no conception of the strength of his affection for the rough, hearty sailor, who had until now been the faithful and good-humoured companion of his wanderings. As Barney had himself said on a former occasion, his life up till this period had been a pleasant and exciting dream. But he was now awakened rudely to the terrible reality of his forlorn position; and the more he thought of it the more hopeless and terrible it appeared to be. He knew not in what part of Brazil he was; he was being hurried apparently deeper into these vast solitudes by savages who were certainly not friendly, and of whose language he knew not a word; and worst of all, he was separated perhaps for ever from the friend on whom, all unconsciously to himself, he had so long leaned for support in all their difficulties and dangers. Even though he and Barney should succeed in escaping from the Indians, he felt--and his heart was overwhelmed at the thought--that in such a vast country there was not the shadow of a chance that they should find each other. Under the deep depression produced by these thoughts Martin wandered on wearily, as if in a dream--taking no interest in anything that occurred by the way. At length, after several days fatiguing journey over mountains and plains, they arrived at the Indian village. Here the warriors were received with the utmost joy by the wives and children whom they had left behind, and for a long time Martin was left almost entirely to do as he pleased. A few days before, his bonds had been removed, and once or twice he thought of attempting to escape; but whenever he wandered a little further than usual into the woods, he found that he was watched and followed by a tall and powerful savage, whose duty it evidently was to see that the prisoner did not escape. The fearful idea now entered Martin's mind that he was reserved for torture, and perhaps a lingering death; for he had read that many savage nations treated their prisoners in this cruel manner, for the gratification of the women who had lost relations in the war. But as no violence was offered to him in the meantime, and he had as much farina and fruit to eat as he could use, his mind gradually became relieved, and he endeavoured as much as possible to dismiss the terrible thought altogether. The Indian village occupied a lovely situation at the base of a gentle hill or rising ground, the summit of which was clothed with luxuriant trees and shrubs. The huts were of various shapes and sizes, and very simple in construction. They were built upon the bare ground; some were supported by four corner posts, twelve or fifteen feet high, and from thirty to forty feet long, the walls being made of thin laths connected with wicker-work and plastered with clay. The doors were made of palm-leaves, and the roofs were covered with the same material, or with maize straw. Other huts were made almost entirely of palm-leaves and tent-shaped in form; and, while a few were enclosed by walls, the most of the square ones had one or more sides entirely open. In the large huts several families dwelt together, and each family had a hearth and a portion of the floor allotted to it. The smoke from their fires was allowed to find its way out by the doors and chinks in the roofs, as no chimneys were constructed for its egress. The furniture of each hut was very simple. It consisted of a few earthen pots; baskets made of palm-leaves, which were filled with Spanish potatoes, maize, mandioca roots, and various kinds of wild fruits; one or two drinking vessels; the hollow trunk of a tree, used for pounding maize in; and several dishes which contained the colours used by the Indians in painting their naked bodies,--a custom which was very prevalent amongst them. Besides these things, there were bows, arrows, spears, and blow-pipes in abundance; and hammocks hung from various posts, elevated about a foot from the ground. These hammocks were made of cotton cords, and served the purpose of tables, chairs, and beds. The ground in the immediate neighbourhood of the village was laid out in patches, in which were cultivated mandioca roots, maize, and other plants useful for domestic purposes. In front of the village there was an extensive valley, through which a small river gurgled with a pleasant sound. It was hemmed in on all sides by wooded mountains, and was so beautifully diversified by scattered clusters of palms, and irregular patches of undulating grassy plains all covered with a rich profusion of tropical flowers and climbing plants, that it seemed to Martin more like a magnificent garden than the uncultivated forest,--only far more rich and lovely and picturesque than any artificial garden could possibly be. When the sun shone in full splendour on this valley--as it almost always did--it seemed as if the whole landscape were on the point of bursting into flames of red and blue, and green and gold; and when Martin sat under the shade of a tamarind-tree and gazed long upon the enchanting scene, his memory often reverted to the Eden of which he used to read in the Bible at home, and he used to wonder if it were possible that the sun and flowers and trees _could_ be more lovely in the time when Adam walked with God in Paradise. Martin was young then, and he did not consider, although he afterwards came to know, that it was not the beauty of natural objects, but the presence and favour of God and the absence of sin, that rendered the Garden of Eden a paradise. But these thoughts always carried him back to dear old Aunt Dorothy and the sweet village of Ashford; and the Brazilian paradise was not unfrequently obliterated in tears while he gazed, and turned into a vale of weeping. Ay, he would have given that magnificent valley,--had it been his own,--ten times over, in exchange for one more glance at the loved faces and the green fields of home. Soon after his arrival at the Indian village Martin was given to understand, by signs, that he was to reside with a particular family, and work every day in the maize and mandioca fields, besides doing a great deal of the drudgery of the hut; so that he now knew he was regarded as a slave by the tribe into whose hands he had fallen. It is impossible to express the bitterness of his feelings at this discovery, and for many weeks he went about his work scarcely knowing what he did, and caring little, when the hot sun beat on him so fiercely that he could hardly stand, whether he lived or died. At length, however, he made up his mind firmly to attempt his escape. He was sitting beneath the shade of his favourite resort, the tamarind-tree, when he made this resolve. Longing thoughts of home had been strong upon him all that day, and desire for the companionship of Barney had filled his heart to bursting; so that the sweet evening sunshine and the beautiful vale over which his eyes wandered, instead of affording him pleasure, seemed but to mock his misery. It was a lesson that all must learn sooner or later, and one we would do well to think upon before we learn it, that sunshine in the soul is not dependent on the sunshine of this world, and when once the clouds descend, the brightest beams of all that earth contains cannot pierce them,--God alone can touch these dark clouds with the finger of love and mercy, and say again, as He said of old, "Let there be light." A firm purpose, formed with heart and will, is cheering and invigorating to a depressed mind. No sooner did the firm determination to escape or die enter into Martin's heart, than he sprang from his seat, and, falling on his knees, prayed to God, in the name of our Redeemer, for help and guidance. He had not the least idea of how he was to effect his escape, or of what he intended to do. All he knew was that he had _made up his mind_ to do so, _if God would help him_. And under the strength of that resolve he soon recovered much of his former cheerfulness of disposition, and did his work among the savages with a degree of energy that filled them with surprise and respect. From that day forth he never ceased to revolve in his mind every imaginable and unimaginable plan of escape, and to watch every event or circumstance, no matter how trifling, that seemed likely to aid him in his purpose. Seeing that he was a very strong and active fellow, and that he had become remarkably expert in the use of the bow and the blow-pipe, the Indians now permitted Martin to accompany them frequently on their short hunting expeditions, so that he had many opportunities of seeing more of the wonderful animals and plants of the Brazilian forests, in the studying of which he experienced great delight. Moreover, in the course of a few months he began to acquire a smattering of the Indian language, and was not compelled to live in constant silence, as had been the case at first. But he carefully avoided the formation of any friendships with the youths of the tribe, although many of them seemed to desire it, considering that his doing so might in some way or other interfere with the execution of his great purpose. He was civil and kind to them all, however, though reserved; and, as time wore away, he enjoyed much more liberty than was the case at first. Still, however, he was watched by the tall savage, who was a surly, silent fellow, and would not be drawn into conversation. Indeed he did not walk with Martin, but followed him wherever he went, during his hours of leisure, at a distance of a few hundred yards, moving when his prisoner moved, and stopping when he halted, so that Martin at last began to regard him more as a shadow than a man. CHAPTER XXI SAVAGE FEASTS AND ORNAMENTS--MARTIN GROWS DESPERATE, AND MAKES A BOLD ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE Hunting and feasting were the chief occupations of the men of the tribe with whom Martin sojourned. One day Martin was told that a great feast was to take place, and he was permitted to attend. Accordingly, a little before the appointed time he hastened to the large hut in and around which the festivities were to take place, in order to witness the preparations. The first thing that struck him was that there seemed to be no preparations making for eating; and on inquiry he was told that they did not meet to eat, they met to drink and dance,--those who were hungry might eat at home. The preparations for drinking were made on an extensive scale by the women, a number of whom stood round a large caldron, preparing its contents for use. These women wore very little clothing, and their bodies, besides being painted in a fantastic style, were also decorated with flowers and feathers. Martin could not help feeling that, however absurd the idea of painting the body was, it had at least the good effect of doing away to some extent with the idea of nakedness; for the curious patterns and devices gave to the Indians the appearance of being clothed in tights,--and, at any rate, he argued mentally, paint was better than nothing. Some of the flowers were artificially constructed out of beetles' wings, shells, fish-scales, and feathers, and were exquisitely beautiful as well as gorgeous. One of the younger women struck Martin as being ultra-fashionable in her paint. Her black shining hair hung like a cloak over her reddish-brown shoulders, and various strange drawings and figures ornamented her face and breast. On each cheek she had a circle, and over that two strokes; under the nose were four red spots; from the corners of her mouth to the middle of each cheek were two parallel lines, and below these several upright stripes; on various parts of her back and shoulders were curiously entwined circles, and the form of a snake was depicted in vermilion down each arm. Unlike the others, she wore no ornament except a simple necklace of monkeys' teeth. This beauty was particularly active in manufacturing the intoxicating drink, which is prepared thus:--A quantity of maize was pounded in the hollow trunk of a tree and put into an earthen pot, where it was boiled in a large quantity of water. Then the woman took the coarsely ground and boiled flour out of the water, chewed it in their mouths for a little, and put it into the pot again! By this means the decoction began to ferment and became intoxicating. It was a very disgusting method, yet it is practised by many Indian tribes in America; and, strange to say, also by some of the South Sea islanders, who, of course, could not have learned it from these Indians. When this beverage was ready, the chief, a tall, broad-shouldered man, whose painted costume and ornaments were most elaborate, stepped up to the pot and began a strange series of incantations, which he accompanied by rattling a small wooden instrument in his hand; staring all the time at the earthen pot, as if he half expected it to run away; and dancing slowly round it, as if to prevent such a catastrophe from taking place. The oftener the song was repeated the more solemn and earnest became the expression of his face and the tones of his voice. The rest of the Indians, who were assembled to the number of several hundreds, stood motionless round the pot, staring at him intently without speaking, and only now and then, when the voice and actions of the chief became much excited, they gave vent to a sympathetic howl. After this had gone on for some time, the chief seized a drinking-cup, or cuja, which he gravely dipped into the pot and took a sip. Then the shaking of the rattle and the monotonous song began again. The chief next took a good pull at the cup and emptied it; after which he presented it to his companions, who helped themselves at pleasure; and the dance and monotonous music became more furious and noisy the longer the cup went round. When the cup had circulated pretty freely among them, their dances and music became more lively; but they were by no means attractive. After he had watched them a short time, Martin left the festive scene with a feeling of pity for the poor savages; and as he thought upon their low and debased condition he recalled to mind the remark of his old friend the hermit,--"They want the Bible in Brazil." During his frequent rambles in the neighbourhood of the Indian village, Martin discovered many beautiful and retired spots, to which he was in the habit of going in the evenings after his daily labours were accomplished, accompanied, as usual, at a respectful distance, by his vigilant friend the tall savage. One of his favourite resting-places was at the foot of a banana-tree which grew on the brow of a stupendous cliff about a mile distant from the hut in which he dwelt. From this spot he had a commanding view of the noble valley and the distant mountains. These mountains now seemed to the poor boy to be the ponderous gates of his beautiful prison; for he had been told by one of his Indian friends that on the other side of them were great campos and forests, beyond which dwelt many Portuguese, while still further on was a great lake without shores, which was the end of the world. This, Martin was convinced, must be the Atlantic Ocean; for, upon inquiry, he found that many months of travel must be undergone ere it could be reached. Moreover, he knew that it could not be the Pacific, because the sun rose in that direction. Sauntering away to his favourite cliff, one fine evening towards sunset, he seated himself beneath the banana-tree and gazed longingly at the distant mountains, whose sharp summits glittered in the ruddy glow. He had long racked his brain in order to devise some method of escape, but hitherto without success. Wherever he went the "shadow" followed him, armed with the deadly blow-pipe; and he knew that even if he did succeed in eluding his vigilance and escaping into the woods, hundreds of savages would turn out and track him, with unerring certainty, to any hiding-place. Still the strength of his stern determination sustained him; and, at each failure in his efforts to devise some means of effecting his purpose, he threw off regret with a deep sigh, and returned to his labour with a firmer step, assured that he should eventually succeed. As he sat there on the edge of the precipice, he said, half aloud, "What prevents me from darting suddenly on that fellow and knocking him down?" This was a question that might have been easily answered. No doubt he was physically capable of coping with the man, for he had now been upwards of a year in the wilderness, and was in his sixteenth year, besides being unusually tall and robust for his age. Indeed he looked more like a full-grown man than a stripling; for hard, incessant toil had developed his muscles and enlarged his frame, and his stirring life, combined latterly with anxiety, had stamped a few of the lines of manhood on his sunburnt countenance. But, although he could have easily overcome the Indian, he knew that he would be instantly missed; and, from what he had seen of the powers of the savages in tracking wild animals to their dens in the mountains, he felt that he could not possibly elude them except by stratagem. Perplexed and wearied with unavailing thought and anxiety, Martin pressed his hands to his forehead and gazed down the perpendicular cliff, which was elevated fully a hundred feet above the plain below. Suddenly he started and clasped his hands upon his eyes, as if to shut out some terrible object from his sight. Then, creeping cautiously towards the edge of the cliff, he gazed down, while an expression of stern resolution settled upon his pale face. And well might Martin's cheek blanch, for he had hit upon a plan of escape which, to be successful, required that he should twice turn a bold, unflinching face on death. The precipice, as before mentioned, was fully a hundred feet high, and quite perpendicular. At the foot of it there flowed a deep and pretty wide stream, which, just under the spot where Martin stood, collected in a deep black pool, where it rested for a moment ere it rushed on its rapid course down the valley. Over the cliff and into that pool Martin made up his mind to plunge, and so give the impression that he had fallen over and been drowned. The risk he ran in taking such a tremendous leap was very great indeed, but that was only half the danger he must encounter. The river was one of a remarkable kind, of which there are one or two instances in South America. It flowed down the valley between high rocks, and, a few hundred yards below the pool, it ran straight against the face of a precipice and there terminated to all appearance; but a gurgling vortex in the deep water at the base of the cliff, and the disappearance of everything that entered it, showed that the stream found a subterranean passage. There was no sign of its reappearance, however, in all the country round. In short, the river was lost in the bowels of the earth. From the pool to the cliff where the river was engulfed the water ran like a mill-race, and there was no spot on either bank where any one could land, or even grasp with his hand, except one. It was a narrow, sharp rock, that jutted out about two feet from the bank, quite close to the vortex of the whirlpool. This rock was Martin's only hope. To miss it would be certain destruction. But if he should gain a footing on it he knew that he could climb by a narrow fissure into a wild, cavernous spot, which it was exceedingly difficult to reach from any other point. A bend in the river concealed this rock and the vortex from the place whereon he stood, so that he hoped to be able to reach the point of escape before the savage could descend the slope and gain the summit of the cliff from whence it could be seen. Of all this Martin was well aware, for he had been often at the place before, and knew every inch of the ground. His chief difficulty would be to leap over the precipice in such a manner as to cause the Indian to believe he had fallen over accidentally. If he could accomplish this, then he felt assured the savages would suppose he had been drowned, and so make no search for him at all. Fortunately the ground favoured this. About five feet below the edge of the precipice there was a projecting ledge of rock nearly four feet broad and covered with shrubs. Upon this it was necessary to allow himself to fall. The expedient was a desperate one, and he grew sick at heart as he glanced down the awful cliff, which seemed to him three times higher than it really was, as all heights do when seen from above. Glancing round, he observed his savage guardian gazing contemplatively at the distant prospect. Martin's heart beat audibly as he rose and walked with an affectation of carelessness to the edge of the cliff. As he gazed down, a feeling of horror seized him; he gasped for breath, and almost fainted. Then the idea of perpetual slavery flashed across his mind, and the thought of freedom and home nerved him: He clenched his hands, staggered convulsively forward and fell, with a loud and genuine shriek of terror, upon the shrubs that covered the rocky ledge. Instantly he arose, ground his teeth together, raised his eyes for one moment to heaven, and sprang into the air. For one instant he swept through empty space; the next he was deep down in the waters of the dark pool, and when the horrified Indian reached the edge of the precipice, he beheld his prisoner struggling on the surface for a moment, ere he was swept by the rapid stream round the point and out of view. Bounding down the slope, the savage sped like a hunted antelope across the intervening space between the two cliffs, and quickly gained the brow of the lower precipice, which he reached just in time to see Martin Rattler's straw hat dance for a moment on the troubled waters of the vortex and disappear in the awful abyss. But Martin saw it, too, from the cleft in the frowning rock. On reaching the surface after his leap he dashed the water from his eyes and looked with intense earnestness in the direction of the projecting rock towards which he was hurried. Down he came upon it with such speed that he felt no power of man could resist. But there was a small eddy just below it, into which he was whirled as he stretched forth his hands and clutched the rock with the energy of despair. He was instantly torn away. But another small point projected two feet below it. This he seized. The water swung his feet to and fro as it gushed into the vortex, but the eddy saved him. In a moment his breast was on the rock, then his foot, and he sprang into the sheltering cleft just a moment before the Indian came in view of the scene of his supposed death. Martin flung himself with his face to the ground, and thought rather than uttered a heartfelt thanksgiving for his deliverance. The savage carried the news of his death to his friends in the Indian village, and recounted with deep solemnity the particulars of his awful fate to crowds of wondering,--in many cases sorrowing,--listeners; and for many a day after that, the poor savages were wont to visit the terrible cliff and gaze with awe on the mysterious vortex that had swallowed up, as they believed, the fair-haired boy. CHAPTER XXII THE ESCAPE--ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS--FIGHT BETWEEN A JAGUAR AND AN ALLIGATOR--MARTIN ENCOUNTERS STRANGE AND TERRIBLE CREATURES Freedom can be fully appreciated only by those who have been for a long period deprived of liberty. It is impossible to comprehend the feelings of joy that welled up in Martin's bosom as he clambered up the rugged cliffs among which he had found shelter, and looked round upon the beautiful valley, now lying in the shadow of the mountain range behind which the sun had just set. He sat down on a rock, regardless of the wet condition of his clothes, and pondered long and earnestly over his position, which was still one of some danger; but a sensation of light-hearted recklessness made the prospect before him seem very bright. He soon made up his mind what to do. The weather was extremely warm, so that after wringing the water out of his linen clothes he experienced little discomfort; but he felt that there would not only be discomfort but no little danger in travelling in such a country without arms, covering, or provisions. He therefore determined on the bold expedient of revisiting the Indian village during the darkness of the night in order to procure what he required. He ran great risk of being retaken, but his necessity was urgent, and he was aware that several families were absent on a hunting expedition at that time whose huts were pretty certain to be unoccupied. Accordingly, when two or three hours of the night had passed, he clambered with much difficulty down the precipitous rock and reached the level plain, over which he quickly ran, and soon reached the outskirts of the village. The Indians were all asleep, and no sound disturbed the solemn stillness of the night. Going stealthily towards a hut he peeped in at the open window, but could see and hear nothing. Just as he was about to enter, however, a long-drawn breath proved that it was occupied. He shrank hastily back into the deep shade of the bushes. In a few minutes he recovered from the agitation into which he had been thrown and advanced cautiously towards another hut. This one seemed to be untenanted, so he opened the palm-leaf door gently and entered. No time was to be lost now. He found an empty sack or bag, into which he hastily threw as much farina as he could carry without inconvenience. Besides this, he appropriated a long knife; a small hatchet; a flint and steel, to enable him to make a fire; and a stout bow with a quiver full of arrows. It was so dark that it was with difficulty he found these things. But as he was on the point of leaving he observed a white object in a corner. This turned out to be a light hammock, which he seized eagerly, and, rolling it up into a small bundle, placed it in the sack. He also sought for, and fortunately found, an old straw-hat, which he put on. Martin had now obtained all that he required, and was about to quit the hut when he became suddenly rooted to the spot with horror on observing the dark countenance of an Indian gazing at him with distended eyeballs over the edge of a hammock. His eyes, unaccustomed to the darkness of the room, had not at first observed that an Indian was sleeping there. He now felt that he was lost. The savage evidently knew him. Dreadful thoughts flashed through his brain. He thought of the knife in his belt, and how easily he could despatch the Indian in a moment as he lay; but then the idea of imbruing his hands in human blood seemed so awful that he could not bring himself to do it. As he looked steadily at the savage he observed that his gaze was one of intense horror, and it suddenly occurred to him that the Indian supposed he was a ghost! Acting upon this supposition, Martin advanced his face slowly towards that of the Indian, put on a dark frown, and stood for a few seconds without uttering a word. The savage shrank back and shuddered from head to foot. Then, with a noiseless step, Martin retreated slowly backward towards the door and passed out like a spectre--never for a moment taking his eyes off those of the savage until he was lost in darkness. On gaining the forest he fled with a beating heart to his former retreat; but his fears were groundless, for the Indian firmly believed that Martin's spirit had visited his hut and carried away provisions for his journey to the land of spirits. Without waiting to rest, Martin no sooner reached the scene of his adventurous leap than he fastened his bag firmly on his shoulders and struck across the valley in the direction of the blue mountains that hemmed it in. Four or five hours' hard walking brought him to their base, and long before the rising sun shone down upon his recent home he was over the hills and far away, trudging onward with a weary foot, but with a light heart, in what he believed to be the direction of the east coast of Brazil. He did not dare to rest until the rugged peaks of the mountain range were between him and the savages; but, when he had left these far behind him, he halted about mid-day to breakfast and repose by the margin of a delightfully cool mountain stream. "I'm safe now!" said Martin aloud, as he threw down his bundle beneath a spreading tree and commenced to prepare breakfast. "O! my friend Barney, I wish that you were here to keep me company." The solitary youth looked round as if he half expected to see the rough visage and hear the gladsome voice of his friend; but no voice replied to his, and the only living creature he saw was a large monkey, which peered inquisitively clown at him from among the branches of a neighbouring bush. This reminded him that he had left his pet Marmoset in the Indian village, and a feeling of deep self-reproach filled his heart In the haste and anxiety of his flight he had totally forgotten his little friend. But regret was now unavailing. Marmoset was lost to him for ever. Having kindled a small fire, Martin kneaded a large quantity of farina in the hollow of a smooth stone, and baked a number of flat cakes, which were soon fired and spread out upon the ground. While thus engaged, a snake of about six feet long and as thick as a man's arm glided past him. Martin started convulsively, for he had never seen one of the kind before, and he knew that the bite of some of the snakes is deadly. Fortunately his axe was at hand. Grasping it quickly, he killed the reptile with a single blow. Two or three mandioca cakes, a few wild fruits, and a draught of water from the stream, formed the wanderer's simple breakfast. After it was finished, he slung his hammock between two trees, and jumping in, fell into a deep, untroubled slumber, in which he continued all that day and until daybreak the following morning. After partaking of a hearty breakfast, Martin took up his bundle and resumed his travels. That day he descended into the level and wooded country that succeeded the mountain range; and that night he was obliged to encamp in a swampy place near a stagnant lake in which several alligators were swimming, and where the mosquitoes were so numerous that he found it absolutely impossible to sleep. At last, in despair, he sprang into the branches of the tree to which his hammock was slung and ascended to the top. Here, to his satisfaction, he found that there were scarcely any mosquitoes, while a cool breeze fanned his fevered brow; so he determined to spend the night in the tree. By binding several branches together he formed a rude sort of couch, on which he lay down comfortably, placing his knife and bow beside him, and using the hammock rolled up as a pillow. As the sun was setting, and while he leaned on his elbow looking down through the leaves with much interest at the alligators that gambolled in the reedy lake, his attention was attracted to a slight rustling in the bushes near the foot of the tree. Looking down, he perceived a large jaguar gliding through the underwood with cat-like stealth. Martin now observed that a huge alligator had crawled out of the lake, and was lying on the bank asleep a few yards from the margin. When the jaguar reached the edge of the bushes it paused, and then, with one tremendous spring, seized the alligator by the soft part beneath its tail. The huge monster struggled for a few seconds, endeavouring to reach the water, and then lay still, while the jaguar worried and tore at its tough hide with savage fury. Martin was much surprised at the passive conduct of the alligator. That it could not turn its stiff body, so as to catch the jaguar in its jaws, did not, indeed, surprise him; but he wondered very much to see the great reptile suffer pain so quietly. It seemed to be quite paralyzed. In a few minutes the jaguar retired a short distance. Then the alligator made a rush for the water; but the jaguar darted back and caught it again; and Martin now saw that the jaguar was actually playing with the alligator as a cat plays with a mouse before she kills it! During one of the cessations of the combat, if we may call it by that name, the alligator almost gained the water, and in the short struggle that ensued both animals rolled down the bank and fell into the lake. The tables were now turned. The jaguar made for the shore; but before it could reach it the alligator wheeled round, opened its tremendous jaws and caught its enemy by the middle. There was one loud splash in the water, as the alligator's powerful tail dashed it into foam; and one awful roar of agony, which was cut suddenly short and stifled as the monster dived to the bottom with its prey; then all was silent as the grave, and a few ripples on the surface were all that remained to tell of the battle that had been fought there. Martin remained motionless on the tree top, brooding over the fight which he had just witnessed, until the deepening shadows warned him that it was time to seek repose. Turning on his side he laid his head on his pillow, while a soft breeze swayed the tree gently to and fro and rocked him sound asleep. Thus, day after day, and week after week, did Martin Rattler wander alone through the great forests, sometimes pleasantly, and at other times with more or less discomfort; subsisting on game which he shot with his arrows, and on wild fruits. He met with many strange adventures by the way, which would fill numerous volumes were they to be written every one; but we must pass over many of these in silence that we may recount those that were most interesting. One evening as he was walking through a very beautiful country, in which were numerous small lakes and streams, he was suddenly arrested by a crashing sound in the underwood, as if some large animal were coming towards him; and he had barely time to fit an arrow to his bow when the bushes in front of him were thrust aside, and the most hideous monster that he had ever seen appeared before his eyes. It was a tapir; but Martin had never heard of or seen such creatures before, although there are a good many in some parts of Brazil. The tapir is a very large animal,--about five or six feet long and three or four feet high. It is in appearance something between an elephant and a hog. Its nose is very long, and extends into a short proboscis; but there is no finger at the end of it like that of the elephant. Its colour is a deep brownish black, its tough hide is covered with a thin sprinkling of strong hairs, and its mane is thick and bristly. So thick is its hide that a bullet can scarcely penetrate it; and it can crush its way through thickets and bushes, however dense, without receiving a scratch. Although a very terrific animal to look at, it is fortunately of a very peaceable and timid disposition, so that it flees from danger and is very quick in discovering the presence of an enemy. Sometimes it is attacked by the jaguar, which springs suddenly upon it and fastens its claws in its back; but the tapir's tough hide is not easily torn, and he gets rid of his enemy by bouncing into the tangled bushes and bursting through them, so that the jaguar is very soon _scraped_ off his back! The tapir lives as much in the water as on the land, and delights to wallow like a pig in muddy pools. It is, in fact, very similar in many of its habits to the great hippopotamus of Africa, but is not quite so large. It feeds entirely on vegetables, buds, fruits, and the tender shoots of trees, and always at night. During the day time it sleeps. The Indians of Brazil are fond of its flesh, and they hunt it with spears and poisoned arrows. But Martin knew nothing of all this, and fully expected that the dreadful creature before him would attack and kill him; for, when he observed its coarse, tough-looking hide, and thought of the slender arrows with which he was armed, he felt that he had no chance, and there did not happen to be a tree near him at the time up which he could climb. With the energy of despair he let fly an arrow with all his force; but the weak shaft glanced from the tapir's side without doing it the slightest damage. Then Martin turned to fly, but at the same moment the tapir did the same, to his great delight and surprise. It wheeled round with a snort, and went off crashing through the stout underwood as if it had been grass, leaving a broad track behind it. On another occasion he met with a formidable-looking but comparatively harmless animal, called the great ant-eater. This remarkable creature is about six feet in length, with very short legs and very long strong claws; a short curly tail, and a sharp snout, out of which it thrusts a long narrow tongue. It can roll itself up like a hedgehog, and when in this position might be easily mistaken for a bundle of coarse hay. It lives chiefly if not entirely upon ants. When Martin discovered the great ant-eater, it was about to begin its supper; so he watched it. The plain was covered with ant-hills, somewhat pillar-like in shape. At the foot of one of these the animal made an attack, tearing up earth and sticks with its enormously strong claws, until it made a large hole in the hard materials of which the hill was composed. Into this hole it thrust its long tongue, and immediately the ants swarmed upon it. The creature let its tongue rest till it was completely covered over with thousands of ants, then it drew it into its mouth and engulfed them all! As Martin had no reason in the world for attempting to shoot the great ant-eater, and as he was, moreover, by no means sure that he could kill it if he were to try, he passed on quietly and left this curious animal to finish its supper in peace. CHAPTER XXIII MARTIN MEETS WITH FRIENDS AND VISITS THE DIAMOND MINES One day, after Martin had spent many weeks in wandering alone through the forest, during the course of which he was sometimes tempted to despair of seeing the face of man again, he discovered a beaten track; at the sight of which his heart bounded with delight. It was a Saturday afternoon when he made this discovery, and he spent the Sabbath-day in rest beside it. For Martin had more than once called to remembrance the words which good Aunt Dorothy used to hear him repeat out of the Bible "Remember the Sabbath-day, to keep it holy." He had many long, earnest, and serious meditations in that silent forest, such as a youth would be very unlikely to have in almost any other circumstances, except, perhaps, on a sick-bed; and among other things he had been led to consider that if he made no difference between Saturday and Sunday, he must certainly be breaking that commandment; so he resolved thenceforth to rest on the Sabbath-day; and he found much benefit, both to mind and body, from this arrangement. During this particular Sabbath he rested beside the beaten track, and often did he walk up and down it a short way, wondering where it would lead him to; and several times he prayed that he might be led by it to the habitations of civilized men. Next day after breakfast he prepared to set out; but now he was much perplexed as to which way he ought to go, for the track did not run in the direction in which he had been travelling, but at right angles to that way. While he still hesitated the sound of voices struck on his ear, and he almost fainted with excitement; for, besides the hope that he might now meet with friends, there was also the fear that those approaching might be enemies; and the sudden sound of the human voice, which he had not heard for so long, tended to create conflicting and almost overwhelming feelings in his breast. Hiding quickly behind a tree, he awaited the passing of the cavalcade; for the sounds of horses' hoofs were now audible. In a few minutes a string of laden mules approached, and then six horsemen appeared, whose bronzed olive complexions, straw-hats and ponchos, betokened them Brazilians. As they passed, Martin hailed them in an unsteady voice. They pulled up suddenly and drew pistols from their holsters; but on seeing only a fair youth armed with a bow, they replaced their weapons, and with a look of surprise rode up and assailed him with a volley of unintelligible Portuguese. "Do any of you speak English?" inquired Martin, advancing. One of the horsemen replied, "Yees, I spok one leet. Ver' smoll. Where you be com?" "I have escaped from the Indians who live in the mountains far away over yonder. I have been wandering now for many weeks in the forest, and I wish to get to the sea-coast or to some town where I may get something to do, that I may be enabled to return home." "Ho!" said the horseman, gravely. "You com vid us. Ve go vid goods to de Diamond Mines. Git vork dere, yees. Put you body on dat hoss." As the Brazilian spoke he pointed to a spare horse, which was led, along with several others, by a Negro. Thanking him for his politeness Martin seized the horse by the mane and vaulted into the saddle, if the rude contrivance on its back might be so designated. The string of mules then moved on, and Martin rode with a light heart beside this obliging stranger, conversing with much animation. In a very short time he learned, through the medium of his own bad Portuguese and the Brazilian's worse English, that he was not more than a day's ride from one of the diamond mines of that province of Brazil which is named Minas Geraes; that he was still many leagues distant from the sea; and that he would be sure to get work at the mines if he wished it, for the chief overseer, the Baron Fagoni, was an amiable man and very fond of the English,--but he could not speak their language at all, and required an interpreter. "And," said the Brazilian, with a look of great dignity, "I hab de honour for be de 'terpreter." "Ah!" exclaimed Martin, "then I am in good fortune, for I shall have a friend at court." The interpreter smiled slightly and bowed, after which they proceeded for some time in silence. Next evening they arrived at the mines; and, after seeing to the comfort of his horse, and inquiring rather hastily as to the welfare of his family, the interpreter conducted Martin to the overseer's house in order to introduce him. The Baron Fagoni stood smoking in the doorway of his dwelling as they approached; and the first impression that Martin received of him was anything but agreeable. He was a large, powerful man, with an enormous red beard and moustache, and a sombrero-like hat that concealed nearly the whole of his face. He seemed an irritable man, too; for he jerked his arms about and stamped in a violent manner as they drew near, and instead of waiting to receive them, he entered the house hastily and shut the door in their faces! "The Baron would do well to take lessons in civility," said Martin, colouring, as he turned to the interpreter. "Ah, he be a leet pecoolair, sometime! Nev'r mind. Ve vill go to him," So saying, the interpreter opened the door and entered the hall where the overseer was seated at a desk writing as if in violent haste. Seeing that he did not mean to take notice of them, the interpreter spoke to him in Portuguese; but he was soon interrupted by a sharp reply, uttered in a harsh, grating voice, by the overseer, who did not look up or cease from his work. Again the interpreter spoke as if in some surprise; but he was cut short by the overseer uttering, in a deep, stern voice, the single word "Obey." With a low bow the interpreter turned away, and taking Martin by the arm led him into an inner apartment, where, having securely fastened the window, he said to him, "De Baron say you be von blackguard tief; go bout contrie for steal diamonds. He make prisoner ov you. Adios." So saying, the interpreter made his bow and retired, locking the door behind him and leaving Martin standing in the middle of the room staring before him in speechless amazement. CHAPTER XXIV THE DIAMOND MINES--MORE AND MORE ASTONISHING! If Martin Rattler was amazed at the treatment he experienced at the hands of his new acquaintances on arriving, he had occasion to be very much more surprised at what occurred three hours after his incarceration. It was getting dark when he was locked up, and for upwards of two hours he was left in total darkness. Moreover, he began to feel very hungry, having eaten nothing since mid-day. He was deeply engaged in devising plans for his escape when he was interrupted by the door being unlocked and a Negro slave entering with four magnificent candles, made of beeswax, which he placed upon the table. Then he returned to the door, where another slave handed him a tray containing dishes, knives and forks, and, in short, all the requisites for laying out a supper-table. Having spread a clean linen cloth on the board, he arranged covers for two, and going to the door placed his head to one side and regarded his arrangements with much complacency and without paying the slightest attention to Martin, who pinched himself in order to make sure he was not dreaming. In a few minutes the second Negro returned with an enormous tray, on which were dishes of all sizes, from under whose covers came the most savoury odours imaginable. Having placed these symmetrically on the board, both slaves retired and relocked the door without saying a word. At last it began to dawn on Martin's Imagination that the overseer must be an eccentric individual, who found pleasure in taking his visitors by surprise. But although this seemed a possible solution of the difficulty, he did not feel satisfied with it. He could with difficulty resist the temptation to attack the viands, however, and was beginning to think of doing this, regardless of all consequences, when the door again opened and the Baron Fagoni entered, relocked the door, put the key in his pocket, and, standing before his prisoner with folded arms, gazed at him intently from beneath his sombrero. Martin could not stand this. "Sir," said he, starting up, "if this is a joke you have carried it far enough; and if you really detain me here a prisoner, every feeling of honour ought to deter you from adding insult to injury." To this sternly delivered speech the Baron made no reply, but, springing suddenly upon Martin, he grasped him in his powerful arms and crushed him to his broad breast till he almost broke every bone in his body. "Och! cushla, bliss yer young face! sure it's yersilf, an' no mistake! Kape still, Martin dear. Let me look at ye, darlint! Ah! then, isn't it my heart that's been broken for months an' months past about ye?" Reader, it would be utterly in vain for me to attempt to describe either the words that flowed from the lips of Martin Rattler and Barney O'Flannagan on this happy occasion, or the feelings that filled their swelling hearts. The speechless amazement of Martin, the ejaculatory exclamations of the Baron Fagoni, the rapid questions and brief replies, are all totally indescribable. Suffice it to say that for full quarter of an hour they exclaimed, shouted, and danced round each other, without coming to any satisfactory knowledge of how each had got to the same place, except that Barney at last discovered that Martin had travelled there by chance, and he had reached the mines by "intuition." Having settled this point, they sobered down a little. "Now, Martin darlint," cried the Irishman, throwing aside his hat for the first time, and displaying his well-known jolly visage, of which the forehead, eyes, and nose alone survived the general inundation of red hair, "ye'll be hungry, I've small doubt, so sit ye down, lad, to supper, and you'll tell me yer story as ye go along, and afther that I'll tell ye mine, while I smoke my pipe,--the ould cutty, boy, that has corned through fire and wather, sound as a bell and blacker than iver!" The Baron held up the well-known instrument of fumigation, as he spoke, in triumph. Supper was superb. There were venison steaks, armadillo cutlets, tapir hash, iguana pie, and an immense variety of fruits and vegetables, that would have served a dozen men, besides cakes and splendid coffee. "You live well here, Barney--I beg pardon--Baron Fagoni," said Martin, during a pause in their meal; "how in the world did you come by that name?" Barney winked expressively. "Ah, boy, I wish I may niver have a worse. Ye see, when I first corned here, about four months ago, I found that the mine was owned by an Irish gintleman; an', like all the race, he's a trump. He took to me at wance when he hear'd my voice, and then he took more to me when he corned to know me character; and says he to me wan day, 'Barney,' says he, 'I'm gittin' tired o' this kind o' life now, and if ye'll agree to stop here as overseer, and sind me the proceeds o' the mine to Rio Janeiro, a great city on the sea-coast, an' the capital o' Brazil, I'll give ye a good share o' the profits. But,' says he, 'ye'll need to pretind ye're a Roosian, or a Pole, or somethin' o' that kind; for the fellows in thim parts are great rascals, and there's a few Englishmen among them who would soon find out that ye're only a jack-tar before the mast, and would chate ye at no allowance; but if ye could spake no language under the sun but the gibberish pecooliar to the unbeknown provinces o' Siberia, ye could escape detection as far as yer voice is consarned; and by lettin' yer beard grow as long as possible, and dressin' yersilf properly, ye might pass, and be as dignified as the great Mogul.' "'Musha!' said I, 'but if I don't spake me own tongue I'll have to be dumb altogither.' "'No fear,' says he; 'I'll tache ye enough Portuguese in a month or two to begin with, an' ye'll pick it up aisy after that.' And sure enough I began, tooth and nail, and, by hard workin', got on faster than I expected; for I can spake as much o' the lingo now as tides me over needcessities, and I understand most o' what's said to me. Anyhow, I ginerally see what they're drivin' at." "So, then, you're actually in charge of the mine?" said Martin, in surprise. "Jist so, boy; but I'm tired of it already; it's by no means so pleasant as I expected it would be; so I'm thinkin' o' lavin' it, and takin' to the say again. I'm longin' dreadful to see the salt wather wance more." "But what will the owner say, Barney: won't he have cause to complain of your breaking your engagement?" "Niver a bit, boy. He tould me, before we parted, that if I wanted to quit I was to hand over the consarn to the interpreter, who is an honest fellow, I belave; so I'm jist goin' to pocket a di'mond or two, and ask lave to take them home wid me. I'll be off in a week, if all goes well. An' now, Martin, fill yer glass; ye'll find the wine is not bad, after wan or two glasses; an' I'll tell ye about my adventures since I saw ye last." "But you have not explained about your name," said Martin. "Och! the fact is, that when I corned here I fortunately fell in with the owner first, and we spoke almost intirely in Irish, so nobody understood where I corned from; and the interpreter hear'd the master call me by my name; so he wint off and said to the people that a great Barono Flanagoni had come, and was up at the house wid the master. But we corrected him afterward, and gave him to understand that I was the Baron Fagoni. I had some trouble with the people at first, after the owner left; but I pounded wan or two o' the biggest o' them, to such a extint that their own friends hardly knew them; an' iver since they've been mighty civil." Having carefully filled the black pipe, and involved himself in his own favourite atmosphere, the Baron Fagoni then proceeded to relate his adventures, and dilated upon them to such an extent that five or six pipes were filled and finished ere the story came to a close. Martin also related his adventures; to which his companion listened with such breathless attention and earnestness that his pipe was constantly going-out; and the two friends did not retire to rest till near daybreak. The substance of the Baron's narrative was as follows:-- At the time that he had been so suddenly separated from his friend, Barney had overcome many of his opponents, but at length he was overpowered by numbers, and his arms were firmly bound; after which he was roughly driven before them through the woods for several days, and was at length taken to their village among the mountains. Here he remained a close prisoner for three weeks, shut up in a small hut and bound by a strong rope to a post. Food was taken to him by an old Indian woman, who paid no attention at first to what he said to her, for the good reason that she did not understand a word of English. The persuasive eloquence of her prisoner's tones, however, or perhaps his brogue, seemed in the course of a few days to have made an impression on her; for she condescended to smile at the unintelligible compliments which Barney lavished upon her in the hope of securing her good-will. During all this time the Irishman's heart was torn with conflicting feelings, and although, from the mere force of habit, he could jest with the old woman when she paid her daily visits, there was no feeling of fun in his bosom, but, on the contrary, a deep and overwhelming sorrow, which showed itself very evidently on his expressive face. He groaned aloud when he thought of Martin, whom he never expected again to see; and he dreaded every hour the approach of his savage captors, who, he fully expected, retained him in order to put him to death. One day, while he was sitting in a very disconsolate mood, the Indian woman entered with his usual dinner--a plate of thick soup and a coarse cake. Barney smiled upon her as usual, and then letting his eyes fall on the ground, sighed deeply,--for his heart was heavier than usual that day. As the woman was about to go, he looked earnestly and gravely in her face, and putting his large hand gently on her head, patted her grey hairs. This tender action seemed to affect the old woman more than usual. She laid her hand on Barney's arm, and looked as if she wished to speak. Then turning suddenly from him, she drew a small knife from her girdle and dropped it on the ground, as if accidentally, while she left the hut and re-fastened the door. Barney's heart leaped. He seized the knife and concealed it hastily in his bosom, and then ate his dinner with more than ordinary zest; for now he possessed the means of cutting the strong rope that bound him. He waited with much impatience until night closed over the Indian village, and then cutting his bonds, he tore down the rude and rather feeble fastenings of the door. In another instant he was dashing along at full speed through the forest, without hat or coat, and with the knife clutched in his right hand! Presently he heard cries behind him, and redoubled his speed; for now he knew that the savages had discovered his escape and were in pursuit. But, although a good runner, Barney was no match for the lithe and naked Indians. They rapidly gained on him, and he was about to turn at bay and fight for his life, when he observed water gleaming through the foliage on his left. Dashing down a glade he came to the edge of a broad river with a rapid current. Into this he sprang recklessly, intending to swim with the stream; but ere he lost his footing he heard the low deep thunder of a cataract a short distance below! Drawing back in terror, he regained the bank, and waded up a considerable distance in the shallow water, so as to leave no trace of his footsteps. Then he leaped upon a rock, and, catching hold of the lower branches of a large tree, drew himself up among the dense foliage, just as the yelling savages rushed with wild tumult to the water's edge. Here they paused, as if baffled. They spoke in rapid, vehement tones for a few seconds, and then one party hastened down the banks of the stream towards the fall, while another band searched the banks above. Barney's heart fell as he sat panting in the tree, for he knew that they would soon discover him. But he soon resolved on a bold expedient. Slipping down from the tree, he ran deliberately back towards the village; and, as he drew near, he followed the regular beaten track that led towards it. On the way he encountered one or two savages hastening after the pursuing party; but he leaped lightly into the bushes, and lay still till they were past. Then he ran on, skirted round the village, and pushed into the woods in an entirely opposite direction from the one in which he had first set out. Keeping by one of the numerous tracks that radiated from the village into the forest, he held on at top speed, until his progress was suddenly arrested by a stream about twenty yards broad. It was very deep, and he was about to plunge in, in order to swim across, when he observed a small montaria, or canoe, lying on the bank. This he launched quickly, and observing that the river took a bend a little further down, and appeared to proceed in the direction he wished to pursue,--namely, away from the Indian village,--he paddled down the rapid stream as fast as he could. The current was very strong, so that his little bark flew down it like an arrow, and on more than one occasion narrowly missed being dashed to pieces on the rocks which here and there rose above the stream. In about two hours Barney came to a place where the stream took another bend to the left, and soon after the canoe swept out upon the broad river into which he had at first so nearly plunged. He was a long way below the fall now, for its sound was inaudible; but it was no time to abate his exertions. The Indians might be still in pursuit; so he continued to paddle all that night, and did not take rest until daybreak. Then he slept for two hours, ate a few wild fruits, and continued his journey. In the course of the next day, to his great joy, he overtook a trading canoe, which had been up another tributary of this river, and was descending with part of a cargo of India-rubber shoes. None of the men, of whom there were four, could speak English; but they easily saw from the Irishman's condition that he had escaped from enemies and was in distress; so they took him on board, and were glad to avail themselves of his services: for, as we have before mentioned, men are not easily procured for voyaging in those parts of Brazil. Three weeks after this they arrived at a small town, where the natives were busily engaged in the manufacture of shoes, bottles, and other articles of India-rubber; and here Barney found employment for a short time. The seringa, or India-rubber-tree, grows plentifully in some parts of Brazil, and many hundreds of the inhabitants are employed in the manufacture of shoes. The India-rubber is the juice of the tree, and flows from it when an incision is made. This juice is poured into moulds and left to harden. It is of a yellowish colour naturally, and is blackened in the course of preparation. Barney did not stay long here. Shoe-making, he declared, was not his calling by any means; so he seized the first opportunity he had of joining a party of traders going into the interior, in the direction of the diamond districts. The journey was long and varied. Sometimes by canoe and sometimes on the backs of mules and horses, and many extraordinary adventures did he go through ere he reached the diamond mines. And when at length he did so, great was his disappointment. Instead of the glittering caves which his vivid imagination had pictured, he found that there were no caves at all; that the diamonds were found by washing in the muddy soil; and worst of all, that when found they were dim and unpolished, so that they seemed no better than any other stone. However, he resolved to continue there for a short time, in order to make a little money; but now that Martin had arrived he thought that they could not do better than make their way to the coast as fast as possible, and go to sea. "The only thing I have to regret," he said, at the conclusion of his narrative, "is that I left Grampus behind me. But arrah! I came off from the savages in such a hurry that I had no time at all to tell him I was goin'!" Having sat till daybreak, the two friends went to bed to dream of each other and of home. Next morning Barney took Martin to visit the diamond mines. On the way they passed a band of Negro slaves who encircled a large fire, the weather being very cold. It was at that time about the end of July, which is one of the coldest months in the year. In this part of Brazil summer and winter are reversed,--the coldest months being May, June, and July; the hottest, November, December, January, and February. Minas Geraes, the diamond district, is one of the richest provinces of Brazil. The inhabitants are almost entirely occupied in mining or in supplying the miners with the necessaries of life. Diggers and shopkeepers are the two principal classes, and of these the latter are best off; for their trade is steady and lucrative, while the success of the miners is very uncertain. Frequently a large sum of money and much time are expended in mining without any adequate result; but the merchants always find a ready sale for their merchandise, and, as they take diamonds and gold-dust in exchange, they generally realize large profits and soon become rich. The poor miner is like the gambler. He digs on in hope; sometimes finding barely enough to supply his wants,--at other times making a fortune suddenly; but never giving up in despair, because he knows that at every handful of earth he turns up he may perhaps find a diamond worth hundreds, or, it may be, thousands of pounds. Cidade Diamantina,--the City of Diamonds,--is the capital of the province. It is a large city, with many fine churches and buildings; and the whole population, consisting of more than 6000 souls, are engaged, directly or indirectly, in mining. Every one who owns a few slaves employs them in washing the earth for gold and diamonds. The mine of which Barney had so unexpectedly become overseer, was a small one, in a remote part of the district, situated among the mountains, and far distant from the City of Diamonds. There were only a few huts, rudely built and roofed with palm leaves, besides a larger building, or cottage, in which the Baron Fagoni resided. "Tis a strange life they lead here," said Barney, as he led Martin down a gorge of the mountains towards a small spot of level ground on which the slaves were at work; "a strange life, and by no means a pleasant wan; for the feedin' is none o' the best and the work very sevare." "Why, Barney, if I may judge from last night's supper, the feeding seems to be excellent." "Thrue, boy, the Baron Fagoni feeds well, bekase he's the cock o' the roost; but the poor Naygurs are not overly well fed, and the critters are up to their knees in wather all day, washing di'monds; so they suffer much from rheumatiz and colds. Och, but it's murther entirely; an' I've more than wance felt inclined to fill their pockets with di'monds and set them all free! Jist look, now, there they are, hard at it." As he spoke they arrived at the mine. The ground in the vicinity was all cut up and dug out to a considerable depth, and a dozen Negroes were standing under a shed washing the earth, while others were engaged in the holes excavating the material. While Martin watched them his friend explained the process. The different kinds of soil through which it is necessary to cut before reaching the diamond deposit are, first, about twenty feet of reddish sandy soil; then about eight feet of a tough yellowish clay; beneath this lies a layer of coarse reddish sand, below which is the peculiar soil in which diamonds are found. It is called by the miners the _cascalho_, and consists of loose gravel, the pebbles of which are rounded and polished, having at some previous era been subject to the action of running water. The bed varies in thickness from one to four feet, and the pebbles are of various kinds; but when there are many of a species called _Esmerilopreto_, the cascalho is considered to be rich in diamonds. Taking Martin round to the back of the shed, Barney showed him a row of troughs, about three feet square, close to the edge of a pond of water. These troughs are called _bacos_. In front of each stood a Negro slave up to his knees in water. Each had a wooden plate, with which he dashed water upon the rough cascalho as it was thrown into the trough by another slave. By this means, and by stirring it with a small hoe, the earth and sand are washed away. Two overseers were closely watching the process; for it is during this part of the operation that the largest diamonds are found. These overseers were seated on elevated seats, each being armed with a long leathern whip, to keep a sharp look out, for the slaves are expert thieves. After the cascalho had been thus purified it was carefully removed to the shed to be finally washed. Here seven slaves were seated on the side of a small canal, about four feet broad, with their legs in the water nearly up to their knees. The canal is called the _lavadeira_. Each man had a small wooden platter, into which another slave, who stood behind him, put a shovelful of purified cascalho. The _bateia_, or platter, was then filled with water and washed with the utmost care several times, being closely examined after each washing, and the diamonds picked out. Sometimes many platefuls were examined but nothing found; at other times several diamonds were found in one plate. While Martin was looking on with much curiosity and interest, one of the slaves uttered an exclamation and held up a minute stone between his finger and thumb. "Ah! good luck to ye, lad!" said Barney, advancing and taking the diamond which had been discovered. "See here, Martin; there's the thing, lad, that sparkles on the brow o' beauty, and gives the Naygurs rheumatiz--" "Not to mention their usefulness in providing the great Baron Fagoni with a livelihood," added Martin, with a smile. Barney laughed, and going up to the place where the two overseers were seated, dropped the precious gem into a plate of water placed between them for the purpose of receiving the diamonds as they were found. "They git fifteen or twinty a day sometimes," said Barney, as they retraced their steps to the cottage; "and I've hear'd o' them getting stones worth many thousands o' pounds; but the biggest they iver found since I corned here was not worth more than four hundred." "And what do you do with them, Barney, when they are found?" inquired Martin. "Sind them to Rio Janeiro, lad, where my employer sells them. I don't know how much he makes a year by it; but the thing must pay, for he's very liberal with his cash, and niver forgits to pay wages. There's always a lot o' gould-dust found in the bottom o' the bateia after each washing, and that is carefully collected and sold. But, arrah! I wouldn't give wan snifter o' the say-breezes for all the di'monds in Brazil!" As Barney said this he entered his cottage and flung down his hat with the air of a man who was resolved to stand it no longer. "But why don't you wash on your own account?" cried Martin. "What say you; shall we begin together? We may make our fortune the first week, perhaps!" Barney shook his head. "No, no, boy; I've no faith in my luck with the di'monds or gould. Nevertheless I have hear'd o' men makin' an awful heap o' money that way; partiklarly wan man that made his fortin with wan stone." "Who was that lucky dog?" asked Martin. "Well, ye see, it happened this way: There's a custom hereaway that slaves are allowed to work on Sundays and holidays on their own account; but when the mines was a government consarn this was not allowed, and the slaves were the most awful thieves livin', and often made off with some o' the largest diamonds. Well, there was a man named Juiz de Paz, who owned a small shop, and used to go down now and then to Rio de Janeiro to buy goods. Wan evenin' he returned from wan o' his long journeys, and, being rather tired, wint to bed. He was jist goin' off into a comfortable doze when there came a terrible bumpin' at the door. "'Hallo!' cried Juiz, growlin' angrily in the Portugee tongue; 'what d'ye want?' "There was no answer but another bumpin' at the door. So up he jumps, and, takin' down a big blunderbuss that hung over his bed, opened the door, an' seized a Naygur be the hair o' the head! "'Oh, massa! oh, massa! let him go! Got di'mond for to sell!' "On hearin' this, Juiz let go, and found that the slave had come to offer for sale a large di'mond, which weighed about two penny-weights and a third. "'What d'ye ask for it?' said Juiz, with sparklin' eyes. "'Six hundred mil-reis,' answered the Naygur. "This was about equal to £180 Stirling. Without more words about it, he paid down the money; and the slave went away. Juiz lost his sleep that night. He went and tould the neighbours he had forgot a piece of important business in Rio and must go back at wance. So back he went, and stayed some time in the city, tryin' to git his di'mond safely sold; for it was such a big wan that he feared the government fellows might hear o't; in which case he would have got tin years transportation to Angola on the coast of Africa. At last, however, he got rid of it for 20,000 mil-reis, which is about £6000. It was all paid to him in hard dollars; and he nearly went out o' his wits for joy. But he was brought down a peg nixt day, when he found that the same di'mond was sold for nearly twice as much as he had got for it. Howiver, he had made a pretty considerable fortin; an' he's now the richest di'mond and gould merchant in the district." "A lucky fellow certainly," said Martin. "But I must say I have no taste for such chance work; so I'm quite ready to start for the sea-coast whenever it suits the Baron Fagoni's convenience." While they were speaking they were attracted by voices outside the cottage, which sounded as if in altercation. In another minute the door burst open, and a man entered hurriedly, followed by the interpreter. "Your overseer is impertinent!" exclaimed the man, who was a tall swarthy Brazilian. "I wish to buy a horse or a good mule, and he won't let me have one. I am not a beggar; I offer to pay." The man spoke in Portuguese, and Barney replied in the same language. "You can have a horse _if you pay for it_." The Brazilian replied by throwing a heavy bag of dollars on the table. "All right," said Barney, turning to his interpreter and conversing with him in an under-tone. "Give him what he requires." So saying he bowed the Brazilian out of the room, and returned to the enjoyment of his black pipe, which had been interrupted by the incident. "That man seems in a hurry," said Martin. "So he is. My interpreter tells me that he is quite like one o' the blackguards that sometimes go about the mines doin' mischief, and he's in hot haste to be away. I should not wonder if the spalpeen has been stealin' gould or di'monds and wants to escape. But of course I've nothin' to do with that, unless I was sure of it; and I've a horse or two to sell, and he has money to pay for it; so he's welcome. He says he is makin' straight for the say-coast; and with your lave, Martin, my boy, you and I will be doin' that same in a week after this, and say good-bye to the di'mond mines." CHAPTER XXV NEW SCENES AND PLEASANT TRAVELLING A new and agreeable sensation is a pleasant thing. It was on as bright an evening as ever shone upon Brazil, and in as fair a scene as one could wish to behold, that Martin Rattler and his friend Barney experienced a new sensation. On the wide campos, on the flower-bedecked and grassy plains, they each bestrode a fiery charger; and, in the exultation of health, and strength, and liberty, they swept over the green sward of the undulating campos, as light as the soft wind that fanned their bronzed cheeks, as gay in heart as the buzzing insects that hovered above the brilliant flowers. "Oh, this is best of all!" shouted Martin, turning his sparkling eyes to Barney, as he reined up his steed after a gallop that caused its nostril to expand and its eye to dilate. "There's nothing like it! A fiery charger that can't and _won't_ tire, and a glorious sweep of plain like that! Huzza! whoop!" And loosening the rein of his willing horse, away he went again in a wild headlong career. "Och, boy, pull up, or ye'll kill the baste!" cried Barney, who thundered along at Martin's side enjoying to the full the spring of his powerful horse; for Barney had spent the last farthing of his salary on the two best steeds the country could produce, being determined, as he said, to make the last overland voyage on clipper-built animals, which, he wisely concluded, would fetch a good price at the end of the journey. "Pull up! d'ye hear? They can't stand goin' at that pace. Back yer topsails, ye young rascal, or I'll board ye in a jiffy." "How can I pull up with _that_ before me?" cried Martin, pointing to a wide ditch or gully that lay in front of them. "I must go over that first." "Go over that!" cried Barney, endeavouring to rein in his horse, and looking with an anxious expression at the chasm. "It's all very well for you to talk o' goin' over, ye feather; but fifteen stun--Ah, then, _won't_ ye stop? Bad luck to him, he's got the bit in his teeth! Oh then, ye ugly baste, go, and my blissin' go with ye!" The leap was inevitable. Martin went over like a deer. Barney shut his eyes, seized the pommel of the saddle, and went at it like a thunder-bolt In the excitement of the moment he shouted, in a stentorian voice, "Clap on all sail! d'ye hear? Stu'n-sails and sky-scrapers! Kape her steady! Hooray!" It was well for Barney that he had seized the saddle. Even as it was he received a tremendous blow from the horse's head as it took the leap, and was thrown back on its haunches when it cleared the ditch, which it did nobly. "Hallo! old boy, not hurt, I hope," said Martin, suppressing his laughter as his comrade scrambled on to the saddle. "You travel about on the back of your horse at full gallop like a circus rider." "Whist, darlint, I do belave he has damaged my faygurhead. What a nose I've got! Sure I can see it mesilf without squintin'." "So you have, Barney. It's a little swelled, but never mind. We must all learn by experience, you know. So come along." "Hould on, ye spalpeen, till I git my wind!" But Martin was off again at full speed; and Barney's horse, scorning to be left behind, took the bit again in its teeth and went--as he himself expressed it,--"screamin' before the wind." A new sensation is not always and necessarily an agreeable thing. Martin and Barney found it so on the evening of that same day, as they reclined (they could not sit) by the side of their fire on the campo under the shelter of one of the small trees which grew here and there at wide intervals on the plain. They had left the diamond mine early that morning, and their first day on horseback proved to them that there are shadows as well as lights in equestrian life. Their only baggage was a single change of apparel and a small bag of diamonds,--the latter being the product of the mine during the Baron Fagoni's reign, and which that worthy was conveying faithfully to his employer. During the first part of the day they had ridden through a hilly and woody country, and towards evening they emerged upon one of the smaller campos, which occur here and there in the district. "Martin," said Barney, as he lay smoking his pipe, "'tis a pity that there's no pleasure in this world without _something_ cross-grained into it. My own feelin's is as if I had been lately passed through a stamping machine." "Wrong, Barney, as usual," said Martin, who was busily engaged concluding supper with an orange. "If we had pleasures without discomforts we wouldn't half enjoy them. We need lights and shadows in life--what are you grinning at, Barney?" "Oh! nothin', only ye're a remarkable philosopher, when ye're in the vein." "Tis always in vain to talk philosophy to you, Barney, so good-night t' ye. Oh, dear me, I wish I could sit down! but there's no alternative,--either bolt upright or quite flat." In a quarter of an hour they both forgot pleasures and sorrows alike in sleep. Next day the sun rose on the edge of the campo as it does out of the ocean, streaming across its grassy billows, and tipping the ridges as with ruddy gold. At first Martin and Barney did not enjoy the lovely scene, for they felt stiff and sore; but after half an hour's ride they began to recover; and when the sun rose in all its glory on the wide plain, the feelings of joyous bounding freedom that such scenes always engender obtained the mastery, and they coursed along in silent delight. The campo was hard, composed chiefly of a stiff red clay soil and covered with short grass in most places; but here and there were rank bushes of long hairy grasses, around and amongst which grew a multitude of the most exquisitely beautiful flowerets and plants of elegant forms. Wherever these flowers flourished very luxuriantly there were single trees of stunted growth and thick bark, which seldom rose above fifteen or twenty feet. Besides these there were rich flowering myrtles, and here and there a grotesque cactus or two. Under one of these trees they reined up after a ride of two hours, and piqueting their horses, prepared breakfast. It was soon despatched, and then remounting, away they went once more over the beautiful plains. About mid-day, as they were hasting towards the shelter of a grove which appeared opportunely on the horizon, Barney said suddenly,-- "Martin, lad, we're lost! We're out of our course, for sartin." "I've been thinking that for some time, Barney," replied Martin; "but you have your compass, and we can surely make the coast by dead reckoning--eh?" "True, lad, we can; but it'll cost us a dale o' tackin' to make up for lee-way. Ah, good luck to ye! here's a friend 'll help us." As he spoke a herd of wild cattle dashed out of the grove and scampered over the plain, followed by a herdsman on horseback. Seeing that he was in eager pursuit of an animal which he wished to lasso, they followed him quietly and watched his movements. Whirling the noose round his head, he threw it adroitly in such a manner that the bull put one of its legs within the coil. Then he reined up suddenly, and the animal was thrown on its back. At the same moment the lasso broke, and the bull recovered its feet and continued its wild flight. "Good-day, friend," said Barney, galloping towards the disappointed herdsman and addressing him in Portuguese, "could you show us the road to Rio? We've lost it intirely." The man pointed sulkily in the direction in which they were going, and, having mended his lasso, he wheeled about and galloped after the herd of cattle. "Bad luck to yer manners!" said Barney, as he gazed after him. "But what can ye expect from the poor critter? He niver larned better Come along, Martin, we'll rest here a while." They were soon under the shelter of the trees, and having fastened their horses to one of them, they proceeded to search for water. While thus employed, Barney shouted to his companion, "Come here, lad; look here." There was something in the tone of the Irishman's voice that startled Martin, and he sprang hastily towards him. Barney was standing with his arms crossed upon his chest and his head bowed forward, as he gazed with a solemn expression on the figure of a man at his feet. "Is he ill?" inquired Martin, stooping and lifting his hand. Starting back as he dropped it, he exclaimed, "Dead!" "Ah, boy, he has gone to his last account. Look at him again, Martin. It was he who came to the mine a week ago to buy a horse, and now--" Barney sighed as he stooped and turned the body over in order to ascertain whether he had been murdered; but there were no marks of violence to be seen. There was bread too in his wallet; so they could come to no other conclusion than that the unhappy man had been seized with fatal illness in the lonesome wood and died there. As they searched his clothes they found a small leathern bag, which, to their amazement, was filled with gold-dust; and in the midst of the gold was another smaller bag containing several small diamonds. "Ha!" exclaimed Martin, "that explains his hurry. No doubt he had made off with these, and was anxious to avoid pursuit." "No doubt of it," said Barney. "Well, thief or no thief, we must give the poor cratur' dacent burial. There's not a scrap o' paper to tell who he is or where he came from,--a sure sign that he wasn't what he should ha' been. Ah! Martin, what will we not do for the sake o' money! and, after all, we can't keep it long. May the Almighty niver let you or me set our hearts on it." They dug a shallow grave with their hands in a sandy spot where the soil was loose, in which they deposited the body of the unfortunate man; and then remounting their horses, rode away and left him in his lonely resting-place. For many days did Martin and Barney travel through the land on horseback, now galloping over open campos, anon threading their way through the forest, and sometimes toiling slowly up the mountain sides. The aspect of the country varied continually as they advanced, and the feelings of excessive hilarity with which they commenced the journey began to subside as they became accustomed to it. One evening they were toiling slowly up a steep range of hills which had been the prospect in front of them the whole of that day. As they neared the summit of the range Martin halted at a stream to drink, and Barney advanced alone. Suddenly Martin was startled by a loud cry, and looking up he saw Barney on his knees with his hands clasped before him! Rushing up the hill, Martin found his comrade with his face flushed and the tears coursing down his cheeks as he stared before him! "Look at it, Martin, dear!" he cried, starting up and flinging his cap in the air, and shouting like a madman. "The say! my own native illiment! the beautiful ocean! Och, darlint, my blessing on ye! Little did I think to see you more,--hooray!" Barney sang and danced till he sank down on the grass exhausted; and, to say truth, Martin felt much difficulty in restraining himself from doing likewise, for before him was spread out the bright ocean, gleaming in the light of the sinking sun, and calm and placid as a mirror. It was indeed a glorious sight to these two sailors, who had not seen the sea for nearly two years. It was like coming suddenly face to face--after a long absence--with an old and much loved friend. Although visible, the sea, however, was still a long way off from the Serra dos Orgos on which they stood. But their steeds were good, and it was not long ere they were both rolling like dolphins in the beautiful bay of Rio de Janeiro. Here Barney delivered up the gold and diamonds to his employer, who paid him liberally for his services and entertained them both hospitably while they remained in the city. The bag of gold and diamonds which had been found on the body of the dead man they appropriated, as it was absolutely impossible to discover the rightful owner. Barney's friend bought it of them at full price; and when they embarked, soon after, on board a homeward bound ship, each had four hundred pounds in his pocket! As they sailed out of the noble harbour Martin sat on the poop gazing at the receding shore while thick-coming memories crowded on his brain. His imagination flew back to the day when he first landed on the coast and escaped with his friend Barney from the pirates,--to the hermit's cottage in the lonely valley, where he first made acquaintance with monkeys, iguanas, jaguars, armadillos, and all the wonderful, beautiful, and curious birds, beasts, and reptiles, plants, trees, and flowers, that live and flourish in that romantic country. Once more, in fancy, he was sailing up the mighty Amazon, shooting alligators on its banks, spearing fish in its waters, paddling through its curious gapo, and swinging in his hammock under its luxuriant forests. Once again he was a prisoner among the wild Indians, and he started convulsively as he thought of the terrible leap over the precipice into the stream that flowed into the heart of the earth. Then he wandered in the lonely forest. Suddenly the diamond mines were before him, and Barney's jovial voice rang in his ears; and he replied to it with energy, for now he was bounding on a fiery steed over the grassy campos. With a deep sigh he awoke from his reverie to find himself surrounded by the great wide sea. CHAPTER XXVI THE RETURN Arthur Jollyboy, Esquire, of the Old Hulk, sat on the top of a tall three-legged stool in his own snug little office in the sea-port town of Bilton, with his legs swinging to and fro; his socks displayed a considerable way above the tops of his gaiters; his hands thrust deep into his breeches pockets; his spectacles high on his bald forehead, and his eyes looking through the open letter that lay before him; through the desk underneath it; through the plank floor, cellars and foundations of the edifice; and through the entire world into the distant future beyond. "Four thousand pair of socks," he murmured, pulling down his spectacles and consulting the open letter for the tenth time; "four thousand pair of socks, with the hitch, same as last bale, but a very little coarser in material." "Four thousand pair! and who's to make them, I wonder. If poor Mrs. Dorothy Grumbit were here--ah! well, she's gone, so it can't be helped. Four thousand!--dear me who _will_ make them. Do _you_ know?" This question was addressed to his youngest clerk, who sat on the opposite side of the desk staring at Mr. Jollyboy with that open impudence of expression peculiar to young puppy-dogs whose masters are unusually indulgent. "No, sir, I don't," said the clerk with a broad grin. Before the perplexed merchant could come at any conclusion on this knotty subject the door opened and Martin Rattler entered the room, followed by his friend Barney O'Flannagan. "You've come to the wrong room, friends," said Mr. Jollyboy with a benignant smile. "My principal clerk engages men and pays wages. His office is just opposite; first door in the passage." "We don't want to engage," said Martin; "we wish to speak with you, sir." "Oh, beg pardon!" cried Mr. Jollyboy, leaping off the stool with surprising agility for a man of his years. "Come in this way. Pray be seated--Eh! ah, surely I've seen you before, my good fellow?" "Yis, sir, that ye have. I've sailed aboard your ships many a time. My name's Barney O'Flannagan, at yer sarvice." "Ah! I recollect; and a good man you are, I've been told, Barney; but I have lost sight of you for some years. Been on a long voyage, I suppose?" "Well, not 'xactly; but I've been on a long cruise, an' no mistake, in the woods o' Brazil. I wos wrecked on the coast there, in the _Firefly_." "Ah! to be sure. I remember. And your young messmate here, was he with you?" "Yes, sir, I was," said Martin, answering for himself; "and I had once the pleasure of your acquaintance. Perhaps if you look steadily in my face you may--" "Ah, then! don't try to bamboozle him. He might as well look at a bit o' mahogany as at your faygurhead. Tell him at wance, Martin dear." "Martin?" exclaimed the puzzled old gentleman, seizing the young sailor by the shoulders and gazing intently into his face. "Martin! Martin! Surely not--yes! eh? Martin Rattler?" "Ay that am I, dear Mr. Jollyboy, safe and sound, and--" Martin's speech was cut short in consequence of his being violently throttled by Mr. Jollyboy, who flung his arms round his neck and staggered recklessly about the office with him! This was the great point which Barney had expected; it was the climax to which he had been looking forward all the morning: and it did not come short of his anticipations; for Mr. Jollyboy danced round Martin and embraced him for at least ten minutes, asking him at the same time a shower of questions which he gave him no time to answer. In the excess of his delight Barney smote his thigh with his broad hand so forcibly that it burst upon the startled clerk like a pistol-shot, and caused him to spring off his stool! "Don't be afeared, young un," said Barney, winking and poking the small clerk jocosely in the ribs with his thumb. "Isn't it beautiful to see them. Arrah, now! isn't it purty?" "Keep your thumbs to yourself, you sea monster," said the small clerk, angrily, and laying his hand on the ruler. But Barney minded him not, and continued to smite his thigh and rub his hands, while he performed a sort of gigantic war-dance round Mr. Jollyboy and Martin. In a few minutes the old gentleman subsided sufficiently to understand questions. "But, my aunt," said Martin, anxiously; "you have said nothing about Aunt Dorothy. How is she? where is she? is she well?" To these questions Mr. Jollyboy returned no answer, but sitting suddenly down on a chair, he covered his face with his hands. "She is not ill?" inquired Martin in a husky voice, while his heart beat violently. "Speak, Mr. Jollyboy, is she--is she--" "No, she's not ill," returned the old gentleman; "but she's--" "She is dead!" said Martin, in a tone so deep and sorrowful that the old gentleman started up. "No, no, not dead, my dear boy; I did not mean that. Forgive my stupidity, Martin. Aunt Dorothy is gone,--left the village a year ago; and I have never seen or heard of her since." Terrible though this news was, Martin felt a slight degree of relief to know that she was not dead;--at least there was reason to hope that she might be still alive. "But when did she go? and why? and where?" "She went about twelve months ago," replied Mr. Jollyboy. "You see, Martin, after she lost you she seemed to lose all hope and all spirit; and at last she gave up making socks for me, and did little but moan in her seat in the window and look out towards the sea. So I got a pleasant young girl to take care of her; and she did not want for any of the comforts of life. One day the little girl came to me here, having run all the way from the village, to say that Mrs. Grumbit had packed up a bundle of clothes and gone off to Liverpool by the coach. She took the opportunity of the girl's absence on some errand to escape; and we should never have known it, had not some boys of the village seen her get into the coach and tell the guard that she was going to make inquiries after Martin. I instantly set out for Liverpool; but long before I arrived the coach had discharged its passengers, and the coachman, not suspecting that anything was wrong, had taken no notice of her after arriving. From that day to this I have not ceased to advertise and make all possible inquiries, but without success." Martin heard the narrative in silence, and when it was finished he sat a few minutes gazing vacantly before him, like one in a dream. Then starting up suddenly, he wrung Mr. Jollyboy's hand, "Good-bye, my dear friend; good-bye. I shall go to Liverpool. We shall meet again." "Stay, Martin, stay--" But Martin had rushed from the room, followed by his faithful friend, and in less than half an hour they were in the village of Ashford. The coach was to pass in twenty minutes, so, bidding Barney engage two outside seats, he hastened round by the road towards the cottage. There it stood, quaint, time-worn, and old-fashioned, as when he had last seen it,--the little garden in which he had so often played,--the bower in which, on fine weather, Aunt Dorothy used to sit, and the door-step on which the white kitten used to gambol. But the shutters were closed, and the door was locked, and there was an air of desolation and a deep silence brooding over the place, that sank more poignantly into Martin's heart than if he had come and found every vestige of the home of his childhood swept away. It was like the body without the soul. The flowers, and stones, and well-known forms were there; but she who had given animation to the whole was gone. Sitting down on the door-step, Martin buried his face in his hands and wept. He was quickly aroused by the bugle of the approaching coach. Springing up, he dashed the tears away and hurried towards the high-road. In a few minutes Barney and he were seated on the top of the coach, and dashing, at the rate of ten miles an hour, along the road to Liverpool. CHAPTER XXVII THE OLD GARRET Days, and weeks, and months, passed away, and Martin had searched every nook and corner of the great sea-port without discovering his old aunt, or obtaining the slightest information regarding her. At first he and Barney went about the search together, but after a time he sent his old companion forcibly away to visit his own relatives, who dwelt not far from Bilton, at the same time promising that if he had any good news to tell he would immediately write and let him know. One morning, as Martin was sitting beside the little fire in his lodging, a tap came to the door, and the servant girl told him that a policeman wished to see him. "Show him in," said Martin, who was not in the least surprised, for he had had much intercourse with these guardians of the public peace during the course of his unavailing search. "I think, sir," said the man on entering, "that we've got scent of an old woman w'ich is as like the one that you're arter as hanythink." Martin rose in haste. "Have you, my man? Are you sure?" "'Bout as sure as a man can be who never seed her. But it won't take you long to walk. You'd better come and see for yourself." Without uttering another word, Martin put on his hat and followed the policeman. They passed through several streets and lanes, and at length came to one of the poorest districts of the city, not far distant from the shipping. Turning down a narrow alley, and crossing a low dirty-looking court, Martin's guide stopped before a door, which he pushed open and mounted by a flight of rickety wooden stairs to a garret. He opened the door and entered. "There she is," said the man in a tone of pity, as he pointed to a corner of the apartment, "an' I'm afeer'd she's goin' fast." Martin stepped towards a low truckle-bed on which lay the emaciated form of a woman covered with a scanty and ragged quilt. The corner of it was drawn across her face, and so gentle was her breathing that it seemed as if she were already dead. Martin removed the covering, and one glance at that gentle, care-worn countenance sufficed to convince him that his old aunt lay before him! His first impulse was to seize her in his strong arms, but another look at the frail and attenuated form caused him to shrink back in fear. "Leave me," he said, rising hastily and slipping half a sovereign into the policeman's hand; "this is she. I wish to be alone with her." The man touched his hat and retired, closing the door behind him; while Martin, sitting down on the bed, took one of his aunt's thin hands in his. The action was tenderly performed, but it awoke her. For the first time it flashed across Martin's mind that the sudden joy at seeing him might be too much for one so feeble as Aunt Dorothy seemed to be. He turned his back hastily to the light, and with a violent effort suppressed his feelings while he asked how she did. "Well, very well," said Aunt Dorothy, in a faint voice. "Are you the missionary that was here long ago? Oh! I've been longing for you. Why did you not come to read to me oftener about Jesus? But I have had Him here although you did not come. He has been saying 'Come unto me, ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' Yes, I have found rest in Him." She ceased and seemed to fall asleep again; but in a few seconds she opened her eyes and said, "Martin, too, has been to see me; but he does not come so often now. The darling boy used always to come to me in my dreams. But he never brings me food. Why does no one ever bring me food? I am hungry." "Should you like food now, if I brought it to you?" said Martin in a low voice. "Yes, yes; bring me food,--I am dying." Martin released her hand and glided gently out of the room. In a few minutes he returned with a can of warm soup and a roll; of which Aunt Dorothy partook with an avidity that showed she had been in urgent need. Immediately after, she went to sleep; and Martin sat upon the bed holding her hand in both of his till she awoke, which she did in an hour after, and again ate a little food. While she was thus engaged the door opened and a young man entered, who stated that he was a doctor, and had been sent there by a policeman. "There is no hope," he said in a whisper, after feeling her pulse; "the system is quite exhausted." "Doctor," whispered Martin, seizing the young man by the arm, "can nothing save her? I have money, and can command _anything_ that may do her good." The doctor shook his head. "You may give her a little wine. It will strengthen her for a time, but I fear there is no hope. I will send in a bottle if you wish it." Martin gave him the requisite sum, and in a few minutes the wine was brought up by a boy. The effect of the wine was wonderful. Aunt Dorothy's eyes sparkled as they used to do in days of old, and she spoke with unwonted energy. "You are kind to me, young man," she said, looking earnestly into Martin's face, which, however, he kept carefully in shadow. "May our Lord reward you." "Would you like me to talk to you of your nephew?" said Martin; "I have seen him abroad." "Seen my boy! Is he not dead?" "No; he is alive, and in this country, too." Aunt Dorothy turned pale, but did not reply for a few minutes, during which she grasped his hand convulsively. "Turn your face to the light," she said faintly. Martin obeyed, and bending over her whispered, "He is here; I am Martin, my dear, dear aunt--" No expression of surprise escaped from Aunt Dorothy as she folded her arms round his neck and pressed his head upon her bosom. His hot tears fell upon her neck while she held him, but she spoke not. It was evident that as the strength infused by the wine abated her faculties became confused. At length she whispered,-- "It is good of you to come to see me, darling boy. You have often come to me in my dreams. But do not leave me so soon; stay a very little longer," "This is no dream, dearest aunt," whispered Martin, while his tears flowed faster; "I am really here." "Ay, so you always say, my darling child; but you always go away and leave me. This is a dream, no doubt, like all the rest; but oh, it seems very very real! You never _wept_ before, although you often smiled. Surely this is the best and brightest dream I ever had!" Continuing to murmur his name while she clasped him tightly to her bosom, Aunt Dorothy gently fell asleep. CHAPTER XXVIII CONCLUSION Aunt Dorothy Grumbit did _not_ die! Her gentle spirit had nearly fled; but Martin's return and Martin's tender nursing brought her round, and she gradually regained all her former strength and vigour. Yes, to the unutterable joy of Martin, to the inexpressible delight of Mr. Arthur Jollyboy and Barney, and to the surprise and complete discomfiture of the young doctor who shook his head and said "There is no hope," Aunt Dorothy Grumbit recovered? and was brought back in health and in triumph to her old cottage at Ashford! Moreover, she was arrayed again in the old bed-curtain chintz with the flowers as big as saucers, and the old high-crowned cap. A white kitten was got, too, so like the one that used to be Martin's playmate, that no one could discover a hair of difference. So remarkable was this, that Martin made inquiry, and found that it was actually the grand-daughter of the old kitten, which was still alive and well; so he brought it back too, and formally installed it in the cottage along with its grandchild. There was a great house-warming on the night of the day in which Aunt Dorothy Grumbit was brought back. Mr. Arthur Jollyboy was there--of course; and the vicar was there; and the pursy doctor who used to call Martin "a scamp;" and the school-master; and last, though not least, Barney O'Flannagan was there. And they all had tea, during which dear Aunt Dorothy smiled sweetly on everybody and said nothing,--and, indeed, did nothing, except that once or twice she put additional sugar and cream into Martin's cup when he was not looking, and stroked one of his hands continually. After tea Martin related his adventures in Brazil, and Barney helped him; and these two talked more that night than any one could have believed it possible for human beings to do, without the aid of steam lungs! And the doctor listened, and the vicar and school-master questioned, and old Mr. Jollyboy roared and laughed till he became purple in the face--particularly at the sallies of Barney. As for old Aunt Dorothy Grumbit, she listened when Martin spoke. When Martin was silent she became stone deaf! In the course of time Mr. Jollyboy made Martin his head clerk; and then, becoming impatient, he made him his partner off-hand. Then he made Barney O'Flannagan an overseer in the warehouses; and when the duties of the day were over, the versatile Irishman became his confidential servant, and went to sup and sleep at the Old Hulk; which, he used to remark, was quite a natural and proper and decidedly comfortable place to come to an anchor in. Martin became the stay and comfort of his aunt in her old age; and the joy which he was the means of giving to her heart was like a deep and placid river which never ceases to flow. Ah! there is a rich blessing in store for those who tenderly nurse and comfort the aged, when called upon to do so; and assuredly there is a sharp thorn prepared for those who neglect this sacred duty. Martin read the Bible to her night and morning; and she did nothing but watch for him at the window while he was out. As Martin afterwards became an active member of the benevolent societies with which his partner was connected, he learned from sweet experience that "it is more blessed to give than to receive," and that "it is _better_ to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting." Dear young reader, do not imagine that we plead in favour of moroseness or gloom. Laugh if you will, and feast if you will, and remember, too, that "a merry heart is a continual feast;" but we pray you not to forget that God himself has said that a visit to the house of mourning is _better_ than a visit to the house of feasting: and, strange to say, it is productive of greater joy; for to do good is better than to get good, as surely as sympathy is better than selfishness. Martin visited the poor and read the Bible to them; and in watering others he was himself watered, for he found the "Pearl of Great Price," even Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world. Business prospered in the hands of Martin Rattler, too, and he became a man of substance. Naturally, too, he became a man of great importance in the town of Bilton. The quantity of work that Martin and Mr. Jollyboy and Barney used to get through was quite marvellous; and the number of engagements they had during the course of a day was quite bewildering. In the existence of all men, who are not born to unmitigated misery, there are times and seasons of peculiar enjoyment. The happiest hour of all the twenty-four to Martin Rattler was the hour of seven in the evening; for then it was that he found himself seated before the blazing fire in the parlour of the Old Hulk, to which Aunt Dorothy Grumbit had consented to be removed, and in which she _was_ now a fixture. Then it was that old Mr. Jollyboy beamed with benevolence, until the old lady sometimes thought the fire was going to melt him; then it was that the tea-kettle sang on the hob like a canary; and then it was that Barney bustled about the room preparing the evening meal, and talking all the time with the most perfect freedom to any one who chose to listen to him. Yes, seven p.m. was Martin's great hour, and Aunt Dorothy's great hour, and old Mr. Jollyboy's great hour, and Barney's too; for each knew that the labours of the day were done, and that the front door was locked for the night, and that a great talk was brewing. They had a tremendous talk every night, sometimes on one subject, sometimes on another; but the subject of all others that they talked oftenest about was their travels. And many a time and oft, when the winter storms howled round the Old Hulk, Barney was invited to draw in his chair, and Martin and he plunged again vigorously into the great old forests of South America, and spoke so feelingly about them that Aunt Dorothy and Mr. Jollyboy almost fancied themselves transported into the midst of tropical scenes, and felt as if they were surrounded by parrots, and monkeys, and jaguars, and alligators, and anacondas, and all the wonderful birds, beasts, reptiles, and fishes, that inhabit the woods and waters of Brazil. THE END 
23986	----	None 
21750	----	MARTIN RATTLER, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. CHAPTER ONE. THE HERO AND HIS ONLY RELATIVE. Martin Rattler was a very bad boy. At least his aunt, Mrs Dorothy Grumbit, said so; and certainly she ought to have known, if anybody should, for Martin lived with her, and was, as she herself expressed it, "the bane of her existence; the very torment of her life." No doubt of it whatever, according to Aunt Dorothy Grumbit's showing, Martin Rattler was "a remarkably bad boy." It is a curious fact, however, that, although most of the people in the village of Ashford seemed to agree with Mrs Grumbit in her opinion of Martin, there were very few of them who did not smile cheerfully on the child when they met him, and say, "Good day, lad!" as heartily as if they thought him the best boy in the place. No one seemed to bear Martin Rattler ill-will, notwithstanding his alleged badness. Men laughed when they said he was a bad boy, as if they did not quite believe their own assertion. The vicar, an old whiteheaded man, with a kind, hearty countenance, said that the child was full of mischief, full of mischief; but he would improve as he grew older, he was quite certain of that. And the vicar was a good judge; for he had five boys of his own, besides three other boys, the sons of a distant relative, who boarded with him; and he had lived forty years in a parish overflowing with boys, and he was particularly fond of boys in general. Not so the doctor, a pursy little man with a terrific frown, who hated boys, especially little ones, with a very powerful hatred. The doctor said that Martin was a scamp. And yet Martin had not the appearance of a scamp. He had fat rosy cheeks, a round rosy mouth, a straight delicately-formed nose, a firm massive chin, and a broad forehead. But the latter was seldom visible, owing to the thickly-clustering fair curls that overhung it. When asleep Martin's face was the perfection of gentle innocence. But the instant he opened his dark-brown eyes, a thousand dimples and wrinkles played over his visage, chiefly at the corners of his mouth and round his eyes; as if the spirit of fun and the spirit of mischief had got entire possession of the boy, and were determined to make the most of him. When deeply interested in anything, Martin was as grave and serious as a philosopher. Aunt Dorothy Grumbit had a turned-up nose,--a very much turned-up nose; so much so, indeed, that it presented a front view of the nostrils! It was an aggravating nose, too, for the old lady's spectacles refused to rest on any part of it except the extreme point. Mrs Grumbit invariably placed them on the right part of her nose, and they as invariably slid down the curved slope until they were brought up by the little hillock at the end. There they condescended to repose in peace. Mrs Grumbit was mild, and gentle, and little, and thin, and old,-- perhaps seventy-five; but no one knew her age for certain, not even herself. She wore an old-fashioned, high-crowned cap, and a gown of bed-curtain chintz, with flowers on it the size of a saucer. It was a curious gown, and very cheap, for Mrs Grumbit was poor. No one knew the extent of her poverty, any more than they did her age; but she herself knew it, and felt it deeply,--never so deeply, perhaps, as when her orphan nephew Martin grew old enough to be put to school, and she had not wherewithal to send him. But love is quick-witted and resolute. A residence of six years in Germany had taught her to knit stockings at a rate that cannot be described, neither conceived unless seen. She knitted two dozen pairs. The vicar took one dozen, the doctor took the other. The fact soon became known. Shops were not numerous in the village in those days; and the wares they supplied were only second rate. Orders came pouring in, Mrs Grumbit's knitting wires clicked, and her little old hands wagged with incomprehensible rapidity and unflagging regularity,--and Martin Rattler was sent to school. While occupied with her knitting, she sat in a high-backed chair in a very small deep window, through which the sun streamed nearly the whole day; and out of which there was the most charming imaginable view of the gardens and orchards of the villagers, with a little dancing brook in the midst, and the green fields of the farmers beyond, studded with sheep and cattle and knolls of woodland, and bounded in the far distance by the bright blue sea. It was a lovely scene, such an one as causes the eye to brighten and the heart to melt as we gaze upon it, and think, perchance, of its Creator. Yes, it was a scene worth looking at; but Mrs Grumbit never looked at it, for the simple reason that she could not have seen it if she had. Half way across her own little parlour was the extent of her natural vision. By the aid of spectacles and a steady concentrated effort, she could see the fire-place at the other end of the room; and the portrait of her deceased husband, who had been a sea-captain; and the white kitten that usually sat on the rug before the fire. To be sure, she saw them very indistinctly. The picture was a hazy blue patch, which was the captain's coat; with a white patch down the middle of it, which was his waistcoat; and a yellow ball on the top of it, which was his head. It was rather an indistinct and generalised view, no doubt; but she _saw_ it, and that was a great comfort. CHAPTER TWO. IN DISGRACE. Fire was the cause of Martin's getting into disgrace at school for the first time; and this is how it happened. "Go and poke the fire, Martin Rattler," said the schoolmaster, "and put on a bit of coal, and see that you don't send the sparks flying about the floor." Martin sprang with alacrity to obey; for he was standing up with the class at the time, and was glad of the temporary relaxation. He stirred the fire with great care, and put on several pieces of coal very slowly, and rearranged them two or three times; after which he stirred the fire a little more, and examined it carefully to see that it was all right; but he did not seem quite satisfied, and was proceeding to re-adjust the coals when Bob Croaker, one of the big boys, who was a bullying, ill-tempered fellow, and had a spite against Martin, called out-- "Please, sir, Rattler's playin' at the fire." "Come back to your place, sir!" cried the master, sternly. Martin returned in haste, and resumed his position in the class. As he did so he observed that his fore-finger was covered with soot. Immediately a smile of glee overspread his features; and, while the master was busy with one of the boys, he drew his black finger gently down the forehead and nose of the boy next to him. "What part of the earth was peopled by the descendants of Adam?" cried the master, pointing to the dux. "Shem!" shrieked a small boy near the foot of the class. "Silence!" thundered the master, with a frown that caused the small boy to quake down to the points of his toes. "Asia!" answered dux. "Next?" "Turkey!" "Next, next, next? Hallo! John Ward," cried the master, starting up in anger from his seat, "what do you mean by that, sir?" "What, sir?" said John Ward, tremulously, while a suppressed titter ran round the class. "Your face, sir! Who blacked your face, eh?" "I--I--don't know," said the boy, drawing his sleeve across his face, which had the effect of covering it with sooty streaks. An uncontrollable shout of laughter burst from the whole school, which was instantly followed by a silence so awful and profound that a pin might have been heard to fall. "Martin Rattler, you did that! I know you did,--I see the marks on your fingers. Come here, sir! Now tell me; did you do it?" Martin Rattler never told falsehoods. His old aunt had laboured to impress upon him from infancy that to lie was to commit a sin which is abhorred by God and scorned by man; and her teaching had not been in vain. The child would have suffered any punishment rather than have told a deliberate lie. He looked straight in the master's face and said, "Yes, sir, I did it." "Very well, go to your seat, and remain in school during the play-hour." With a heavy heart Martin obeyed; and soon after the school was dismissed. "I say, Rattler," whispered Bob Croaker as he passed, "I'm going to teach your white kitten to swim just now. Won't you come and see it?" The malicious laugh with which the boy accompanied this remark convinced Martin that he intended to put his threat in execution. For a moment he thought of rushing out after him to protect his pet kitten; but a glance at the stern brow of the master, as he sat at his desk reading, restrained him; so, crushing down his feelings of mingled fear and anger, he endeavoured to while away the time by watching the boys as they played in the fields before the windows of the school. CHAPTER THREE. THE GREAT FIGHT. "Martin!" said the schoolmaster, in a severe tone, looking up from the book with which he was engaged, "don't look out at the window, sir; turn your back to it." "Please, sir, I can't help it," replied the boy, trembling with eagerness as he stared across the fields. "Turn your back on it, I say!" reiterated the master in a loud tone, at the same time striking the desk violently with his cane. "Oh, sir, let me out! There's Bob Croaker with my kitten. He's going to drown it. I know he is; he said he would; and if he does aunty will die, for she loves it next to me; and I must save it, and--and, if you _don't_ let me out--you'll be a murderer!" At this concluding burst, Martin sprang forward and stood before his master with clenched fists and a face blazing with excitement. The schoolmaster's gaze of astonishment gradually gave place to a dark frown strangely mingled with a smile, and, when the boy concluded, he said quietly-- "You may go." No second bidding was needed. The door flew open with a bang; and the gravel of the play-ground, spurned right and left, dashed against the window panes as Martin flew across it. The paling that fenced it off from the fields beyond was low, but too high for a jump. Never a boy in all the school had crossed that paling at a spring, without laying his hands upon it; but Martin did. We do not mean to say that he did anything superhuman; but he rushed at it like a charge of cavalry, sprang from the ground like a deer, kicked away the top bar, tumbled completely over, landed on his head, and rolled down the slope on the other side as fast as he could have run down,--perhaps faster. It would have required sharper eyes than yours or mine to have observed how Martin got on his legs again, but he did it in a twinkling, and was half across the field almost before you could wink, and panting on the heels of Bob Croaker. Bob saw him coming and instantly started off at a hard run, followed by the whole school. A few minutes brought them to the banks of the stream, where Bob Croaker halted, and, turning round, held the white kitten up by the nape of the neck. "O spare it! spare it, Bob!--don't do it--please don't, don't do it!" gasped Martin, as he strove in vain to run faster. "There you go!" shouted Bob, with a coarse laugh, sending the kitten high into the air, whence it fell with a loud splash into the water. It was a dreadful shock to feline nerves, no doubt, but that white kitten was no ordinary animal. Its little heart beat bravely when it rose to the surface, and, before its young master came up, it had regained the bank. But, alas! what a change! It went into the stream a fat, round, comfortable ball of eider-down. It came out a scraggy blotch of white paint, with its black eyes glaring like two great glass beads! No sooner did it crawl out of the water than Bob Croaker seized it, and whirled it round his head, amid suppressed cries of "Shame!" intending to throw it in again; but at that instant Martin Rattler seized Bob by the collar of his coat with both hands, and, letting himself drop suddenly, dragged the cruel boy to the ground, while the kitten crept humbly away and hid itself in a thick tuft of grass. A moment sufficed to enable Bob Croaker, who was nearly twice Martin's weight, to free himself from the grasp of his panting antagonist, whom he threw on his back, and doubled his fist, intending to strike Martin on the face; but a general rush of the boys prevented this. "Shame, shame, fair-play!" cried several; "don't hit him when he's down!" "Then let him rise up and come on!" cried Bob, fiercely, as he sprang up and released Martin. "Ay, that's fair. Now then, Martin, remember the kitten!" "Strike men of your own size!" cried several of the bigger boys, as they interposed to prevent Martin from rushing into the unequal contest. "So I will," cried Bob Croaker, glaring round with passion. "Come on any of you that likes. I don't care a button for the biggest of you." No one accepted this challenge, for Bob was the oldest and the strongest boy in the school, although, as is usually the case with bullies, by no means the bravest. Seeing that no one intended to fight with him, and that a crowd of boys strove to hold Martin Rattler back, while they assured him that he had not the smallest chance in the world, Bob turned towards the kitten, which was quietly and busily employed in licking itself dry and said, "Now Martin, you coward, I'll give it another swim for your impudence." "Stop, stop!" cried Martin, earnestly. "Bob Croaker, I would rather do anything than fight. I would give you everything I have to save my kitten; but if you won't spare it unless I fight, I'll do it. If you throw it in before you fight me, you're the greatest coward that ever walked. Just give me five minutes to breathe and a drink of water, and I'll fight you as long as I can stand." Bob looked at his little foe in surprise. "Well, that's fair. I'm you're man; but if you don't lick me I'll drown the kitten, that's all." Having said this, he quietly divested himself of his jacket and neckcloth, while several boys assisted Martin to do the same, and brought him a draught of water in the crown of one of their caps. In five minutes all was ready, and the two boys stood face to face and foot to foot, with their fists doubled and revolving, and a ring of boys around them. Just at this critical moment the kitten, having found the process of licking itself dry more fatiguing than it had expected, gave vent to a faint mew of distress. It was all that was wanting to set Martin's indignant heart into a blaze of inexpressible fury. Bob Croaker's visage instantly received a shower of sharp, stinging blows, that had the double effect of taking that youth by surprise and throwing him down upon the green sward. But Martin could not hope to do this a second time. Bob now knew the vigour of his assailant, and braced himself warily to the combat, commencing operations by giving Martin a tremendous blow on the point of his nose, and another on the chest. These had the effect of tempering Martin's rage with a salutary degree of caution, and of eliciting from the spectators sundry cries of warning on the one hand, and admiration on the other, while the young champions revolved warily round each other, and panted vehemently. The battle that was fought that day was one of a thousand. It created as great a sensation in the village school as did the battle of Waterloo in England. It was a notable fight; such as had not taken place within the memory of the oldest boy in the village, and from which, in after years, events of juvenile history were dated,--especially pugilistic events, of which, when a good one came off it used to be said that, "such a battle had not taken place since the year of the Great Fight." Bob Croaker was a noted fighter, Martin Rattler was, up to this date, an untried hero. Although fond of rough play and boisterous mischief, he had an unconquerable aversion to _earnest_ fighting, and very rarely indeed returned home with a black eye,--much to the satisfaction of Aunt Dorothy Grumbit, who objected to all fighting from principle, and frequently asserted, in gentle tones, that there should be no soldiers or sailors (fighting sailors, she meant) at all, but that people ought all to settle everything the best way they could without fighting, and live peaceably with one another, as the Bible told them to do. They would be far happier and better off, she was sure of that; and if everybody was of her way of thinking, there would be neither swords, nor guns, nor pistols, nor squibs, nor anything else at all! Dear old lady. It would indeed be a blessing if her principles could be carried out in this warring and jarring world. But as this is rather difficult, what we ought to be careful about is, that we never fight except in a good cause and with a clear conscience. It was well for Martin Rattler, on that great day, that the formation of the ground favoured him. The spot on which the fight took place was uneven, and covered with little hillocks and hollows, over which Bob Croaker stumbled, and into which he fell,--being a clumsy boy on his legs--and did himself considerable damage; while Martin, who was firmly knit and active as a kitten, scarcely ever fell, or, if he did, sprang up again like an India-rubber ball. Fair-play was embedded deep in the centre of Martin's heart, so that he scorned to hit his adversary when he was down or in the act of rising; but the thought of the fate that awaited the white kitten if he were conquered, acted like lightning in his veins, and scarcely had Bob time to double his fists after a fall, when he was knocked back again into the hollow, out of which he had risen. There were no _rounds_ in this fight; no pausing to recover breath. Martin's anger rose with every blow, whether given or received; and although he was knocked down flat four or five times, he rose again, and without a second's delay rushed headlong at his enemy. Feeling that he was too little and light to make much impression on Bob Croaker by means of mere blows, he endeavoured as much as possible to throw his weight against him at each assault; but Bob stood his ground well, and after a time seemed even to be recovering strength a little. Suddenly he made a rush at Martin, and, dealing him a successful blow on the forehead, knocked him down; at the same time he himself tripped over a molehill and fell upon his face. Both were on their legs in an instant. Martin grew desperate. The white kitten swimming for its life seemed to rise before him, and new energy was infused into his frame. He retreated a step or two, and then darted forward like an arrow from a bow. Uttering a loud cry, he sprang completely in the air and plunged--head and fists together, as if he were taking a dive--into Bob Croaker's bosom! The effect was tremendous. Bob went down like a shock of grain before the sickle; and having, in their prolonged movements, approached close to the brink of the stream, both he and Martin went with a sounding splash into the deep pool and disappeared. It was but for a moment, however. Martin's head emerged first, with eyes and mouth distended to the utmost. Instantly, on finding bottom, he turned to deal his opponent another blow; but it was not needed. When Bob Croaker's head rose to the surface there was no motion in the features, and the eyes were closed. The intended blow was changed into a friendly grasp; and, exerting himself to the utmost, Martin dragged his insensible school fellow to the bank, where, in a few minutes, he recovered sufficiently to declare in a sulky tone that he would fight no more! "Bob Croaker," said Martin, holding out his hand, "I'm sorry we've had to fight. I wouldn't have done it, but to save my kitten. You compelled me to do it, you know that. Come, let's be friends again." Bob made no reply, but slowly and with some difficulty put on his vest and jacket. "I'm sure," continued Martin, "there's no reason in bearing me ill-will. I've done nothing unfair, and I'm very sorry we've had to fight. Won't you shake hands?" Bob was silent. "Come, some, Bob!" cried several of the bigger boys, "don't be sulky, man; shake hands and be friends. Martin has licked you this time, and you'll lick him next time, no doubt, and that's all about it." "Arrah, then, ye're out there, intirely. Bob Croaker'll niver lick Martin Rattler though he wos to live to the age of the great M'Thuselah!" said a deep-toned voice close to the spot where the fight had taken place. All eyes were instantly turned in the direction whence it proceeded, and the boys now became aware, for the first time, that the combat had been witnessed by a sailor, who, with a smile of approval beaming on his good-humoured countenance, sat under the shade of a neighbouring tree smoking a pipe of that excessive shortness and blackness that seems to be peculiarly beloved by Irishmen in the humbler ranks of life. The man was very, tall and broad-shouldered, and carried himself with a free-and-easy swagger, as he rose and approached the group of boys. "He'll niver bate ye, Martin, avic, as long as there's two timbers of ye houldin' togither." The seaman patted Martin on the head as he spoke; and, turning to Bob Croaker, continued: "Ye ought to be proud, ye spalpeen, o' bein' wopped by sich a young hero as this. Come here and shake hands with him: d'ye hear? Troth an' it's besmearin' ye with too much honour that same. There, that'll do. Don't say ye're sorry now, for it's lies ye'd be tellin' if ye did. Come along, Martin, an I'll convarse with ye as ye go home. Ye'll be a man yet, as sure as my name is Barney O'Flannagan." Martin took the white kitten in his arms and thrust its wet little body into his equally wet bosom, where the warmth began soon to exercise a soothing influence on the kitten's depressed spirits, so that, ere long, it began to purr. He then walked with the sailor towards the village, with his face black and blue, and swelled, and covered with blood, while Bob Croaker and his companions returned to the school. The distance to Martin's residence was not great, but it was sufficient to enable the voluble Irishman to recount a series of the most wonderful adventures and stories of foreign lands; that set Martin's heart on fire with desire to go to sea; a desire which was by no means new to him, and which recurred violently every time he paid a visit to the small sea-port of Bilton, which lay about five miles to the southward of his native village. Moreover, Barney suggested that it was time Martin should be doing for himself (he was now ten years old), and said that if he would join his ship, he could get him a berth, for he was much in want of an active lad to help him with the coppers. But Martin Rattler sighed deeply, and said that, although his heart was set upon going to sea, he did not see how it was to be managed, for his aunt would not let him go. Before they separated, however, it was arranged that Martin should pay the sailor's ship a visit, when he would hear a good deal more about foreign lands; and that, in the meantime, he should make another attempt to induce Aunt Dorothy Grumbit to give her consent to his going to sea. CHAPTER FOUR. A LESSON TO ALL STOCKING-KNITTERS--MARTIN'S PROSPECTS BEGIN TO OPEN UP. In the small sea-port of Bilton, before mentioned, there dwelt an old and wealthy merchant and ship-owner, who devoted a small portion of his time to business, and a very large portion of it to what is usually termed "doing good." This old gentleman was short, and stout, and rosy, and bald, and active, and sharp as a needle. In the short time that Mr Arthur Jollyboy devoted to business, he accomplished as much as most men do in the course of a long day. There was not a benevolent society in the town, of which Arthur Jollyboy, Esquire, of the Old Hulk (as he styled his cottage), was not a member, director, secretary, and treasurer, all in one, and all at once! If it had been possible for man be ubiquitous, Mr Jollyboy would have been so naturally; or, if not naturally, he would have made himself so by force of will. Yet he made no talk about it. His step was quiet, though quick; and his voice was gentle, though rapid; and he was chiefly famous for _talking_ little and _doing_ much. Some time after the opening of our tale, Mr Jollyboy had received information of Mrs Grumbit's stocking movement. That same afternoon he put on his broad-brimmed white hat and, walking out to the village in which she lived, called upon the vicar, who was a particular and intimate friend of his. Having ascertained from the vicar that Mrs Grumbit would not accept of charity, he said abruptly,--"And why not--is she too proud?" "By no means," replied the vicar. "She says that she would think shame to take money from friends as long as she can work, because every penny that she would thus get would be so much less to go to the helpless poor; of whom, she says, with much truth, there are enough and to spare. And I quite agree with her as regards her principle; but it does not apply fully to her, for she cannot work so as to procure a sufficient livelihood without injury to her health." "Is she clever?" inquired Mr Jollyboy. "Why, no, not particularly. In fact, she does not often exert her reasoning faculties, except in the common-place matters of ordinary and every-day routine." "Then she's cleverer than most people," said Mr Jollyboy, shortly. "Is she obstinate?" "No, not in the least," returned the vicar with a puzzled smile. "Ah, well, good-bye, good-bye; that's all I want to know." Mr Jollyboy rose, and, hurrying through the village, tapped at the cottage door, and was soon closeted with Mrs Dorothy Grumbit. In the course of half an hour, Mr Jollyboy drew from Mrs Grumbit as much about her private affairs as he could, without appearing rude. But he found the old lady very close and sensitive on that point. Not so, however, when he got her upon the subject of her nephew. She had enough, and more than enough, to say about him. It is true she began by remarking, sadly, that he was a very bad boy; but, as she continued to talk about him, she somehow or other gave her visitor the impression that he was a very _good_ boy! They had a wonderfully long and confidential talk about Martin, during which Mr Jollyboy struck Mrs Grumbit nearly dumb with horror by stating positively what he would do for the boy,--he would send him to sea! Then, seeing that he had hit the wrongest possible nail on the head, he said that he would make the lad a clerk in his office, where he would be sure to rise to a place of trust; whereat Mrs Grumbit danced, if we may so speak, into herself for joy. "And now, ma'am, about these stockings. I want two thousand pairs as soon as I can get them!" "Sir?" said Mrs Grumbit. "Of course, not for my own use, ma'am; nor for the use of my family, for I have no family; and if I had, that would be an unnecessarily large supply. The fact is, Mrs Grumbit, I am a merchant and I send very large supplies of home-made articles to foreign lands, and two thousand pairs of socks are a mere driblet. Of course I do not expect you to make them all for me, but I wish you to make as many pairs as you can." "I shall be very happy--" began Mrs Grumbit. "But, Mrs Grumbit, there is a peculiar formation which I require in my socks that will give you extra trouble, I fear; but I must have it, whatever the additional expense may be. What is your charge for the pair you are now making?" "Three shillings," said Mrs Grumbit. "Ah! very good. Now, take up the wires if you please, ma'am, and do what I tell you. Now, drop that stitch,--good; and take up this one,-- capital; and pull this one across that way,--so; and that one across this way,--exactly. Now, what is the result?" The result was a complicated knot; and Mrs Grumbit, after staring a few seconds at the old gentleman in surprise, said so, and begged to know what use it was of. "Oh, never mind, never mind. We merchants have strange fancies, and foreigners have curious tastes now and then. Please to make all my socks with a hitch like that in them all round, just above the ankle. It will form an ornamental ring. I'm sorry to put you to the trouble, but of course I pay extra for fancy-work. Will six shillings a-pair do for these?" "My dear sir," said Mrs Grumbit, "it is no additional--" "Well, well, never mind," said Mr Jollyboy. "Two thousand pairs, remember, as soon as possible,--close knitted, plain stitch, rather coarse worsted; and don't forget the hitch, Mrs Grumbit, don't forget the hitch." Ah! reader, there are many Mrs Grumbits in this world, requiring _hitches_ to be made in their stockings! At this moment the door burst open. Mrs Dorothy Grumbit uttered a piercing scream, Mr Jollyboy dropped his spectacles and sat down on his hat and Martin Rattler stood before them with the white kitten in his arms. For a few seconds there was a dead silence, while an expression of puzzled disappointment passed over Mr Jollyboy's ruddy countenance. At last he said-- "Is this, madam, the nephew who, you told me a little ago, is not addicted to fighting?" "Yes," answered the old lady faintly, and covering her eyes with her hands, "that is Martin." "If my aunt told you that, sir, she told you the truth," said Martin, setting down the blood-stained white kitten, which forthwith began to stretch its limbs and lick itself dry. "I don't ever fight if I can help it but I couldn't help it to-day." With a great deal of energy, and a revival of much of his former indignation, when he spoke of the kitten's sufferings, Martin recounted all the circumstances of the fight; during the recital of which Mrs Dorothy Grumbit took his hand in hers and patted it, gazing the while into his swelled visage, and weeping plentifully, but very silently. When he had finished, Mr Jollyboy shook hands with him, and said he was a trump, at the same time recommending him to go and wash his face. Then he whispered a few words in Mrs Grumbit's ear, which seemed to give that excellent lady much pleasure; after which he endeavoured to straighten his crushed hat; in which attempt he failed, took his leave, promised to call again very soon, and went back to the Old Hulk-- chuckling. CHAPTER FIVE. MARTIN, BEING WILLING TO GO TO SEA, GOES TO SEA AGAINST HIS WILL. Four years rolled away, casting chequered light and shadow over the little village of Ashford in their silent passage,--whitening the forelocks of the aged, and strengthening the muscles of the young. Death, too, touched a hearth here and there, and carried desolation to a home; for four years cannot wing their flight without enforcing on us the lesson--which we are so often taught and yet take so long to learn-- that this is not our rest,--that here we have no abiding city. Did we but ponder this lesson more frequently and earnestly, instead of making us sad, it would nerve our hearts and hands to fight and work more diligently,--to work in the cause of our Redeemer,--the only cause that is worth the life-long energy of immortal beings,--the great cause that includes all others; and it would teach us to remember that our little day of opportunity will soon be spent and that the night is at hand in which no man can work. Four years rolled away, and during this time Martin, having failed to obtain his aunt's consent to his going to sea, continued at school, doing his best to curb the roving spirit that strove within him. Martin was not particularly bright at the dead languages; to the rules of grammar he entertained a rooted aversion; and at history he was inclined to yawn, except when it happened to touch upon the names and deeds of such men as Vasco di Gama and Columbus. But in geography he was perfect; and in arithmetic and book-keeping he was quite a proficient, to the delight of Mrs Dorothy Grumbit whose household books he summed up; and to the satisfaction of his fast friend, Mr Arthur Jollyboy, whose ledgers he was--in that old gentleman's secret resolves--destined to keep. Martin was now fourteen, broad and strong, and tall for his age. He was the idol of the school,--dashing, daring, reckless, and good-natured. There was almost nothing that he would not attempt and there were very few things that he could not do. He never fought however--from principle; and his strength and size often saved him from the necessity. But he often prevented other boys from fighting, except when he thought there was good reason for it; then he stood by and saw fair-play. There was a strange mixture of philosophical gravity, too, in Martin. As he grew older he became more enthusiastic and less boisterous. Bob Croaker was still at the school, and was, from prudential motives, a fast friend of Martin. But he bore him a secret grudge, for he could not forget the great fight. One day Bob took Martin by the arm, and said, "I say, Rattler, come with me to Bilton, and have some fun among the shipping." "Well, I don't mind if I do," said Martin. "I'm just in the mood for a ramble, and I'm not expected home till bed-time." In little more than an hour the two boys were wandering about the dock-yards of the sea-port town, and deeply engaged in examining the complicated rigging of the ships. While thus occupied, the clanking of a windlass and the merry, "Yo heave O! and away she goes," of the sailors, attracted their attention. "Hallo! there goes the Firefly, bound for the South Seas," cried Bob Croaker; "come, let's see her start. I say, Martin, isn't your friend, Barney O'Flannagan, on board?" "Yes, he is. He tries to get me to go out every voyage, and I wish I could. Come quickly; I want to say good-bye to him before he starts." "Why don't you run away, Rattler?" inquired Bob, as they hurried round the docks to where the vessel was warping out. "Because I don't need to. My aunt has given me leave to go if I like; but she says it would break her heart if I do; and I would rather be screwed down to a desk for ever than do that, Bob Croaker." The vessel, upon the deck of which the two boys now leaped, was a large, heavy-built barque. Her sails were hanging loose, and the captain was giving orders to the men, who had their attention divided between their duties on board and their mothers, wives, and sisters, who still lingered to take a last farewell. "Now, then, those who don't want to go to sea had better go ashore," roared the captain. There was an immediate rush to the side. "I say, Martin," whispered Barney, as he hurried past, "jump down below for'ard; you can go out o' the harbour mouth with us and get ashore in one o' the shore-boats alongside. They'll not cast off till we're well out. I want to speak to you--" "Man the fore-top-sail halyards," shouted the first mate. "Ay ay, sir-r-r," and the men sprang to obey. Just then the ship touched on the bar at the mouth of the harbour, and in another moment she was aground. "There, now, she's hard and fast!" roared the captain, as he stormed about the deck in a paroxysm of rage. But man's rage could avail nothing. They had missed the passage by a few feet, and now they had to wait the fall and rise again of the tide ere they could hope to get off. In the confusion that followed, Bob Croaker suggested that Martin and he should take one of the punts, or small boats which hovered round the vessel, and put out to sea, where they might spend the day pleasantly in rowing and fishing. "Capital!" exclaimed Martin. "Let's go at once. Yonder's a little fellow who will let us have his punt for a few pence. I know him. Hallo, Tom!" "Ay, ay," squeaked a boy who was so small that he could scarcely lift the oar, light though it was, with which he sculled his punt cleverly along. "Shove alongside, like a good fellow; we want your boat for a little to row out a bit." "It's a-blowin' too hard," squeaked the small boy, as he ranged alongside. "I'm afeared you'll be blowed out." "Nonsense!" cried Bob Croaker, grasping the rope which the boy threw to him. "Jump on board, younker; we don't want you to help us, and you're too heavy for ballast. Slip down the side, Martin, and get in while I hold on to the rope. All right? now I'll follow. Here, shrimp, hold the rope till I'm in, and then cast off. Look alive!" As Bob spoke, he handed the rope to the little boy; but, in doing so, let it accidentally slip out of his hand. "Catch hold o' the main chains, Martin,--quick!" But Martin was too late. The current that swept out of the harbour whirled the light punt away from the ship's side, and carried it out seaward. Martin instantly sprang to the oar, and turned the boat's head round. He was a stout and expert rower, and would soon have regained the ship; but the wind increased at the moment, and blew in a squall off shore, which carried him further out despite his utmost efforts. Seeing that all further attempts were useless, Martin stood up and waved his hand to Bob Croaker, shouting as he did so, "Never mind, Bob, I'll make for the South Point. Run round and meet me, and we'll row back together." The South Point was a low cape of land which stretched a considerable distance out to sea, about three miles to the southward of Bilton harbour. It formed a large bay, across which, in ordinary weather, a small boat might be rowed in safety. Martin Rattler was well-known at the sea-port as a strong and fearless boy, so that no apprehension was entertained for his safety by those who saw him blown away. Bob Croaker immediately started for the Point on foot a distance of about four miles by land; and the crew of the Firefly were so busied with their stranded vessel that they took no notice of the doings of the boys. But the weather now became more and more stormy. Thick clouds gathered on the horizon. The wind began to blow with steady violence, and shifted a couple of points to the southward; so that Martin found it impossible to keep straight for the Point. Still he worked perseveringly at his single oar, and sculled rapidly over the sea; but, as he approached the Point he soon perceived that no effort of which he was capable could enable him to gain it. But Martin's heart was stout. He strove with all the energy of hope, until the Point was passed; and then, turning the head of his little boat towards it, he strove with all the energy of despair, until he fell down exhausted. The wind and tide swept him rapidly out to sea; and when his terrified comrade reached the Point the little boat was but a speck on the seaward horizon. Well was it then for Martin Rattler that a friendly heart beat for him on board the Firefly. Bob Croaker carried the news to the town; but no one was found daring enough to risk his life out in a boat on that stormy evening. The little punt had been long out of sight ere the news reached them, and the wind had increased to a gale. But Barney O'Flannagan questioned Bob Croaker closely, and took particular note of the point of the compass at which Martin had disappeared; and when the Firefly at length got under weigh, he climbed to the fore-top cross-trees, and stood there scanning the horizon with an anxious eye. It was getting dark, and a feeling of despair began to creep over the seaman's heart as he gazed round the wide expanse of water, on which nothing was to be seen except the white foam that crested the rising billows. "Starboard, hard!" he shouted suddenly. "Starboard it is!" replied the man at the wheel, with prompt obedience. In another moment Barney slid down the back-stay and stood on the deck, while the ship rounded to and narrowly missed striking a small boat that floated keel up on the water. There was no cry from the boat; and it might have been passed as a mere wreck, had not the lynx eye of Barney noticed a dark object clinging to it. "Lower away a boat, lads," cried the Irishman, springing overboard; and the words had scarcely passed his lips when the water closed over his head. The Firefly was hove to, a boat was lowered and rowed towards Barney, whose strong voice guided his shipmates towards him. In less than a quarter of an hour the bold sailor and his young friend Martin Rattler were safe on board, and the ship's head was again turned out to sea. It was full half an hour before Martin was restored to consciousness in the forecastle, to which his deliverer had conveyed him. "Musha, lad, but ye're booked for the blue wather now, an' no mistake!" said Barney, looking with an expression of deep sympathy at the poor boy, who sat staring before him quite speechless. "The capting 'll not let ye out o' this ship till ye git to the gould coast, or some sich place. He couldn't turn back av he wanted iver so much; but he doesn't want to, for he needs a smart lad like you, an' he'll keep you now, for sartin." Barney sat down by Martin's side and stroked his fair curls, as he sought in his own quaint fashion to console him. But in vain. Martin grew quite desperate as he thought of the misery into which poor Aunt Dorothy Grumbit would be plunged, on learning that he had been swept out to sea in a little boat, and drowned, as she would naturally suppose. In his frenzy he entreated and implored the captain to send him back in the boat and even threatened to knock out his brains with a handspike if he did not; but the captain smiled and told him that it was his own fault. He had no business to be putting to sea in a small boat in rough weather, and he might be thankful he wasn't drowned. He wouldn't turn back now for fifty pounds twice told. At length Martin became convinced that all hope of returning home was gone. He went quietly below, threw himself into one of the sailor's berths, turned his face to the wall, and wept long and bitterly. CHAPTER SIX. THE VOYAGE, A PIRATE, CHASE, WRECK, AND ESCAPE. Time reconciles a man to almost anything. In the course of time Martin Rattler became reconciled to his fate, and went about the ordinary duties of a cabin-boy on board the Firefly just as if he had been appointed to that office in the ordinary way,--with the consent of the owners and by the advice of his friends. The captain, Skinflint by name, and as surly an old fellow as ever walked a quarter-deck, agreed to pay him wages, "if he behaved well." The steward, under whose immediate authority he was placed, turned out to be a hearty, good-natured young fellow, and was very kind to him. But Martin's great friend was Barney O'Flannagan, the cook, with whom he spent many an hour in the night watches, talking over plans, and prospects, and retrospects, and foreign lands. As Martin had no clothes except those on his back, which fortunately happened to be new and good, Barney gave him a couple of blue-striped shirts, and made him a jacket, pantaloons, and slippers of canvass; and, what was of much greater importance, taught him how to make and mend the same for himself. "Ye see, Martin, lad," he said, while thus employed one day, many weeks after leaving port, "it's a great thing, intirely, to be able to help yerself. For my part I niver travel without my work-box in my pocket." "Your work-box!" said Martin, laughing. "Jist so. An' it consists of wan sailmaker's needle, a ball o' twine, and a clasp-knife. Set me down with these before a roll o' canvass and I'll make ye a'most anything." "You seem to have a turn for everything, Barney," said Martin. "How came you to be a cook?" "That's more nor I can tell ye, lad. As far as I remimber, I began with murphies, when I was two foot high, in my father's cabin in ould Ireland. But that was on my own account intirely, and not as a purfession; and a sorrowful time I had of it too, for I was for iver burnin' my fingers promiskiously, and fallin' into the fire ivery day more or less--" "Stand by to hoist top-gallant-sails," shouted the captain. "How's her head?" "South and by east sir," answered the man at the wheel. "Keep her away two points. Look alive lads. Hand me the glass, Martin." The ship was close hauled when these abrupt orders were given, battling in the teeth of a stiff breeze, off the coast of South America. About this time, several piratical vessels had succeeded in cutting off a number of merchantmen near the coast of Brazil. They had not only taken the valuable parts of their cargoes, but had murdered the crews under circumstances of great cruelty; and ships trading to these regions were, consequently, exceedingly careful to avoid all suspicious craft as much as possible. It was, therefore, with some anxiety that the men watched the captain's face as he examined the strange sail through the telescope. "A Spanish schooner," muttered the captain, as he shut up the glass with a bang. "I won't trust her. Up with the royals and rig out stun'-sails, Mr Wilson, (to the mate). Let her fall away, keep her head nor'-west, d'you hear?" "Ay, ay, sir." "Let go the lee braces and square the yards. Look sharp, now, lads. If that blackguard gets hold of us ye'll have to walk the plank, every man of ye." In a few minutes the ship's course was completely altered; a cloud of canvass spread out from the yards, and the Firefly bounded on her course like a fresh race-horse. But it soon became evident that the heavy barque was no match for the schooner, which crowded sail and bore down at a rate that bade fair to overhaul them in a few hours. The chase continued till evening, when suddenly the look-out at the mast-head shouted, "Land, ho!" "Where away?" cried the captain. "Right ahead," sang out the man. "I'll run her ashore sooner than be taken," muttered the captain, with an angry scowl at the schooner, which was now almost within range on the weather quarter, with the dreaded black flag flying at her peak. In a few minutes breakers were descried ahead. "D'ye see anything like a passage?" shouted the captain. "Yes, sir; two points on the weather bow." At this moment a white cloud burst from the schooner's bow, and a shot, evidently from a heavy gun, came ricochetting over the sea. It was well aimed, for it cut right through the barque's main-mast, just below the yard, and brought the main-top-mast, with all the yards, sails, and gearing above it, down upon the deck. The weight of the wreck, also, carried away the fore-top-mast and, in a single instant, the Firefly was completely disabled. "Lower away the boats," cried the captain; "look alive, now; we'll give them the slip yet. It'll be dark in two minutes." The captain was right. In tropical regions there is little or no twilight. Night succeeds day almost instantaneously. Before the boats were lowered, and the men embarked, it was becoming quite dark. The schooner observed the movement however, and, as she did not dare to venture through the reef in the dark, her boats were also lowered and the chase was recommenced. The reef was passed in safety, and now a hard struggle took place, for the shore was still far-distant. As it chanced to be cloudy weather the darkness became intense, and progress could only be guessed at by the sound of the oars; but these soon told too plainly that the boats of the schooner were overtaking those of the barque. "Pull with a will, lads," cried the captain; "we can't be more than half a mile from shore; give way, my hearties." "Surely, captain, we can fight them, we've most of us got pistols and cutlasses," said one of the men in a sulky tone. "Fight them!" cried the captain, "they're four times our number, and every man armed to the teeth. If ye don't fancy walking the plank or dancing on nothing at the yardarm, ye'd better pull away and hold your jaw." By this time they could just see the schooner's boats in the dim light, about half-musket range astern. "Back you' oars," shouted a stern voice in broken English, "or I blow you out de watter in one oder moment--black-yards!" This order was enforced by a musket shot which whizzed over the boat within an inch of the captain's head. The men ceased rowing and the boats of the pirate ranged close up. "Now then, Martin," whispered Barney O'Flannagan, who sat at the bow oar, "I'm goin' to swim ashore; jist you slip arter me as quiet as ye can." "But the sharks!" suggested Martin. "Bad luck to them," said Barney as he slipped over the side, "they're welcome to me. I'll take my chance. They'll find me mortial tough, anyhow. Come along, lad, look sharp!" Without a moment's hesitation Martin slid over the gunwale into the sea, and, just as the pirate boats grappled with those of the barque, he and Barney found themselves gliding as silently as otters towards the shore. So quietly had the manoeuvre been accomplished, that the men in their own boat were ignorant of their absence. In a few minutes they were beyond the chance of detection. "Keep close to me, lad," whispered the Irishman. "If we separate in the darkness we'll niver foregather again. Catch hould o' my shoulder if ye get blowed, and splutter as much as ye like. They can't hear us now, and it'll help to frighten the sharks." "All right," replied Martin; "I can swim like a cork in such warm water as this. Just go a little slower and I'll do famously." Thus encouraging each other, and keeping close together, lest they should get separated in the thick darkness of the night, the two friends struck out bravely for the shore. CHAPTER SEVEN. MARTIN AND BARNEY GET LOST IN A GREAT FOREST, WHERE THEY SEE STRANGE AND TERRIBLE THINGS. On gaining the beach, the first thing that Barney did, after shaking himself like a huge Newfoundland dog, was to ascertain that his pistol and cutlass were safe; for, although the former could be of no use in its present condition, still, as he sagaciously remarked, "it was a good thing to have, for they might chance to git powder wan day or other, and the flint would make fire, anyhow." Fortunately the weather was extremely warm; so they were enabled to take off and wring their clothes without much inconvenience, except that in a short time a few adventurous mosquitoes--probably sea-faring ones--came down out of the woods and attacked their bare bodies so vigorously that they were fain to hurry on their clothes again before they were quite dry. The clouds began to clear away soon after they landed, and the brilliant light of the southern constellations revealed to them dimly the appearance of the coast. It was a low sandy beach skirting the sea and extending back for about a quarter of a mile in the form of a grassy plain, dotted here and there with scrubby under-wood. Beyond this was a dark line of forest. The light was not sufficient to enable them to ascertain the appearance of the interior. Barney and Martin now cast about in their minds how they were to spend the night. "Ye see," said the Irishman, "it's of no use goin' to look for houses, because there's maybe none at all on this coast; an' there's no sayin' but we may fall in with savages--for them parts swarms with them; so we'd better go into the woods an'--" Barney was interrupted here by a low howl, which proceeded from the woods referred to, and was most unlike any cry they had ever heard before. "Och but I'll think better of it. P'raps it'll be as well _not_ to go into the woods, but to camp where we are." "I think so too," said Martin, searching about for small twigs and drift-wood with which to make a fire. "There is no saying what sort of wild beasts may be in the forest, so we had better wait till daylight." A fire was quickly lighted by means of the pistol-flint and a little dry grass, which, when well bruised and put into the pan, caught a spark after one or two attempts, and was soon blown into a flame. But no wood large enough to keep the fire burning for any length of time could be found; so Barney said he would go up to the forest and fetch some. "I'll lave my shoes and socks, Martin, to dry at the fire. See ye don't let them burn." Traversing the meadow with hasty strides, the bold sailor quickly reached the edge of the forest where he began to lop off several dead branches from the trees with his cutlass. While thus engaged, the howl which had formerly startled him was repeated. "Av I only knowed what ye was," muttered Barney in a serious tone, "it would be some sort o' comfort." A loud cry of a different kind here interrupted his soliloquy, and soon after the first cry was repeated louder than before. Clenching his teeth and knitting his brows the perplexed Irishman resumed his work with a desperate resolve not to be again interrupted. But he had miscalculated the strength of his nerves. Albeit as brave a man as ever stepped, when his enemy was before him, Barney was, nevertheless, strongly imbued with superstitious feelings; and the conflict between his physical courage and his mental cowardice produced a species of wild exasperation, which, he often asserted, was very hard to bear. Scarcely had he resumed his work when a bat of enormous size brushed past his nose so noiselessly that it seemed more like a phantom than a reality. Barney had never seen anything of the sort before, and a cold perspiration broke out upon him, when he fancied it might be a ghost. Again the bat swept past close to his eyes. "Musha, but I'll kill ye, ghost or no ghost," he ejaculated, gazing all round into the gloomy depths of the woods with his cutlass uplifted. Instead of flying again in front of him, as he had expected, the bat flew with a whirring noise past his ear. Down came the cutlass with a sudden thwack, cutting deep into the trunk of a small tree, which trembled under the shock and sent a shower of nuts of a large size down upon the sailor's head. Startled as he was, he sprang backward with a wild cry; then, half ashamed of his groundless fears, he collected the wood he had cut, threw it hastily on his shoulder and went with a quick step out of the woods. In doing so he put his foot upon the head of a small snake, which wriggled up round his ankle and leg. If there was anything on earth that Barney abhorred and dreaded it was a snake. No sooner did he feel its cold form writhing under his foot, than he uttered a tremendous yell of terror, dropped his bundle of sticks, and fled precipitately to the beach, where he did not halt till he found himself knee-deep in the sea. "Och, Martin, boy," gasped the affrighted sailor, "it's my belafe that all the evil spirits on arth live in yonder wood; indeed I do." "Nonsense, Barney," said Martin, laughing; "there are no such things as ghosts; at any rate, I'm resolved to face them, for if we don't get some sticks the fire will go out and leave us very comfortless. Come, I'll go up with you." "Put on yer shoes then, avic, for the sarpints are no ghosts, anyhow, and I'm tould they're pisonous sometimes." They soon found the bundle of dry sticks that Barney had thrown down, and returning with it to the beach, they speedily kindled a roaring fire, which made them feel quite cheerful. True, they had nothing to eat; but having had a good dinner on board the barque late that afternoon, they were not much in want of food. While they sat thus on the sand of the sea-shore, spreading their hands before the blaze and talking over their strange position, a low rumbling of distant thunder was heard. Barney's countenance instantly fell. "What's the matter, Barney?" inquired Martin, as he observed his companion gaze anxiously up at the sky. "Och, it's comin', sure enough." "And what though it does come?" returned Martin; "we can creep under one of these thick bushes till the shower is past." "Did ye iver see a thunder-storm in the tropics?" inquired Barney. "No, never," replied Martin. "Then if ye don't want to feel and see it both at wance, come with me as quick as iver ye can." Barney started up as he spoke, stuck his cutlass and pistol into his belt and set off towards the woods at a sharp run, followed closely by his wondering companion. Their haste was by no means unnecessary. Great black clouds rushed up towards the zenith from all points of the compass, and, just as they reached the woods, darkness so thick that it might almost be felt overspread the scene. Then there was a flash of lightning so vivid that it seemed as if a bright day had been created and extinguished in a moment leaving the darkness ten times more oppressive. It was followed instantaneously by a crash and a prolonged rattle, that sounded as if a universe of solid worlds were rushing into contact overhead and bursting into atoms. The flash was so far useful to the fugitives, that it enabled them to observe a many-stemmed tree with dense and heavy foliage, under which they darted. They were just in time, and had scarcely seated themselves among its branches when the rain came down in a way, not only that Martin had never seen, but that he had never conceived of before. It fell, as it were, in broad heavy sheets, and its sound was a loud, continuous roar. The wind soon after burst upon the forest and added to the hideous shriek of elements. The trees bent before it; the rain was whirled and dashed about in water-spouts; and huge limbs were rent from some of the larger trees with a crash like thunder, and swept far away into the forest. The very earth trembled and seemed terrified at the dreadful conflict going on above. It seemed to the two friends as if the end of the world were come; and they could do nothing but cower among the branches of the tree and watch the storm in silence; while they felt, in a way they had never before experienced, how utterly helpless they were, and unable to foresee, or avert, the many dangers by which they were surrounded, and how absolutely dependent they were on God for protection. For several hours the storm continued. Then it ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and the bright stars again shone down upon a peaceful scene. When it was over, Martin and his comrade descended the tree and endeavoured to find their way back to the beach. But this was no easy matter. The haste with which they had run into the woods, and the confusion of the storm, had made them uncertain in which direction it lay; and the more they tried to get out, the deeper they penetrated into the forest. At length, wearied with fruitless wandering and stumbling about in the dark, they resolved to spend the night where they were. Coming to a place which was more open than usual, and where they could see a portion of the starry sky overhead, they sat down on a dry spot under the shelter of a spreading tree, and, leaning their backs against the trunk, very soon fell sound asleep. CHAPTER EIGHT. AN ENCHANTING LAND--AN UNCOMFORTABLE BED AND A QUEER BREAKFAST--MANY SURPRISES AND A FEW FRIGHTS, TOGETHER WITH A NOTABLE DISCOVERY. "I've woked in paradise!" Such was the exclamation that aroused Martin Rattler on the morning after his landing on the coast of South America. It was uttered by Barney O'Flannagan, who lay at full length on his back, his head propped up by a root of the tree, under which they had slept, and his eyes staring right before him with an expression of concentrated amazement. When Martin opened his eyes, he too was struck dumb with surprise. And well might they gaze with astonishment; for the last ray of departing daylight on the night before had flickered over the open sea, and now the first gleam of returning sunshine revealed to them the magnificent forests of Brazil. Yes, well might they gaze and gaze again in boundless admiration; for the tropical sun shone down on a scene of dazzling and luxuriant vegetation, so resplendent that it seemed to them the realisation of a fairy tale. Plants and shrubs and flowers were there, of the most curious and brilliant description, and of which they neither knew the uses nor the names. Majestic trees were there, with foliage of every shape and size and hue; some with stems twenty feet in circumference; others more slender in form, straight and tall; and some twisted in a bunch together and rising upwards like fluted pillars: a few had buttresses, or natural planks, several feet broad, ranged all round their trunks, as if to support them; while many bent gracefully beneath the load of their clustering fruit and heavy foliage. Orange-trees with their ripe fruit shone in the sunbeams like gold. Stately palms rose above the surrounding trees and waved their feathery plumes in the air, and bananas with broad enormous leaves rustled in the breeze and cast a cool shadow on the ground. Well might they gaze in great surprise; for all these curious and beautiful trees were surrounded by, and entwined in, the embrace of luxuriant and remarkable climbing-plants. The parasitic vanilla with its star-like blossoms crept up their trunks and along their branches, where it hung in graceful festoons, or drooped back again almost to the ground. So rich and numerous were these creepers, that in many cases they killed the strong giants whom they embraced so lovingly. Some of them hung from the tree-tops like stays from the masts of a ship, and many of them mingled their brilliant flowers so closely with the leaves, that the climbing-plants and their supporters could not be distinguished from each other, and it seemed as though the trees themselves had become gigantic flowering shrubs. Birds, too, were there in myriads,--and such birds! Their feathers were green and gold and scarlet and yellow and blue--fresh and bright and brilliant as the sky beneath which they were nurtured. The great toucan, with a beak nearly as big as his body, flew clumsily from stem to stem. The tiny, delicate humming-birds, scarce larger than bees, fluttered from flower to flower and spray to spray, like points of brilliant green. But they were irritable, passionate little creatures, these lovely things, and quarrelled with each other and fought like very wasps! Enormous butterflies, with wings of deep metallic blue, shot past or hovered in the air like gleams of light; and green paroquets swooped from tree to tree and chattered joyfully over their morning meal. Well might they gaze with wonder, and smile too with extreme merriment, for monkeys stared at them from between the leaves with expressions of undisguised amazement, and bounded away shrieking and chattering in consternation, swinging from branch to branch with incredible speed, and not scrupling to use each other's tails to swing by when occasion offered. Some were big and red and ugly,--as ugly as you can possibly imagine, with blue faces and fiercely grinning teeth; others were delicately-formed and sad of countenance, as if they were for ever bewailing the loss of near and dear relations, and could by no means come at consolation; and some were small and pretty, with faces no bigger than a halfpenny. As a general rule, it seemed to Barney, the smaller the monkey the longer the tail. Yes, well might they gaze and gaze again in surprise and in excessive admiration; and well might Barney O'Flannagan--under the circumstances, with such sights and sounds around him, and the delightful odours of myrtle trees and orange blossoms and the Cape jessamine stealing up his nostrils--deem himself the tenant of another world, and evince his conviction of the fact in that memorable expression--"I've woked in paradise!" But Barney began to find "paradise" not quite so comfortable as it ought to be; for when he tried to get up he found his bones pained and stiff from sleeping in damp clothes; and moreover, his face was very much swelled, owing to the myriads of mosquitoes which had supped of it during the night. "Arrah, then, _won't_ ye be done!" he cried, angrily, giving his face a slap that killed at least two or three hundred of his tormentors. But thousands more attacked him instantly, and he soon found out,--what every one finds out sooner or later in hot climates,--that _patience_ is one of the best remedies for mosquito bites. He also discovered shortly afterwards that smoke is not a bad remedy, in connection with patience. "What are we to have for breakfast, Barney!" inquired Martin as he rose and yawned and stretched his limbs. "Help yersilf to what ye plase," said Barney, with a polite bow, waving his hand round him, as if the forest were his private property and Martin Rattler his honoured guest. "Well, I vote for oranges," said Martin, going towards a tree which was laden with ripe fruit. "An' I'll try plums, by way of variety," added his companion. In a few minutes several kinds of fruit and nuts were gathered and spread at the foot of the tree under which they had reposed. Then Barney proceeded to kindle a fire,--not that he had anything to cook, but he said it looked sociable-like, and the smoke would keep off the flies. The operation, however, was by no means easy. Everything had been soaked by the rain of the previous night, and a bit of dry grass could scarcely be found. At length he procured a little; and by rubbing it in the damp gunpowder which he had extracted from his pistol, and drying it in the sun, he formed a sort of tinder that caught fire after much persevering effort. Some of the fruits they found to be good,--others bad. The good they ate,--the bad they threw away. After their frugal fare they felt much refreshed, and then began to talk of what they should do. "We can't live here with parrots and monkeys, you know," said Martin; "we must try to find a village or town of some sort; or get to the coast and then we shall perhaps meet with a ship." "True, lad," replied Barney, knitting his brows and looking extremely sagacious; "the fact is, since neither of us knows nothing about anything, or the way to any place, my advice is to walk straight for'ard till we come to something." "So think I," replied Martin; "therefore the sooner we set off the better." Having no luggage to pack and no arrangements of any kind to make, the two friends rose from their primitive breakfast-table, and walked away straight before them into the forest. All that day they travelled patiently forward, conversing pleasantly about the various and wonderful trees, and flowers, and animals they met with by the way; but no signs were discovered that indicated the presence of man. Towards evening, however, they fell upon a track or foot-path,--which discovery rejoiced them much; and here, before proceeding further, they sat down to eat a little more fruit which, indeed, they had done several times during the day. They walked nearly thirty miles that day without seeing a human being; but they met with many strange and beautiful birds and beasts,--some of which were of so fierce an aspect that they would have been very glad to have had guns to defend themselves with. Fortunately, however, all the animals seemed to be much more afraid of them than they were of the animals; so they travelled in safety. Several times during the course of the day they saw snakes and serpents, which glided away into the jungle on their approach, and could not be overtaken, although Barney made repeated darts at them, intending to attack them with his cutlass; which assaults always proved fruitless. Once they were charged by a herd of peccaries,--a species of pig or wild hog,--from which they escaped by jumping actively to one side; but the peccaries turned and rushed at them again, and it was only by springing up the branches of a neighbouring tree that they escaped their fury. These peccaries are the fiercest and most dauntless animals in the forests of Brazil. They do of know what fear is,--they will rush in the face of anything; and, unlike all other animals, are quite indifferent to the report of fire-arms. Their bodies are covered with long bristles, resembling very much the quills of the porcupine. As the evening drew on, the birds and beasts and the innumerable insects, that had kept up a perpetual noise during the day, retired to rest; and then the nocturnal animals began to creep out of their holes and go about. Huge vampire-bats, one of which had given Barney such a fright the night before, flew silently past them; and the wild howlings commenced again. They now discovered that one of the most dismal of the howls proceeded from a species of monkey: at which discovery Martin laughed very much, and rallied his companion on being so easily frightened; but Barney gladly joined in the laugh against himself, for, to say truth, he felt quite relieved and light-hearted at discovering that his ghosts were converted into bats and monkeys! There was one roar, however, which, when they heard it ever and anon, gave them considerable uneasiness. "D'ye think there's lions in them parts?" inquired Barney, glancing with an expression of regret at his empty pistol, and laying his hand on the hilt of his cutlass. "I think not," replied Martin, in a low tone of voice. "I have read in my school geography that there are tigers of some sort--jaguars, or ounces, I think they are called,--but there are no--" Martin's speech was cut short by a terrific roar, which rang through the woods, and the next instant a magnificent jaguar, or South American tiger, bounded on to the track a few yards in advance, and, wheeling round, glared fiercely at the travellers. It seemed, in the uncertain light as if his eyes were two balls of living fire. Though not so large as the royal Bengal tiger of India, this animal was nevertheless of immense size, and had a very ferocious aspect. His roar was so sudden and awful, and his appearance so unexpected, that the blood was sent thrilling back into the hearts of the travellers, who stood rooted to the spot, absolutely unable to move. This was the first large animal of the cat kind that either of them had seen in all the terrible majesty of its wild condition; and, for the first time, Martin and his friend felt that awful sensation of dread that will assail even the bravest heart when a new species of imminent danger is suddenly presented. It is said that no animal can withstand the steady gaze of a human eye; and many travellers in wild countries have proved this to be a fact. On the present occasion our adventurers stared long and steadily at the wild creature before them, from a mingled feeling of surprise and horror. In a few seconds the jaguar showed signs of being disconcerted. It turned its head from side to side slightly, and dropped its eyes, as if to avoid their gaze. Then turning slowly and stealthily round, it sprang with a magnificent bound into the jungle, and disappeared. Both Martin and Barney heaved a deep sigh of relief. "What a mercy it did not attack us!" said the former, wiping the cold perspiration from his forehead. "We should have had no chance against such a terrible beast with a cutlass, I fear." "True, boy, true," replied his friend, gravely; "it would have been little better than a penknife in the ribs o' sich a cratur. I niver thought that it was in the power o' man or baste to put me in sich a fright; but the longer we live we learn, boy." Barney's disposition to make light of everything was thoroughly subdued by this incident, and he felt none of his usual inclination to regard all that he saw in the Brazilian forests with a comical eye. The danger they had escaped was too real and terrible, and their almost unarmed condition too serious, to be lightly esteemed. For the next hour or two he continued to walk by Martin's side either in total silence, or in earnest, grave conversation; but by degrees these feelings wore off, and his buoyant spirits gradually returned. The country over which they had passed during the day was of a mingled character. At one time they traversed a portion of dark forest heavy and choked up with the dense and gigantic foliage peculiar to those countries that lie near to the equator; then they emerged from this upon what to their eyes seemed most beautiful scenery,--mingled plain and woodland,--where the excessive brilliancy and beauty of the tropical vegetation was brought to perfection by exposure to the light of the blue sky and the warm rays of the sun. In such lovely spots they travelled more slowly and rested more frequently, enjoying to the full the sight of the gaily-coloured birds and insects that fluttered busily around them, and the delicious perfume of the flowers that decked the ground and clambered up the trees. At other times they came to plains, or _campos_, as they are termed, where there were no trees at all, and few shrubs, and where the grass was burned brown and dry by the sun. Over such they hurried as quickly as they could; and fortunately, where they chanced to travel, such places were neither numerous nor extensive, although in some districts of Brazil there are campos hundreds of miles in extent. A small stream meandered through the forest and enabled them to refresh themselves frequently; which was very fortunate, for the heat, especially towards noon, became extremely intense, and they could not have existed without water. So great, indeed, was the heat about mid-day, that, by mutual consent, they resolved to seek the cool shade of a spreading tree, and try to sleep if possible. At this time they learned, to their surprise, that all animated nature did likewise, and sought repose at noon. God had implanted in the breast of every bird and insect in that mighty forest an instinct which taught it to rest and find refreshment during the excessive heat of mid-day; so that during the space of two or three hours, not a thing with life was seen, and not a sound was heard. Even the troublesome mosquitoes, so active at all other times, day and night were silent now. The change was very great and striking, and difficult for those who have not observed it to comprehend. All the forenoon, screams, and cries, and croaks, and grunts, and whistles, ring out through the woods incessantly; while, if you listen attentively, you hear the low, deep, and never-ending buzz and hum of millions upon millions of insects, that dance in the air and creep on every leaf and blade upon the ground. About noon all this is hushed. The hot rays of the sun beat perpendicularly down upon what seems a vast untenanted solitude, and not a single chirp breaks the death-like stillness of the great forest, with the solitary exception of the metallic note of the uruponga, or bell-bird, which seems to mount guard when all the rest of the world has gone to sleep. As the afternoon approaches they all wake up, refreshed by their siesta, active and lively as fairies, and ready for another spell of work and another deep-toned noisy chorus. The country through which our adventurers travelled, as evening approached, became gradually more hilly, and their march consequently more toilsome. They were just about to give up all thought of proceeding farther that night, when, on reaching the summit of a little hill, they beheld a bright red light shining at a considerable distance in the valley beyond. With light steps and hearts full of hope they descended the hill and hastened towards it. CHAPTER NINE. THE HERMIT. It was now quite dark, and the whole country seemed alive with fire-flies. These beautiful little insects sat upon the trees and bushes, spangling them as with living diamonds, and flew about in the air like little wandering stars. Barney had seen them before, in the West Indies, but Martin had only heard of them; and his delight and amazement at their extreme brilliancy were very great. Although he was naturally anxious to reach the light in the valley, in the hope that it might prove to proceed from some cottage, he could not refrain from stopping once or twice to catch these lovely creatures; and when he succeeded in doing so, and placed one on the palm of his hand, the light emitted from it was more brilliant than that of a small taper, and much more beautiful, for it was of a bluish colour, and very intense,--more like the light reflected from a jewel than a flame of fire. He could have read a book by means of it quite easily. In half an hour they drew near to the light, which they found proceeded from the window of a small cottage or hut. "Whist, Martin," whispered Barney, as they approached the hut on tiptoe; "there may be savages into it, an' there's no sayin' what sort o' craturs they are in them parts." When about fifty yards distant, they could see through the open window into the room where the light burned; and what they beheld there was well calculated to fill them with surprise. On a rude wooden chair, at a rough unpainted table, a man was seated, with his head resting on his hand, and his eyes fixed intently on a book. Owing to the distance, and the few leaves and branches that intervened between them and the hut, they could not observe him very distinctly. But it was evident that he was a large and strong man, a little past the prime of life. The hair of his head and beard was black and bushy, and streaked with silver-grey. His face was massive, and of a dark olive complexion, with an expression of sadness on it strangely mingled with stern gravity. His broad shoulders--and, indeed, his whole person--were enveloped in the coarse folds of a long gown or robe, gathered in at the waist with a broad band of leather. The room in which he sat--or rather the hut, for there was but one room in it--was destitute of all furniture, except that already mentioned, besides one or two roughly-formed stools; but the walls were completely covered with strange-looking implements and trophies of the chase; and in a corner lay a confused pile of books, some of which were, from their appearance, extremely ancient. All this the benighted wanderers observed as they continued to approach cautiously on tiptoe. So cautious did they become as they drew near, and came within the light of the lamp, that Barney at length attempted to step over his own shadow for fear of making a noise; and, in doing so, tripped and fell with considerable noise through a hedge of prickly shrubs that encircled the strange man's dwelling. The hermit--for such he appeared to be--betrayed no symptom of surprise or fear at the sudden sound; but rising quietly, though quickly, from his seat took down a musket that hung on the wall, and, stepping to the open door, demanded sternly, in the Portuguese language, "Who goes there?" "Arrah, then, if ye'd help a fellow-cratur to rise, instead o' talkin' gibberish like that, it would be more to your credit!" exclaimed the Irishman, as he scrambled to his feet and presented himself, along with Martin, at the hermit's door. A peculiar smile lighted up the man's features as he retreated into the hut and invited the strangers to enter. "Come in," said he, in good English, although with a slightly foreign accent. "I am most happy to see you. You are English. I know the voice and the language very well. Lived among them once, but long time past now--very long. Have not seen one of you for many years." With many such speeches, and much expression of good-will, the hospitable hermit invited Martin and his companion to sit down at his rude table, on which he quickly spread several plates of ripe and dried fruits, a few cakes, and a jar of excellent honey, with a stone bottle of cool water. When they were busily engaged with these viands, he began to make inquiries as to where his visitors had come from. "We've comed from the sae," replied Barney, as he devoted himself to a magnificent pine-apple. "Och but yer victuals is mighty good, Mister-- what's yer name?--'ticklerly to them that's a'most starvin'." "The fact is," said Martin, "our ship has been taken by pirates, and we two swam ashore, and lost ourselves in the woods; and now we have stumbled upon your dwelling, friend, which is a great comfort." "Hoigh, an' that's true," sighed Barney, as he finished the last slice of the pine-apple. They now explained to their entertainer all the circumstances attending the capture of the Firefly, and their subsequent adventures and vicissitudes in the forest; all of which Barney detailed in a most graphic manner, and to all of which their new friend listened with grave attention and unbroken silence. When they had concluded he said,--"Very good. You have seen much in very short time. Perhaps you shall see more by-and-by. For the present you will go to rest, for you must be fatigued. I will _think_ to-night,--to-morrow I will _speak_." "An', if I may make so bould," said Barney, glancing with a somewhat rueful expression round the hard earthen floor of the hut, "whereabouts may I take the liberty o' sleepin'?" The hermit replied by going to a corner, whence, from beneath a heap of rubbish, he dragged two hammocks, curiously wrought in a sort of light net-work. These he slung across the hut at one end, from wall to wall, and, throwing a sheet or coverlet into each, he turned with a smile to his visitors,--"Behold your beds! I wish you a very good sleep,-- adios!" So saying, this strange individual sat down at the table, and was soon as deeply engaged with his large book as if he had suffered no interruption; while Martin and Barney, having gazed gravely and abstractedly at him for five minutes, turned and smiled to each other, jumped into their hammocks, and were soon buried in deep slumber. CHAPTER TEN. AN ENEMY IN THE NIGHT--THE VAMPIRE BAT--THE HERMIT DISCOURSES ON STRANGE, AND CURIOUS, AND INTERESTING THINGS. Next morning Martin Rattler awoke with a feeling of lightness in his head, and a sensation of extreme weakness pervading his entire frame. Turning his head round to the right he observed that a third hammock was slung across the further end of the hut; which was, no doubt, that in which the hermit had passed the night. But it was empty now. Martin did not require to turn his head to the other side to see if Barney O'Flannagan was there, for that worthy individual made his presence known, for a distance of at least sixty yards all round the outside of the hut, by means of his nose, which he was in the habit of using as a trumpet when asleep. It was as well that Martin did not require to look round; for he found, to his surprise, that he had scarcely strength to do so. While he was wondering in a dreamy sort of manner what could be the matter with him, the hermit entered the hut bearing a small deer upon his shoulders. Resting his gun in a corner of the room, he advanced to Martin's hammock. "My boy," he exclaimed, in surprise, "what is wrong with you?" "I'm sure I don't know," said Martin, faintly; "I think there is something wet about my feet." Turning up the sheet, he found that Martin's feet were covered with blood! For a few seconds the hermit growled forth a number of apparently very pithy sentences in Portuguese, in a deep guttural voice, which awakened Barney with a start. Springing from his hammock with a bound like a tiger, he exclaimed, "Och! ye blackguard, would ye murther the boy before me very nose?" and seizing the hermit in his powerful grasp, he would infallibly have hurled him, big though he was, through his own doorway, had not Martin cried out, "Stop, stop, Barney. It's all right; he's done nothing:" on hearing which the Irishman loosened his hold, and turned towards his friend. "What's the matter, honey?" said Barney, in a soothing tone of voice, as a mother might address her infant son. The hermit whose composure had not been in the slightest degree disturbed, here said--"The poor child has been sucked by a vampire bat." "Ochone!" groaned Barney, sitting down on the table, and looking at his host with a face of horror. "Yes, these are the worst animals in Brazil for sucking the blood of men and cattle. I find it quite impossible to keep my mules alive, they are so bad." Barney groaned. "They have killed two cows which I tried to keep here, and one young horse--a foal you call him, I think; and now I have no cattle remaining, they are so bad." Barney groaned again, and the hermit went on to enumerate the wicked deeds of the vampire-bats, while he applied poultices of certain herbs to Martin's toe, in order to check the bleeding, and then bandaged it up; after which he sat down to relate to his visitors, the manner in which the bat carries on its bloody operations. He explained, first of all, that the vampire-bats are so large and ferocious that they often kill horses and cattle by sucking their blood out. Of course they cannot do this at one meal, but they attack the poor animals again and again, and the blood continues to flow from the wounds they make long afterwards, so that the creatures attacked soon grow weak and die. They attack men, too,--as Martin knew to his cost; and they usually fix upon the toes and other extremities. So gentle are they in their operations, that sleepers frequently do not feel the puncture, which they make, it is supposed, with the sharp hooked nail of their thumb; and the unconscious victim knows nothing of the enemy who has been draining his blood until he awakens, faint and exhausted, in the morning. Moreover, the hermit told them that these vampire-bats have very sharp, carnivorous teeth, besides a tongue, which is furnished with the curious organs, by which they suck the lifeblood of their fellow-creatures; that they have a peculiar, leaf-like, overhanging lip; and that he had a stuffed specimen of a bat that measured no less than two feet across the expanded wings, from tip to tip. "Och, the blood-thirsty spalpeen!" exclaimed Barney, as he rose and crossed the room to examine the bat in question, which was nailed against the wall. "Bad luck to them, they've ruined Martin intirely." "O no," remarked the hermit with a smile. "It will do the boy much good, the loss of the blood; much good, and he will not be sick at all to-morrow." "I'm glad to hear you say so," said Martin, "for it would be a great bore to be obliged to lie here when I've so many things to see. In fact I feel better already, and if you will be so kind as to give me a little breakfast I shall be quite well." While Martin was speaking, the obliging hermit--who, by the way, was now habited in a loose short hunting-coat of brown cotton,--spread a plentiful repast upon his table; to which, having assisted Martin to get out of his hammock, they all proceeded to do ample justice: for the travellers were very hungry after the fatigue of the previous day; and as for the hermit, he looked like a man whose appetite was always sharp set, and whose food agreed with him. They had cold meat of several kinds, and a hot steak of venison just killed that morning, which the hermit cooked while his guests were engaged with the other viands. There was also excellent coffee, and superb cream, besides cakes made of a species of coarse flour or meal, fruits of various kinds, and very fine honey. "Arrah! ye've the hoith o' livin' here!" cried Barney, smacking his lips as he held out his plate for another supply of a species of meat which resembled chicken in tenderness and flavour. "What sort o' bird or baste may that be, now, av' I may ask ye, Mister--what's yer name?" "My name is Carlos," replied the hermit, gravely; "and this is the flesh of the armadillo." "Arms-what-o?" inquired Barney. "_Armadillo_," repeated the hermit. "He is very good to eat but very difficult to catch. He digs down so fast we cannot catch him, and must smoke him out of his hole." "Have you many cows?" inquired Martin, as he replenished his cup with coffee. "Cows?" echoed the hermit, "I have got no cows." "Where do you get such capital cream, then?" asked Martin in surprise. The hermit smiled. "Ah! my friends, that cream has come from a very curious cow. It is from a cow that grows in the ground." "Grows!" ejaculated his guests. "Yes, he grows. I will show him to you one day." The hermit's broad shoulders shook with a quiet internal laugh. "I will explain a little of that you behold on my table." "The coffee I get from the trees. There are plenty of them here. Much money is made in Brazil by the export of coffee,--very much. The cakes are made from the mandioca-root which I grow near my house. The root is dried and ground into flour, which, under the general name _farina_, is used all over the country. It is almost the only food used by the Indians and Negroes." "Then there are Injins and Niggers here, are there?" inquired Barney. "Yes, a great many. Most of the Negroes are slaves; some of the Indians too; and the people who are descended from the Portuguese who came and took the country long ago, they are the masters.--Well, the honey I get in holes in the trees. There are different kinds of honey here; some of it is _sour_ honey. And the fruits and roots, the plantains, and bananas, and yams, and cocoa-nuts, and oranges, and plums, all grow in the forest and much more besides, which you will see for yourselves if you stay long here." "It's a quare country, intirely," remarked Barney, as he wiped his mouth and heaved a sigh of contentment. Then, drawing his hand over his chin, he looked earnestly in the hermit's face, and, with a peculiar twinkle in his eye, said,--"I s'pose ye couldn't favour me with the lind of a raazor, could ye?" "No, my friend; I never use that foolish weapon." "Ah, well, as there's only monkeys and jaguars, and sich like to see me, it don't much signify; but my moustaches is gittin' mighty long, for I've been two weeks already without a shave." Martin laughed heartily at the grave, anxious expression of his comrade's face. "Never mind, Barney," he said, "a beard and moustache will improve you vastly. Besides, they will be a great protection against mosquitoes; for you are such a hairy monster, that when they grow nothing of your face will be exposed except your eyes and cheek-bones. And now," continued Martin, climbing into his hammock again and addressing the hermit, "since you won't allow me to go out a-hunting to-day, I would like very much if you would tell me something more about this strange country." "An' may be," suggested Barney, modestly, "ye won't object to tell us something about yersilf--how you came for to live in this quare, solitary kind of a way." The hermit looked gravely from one to the other, and stroked his beard. Drawing his rude chair towards the door of the hut he folded his arms, and crossed his legs, and gazed dreamily forth upon the rich landscape. Then, glancing again at his guests, he said, slowly; "Yes, I will do what you ask,--I will tell you my story." "An', if I might make so bould as to inquire," said Barney, with a deprecatory smile, while he drew a short black pipe from his pocket, "have ye got such a thing as 'baccy in them parts?" The hermit rose, and going to a small box which stood in a corner, returned with a quantity of cut tobacco in one hand, and a cigar not far short of a foot long in the other! In a few seconds the cigar was going in full force, like a factory chimney; and the short black pipe glowed like a miniature furnace, while its owner seated himself on a low stool, crossed his arms on his breast, leaned his back against the door-post and smiled,--as only an Irishman can smile under such circumstances. The smoke soon formed a thick cloud, which effectually drove the mosquitoes out of the hut, and though which Martin, lying in his hammock, gazed out upon the sunlit orange and coffee-trees, and tall palms with their rich festoons of creeping-plants, and sweet-scented flowers, that clambered over and round the hut and peeped in at the open door and windows, while he listened to the hermit who continued for at least ten minutes to murmur slowly, between the puffs of his cigar, "Yes, I will do it; I will tell you my story." CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE HERMIT'S STORY. "My ancestors," began the hermit, "were among the first to land upon Brazil, after the country was taken possession of in the name of the King of Portugal, in the year 1500. In the first year of the century, Vincent Vanez Pincon, a companion of the famed Columbus, discovered Brazil; and in the next year, Pedro Alvarez Cabral, a Portuguese commander, took possession of it in the name of the King of Portugal. In 1503, Americus Vespucius discovered the Bay of All Saints, and took home a cargo of Brazil-wood, monkeys and parrots; but no permanent settlement was effected upon the shores of the new continent and the rich treasures of this great country remained for some years longer buried and unknown to many--for the wild Indians who lived here knew not their value. "It was on a dark and stormy night in the year 1510. A group of swarthy and naked savages encircled a small fire on the edge of the forest on the east coast of Brazil. The spot where their watch-fire was kindled is now covered by the flourishing city of Bahia. At that time it was a wilderness. Before them stretched the noble bay which is now termed _Bahia de Todos Santos_,--All Saints' Bay. "The savages talked earnestly and with excited looks as they stood upon the shore, for the memory of the wondrous ships of the white men that had visited them a few years before was deeply engraven on their minds; and now, in the midst of the howling storm, another ship was seen approaching their land. It was a small vessel, shattered and tempest-tossed, that drove into the Bahia de Todos Santos on that stormy night. Long had it battled with the waves of the Atlantic, and the brave hearts that manned it had remained stanch to duty and strong in hope, remembering the recent glorious example of Columbus. But the storm was fierce and the bark was frail. The top-masts were broken and the sails rent; and worst of all, just as land hove in sight and cheered the drooping spirits of the crew, a tremendous wave dashed upon the ship's stern and carried away the rudder. "As they drove helplessly before the gale towards the shore, the naked savages crowded down upon the beach and gazed in awe and astonishment at the mysterious ship. A few of them had seen the vessels of Americus Vespucius and Cabral. The rumour of the white men and their floating castle had been wafted far and wide along the coast and into the interior of Brazil, and with breathless wonder the natives had listened to the strange account. But now the vision was before them in reality. On came the floating castle, the white foam dashing from her bows, and the torn sails and ropes flying from her masts as she surged over the billows and loomed through the driving spray. "It was a grand sight to see that ship dashing straight towards the shore at fearful speed; and those who looked on seemed to be impressed with a vague feeling that she had power to spring upon the strand and continue her swift career through the forest, as she had hitherto cleft her passage through the sea. As she approached, the savages shrank back in fear. Suddenly her frame trembled with a mighty shock. A terrible cry was borne to land by the gale, and all her masts went overboard. A huge wave lifted the vessel on its crest and flung her further on the shore, where she remained firmly fixed, while the waves dashed in foam around her and soon began to break her up. Ere this happened, however, a rope was thrown ashore and fastened to a rock by the natives. By means of this the crew were saved. But it would have been well for these bold navigators of Portugal if they had perished in the stormy sea, for they were spared by the ocean, only to be murdered by the wild savages, on whose shore they had been cast. "All were slain save one,--Diego Alvarez Carreo, the captain of the ship. Before grasping the rope by which he reached the shore, he thrust several cartridges into his bosom and caught up a loaded musket. Wrapping the lock in several folds of cloth to keep it dry, he slid along the rope and gained the beach in safety. Here he was seized by the natives, and would no doubt have been barbarously slain with his unfortunate companions; but, being a very powerful man, he dashed aside the foremost, and, breaking through their ranks, rushed towards the wood. The fleet savages, however, overtook him in an instant, and were about to seize him when a young Indian woman interposed between them and their victim. This girl was the chief's daughter, and respect for her rank induced them to hesitate for a moment; but in another instant the Portuguese captain was surrounded. In the scuffle that ensued, his musket exploded, but fortunately wounded no one. Instantly the horrified savages fled in all directions leaving Carreo alone! "The captain was quick-witted. He knew that among hundreds of savages it was madness to attempt either to fight or fly, and the happy effect of the musket explosion induced him to adopt another course of action. He drew himself up proudly to his full height, and beckoned the savages to return. This they did, casting many glances of fear at the dreaded musket. Going up to one who, from his bearing and ornaments, seemed to be a chief, Carreo laid his musket on the sand, and, stepping over it so that he left it behind him, held out his hand frankly to the chief. The savage looked at him in surprise, and suffered the captain to take his hand and pat it; after which he began to examine the stranger's dress with much curiosity. Seeing that their chief was friendly to the white man, the other savages hurried him to the camp-fire, where he soon stripped off his wet clothes and ate the food which they put before him. Thus Diego Carreo was spared. "Next day, the Indians lined the beach and collected the stores of the wrecked vessel. While thus employed, Carreo shot a gull with his musket; which so astonished the natives that they regarded him with fear and respect, amounting almost to veneration. A considerable quantity of powder and shot was saved from the wreck, so that the captain was enabled to keep his ascendency over the ignorant natives; and at length he became a man of great importance in the tribe, and married the daughter of the chief. He went by the name of _Caramuru_,--`The man of fire.' This man founded the city of Bahia. "The coasts of Brazil began soon after this to be settled in various places by the Portuguese; who, however, were much annoyed by the Spaniards, who claimed a share in the rich prize. The Dutch and English also formed settlements; but the Portuguese still retained possession of the country, and continued to prosper. Meanwhile Diego Caramuru, `the man of fire,' had a son who in course of time became a prosperous settler; and as his sons grew up he trained them to become cultivators of the soil and traders in the valuable products of the New World. He took a piece of ground, far removed from the spot where his father had been cast ashore, and a short distance in the interior of the country. Here the eldest sons of the family dwelt laboured, and died, for many generations. "In the year 1808 Portugal was invaded by Napoleon Buonaparte, and the sovereign of that kingdom, John the Sixth, fled to Brazil, accompanied by his court and a large body of emigrants. The king was warmly received by the Brazilians, and immediately set about improving the condition of the country. He threw open its ports to all nations; freed the land from all marks of colonial dependence; established newspapers; made the press free, and did everything to promote education and industry. But although much was done, the good was greatly hindered, especially in the inland districts, by the vice, ignorance, and stupidity of many of the Roman Catholic priests, who totally neglected their duties,--which, indeed, they were incompetent to perform,--and in many instances, were no better than miscreants in disguise, teaching the people vice instead of virtue. "Foremost among the priests who opposed advancement, was a descendant of the `man of fire.' Padre Caramuru dwelt for some years with an English merchant in the capital of Brazil, Rio de Janeiro. The padre was not an immoral man, but he was a fiery bigot and fiercely opposed everything that tended to advance the education of the people. This he did, firmly believing that education was dangerous to the lower orders. His church taught him, too, that the Bible was a dangerous book; and whenever a copy fell into his hands he immediately destroyed it. During the disturbances that took place after the time of King John's departure for Portugal, and just before Brazil became an independent state under his son, the Emperor Don Pedro the First, Padre Caramuru lost a beloved and only brother. He was quite a youth, and had joined the army only a few months previously, at the desire of his elder brother the padre, who was so overwhelmed by the blow that he ceased to take an active part in church or political affairs and buried himself in a retired part of his native valley. Here he sought relief and comfort in the study of the beauties of Nature, by which he was surrounded, but found none. "Then he turned his mind to the doctrines of his church, and took pleasure in verifying them from the Bible. But, as he proceeded, he found, to his great surprise, that these doctrines were, many of them, not to be found there; nay, further, that some of them were absolutely contradicted by the word of God. "Padre Caramuru had been in the habit of commanding his people not to listen to the Bible when any one offered to read it; but in the Bible itself he found these words, `Search the Scriptures.' He had been in the habit of praying to the Virgin Mary, and begging her to intercede with God for him; but in the Bible he found these words: `There is one mediator between God and man, the man Christ Jesus.' These things perplexed him much. But while he was thus searching, as it were, for silver, the ignorant padre found gold! He found that he did not require to _work_ for salvation, but to _ask_ for it. He discovered that the atonement had been made once for all by Jesus Christ the Lamb of God; and he read with a thrilling heart these words: `God so loved the world, that he gave his only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' "Long and earnestly did the padre ponder these words and pray over them; and gradually the Holy Spirit enlightened his mind, and he saw how hateful that system was which could forbid or discourage the reading of the blessed word of God. He soon resolved to forsake the priesthood. But when he had done so, he knew not what to turn his hand to. He had no one like-minded to consult with, and he felt that it was wrong to eat the bread of idleness. Being thus uncertain what to do, he resolved in the meantime to carry goods into the interior of the country, and offer them for sale. The land round his dwelling and his own gun would supply him with food; and for the rest, he would spend his time in the study of the Bible, and seek for more light and direction from God. "Such," continued the hermit, "is a slight sketch of the history of my country and of myself." "Yourself?" exclaimed Martin. "Yes. I am the Padre Caramuru, or rather I _was_. I am Padre no longer, but Senhor Carlos Caramuru, a merchant. Yet I know not what to do. When I look round upon my country, and see how they know not the precious word of God, my heart burns in me, and I sometimes think that it is my duty to go forth and preach." "No doubt ye are right," said Barney. "I've always bin of opinion that when a man feels very strong in his heart on any partic'lar subject it's a sure sign that the Almighty intends him to have something more to do with that subject than other men who don't feel about it at all." The hermit remained silent for a few minutes. "I think you are right, friend," he said; "but I am very ignorant yet. I have no one to explain difficulties to me; and I fear to go about preaching, lest I should preach what is not true. I will study yet for a time, and pray. After that perhaps, I may go forth." "But you have told us nothing yet about the trade of the country," said Martin, "or its size, or anything of that sort." "I will soon tell you of that, when I have lighted another cigar. This one does not draw well. Have you got a full pipe still, my friend?" "All right, Mr Carrymooroo," replied Barney, knocking out the ashes. "I'll jist load wance more, and then,--fire away." In a few minutes the big cigar and short pipe were in full play, and the hermit continued:-- "This country is very large and very rich, but it is not well worked. The people are lazy, many of them, and have not much enterprise. Much is done, no doubt; but very much more _might_ be done. "The empire of Brazil occupies nearly one half of the whole continent of South America. It is 2600 miles long, and 2500 miles broad; which, as you know perhaps, is a little larger than all Europe. The surface of the country is beautiful and varied. The hilly regions are very wild, although none of the mountains are very high, and the woods are magnificent; but a great part of the land consists of vast grassy plains, which are called llanos, or campos, or silvas. The campos along the banks of the River Amazon are equal to six times the size of France; and there is one great plain which lies between the Sierra Ibiapaba and the River Tocantins which is 600 miles long by 400 miles broad. There are very few lakes in Brazil, and only one worth speaking of--the Lagoa dos Platos--which is 150 miles long. But our rivers are the finest in the whole world, being so long, and wide, and deep, and free from falls, that they afford splendid communication with the interior of the land. But alas! there are few ships on these rivers yet, very few. The rivers in the north part of Brazil are so numerous and interlaced that they are much like the veins in the human body; and the great River Amazon and a few of its chief tributaries resemble the arteries. "Then as to our produce," continued the hermit, "who can tell it all? We export sugar, and coffee, and cotton, and gold, silver, lead, zinc, quicksilver, and amethysts, and we have diamond mines--" "Di'mond mines!" echoed Barney; "och, but I would like for to see them. Sure they would sparkle most beautiful. Are they far off, Mr Carrymooroo?" "Yes, very far off. Then we export dye-woods, and cabinet-woods, and drugs, and gums, and hides,--a great many hides, for the campos are full of wild cattle, and men hunt them on horseback, and catch them with a long rope called the _lasso_." "How I should like to have a gallop over these great plains," murmured Martin. "Then we have," continued the hermit, "rice, tapioca, cocoa, maize, wheat, mandioca, beans, bananas, pepper, cinnamon, oranges, figs, ginger, pine-apples, yams, lemons, mangoes, and many other fruits and vegetables. The mandioca you have eaten in the shape of farina. It is very good food; one acre gives as much nutriment as six acres of wheat. "Of the trees you have seen something. There are thousands of kinds, and most magnificent. Some of them are more than thirty feet round about. There are two hundred different kinds of palms, and so thick stand the giant trees in many places, with creeping-plants growing between, that it is not possible for man to cut his way through the forests in some parts. Language cannot describe the grandeur and glory of the Brazilian forests. "We have numbers of wild horses, and hogs, and goats; and in the woods are tiger-cats, jaguars, tapirs, hyenas, sloths, porcupines, and--but you have seen many things already. If you live you will see more. I need not tell you of these things; very soon I will show you some. "The population of my country consists of the descendants of Portuguese settlers, native Indians, and Negroes. Of the latter, some are free, some slaves. The Indians go about nearly naked. Most of them are in a savage state: they paint their skins, and wear gaudy ornaments. The religion of the country is Roman Catholic, but all religions are tolerated; and I have much hope for the future of Brazil, in spite of the priests." "And do ye git much out o' the di'mond mines?" inquired Barney, whose mind was running on this subject. "O yes, a great deal. Every year many are got, and Government gets one-fifth of the value of all the gold and diamonds found in the country. One diamond was found a short time ago which was worth 40,000 pounds." "Ye don't say so!" exclaimed Barney in great surprise, as he blew an immense cloud of smoke from his lips. "Now, that's extror'nary. Why don't everybody go to the mines and dig up their fortin at wance?" "Because men cannot _eat_ diamonds," replied the hermit gravely. "Troth, I niver thought o' that; ye're right." Martin laughed heartily as he lay in his hammock and watched his friend's expression while pondering this weighty subject. "Moreover," resumed the hermit, "you will be surprised to hear that diamond and gold finding is not the most profitable employment in the country. "The man who cultivates the ground is better off than anybody. It, is a fact a very great fact, a fact that you should get firmly fixed in your memory--that in less than _two years_ the exports of sugar and coffee amounted to more than the value of all the diamonds found in _eighty_ years. Yes, that is true. But the people of Brazil are not well off. They have everything that is necessary to make a great nation; but we are not a great nation, far from it." The hermit sighed deeply as he ceased speaking, and fell into an abstracted frame of mind. "It's a great country intirely," said Barney, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and placing that much-loved implement carefully in his pocket; "a great country, but there's a tremendous big screw loose somewhere." "It seems curious to me," said Martin, in a ruminating tone of voice, "that people should not get on better in a country, in which there is everything that man can desire, to make him rich and happy. I wonder what it wants; perhaps it's too hot and the people want energy of character." "Want energy!" shouted the hermit leaping from his seat, and regarding his guests for a few moments with a stern expression of countenance; then, stretching forth his hand, he continued, in an excited tone: "Brazil does not want energy; it has only one want,--it wants the Bible! When a country is sunk down in superstition and ignorance and moral depravity, so that the people know not right from wrong, there is only one cure for her,--the Bible. Religion here is a mockery and a shame; such as, if it were better known, would make the heathen laugh in scorn. The priests are a curse to the land, not a blessing. Perhaps they are better in other lands,--I know not; but well I know they are, many of them, false and wicked here. No truth is taught to the people,--no Bible is read in their ears; religion is not taught,--even morality is not taught; men follow the devices and desires of their own hearts, and there is no voice raised to say, `You are doing wrong.' My country is sunk very low; and she cannot hope to rise, for the word of her Maker is not in her hand. True, there are a few, a very few Bibles in the great cities; but that is all: that cannot save her hundreds of towns and villages. Thousands of her people are slaves in body,--all, all are slaves in soul; and yet you ask me what she wants. Ha! she wants _truth_, she wants to be purged of falsehood. She has bones and muscles, and arteries and veins,--everything to make a strong and healthy nation; but she wants blood,--she has no vital stream; yes, Brazil, my country, wants the Bible!" CHAPTER TWELVE. A HUNTING EXPEDITION, IN WHICH ARE SEEN STONES THAT CAN RUN, AND COWS THAT REQUIRE NO FOOD--BESIDES A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER WITH A JAGUAR, AND OTHER STRANGE THINGS. For many weeks Martin Rattler and his friend Barney O'Flannagan continued to dwell with the hermit in his forest-home, enjoying his entertaining and instructive discourse, and joining with him in the bunting expeditions which he undertook for the purpose of procuring fresh food for his table. In these rambles they made constant discoveries of something new and surprising, both in reference to the vegetables and animals of that extraordinary region of the earth. They also had many adventures,--some amusing and some terrible,--which we cannot enlarge on here, for they would fill ten volumes such as this, were they to be all recorded in detail. One day the hermit roused them earlier than usual, and told them to get ready, as he intended to go a considerable distance that day, and he wished to reach a particular spot before the heat of noon. So Martin and Barney despatched breakfast in as short a time as possible, and the hermit read them a chapter out of his large and well-thumbed Bible, after which they equipped themselves for the chase. When Martin and his friend escaped from the pirates, and landed on the coast of Brazil, they were clothed in sailor-like costume, namely, white duck trousers, coloured flannel shirts, blue jackets, round straw-hats, and strong shoes. This costume was not very suitable for the warm climate, in which they now found themselves, so their hospitable friend the hermit gave them two loose light cotton coats or jackets, of a blue colour, and broad-brimmed straw-hats similar to his own. He also gave them two curious garments called _ponchos_. The poncho serves the purpose of cloak and blanket. It is simply a square dark-coloured blanket with a hole in the middle of it, through which the head is thrust in rainy weather, and the garment hangs down all round. At night the poncho is useful as a covering. The hermit wore a loose open hunting-coat and underneath it a girdle, in which was a long sharp knife and a brace of pistols. His trousers were of blue-striped cotton. He usually carried a double-barrelled gun over his shoulder, and a powder-horn and bullet-bag were slung round his neck. Barney now procured from this hospitable man a supply of powder and shot for his large brass-mounted cavalry pistol. The hermit also made him a present of a long hunting-knife; and he gave one of a smaller size to Martin. As Martin had no weapon, the hermit manufactured for him a stout bow and quiver full of arrows; with which, after some practice, he became reasonably expert. Thus armed they sallied forth, and, following the foot-path that conducted from the door of the hut to the brow of the hill opposite, they were soon buried in the shades of the great forest. On this particular morning Barney observed that the hermit carried with him a stout spear, which he was not usually in the habit of doing. Being of an inquisitive disposition, he inquired the reason of his taking it. "I expect to find a jaguar to-day," answered the hermit. "I saw him yesterday go down into the small valley, in which my cows grow. I will show you my cows soon, Martin." The hermit stopped short suddenly as he spoke, and pointed to a large bird, about fifty yards in advance of them. It seemed to bear a particular ill-will to a round rough stone which it pecked most energetically. After a few minutes the bird ceased its attacks and flew off; whereupon the rough stone opened itself out, and, running quickly away, burrowed into a little hole and disappeared! "That is an armadillo," remarked the hermit, continuing to lead the way through the woods; "it is covered with a coat of mail, as you see; and when enemies come it rolls itself up like a ball and lies like a hard stone till they go away. But it has four little legs, and with them it burrows so quickly that we cannot dig it up, and must smoke it out of its hole,--which I do often, because it is very good to eat, as you very well know." While they continued thus to walk through the woods conversing, Martin and Barney were again interested and amused by the immense number of brilliant parrots and toucans which swooped about, chattering from tree to tree, in large flocks. Sometimes thirty or forty of the latter would come screaming through the woods and settle upon the dark-green foliage of a coffee-tree; the effect of which was to give the tree the appearance of having been suddenly loaded with ripe golden fruit. Then the birds would catch sight of the travellers, and fly screaming away, leaving the tree dark-green and fruitless as before. The little green parrots were the most outrageously noisy things that ever lived. Not content with screaming when they flew, they continued to shriek, apparently with delight while they devoured the seeds of the gorgeous sun-flowers: and, more than once, Martin was prompted to scatter a handful of stones among them, as a hint to be less noisy; but this only made them worse,--like a bad baby, which, the more you tell it to be quiet, sets to work the more earnestly to increase and add to the vigour of its roaring. So Martin wisely let the parrots alone. They also startled, in passing through swampy places, several large blue herons, and long-legged cranes: and on many of the trees they observed the curious hanging nests of a bird, which the hermit told them was the large oriole. These nests hung in long strings from the tops of the palm-trees, and the birds were very actively employed moving about and chattering round their swinging villages: on seeing which Martin could not help remarking that it would astonish the colony not a little, if the top house were to give way and let all the mansions below come tumbling to the ground! They were disappointed, however, in not seeing monkeys gambolling among the trees, as they had expected. "Ah! my friends," said the hermit, "travellers in my country are very often disappointed. They come here expecting to see everything all at once; but although there are jaguars, and serpents, and bears, and monkeys, plenty of them, as your ears can tell you, these creatures keep out of the sight of man as much as possible. They won't come out of the woods and show themselves to please travellers! You have been very lucky since you arrived. Many travellers go about for months together and do not see half so much as you." "That's thrue," observed Barney, with his head a little on one side, and his eyes cast up in a sort of meditative frown, as if he were engaged in subjecting the hermit's remarks to a process of severe philosophical contemplation; "but I would be very well plazed av' the wild bastes would show themselves now and then, for--" Martin Rattler burst into a loud laugh, for Barney's upward glance of contemplation was suddenly transformed into a gaze of intense astonishment, as he beheld the blue countenance of a large red monkey staring down upon him from amid the branches of an overhanging tree. The monkey's face expressed, if possible, greater surprise than that of the Irishman, and its mouth was partially open and thrust forward in a sort of threatening and inquiring manner. There seemed to be some bond of sympathy between the monkey and the man, for while _its_ mouth opened _his_ mouth opened too. "A-a-a-a-a-ah!" exclaimed the monkey. A facetious smile overspread Barney's face-- "Och! be all manes; the same to you, kindly," said he, taking off his hat and making a low bow. The civility did not seem to be appreciated, however; for the monkey put on a most indignant frown and displayed a terrific double-row of long brilliant teeth and red gums, while it uttered a shriek of passion, twisted its long tail round a branch, and hurled itself, with a motion more like that of a bird than a beast, into the midst of the tree and disappeared, leaving Martin and Barney and the hermit, each with a very broad grin on his countenance. The hunters now arrived at an open space where there were several large umbrageous trees, and as it was approaching mid-day they resolved to rest here for a couple of hours. Birds and insects were gradually becoming more and more silent and soon afterwards the only sounds that broke upon their ears were the curious metallic notes of the urupongas, or bell-birds; which were so like to the rapid beating of a smith's hammer on an anvil, that it was with the greatest difficulty Barney was restrained from going off by himself in search of the "smiddy." Indeed he began to suspect that the worthy hermit was deceiving him, and was only fully convinced at last when he saw one of the birds. It was pure white, about the size of a thrush, and had a curious horn or fleshy tubercle upon its head. Having rested and refreshed themselves, they resumed their journey a short time before the noisy inhabitants of the woods recommenced their active afternoon operations. "Hallo! what's that?" cried Barney, starting back and drawing his pistol, while Martin hastily fitted an arrow to his bow. Not ten paces in front of them a frightful monster ran across their path, which seemed so hideous to Martin, that his mind instantly reverted to the fable of Saint George and the Dragon, and he almost expected to see fire issuing from its mouth. It was a huge lizard, with a body about three feet long, covered with bright scales. It had a long, thick tail. Its head was clumsy and misshapen, and altogether its aspect was very horrible. Before either Martin or Barney could fire, the hermit dropped his gun and spear, sprang quickly forward, caught the animal by the tail, and, putting forth his great strength to the utmost, swung it round his head and dashed its brains out against a tree. Barney and Martin could only stare with amazement. "This we call an iguana," said the hermit as he piled a number of heavy stones on the carcase to preserve it from other animals. "It is very good to eat--as good as chicken. This is not a very big one; they are sometimes five feet long, but almost quite harmless,--not venomous at all; and the only means he has to defend himself is the tail, which is very powerful, and gives a tremendously hard blow; but, as you see, if you catch him quick, he can do nothing." "It's all very well for you, or even Barney here, to talk of catching him by the tail," said Martin, smiling; "but it would have puzzled me to swing that fellow round my head." "Arrah! ye're right, boy; I doubt if I could have done it mesilf," said Barney. "No fear," said the hermit patting Martin's broad shoulders as he passed him and led the way; "you will be strong enough for that very soon,--as strong as me in a year or two." They now proceeded down into a somewhat dark and closely wooded valley, through which meandered a small rivulet. Here they had some difficulty in forcing their way through the dense under-wood and broad leaves, most of which seemed very strange to Martin and his comrade, being so gigantic. There were also many kinds of ferns, which sometimes arched over their heads and completely shut out the view, while some of them crept up the trees like climbing-plants. Emerging from this, they came upon a more open space, in the midst of which grew a number of majestic trees. "There are my cows!" said the hermit, pausing as he spoke, and pointing towards a group of tall straight-stemmed trees that were the noblest in appearance they had yet seen. "Good cows they are," he continued, going up to one and making a notch in the bark with his axe: "they need no feeding or looking after, yet, as you see, they are always ready to give me cream." While he spoke, a thick white liquid flowed from the notch in the bark into a cocoa-nut drinking-cup, which the hermit always carried at his girdle. In a few minutes he presented his visitors with a draught, of what they declared was most excellent cream. The masseranduba, or milk-tree, as it is called, is indeed one of the most wonderful of all the extraordinary trees in the forests of Brazil, and is one among many instances of the bountiful manner, in which God provides for the wants of his creatures. No doubt this might with equal truth be said of all the gifts that a beneficent Creator bestows upon mankind; but when, as in the case of this milk-tree, the provision for our wants comes in a singular and striking manner, it seems fitting and appropriate that we should specially acknowledge the gift as coming from the hand of Him who giveth us all things liberally to enjoy. The milk-tree rises with a straight stem to an enormous height, and the fruit, about the size of a small apple, is full of rich and juicy pulp, and is very good. The timber, also, is hard, fine-grained, and durable,--particularly adapted for such works as are exposed to the weather. But its most remarkable peculiarity is the rich vegetable milk which flows in abundance from it when the bark is cut. This milk is so like to that of the cow in taste, that it can scarcely be distinguished from it, having only a very slight peculiarity of flavour, which is rather agreeable than otherwise. In tea and coffee it has the same effect as rich cream, and, indeed, is so thick that it requires to be diluted with water before being used. This milk is also employed as glue. It hardens when exposed to the air, and becomes very tough and slightly elastic, and is said to be quite as good and useful as ordinary glue. Having partaken of as much milk as they desired, they continued their journey a little further, when they came to a spur of the sierra, or mountain range, that cuts through that part of the country. Here the ground became more rugged, but still densely covered with wood, and rocks lay piled about in many places, forming several dark and gloomy caverns. The hermit now unslung his gun and advanced to the foot of a cliff, near the further end of which there were several caves, the mouths of which were partially closed with long ferns and masses of luxuriant vegetation. "Now we must be prepared," said the hermit feeling the point of his spear. "I think there is a jaguar here. I saw him yesterday, and I am quite sure he will not go away till he tries to do some mischief. He little knows that there is nothing here to hurt but me." The hermit chuckled as he said this, and resting his gun against the cliff near the entrance to the first cave, which was a small one, he passed on to the next. Holding the spear in his left band, he threw a stone violently into the cavern. Barney and Martin listened and gazed in silent expectation; but they only heard the hollow sound of the falling stone as it dashed against the sides of the cave; then all was still. "Och, then, he's off," cried Barney. "Hush," said Martin; "don't speak till he has tried the other cave." Without taking notice of their remarks, the hermit repeated the experiment at the mouths of two caverns further on, with the like result. "Maybe the spalpeen's hidin' in the little cave where ye laid down yer gun," suggested Barney, going towards the place as he spoke. "Och, then, come here, friend; sure it must be the mouth of a mine, for there's two o' the beautifulest di'monds I iver--" Barney's speech was cut short by a low peculiar sound, that seemed like the muttering of far-distant thunder. At the same moment the hermit pulled him violently back, and, placing himself in a firm attitude full in front of the cavern, held the point of the spear advanced before him. "Martin," he whispered, "shoot an arrow straight into that hole,-- quick!" Martin obeyed, and the arrow whizzed through the aperture. Instantly there issued from it a savage and tremendous roar, so awful that it seemed as if the very mountain were bellowing and that the cavern were its mouth. But not a muscle of the hermit's figure moved. He stood like a bronze statue,--his head thrown back and his chest advanced, with one foot planted firmly before him and the spear pointing towards the cave. It seemed strange to Martin that a man should face what appeared to him unknown danger, so boldly and calmly; but he did not consider that the hermit knew exactly the amount of danger before him. He knew precisely the manner in which it would assail him, and he knew just what was necessary to be done in order to avert it; and in the strength of that knowledge he stood unmoved, with a slight smile upon his tightly compressed lips. Scarcely had the roar ceased when it was repeated with tenfold fierceness; the bushes and fern leaves shook violently, and an enormous and beautifully spotted jaguar shot through the air as if it had been discharged from a cannon's mouth. The hermit's eye wavered not; he bent forward a hair's-breadth; the glittering spear-point touched the animal's breast, pierced through it, and came out at its side below the ribs. But the force of the bound was too great for the strength of the weapon: the handle snapped in twain, and the transfixed jaguar struck down the hermit and fell writhing upon him! In the excitement of the moment Barney drew his pistol from his belt and snapped it at the animal. It was well for the hermit at that moment that Barney had forgotten to prime his weapon; for, although he aimed at the jaguar's skull, there is no doubt whatever that he would have blown out the hermit's brains. Before he could make a second attempt, Martin sprang towards the gun which leaned against the cliff, and, running quickly up, he placed the muzzle close to the jaguar's ear and lodged a bullet in its brain. All this was done in a few seconds, and the hermit regained his legs just as the animal fell dead. Fortunately he was not hurt, having adroitly avoided the sharp claws of his enemy. "Arrah! Mister Hermit," said Barney, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, "it's yersilf that was well-nigh done for this time, an' no mistake. Did iver I see sich a spring! an' ye stud the charge jist like a stone wall,--niver moved a fut!" "Are you not hurt?" inquired Martin, somewhat anxiously; "your face is all covered with blood." "Yes, boy, but it is the blood of the jaguar; thanks to you for your quick hand, I am not hurt at all." The hermit washed his face in the neighbouring brook, and then proceeded to skin the jaguar, the carcase being worthless. After which they retraced their steps through the woods as quickly as possible, for the day was now far spent, and the twilight as we have before remarked, is so short in tropical latitudes that travellers require to make sure of reaching the end of the day's journey towards evening, unless they choose to risk losing their way, and spending the night in the forest. They picked up the iguana in passing; and, on reaching the spot where the armadillo had burrowed, the hermit paused and kindled a small fire over the hole, by means of his flint, steel, and tinder-box. He thus contrived to render the creature's habitation so uncomfortable that it rushed hurriedly out; then, observing that its enemies were waiting, it doubled its head and tail together, and became the image of a rough stone. "Poor thing," said Martin, as the hermit killed it; "that reminds me of the ostrich of the desert, which, I'm told, when it is chased over the plains by men on horseback, and finds that it cannot escape, thrusts its head into a bush, and fancies, no doubt, that it cannot be seen, although its great body is visible a mile off!" "Martin," said Barney, "this arth is full o' quare craturs intirely." "That's true, Barney; and not the least `quare' among them is an Irishman, a particular friend of mine!" "Hould yer tongue, ye spalpeen, or I'll put yer head in the wather!" "I wish ye would, Barney, for it is terribly hot and mosquito-bitten, and you couldn't have suggested anything more delightful. But here we are once more at our forest-home; and now for a magnificent cup of coffee and a mandioca-cake." "Not to mintion," added Barney, "a juicy steak of Igu Anny, an' a tender chop o' Army Dillo." CHAPTER THIRTEEN. MARTIN AND BARNEY CONTINUE THEIR TRAVELS, AND SEE STRANGE THINGS--AMONG OTHERS, THEY SEE LIVING JEWELS--THEY GO TO SEE A FESTA--THEY FIGHT AND RUN AWAY. Martin Rattler and Barney O'Flannagan soon after this began to entertain a desire to travel further into the interior of Brazil, and behold with their own eyes the wonders of which they had heard so much from their kind and hospitable friend, the hermit. Martin was especially anxious to see the great river Amazon, about which he entertained the most romantic ideas,--as well he might, for there is not such another river in the world for size, and for the many curious things connected with its waters and its banks. Barney, too, was smitten with an intense desire to visit the diamond mines, which he fancied must be the most brilliant and beautiful sight in the whole world; and when Martin asked him what sort of place he expected to see, he used to say that he "pictur'd in his mind a great many deep and lofty caverns, windin' in an' out an' round about, with the sides and the floors and the ceilin's all of a blaze with glittering di'monds, an' top'zes, an' purls, an' what not; with Naiggurs be the dozen picking them up in handfuls. An' sure," he would add, "if we was wance there, we could fill our pockets in no time, an' then, hooray for ould Ireland! an' live like Imperors for ivermore." "But you forget Barney, the account the hermit has given us of the mines. He evidently does not think that much is to be made of them." "Och! niver mind the hermit. There's always good luck attends Barney O'Flannagan; an' sure if nobody wint for fear they would git nothing, all the di'monds that iver came out o' the mines would be lyin' there still; an' didn't he tell us there was wan got only a short time since, worth I don't know how many thousand pounds? Arrah! if I don't go to the Mines an' git one the size o' me head, I'll let ye rig me out with a long tail, an' set me adrift in the woods for a blue-faced monkey." It so happened that this was the time when the hermit was in the habit of setting out on one of his trading trips; and when Martin told him of the desire that he and Barney entertained to visit the interior, he told them that he would be happy to take them along with him, provided they would act the part of muleteers. To this they readily agreed, being only too glad of an opportunity of making some return to their friend, who refused to accept any payment for his hospitality, although Barney earnestly begged of him to accept of his watch, which was the only object of value he was possessed of,--and that wasn't worth much, being made of pinchbeck, and utterly incapable of going! Moreover, he relieved their minds, by telling them that they would easily obtain employment as canoe-men on the Amazon, for men were very difficult to be got on that river to man the boats; and if they could stand the heat, and were willing to work like Indians, they might travel as far as they pleased. To which Martin replied, in his ignorance, that he thought he could stand anything; and Barney roundly asserted that, having been burnt to a cinder long ago in the "East Injies," it was impossible to overdo him any more. Under these circumstances, therefore, they started three weeks later to visit a populous town about twenty miles off, from which they set out on their travels, with a string of heavily laden mules, crossed the low countries or campos lying near to the sea, and began to ascend the sierras that divide this portion of Brazil from the country which is watered by the innumerable rivers that flow into the mighty Amazon. The cavalcade consisted of ten mules, each with two goodly sized bales of merchandise on its back. They were driven and attended to by Negroes, whose costume consisted of a light cotton shirt with short sleeves, and a pair of loose cotton drawers reaching down to the knee. With the exception of a straw-hat this was all they wore. Martin, and Barney, and the hermit each bestrode a mule, with a small bale slung on either side; over the front of which their legs dangled comfortably. They had ponchos with them, strapped to the mules' backs, and each carried a clumsy umbrella to shield him from the fierce rays of the sun; but our two adventurers soon became so hardened and used to the climate, that they dispensed with the umbrellas altogether. The sierra, or mountain range, over which they passed was about thirty miles in extent, being in some places quite level and open, but in others somewhat rugged and covered with large but thinly scattered trees, the most common of which had fine dark-green glossy leaves, with spikes of bright-yellow flowers terminating the branchlets. There were also many peculiar shrubs and flowering plants, of a sort that the travellers had never seen the like of in their native land. "How I wish," said Martin with a sigh, as he rode along beside his friend Barney, "that I knew something of botany." Barney opened his eyes in surprise. "Arrah! it's too much of a philosopher ye are already, lad. What good would it do ye to know all the hard names that men have given to the flowers? Sure I wance wint after the doctor o' a ship, to carry his box for him when he wint on what he called botanical excursions; and the poor cratur used to be pokin' his nose for iver down at the ground, an' peerin' through his green spectacles at miserable bits o' plants, an' niver seemin' to enjoy anything; when all the time _I_ was lookin' far fornint me, an all around me, an' up at the sky, seein' ivery beautiful thing, and snifterin' up the sweet smells, an' in fact enjoyin' the whole univarse--an my pipe to boot--like an intelligent cratur." Barney looked round as he spoke, with a bland, self-satisfied expression of countenance, as if he felt that he had given a lucid definition of the very highest style of philosophy, and proved that he, Barney O'Flannagan, was possessed of the same in no common degree. "Well, Barney," rejoined Martin, "since you give me credit for being a philosopher, I must continue to talk philosophically. Your botanical friend took a _microscopic_ view of nature, while you took a _telescopic_ view of it. Each view is good, but both views are better; and I can't help wishing that I were more of a philosopher than I am, especially in reference to botany." "Humph!" ejaculated Barney, who seemed not quite to understand his young friend, "yer observations are remarkably thrue, and do ye great credit, for yer years. Ah! Mr Hermit, good luck to ye! I'm glad to see that ye've got some consideration for man and baste. I'm quite ready for my victuals, and so's my mule; aren't you, avic?" Barney's latter remark was addressed to his patient charger, from whose back he sprang as he spoke, and slackened its girths. It was now approaching mid-day, and the hermit had pitched upon a large tree as a fitting spot for rest and refreshment. Water had been brought up the mountain in a huge calabash; but they did not require to use it, as they found a quantity in the hollow stump of a tree. There were several frogs swimming about in this miniature lake; but it was found to be fresh and clear and good, notwithstanding. Towards evening they passed a string of mules going towards the town which they had just left. They were driven by Negroes, most of whom were slaves, and nearly quite naked. A Brazilian merchant, wearing a picturesque broad-brimmed, high-crowned straw-hat, a poncho, and brown leather boots armed at the heels with large sharp spurs, rode at the head, and gave the strangers a surly nod of his head as they passed. Soon after, they descended into the plain, and came to a halt at a sort of roadside public-house, where there was no sleeping accommodation, but where they found an open shed in which travellers placed their goods, and slung their hammocks, and attended to themselves. At the venda, close beside it, they purchased a large bag of farina, being short of that necessary article of food, and then set to work to prepare supper in the open air; while the merry Negroes, who seemed to enjoy life most thoroughly, laughed and sang as they removed the bales from the mules' backs and cooked their simple fare. Barney's cooking propensities now came into full play; and, with the variety of fruits and vegetables which the country afforded, he exercised his ingenuity, and produced several dishes of so savoury a nature that the hermit was compelled to open his eyes in amazement, and smack his lips with satisfaction, being quite unable to express his sentiments in words. While thus busily and agreeably employed, they were told by the owner of the venda that a festa was being celebrated at a village about a league distant from where they stood. "I should like to see it above all things," said Martin eagerly; "could we not go?" The hermit frowned. "Yes, we can go, but it will be to behold folly. Perhaps it will be a good lesson, from which much may be learned. We will go." "It's not a step that I'll budge till I've finished me pipe," said Barney, pulling away at that bosom friend with unexampled energy. "To smoke," he continued, winking gently with one eye, "is the first law of nature; jist give me ten minutes more, an' I'm your man for anything." Being a fine evening, they proceeded on foot. In about an hour after setting out, they approached the village, which lay in a beautiful valley below them. Sounds of mirth and music rose like a distant murmur on the air, and mingled with the songs of birds and insects. Then the sun went down, and in a few minutes it grew dark, while the brilliant fire-flies began their nocturnal gambols. Suddenly a bright flame burst over the village, and a flight of magnificent rockets shot up into the sky, and burst in a hundred bright and variously-coloured stars, which paled for a few seconds the lights of nature. But they vanished in a moment, and the clear stars shed abroad their undying lustre,--seeming, in their quiet unfading beauty, a gentle satire on the short-lived and garish productions of man. "Mighty purty, no doubt," exclaimed Barney. "Is this the Imperor's birth-day?" "No," replied the hermit shaking his head; "that is the way in which the false priests amuse the people. The poor Indian and the Negro, and, indeed, the ignorant Brazilian, thinks it very grand; and the priests let them think it is pleasing to the God of heaven. Ah! here comes an old Negro; we will ask him." Several country people, in varied and picturesque costumes, hurried past the travellers towards the village; and as they came to a foot-path that joined the road, an old Negro approached them. Saluting him in the Portuguese language, the hermit said, "Friend, why do they let off rockets to-night?" "Por Dios," (for God), answered the old man, looking and pointing upwards with grave solemnity. Without vouchsafing another word, he hurried away. "So they think," said the hermit, "and so they are taught by the priests. Music, noise, and fire-works please these ignorant people; and so the priests, who are mostly as ignorant as the people, tell them it is a good part of religious ceremony." Presently a band of young girls came laughing and singing along the road. They were dressed in pure white, their rich black tresses being uncovered and ornamented with flowers, and what appeared to be bright jewels. "Hallo!" exclaimed Martin, gazing after them; "what splendid jewels! surely these must be the daughters of very rich people." "Och, but they've been at the di'mond mines for certain! Did iver ye sae the like?" The girls did indeed seem to blaze with jewels, which not only sparkled in their hair, but fringed their white robes, and were worked round the edges of their slippers; so that a positive light shone around their persons, and fell upon the path like a halo, giving them more the appearance of lovely supernatural beings than the daughters of earth. "These jewels," said the hermit, "were never polished by the hands of men. They are fire-flies." "Fire-flies!" exclaimed Martin and Barney simultaneously. "Yes, they are living fire-flies. The girls very often catch them and tie them up in little bits of gauze, and put them, as you see, on their dresses and in their hair. To my mind they seem more beautiful far than diamonds. Sometimes the Indians, when they travel at night, fix fire-flies to their feet and so have good lamps to their path." While Barney was expressing his surprise at this information, in very racy language, they entered the village; and, mingling with the throng of holiday-keepers, followed the stream towards the grand square. The church, which seemed to be a centre of attraction, and was brilliantly illuminated, was a neat wooden building with two towers. The streets of the village were broad and straggling; and so luxuriant was the vegetation, and so lazy the nature of the inhabitants, that it seemed as if the whole place were overgrown with gigantic weeds. Shrubs and creeping-plants grew in the neglected gardens, climbed over the palings, and straggled about the streets. Plants grew on the tops of the houses, ferns peeped out under the eaves; and, in short, on looking at it, one had the feeling that ere long the whole place, people and all, must be smothered in superabundant vegetation! The houses were all painted white or yellow, with the doors and windows bright green,--just like grown-up toys; and sounds of revelry, with now and then the noise of disputation, issued from many of them. It is impossible to describe minutely the appearance of the motley crowd, through which our adventurers elbowed their way, gazing curiously on the strange scene, which seemed to them more like a dream than reality, after their long sojourn in the solitudes of the forest. Processions headed by long-robed priests with flambeaux and crucifixes; young girls in light costumes and long white cotton shawls, selling sweet cakes of mandioca flour, and bonbons; swarthy Brazilians, some in white jackets, loose cotton drawers, and straw-hats, others in brown leather boots and ponchos; Negroes in short white drawers and shifts, besides many without any clothing above their waists; Indians from the interior, copper-coloured, and some of them, fine-looking men, having only a strip of cloth about their loins;--such were the strange crew whose loud voices added to the whiz of rockets, squibs, crackers, guns, and musical instruments, created a deafening noise. In the midst of the village there was a tree of such enormous size that it quite took our travellers by surprise. It was a wild fig-tree, capable of sheltering a thousand persons under its shadow! Here a spirited fandango was going on, and they stood for some time watching the movements of the performers. Growing tired of this, they wandered about until they came to a less crowded part of the village, and entered a pleasant grove of trees, skirting the road by which they had arrived. While sauntering here, enjoying the cool night breeze and delicious perfume of flowers, a woman uttered a piercing shriek near to them. It was instantly followed by loud voices in altercation. Ever ready to fly to the help of womankind, and, generally, to assist in a "row," Barney darted through the bushes, and came upon the scene of action just in time to see the white skirt of a female's dress disappear down an avenue, and to behold two Brazilians savagely writhing in mortal strife. At the moment he came up, one of the combatants had overcome the other, and a fierce smile of triumph crossed his swarthy countenance as he raised his gleaming knife. "Och, ye murtherer! would ye attimpt that same?" cried Barney, catching the man by the wrist and hurling him on his back. The other sprang up on being thus unexpectedly freed, and darted away, while the thwarted man uttered a yell of disappointment and sprang like a tiger at Barney's throat. A blow, however, from the Irishman's fist, quietly delivered, and straight between the eyes, stretched the Brazilian on the ground. At the same moment a party of men, attracted by the cries, burst through the bushes and surrounded the successful champion. Seeing their countryman apparently dead upon the ground, they rushed upon Barney in a body; but the first who came within reach was floored in an instant, and the others were checked in their career by the sudden appearance of the hermit and Martin Rattler. The noise of many voices, as of people hastening towards them, was heard at the same time. "We have no time to lose, do as I bid you," whispered the hermit. Whirling a heavy stick round his head the hermit shouted the single word "Charge!" and dashed forward. Barney and Martin obeyed. Three Brazilians went down like ninepins; the rest turned and fled precipitately. "Now, run for life!" cried the hermit, setting the example. Barney hesitated to follow what he deemed a cowardly flight, but the yells of the natives returning in strong force decided the question. He and Martin took to their heels with right good will, and in a few minutes the three friends were far on the road which led to their night bivouac; while the villagers, finding pursuit hopeless, returned to the village, and continued the wild orgies of their festa. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. COGITATIONS AND CANOEING ON THE AMAZON--BARNEY'S EXPLOIT WITH AN ALLIGATOR--STUBBORN FACTS--REMARKABLE MODE OF SLEEPING. It is pleasant, when the sun is bright, and the trees are green, and when flowering shrubs and sweet-smelling tropical trees scent the balmy atmosphere at eventide, to lie extended at full length in a canoe, and drop easily, silently, yet quickly, down the current of a noble river, under the grateful shadow of overhanging foliage; and to look lazily up at the bright blue sky which appears in broken patches among the verdant leaves; or down at the river in which that bright sky and those green leaves are reflected; or aside at the mud-banks where greedy vultures are searching for prey, and lazy alligators are basking in the sun; and to listen, the while, to the innumerable cries and notes of monkeys, toucans, parrots, orioles, bemtevi or fly-catchers, white-winged and blue chatterers, and all the myriads of birds and beasts that cause the forests of Brazil, above all other forests in the world probably, to resound with the gleeful songs of animated nature! It is pleasant to be thus situated, especially when a cool breeze blows the mosquitoes and other insects off the water, and relieves you for a time from their incessant attacks. Martin Rattler found it pleasant as he thus lay on his back with his diminutive pet marmoset monkey seated on his breast quietly picking the kernel out of a nut. And Barney O'Flannagan found it pleasant, as he lay extended in the bow of the canoe with his head leaning over the edge gazing abstractedly at his own reflected visage, while his hands trailed through the cool water, and his young dog--a shaggy indescribable beast with a bluff nose and a bushy tail--watched him intently, as a mother might watch an only child in a dangerous situation. And the old sun-dried, and storm-battered, and time-shrivelled mulatto trader, in whose canoe they were embarked and whose servants they had become, found it pleasant, as he sat there perched in his little montaria, like an exceedingly ancient and overgrown monkey, guiding it safely down the waters of the great river of the Tocantins. Some months have passed since we last parted from our daring adventurers. During that period they had crossed an immense tract of country, and reached the head-waters of one of the many streams that carry the surplus moisture of central Brazil into the Amazon. Here they found an old trader, a free mulatto, whose crew of Indians had deserted him,--a common thing in that country,--and who gladly accepted their services, agreeing to pay them a small wage. And here they sorrowfully, and with many expressions of good-will, parted from their kind friend and entertainer the hermit. His last gift to Martin was the wonderfully small marmoset monkey before mentioned; and his parting souvenir to Barney was the bluff-nosed dog that watched over him with maternal care, and loved him next to itself;--as well it might; for if everybody had been of the same spirit as Barney O'Flannagan, the Act for the prevention of cruelty to animals would never have been passed in Britain. It was a peculiar and remarkable and altogether extraordinary monkey, that tiny marmoset. There was a sort of romance connected with it, too; for it had been the mother of an indescribably small infant-monkey, which was killed at the time of its mother's capture. It drank coffee, too, like--like a Frenchman; and would by no means retire to rest at night until it had had its usual allowance. Then it would fold its delicate little hands on its bosom, and close its eyes with an expression of solemn grief, as if, having had its last earthly wish gratified, it now resigned itself to sleep. Martin loved it deeply, but his love was unrequited; for, strange to say, that small monkey lavished all its affection on Barney's shaggy dog. And the dog knew it, and was evidently proud of it, and made no objection whatever to the monkey sitting on his back, or his head, or his nose, or doing in fact whatever it chose whenever it pleased. When in the canoe, the marmoset played with Grampus, as the dog was named; and when on shore it invariably travelled on his back. Martin used to lie in the canoe half asleep and watch the little face of the marmoset, until, by some unaccountable mental process, he came to think of Aunt Dorothy Grumbit. Often did poor Martin dream of his dear old aunt, while sleeping under the shelter of these strange-leaved tropical trees and surrounded by the wild sounds of that distant land, until he dreamed himself back again in the old village. Then he would rush to the well-known school, and find all the boys there except Bob Croaker, who he felt certain must be away drowning the white kitten; and off he would go and catch him, sure enough, in the very act, and would give him the old thrashing over again, with all the additional vigour acquired during his rambles abroad thrown into it. Then he would run home in eager haste, and find old Mrs Grumbit hard at the one thousand nine hundred and ninety-ninth pair of worsted socks; and fat Mr Arthur Jollyboy sitting opposite to her, dressed in the old lady's bed-curtain chintz and high-crowned cap, with the white kitten in his arms and his spectacles on his chin, watching the process with intense interest and cautioning her not to forget the "hitch" by any means; whereupon the kitten would fly up in his face, and Mr Jollyboy would dash through the window with a loud howl, and Mrs Grumbit's face would turn blue; and, uncoiling an enormous tail, she would bound shrieking after him in among the trees and disappear! Martin usually wakened at this point and found the marmoset gazing in his face with an expression of sorrowful solemnity, and the old sun-dried trader staring vacantly before him as he steered his light craft down the broad stream of the Tocantins. The trader could speak little more English than sufficed to enable him to say "yes" and "no;" Barney could speak about as much Portuguese as enabled him to say "no" and "yes;" while Martin, by means of a slight smattering of that language, which he had picked up by ear during the last few months, mixed now and then with a word or two of Latin, and helped out by a clever use of the language of signs, succeeded in becoming the link of communication between the two. For many weeks they continued to descend the river; paddling energetically when the stream was sluggish, and resting comfortably when the stream was strong, and sometimes dragging their canoe over rocks and sand-banks to avoid rapids--passing many villages and plantations of the natives by the way--till at last they swept out upon the bosom of the great Amazon River. The very first thing they saw upon entering it was an enormous alligator, fully eighteen feet long, sound asleep on a mud-bank. "Och! put ashore, ye Naygur," cried Barney, seizing his pistol and rising up in the bow of the canoe. The old man complied quickly, for his spirit was high and easily roused. "Look out now, Martin, an' hould back the dog for fear he wakes him up," said Barney, in a hoarse whisper, as he stepped ashore and hastened stealthily towards the sleeping monster; catching up a handful of gravel as he went, and ramming it down the barrel of his pistol. It was a wonderful pistol that--an Irish one by birth, and absolutely incapable of bursting, else assuredly it would have gone, as its owner said, to "smithereens" long ago. Barney was not a good stalker. The alligator awoke and made for the water as fast as it could waddle. The Irishman rushed forward close up, as it plunged into the river, and discharged the compound of lead and stones right against the back of its head. He might as well have fired at the boiler of a steam-engine. The entire body of an alligator--back and belly, head and tail--is so completely covered with thick hard scales, that shot has no effect on it; and even a bullet cannot pierce its coat of mail, except in one or two vulnerable places. Nevertheless the shot had been fired so close to it that the animal was stunned, and rolled over on its back in the water. Seeing this, the old trader rushed in up to his chin, and caught it by the tail; but at the same moment the monster recovered, and, turning round, displayed its terrific rows of teeth. The old man uttered a dreadful roar, and struggled to the land as fast as he could; while the alligator, equally frightened, no doubt, gave a magnificent flourish and splash with its tail, and dived to the bottom of the river. The travellers returned disgusted to their canoe, and resumed their journey up the Amazon in silence. The vulnerable places about an alligator are the soft parts under the throat and the joints of the legs. This is well-known to the jaguar, its mortal foe, which attacks it on land, and fastening on these soft parts, soon succeeds in killing it; but should the alligator get the jaguar into its powerful jaws or catch it in the water, it is certain to come off the conqueror. The Amazon, at its mouth, is more like a wide lake or arm of the sea than a river. Mention has been already made of this noble stream in the Hermit's Story; but it is worthy of more particular notice, for truly the Amazon is in many respects a wonderful river. It is the largest, though not quite the longest, in the world. Taking its rise among the rocky solitudes of the great mountain range of the Andes, it flows through nearly four thousand miles of the continent in an easterly direction, trending northward towards its mouth, and entering the Atlantic Ocean on the northern coast of South America, directly under the Equator. In its course it receives the waters of nearly all the great rivers of central South America, and thousands of smaller tributaries; so that when it reaches the ocean its volume of water is enormous. Some idea may be formed of its majestic size, from the fact that one of its tributaries--the Rio Negro--is fifteen hundred miles long, and varying in breadth; being a mile wide not far from its mouth, while higher up it spreads out in some places into sheets of ten miles in width. The Madeira, another tributary, is also a river of the largest size. The Amazon is divided into two branches at its mouth by the island of Marajo, the larger branch being ninety-six miles in width. About two thousand miles from its mouth it is upwards of a mile wide. So great is the force of this flood of water, that it flows into the sea unmixed for nearly two hundred miles. The tide affects the river to a distance of about four hundred miles inland; and it is navigable from the sea for a distance of three thousand miles inland. On the north bank of the Amazon there are ranges of low hills, partly bare and partly covered with thickets. These hills vary from three hundred to a thousand feet high, and extend about two hundred miles inland. Beyond them the shores of the river are low and flat, for more than two thousand miles, till the spurs of the Andes are reached. During the rainy season the Amazon overflows all its banks, like the Nile, for many hundreds of miles; during which season, as Martin Rattler truly remarked, the natives may be appropriately called aquatic animals. Towns and villages, and plantations belonging to Brazilians, foreign settlers, and half-civilised Indians, occur at intervals throughout the whole course of the river; and a little trade in dye-woods, India-rubber, medicinal drugs, Brazil nuts, coffee, etcetera, is done; but nothing to what might and ought to be, and perhaps would be, were this splendid country in the hands of an enterprising people. But the Amazonians are lazy, and the greater part of the resources of one of the richest countries in the world is totally neglected. "Arrah!" said Barney, scratching his head and wrinkling his forehead intensely, as all that we have just written, and a great deal more, was told to him by a Scotch settler whom he found superintending a cattle estate and a saw-mill on the banks of the Amazon-- "Faix, then, I'm jist as wise now as before ye begun to spake. I've no head for fagures whatsumdiver; an' to tell me that the strame is ninety-six miles long and three thousand miles broad at the mouth, and sich like calcerlations, is o' no manner o' use, and jist goes in at wan ear an' out at the tother." Whereupon the Scotch settler smiled and said, "Well, then, if ye can remember that the Amazon is longer than all Europe is broad; that it opens up to the ocean not less than ten thousand miles of the interior of Brazil; and that, _comparatively_ speaking, no use is made of it whatever, ye'll remember enough to think about with profit for some time to come." And Barney did think about it, and ponder it, and revolve it in his mind, for many days after, while he worked with Martin and the old trader at the paddles of their montaria. They found the work of canoeing easier than had been anticipated; for during the summer months the wind blows steadily up the river, and they were enabled to hoist their mat-sail, and bowl along before it against the stream. Hotels and inns there were none; for Brazil does not boast of many such conveniences, except in the chief towns; so they were obliged, in travelling, to make use of an empty hut or shed, when they chanced to stop at a village, and to cook their own victuals. More frequently, however, they preferred to encamp in the woods--slinging their hammocks between the stems of the trees, and making a fire sometimes, to frighten away the jaguars, which, although seldom seen, were often heard at night. They met large canoes and montarias occasionally coming down the stream, and saw them hauled up on shore, while their owners were cooking their breakfast in the woods; and once they came upon a solitary old Indian in a very curious position. They had entered a small stream in order to procure a few turtles' eggs, of which there were many in that place buried in the sand-banks. On turning a point where the stream was narrow and overhung with bushes and trees, they beheld a canoe tied to the stem of a tree, and a hammock slung between two branches overhanging the water. In this an old Indian lay extended, quite naked and fast asleep! The old fellow had grown weary with paddling his little canoe; and, finding the thicket along the river's banks so impenetrable that he could not land, he slung his hammock over the water, and thus quietly took his siesta. A flock of paroquets were screaming like little green demons just above him, and several alligators gave him a passing glance as they floundered heavily in the water below; but the red man cared not for such trifles. Almost involuntarily Martin began to hum the popular nursery rhyme-- "Hushy ba, baby, on the tree top; When the wind blows the cradle will rock." "Arrah, if he was only two foot lower, its thirty pair o' long teeth would be stuck into his flank in wan minute, or I'm no prophet," said Barney, with a broad grin. "Suppose we give him a touch with the paddle in passing," suggested Martin. At this moment Barney started up, shaded his eyes with his hand, and, after gazing for a few seconds at some object ahead of the canoe, he gave utterance to an exclamation of mingled surprise and consternation. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. THE GREAT ANACONDA'S DINNER--BARNEY GETS A FRIGHT--TURTLES' EGGS, OMELETS AND ALLIGATORS' TAILS--SENHOR ANTONIO'S PLANTATION--PREPARATIONS FOR A GREAT HUNT. The object which called forth the cry from our Irish friend, as related in the last chapter, was neither more nor less than a serpent of dimensions more enormous than Barney had ever before conceived of. It was upwards of sixteen feet long, and nearly as thick as a man's body; but about the neck it was three times that size. This serpent was not, indeed, of the largest size. In South America they grow to nearly forty feet in length. But it was fabulously gigantic in the eyes of our adventurers, who had never seen a serpent of any kind before. "Oh!" cried Martin, eagerly, "that must be an anaconda. Is it not?" he inquired, turning to the old trader. "Yees; it dead," was the short reply. "So it is!" cried Martin, who, on a nearer approach, observed that the brute's body was cut in two just below the swelling at the neck. "Now, did ye iver," cried Barney with increased surprise, "see a sarpint with a cow's horns growin' out at its mouth? Put ashore, old boy; we must have a 'vestigation o' this remarkable cratur." The canoe was soon aground, and in another minute the three travellers busily engaged in turning over the carcass of the huge reptile, which they found, to the amazement of Martin and Barney, had actually swallowed an ox whole, with the exception of the horns, which protruded from its mouth! After much questioning, in bad Portuguese, broken English, and remarkable signs, Martin succeeded in drawing from the old trader the information that anacondas of a large size are often in the habit of thus bolting horses and oxen at a mouthful. There is not the slightest exaggeration in this fact. Readers who are inclined to disbelieve it may refer to the works of Wallace and Gardner on Brazil,--authorities which cannot be doubted. The reptile commences by patiently watching, until an unfortunate animal strays near to where it is lying, when it darts upon it, encircles it in its massive coils, and crushes it to death in an instant. Then it squeezes the body and broken bones into a shapeless mass; after which it licks the carcass all over, and covers it with a thick coating of saliva. Having thus prepared its mouthful, the anaconda begins at the tail and gradually engulfs its victim, while its elastic jaws, and throat, and stomach are distended sufficiently to let it in; after which it lies in a torpid state for many weeks, till the morsel is digested, when it is ready for another meal. A horse goes down entire, but a cow sticks at the horns, which the anaconda cannot swallow. They are allowed to protrude from its mouth until they decay and drop off. They were at a loss at first to account for the creature being killed; but the old trader suggested that it had been found in a torpid state, and slain by the Indian whom they had seen a short time ago enjoying his siesta among the trees. Having cut it open, in order to convince themselves beyond a doubt that it had swallowed an entire ox, Martin and the old trader re-embarked in the canoe, and Barney was on the point of joining them when the bushes close beside him were slightly stirred. Looking quickly round, he beheld the head and the glittering eyes of another anaconda, apparently as large as the dead one, ready to dart upon him,--at least so he fancied; but he did not wait to give it a chance. He fled instantly, and sprang towards the boat which he nearly upset as he leaped into it, and pushed out into the stream. On reaching the middle of the river they looked back, but the anaconda was gone. Soon after this they came to a long sandbank, where the old trader said they should find as many turtles' eggs as they wished for, although to Barney and Martin there seemed to be nothing on the bank at all. The freshwater turtle of the Amazon, of which there are various species, is one of the most useful of reptiles. Its flesh supplies abundance of good food; and the eggs, besides being eaten, afford an excellent oil. The largest species grow to the length of three feet, and have a flattish oval shell of a dark colour, and quite smooth. Turtles lay their eggs about the beginning of September, when the sand-banks begin to be uncovered. They scrape deep holes for them, and cover them carefully over, beating down the sand quite flat, and walking across the place several times, for the purpose of concealment. The eggs are then left to be hatched by the heat of the sun. But alas for the poor turtles, men are too clever for them. The eggs are collected by the natives in thousands, and, when oil is to be made of them, they are thrown into a canoe, smashed and mixed up together, and left to stand, when the oil rises to the top, and is skimmed off and boiled. It keeps well, and is used both for lamps and cooking. Very few of the millions of eggs that are annually laid arrive at maturity. When the young turtles issue forth and run to the water, there are many enemies watching for them. Great alligators open their jaws and swallow them by hundreds; jaguars come out of the forests and feed upon them; eagles and buzzards and wood-ibises are there, too, to claim their share of the feast; and, if they are fortunate enough to escape all these, there are many large and ravenous fishes ready to seize them in the stream. It seems a marvel that any escape at all. In a few minutes the old trader scraped up about a hundred eggs, to the immense satisfaction of Martin and Barney. Then he took a bow and arrow from the bottom of the montaria, and shot a large turtle in the water, while his companions kindled a fire, intending to dine. Only the nose of the turtle was visible above water; but the old man was so expert in the use of the bow, that he succeeded in transfixing the soft part of the animal's neck with an arrow, although that part was under water. It was a large turtle, and very fat and heavy, so that it was with difficulty the trader lifted it upon his old shoulders and bore it in triumph to the spot where his companions were busily engaged with their cooking operations. Turtles are frequently shot with the arrow by the natives; they are also taken in great numbers with the hook and the net. Dinner was soon ready. Barney concocted an immense and savoury omelet, and the old trader cooked an excellent turtle-steak, while Martin prepared a junk of jaguar meat, which he roasted, being curious to taste it, as he had been told that the Indians like it very much. It was pretty good, but not equal to the turtle-eggs. The shell of the egg is leathery, and the yolk only is eaten. The Indians sometimes eat them raw, mixed with farina. Cakes of farina, and excellent coffee, concluded their repast; and Barney declared he had never had such a satisfactory "blow out" in his life; a sentiment with which Martin entirely agreed, and the old trader--if one might judge from the expression of his black countenance--sympathised. For many weeks our adventurers continued to ascend the Amazon, sometimes sailing before the wind; at other times, when it fell calm, pushing the montaria up the current by means of long poles, or advancing more easily with the paddles. Occasionally they halted for a day at the residence of a wealthy cacao planter, in order to sell him some merchandise; for which purpose the canoe was unloaded, and the bales were opened out for his inspection. Most of these planters were Brazilians, a few were Yankee adventurers, and one or two were Scotch and English; but nearly all had married Brazilian ladies, who, with their daughters, proved good customers to the old trader. Some of these ladies were extremely "purty craturs," as Barney expressed it; but most of them were totally uneducated and very ignorant,--not knowing half so much as a child of seven or eight years old in more favoured lands. They were very fond of fine dresses and ornaments, of which considerable supplies were sent to them from Europe and the United States, in exchange for the valuable produce of their country. But although their dresses were fine and themselves elegant, their houses were generally very poor affairs--made of wood and thatched with broad leaves; and it was no uncommon thing to see a lady, who seemed from her gay dress to be fitted for a drawing-room, seated on an earthen floor. But there were all sorts of extremes in this strange land; for at the next place they came to, perhaps, they found a population of Negroes and Indians, and most of the grown-up people were half naked, while all the children were entirely so. At one plantation, where they resolved to spend a few days, the owner had a pond which was much frequented by alligators. These he was in the habit of hunting periodically, for the sake of their fat, which he converted into oil. At the time of their arrival, he was on the eve of starting on a hunting expedition to the lake, which was about eight miles distant; so Barney and Martin determined to go and "see the fun," as the latter said. "Martin, lad," remarked Barney, as they followed the Negro slave who had been sent by Senhor Antonio, the planter, to conduct them to the lake, while he remained behind for an hour or two to examine the bales of the old trader; "this is the quarest country, I believe, that iver was made; what with bastes, and varmints, and riptiles, and traes, and bushes, and rivers, it bates all creation." "Certainly it does, Barney; and it is a pity there are so few people in it who know how to make use of the things that are scattered all around them. I'm inclined to think the hermit was right when he said that they wanted the Bible. They are too far sunk in laziness and idleness to be raised up by anything else. Just look," continued Martin, glancing round, "what a wonderful place this is! It seems as if all the birds and curious trees in Brazil had congregated here to meet us." "So't does," said Barney, stopping to gaze on the scene through which they were passing, with an expression of perplexity on his face, as if he found the sight rather too much even for _his_ comprehension. Besides the parrots and scarlet and yellow macaws, and other strange-looking birds which we have elsewhere mentioned, there were long-tailed light-coloured cuckoos flying about from tree to tree, not calling like the cuckoo of Europe at all, but giving forth a sound like the creaking of a rusty hinge; there were hawks and buzzards of many different kinds, and red-breasted orioles in the bushes, and black vultures flying overhead, and Muscovy ducks sweeping past with whizzing wings, and flocks of the great wood-ibis sailing in the air on noiseless pinions, and hundreds of other birds that it would require an ornithologist to name; and myriads of insects,--especially ants and spiders, great and small,--that no entomologist could chronicle in a life-time: all these were heard and seen at once; while of the animals that were heard, but not so often seen, there were black and spotted jaguars, and pacas, and cotias, and armadillos, and deer, and many others, that would take _pages_ to enumerate and whole books to describe. But the noise was the great point. That was the thing that took Martin and Barney quite aback, although it was by no means new to them; but they could not get used to it. And no wonder! Ten thousand paroquets shrieking passionately, like a hundred knife-grinders at work, is no joke; especially when their melodies are mingled with the discordant cries of herons, and bitterns, and cranes, and the ceaseless buzz and hum of insects, like the bagpipe's drone, and the dismal croaking of boat-bills and frogs,--one kind of which latter, by the way, doesn't croak at all, but _whistles_, ay, better than many a bird! The universal hubbub is tremendous! I tell you, reader, that you _don't_ understand it and you can't understand it; and if, after I had used the utmost excess of exaggerated language to convey a correct impression of the reality, you were to imagine that you really _did_ understand it, you would be very lamentably mistaken--that's all! Nevertheless, you must not run away with the idea that the whole empire of Brazil is like this. There are dark thick solitudes in these vast forests, which are solemn and silent enough at times; and there are wide grassy campos, and great sandy plains, where such sounds are absent. Yet there are also thousands of such spots as I have just described, where all nature, in earth, air, and water, is instinct with noisy animal life. After two hours' walk, Martin and his companion reached the lake, and here active preparations were making for the alligator hunt. "Is that the only place ye have to spind the night in, Sambo?" said Barney to their conductor, as he pointed to a wooden shed near which some fifteen or twenty Negro slaves were overhauling the fishing tackle. "Yis, massa," answered the black, showing his white teeth; "dat is de hottle of dis great city." Sambo could speak a little English, having wrought for several years on the coffee plantation of a Yankee settler. He was a bit of a wag, too, much to the indignation of his grave master, the Senhor Antonio, who abhorred jesting. "Ye're too cliver, avic," said Barney, with a patronising smile; "take care ye don't use up yer intellect too fast. It hurts the constitution in the long-run." "I say, Barney," cried Martin, who had gone ahead of his companions, "come here, man, and just look at this pond. It's literally crammed full of alligators." "Musha, but there's more alligators than wather, I belave!" exclaimed Barney. The pond was indeed swarming with these ferocious reptiles, which were constantly thrusting their ugly snouts above the surface and then disappearing with a flourish of their powerful tails. During the rainy season this lake was much larger, and afforded ample room for its inhabitants; but at the height of the dry season, which it was at this time, there was little water, and it was much overstocked. When alligators are thus put upon short allowance of water, they frequently bury themselves in the wet mud, and lie dormant for a long time, while the water continues to retire and leaves them buried. But when the first shower of the rainy season falls, they burst open their tomb, and drag their dry bodies to the lake or river, on whose margin they went to sleep. An hour or two later the Senhor Antonio arrived; but as it was getting dark, nothing could be done until the following morning; so they slung their hammocks under the wooden shed on the margin of the lake, and, in order to save themselves as much as possible from the bites of the tormenting mosquitoes, went to sleep with their heads tied up in their handkerchiefs, and their hands thrust into their breeches pockets! The occasional splash and snort of contending alligators, about twenty yards off, varied the monotony of the hours of darkness, while the frogs and cranes and jaguars sang their lullaby. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. AN ALLIGATOR HUNT--REMARKABLE EXPLOSIONS--THE RAINY SEASON USHERED IN BY AN AWFUL RESURRECTION. At sunrise an expressive shout in Portuguese set the black slaves on their feet; and, after a hasty breakfast of alligator-tail and farina, they commenced operations. Alligator-tail is by no means bad food, and after the first mouthful--taken with hesitation and swallowed with difficulty,--Martin and Barney both pronounced it "capital." Sambo, who had cooked the delicate morsel, and stood watching them, smacked his lips and added, "Fuss rate." All being now ready for the hunt, a number of Negroes entered the water, which was nowhere very deep, with long poles in their hands. This appeared to Martin and Barney a very reckless and dangerous thing to do, as no doubt it was. Nevertheless accidents, they were told, very rarely happened. Sambo, who was the overseer of the party, was the first to dash up to the middle in the water. "Hi," exclaimed that dingy individual, making a torrent of remarks in Portuguese, while he darted his long pole hither and thither; then, observing that Martin and Barney were gazing at him open mouthed, he shouted, "Look out, boys! here 'im comes! Take care, ole feller, or he jump right down you throat! hi-i-i!" As he spoke, a large alligator, having been rudely stirred up from his muddy bed, floundered on the surface of the lake, and Sambo instantly gave it a thump over the back and a blow under the ribs; which had the effect of driving it in the direction of the shore. Here a number of Negroes were ready for him; and the moment he came within reach, a coil of rope with a noose on the end of it, called a lasso, was adroitly thrown over the reptile's head: ten or twelve men then hauled the lasso and dragged it ashore amid shouts of triumph. This alligator was twenty feet long, with an enormous misshapen head and fearful rows of teeth that were terrible to behold. The monster did not submit to be captured, however, without a struggle; and the Negroes grew wild with excitement as they yelled and leaped madly about seeking to avoid its dangerous jaws and the blows of its powerful tail. After some trouble, a second lasso was thrown over the tail, which was thus somewhat restrained in its movements; and Sambo, approaching cautiously with an axe, cut a deep gash just at the root of that formidable appendage, which rendered it harmless. "Hi-i," shouted Sambo in triumph, as he sprang towards the animal's head, and inflicted a similar gash in the neck; "dare, you quite finish, ole feller." "Musha but that's thrue!" ejaculated Barney, who stood staring at the whole proceeding like one in a trance. "Did ye iver git a bite, Sambo?" Barney received no answer, for his sable friend was already up to his waist in the water with five or six of his brethren, who were flourishing their long poles and driving the snorting alligators towards the shore, where their comrades, with lassos and harpoons, awaited them. Sometimes they harpooned the alligators, and then, fastening lassos to their heads and tails, or to a hind leg, dragged them ashore; at other times they threw the lasso over their heads at once, without taking the trouble to harpoon them. It was a terrible and a wonderful sight to witness the Negroes in the very midst of a shoal of these creatures, any one of which could have taken a man into his jaws quite easily,--whence, once between these long saw-like rows of teeth, no man could have escaped to tell how sharp they were. The creatures were so numerous that it was impossible to thrust a pole into the mud without stirring up one of them; but they were so terrified at the sudden attack and the shouts of the Negroes, that they thought only of escape. Suddenly there arose a great cry. One of the lassos had snapt and the alligator was floundering back into the water, when Sambo rushed in up to the arm-pits, and caught the end of the rope. At the same moment two alligators made at the Negro with open jaws. It is probable that the animals went in his direction by mere accident, and would have brushed past him in blind haste; but to Martin and Barney it seemed as if the poor man's fate were sealed, and they uttered a loud shout of horror as they bounded simultaneously into the water, not knowing what to do, but being unable to restrain the impulse to spring to Sambo's aid. Fortunately, however, one of the other Negroes was near Sambo. He sprang forward, and dealt the alligators two tremendous blows with his pole on their snouts, right and left, which turned them off. Then other Negroes came up, laid hold of Sambo, who would not let go his hold and was being dragged into deep water, caught the end of the rope, and in ten minutes hauled their victim to the shore, when it was quickly despatched in the usual manner. By this time about a dozen alligators, varying from ten to twenty feet in length, had been captured; and Barney at length became so bold that he requested to be allowed to try his hand at throwing the lasso, the dexterous use of which by the Negroes had filled him with admiration. A loud burst of laughter greeted this proposal, and Sambo showed a set of teeth that might have made even the alligators envious, as he handed the Irishman a coil of line. "Now don't miss, Barney," cried Martin laughing heartily, as his comrade advanced to the edge of the lake and watched his opportunity. "Mind, your credit as an expert hunter is at stake." The Senhor Antonio stood close behind the Irishman, with his arms folded and a sarcastic smile on his countenance. "Don't send it down him's throat," yelled Sambo. "Hi-i, dat's de vay to swing um round. Stir um up, boys!--poke um up, villains, hi!" The Negroes in the water obeyed with frantic glee, and the terrified monsters surged about in all directions, so that Barney found it almost impossible to fix his attention on any particular individual. At length he made up his mind, whirled the coil round his head, discharged the noose, caught the Senhor Antonio round the neck, and jerked him violently to the ground! There was a simultaneous pause of horror among the slaves; but it was too much for their risible faculties to withstand; with one accord they rushed howling into the water to conceal their laughter, and began to stir up and belabour the alligators with their poles, until the surface of the lake was a sheet of foam. Meanwhile the Senhor Antonio sprang to his feet and began to bluster considerably in Portuguese; but poor Barney seemed awfully crestfallen, and the deep concern which wrinkled his face, and the genuine regret that sounded in the tones of his voice, at length soothed the indignant Brazilian, who frowned gravely, and waving his hand, as if to signify that Barney had his forgiveness, he stalked up to the shed, lighted a cigarito, and lay down in his hammock. "Well," said Martin, in an undertone, "you did it that time, Barney. I verily thought the old fellow was hanged. He became quite livid in the face." "Och! bad luck to the lasso, say I. May I niver more see the swate groves o' Killarney if iver I meddle with wan again." "Hi-i; you is fuss rate," said Sambo, as he and his comrades returned and busied themselves in cutting up the dead alligators. "You beat de Niggers all to not'ing. Not any of dis yere chiles eber lasso Sen'or Antonio yet; no, neber!" It was some time before the Negroes could effectually subdue their merriment, but at length they succeeded, and applied themselves vigorously to the work of cutting out the fat. The alligators were all cut open,--a work of no small difficulty, owing to the hard scales which covered them, as with coats of mail; then the fat, which accumulates in large quantities about the intestines, was cut out and made up into packets in the skins of the smaller ones, which were taken off for this purpose. These packets were afterwards carried to the Senhor's dwelling, and the fat melted down into oil, which served for burning in lamps quite as well as train oil. The flesh of a smaller species of alligator, some of which were also taken, is considered excellent food; and, while the Negroes were engaged in their work, Barney made himself useful by kindling a large fire and preparing a savoury dish for "all hands," plentifully seasoned with salt and pepper, with which condiments the country is well supplied, and of which the people are exceedingly fond. There was also caught in this lake a large species of fish called pirarucu, which, strangely enough, found it possible to exist in spite of alligators. They were splendid creatures, from five to six feet long, and covered with large scales more than an inch in diameter, which were beautifully marked and spotted with red. These fish were most delicately flavoured, and Barney exerted his talents to the utmost in order to do them justice. Martin also did his best to prove himself a willing and efficient assistant, and cleaned and washed the pirarucu steaks and the junks of alligator-tail to admiration. In short, the exertions of the two strangers in this way quite won the hearts of the Negroes, and after dinner the Senhor Antonio had quite recovered his good humour. While staying at this place Martin had an opportunity of seeing a great variety of the curious fish, with which the Amazon is stocked. These are so numerous that sometimes, when sailing up stream with a fair wind, they were seen leaping all round the canoe in shoals, so that it was only necessary to strike the water with the paddles in order to kill a few. The peixe boi, or cow-fish, is one of the most curious of the inhabitants of the Amazon. It is about six feet long, and no less than five feet in circumference at its thickest part. It is a perfectly smooth, and what we may call _dumpy_ fish, of a leaden colour, with a semicircular flat tail, and a large mouth with thick fleshy lips, resembling those of a cow. There are stiff bristles on the lips, and a few scattered hairs over the body. It has two fins just behind the head; and below these, in the females, there are two breasts, from which good white milk flows when pressure is applied. The cow-fish feeds on grass at the borders of rivers and lakes; and, when suckling its young, it carries it in its fins or flippers, and clasps the little one to its breast, just as a mother clasps her baby! It is harpooned and taken for the sake of its fat, from which oil is made. The flesh is also very good, resembling beef in quality, and it was much relished by Martin and Barney, who frequently dined on beefsteaks cut from this remarkable cow-fish. There was also another fish which surprised our adventurers not a little, the first time they met with it. One evening Senhor Antonio had ordered a net to be thrown into the river, being desirous of procuring a few fresh fish for the use of his establishment. The Indians and Negroes soon after commenced dragging, and in a few minutes afterwards the sandy bank of the river was strewn with an immense variety of small fish, among which were a few of a larger kind. Martin and Barney became excited as they saw them leaping and spluttering about, and ran in amongst them to assist in gathering them into baskets. But scarcely had the latter advanced a few steps when there was a loud report, as if a pistol had gone off under his feet. "Hallo!" exclaimed the Irishman, leaping two feet into the air. On his reaching the ground again, a similar explosion occurred, and Barney dashed aside, overturning Martin in his haste. Martin's heel caught on a stone, and he fell flat on the ground, when instantly there was a report as if he had fallen upon and burst an inflated paper bag. The natives laughed loud and long, while the unfortunate couple sprang up the bank, half inclined to think that an earthquake was about to take place. The cause of their fright was then pointed out. It was a species of small fish which has the power of inflating the fore part of its body into a complete ball, and which, when stamped upon, explodes with a loud noise. There were great numbers of these scattered among the other fish, and also large quantities of a little fish armed with long spines, which inflict a serious wound when trodden upon. At this place adventures on a small scale crowded upon our travellers so thickly that Martin began to look upon sudden surprises as a necessary of life, and Barney said that, "if it wint on any longer he feared his eyebrows would get fixed near the top of his head, and niver more come down." One evening, soon after their departure from the residence of Senhor Antonio, the old trader was sitting steering in the stern of his canoe, which was running up before a pretty stiff breeze. Martin was lying on his back, as was his wont in such easy circumstances, amusing himself with Marmoset; and Barney was reclining in the bow talking solemnly to Grampus; when suddenly the wind ceased, and it became a dead calm. The current was so strong that they could scarcely paddle against it so they resolved to go no further that night, and ran the canoe ashore on a low point of mud, intending to encamp under the trees, no human habitation being near them. The mud-bank was hard and dry, and cracked with the heat; for it was now the end of the dry season, and the river had long since retired from it. "Not a very comfortable place, Barney," said Martin, looking round, as he threw down one of the bales which he had just carried up from the canoe. "Hallo! there's a hut, I declare. Come, that's a comfort anyhow." As he spoke, Martin pointed to one of the solitary and rudely constructed huts or sheds, which the natives of the banks of the Amazon sometimes erect during the dry season, and forsake when the river overflows its banks. The hut was a very old one, and had evidently been inundated, for the floor was a mass of dry, solid mud, and the palm-leaf roof was much damaged. However, it was better than nothing, so they slung their hammocks under it, kindled a fire, and prepared supper. While they were busy discussing this meal, a few dark and ominous clouds gathered in the sky, and the old trader, glancing uneasily about him, gave them to understand that he feared the rainy season was going to begin. "Well, then," said Barney, lighting his pipe and stretching himself at full length in his hammock, with a leg swinging to and fro over one side and his head leaning over the other, as was his wont when he felt particularly comfortable in mind and body; "Well then, avic, let it begin. If we're sure to have it anyhow, the sooner it begins the better, to my thinkin'." "I don't know that," said Martin, who was seated on a large stone beside the fire sipping a can of coffee, which he shared equally with Marmoset. The monkey sat on his shoulder gazing anxiously into his face, with an expression that seemed as if the creature were mentally exclaiming, "Now me, now you; now me, now you," during the whole process. "It would be better, I think, if we were in a more sheltered position before it begins. Ha! there it comes though, in earnest." A smart shower began to fall as he spoke, and, percolating through the old root descended rather copiously on the mud floor. In a few minutes there was a heaving of the ground under their feet! "Ochone!" cried Barney, taking his pipe out of his mouth and looking down with a disturbed expression, "there's an arthquake, I do belave." For a few seconds there was a dead silence. "Nonsense," whispered Martin uneasily. "It's dramin' I must have been," sighed Barney, resuming his pipe. Again the ground heaved and cracked, and Martin and the old trader had just time to spring to their feet when the mud floor of the hut burst upwards and a huge dried-up looking alligator crawled forth, as if from the bowels of the earth! It glanced up at Barney; opened its tremendous jaws, and made as if it would run at the terrified old trader; then, observing the doorway, it waddled out, and, trundling down the bank, plunged into the river and disappeared. Barney could find no words to express his feelings, but continued to gaze, with an unbelieving expression, down into the hole, out of which the monster had come, and in which it had buried itself many weeks before, when the whole country was covered with soft mud. At that time it had probably regarded the shelter of the inundated hut as of some advantage, and had lain down to repose. The water retiring had left it there buried, and--as we have already mentioned in reference to alligators--when the first shower of the rainy season fell, it was led by instinct to burst its earthy prison, and seek its native element. Before Barney or his companions could recover from their surprise, they had other and more urgent matters to think about. The dark clouds burst overhead, and the rain descended like a continued water-spout--not in drops but in heavy sheets and masses; the roof of the hut gave way in several places, driving them into a corner for shelter; the river began to rise rapidly, soon flooding the hut; and, when darkness overspread the land, they found themselves drenched to the skin and suspended in their hammocks over a running stream of water! This event brought about an entire change in the aspect of nature, and was the cause of a sad and momentous era in the adventures of Martin Rattler and his companion. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. THE GAPO--INTERRUPTIONS--GRAMPUS AND MARMOSET--CANOEING IN THE WOODS--A NIGHT ON A FLOATING ISLAND. There is a peculiar and very striking feature in the character of the great Amazon, which affects the distinctive appearance of that river, and materially alters the manners and customs of those who dwell beside it. This peculiarity is the periodical overflow of its low banks; and the part thus overflowed is called the _Gapo_. It extends from a little above the town of Santarem up to the confines of Peru, a distance of about seventeen hundred miles; and varies in width from one to twenty miles: so that the country when inundated, assumes in many places the appearance of an extensive lake, with forest trees growing out of the water; and travellers may proceed many hundreds of miles in their canoes without once entering the main stream of the river. At this time the natives become almost aquatic animals. Several tribes of Indians inhabit the Gapo; such as the Purupurus, Muras, and others. They build small movable huts on the sandy shores during the dry season, and on rafts in the wet. They subsist on turtle, cow-fish, and the other fish with which the river abounds, and live almost entirely in their canoes; while at night they frequently sling their hammocks between the branches of trees, and sleep suspended over the deep water. Some of the animals found in the Gapo are peculiar to it, being attracted by the fruit-trees which are found growing only there. The Indians assert that every tree that grows in the Gapo is distinct from all those that grow in other districts; and when we consider that these trees are submerged for six months every year, till they are tall enough to rise above the highest water-level, we may well believe their constitution is somewhat different from those that are reared on ordinary ground. The Indians are wonderfully expert in finding their way among the trackless mazes of the Gapo, being guided by the broken twigs and scraped bark that indicate the route followed by previous travellers. Owing to this sudden commencement of the rainy season, the old trader resolved to return to a small village, and there spend several months. Martin and Barney were much annoyed at this; for the former was impatient to penetrate further into the interior, and the latter had firmly made up his mind to visit the diamond mines, about which he entertained the most extravagant notions. He did not, indeed, know in the least how to get to these mines, nor even in which direction they lay; but he had a strong impression that as long as he continued travelling he was approaching gradually nearer to them, and he had no doubt whatever that he would get to them at last. It was, therefore, with no small degree of impatience that they awaited the pleasure of their sable master, who explained to them that when the waters reached their height he would proceed. Everything comes to an end, even a long story. After many weeks had passed slowly by, their sojourn in this village came to an end too. It was a dull place, very dull, and they had nothing to do; and the few poor people who lived there seemed to have very little or nothing to do. We will, therefore, pass it over, and resume our narrative at the point when the old trader announced to Barney that the flood was at its height and they would now continue their journey. They embarked once more in their old canoe with their goods and chattels, not forgetting Marmoset and Grampus, whose friendship during their inactive life had become more close than ever. This friendship was evidenced, chiefly, by the matter-of-course way in which Grampus permitted the monkey to mount his back, and ride about the village and through the woods, where dry places could be found, as long as she pleased. Marmoset was fonder of riding than walking, so that Grampus had enough to do; but he did not put himself much about. He trotted, walked, galloped, and lay down, when, and where, and as often as he chose, without any reference to the small monkey; and Marmoset held on through thick and thin, and nibbled nuts or whatever else it picked up, utterly regardless of where it was going to, or the pace at which it went. It was sharp, though, that small monkey, sharp as a needle, and had its little black eyes glancing on all sides; so that when Grampus dashed through under-wood, and the branches threatened to sweep it off, it ducked its head; or, lying flat down, shut its eyes and held on with all its teeth and four hands like a limpet to a rock. Marmoset was not careful as to her attitude on dog-back. She sat with her face to the front or rear, just as her fancy or convenience dictated. After leaving the village they travelled for many days and nights through the Gapo. Although afloat on the waters of the Amazon, they never entered the main river after the first few days, but wound their way, in a creeping, serpentine sort of fashion, through small streams and lakes and swamps, from which the light was partially excluded by the thick foliage of the forest. It was a strange scene, that illimitable watery waste, and aroused new sensations in the breasts of our travellers. As Barney said, it made him "feel quite solemn-like and eerie to travel through the woods by wather." The canoe was forced under branches and among dense bushes, till they got into a part where the trees were loftier and a deep gloom prevailed. Here the lowest branches were on a level with the surface of the water, and many of them were putting forth beautiful flowers. On one occasion they came to a grove of small palms, which were so deep in the water that the leaves were only a few feet above the surface. Indeed they were so low that one of them caught Martin's straw-hat and swept it overboard. "Hallo! stop!" cried Martin, interrupting the silence so suddenly that Grampus sprang up with a growl, under the impression that game was in view; and Marmoset scampered off behind a packing-box with an angry shriek. "What's wrong, lad?" inquired Barney. "Back water, quick! my hat's overboard, and there's an alligator going to snap it up. Look alive, man!" In a few seconds the canoe was backed and the straw-hat rescued from its perilous position. "It's an ill wind that blows nae guid, as the Scotch say," remarked Barney, rising in the canoe and reaching towards something among the overhanging branches. "Here's wan o' them trees that old black-face calls a maraja, with some splendid bunches o' fruit on it. Hould yer hat Martin; there's more nor enough for supper anyhow." As he spoke a rustling in the leaves told that monkeys were watching them, and Marmoset kept peeping up as if she half expected they might be relations. But the moment the travellers caught sight of them they bounded away screaming. Having gathered as much fruit as they required, they continued their voyage, and presently emerged into the pleasant sunshine in a large grassy lake, which was filled with lilies and beautiful water-plants, little yellow bladder-worts, with several other plants of which they knew not the names; especially one with a thick swollen stalk, curious leaves, and bright blue flowers. This lake was soon passed, and they again entered into the gloomy forest and paddled among the lofty trunks of the trees, which rose like massive columns out of the deep water. There was enough of animal life there, however, to amuse and interest them. The constant plash of falling fruit showed that birds were feeding overhead. Sometimes a flock of parrots or bright blue chatterers swept from tree to tree, or a trogon swooped at a falling bunch of fruit and caught it ere it reached the water; while ungainly toucans plumped clumsily down upon the branches, and sat, in striking contrast, beside the lovely pompadours, with their claret-coloured plumage and delicate white wings. Vieing with these birds in splendour were several large bright-yellow flowers of the creeping-plants, which twined round the trees. Some of these plants had white, spotted, and purple blossoms; and there was one splendid species, called by the natives the flor de Santa Anna--the flower of Saint Ann--which emitted a delightful odour and was four inches in diameter. Having traversed this part of the wood, they once more emerged upon the main stream of the Amazon. It was covered with waterfowl. Large logs of trees and numerous floating islands of grass were sailing down; and on these sat hundreds of white gulls, demurely and comfortably voyaging to the ocean; for the sea would be their final resting-place if they sat on these logs and islands until they descended several hundreds of miles of the great river. "I wish," said Martin, after a long silence, during which the travellers had been gazing on the watery waste as they paddled up stream--"I wish that we could fall in with solid land, where we might have something cooked. I'm desperately hungry now; but I don't see a spot of earth large enough for a mosquito to rest his foot on." "We'll jist have to take to farhina and wather," remarked Barney, laying down his paddle and proceeding leisurely to light his pipe. "It's a blissin' we've got baccy, any how. 'Tis mesilf that could niver git on without it." "I wish you joy of it, Barney. It may fill your mouth, but it can't stop your hunger." "Och, boy, it's little ye know! Sure it stops the cravin's o' hunger, and kapes yer stumick from callin' out for iver, till ye fall in with somethin' to ate." "It does not seem to stop the mouth then, Barney, for you call out for grub oftener than I do; and then you say that you couldn't get on without it; so you're a slave to it old boy. I wouldn't be a slave to anything if I could help it." "Martin, lad, ye're gittin' deep. Take care now, or ye'll be in mettlefeesics soon. I say, ould black-face,"--Barney was not on ceremony with the old trader,--"is there no land in thim parts at all?" "No, not dis night." "Och, then, we'll have to git up a tree and try to cook somethin' there; for I'm not goin' to work on flour and wather. Hallo! hould on! There's an island, or the portrait o' wan! Port your helm, Naygur! hard sport! D'ye hear?" The old man heard, but, as usual, paid no attention to the Irishman's remarks; and the canoe would have passed straight on, had not Barney used his bow-paddle so energetically that he managed to steer her, as he expressed it, by the nose, and ran her against a mass of floating logs which had caught firmly in a thicket and were so covered with grass and broken twigs as to have very much the appearance of a real island. Here they landed, so to speak, kindled a small fire, made some coffee, roasted a few fish, baked several cakes, and were soon as happy and comfortable as hungry and wearied men usually are when they obtain rest and food. "This is what I call jolly," remarked Barney. "What's jolly?" inquired Martin. "Why _this_, to be sure,--grub to begin with, and a smoke and a convanient snooze in prospect." The hopes which Barney cherished, however, were destined to be blighted, at least in part. To the victuals he did ample justice; the pipe was delightful, and in good working order; but when they lay down to repose, they were attacked by swarms of stinging ants, which the heat of the fire had driven out of the old logs. These and mosquitoes effectually banished sleep from their eye-lids, and caused them to reflect very seriously, and to state to each other more than once very impressively, that with all their beauties and wonders, tropical lands had their disadvantages, and there was no place like the "ould country," after all. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. THE SAD AND MOMENTOUS ERA REFERRED TO AT THE CLOSE OF THE CHAPTER PRECEDING THE LAST. One sultry evening, many weeks after our travellers had passed the uncomfortable night on the floating island in the Gapo, they came to a place where the banks of the river rose boldly up in rugged rocks and hemmed in the waters of the Amazon, which were by this time somewhat abated. Here they put ashore, intending to kindle their fire and encamp for the night, having been up and hard at work since day-break. The evening was calm and beautiful, and the troublesome insects not so numerous as usual,--probably owing to the nature of the ground. One or two monkeys showed themselves for a moment, as if to inquire who was there, and then ran away screaming; a porcupine also crossed their path, and several small bright snakes, of a harmless species, glided over the rocks, and sought refuge among the small bushes; but beyond these there were few of the sights and sounds that were wont to greet them in the forest. "I think things look well to-night," remarked Martin as he threw down a bundle of sticks which he had gathered for the fire; "we shall have a comfortable snooze for certain, if the mosquitoes don't wake up." "I'm not so sure of that," replied Barney, striking a light with flint and steel and stooping to puff the smouldering spark into a flame. "I've larned by exparience that ye niver can be--puff--sure o' nothin' in this--puff--remarkable country. Jist look at Darkey now," continued the Irishman, sitting down on a stone before the fire, which now began to kindle up, and stuffing the tobacco into his pipe with his little finger. "There he is, a livin' Naygur, a-liftin' of the provision-bag out o' the canoe. Well, if he was all of a suddent to turn into Marmoset, an' swaller himself, an' then jump down the throat of Grampus, and the whole consarn, canoe and all, to disappear, I don't think that I would be much surprised." "Would you not, Barney? I suspect that I should be, a little, under the circumstances; perhaps the old Nigger would be more so." "Niver a taste," continued Barney. "Ye see, if that was to happen, I would then know that it was all a drame. I've more than wance expected to wake up since I comed into furrin parts; the only thing that kapes me in doubt about it is the baccy." "How so, Barney?" "Why, bekase it tastes so rael, good luck to it! that I can't git myself to think it's only a drame. Jist look, now," he continued, in the same tone of voice; "if it wasn't a drame, how could I see sich a thing as that standin' on the rock over there?" Martin glanced towards the spot pointed out by his friend, and immediately started up with surprise.--"Hallo! Barney, that's no dream, I'll vouch for it. He's an Indian, and a very ugly one too, I declare. I say, old fellow, do you know what sort of savage that is?" "Not know," answered the trader, glancing uneasily at the stranger. "He might have the dacency to put on more close, anyhow," muttered Barney, as he gazed inquiringly at the savage. The being who had thus appeared so suddenly before the travellers belonged to one of the numerous tribes of Indians inhabiting the country near the head-waters of some of the chief tributaries of the Amazon. He was almost entirely naked, having merely a scanty covering on his loins; and carried a small quiver full of arrows at his back, and what appeared to be a long spear in his hand. His figure was strongly but not well formed; and his face, which was of a dark copper hue, was disfigured in a most remarkable manner. A mass of coarse black hair formed the only covering to his head. His cheeks were painted with curious marks of jet black. But the most remarkable points about him were the huge pieces of wood which formed ornaments in his ears and under lip. They were round and flat like the wooden wheel of a toy-cart, about half an inch thick, and larger than an old-fashioned watch. These were fitted into enormous slits made in the ears and under lip, and the latter projected more than two inches from his mouth! Indeed, the cut that had been made to receive this ornament was so large that the lip had been almost cut off altogether, and merely hung by each corner of his mouth! The aspect of the man was very hideous, and it was by no means improved when, having recovered from his surprise at unexpectedly encountering strangers, he opened his mouth to the full extent and uttered a savage yell. The cry was answered immediately. In a few minutes a troop of upwards of thirty savages sprang from the woods, and, ascending the rock on which their comrade stood, gazed down on the travellers in surprise, and, by their movements, seemed to be making hasty preparations for an attack. By this time Barney had recovered his self-possession, and became thoroughly convinced of the reality of the apparition before him. Drawing his pistol hastily from his belt, he caught up a handful of gravel, wherewith he loaded it to the muzzle, ramming down the charge with a bit of mandioca-cake in lieu of a wad; then drawing his cutlass he handed it to Martin, exclaiming, "Come, lad, we're in for it now. Take you the cutlass and I'll try their skulls with the butt o' my pistol: it has done good work before now in that way. If there's no more o' the blackguards in the background we'll bate them aisy." Martin instinctively grasped the cutlass, and there is no doubt that, under the impulse of that remarkable quality, British valour, which utterly despises odds, they would have hurled themselves recklessly upon the savages, when the horrified old trader threw himself on Barney's neck and implored him not to fight; for if he did they would all be killed, and if he only kept quiet the savages would perhaps do them no harm. At the same moment about fifty additional Indians arrived upon the scene of action. This, and the old man's earnest entreaties, induced them to hesitate for an instant, and, before they could determine what to do, they were surprised by some of the savages, who rushed upon them from behind and took them prisoners. Barney struggled long and fiercely, but he was at length overpowered by numbers. The pistol, which missed fire, was wrenched from his grasp, and his hands were speedily bound behind his back. Martin was likewise disarmed and secured; not, however, before he made a desperate slash at one of the savages, which narrowly missed his skull, and cut away his lip ornament. As for the old trader, he made no resistance at all, but submitted quietly to his fate. The savages did not seem to think it worth their while to bind him. Grampus bounced and barked round the party savagely, but did not attack; and Marmoset slept in the canoe in blissful ignorance of the whole transaction. The hands of the two prisoners being firmly bound, they were allowed to do as they pleased; so they sat down on a rock in gloomy silence, and watched the naked savages as they rifled the canoe and danced joyfully round the treasures which their active knives and fingers soon exposed to view. The old trader took things philosophically. Knowing that it was absolutely impossible to escape, he sat quietly down on a stone, rested his chin on his hands, heaved one or two deep sighs, and thereafter seemed to be nothing more than an ebony statue. The ransacking of the canoe and appropriating of its contents occupied the savages but a short time, after which they packed everything up in small bundles, which they strapped upon their backs. Then, making signs to their prisoners to rise, they all marched away into the forest. Just as they were departing, Marmoset observing that she was about to be left behind, uttered a frantic cry, which brought Grampus gambolling to her side. With an active bound the monkey mounted its charger, and away they went into the forest in the track of the band of savages. During the first part of their march Martin and Barney were permitted to walk beside each other, and they conversed in low, anxious tones. "Surely," said Barney, as they marched along surrounded by Indians, "thim long poles the savages have got are not spears; I don't see no point to them." "And what's more remarkable," added Martin, "is that they all carry quivers full of arrows, but none of them have bows." "There's a raison for iverything," said Barney, pointing to one of the Indians in advance; "that fellow explains the mystery." As he spoke, the savage referred to lowered the pole, which seemed to be about thirteen feet long, and pushing an arrow into a hole in the end of it, applied it to his mouth. In another moment the arrow flew through the air and grazed a bird that was sitting on a branch hard by. "'Tis a blow-pipe, and no mistake!" cried Barney. "And a poisoned arrow, I'm quite sure," added Martin; "for it only ruffled the bird's feathers, and see, it has fallen to the ground." "Och, then, but we'd have stood a bad chance in a fight if thim's the wipons they use. Och, the dirty spalpeens! Martin, dear, we're done for. There's no chance for us at all." This impression seemed to take such deep hold of Barney's mind, that his usually reckless and half jesting disposition was completely subdued, and he walked along in gloomy silence, while a feeling of deep dejection filled the heart of his young companion. The blow-pipe which these Indians use is an ingeniously contrived weapon. It is made from a species of palm-tree. When an Indian wants one, he goes into the woods and selects a tree with a long slender stem of less than an inch in diameter; he extracts the pith out of this, and then cuts another stem, so much larger than the first that he can push the small tube into the bore of the large one,--thus the slight bend in one is counteracted by the other, and a perfectly straight pipe is formed. The mouth-piece is afterwards neatly finished off. The arrows used are very short, having a little ball of cotton at the end to fill the tube of the blow-pipe. The points are dipped in a peculiar poison, which has the effect of producing death when introduced into the blood by a mere scratch of the skin. The Indians can send these arrows an immense distance, and with unerring aim, as Martin and Barney had many an opportunity of witnessing during their long and weary journey on foot to the forest-home of the savages. CHAPTER NINETEEN. WORSE AND WORSE--EVERYTHING SEEMS TO GO WRONG TOGETHER. Although the Indians did not maltreat the unfortunate strangers who had thus fallen into their hands, they made them proceed by forced marches through the wilderness; and as neither Barney nor Martin had been of late much used to long walks, they felt the journey very severely. The old trader had been accustomed to everything wretched and unfortunate and uncomfortable from his childhood, so he plodded onward in silent indifference. The country through which they passed became every day more and more rugged, until at length it assumed the character of a wild mountainous district. Sometimes they wound their way in a zig-zag manner up the mountain sides, by paths so narrow that they could scarcely find a foot-hold. At other times they descended into narrow valleys where they saw great numbers of wild animals of various kinds, some of which the Indians killed for food. After they reached the mountain district they loosed the hands of their prisoners, in order to enable them to climb more easily. Indeed in many places they had to scramble so carefully that it would have been impossible for any one to climb with his hands tied behind his back. But the Indians knew full well that they ran no risk of losing their prisoners; for if they had attempted to escape, dozens of their number were on the watch, before, behind, and on either side, ready to dart away in pursuit. Moreover, Barney had a feeling of horror at the bare idea of the poisoned arrows, that effectually prevented him from making the smallest attempt at escape. With a cutlass or a heavy stick he would have attacked the whole tribe single-handed, and have fought till his brains were knocked out; but when he thought of the small arrows that would pour upon him in hundreds if he made a dash for the woods, and the certain death that would follow the slightest scratch, he discarded all idea of rebellion. One of the animals killed by the Indians at this time was a black jaguar,--a magnificent animal, and very fierce. He was discovered crouching in a thicket backed by a precipice, from which he could only escape by charging through the ranks of his enemies. He did it nobly. With a roar that rebounded from the face of the high cliff and echoed through the valley like a peal of thunder, he sprang out and rushed at the savages in front, who scattered like chaff right and left. But at the same instant fifty blow-pipes sent their poisoned shafts into his body, and, after a few convulsive bounds, the splendid monarch of the American forests fell dead on the ground. The black jaguar is a somewhat rare animal, and is very seldom seen. This one was therefore hailed as a great prize, and the skin and claws were carefully preserved. On the afternoon of the same day the party came to a broad stream, over which they, or some other of the numerous tribes in the country, had constructed a very simple and curious bridge. It was a single rope attached to an immense mass of rock on one side and to the stem of a large tree on the other. On this tight-rope was fastened a simple loop of cord, so constructed that it could encircle the waist of a man and at the same time traverse from one end of the tight-rope to the other. Barney put on a comical frown when he came to this and saw the leader of the party rest his weight in the loop, and, clinging with hands and legs to the long rope, work himself slowly across. "Arrah! it's well for us, Martin, that we're used to goin' aloft," said he, "or that same bridge would try our narves a little." "So it would, Barney. I've seldom seen a more uncomfortable-looking contrivance. If we lost our hold we should first be dashed to pieces on the rocks, and then be drowned in the river." Difficult though the passage seemed, however, it was soon accomplished by the active savages in safety. The only one of the party likely to be left behind was Grampus; whom his master, after much entreaty in dumb-show, was permitted to carry over by tying him firmly to his shoulders. Marmoset crossed over walking, like a tight-rope dancer, being quite _au fait_ at such work. Soon after they came to another curious bridge over a ravine. It had been constructed by simply felling two tall trees on the edge of it in such a manner that they fell across. They were bound together with the supple vines that grew there in profusion. Nature had soon covered the whole over with climbing-plants and luxuriant verdure; and the bridge had become a broad and solid structure, over which the whole party marched with perfect ease. Several such bridges were crossed, and also a few of the rope kind, during the journey. After many weeks' constant travelling, the Indians came to a beautiful valley one evening just about sunset--and began to make the usual preparations for encamping. The spot they selected was a singular one. It was the foot of a rocky gorge, up which might be seen trees and bushes mingled with jagged rocks and dark caverns, with a lofty sierra or mountain range in the background. In front was the beautiful valley which they had just crossed. On a huge rock there grew a tree of considerable size, the roots of which projected beyond the rock several yards, and then, bending downwards, struck into the ground. Creeping-plants had twined thickly among the roots, and thus formed a sort of lattice-work which enclosed a large space of ground. In this natural arbour the chiefs of the Indians took up their quarters and kindled their fire in the centre of it, while the main body of the party pitched their camp outside. The three prisoners were allotted a corner in the arbour; and, after having supped, they spread their ponchos on a pile of ferns, and found themselves very snug indeed. "Martin," said Barney, gravely, as he smoked his pipe and patted the head of his dog, "d'ye know, I'm beginning to feel tired o' the company o' thim naked rascals, and I've been revolvin' in my mind what we should do to escape. Moreover, I've comed to a conclusion." "And what's that?" inquired Martin. "That it's unposs'ble to escape at all, and I don't know what to do." "That's not a satisfactory conclusion Barney. I, too, have been cogitating a good deal about these Indians, and it is my opinion that they have been on a war expedition, for I've noticed that several of them have been wounded; and, besides, I cannot fancy what else could take them so far from home." "True, Martin, true. I wonder what they intind to do with us. They don't mean to kill us, anyhow; for if they did they would niver take the trouble to bring us here. Ochone! me heart's beginnin' to go down altogether; for we are miles and miles away from anywhere now, and I don't know the direction o' no place whatsumdiver." "Never mind, Barney, cheer up," said Martin with a smile; "if they don't kill us that's all we need care about. I'm sure we shall manage to escape somehow or other in the long-run." While they thus conversed the old trader spread his poncho over himself and was soon sound asleep; while the Indians, after finishing supper, held an animated conversation. At times they seemed to be disputing, and spoke angrily and with violent gesticulations, glancing now and then at the corner where their prisoners lay. "It's my belafe," whispered Barney, "that they're spakin' about us. I'm afeard they don't mean us any good. Och but if I wance had my pistol and the ould cutlass. Well, well, it's of no manner o' use frettin'. Good night Martin, good night!" The Irishman knocked the ashes out of his pipe, turned his face to the wall, and, heaving a deep sigh, speedily forgot his cares in sleep. The Indians also lay down, the camp-fires died slowly out; and the deep breathing of the savages alone betokened the presence of man in that lone wilderness. Barney's forebodings proved to be only too well founded; for next morning, instead of pursuing their way together, as usual, the savages divided their forces into two separate bands, placing the Irishman and the old trader in the midst of one, and Martin Rattler with the other. "Surely they're niver goin' to part us, Martin," said Barney with a careworn expression on his honest countenance that indicated the anxious suspicions in his heart. "I fear it much," replied Martin with a startled look, as he watched the proceedings of the Indians. "We must fight now, Barney, if we should die for it. We _must_ not be separated." Martin spoke with intense fervour and gazed anxiously in the face of his friend. A dark frown had gathered there. The sudden prospect of being forcibly torn from his young companion, whom he regarded with almost a mother's tenderness, stirred his enthusiastic and fiery temperament to its centre, and he gazed wildly about, as if for some weapon. But the savages anticipated his intention; ere he could grasp any offensive weapon two of their number leaped upon him, and at the same moment Martin's arms were pinioned in a powerful grasp. "Och, ye murderin' blackguards!" cried Barney, hitting out right and left, and knocking down a savage at each blow. "Now or niver! come on, ye kangaroos!" A general rush was made upon the Irishman, who was fairly overturned by the mass of men. Martin struggled fiercely to free himself, and would have succeeded had not two powerful Indians hastened to the help of the one who had first seized him. Despite his frantic efforts, he was dragged forcibly up the mountain gorge, the echoes of which rang with his cries as he shouted despairingly the name of his friend. Barney fought like a tiger; but he could make no impression on such numbers. Although at least a dozen Indians lay around him bleeding and stunned by the savage blows of his fists,--a species of warfare which was entirely new to them,--fresh savages crowded round. But they did not wish to kill him, and numerous though they were, they found it no easy matter to secure so powerful a man; and when Martin turned a last despairing glance towards the camp, ere a turn in the path shut it out from view, the hammer-like fists of his comrade were still smashing down the naked creatures who danced like monkeys round him, and the warlike shouts of his stentorian voice reverberated among the cliffs and caverns of the mountain pass long after he was hid from view. Thus Martin and Barney were separated in the wild regions near the Sierra dos Parecis of Brazil. CHAPTER TWENTY. MARTIN REFLECTS MUCH, AND FORMS A FIRM RESOLVE--THE INDIAN VILLAGE. When the mind has been overwhelmed by some sudden and terrible calamity, it is long ere it again recovers its wonted elasticity. An aching void seems to exist in the heart, and a dead weight appears to press upon the brain, so that ordinary objects make but little impression, and the soul seems to turn inwards and brood drearily upon itself. The spirit of fun and frolic, that had filled Martin Rattler's heart ever since he landed in Brazil, was now so thoroughly and rudely crushed, that he felt as if it were utterly impossible that he should ever smile again. He had no conception of the strength of his affection for the rough, hearty sailor, who had until now been the faithful and good-humoured companion of his wanderings. As Barney had himself said on a former occasion, his life up till this period had been a pleasant and exciting dream. But he was now awakened rudely to the terrible reality of his forlorn position; and the more he thought of it the more hopeless and terrible it appeared to be. He knew not in what part of Brazil he was; he was being hurried apparently deeper into these vast solitudes by savages who were certainly not friendly, and of whose language he knew not a word; and worst of all, he was separated perhaps for ever from the friend, on whom, all unconsciously to himself, he had so long leaned for support in all their difficulties and dangers. Even though he and Barney should succeed in escaping from the Indians, he felt--and his heart was overwhelmed at the thought--that in such a vast country there was not the shadow of a chance that they should find each other. Under the deep depression produced by these thoughts Martin wandered on wearily, as if in a dream--taking no interest in anything that occurred by the way. At length, after several days fatiguing journey over mountains and plains, they arrived at the Indian village. Here the warriors were received with the utmost joy by the wives and children whom they had left behind, and for a long time Martin was left almost entirely to do as he pleased. A few days before, his bonds had been removed, and once or twice he thought of attempting to escape; but whenever he wandered a little further than usual into the woods, he found that he was watched and followed by a tall and powerful savage, whose duty it evidently was to see that the prisoner did not escape. The fearful idea now entered Martin's mind that he was reserved for torture, and perhaps a lingering death; for he had read that many savage nations treated their prisoners in this cruel manner, for the gratification of the women who had lost relations in the war. But as no violence was offered to him in the meantime, and he had as much farina and fruit to eat as he could use, his mind gradually became relieved, and he endeavoured as much as possible to dismiss the terrible thought altogether. The Indian village occupied a lovely situation at the base of a gentle hill or rising ground, the summit of which was clothed with luxuriant trees and shrubs. The huts were of various shapes and sizes, and very simple in construction. They were built upon the bare ground; some were supported by four corner posts, twelve or fifteen feet high, and from thirty to forty feet long, the walls being made of thin laths connected with wicker-work, and plastered with clay. The doors were made of palm-leaves, and the roofs were covered with the same material, or with maize straw. Other huts were made almost entirely of palm-leaves and tent-shaped in form; and, while a few were enclosed by walls, the most of the square ones had one or more sides entirely open. In the large huts several families dwelt together, and each family had a hearth and a portion of the floor allotted to it. The smoke from their fires was allowed to find its way out by the doors and chinks in the roofs, as no chimneys were constructed for its egress. The furniture of each hut was very simple. It consisted of a few earthen pots; baskets made of palm-leaves, which were filled with Spanish potatoes, maize, mandioca-roots, and various kinds of wild fruits; one or two drinking vessels; the hollow trunk of a tree, used for pounding maize in; and several dishes which contained the colours used by the Indians in painting their naked bodies,--a custom which was very prevalent amongst them. Besides these things, there were bows, arrows, spears, and blow-pipes in abundance; and hammocks hung from various posts, elevated about a foot from the ground. These hammocks were made of cotton cords, and served the purpose of tables, chairs, and beds. The ground in the immediate neighbourhood of the village was laid out in patches, in which were cultivated mandioca-roots, maize, and other plants useful for domestic purposes. In front of the village there was an extensive valley, through which a small river gurgled with a pleasant sound. It was hemmed in on all sides by wooded mountains, and was so beautifully diversified by scattered clusters of palms, and irregular patches of undulating grassy plains, all covered with a rich profusion of tropical flowers and climbing-plants, that it seemed to Martin more like a magnificent garden than the uncultivated forest--only far more rich and lovely and picturesque than any artificial garden could possibly be. When the sun shone in full splendour on this valley--as it almost always did!--it seemed as if the whole landscape were on the point of bursting into flames of red and blue, and green and gold; and when Martin sat under the shade of a tamarind-tree and gazed long upon the enchanting scene, his memory often reverted to the Eden of which he used to read in the Bible at home, and he used to wonder if it were possible that the sun and flowers and trees _could_ be more lovely in the time when Adam walked with God in Paradise. Martin was young then, and he did not consider, although he afterwards came to know, that it was not the beauty of natural objects, but the presence and favour of God and the absence of sin, that rendered the Garden of Eden a paradise. But these thoughts always carried him back to dear old Aunt Dorothy and the sweet village of Ashford; and the Brazilian paradise was not unfrequently obliterated in tears while he gazed, and turned into a vale of weeping. Ay, he would have given that magnificent valley,--had it been his own, ten times over, in exchange for one more glance at the loved faces and the green fields of home. Soon after his arrival at the Indian village Martin was given to understand, by signs, that he was to reside with a particular family, and work every day in the maize and mandioca fields, besides doing a great deal of the drudgery of the hut; so that he now knew he was regarded as a slave by the tribe into whose hands he had fallen. It is impossible to express the bitterness of his feelings at this discovery, and for many weeks he went about his work scarcely knowing what he did, and caring little, when the hot sun beat on him so fiercely that he could hardly stand, whether he lived or died. At length, however, he made up his mind firmly to attempt his escape. He was sitting beneath the shade of his favourite resort, the tamarind-tree, when he made this resolve. Longing thoughts of home had been strong upon him all that day, and desire for the companionship of Barney had filled his heart to bursting; so that the sweet evening sunshine and the beautiful vale over which his eyes wandered, instead of affording him pleasure, seemed but to mock his misery. It was a lesson that all must learn sooner or later, and one we would do well to think upon before we learn it, that sunshine in the soul is not dependent on the sunshine of this world, and when once the clouds descend, the brightest beams of all that earth contains cannot pierce them,--God alone can touch these dark clouds with the finger of love and mercy, and say again, as He said of old, "Let there be light." A firm purpose, formed with heart and will, is cheering and invigorating to a depressed mind. No sooner did the firm determination to escape or die enter into Martin's heart, than he sprang from his seat, and, falling on his knees, prayed to God, in the name of our Redeemer, for help and guidance. He had not the least idea of how he was to effect his escape, or of what he intended to do. All he knew was that he had _made up his mind_ to do so, _if God would help him_. And under the strength of that resolve he soon recovered much of his former cheerfulness of disposition, and did his work among the savages with a degree of energy that filled them with surprise and respect. From that day forth he never ceased to revolve in his mind every imaginable and unimaginable plan of escape, and to watch every event or circumstance, no matter how trifling, that seemed likely to aid him in his purpose. Seeing that he was a very strong and active fellow, and that he had become remarkably expert in the use of the bow and the blow-pipe, the Indians now permitted Martin to accompany them frequently on their short hunting expeditions, so that he had many opportunities of seeing more of the wonderful animals and plants of the Brazilian forests, in the studying of which he experienced great delight. Moreover, in the course of a few months he began to acquire a smattering of the Indian language, and was not compelled to live in constant silence, as had been the case at first. But he carefully avoided the formation of any friendships with the youths of the tribe, although many of them seemed to desire it, considering that his doing so might in some way or other interfere with the execution of his great purpose. He was civil and kind to them all, however, though reserved; and, as time wore away, he enjoyed much more liberty than was the case at first. Still, however, he was watched by the tall savage, who was a surly, silent fellow, and would not be drawn into conversation. Indeed he did not walk with Martin, but followed him wherever he went during his hours of leisure, at a distance of a few hundred yards, moving when his prisoner moved, and stopping when he halted, so that Martin at last began to regard him more as a shadow than a man. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. SAVAGE FEASTS AND ORNAMENTS--MARTIN GROWS DESPERATE, AND MAKES A BOLD ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE. Hunting and feasting were the chief occupations of the men of the tribe, with whom Martin sojourned. One day Martin was told that a great feast was to take place, and he was permitted to attend. Accordingly, a little before the appointed time he hastened to the large hut, in and around which the festivities were to take place, in order to witness the preparations. The first thing that struck him was that there seemed to be no preparations making for eating; and on inquiry he was told that they did not meet to eat, they met to drink and dance,--those who were hungry might eat at home. The preparations for drinking were made on an extensive scale by the women, a number of whom stood round a large caldron, preparing its contents for use. These women wore very little clothing, and their bodies, besides being painted in a fantastic style, were also decorated with flowers and feathers. Martin could not help feeling that, however absurd the idea of painting the body was, it had at least the good effect of doing away to some extent with the idea of nakedness; for the curious patterns and devices gave to the Indians the appearance of being clothed in tights,--and, at any rate, he argued mentally, paint was better than nothing. Some of the flowers were artificially constructed out of beetles' wings, shells, fish-scales, and feathers, and were exquisitely beautiful, as well as gorgeous. One of the younger women struck Martin as being ultra-fashionable in her paint. Her black shining hair hung like a cloak over her reddish-brown shoulders, and various strange drawings and figures ornamented her face and breast. On each cheek she had a circle, and over that two strokes; under the nose were four red spots; from the corners of her mouth to the middle of each cheek were two parallel lines, and below these several upright stripes; on various parts of her back and shoulders were curiously entwined circles, and the form of a snake was depicted in vermilion down each arm. Unlike the others, she wore no ornament except a simple necklace of monkeys' teeth. This beauty was particularly active in manufacturing the intoxicating drink, which is prepared thus:-- A quantity of maize was pounded in the hollow trunk of a tree, and put into an earthen pot, where it was boiled in a large quantity of water. Then the women took the coarsely ground and boiled flour out of the water, chewed it in their mouths for a little, and put it into the pot again! By this means the decoction began to ferment and became intoxicating. It was a very disgusting method, yet it is practised by many Indian tribes in America; and, strange to say, also by some of the South Sea islanders, who, of course, could not have learned it from these Indians. When this beverage was ready, the chief, a tall, broad-shouldered man, whose painted costume and ornaments were most elaborate, stepped up to the pot and began a strange series of incantations, which he accompanied by rattling a small wooden instrument in his hand; staring all the time at the earthen pot, as if he half expected it to run away; and dancing slowly round it as if to prevent such a catastrophe from taking place. The oftener the song was repeated the more solemn and earnest became the expression of his face and the tones of his voice. The rest of the Indians, who were assembled to the number of several hundreds, stood motionless round the pot, staring at him intently without speaking, and only now and then, when the voice and actions of the chief became much excited, they gave vent to a sympathetic howl. After this had gone on for some time, the chief seized a drinking-cup, or cuja, which he gravely dipped into the pot and took a sip. Then the shaking of the rattle and the monotonous song began again. The chief next took a good pull at the cup and emptied it; after which he presented it to his companions, who helped themselves at pleasure; and the dance and monotonous music became more furious and noisy the longer the cup went round. When the cup had circulated pretty freely among them, their dances and music became more lively; but they were by no means attractive. After he had watched them a short time, Martin left the festive scene with a feeling of pity for the poor savages; and as he thought upon their low and debased condition he recalled to mind the remark of his old friend the hermit,--"They want the Bible in Brazil." During his frequent rambles in the neighbourhood of the Indian village, Martin discovered many beautiful and retired spots, to which he was in the habit of going in the evenings after his daily labours were accomplished, accompanied, as usual, at a respectful distance, by his vigilant friend the tall savage. One of his favourite resting-places was at the foot of a banana-tree, which grew on the brow of a stupendous cliff, about a mile distant from the hut, in which he dwelt. From this spot he had a commanding view of the noble valley and the distant mountains. These mountains now seemed to the poor boy to be the ponderous gates of his beautiful prison; for he had been told by one of his Indian friends that on the other side of them were great campos and forests, beyond which dwelt many Portuguese, while still further on was a great lake without shores, which was the end of the world. This, Martin was convinced, must be the Atlantic Ocean; for, upon inquiry, he found that many months of travel must be undergone ere it could be reached. Moreover, he knew that it could not be the Pacific, because the sun rose in that direction. Sauntering away to his favourite cliff, one fine evening towards sunset he seated himself beneath the banana-tree and gazed longingly at the distant mountains, whose sharp summits glittered in the ruddy glow. He had long racked his brain in order to devise some method of escape, but hitherto without success. Wherever he went the "shadow" followed him, armed with the deadly blow-pipe; and he knew that even if he did succeed in eluding his vigilance and escaping into the woods, hundreds of savages would turn out and track him, with unerring certainty, to any hiding place. Still the strength of his stern determination sustained him; and, at each failure in his efforts to devise some means of effecting his purpose, he threw off regret with a deep sigh, and returned to his labour with a firmer step, assured that he should eventually succeed. As he sat there on the edge of the precipice, he said, half aloud, "What prevents me from darting suddenly on that fellow and knocking him down?" This was a question that might have been easily answered. No doubt he was physically capable of coping with the man, for he had now been upwards of a year in the wilderness, and was in his sixteenth year, besides being unusually tall and robust for his age. Indeed he looked more like a full-grown man than a stripling; for hard, incessant toil, had developed his muscles and enlarged his frame, and his stirring life, combined latterly with anxiety, had stamped a few of the lines of manhood on his sunburnt countenance. But, although he could have easily overcome the Indian, he knew that he would be instantly missed; and, from what he had seen of the powers of the savages in tracking wild animals to their dens in the mountains, he felt that he could not possibly elude them except by stratagem. Perplexed and wearied with unavailing thought and anxiety, Martin pressed his hands to his forehead and gazed down the perpendicular cliff, which was elevated fully a hundred feet above the plain below. Suddenly he started and clasped his hands upon his eyes, as if to shut out some terrible object from his sight. Then, creeping cautiously towards the edge of the cliff, he gazed down, while an expression of stern resolution settled upon his pale face. And well might Martin's cheek blanch, for he had hit upon a plan of escape which, to be successful, required that he should twice turn a bold, unflinching face on death. The precipice, as before mentioned, was fully a hundred feet high, and quite perpendicular. At the foot of it there flowed a deep and pretty wide stream, which, just under the spot where Martin stood, collected in a deep black pool, where it rested for a moment ere it rushed on its rapid course down the valley. Over the cliff and into that pool Martin made up his mind to plunge, and so give the impression that he had fallen over and been drowned. The risk he ran in taking such a tremendous leap was very great indeed, but that was only half the danger he must encounter. The river was one of a remarkable kind, of which there are one or two instances in South America. It flowed down the valley between high rocks, and, a few hundred yards below the pool, it ran straight against the face of a precipice and there terminated to all appearance; but a gurgling vortex in the deep water at the base of the cliff, and the disappearance of everything that entered it, showed that the stream found a subterranean passage. There was no sign of its re-appearance, however, in all the country round. In short the river was lost in the bowels of the earth. From the pool to the cliff where the river was engulfed the water ran like a mill-race, and there was no spot on either bank where any one could land, or even grasp with his hand, except one. It was a narrow, sharp rock, that jutted out about two feet from the bank, quite close to the vortex of the whirlpool. This rock was Martin's only hope. To miss it would be certain destruction. But if he should gain a footing on it he knew that he could climb by a narrow fissure into a wild, cavernous spot, which it was exceedingly difficult to reach from any other point. A bend in the river concealed this rock and the vortex from the place whereon he stood, so that he hoped to be able to reach the point of escape before the savage could descend the slope and gain the summit of the cliff from whence it could be seen. Of all this Martin was well aware, for he had been often at the place before, and knew every inch of the ground. His chief difficulty would be to leap over the precipice in such a manner as to cause the Indian to believe he had fallen over accidentally. If he could accomplish this, then he felt assured the savages would suppose he had been drowned, and so make no search for him at all. Fortunately the ground favoured this. About five feet below the edge of the precipice there was a projecting ledge of rock nearly four feet broad and covered with shrubs. Upon this it was necessary to allow himself to fall. The expedient was a desperate one, and he grew sick at heart as he glanced down the awful cliff, which seemed to him three times higher than it really was, as all heights do when seen from above. Glancing round, he observed his savage guardian gazing contemplatively at the distant prospect. Martin's heart beat audibly as he rose and walked with an affectation of carelessness to the edge of the cliff. As he gazed down, a feeling of horror seized him; he gasped for breath, and almost fainted. Then the idea of perpetual slavery flashed across his mind, and the thought of freedom and home nerved him. He clenched his hands, staggered convulsively forward and fell, with a loud and genuine shriek of terror, upon the shrubs that covered the rocky ledge. Instantly he arose, ground his teeth together, raised his eyes for one moment to heaven, and sprang into the air. For one instant he swept through empty space; the next he was deep down in the waters of the dark pool, and when the horrified Indian reached the edge of the precipice, he beheld his prisoner struggling on the surface for a moment, ere he was swept by the rapid stream round the point and out of view. Bounding down the slope, the savage sped like a hunted antelope across the intervening space between the two cliffs, and quickly gained the brow of the lower precipice, which he reached just in time to see Martin Rattler's straw-hat dance for a moment on the troubled waters of the vortex and disappear in the awful abyss. But Martin saw it too, from the cleft in the frowning rock. On reaching the surface after his leap he dashed the water from his eyes, and looked with intense earnestness in the direction of the projecting rock towards which he was hurried. Down he came upon it with such speed that he felt no power of man could resist. But there was a small eddy just below it, into which he was whirled as he stretched forth his hands and clutched the rock with the energy of despair. He was instantly torn away. But another small point projected two feet below it. This he seized. The water swung his feet to and fro as it gushed into the vortex, but the eddy saved him. In a moment his breast was on the rock, then his foot, and he sprang into the sheltering cleft just a moment before the Indian came in view of the scene of his supposed death. Martin flung himself with his face to the ground, and thought rather than uttered a heartfelt thanksgiving for his deliverance. The savage carried the news of his death to his friends in the Indian village, and recounted with deep solemnity the particulars of his awful fate to crowds of wondering,--in many cases sorrowing,--listeners; and for many a day after that the poor savages were wont to visit the terrible cliff and gaze with awe on the mysterious vortex that had swallowed up, as they believed, the fair-haired boy. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. THE ESCAPE--ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS--FIGHT BETWEEN A JAGUAR AND AN ALLIGATOR--MARTIN ENCOUNTERS STRANGE AND TERRIBLE CREATURES. Freedom can be fully appreciated only by those who have been for a long period deprived of liberty. It is impossible to comprehend the feelings of joy that welled up in Martin's bosom as he clambered up the rugged cliffs among which he had found shelter, and looked round upon the beautiful valley, now lying in the shadow of the mountain range behind which the sun had just set. He sat down on a rock, regardless of the wet condition of his clothes, and pondered long and earnestly over his position, which was still one of some danger; but a sensation of light-hearted recklessness made the prospect before him seem very bright. He soon made up his mind what to do. The weather was extremely warm, so that, after wringing the water out of his linen clothes, he experienced little discomfort; but he felt that there would not only be discomfort but no little danger in travelling in such a country without arms, covering, or provisions. He therefore determined on the bold expedient of revisiting the Indian village during the darkness of the night in order to procure what he required. He ran great risk of being retaken, but his necessity was urgent and he was aware that several families were absent on a hunting expedition at that time, whose huts were pretty certain to be unoccupied. Accordingly, when two or three hours of the night had passed, he clambered with much difficulty down the precipitous rocks, and reached the level plain, over which he quickly ran, and soon reached the outskirts of the village. The Indians were all asleep, and no sound disturbed the solemn stillness of the night. Going stealthily towards a hut he peeped in at the open window, but could see and hear nothing. Just as he was about to enter, however, a long-drawn breath proved that it was occupied. He shrank hastily back into the deep shade of the bushes. In a few minutes he recovered from the agitation into which he had been thrown and advanced cautiously towards another hut. This one seemed to be untenanted, so he opened the palm-leaf door gently and entered. No time was to be lost now. He found an empty sack or bag, into which he hastily threw as much farina as he could carry without inconvenience. Besides this, he appropriated a long knife; a small hatchet; a flint and steel, to enable him to make a fire; and a stout bow with a quiver full of arrows. It was so dark that it was with difficulty he found these things. But as he was on the point of leaving he observed a white object in a corner. This turned out to be a light hammock, which he seized eagerly, and, rolling it up into a small bundle, placed it in the sack. He also sought for, and fortunately found, an old straw-hat which he put on. Martin had now obtained all that he required, and was about to quit the hut when he became suddenly rooted to the spot with horror on observing the dark countenance of an Indian gazing at him with distended eyeballs over the edge of a hammock. His eyes, unaccustomed to the darkness of the room, had not at first observed that an Indian was sleeping there. He now felt that he was lost. The savage evidently knew him. Dreadful thoughts flashed through his brain. He thought of the knife in his belt, and how easily he could despatch the Indian in a moment as he lay; but then the idea of imbruing his hands in human blood seemed so awful that he could not bring himself to do it. As he looked steadily at the savage he observed that his gaze was one of intense horror, and it suddenly occurred to him that the Indian supposed he was a ghost! Acting upon this supposition, Martin advanced his face slowly towards that of the Indian, put on a dark frown, and stood for a few seconds without uttering a word. The savage shrank back and shuddered from head to foot. Then, with a noiseless step, Martin retreated slowly backward towards the door and passed out like a spectre--never for a moment taking his eyes off those of the savage until he was lost in darkness. On gaining the forest he fled with a beating heart to his former retreat; but his fears were groundless, for the Indian firmly believed that Martin's spirit had visited his hut and carried away provisions for his journey to the land of spirits. Without waiting to rest Martin no sooner reached the scene of his adventurous leap than he fastened his bag firmly on his shoulders and struck across the valley in the direction of the blue mountains that hemmed it in. Four or five hours hard walking brought him to their base, and long before the rising sun shone down upon his recent home he was over the hills and far away, trudging onward with a weary foot, but with a light heart, in what he believed to be the direction of the east coast of Brazil. He did not dare to rest until the rugged peaks of the mountain range were between him and the savages; but, when he had left these far behind him, he halted about mid-day to breakfast and repose by the margin of a delightfully cool mountain stream. "I'm safe now!" said Martin aloud, as he threw down his bundle beneath a spreading tree and commenced to prepare breakfast. "O! my friend Barney, I wish that you were here to keep me company." The solitary youth looked round as if he half expected to see the rough visage and hear the gladsome voice of his friend; but no voice replied to his, and the only living creature he saw was a large monkey, which peered inquisitively down at him from among the branches of a neighbouring bush. This reminded him that he had left his pet Marmoset in the Indian village, and a feeling of deep self-reproach filled his heart. In the baste and anxiety of his flight he had totally forgotten his little friend. But regret was now unavailing. Marmoset was lost to him for ever. Having kindled a small fire, Martin kneaded a large quantity of farina in the hollow of a smooth stone, and baked a number of flat cakes, which were soon fired and spread out upon the ground. While thus engaged, a snake of about six feet long and as thick as a man's arm glided past him. Martin started convulsively, for he had never seen one of the kind before, and he knew that the bite of some of the snakes is deadly. Fortunately his axe was at hand. Grasping it quickly, he killed the reptile with a single blow. Two or three mandioca-cakes, a few wild fruits, and a draught of water from the stream, formed the wanderer's simple breakfast. After it was finished, he slung his hammock between two trees, and jumping in, fell into a deep, untroubled slumber, in which he continued all that day and until day-break the following morning. After partaking of a hearty breakfast, Martin took up his bundle and resumed his travels. That day he descended into the level and wooded country that succeeded the mountain range; and that night he was obliged to encamp in a swampy place, near a stagnant lake, in which several alligators were swimming, and where the mosquitoes were so numerous that he found it absolutely impossible to sleep. At last, in despair, he sprang into the branches of the tree to which his hammock was slung and ascended to the top. Here, to his satisfaction, he found that there were scarcely any mosquitoes, while a cool breeze fanned his fevered brow; so he determined to spend the night in the tree. By binding several branches together he formed a rude sort of couch, on which he lay down comfortably, placing his knife and bow beside him, and using the hammock rolled up as a pillow. As the sun was setting, and while he leaned on his elbow looking down through the leaves with much interest at the alligators that gambolled in the reedy lake, his attention was attracted to a slight rustling in the bushes near the foot of the tree. Looking down, he perceived a large jaguar gliding through the under-wood with cat-like stealth. Martin now observed that a huge alligator had crawled out of the lake, and was lying on the bank asleep a few yards from the margin. When the jaguar reached the edge of the bushes it paused, and then, with one tremendous spring, seized the alligator by the soft part beneath its tail. The huge monster struggled for a few seconds, endeavouring to reach the water, and then lay still, while the jaguar worried and tore at its tough hide with savage fury. Martin was much surprised at the passive conduct of the alligator. That it could not turn its stiff body, so as to catch the jaguar in its jaws, did not, indeed, surprise him; but he wondered very much to see the great reptile suffer pain so quietly. It seemed to be quite paralysed. In a few minutes the jaguar retired a short distance. Then the alligator made a rush for the water; but the jaguar darted back and caught it again; and Martin now saw that the jaguar was actually playing with the alligator as a cat plays with a mouse before she kills it! During one of the cessations of the combat, if we may call it by that name, the alligator almost gained the water, and in the short struggle that ensued both animals rolled down the bank and fell into the lake. The tables were now turned. The jaguar made for the shore; but before it could reach it the alligator wheeled round, opened its tremendous jaws and caught its enemy by the middle. There was one loud splash in the water, as the alligator's powerful tail dashed it into foam; and one awful roar of agony, which was cut suddenly short and stifled as the monster dived to the bottom with its prey; then all was silent as the grave, and a few ripples on the surface were all that remained to tell of the battle that had been fought there. Martin remained motionless on the tree top, brooding over the fight which he had just witnessed, until the deepening shadows warned him that it was time to seek repose. Turning on his side he laid his head on his pillow, while a soft breeze swayed the tree gently to and fro and rocked him sound asleep. Thus, day after day, and week after week, did Martin Rattler wander alone through the great forests, sometimes pleasantly, and at other times with more or less discomfort; subsisting on game which he shot with his arrows, and on wild fruits. He met with many strange adventures by the way, which would fill numerous volumes were they to be written every one; but we must pass over many of these in silence, that we may recount those that were most interesting. One evening, as he was walking through a very beautiful country, in which were numerous small lakes and streams, he was suddenly arrested by a crashing sound in the under-wood, as if some large animal were coming towards him; and he had barely time to fit an arrow to his bow when the bushes in front of him were thrust aside, and the most hideous monster that he had ever seen appeared before his eyes. It was a tapir; but Martin had never heard of or seen such creatures before, although there are a good many in some parts of Brazil. The tapir is a very large animal,--about five or six feet long and three or four feet high. It is in appearance something between an elephant and a hog. Its nose is very long, and extends into a short proboscis; but there is no finger at the end of it like that of the elephant. Its colour is a deep brownish black, its tough hide is covered with a thin sprinkling of strong hairs, and its mane is thick and bristly. So thick is its hide that a bullet can scarcely penetrate it; and it can crush its way through thickets and bushes, however dense, without receiving a scratch. Although a very terrific animal to look at, it is fortunately of a very peaceable and timid disposition, so that it flees from danger, and is very quick in discovering the presence of an enemy. Sometimes it is attacked by the jaguar, which springs suddenly upon it and fastens its claws in its back; but the tapir's tough hide is not easily torn, and he gets rid of his enemy by bouncing into the tangled bushes and bursting through them, so that the jaguar is very soon _scraped_ off his back! The tapir lives as much in the water as on the land, and _delights_ to wallow like a pig in muddy pools. It is, in fact, very similar in many of its habits to the great hippopotamus of Africa, but is not quite so large. It feeds entirely on vegetables, buds, fruits, and the tender shoots of trees, and always at night. During the day time it sleeps. The Indians of Brazil are fond of its flesh, and they hunt it with spears and poisoned arrows. But Martin knew nothing of all this, and fully expected that the dreadful creature before him would attack and kill him; for, when he observed its coarse, tough-looking hide, and thought of the slender arrows with which he was armed, he felt that he had no chance, and there did not happen to be a tree near him at the time up which he could climb. With the energy of despair he let fly an arrow with all his force; but the weak shaft glanced from the tapir's side without doing it the slightest damage. Then Martin turned to fly, but at the same moment the tapir did the same, to his great delight and surprise. It wheeled round with a snort, and went off crashing through the stout under-wood as if it had been grass, leaving a broad track behind it. On another occasion he met with a formidable-looking but comparatively harmless animal, called the great ant-eater. This remarkable creature is about six feet in length, with very short legs and very long strong claws; a short curly tail, and a sharp snout, out of which it thrusts a long narrow tongue. It can roll itself up like a hedgehog, and when in this position might be easily mistaken for a bundle of coarse hay. It lives chiefly, if not entirely, upon ants. When Martin discovered the great ant-eater, it was about to begin its supper; so he watched it. The plain was covered with ant-hills, somewhat pillar-like in shape. At the foot of one of these the animal made an attack, tearing up earth and sticks with its enormously strong claws, until it made a large hole in the hard materials, of which the hill was composed. Into this hole it thrust its long tongue, and immediately the ants swarmed upon it. The creature let its tongue rest till it was completely covered over with thousands of ants, then it drew it into its mouth and engulfed them all! As Martin had no reason in the world for attempting to shoot the great ant-eater, and as he was, moreover, by no means sure that he could kill it if he were to try, he passed on quietly and left this curious animal to finish its supper in peace. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. MARTIN MEETS WITH FRIENDS AND VISITS THE DIAMOND MINES. One day, after Martin had spent many weeks in wandering alone through the forest, during the course of which he was sometimes tempted to despair of seeing the face of man again, he discovered a beaten track; at the sight of which his heart bounded with delight. It was a Saturday afternoon when he made this discovery, and he spent the Sabbath-day in rest beside it. For Martin had more than once called to remembrance the words which good Aunt Dorothy used to hear him repeat out of the Bible, "Remember the Sabbath-day, to keep it holy." He had many long, earnest, and serious meditations in that silent forest, such as a youth would be very unlikely to have in almost any other circumstances, except, perhaps, on a sick-bed; and among other things he had been led to consider that if he made no difference between Saturday and Sunday, he must certainly be breaking that commandment; so he resolved thenceforth to rest on the Sabbath-day; and he found much benefit, both to mind and body, from this arrangement. During this particular Sabbath he rested beside the beaten track, and often did he walk up and down it a short way, wondering where it would lead him to; and several times he prayed that he might be led by it to the habitations of civilised men. Next day after breakfast he prepared to set out; but now he was much perplexed as to which way he ought to go, for the track did not run in the direction in which he had been travelling, but at right angles to that way. While he still hesitated the sound of voices struck on his ear, and he almost fainted with excitement; for, besides the hope that he might now meet with friends, there was also the fear that those approaching might be enemies; and the sudden sound of the human voice, which he had not heard for so long, tended to create conflicting and almost overwhelming feelings in his breast. Hiding quickly behind a tree, he awaited the passing of the cavalcade; for the sounds of horses hoofs were now audible. In a few minutes a string of laden mules approached, and then six horsemen appeared, whose bronzed olive complexions, straw-hats and ponchos, betokened them Brazilians. As they passed, Martin hailed them in an unsteady voice. They pulled up suddenly and drew pistols from their holsters; but on seeing only a fair youth armed with a bow, they replaced their weapons, and with a look of surprise rode up and assailed him with a volley of unintelligible Portuguese. "Do any of you speak English?" inquired Martin, advancing. One of the horsemen replied, "Yees, I spok one leet. Ver' smoll. Where you be com?" "I have escaped from the Indians who live in the mountains far away over yonder. I have been wandering now for many weeks in the forest and I wish to get to the sea-coast or to some town where I may get something to do, that I may be enabled to return home." "Ho!" said the horseman, gravely. "You com vid us. Ve go vid goods to de Diamond Mines. Git work dere, yees. Put you body on dat hoss." As the Brazilian spoke he pointed to a spare horse, which was led, along with several others, by a Negro. Thanking him for his politeness Martin seized the horse by the mane and vaulted into the saddle, if the rude contrivance on its back might be so designated. The string of mules then moved on, and Martin rode with a light heart beside this obliging stranger, conversing with much animation. In a very short time he learned, through the medium of his own bad Portuguese and the Brazilian's worse English, that he was not more than a day's ride from one of the diamond mines of that province of Brazil which is named Minas Geraes; that he was still many leagues distant from the sea; and that he would be sure to get work at the mines if he wished it for the chief overseer, the Baron Fagoni, was an amiable man and very fond of the English,--but he could not speak their language at all, and required an interpreter. "And," said the Brazilian, with a look of great dignity, "I hab de honour for be de 'terpreter." "Ah!" exclaimed Martin, "then I am in good fortune, for I shall have a friend at court." The interpreter smiled slightly and bowed, after which they proceeded for some time in silence. Next evening they arrived at the mines; and, after seeing to the comfort of his horse, and inquiring rather hastily as to the welfare of his family, the interpreter conducted Martin to the overseer's house in order to introduce him. The Baron Fagoni stood smoking in the doorway of his dwelling as they approached; and the first impression that Martin received of him was anything but agreeable. He was a large, powerful man, with an enormous red beard and moustache, and a sombrero-like hat that concealed nearly the whole of his face. He seemed an irritable man, too; for he jerked his arms about and stamped in a violent manner as they drew near, and instead of waiting to receive them, he entered the house hastily and shut the door in their faces. "The Baron would do well to take lessons in civility," said Martin, colouring, as he turned to the interpreter. "Ah, he be a leet pecoolair, sometime! Nev'r mind. Ve vill go to him." So saying, the interpreter opened the door and entered the hall where the overseer was seated at a desk, writing as if in violent haste. Seeing that he did not mean to take notice of them, the interpreter spoke to him in Portuguese; but he was soon interrupted by a sharp reply, uttered in a harsh, grating voice, by the overseer, who did not look up or cease from his work. Again the interpreter spoke as if in some surprise; but he was cut short by the overseer uttering, in a deep, stern voice, the single word. "Obey." With a low bow the interpreter turned away, and taking Martin by the arm led him into an inner apartment, where, having securely fastened the window, he said to him, "De Baron say you be von blackguard tief; go bout contrie for steal diamonds. He make pris'ner ov you. Adios." So saying, the interpreter made his bow and retired, locking the door behind him and leaving Martin standing in the middle of the room staring before him in speechless amazement. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. THE DIAMOND MINES--MORE AND MORE ASTONISHING! If Martin Rattler was amazed at the treatment he experienced at the hands of his new acquaintances on arriving, he had occasion to be very much more surprised at what occurred three hours after his incarceration. It was getting dark when he was locked up, and for upwards of two hours he was left in total darkness. Moreover, he began to feel very hungry, having eaten nothing since mid-day. He was deeply engaged in devising plans for his escape when he was interrupted by the door being unlocked, and a Negro slave entering with four magnificent candles, made of bees-wax, which he placed upon the table. Then he returned to the door, where another slave handed him a tray containing dishes, knives and forks, and, in short, all the requisites for laying out a supper-table. Having spread a clean linen cloth on the board, he arranged covers for two, and going to the door placed his head to one side and regarded his arrangements with much complacency, and without paying the slightest attention to Martin, who pinched himself in order to make sure he was not dreaming. In a few minutes the second Negro returned with an enormous tray, on which were dishes of all sizes, from under whose covers came the most savoury odours imaginable. Having placed these symmetrically on the board, both slaves retired and relocked the door without saying a word. At last it began to dawn on Martin's imagination that the overseer must be an eccentric individual, who found pleasure in taking his visitors by surprise. But although this seemed a possible solution of the difficulty, he did not feel satisfied with it. He could with difficulty resist the temptation to attack the viands, however, and was beginning to think of doing this, regardless of all consequences, when the door again opened and the Baron Fagoni entered, relocked the door, put the key in his pocket and, standing before his prisoner with folded arms, gazed at him intently from beneath his sombrero. Martin could not stand this. "Sir," said he, starting up, "if this is a joke, you have carried it far enough; and if you really detain me here a prisoner, every feeling of honour ought to deter you from adding insult to injury." To this sternly delivered speech the Baron made no reply, but springing suddenly upon Martin, he grasped him in his powerful arms and crushed him to his broad chest till he almost broke every bone in his body! "Och! cushla, bliss yer young face! sure it's yersilf, an' no mistake! Kape still, Martin, dear. Let me look at ye, darlint! Ah! then, isn't it my heart that's been broken for months an' months past about ye?" Reader, it would be utterly in vain for me to attempt to describe either the words that flowed from the lips of Martin Rattler and Barney O'Flannagan on this happy occasion, or the feelings that filled their swelling hearts. The speechless amazement of Martin, the ejaculatory exclamations of the Baron Fagoni, the rapid questions and brief replies, are all totally indescribable. Suffice it to say that for full quarter of an hour they exclaimed, shouted, and danced round each other, without coming to any satisfactory knowledge of how each had got to the same place, except that Barney at last discovered that Martin had travelled there by chance, and he had reached the mines by "intuition." Having settled this point, they sobered down a little. "Now Martin, darlint," cried the Irishman, throwing aside his hat for the first time, and displaying his well-known jolly visage, of which the forehead, eyes, and nose alone survived the general inundation of red hair, "ye'll be hungry, I've small doubt, so sit ye down, lad, to supper, and you'll tell me yer story as ye go along, and afther that I'll tell ye mine, while I smoke my pipe,--the ould cutty, boy, that has comed through fire and wather, sound as a bell and blacker than iver!" The Baron held up the well-known instrument of fumigation, as he spoke, in triumph. Supper was superb. There were venison steaks, armadillo cutlets, tapir hash, iguana pie, and an immense variety of fruits and vegetables, that would have served a dozen men, besides cakes and splendid coffee. "You live well here, Barney--I beg pardon--Baron Fagoni," said Martin, during a pause in their meal; "how in the world did you come by that name?" Barney winked expressively. "Ah, boy, I wish I may niver have a worse. Ye see, when I first comed here, about four months ago, I found that the mine was owned by an Irish gintleman; an', like all the race, he's a trump. He took to me at wance when he hear'd my voice, and then he took more to me when he comed to know me character; and says he to me wan day, `Barney,' says he, `I'm gittin' tired o' this kind o' life now, and if ye'll agree to stop here as overseer, and sind me the proceeds o' the mine to Rio Janeiro, a great city on the sea-coast an' the capital o' Brazil, I'll give ye a good share o' the profits. But,' says he, `ye'll need to pretind ye're a Roosian, or a Pole, or somethin' o' that kind; for the fellows in thim parts are great rascals, and there's a few Englishmen among them who would soon find out that ye're only a jack-tar before the mast and would chate ye at no allowance; but if ye could spake no language under the sun but the gibberish pecooliar to the unbeknown provinces o' Siberia, ye could escape detection as far as yer voice is consarned; and by lettin' yer beard grow as long as possible, and dressin' yersilf properly, ye might pass, and be as dignified as the great Mogul.' "`Musha!' said I, `but if I don't spake me own tongue I'll have to be dumb altogither.' "`No fear,' says he; `I'll tache ye enough Portuguese in a month or two to begin with, an' ye'll pick it up aisy after that.' And sure enough I began, tooth and nail, and, by hard workin', got on faster than I expected; for I can spake as much o' the lingo now as tides me over needcessities, and I understand most o' what's said to me. Anyhow, I ginerally see what they're drivin' at." "So, then, you're actually in charge of the mine?" said Martin, in surprise. "Jist so, boy; but I'm tired of it already; it's by no means so pleasant as I expected it would be; so I'm thinkin' o' lavin' it, and takin' to the say again. I'm longin' dreadful to see the salt wather wance more." "But what will the owner say, Barney: won't he have cause to complain of your breaking your engagement?" "Niver a bit, boy. He tould me, before we parted, that if I wanted to quit I was to hand over the consarn to the interpreter, who is an honest fellow, I belave; so I'm jist goin' to pocket a di'mond or two, and ask lave to take them home wid me. I'll be off in a week, if all goes well. An' now, Martin, fill yer glass; ye'll find the wine is not bad, after wan or two glasses; an' I'll tell ye about my adventures since I saw ye last." "But you have not explained about your name," said Martin. "Och! the fact is, that when I comed here I fortunately fell in with the owner first, and we spoke almost intirely in Irish, so nobody understood where I comed from; and the interpreter hear'd the master call me by my name; so he wint off and said to the people that a great Barono Flanagoni had come, and was up at the house wid the master. But we corrected him afterward, and gave him to understand that I was the Baron Fagoni. I had some trouble with the people at first after the owner left; but I pounded wan or two o' the biggest o' them, to such a extint that their own friends hardly knew them; an iver since they've been mighty civil." Having carefully filled the black pipe, and involved himself in his own favourite atmosphere, the Baron Fagoni then proceeded to relate his adventures, and dilated upon them to such an extent that five or six pipes were filled and finished ere the story came to a close. Martin also related his adventures; to which his companion listened with such breathless attention and earnestness that his pipe was constantly going out; and the two friends did not retire to rest till near day-break. The substance of the Baron's narrative was as follows:-- At the time that he had been so suddenly separated from his friend, Barney had overcome many of his opponents, but at length he was overpowered by numbers, and his arms were firmly bound; after which he was roughly driven before them through the woods for several days, and was at length taken to their village among the mountains. Here he remained a close prisoner for three weeks, shut up in a small hut and bound by a strong rope to a post. Food was taken to him by an old Indian woman, who paid no attention at first to what he said to her, for the good reason that she did not understand a word of English. The persuasive eloquence of her prisoner's tones, however, or perhaps his brogue, seemed in the course of a few days to have made an impression on her; for she condescended to smile at the unintelligible compliments which Barney lavished upon her in the hope of securing her good-will. During all this time the Irishman's heart was torn with conflicting feelings, and although, from the mere force of habit, he could jest with the old woman when she paid her daily visits, there was no feeling of fun in his bosom, but, on the contrary, a deep and overwhelming sorrow, which showed itself very evidently on his expressive face. He groaned aloud when he thought of Martin, whom he never expected again to see; and he dreaded every hour the approach of his savage captors, who, he fully expected, retained him in order to put him to death. One day, while he was sitting in a very disconsolate mood, the Indian woman entered with his usual dinner,--a plate of thick soup and a coarse cake. Barney smiled upon her as usual, and then letting his eyes fall on the ground, sighed deeply,--for his heart was heavier than usual that day. As the woman was about to go, he looked earnestly and gravely in her face, and putting his large hand gently on her head, patted her grey hairs. This tender action seemed to affect the old woman more than usual. She laid her hand on Barney's arm, and looked as if she wished to speak. Then turning suddenly from him, she drew a small knife from her girdle and dropped it on the ground, as if accidentally, while she left the hut and re-fastened the door. Barney's heart leaped. He seized the knife and concealed it hastily in his bosom, and then ate his dinner with more than ordinary zest; for now he possessed the means of cutting the strong rope that bound him. He waited with much impatience until night closed over the Indian village, and, then cutting his bonds, he tore down the rude and rather feeble fastenings of the door. In another instant he was dashing along at full speed through the forest, without hat or coat, and with the knife clutched in his right hand. Presently he heard cries behind him, and redoubled his speed; for now he knew that the savages had discovered his escape, and were in pursuit. But, although a good runner, Barney was no match for the lithe and naked Indians. They rapidly gained on him, and he was about to turn at bay and fight for his life, when he observed water gleaming through the foliage on his left. Dashing down a glade he came to the edge of a broad river with a rapid current. Into this he sprang recklessly, intending to swim with the stream; but ere he lost his footing he heard the low deep thunder of a cataract a short distance below! Drawing back in terror, he regained the bank, and waded up a considerable distance in the shallow water, so as to leave no trace of his footsteps. Then he leaped upon a rock, and, catching hold of the lower branches of a large tree, drew himself up among the dense foliage, just as the yelling savages rushed with wild tumult to the water's edge. Here they paused, as if baffled. They spoke in rapid, vehement tones for a few seconds, and then one party hastened down the banks of the stream towards the fall, while another band searched the banks above. Barney's heart fell as he sat panting in the tree, for he knew that they would soon discover him. But he soon resolved on a bold expedient. Slipping down from the tree, he ran deliberately back towards the village; and, as he drew near, he followed the regular beaten track that led towards it. On the way he encountered one or two savages hastening after the pursuing party; but he leaped lightly into the bushes, and lay still till they were past. Then he ran on, skirted round the village, and pushed into the woods in an entirely opposite direction, from the one in which he had first set out. Keeping by one of the numerous tracks that radiated from the village into the forest he held on at top speed, until his progress was suddenly arrested by a stream about twenty yards broad. It was very deep, and he was about to plunge in, in order to swim across, when he observed a small montaria, or canoe, lying on the bank. This he launched quickly, and observing that the river took a bend a little further down, and appeared to proceed in the direction he wished to pursue,--namely, away from the Indian village,--he paddled down the rapid stream as fast as he could. The current was very strong, so that his little bark flew down it like an arrow, and on more than one occasion narrowly missed being dashed to pieces on the rocks which here and there rose above the stream. In about two hours Barney came to a place where the stream took another bend to the left, and soon after, the canoe swept out upon the broad river into which he had at first so nearly plunged. He was a long way below the fall now, for its sound was inaudible; but it was no time to abate his exertions. The Indians might be still in pursuit; so he continued to paddle all that night and did not take rest until day-break. Then he slept for two hours, ate a few wild fruits, and continued his journey. In the course of the next day, to his great joy, he overtook a trading canoe, which had been up another tributary of this river, and was descending with part of a cargo of India-rubber shoes. None of the men, of whom there were four, could speak English; but they easily saw from the Irishman's condition that he had escaped from enemies and was in distress; so they took him on board, and were glad to avail themselves of his services: for, as we have before mentioned, men are not easily procured for voyaging in those parts of Brazil. Three weeks after this they arrived at a small town, where the natives were busily engaged in the manufacture of shoes, bottles, and other articles of India-rubber; and here Barney found employment for a short time. The seringa, or India-rubber-tree, grows plentifully in some parts of Brazil, and many hundreds of the inhabitants are employed in the manufacture of shoes. The India-rubber is the juice of the tree, and flows from it when an incision is made. This juice is poured into moulds and left to harden. It is of a yellowish colour naturally, and is blackened in the course of preparation. Barney did not stay long here. Shoe-making, he declared, was not his calling by any means; so he seized the first opportunity he had of joining a party of traders going into the interior, in the direction of the diamond districts. The journey was long and varied. Sometimes by canoe and sometimes on the backs of mules and horses, and many extraordinary adventures did he go through ere he reached the diamond mines. And when at length he did so, great was his disappointment. Instead of the glittering caves which his vivid imagination had pictured, he found that there were no caves at all; that the diamonds were found by washing in the muddy soil; and, worst of all, that when found they were dim and unpolished, so that they seemed no better than any other stone. However, he resolved to continue there for a short time, in order to make a little money; but now that Martin had arrived he thought that they could not do better than make their way to the coast as fast as possible, and go to sea. "The only thing I have to regret," he said, at the conclusion of his narrative, "is that I left Grampus behind me. But arrah! I came off from the savages in such a hurry that I had no time at all to tell him I was goin'!" Having sat till day-break, the two friends went to bed to dream of each other and of home. Next morning Barney took Martin to visit the diamond mines. On the way they passed a band of Negro slaves who encircled a large fire, the weather being very cold. It was at that time about the end of July, which is one of the coldest months in the year. In this part of Brazil summer and winter are reversed,--the coldest months being May, June, and July; the hottest, November, December, January, and February. Minas Geraes, the diamond district, is one of the richest provinces of Brazil. The inhabitants are almost entirely occupied in mining or in supplying the miners with the necessaries of life. Diggers and shopkeepers are the two principal classes, and of these the latter are best off; for their trade is steady and lucrative, while the success of the miners is very uncertain. Frequently a large sum of money and much time are expended in mining without any adequate result; but the merchants always find a ready sale for their merchandise, and, as they take diamonds and gold-dust in exchange, they generally realise large profits and soon become rich. The poor miner is like the gambler. He digs on in hope; sometimes finding barely enough to supply his wants,-- at other times making a fortune suddenly; but never giving up in despair, because he knows that at every handful of earth he turns up he may perhaps find a diamond worth hundreds, or, it may be, thousands of pounds. Cidade Diamantina,--the City of Diamonds,--is the capital of the province. It is a large city, with many fine churches and buildings; and the whole population, consisting of more than 6000 souls, are engaged, directly or indirectly, in mining. Every one who owns a few slaves employs them in washing the earth for gold and diamonds. The mine of which Barney had so unexpectedly become overseer, was a small one, in a remote part of the district, situated among the mountains, and far-distant from the City of Diamonds. There were only a few huts, rudely built and roofed with palm-leaves, besides a larger building, or cottage, in which the Baron Fagoni resided. "'Tis a strange life they lead here," said Barney, as he led Martin down a gorge of the mountains, towards a small spot of level ground, on which the slaves were at work; "a strange life, and by no means a pleasant wan; for the feedin' is none o' the best and the work very sevare." "Why, Barney, if I may judge from last night's supper, the feeding seems to be excellent." "Thrue, boy, the Baron Fagoni feeds well, bekase he's the cock o' the roost; but the poor Naygurs are not overly well fed, and the critters are up to their knees in wather all day, washing di'monds; so they suffer much from rheumatiz and colds. Och, but it's murther entirely; an' I've more than wance felt inclined to fill their pockets with di'monds and set them all free! Jist look, now, there they are, hard at it." As he spoke they arrived at the mine. The ground in the vicinity was all cut up and dug out to a considerable depth, and a dozen Negroes were standing under a shed washing the earth, while others were engaged in the holes excavating the material. While Martin watched them his friend explained the process. The different kinds of soil through which it is necessary to cut before reaching the diamond deposit are, first about twenty feet of reddish sandy soil; then about eight feet of a tough yellowish clay; beneath this lies a layer of coarse reddish sand, below which is the peculiar soil in which diamonds are found. It is called by the miners the _cascalho_, and consists of loose gravel, the pebbles of which are rounded and polished, having at some previous era been subject to the action of running water. The bed varies in thickness from one to four feet and the pebbles are of various kinds; but when there are many of a species called _Esmerilo preto_, the cascalho is considered to be rich in diamonds. Taking Martin round to the back of the shed, Barney showed him a row of troughs, about three feet square, close to the edge of a pond of water. These troughs are called _bacos_. In front of each stood a Negro slave up to his knees in water. Each had a wooden plate, with which he dashed water upon the rough cascalho as it was thrown into the trough by another slave. By this means, and by stirring it with a small hoe, the earth and sand are washed away. Two overseers were closely watching the process; for it is during this part of the operation that the largest diamonds are found. These overseers were seated on elevated seats, each being armed with a long leathern whip, to keep a sharp look-out, for the slaves are expert thieves. After the cascalho had been thus purified, it was carefully removed to the shed to be finally washed. Here seven slaves were seated on the side of a small canal, about four feet broad, with their legs in the water nearly up to their knees. This canal is called the _lavadeira_. Each man had a small wooden platter, into which another slave, who stood behind him, put a shovelful of purified cascalho. The _bateia_, or platter, was then filled with water and washed with the utmost care several times, being closely examined after each washing, and the diamonds picked out. Sometimes many platefuls were examined but nothing found; at other times several diamonds were found in one plate. While Martin was looking on with much curiosity and interest, one of the slaves uttered an exclamation and held up a minute stone between his finger and thumb. "Ah! good luck to ye, lad!" said Barney, advancing and taking the diamond which had been discovered. "See here, Martin; there's the thing, lad, that sparkles on the brow o' beauty, and gives the Naygurs rheumatiz--" "Not to mention their usefulness in providing the great Baron Fagoni with a livelihood," added Martin, with a smile. Barney laughed, and going up to the place where the two overseers were seated, dropped the precious gem into a plate of water placed between them for the purpose of receiving the diamonds as they were found. "They git fifteen or twinty a day sometimes," said Barney, as they retraced their steps to the cottage; "and I've hear'd o' them getting stones worth many thousands o' pounds; but the biggest they iver found since I comed here was not worth more than four hundred." "And what do you do with them, Barney, when they are found?" inquired Martin. "Sind them to Rio Janeiro, lad, where my employer sells them. I don't know how much he makes a year by it; but the thing must pay, for he's very liberal with his cash, and niver forgits to pay wages. There's always a lot o' gould-dust found in the bottom o' the bateia after each washing, and that is carefully collected and sold. But, arrah! I wouldn't give wan snifter o' the say-breezes for all the di'monds in Brazil!" As Barney said this he entered his cottage and flung down his hat with the air of a man who was resolved to stand it no longer. "But why don't you wash on your own account?" cried Martin. "What say you; shall we begin together? We may make our fortune the first week, perhaps!" Barney shook his head. "No, no, boy; I've no faith in my luck with the di'monds or gould. Nevertheless I have hear'd o' men makin' an awful heap o' money that way; partiklarly wan man that made his fortin with wan stone." "Who was that lucky dog?" asked Martin. "Well, ye see, it happened this way: There's a custom hereaway that slaves are allowed to work on Sundays and holidays on their own account; but when the mines was a government consarn this was not allowed, and the slaves were the most awful thieves livin', and often made off with some o' the largest di'monds. Well, there was a man named Juiz de Paz, who owned a small shop, and used to go down now and then to Rio de Janeiro to buy goods. Wan evenin' he returned from wan o' his long journeys, and, bein' rather tired, wint to bed. He was jist goin' off into a comfortable doze when there came a terrible bumpin' at the door. "`Hallo!' cried Juiz, growlin' angrily in the Portugee tongue; `what d'ye want?' "There was no answer but another bumpin' at the door. So up he jumps, and, takin' down a big blunderbuss that hung over his bed, opened the door, an' seized a Naygur be the hair o' the head! "`Oh, massa! oh, massa! let him go! Got di'mond for to sell!' "On hearin' this, Juiz let go, and found that the slave had come to offer for sale a large di'mond, which weighed about two penny-weights and a third. "`What d'ye ask for it?' said Juiz, with sparklin' eyes. "`Six hundred mil-reis,' answered the Naygur. "This was about equal to 180 pounds sterling. Without more words about it he paid down the money; and the slave went away. Juiz lost his sleep that night. He went and tould the neighbours he had forgot a piece of important business in Rio and must go back at wance. So back he went and stayed some time in the city, tryin' to git his di'mond safely sold; for it was sich a big wan that he feared the government fellows might hear o't; in which case he would have got ten years transportation to Angola on the coast of Africa. At last however, he got rid of it for 20,000 mil-reis, which is about 6000 pounds. It was all paid to him in hard dollars; and he nearly went out o' his wits for joy. But he was brought down a peg nixt day, when he found that the same di'mond was sold for nearly twice as much as he had got for it. Howiver, he had made a pretty considerable fortin; an' he's now the richest di'mond and gould merchant in the district." "A lucky fellow certainly," said Martin. "But I must say I have no taste for such chance work; so I'm quite ready to start for the sea-coast whenever it suits the Baron Fagoni's convenience." While they were speaking they were attracted by voices outside the cottage, which sounded as if in altercation. In another minute the door burst open, and a man entered hurriedly, followed by the interpreter. "Your overseer is impertinent!" exclaimed the man, who was a tall swarthy Brazilian. "I wish to buy a horse or a good mule, and he won't let me have one. I am not a beggar; I offer to pay." The man spoke in Portuguese, and Barney replied in the same language. "You can have a horse _if you pay for it_." The Brazilian replied by throwing a heavy bag of dollars on the table. "All right," said Barney, turning to his interpreter and conversing with him in an undertone. "Give him what he requires." So saying he bowed the Brazilian out of the room, and returned to the enjoyment of his black pipe, which had been interrupted by the incident. "That man seems in a hurry," said Martin. "So he is. My interpreter tells me that he is quite like one o' the blackguards that sometimes go about the mines doin' mischief, and he's in hot haste to be away. I should not wonder if the spalpeen has been stealin' gould or di'monds and wants to escape. But of course I've nothin' to do with that, unless I was sure of it; and I've a horse or two to sell, and he has money to pay for it; so he's welcome. He says he is makin' straight for the say-coast; and with your lave, Martin, my boy, you and I will be doin' that same in a week after this, and say good-bye to the di'mond mines." CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. NEW SCENES AND PLEASANT TRAVELLING. A new and agreeable sensation is a pleasant thing. It was on as bright an evening as ever shone upon Brazil, and in as fair a scene as one could wish to behold, that Martin Rattler and his friend Barney experienced a new sensation. On the wide campos, on the flower-bedecked and grassy plains, they each bestrode a fiery charger; and, in the exultation of health, and strength, and liberty, they swept over the green sward of the undulating campos, as light as the soft wind that fanned their bronzed cheeks, as gay in heart as the buzzing insects that hovered above the brilliant flowers. "Oh, this is best of all!" shouted Martin, turning his sparkling eyes to Barney, as he reined up his steed after a gallop that caused its nostril to expand and its eye to dilate. "There's nothing like it! A fiery charger that can't and _won't_ tire, and a glorious sweep of plain like that! Huzza! whoop!" And loosening the rein of his willing horse, away he went again in a wild headlong career. "Och, boy, pull up, or ye'll kill the baste!" cried Barney, who thundered along at Martin's side enjoying to the full the spring of his powerful horse; for Barney had spent the last farthing of his salary on the two best steeds the country could produce, being determined, as he said, to make the last overland voyage on clipper-built animals, which, he wisely concluded, would fetch a good price at the end of the journey. "Pull up! d'ye hear? They can't stand goin' at that pace. Back yer topsails, ye young rascal, or I'll board ye in a jiffy." "How can I pull up with _that_ before me!" cried Martin, pointing to a wide ditch or gully that lay in front of them. "I must go over that first." "Go over that!" cried Barney, endeavouring to rein in his horse, and looking with an anxious expression at the chasm. "It's all very well for you to talk o' goin' over, ye feather; but fifteen stun--Ah, then, _won't_ ye stop? Bad luck to him, he's got the bit in his teeth! Oh then, ye ugly baste, go, and my blissin' go with ye!" The leap was inevitable. Martin went over like a deer. Barney shut his eyes, seized the pommel of the saddle, and went at it like a thunder-bolt. In the excitement of the moment he shouted, in a stentorian voice, "Clap on all sail! d'ye hear? Stu'n sails and skyscrapers! Kape her steady! Hooray!" It was well for Barney that he had seized the saddle. Even as it was, he received a tremendous blow from the horse's head as it took the leap, and was thrown back on its haunches when it cleared the ditch, which it did nobly. "Hallo! old boy, not hurt, I hope," said Martin, suppressing his laughter as his comrade scrambled on to the saddle. "You travel about on the back of your horse at full gallop like a circus rider." "Whist, darlint, I do belave he has damaged my faygur-head. What a nose I've got! Sure I can see it mesilf without squintin'." "So you have, Barney. It's a little swelled, but never mind. We must all learn by experience, you know. So come alone." "Hould on, ye spalpeen, till I git my wind!" But Martin was off again at full speed; and Barney's horse, scorning to be left behind, took the bit again in its teeth and went--as he himself expressed it,--"screamin' before the wind." A new sensation is not always and necessarily an agreeable thing. Martin and Barney found it so on the evening of that same day, as they reclined (they could not sit) by the side of their fire on the campo under the shelter of one of the small trees which grew here and there at wide intervals on the plain. They had left the diamond mine early that morning, and their first day on horseback proved to them that there are shadows, as well as lights, in equestrian life. Their only baggage was a single change of apparel and a small bag of diamonds,--the latter being the product of the mine during the Baron Fagoni's reign, and which that worthy was conveying faithfully to his employer. During the first part of the day they had ridden though a hilly and woody country, and towards evening they emerged upon one of the smaller campos, which occur here and there in the district. "Martin," said Barney, as he lay smoking his pipe, "'tis a pity that there's no pleasure in this world without _something_ crossgrained into it. My own feelin's is as if I had been lately passed through a stamping machine." "Wrong, Barney, as usual," said Martin, who was busily engaged concluding supper with an orange. "If we had pleasures without discomforts, we wouldn't half enjoy them. We need lights and shadows in life--what are you grinning at Barney?" "Oh! nothin', only ye're a remarkable philosopher, when ye're in the vein." "'Tis always in vain to talk philosophy to you, Barney, so good night t'ye. Oh, dear me, I wish I could sit down! but there's no alternative,--either bolt upright or quite flat." In quarter of an hour they both forgot pleasures and sorrows alike in sleep. Next day the sun rose on the edge of the campo as it does out of the ocean, streaming across its grassy billows, and tipping the ridges as with ruddy gold. At first Martin and Barney did not enjoy the lovely scene, for they felt stiff and sore; but, after half an hour's ride, they began to recover; and when the sun rose in all its glory on the wide plain, the feelings of joyous bounding freedom that such scenes always engender obtained the mastery, and they coursed along in silent delight. The campo was hard, composed chiefly of a stiff red clay soil, and covered with short grass in most places; but here and there were rank bushes of long hairy grasses, around and amongst which grew a multitude of the most exquisitely beautiful flowerets and plants of elegant forms. Wherever these flowers flourished very luxuriantly there were single trees of stunted growth and thick bark, which seldom rose above fifteen or twenty feet. Besides these there were rich flowering myrtles, and here and there a grotesque cactus or two. Under one of these trees they reined up after a ride of two hours, and picketing their horses, prepared breakfast. It was soon despatched, and then remounting, away they went once more over the beautiful plains. About mid-day, as they were hasting towards the shelter of a grove which appeared opportunely on the horizon, Barney said suddenly-- "Martin, lad, we're lost! We're out of our course, for sartin." "I've been thinking that for some time, Barney," replied Martin; "but you have your compass, and we can surely make the coast by dead reckoning--eh?" "True, lad, we can; but it'll cost us a dale o' tackin' to make up for lee-way. Ah, good luck to ye! here's a friend'll help us." As he spoke a herd of wild cattle dashed out of the grove and scampered over the plain, followed by a herdsman on horseback. Seeing that he was in eager pursuit of an animal which he wished to lasso, they followed him quietly and watched his movements. Whirling the noose round his head, he threw it adroitly in such a manner that the bull put one of its legs within the coil. Then he reined up suddenly, and the animal was thrown on its back. At the same moment the lasso broke, and the bull recovered its feet and continued its wild flight. "Good day, friend," said Barney, galloping towards the disappointed herdsman and addressing him in Portuguese, "could you show us the road to Rio? We've lost it intirely." The man pointed sulkily in the direction in which they were going, and, having mended his lasso, he wheeled about and galloped after the herd of cattle. "Bad luck to yer manners!" said Barney, as he gazed after him. "But what can ye expect from the poor critter? He niver larned better. Come along, Martin, we'll rest here a while." They were soon under the shelter of the trees, and having fastened their horses to one of them, they proceeded to search for water. While thus employed, Barney shouted to his companion, "Come here, lad; look here." There was something in the tone of the Irishman's voice that startled Martin, and he sprang hastily towards him. Barney was standing with his arms crossed upon his chest and his head bowed forward, as he gazed with a solemn expression on the figure of a man at his feet. "Is he ill?" inquired Martin, stooping and lifting his hand. Starting back as he dropped it, he exclaimed, "Dead!" "Ay, boy, he has gone to his last account. Look at him again, Martin. It was he who came to the mine a week ago to buy a horse, and now--." Barney sighed as he stooped and turned the body over in order to ascertain whether he had been murdered; but there were no marks of violence to be seen. There was bread too in his wallet; so they could come to no other conclusion than that the unhappy man had been seized with fatal illness in the lonesome wood and died there. As they searched his clothes they found a small leathern bag, which, to their amazement was filled with gold-dust; and in the midst of the gold was another smaller bag containing several small diamonds. "Ha!" exclaimed Martin, "that explains his hurry. No doubt he had made off with these, and was anxious to avoid pursuit." "No doubt of it," said Barney. "Well, thief or no thief, we must give the poor cratur' dacent burial. There's not a scrap o' paper to tell who he is or where he came from,--a sure sign that he wasn't what he should ha' been. Ah! Martin, what will we not do for the sake o' money! and, after all, we can't keep it long. May the Almighty niver let you or me set our hearts on it." They dug a shallow grave with their hands in a sandy spot where the soil was loose, in which they deposited the body of the unfortunate man; and then remounting their horses, rode away and left him in his lonely resting-place. For many days did Martin and Barney travel through the land on horseback, now galloping over open campos, anon threading their way through the forest, and sometimes toiling slowly up the mountain sides. The aspect of the country varied continually as they advanced, and the feelings of excessive hilarity with which they commenced the journey began to subside as they became accustomed to it. One evening they were toiling slowly up a steep range of hills, which had been the prospect in front of them the whole of that day. As they neared the summit of the range Martin halted at a stream to drink, and Barney advanced alone. Suddenly Martin was startled by a loud cry, and looking up he saw Barney on his knees with his hands clasped before him! Rushing up the hill, Martin found his comrade with his face flushed and the tears coursing down his cheeks as he stared before him. "Look at it Martin, dear!" he cried, starting up and flinging his cap in the air, and shouting like a madman. "The say! my own native illiment! the beautiful ocean! Och, darlint my blessing on ye! Little did I think to see you more,--hooray!" Barney sang and danced till he sank down on the grass exhausted; and, to say truth, Martin felt much difficulty in restraining himself from doing likewise, for before him was spread out the bright ocean, gleaming in the light of the sinking sun, and calm and placid as a mirror. It was indeed a glorious sight to these two sailors, who had not seen the sea for nearly two years. It was like coming suddenly face to face--after a long absence--with an old and much-loved friend. Although visible, the sea, however, was still a long way off from the Serra dos Orgos, on which they stood. But their steeds were good, and it was not long ere they were both rolling like dolphins in the beautiful bay of Rio de Janeiro. Here Barney delivered up the gold and diamonds to his employer, who paid him liberally for his services and entertained them both hospitably while they remained in the city. The bag of gold and diamonds, which had been found on the body of the dead man, they appropriated, as it was absolutely impossible to discover the rightful owner. Barney's friend bought it of them at full price; and when they embarked, soon after, on board a homeward bound ship, each had four hundred pounds in his pocket! As they sailed out of the noble harbour Martin sat on the poop gazing at the receding shore while thick-coming memories crowded on his brain. His imagination flew back to the day when he first landed on the coast, and escaped with his friend Barney from the pirates,--to the hermit's cottage in the lonely valley, where he first made acquaintance with monkeys, iguanas, jaguars, armadillos, and all the wonderful, beautiful, and curious birds, beasts, and reptiles, plants, trees, and flowers, that live and flourish in that romantic country. Once more, in fancy, he was sailing up the mighty Amazon, shooting alligators on its banks, spearing fish in its waters, paddling through its curious gapo, and swinging in his hammock under its luxuriant forests. Once again he was a prisoner among the wild Indians, and he started convulsively as he thought of the terrible leap over the precipice into the stream that flowed into the heart of the earth. Then he wandered in the lonely forest. Suddenly the diamond mines were before him, and Barney's jovial voice rang in his ears; and he replied to it with energy, for now he was bounding on a fiery steed over the grassy campos. With a deep sigh he awoke from his reverie to find himself surrounded by the great wide sea. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. THE RETURN. Arthur Jollyboy, Esquire, of the Old Hulk, sat on the top of a tall three-legged stool in his own snug little office in the sea-port town of Bilton, with his legs swinging to and fro; his socks displayed a considerable way above the tops of his gaiters; his hands thrust deep into his breeches pockets; his spectacles high on his bald forehead, and his eyes looking through the open letter that lay before him; through the desk underneath it; through the plank floor, cellars and foundations of the edifice; and through the entire world into the distant future beyond. "Four thousand pair of socks," he murmured, pulling down his spectacles and consulting the open letter for the tenth time: "four thousand pair of socks, with the hitch, same as last bale, but a very little coarser in material." "Four thousand pair! and who's to make them, I wonder. If poor Mrs Dorothy Grumbit were here--ah! well, she's gone, so it can't be helped. Four thousand!--dear me who _will_ make them. Do _you_ know?" This question was addressed to his youngest clerk, who sat on the opposite side of the desk staring at Mr Jollyboy with that open impudence of expression peculiar to young puppy-dogs whose masters are unusually indulgent. "No, sir, I don't," said the clerk with a broad grin. Before the perplexed merchant could come at any conclusion on this knotty subject the door opened and Martin Rattler entered the room, followed by his friend Barney O'Flannagan. "You've come to the wrong room, friends," said Mr Jollyboy with a benignant smile. "My principal clerk engages men and pays wages. His office is just opposite; first door in the passage." "We don't want to engage," said Martin; "we wish to speak with you, sir." "Oh, beg pardon!" cried Mr Jollyboy, leaping off the stool with surprising agility for a man of his years. "Come in this way. Pray be seated--Eh! ah, surely I've seen you before, my good fellow?" "Yis, sir, that ye have. I've sailed aboard your ships many a time. My name's Barney O'Flannagan, at yer sarvice." "Ah! I recollect; and a good man you are, I've been told, Barney; but I have lost sight of you for some years. Been on a long voyage, I suppose?" "Well, not 'xactly; but I've been on a long cruise, an' no mistake, in the woods o' Brazil I wos wrecked on the coast there, in the Firefly." "Ah, to be sure. I remember. And your young messmate here, was he with you?" "Yes, sir, I was," said Martin, answering for himself; "and I had once the pleasure of your acquaintance. Perhaps if you look steadily in my face you may--" "Ah, then! don't try to bamboozle him. He might as well look at a bit o' mahogany as at your faygur-head. Tell him at wance, Martin, dear." "Martin?" exclaimed the puzzled old gentleman, seizing the young sailor by the shoulders and gazing intently into his face. "Martin! Martin! Surely not--yes! eh! Martin Rattler?" "Ay that am I, dear Mr Jollyboy, safe and sound, and--" Martin's speech was cut short in consequence of his being violently throttled by Mr Jollyboy, who flung his arms round his neck and staggered recklessly about the office with him! This was the great point which Barney had expected; it was the climax to which he had been looking forward all the morning: and it did not come short of his anticipations; for Mr Jollyboy danced round Martin and embraced him for at least ten minutes, asking him at the same time a shower of questions which he gave him no time to answer. In the excess of his delight Barney smote his thigh with his broad hand so forcibly that it burst upon the startled clerk like a pistol-shot, and caused him to spring off his stool! "Don't be afeared, young un," said Barney, winking and poking the small clerk jocosely in the ribs with his thumb. "Isn't it beautiful to see them? Arrah, now! isn't it purty?" "Keep your thumbs to yourself, you sea monster," said the small clerk, angrily, and laying his hand on the ruler. But Barney minded him not, and continued to smite his thigh and rub his hands, while he performed a sort of gigantic war-dance round Mr Jollyboy and Martin. In a few minutes the old gentleman subsided sufficiently to understand questions. "But, my aunt," said Martin, anxiously; "you have said nothing about Aunt Dorothy. How is she? where is she? is she well?" To these questions Mr Jollyboy returned no answer, but sitting suddenly down on a chair, he covered his face with his hands. "She is not ill?" inquired Martin in a husky voice, while his heart beat violently. "Speak, Mr Jollyboy, is she--is she--" "No, she's not ill," returned the old gentleman; "but she's--" "She is dead!" said Martin, in a tone so deep and sorrowful that the old gentleman started up. "No, no, not dead, my dear boy; I did not mean that. Forgive my stupidity, Martin. Aunt Dorothy is gone,--left the village a year ago; and I have never seen or heard of her since." Terrible though this news was, Martin felt a slight degree of relief to know that she was not dead;--at least there was reason to hope that she might be still alive. "But when did she go? and why? and where?" "She went about twelve months ago," replied Mr Jollyboy. "You see, Martin, after she lost you she seemed to lose all hope and all spirit; and at last she gave up making socks for me, and did little but moan in her seat in the window and look out towards the sea. So I got a pleasant young girl to take care of her; and she did not want for any of the comforts of life. One day the little girl came to me here, having run all the way from the village, to say that Mrs Grumbit had packed up a bundle of clothes and gone off to Liverpool by the coach. She took the opportunity of the girl's absence on some errand to escape; and we should never have known it, had not some boys of the village seen her get into the coach and tell the guard that she was going to make inquiries after Martin. I instantly set out for Liverpool; but long before I arrived the coach had discharged its passengers, and the coachman, not suspecting that anything was wrong, had taken no notice of her after arriving. From that day to this I have not ceased to advertise and make all possible inquiries, but without success." Martin heard the narrative in silence, and when it was finished he sat a few minutes gazing vacantly before him, like one in a dream. Then starting up suddenly, he wrung Mr Jollyboy's hand, "Good-bye, my dear friend; good-bye. I shall go to Liverpool. We shall meet again." "Stay, Martin, stay--" But Martin had rushed from the room, followed by his faithful friend, and in less than half an hour they were in the village of Ashford. The coach was to pass in twenty minutes, so, bidding Barney engage two outside seats, he hastened round by the road towards the cottage. There it stood, quaint time-worn, and old-fashioned, as when he had last seen it--the little garden in which he had so often played, the bower in which, on fine weather, Aunt Dorothy used to sit, and the door-step on which the white kitten used to gambol. But the shutters were closed, and the door was locked, and there was an air of desolation and a deep silence brooding over the place, that sank more poignantly into Martin's heart than if he had come and found every vestige of the home of his childhood swept away. It was like the body without the soul. The flowers, and stones, and well-known forms were there; but she who had given animation to the whole was gone. Sitting down on the door-step, Martin buried his face in his hands and wept. He was quickly aroused by the bugle of the approaching coach. Springing up, he dashed the tears away and hurried towards the highroad. In a few minutes Barney and he were seated on the top of the coach, and dashing, at the rate of ten miles an hour, along the road to Liverpool. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. THE OLD GARRET. Days, and weeks, and months, passed away, and Martin had searched every nook and corner of the great sea-port without discovering his old aunt, or obtaining the slightest information regarding her. At first he and Barney went about the search together, but after a time he sent his old companion forcibly away to visit his own relatives, who dwelt not far from Bilton, at the same time promising that if he had any good news to tell he would immediately write and let him know. One morning, as Martin was sitting beside the little fire in his lodging, a tap came to the door, and the servant girl told him that a policeman wished to see him. "Show him in," said Martin, who was not in the least surprised, for he had had much intercourse with these guardians of the public peace during the course of his unavailing search. "I think, sir," said the man on entering, "that we've got scent of an old woman wich is as like the one that you're arter as hanythink." Martin rose in haste, "have you, my man? Are you sure?" "'Bout as sure as a man can be who never seed her. But it won't take you long to walk. You'd better come and see for yourself." Without uttering another word, Martin put on his hat, and followed the policeman. They passed through several streets and lanes, and at length came to one of the poorest districts of the city, not far-distant from the shipping. Turning down a narrow alley, and crossing a low dirty-looking court, Martin's guide stopped before a door, which he pushed open and mounted by a flight of rickety wooden stairs to a garret. He opened the door and entered. "There she is," said the man in a tone of pity, as he pointed to a corner of the apartment, "an' I'm afeer'd she's goin' fast." Martin stepped towards a low truckle-bed on which lay the emaciated form of a woman covered with a scanty and ragged quilt. The corner of it was drawn across her face, and so gentle was her breathing that it seemed as if she were already dead. Martin removed the covering, and one glance at that gentle, careworn countenance sufficed to convince him that his old aunt lay before him! His first impulse was to seize her in his strong arms, but another look at the frail and attenuated form caused him to shrink back in fear. "Leave me," he said, rising hastily and slipping half a sovereign into the policeman's hand; "this is she. I wish to be alone with her." The man touched his hat and retired, closing the door behind him; while Martin, sitting down on the bed, took one of his aunt's thin hands in his. The action was tenderly performed, but it awoke her. For the first time it flashed across Martin's mind that the sudden joy at seeing him might be too much for one so feeble as Aunt Dorothy seemed to be. He turned his back hastily to the light and with a violent effort suppressed his feelings while he asked how she did. "Well, very well," said Aunt Dorothy, in a faint voice. "Are you the missionary that was here long ago? Oh! I've been longing for you. Why did you not come to read to me oftener about Jesus? But I have had him here although you did not come. He has been saying `Come unto me, ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' Yes, I have found rest in Him." She ceased and seemed to fall asleep again; but in a few seconds she opened her eyes and said, "Martin, too, has been to see me; but he does not come so often now. The darling boy used always to come to me in my dreams. But he never brings me food. Why does no one ever bring me food? I am hungry." "Should you like food now, if I brought it to you?" said Martin in a low voice. "Yes, yes; bring me food,--I am dying." Martin released her hand and glided gently out of the room. In a few minutes he returned with a can of warm soup and a roll; of which Aunt Dorothy partook with an avidity that showed she had been in urgent need. Immediately after, she went to sleep; and Martin sat upon the bed holding her hand in both of his till she awoke, which she did in an hour after, and again ate a little food. While she was thus engaged the door opened and a young man entered, who stated that he was a doctor, and had been sent there by a policeman. "There is no hope," he said in a whisper, after feeling her pulse; "the system is quite exhausted." "Doctor," whispered Martin, seizing the young man by the arm, "can nothing save her? I have money, and can command _anything_ that may do her good." The doctor shook his head. "You may give her a little wine. It will strengthen her for a time, but I fear there is no hope. I will send in a bottle if you wish it." Martin gave him the requisite sum, and in a few minutes the wine was brought up by a boy. The effect of the wine was wonderful. Aunt Dorothy's eyes sparkled as they used to do in days of old, and she spoke with unwonted energy. "You are kind to me, young man," she said, looking earnestly into Martin's face, which, however, he kept carefully in shadow. "May our Lord reward you." "Would you like me to talk to you of your nephew?" said Martin; "I have seen him abroad." "Seen my boy! Is he not dead?" "No; he is alive, and in this country, too." Aunt Dorothy turned pale, but did not reply for a few minutes, during which she grasped his hand convulsively. "Turn your face to the light," she said faintly. Martin obeyed, and bending over her whispered, "He is here; I am Martin, my dear, dear aunt--" No expression of surprise escaped from Aunt Dorothy as she folded her arms round his neck, and pressed his head upon her bosom. His hot tears fell upon her neck while she held him, but she spoke not. It was evident that, as the strength infused by the wine abated, her faculties became confused. At length she whispered,--"It is good of you to come to see me, darling boy. You have often come to me in my dreams. But do not leave me so soon; stay a very little longer." "This is no dream, dearest aunt," whispered Martin, while his tears flowed faster; "I am really here." "So you always say, my darling child; but you always go away and leave me. This is a dream, no doubt like all the rest; but oh, it seems very very real! You never _wept_ before, although you often smiled. Surely this is the best and brightest dream I ever had!" Continuing to murmur his name while she clasped him tightly to her bosom, Aunt Dorothy gently fell asleep. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. CONCLUSION. Aunt Dorothy Grumbit did _not_ die! Her gentle spirit had nearly fled; but Martin's return and Martin's tender nursing brought her round, and she gradually regained all her former strength and vigour. Yes, to the unutterable joy of Martin, to the inexpressible delight of Mr Arthur Jollyboy and Barney, and to the surprise and complete discomfiture of the young doctor who shook his head and said, "There is no hope," Aunt Dorothy Grumbit recovered, and was brought back in health and in triumph to her old cottage at Ashford. Moreover, she was arrayed again in the old bed-curtain chintz with the flowers as big as saucers, and the old high-crowned cap. A white kitten was got, too, so like the one that used to be Martin's playmate, that no one could discover a hair of difference. So remarkable was this, that Martin made inquiry, and found that it was actually the grand-daughter of the old kitten, which was still alive and well; so he brought it back too, and formally installed it in the cottage along with its grandchild. There was a great house-warming, on the night of the day, in which Aunt Dorothy Grumbit was brought back. Mr Arthur Jollyboy was there--of course; and the vicar was there; and the pursy doctor who used to call Martin "a scamp;" and the schoolmaster; and last--though not least Barney O'Flannagan was there. And they all had tea, during which dear Aunt Dorothy smiled sweetly on everybody and said nothing--and, indeed, did nothing, except that once or twice she put additional sugar and cream into Martin's cup when he was not looking, and stroked one of his hands continually. After tea Martin related his adventures in Brazil, and Barney helped him; and these two talked more that night than any one could have believed it possible for human beings to do, without the aid of steam lungs! And the doctor listened, and the vicar and schoolmaster questioned, and old Mr Jollyboy roared and laughed till he became purple in the face--particularly at the sallies of Barney. As for old Aunt Dorothy Grumbit, she listened when Martin spoke. When Martin was silent she became stone deaf! In the course of time Mr Jollyboy made Martin his head clerk; and then, becoming impatient, he made him his partner off-hand. Then he made Barney O'Flannagan an overseer in the warehouses; and when the duties of the day were over, the versatile Irishman became his confidential servant and went to sup and sleep at the Old Hulk; which, he used to remark, was quite a natural and proper and decidedly comfortable place to come to an anchor in. Martin became the stay and comfort of his aunt in her old age; and the joy which he was the means of giving to her heart was like a deep and placid river which never ceases to flow. Ah! there is a rich blessing in store for those who tenderly nurse and comfort the aged, when called upon to do so; and assuredly there is a sharp thorn prepared for those who neglect this sacred duty. Martin read the Bible to her night and morning; and she did nothing but watch for him at the window while he was out. As Martin afterwards became an active member of the benevolent societies, with which his partner was connected, he learned from sweet experience that, "it is more blessed to give than to receive," and that, "it is _better_ to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting." Dear young reader, do not imagine that we plead in favour of moroseness or gloom. Laugh if you will, and feast if you will, and remember, too, that, "a merry heart is a continual feast;" but we pray you not to forget that God himself has said that a visit to the house of mourning is _better_ than a visit to the house of feasting: and, strange to say, it is productive of greater joy; for to do good is better than to get good, as surely as sympathy is better than selfishness. Martin visited the poor and read the Bible to them; and in watering others he was himself watered, for he found the "Pearl of Great Price," even Jesus Christ the Saviour of the world. Business prospered in the hands of Martin Rattler, too, and he became a man of substance. Naturally, too, he became a man of great importance in the town of Bilton. The quantity of work that Martin and Mr Jollyboy and Barney used to get through was quite marvellous; and the number of engagements they had during the course of a day was quite bewildering. In the existence of all men, who are not born to unmitigated misery, there are times and seasons of peculiar enjoyment. The happiest hour of all the twenty-four to Martin Rattler was the hour of seven in the evening; for then it was that he found himself seated before the blazing fire in the parlour of the Old Hulk, to which Aunt Dorothy Grumbit had consented to be removed, and in which she was now a fixture. Then it was that old Mr Jollyboy beamed with benevolence, until the old lady sometimes thought the fire was going to melt him; then it was that the tea-kettle sang on the hob like a canary; and then it was that Barney bustled about the room preparing the evening meal, and talking all the time with the most perfect freedom to any one who chose to listen to him. Yes, seven p.m. was Martin's great hour, and Aunt Dorothy's great hour, and old Mr Jollyboy's great hour, and Barney's too; for each knew that the labours of the day were done, and that the front door was locked for the night, and that a great talk was brewing. They had a tremendous talk every night, sometimes on one subject, sometimes on another; but the subject of all others that they talked oftenest about was their travels. And many a time and oft, when the winter storms howled round the Old Hulk, Barney was invited to draw in his chair, and Martin and he plunged again vigorously into the great old forests of South America, and spoke so feelingly about them that Aunt Dorothy and Mr Jollyboy almost fancied themselves transported into the midst of tropical scenes, and felt as if they were surrounded by parrots, and monkeys, and jaguars, and alligators, and anacondas, and all the wonderful birds, beasts, reptiles, and fishes, that inhabit the woods and waters of Brazil. THE END. 
23373	----	The Eagle Cliff, by R.M. Ballantyne. ________________________________________________________________________ This is a truly delightful book by this prolific author. I know of no other of his books that leaves so many images in the mind, so fresh after many a year. The scene starts with a young man cycling on his penny-farthing towards London. On the way he has an accident, knocking down an elderly lady, but fleeing the scene when he sees a policeman coming. But when he gets home he finds a telegram informing him that his friends will be departing very soon in a yacht, to visit the islands on the North-West of Britain, so he joins them. Unfortunately there is a fog and the yacht is damaged but all the young men and their crew manage to get ashore, finding themselves in the neighbourhood of a large house, the residence of a gentleman and his family. They are invited to stay there as his guests, and it is at this point that the adventures begin, involving fishing, shooting, bird-watching, sailing and so forth. There is a charming young lady also staying in the house, and deploying her hobby of painting. Our hero falls in love with her, but is very much taken aback when she is joined by her mother, who turns out to be none other than the elderly lady he had knocked down back in London. Even more disastrous was the fire that destroyed the house. This is a brilliant book, and you will love it. As a footnote you may be surprised that one of the children is called Junkie. This certainly does not mean that same as it does today: instead it is a nickname given to a favourite boy-child, and you will find several examples of this in Ballantyne's books. ________________________________________________________________________ THE EAGLE CLIFF, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. CHAPTER ONE. BEGINS THE TALE--NATURALLY. From the earliest records of history we learn that man has ever been envious of the birds, and of all other winged creatures. He has longed and striven to fly. He has also signally failed to do so. We say "failed" advisedly, because his various attempts in that direction have usually resulted in disappointment and broken bones. As to balloons, we do not admit that they fly any more than do ships; balloons merely float and glide, when not otherwise engaged in tumbling, collapsing, and bursting. This being so, we draw attention to the fact that the nearest approach we have yet made to the sensation of flying is that achieved by rushing down a long, smooth, steep hill-road on a well-oiled and perfect ball-bearings bicycle! Skating cannot compare with this, for that requires exertion; bicycling down hill requires none. Hunting cannot, no matter how splendid the mount, for that implies a certain element of bumping, which, however pleasant in itself, is not suggestive of the smooth swift act of flying. We introduce this subject merely because thoughts somewhat similar to those which we have so inadequately expressed were burning in the brain of a handsome and joyful young man one summer morning not long ago, as, with legs over the handles, he flashed--if he did not actually fly--down one of our Middlesex hills on his way to London. Urgent haste was in every look and motion of that young man's fine eyes and lithe body. He would have bought wings at any price had that been possible; but, none being yet in the market, he made the most of his wheel--a fifty-eight inch one, by the way, for the young man's legs were long, as well as strong. Arrived at the bottom of the hill the hilarious youth put his feet to the treadles, and drove the machine vigorously up the opposite slope. It was steep, but he was powerful. He breathed hard, no doubt, but he never flagged until he gained the next summit. A shout burst from his lips as he rolled along the level top, for there, about ten miles off, lay the great city, glittering in the sunshine, and with only an amber-tinted canopy of its usual smoke above it. Among the tall elms and in the flowering hedgerows between which he swept, innumerable birds warbled or twittered their astonishment that he could fly with such heedless rapidity through that beautiful country, and make for the dismal town in such magnificent weather. One aspiring lark overhead seemed to repeat, with persistent intensity, its trill of self gratulation that it had not been born a man. Even the cattle appeared to regard the youth as a sort of ornithological curiosity, for the sentiment, "Well, you are a goose!" was clearly written on their mild faces as he flew past them. Over the hill-top he went--twelve miles an hour at the least--until he reached the slope on the other side; then down he rushed again, driving at the first part of the descent like an insane steam-engine, till the pace must have increased to twenty miles, at which point, the whirl of the wheel becoming too rapid, he was obliged once more to rest his legs on the handles, and take to repose, contemplation, and wiping his heated brow--equivalent this, we might say, to the floating descent of the sea-mew. Of course the period of rest was of brief duration, for, although the hill was a long slope, with many a glimpse of loveliness between the trees, the time occupied in its flight was short, and, at the bottom a rustic bridge, with an old inn and a thatched hamlet, with an awkwardly sharp turn in the road beyond it, called for wary and intelligent guidance of this lightning express. Swiftly but safely to the foot of the hill went John Barret (that was the youth's name), at ever-increasing speed, and without check; for no one seemed to be moving about in the quiet hamlet, and the old English inn had apparently fallen asleep. A delicious undulating swoop at the bottom indicates the crossing of the bridge. A flash, and the inn is in rear. The hamlet displays no sign of life, nevertheless Barret is cautious. He lays a finger on the brake and touches the bell. He is half-way through the hamlet and all goes well; still no sign of life except--yes, this so-called proof of every rule is always forthcoming, except that there is the sudden appearance of one stately cock. This is followed immediately by its sudden and unstately disappearance. A kitten also emerges from somewhere, glares, arches, fuffs, becomes indescribable, and--is not! Two or three children turn up and gape, but do not recover in time to insult, or to increase the dangers of the awkward turn in the road which is now at hand. Barret looks thoughtful. Must the pace be checked here? The road is open and visible. It is bordered by grass banks and ditches on either side. He rushes close to the left bank and, careering gracefully to the right like an Algerine felucca in a white squall, dares the laws of gravitation and centrifugal force to the utmost limitation, and describes a magnificent segment of a great circle. Almost before you can wink he is straight again, and pegging along with irresistible pertinacity. Just beyond the hamlet a suburban lady is encountered, with clasped hands and beseeching eyes, for a loose hairy bundle, animated by the spirit of a dog, stands in the middle of the road, bidding defiance to the entire universe! The hairy bundle loses its head all at once, likewise its heart: it has not spirit left even to get out of the way. A momentary lean of the bicycle first to the left and then to the right describes what artists call "the line of beauty," in a bight of which the bundle remains behind, crushed in spirit, but unhurt in body. At the bottom of the next hill a small roadside inn greets our cyclist. That which cocks, kittens, dangers, and dogs could not effect, the inn accomplishes. He "slows." In front of the door he describes an airy circlet, dismounting while yet in motion, leans the lightning express against the wall, and enters. What! does that vigorous, handsome, powerful fellow, in the flush of early manhood, drink? Ay, truly he does. "Glass of bitter, sir?" asks the exuberant landlord. "Ginger," says the young man, pointing significantly to a bit of blue ribbon in his button-hole. "Come far to-day, sir?" asks the host, as he pours out the liquid. "Fifty miles--rather more," says Barret, setting down the glass. "Fine weather, sir, for bicycling," says the landlord, sweeping in the coppers. "Very; good-day." Before that cheery "Good-day" had ceased to affect the publican's brain Barret was again spinning along the road to London. It was the road on which the mail coaches of former days used to whirl, to the merry music of bugle, wheel, and whip, along which so many men and women had plodded in days gone by, in search of fame and fortune and happiness: some, to find these in a greater or less degree, with much of the tinsel rubbed off, others, to find none of them, but instead thereof, wreck and ruin in the mighty human whirlpool; and not a few to discover the fact that happiness does not depend either on fortune or fame, but on spiritual harmony with God in Jesus Christ. Pedestrians there still were on that road, bound for the same goal, and, doubtless, with similar aims; but mail and other coaches had been driven from the scene. Barret had the broad road pretty much to himself. Quickly he ran into the suburban districts, and here his urgent haste had to be restrained a little. "What if I am too late!" he thought, and almost involuntarily put on a spurt. Soon he entered the crowded thoroughfares, and was compelled to curb both steed and spirit. Passing through one of the less-frequented streets in the neighbourhood of Finchley Road, he ventured to give the rein to his willing charger. But here Fortune ceased to smile--and Fortune was to be commended for her severity. Barret, although kind, courteous, manly, sensitive, and reasonably careful, was not just what he ought to have been. Although a hero, he was not perfect. He committed the unpardonable sin of turning a street corner sharply! A thin little old lady crossed the road at the same identical moment, slowly. They met! Who can describe that meeting? Not the writer, for he did not see it; more's the pity! Very few people saw it, for it was a quiet corner. The parties concerned cannot be said to have seen, though they felt it. Both went down. It was awful, really, to see a feeble old lady struggling with an athlete and a bicycle! Two little street boys, and a ragged girl appeared as if by magic. They always do! "Oh! I say! Ain't he bin and squashed 'er?" Such was the remark of one of the boys. "Pancakes is plump to 'er," was the observation of the other. The ragged girl said nothing, but looked unspeakable things. Burning with shame, trembling with anxiety, covered with dust and considerably bruised, Barret sprang up, left his fallen steed, and, raising the little old lady with great tenderness in his arms, sat her on the pavement with her back against the railings, while he poured out abject apologies and earnest inquiries. Strange to say the old lady was not hurt in the least--only a good deal shaken and very indignant. Stranger still, a policeman suddenly appeared in the distance. At the same time a sweep, a postman, and a servant girl joined the group. Young Barret, as we have said, was sensitive. To become the object and centre of a crowd in such circumstances was overwhelming. A climax was put to his confusion, when one of the street arabs, observing the policeman, suddenly exclaimed:-- "Oh! I say, 'ere's a bobby! What a lark. Won't you be 'ad up before the beaks? It'll be a case o' murder." "No, it won't," retorted the other boy; "it'll be a case o' manslaughter an' attempted suicide jined." Barret started up, allowing the servant maid to take his place, and saw the approaching constable. Visions of detention, publicity, trial, conviction, condemnation, swam before him. "A reg'lar Krismas panty-mime for nuffin'!" remarked the ragged girl, breaking silence for the first time. Scarcely knowing what he did, Barret leaped towards his bicycle, set it up, vaulted into the saddle, as he well knew how, and was safely out of sight in a few seconds. Yet not altogether safe. A guilty conscience pursued, overtook, and sat upon him. Shame and confusion overwhelmed him. Up to that date he had been honourable, upright, straightforward; as far as the world's estimation went, irreproachable. Now, in his own estimation, he was mean, false, underhand, sneaking! But he did not give way to despair. He was a true hero, else we would not have had anything to write about him. Suddenly he slowed, frowned, compressed his lips, described a complete circle--in spite of a furniture van that came in his way--and deliberately went back to the spot where the accident had occurred; but there was no little lady to be seen. She had been conveyed away, the policeman was gone, the little boys were gone, the ragged girl, sweep, postman, and servant maid--all were gone, "like the baseless fabric of a vision," leaving only new faces and strangers behind to wonder what accident and thin old lady the excited youth was asking about--so evanescent are the incidents that occur; and so busily pre-occupied are the human torrents that rush in the streets of London! The youth turned sadly from the spot and continued his journey at a slower pace. As he went along, the thought that the old lady might have received internal injuries, and would die, pressed heavily upon him: Thus, he might actually be a murderer, at the best a man-slaughterer, without knowing it, and would carry in his bosom a dreadful secret, and a terrible uncertainty, to the end of his life! Of course he could go to that great focus of police energy--Scotland Yard--and give himself up; but on second thoughts he did not quite see his way to that. However, he would watch the daily papers closely. That evening, in a frame of mind very different from the mental condition, in which he had set out on his sixty miles' ride in the afternoon, John Barret presented himself to his friend and old schoolfellow, Bob Mabberly. "You're a good fellow, Barret; I knew you would come; but you look warm. Have you been running?" asked Mabberly, opening the door of his lodging to his friend. "Come in: I have news for you. Giles Jackman has agreed to go. Isn't that a comfort? for, besides his rare and valuable sporting qualities, he is more than half a doctor, which will be important, you know, if any of us should get ill or come to grief. Sit down and we'll talk it over." Now, it was a telegram from Bob Mabberly which led John Barret to suddenly undertake a sixty miles' ride that day, and which was thus the indirect cause of the little old lady being run down. The telegram ran as follows:-- "Come instanter. As you are. Clothes unimportant. Yacht engaged. Crew also. Sail, without fail, Thursday. Plenty more to say when we meet." "Now, you see, Bob, with your usual want of precision, or care, or some such quality--" "Stop, Barret. Do be more precise in the use of language. How can the want of a thing be a _quality_?" "You are right, Bob. Let me say, then, that with your usual unprecision and carelessness you sent me a telegram, which could not reach me till late on Wednesday night, after all trains were gone, telling me that you sail, without fail, on Thursday, but leaving me to guess whether you meant Thursday morning or evening." "How stupid! My dear fellow, I forgot that!" "Just so. Well to make sure of losing no time, instead of coming here by trains, which, as you know, are very awkward and slow in our neighbourhood, besides necessitating long waits and several changes, I just packed my portmanteau, gun, rods, etcetera, and gave directions to have them forwarded here by the first morning train, then took a few winks of sleep, and at the first glimmer of daylight mounted my wheel and set off across country as straight as country roads would permit of--and--here I am." "True, Barret, and in good time for tea too. We don't sail till morning, for the tide does not serve till six o'clock, so that will give us plenty of time to put the finishing touches to our plans, allow your things to arrive, and permit of our making--or, rather, renewing--our acquaintance with Giles Jackman. You remember him, don't you?" "Yes, faintly. He was a broad, sturdy, good-humoured, reckless, little boy when I last saw him at old Blatherby's school." "Just so. Your portrait is correct. I saw him last month, after a good many years' interval, and he is exactly what he was, but considerably exaggerated at every point. He is not, indeed, a little, but a middle sized man now; as good-humoured as ever; much more reckless; sturdier and broader a great deal, with an amount of hair about his lip, chin, and head generally that would suffice to fit out three or four average men. He has been in India--in the Woods and Forests Department, or something of that sort--and has killed tigers, elephants, and such-like by the hundred, they say; but I've met him only once or twice, and he don't speak much about his own doings. He is home on sick-leave just now." "Sick-leave! Will he be fit to go with us?" asked Barret, doubtfully. "Fit!" cried Mabberly. "Ay, much more fit than you are, strong and vigorous though you be, for the voyage home has not only cured him; it has added superabundant health. Voyages always do to sick Anglo-Indians, don't you know? However ill a man may be in India, all he has to do is to obtain leave of absence and get on board of a ship homeward bound, and straightway health, rushing in upon him like a river, sends him home more than cured. So now our party is made up, yacht victualled, anchor tripped; and--`all's well that ends well.'" "But all is not ended, Bob. Things have only begun, and, as regards myself, they have begun disastrously," said Barret, who thereupon related the incident of the little old lady being run down. "My dear fellow," cried Mabberly, laughing, "excuse me, don't imagine me indifferent to the sufferings of the poor old thing; but do you really suppose that one who was tough enough, after such a collision, to sit up at all, with or without the support of the railings, and give way to indignant abuse--" "Not abuse, Bob, indignant looks and sentiments; she was too thorough a lady to think of abuse--" "Well, well; call it what you please; but you may depend upon it that she is not much hurt, and you will hear nothing more about the matter." "That's it! That's the very thing that I dread," returned Barret, anxiously. "To go through life with the possibility that I may be an uncondemned and unhung murderer is terrible to think of. Then I can't get over the meanness of my running away so suddenly. If any one had said I was capable of such conduct I should have laughed at him. Yet have I lived to do it--contemptibly--in cold blood." "Contemptibly it may have been, but not in cold blood, for did you not say you were roused to a state of frenzied alarm at the sight of the bobby? and assuredly, although unhung as yet, you are not uncondemned, if self-condemnation counts for anything. Come, don't take such a desponding view of the matter. We shall see the whole affair in the morning papers before sailing, with a report of the old lady's name and condition--I mean condition of health--as well as your unmanly flight, without leaving your card; so you'll be able to start with an easy--Ha! a cab! yes, it's Jackman. I know his manservant," said Mabberly, as he looked out at the window. Another moment and a broad-chested man, of about five-and-twenty, with a bronzed face--as far as hair left it visible--a pair of merry blue eyes, and a hearty manner, was grasping his old schoolfellows by the hand, and endeavouring to trace the likeness in John Barret to the quiet little boy whom he used to help with his tasks many years before. "Man, who would have thought you could have grown into such a great long-legged fellow?" he said stepping back to take a more perfect look at his friend, who returned the compliment by asking who could have imagined that he would have turned into a Zambezian gorilla. "Where'll I put it, sor?" demanded a voice of metallic bassness in the doorway. "Down there--anywhere, Quin," said Jackman turning quickly; "and be off as fast as you can to see after that rifle and cartridges." "Yes, sor," returned the owner of the bass voice, putting down a small portmanteau, straightening himself, touching his forehead with a military salute, and stalking away solemnly. "I say, Giles, it's not often one comes across a zoological specimen like that. Where did you pick him up?" asked Mabberly. "In the woods and forests of course," said Jackman, "where I have picked up everything of late--from salary to jungle fevers. He's an old soldier--also on sick-leave, though he does not look like it. He came originally from the west of Ireland, I believe; but there's little of the Irishman left, save the brogue and the honesty. He's a first-rate servant, if you know how to humour him, and, being a splendid cook, we shall find him useful." "I hope so," said Mabberly, with a dubious look. "Why, Bob, do you suppose I would have offered him as cook and steward if I had not felt sure of him?" "Of course not; and I would not have accepted him if I had not felt sure of you, Giles, my boy; so come along and let's have something to eat." "But you have not yet told me, Bob," said Jackman, while the three friends were discussing their meal, "what part of the world you intend to visit. Does your father give you leave to go wherever you please, and stay as long as you choose?" "No; he limits me to the Western Isles." "That's an indefinite limitation. D'you mean the isles of the Western Pacific?" "No; only those of the west of Scotland. And, to tell you the truth, I have no settled or definite plan. Having got leave to use the yacht all the summer on condition that I don't leave our own shores, I have resolved to begin by running at once to the wildest and farthest away part of the kingdom, leaving circumstances to settle the rest." "A circumstantial account of the matter, no doubt, yet rather vague. Have you a good crew?" "Yes; two men and a boy, one of the men being skipper, and the nearest approach to a human machine you ever saw. He is a Highlander, a thorough seaman, hard as mahogany and about as dark, stiff as a poker, self-contained, silent, except when spoken to, and absolutely obedient." "And we set sail to-morrow, early?" asked Barret. "Yes; after seeing the morning papers," said Mabberly with a laugh. This, of course, turned the conversation on the accident, much to the distress of Barret, who feared that the jovial, off-hand reckless man from the "woods and forests" would laugh at and quiz him more severely than his friend Bob. To his surprise and great satisfaction, however, he found that his fears were groundless, for Jackman listened to the account of the incident quite gravely, betrayed not the slightest tendency to laugh, or even smile; asked a good many questions in an interested tone, spoke encouragingly as to the probable result, and altogether showed himself to be a man of strong sympathy as well as high spirits. Next morning found our three adventurers dropping down the Thames with the first of the ebb tide, and a slight breeze from the south-west; Mabberly and Jackman in the very small cabin looking after stores, guns, rods, etcetera; Barret anxiously scanning the columns of a newspaper; Quin and the skipper making each other's acquaintance with much of the suspicion observable in two bull-dogs who meet accidentally; the boy in the fore part of the vessel coiling ropes; and the remainder of the crew at the helm. "Port! port! stiddy," growled the skipper. "Port it is; steady," replied the steersman in a sing-song professional tone, as a huge steamer from the antipodes went slowly past, like a mighty leviathan of the deep. "Is it to the north, south, east, or west we're bound for, captain?" asked Quin, with a voice like that of a conciliatory bassoon. "I don't know where we're bound for," growled the skipper slowly. "Starboard a bit; stiddy!" "Steady!" sang out the man at the tiller. A few hours carried them into the German Ocean. Here Quin thought he would try again for a little information. "Sure it's nor'-east we're steerin', captain," he remarked in a casual way. "No, it's not," growled the skipper, very much through his nose; "she's headin' west." "It's to _somewhere_ that coorse will take us in the ind, no doubt, if we carry on?" suggested Quin, interrogatively. "Ay; oot to sea," replied the skipper. Quin was obliged to give it up for the time being. For some time they were nearly becalmed; then, as the land dropped astern and the shades of night deepened, the wind fell altogether, and, when the stars came out, a profound calm prevailed over the gently undulating sea. The exuberant spirits of our three friends were subdued by the sweet influences around, and, as the hour for rest drew near, the conversation, which at first became fitful, dropped at last to silence. This was broken at length by Jackman saying, to the surprise of his companions, "What d'you say to reading a chapter before turning in? I'm fond of striking what's called a key-note. If we begin this pleasure-trip with an acknowledgment of our dependence on God, we shall probably have a really pleasant time of it. What say you?" Both Mabberly and Barret gladly agreed to their friend's proposal--for both had been trained in God-fearing families--though neither would have had the courage to make the proposal himself. The crew were invited to join, and thus family worship was established on board the _Fairy_ from the first day. Only one point is worthy of note in connection with this--although no one noted it particularly at the time, namely, that the portion of Scripture undesignedly selected contained that oft-quoted verse, "Ye know not what a day may bring forth." The truth of this was very soon thrust home upon them by stern experience. CHAPTER TWO. THE VOYAGE AUSPICIOUSLY BEGUN AND PROMPTLY ENDED. A voyage up the east coast of Great Britain and through the Pentland Firth does not usually take a long time. When the vessel is a swift little schooner-yacht, and the breeze is stiff as well as fair, the voyage is naturally a brief one. Everything favoured the little _Fairy_. Sun, moon, and stars cheered her, and winds were propitious, so that our voyagers soon found themselves skimming over the billows of the western sea. It was one part of Mabberly's plan that he and his friends should do duty as part of the crew. He was himself accustomed to the handling of yachts, and Barret he knew had been familiar with the management of boats from childhood. "You can steer, of course?" he had asked Giles Jackman almost as soon as they were fairly at sea. "Well, ye-es, oh yes. No doubt I could steer if I were to try." "Have you never tried?" asked his friend in surprise. "Oh yes, I have tried--once. It was on an occasion when a number of us had gone on a picnic. We had to proceed part of the way to our destination by river in a small boat, which was managed by a regular old sea-dog--I forget his name, for we generally hailed him by the title of Old Salt. Some of the impatient members of the party suggested a little preliminary lunch. There are always people ready to back up impatient suggestions! It was agreed to, and Old Salt was ordered to open the provision basket, which had been stowed away in the bows of the boat. `Would you steer, sir?' said Old Salt to me, as he rose to go forward. `Certainly, with pleasure,' said I, for, as you know, it's an old weakness of mine to be obliging! Well, in a few minutes they were all eating away as if they'd had no breakfast, while we went merrily down the river, with the current and a light breeze in our favour. "Suddenly Old Salt shouted something that was smothered in its passage through a bite of sandwich. I looked up, and saw a native canoe coming straight towards us. `Port!' roared Old Salt, in an explosion that cleared away half the sandwich. `No, thankee; I prefer sherry,' said I. But I stopped there, for I saw intuitively from the yell with which he interrupted me that something was wrong. `_Hard_ a-port!' he cried, jumping up and scattering his rations. I shoved the tiller hard to the side that suggested itself, and hoped for the best. The worst followed, for we struck the native canoe amidships, as it was steering wildly out of our way, and capsized it! There were only two men in it, and they could swim like ducks; but the river was full of alligators, and two sharp-set ones were on the scent instantly. It is my opinion that those two natives would, then and there, have been devoured, if we had not run in between and made such a splashing and hullaballoo with boat-hook, oars, and voices, that the monsters were scared away. I have never steered since that day." "I don't wonder; and, with my consent, you shall not steer now," said Mabberly, laughing. "Why, Giles, I was under the impression that you understood everything, and could do almost anything!" "Quite a mistake, Bob, founded in error or superstition. You have confused the will with the deed. I am indeed willing to try anything, but my capacity for action is limited, like my knowledge. In regard to the higher mathematics, for instance, I know nothing. Copper-mining I do not understand. I may say the same with reference to Tartar mythology, and as regards the management of infants under two years I am densely ignorant." "But do you really know nothing at all about boats and ships, Giles?" asked Barret, who, being a good listener, did not always shine as a speaker. "How can you ask such a question? Of course I know a great deal about them. They float, they sail and row, they steer--" "Rather badly sometimes, according to your own showing!" remarked Barret. Having cleared the Pentland Firth, Mabberly consulted the skipper one morning as to the prospects of the weather. "Going to fall calm, I fear," he said, as McPherson came aft with his hands in his pilot-coat pockets. "Ay, sir, that iss true, what-e-ver." To pronounce the last word correctly, the central "e" must be run into a long-drawn, not an interjectional, sound. "More-o-ver," continued the skipper, in his drawling nasal tone, "it's goin' to be thick." Being a weather-wise man, the skipper proved to be right. It did come thick; then it cleared, and, as we have said, things became favourable until they got further out to sea. Then a fancy took possession of Mabberly--namely, to have a "spin out into the Atlantic and see how it looked!" It mattered not to Jackman or Barret what they did or where they went; the first being exuberantly joyous, the other quietly happy. So they had their run out to sea; but twenty-four hours of it sufficed-- it became monotonous. "I think we'd better go back now," suggested Mabberly. "Agreed," said his companions. "Iss it goin' back you'll be?" asked the skipper. "Yes. Don't you think we may as well turn now?" said Mabberly, who made it a point always, if possible, to carry the approbation of the skipper with him. "I think it wass petter if we had niver come oot." "Why so, Captain?" "Because it's comin' on to plow. Putt her roond, Shames." James McGregor, to whom the order was given, and who was the _other_ man of the crew, obeyed. The yacht, which had latterly been beating against a headwind, now ran gaily before it towards the Scottish coast, but when night closed in no outlying islands were visible. "We wull hev to keep a sharp look-oot, Shames," remarked the skipper, as he stopped in his monotonous perambulation of the deck to glance at the compass. "Oo, ay," responded McGregor, with the air of a man who knew that as well as his superior. "What do you fear?" asked Mabberly, coming on deck at the moment to take a look at the night before turning in. "I fear naething, sir," replied McPherson, gravely. "I mean, what danger threatens us?" "None that I ken o'; but we're makin' the land, an' it behooves us to ca' canny." It may be well to remark here that the skipper, having voyaged much on all parts of the Scottish coast, had adopted and mixed up with his own peculiar English several phrases and words in use among the lowland Scots. Next morning, when Mabberly again visited the deck, he found the skipper standing on the same spot where he had left him, apparently in the same attitude, and with the same grave, sleepless expression on his cast-iron features. The boy, Robin Tips, was at the helm, looking very sleepy. He was an English boy, smart, active, and wide-awake--in the slang sense--in which sense also we may add that he was "cheeky." But neither the skipper nor Tips was very visible at the distance of three yards, owing to a dense fog which prevailed. It was one of those white, luminous, dry fogs which are not at all depressing to the spirits, though obstructive to the eyes, and which are generally, if not always, accompanied by profound calm. "Has it been like this long?" asked Mabberly, after the first salutations. "Ay, sir, a coot while." "And have we made no progress during the night?" "Oo, ay, a coot bit. We should nae be far off some o' the islands noo, but it's hard to say, wi' naither sun, moon, nor stars veesible to let us fin' oot where we are." Jackman and Barret came on deck at the moment, closely followed by Quin, who, quietly ignoring the owner of the yacht, went up to his master and said-- "Tay's riddy, sor." "Breakfast, you mean," said Mabberly, with a smile. "Sure I wouldn't conterdick--ye, sor, av ye was to call it supper--but it was tay that I put in the pot." At breakfast the conversation somehow turned upon boats--ship's boats-- and their construction. "It is quite disgraceful," said Jackman, "the way in which Government neglects that matter of boats. Some things, we know, will never be generally adopted unless men are compelled to adopt them. Another biscuit, Barret." "Instance something, Giles," said Mabberly, "and pass the butter. I hate to hear sweeping assertions of an indefinite nature, which no one can either corroborate or confute." "Well, there is the matter of lowering boats into the water from a ship's davits. Now, I'll be bound that the apparatus for lowering your little punt astern is the ordinary couple of blocks--one at the stem, the other at the stern?" "Of course it is. What then?" "Why, then, don't you know what would happen if you were lowering that boat full of people in a rough sea, and the man at the bow failed to unhook his block at the exact same moment as the man at the stern?" "Yes, I know too well, Giles, for I have seen it happen. The boat, on the occasion I refer to, was hung up by one of the blocks, all the people were dropped into the water, and several of the women and children drowned. But how is Government to remedy that?" "Thus, Bob, thus. There is a splendid apparatus invented by somebody which holds fast the two blocks. By means of an iron lever worked by _one_ man, the rod is disengaged from both blocks at the same instant. You cannot work it wrong if you tried to do so. Now, the Government has only to compel the adoption of that apparatus in the Royal and Merchant Navies, and the thing is done." "Then, again," continued Jackman, devouring food more ravenously in proportion as he warmed with his subject, "look at the matter of rafts. How constantly it happens that boats get swamped and lost while being launched in cases of shipwreck at sea, and there is nothing left for the crews and passengers, after the few remaining boats are filled, save loose spars or a hastily and ill-made raft; for of course things cannot be well planned and constructed in the midst of panic and sudden emergency. Now, it has been suggested, if not actually carried out, that mattresses should be made of cork, with bands and straps to facilitate buckling them together, and that a ship's chairs, tables, camp-stools, etcetera, should be so constructed as to be convertible into rafts, which might be the means of saving hundreds of lives that would, under present arrangements, inevitably be lost. Why, I ask, does not Government see to this? have a special committee appointed to investigate, find out the best plan, and compel its adoption? Men will never do this. They are too obstinate. What's wanted is that our ladies should take it up, and howl with indignation till it is done." "My dear Giles, ladies never howl," said Barret, quietly tapping the end of an egg; "they smile, and gently insinuate--that is always sufficient, because irresistible!" "Well, being a bachelor I cannot say much on that point," returned Jackman. "But I was not aware that _you_ were married?" "Neither am I; but I have a mother and sisters, aunts and cousins, and I know their ways." "If such are their ways, I must get you to introduce me to them," said the woods-and-forester. "Come on deck, now, and I will give you a practical illustration of what might be done." Jackman, being an enthusiast, always went at things, "with a will." "Bring me a hen-coop, Quin," he said to the steward, who, having so far completed his morning work, and consumed his morning meal, was smoking his pipe, seated on the rail beside Tips. Tips was an admirer of the Irishman, and, in consequence, an imitator as far as he dared and was permitted. "Lend a hand, ye spalpeen," said Quin, going forward, and quickly returning with the coop, from which a cackling of strong remonstrance issued. "Will ye have the other wan too, sor?" "Yes, and the main-hatch besides, and a lot of spun-yarn. Of course that's not strong enough for real service, but it will do for illustration." In a few minutes the two hen-coops were placed face to face and lashed firmly together, despite the remonstrative poultry. Then the main-hatch was laid upon the top, and fixed there by means of the iron rings at its four corners. "Now, Quin, fetch four of the cabin chairs," said the operator, "and observe, gentlemen, how much more easily and quickly this would have been accomplished if the coops, and hatch, and chairs had been made to fit into each other, with a view to this very purpose, with strong straps and buckles in handy positions. Now, then, for the chairs." At each corner of this extemporised raft Jackman fastened one of the cabin chairs, pointing out, as he did so, that there was no limit to the extension of the raft. "You see," he continued, "all you would have to do, if the ship were properly fitted out, would be to add chair to chair, bench to bench, cork mattress to mattress, until your raft was as big as you wanted; or you could make two or three rafts, if preferable." "But sure, sor, it would be an unstiddy machine intirely, an' given to wobblin'," said Quin, who was one of those privileged men who not only work for their wages, but generously throw their opinions into the bargain. "It would not be more unsteady than the waves, Quin; and as to wobbling, that would be an advantage, for a rigid raft in a rough sea would be more liable to be damaged than one that was pliable." The discussion about rafts and ship's boats which thus began was continued with much interest till lunchtime, for it chanced that John Barret was one of those men whose tendency of heart and mind is to turn everything to its best uses, and generally to strive after the highest point of perfection in everything, with a view to the advancement of human felicity. This tendency called into exercise his inventive faculties, inducing him to search after improvements of all descriptions. Thus it was natural that he and Jackman should enter into a keen controversy, as to what was the best method of constructing the raft in detail; and that, when the faithful Quin announced lunch as being, "riddy, sor," the life-saving machine was left in an incomplete state on the deck. The interest attaching to this discussion had helped the three comrades and crew alike, to tide over what might otherwise have proved a tedious forenoon, for during the whole of that day the dense fog and profound calm continued. On returning to the deck the discussion was continued for a time, but gradually the interest flagged, then other subjects engaged attention, and the raft was finally allowed to lie undisturbed and forgotten. "I don't know how it is," said Bob Mabberly; "but somehow I always feel a depression of spirits in a fog at sea." "Explanation simple enough," returned Jackman; "are we not constantly reading in the papers of ships being run down in fogs? Where there is risk there is always in some minds anxiety--in your case you call it depression of spirits." "Your explanation, Giles, uncomplimentary to me though it be, might have some force if we were just now in the Channel, where being run down in fog is an event of frequent occurrence; but here, in a comparatively unfrequented sea, it would be strange indeed were I to be influenced by such possibilities. What say you, Captain?" McPherson, who had sauntered towards the group, gazed in the direction where the horizon would have been visible had the fog been absent, and said:-- "Hm!--weel--" and then stopped, as if for the purpose of mature consideration. The audience waited for the announcement of the oracle's opinion. "Oo ay--weel, ye see, many persons are strangely influenced by possibeelities, what-e-ver. There is a maiden aunt o' my own--she wass niver marrit, an' she wass niver likely to be, for besides bein' poor an' plain, an' mittle-aged, which are not in my opeenion objectionable, she had an uncommon bad temper. Yet she wass all her life influenced by the notion that half the young men o' the place wass wantin' to marry her! though the possibeelities in her case wass fery small." "I should like to 'ave know'd that old gurl!" whispered Tips to Quin. "Howld your tongue, ye spalpeen!" whispered his friend in reply. "Have you any idea, Captain, where we are now?" asked Jackman. "Oo ay, we're somewhere's wast'ard o' the Lewis. But whether wast, nor'-wast, or sooth-wast, I could not say preceesely. The nicht, ye see, wass uncommon dark, an' when the fog came doon i' the mornin', I could na' feel sure we had keep it the richt coorse, for the currents hereaboots are strang. But we'll see whan it comes clear." "Do you believe in presentiments, Giles?" asked Barret, in an unusually grave tone. "Of course I do," answered Jackman. "I have a presentiment just now that you are going to talk nonsense." Barret was not, however, to be silenced by his friend's jest. "Listen," he said, earnestly, as he rose and stood in an attitude of intense attention. "It may be imagination playing with the subjects of our recent conversation, but I cannot help thinking that I hear the beating of paddles." "Keep a sherp look-oot, Shames," cried the skipper, suddenly, as he went forward with unwonted alacrity. A few minutes more and the sound which had at first been distinguished only by Barret's sharp ear, became audible to all--the soft regular patting of a paddle-wheel steamer in the distance, yet clearly coming towards them. Presently a shrill sound, very faint but prolonged, was heard, showing that she was blowing her steam-whistle as a precaution. "Strange, is it not, that the very thing we have been talking about should happen?" said Mabberly. "Nay," returned Jackman, lightly, "we were talking about being run down, and we have not yet come to that." "The strangest thing of all to me," said Barret, "is that, with a wide ocean all round, vessels should ever run into each other at all, at least on the open sea, for there is only one line, a few feet wide, in favour of such an accident, whereas there are thousands of miles against it." Jackman, who was a great theorist, here propounded a reason for this. "If vessels would only hold straight on their courses, you see," he said, "the accident of collision would be exceedingly rare, for, although thousands of ships might pass near to each other, not one in ten thousand would meet; but when vessels come pretty near, their commanders sometimes become anxious, take fancies into their heads, as to each having forgotten the `rules of the road,' and each attempting to correct the other--as we do sometimes in the streets--they bring about the very disaster they are trying to avoid." "Had we not better ring the bell, Captain?" cried Mabberly, in rising excitement. "Oo ay, if you think so, sir. Ring, poy!" The boy, who was getting alarmed, seized the tongue of the ship's bell, and rang with all his might. Whether this had the effect to which Jackman had referred, we cannot tell, but next moment what appeared to be a mountain loomed out of the mist. The steam-whistle had been silent for some time, but as soon as the bell was heard it burst forth with increased fury. From the instant her form was dimly seen the fate of the yacht was sealed. There was a wild shouting on board the steamer, but there was no time for action. "Starboard hard!" was the cry. "Starboard it is!" was the immediate answer. But before the helm could act, the great rushing mass struck the _Fairy_ amidships, and literally cut her in two! The awful suddenness of a catastrophe, which those on board had just been arguing was all but impossible, seemed to have paralysed every one, for no one made the slightest effort to escape. Perhaps the appearance of the wall-like bow of the steamer, without rope or projection of any kind to lay hold of, or jump at, might have conveyed the swift perception that their case was hopeless. At all events, they all went under with the doomed yacht, and nothing was left in the wake of the leviathan but a track of foam on the mist-encumbered sea. But they were not lost! One after another the wrecked party rose struggling to the surface, and all of them could swim except the boy. Giles Jackman was the first who rose. Treading water and brushing the hair out of his eyes, he gazed wildly about. Barret came up close beside him, almost a moment later. He had barely taken breath, when the others rose at various distances. A cry not far from him caused him to turn. It was poor Robin Tips, struggling for life. A few powerful strokes carried Barret alongside. He got behind the boy, caught him under the armpits, and thus held him, at arm's length, until he could quiet him. "There is a spar, thank God! Make for it, Barret, while I see to Quin," shouted Jackman. As he spoke, they could hear the whistle of the steamer rushing away from them. Barret, forcing himself breast-high out of the water, glanced quickly round, and caught sight of the floating spar, to which his companion had referred. Although only a few yards off, the fog rendered it almost invisible. "Are you quiet now?" demanded Barret, in a stern voice, for the terrified boy still showed something like a hysterical determination to turn violently round, and grasp his rescuer in what would probably have turned out to be the grip of death. "Yes, sir, oh! yes. But d-don't let me go! M-mind, I can't swim!" "You are perfectly safe if you simply do nothing but what I tell you," returned Barret, in a quiet, ordinary tone of voice, that reassured the poor lad more than the words. By way of reply he suddenly became motionless, and as limp as a dead eel. Getting gradually on his back, and drawing Tips slowly on to his chest, so that he rested with his mouth upwards, and his head entirely out of the water, Barret struck out for the spar, swimming thus on his back. On reaching it, he found to his surprise that it was the experimental raft, and that the captain, Mabberly, and McGregor were already clinging to it. "Won't bear us all, I fear," said Mabberly; "but thank God that we have it. Put the boy on." In order to do this, Barret had to get upon the raft, and he found that it bore him easily as well as the boy. "Have you seen Jackman?" asked Mabberly. "Yes," replied Barret, rising and looking round. "Here he comes, towing Quin, I think, who seems to be stunned. Hallo! This way--hi! Giles!" But Giles suddenly ceased to swim, turned over on his back, and lay as if dead. "Rescue, Bob, rescue!" shouted Barret, plunging into the water. Mabberly followed, and soon had hold of Giles and his man by the hair. "All right!" said Jackman, turning round; "I was only taking a rest. No one lost, I hope?" "No; all safe, so far." "You can tow him in now. I'm almost used up," said Jackman, making for the raft. "He's only stunned, I think." It was found that the Irishman had in truth been only stunned when they lifted him on to the raft, for he soon began to show signs of returning life, and a large bump on his head sufficiently explained the nature of his injury. But when the whole party had cautiously clambered up on the raft it sank so deep that they scarcely dared to move. To make matters worse, they clearly distinguished the steamer's whistle going farther and farther away, as if she were searching for them in a wrong direction. This was indeed the case, and although they all shouted singly and together, the whistle grew fainter by degrees, and finally died away. With feelings approaching to despair, the crew of the frail raft began to talk of the prospect before them, when they were silenced by a slight movement in the mist. The white curtain was lifted for a few yards, and revealed to their almost incredulous eyes a rocky shore, backed by a range of precipitous cliffs, with a wild mountainous region beyond. As the sea was still perfectly calm, there was no surf. Our castaways, therefore, with the exception of Quin and the boy, quietly slipped into the water, and, with thankful hearts, propelled the raft vigorously towards the shore. CHAPTER THREE. THE WRECK IS FOLLOWED BY REPOSE, REFRESHMENT, SURPRISE, AND DISASTER. The distance from land was not more than a few hundred yards; nevertheless, it occupied a considerable time to pass over that space, the raft being ill-adapted for quick progression through the water. Close to the shore there was a flat rock, to which, as they approached it, their attention was drawn by the appearance of what seemed to be living creatures of some sort. Quin and Robin Tips, sitting on the raft, naturally saw them first. "I do belave it's men, for they're liftin' their hids an' lookin' at us. Av it was the South Says, now, I'd say they was saviges peepin' at us over the rocks." "P'raps they're boys a-bathin'," suggested Tips. "Are they white?" asked Captain McPherson, who, being chin-deep in the water and behind the raft, could not see the rock referred to. "No; sure they seem to be grey, or blue." "Oo, they'll be seals," returned the skipper, nasally--a tone which is eminently well adapted for sarcastic remark without the necessity of elaborate language. "In coorse they is," said Tips; "don't you see they're a-heavin' up their tails as well as their 'eads?" On advancing a few yards farther, all doubt upon the question was put at rest. The animals, of which about a dozen were enjoying themselves on the rock, raised themselves high on their flippers and gazed, with enormous eyes, at the strange-looking monster that was coming in from the sea! Thus they remained, apparently paralysed with astonishment, until the raft was within pistol-shot, and then, unable to endure the suspense longer, they all slipped off into the sea. A few minutes later and the raft struck on the shore. And well was it for the party that the weather chanced to be so fine, for if there had been anything like a breeze, their frail contrivance would inevitably have been dashed to pieces. Even a slight swell from the westward would have raised such a surf on that rugged shore that it would have been impossible for the best of swimmers to have landed without broken limbs, if not loss of life. As it was, they got ashore not only without difficulty, but even succeeded in hauling the raft up on the beach without much damage to its parts--though, of course, the unfortunate fowls in the hen-coops had all perished! While Mabberly and the others were engaged in securing the raft, Barret was sent off along shore with directions to ascertain whether there was any habitation near. To his right the high cliffs came down so close to the sea that it seemed very improbable that any cottage or hamlet could be found in that direction. He therefore turned towards the left, where the cliffs receded some distance from the shore, leaving a narrow strip of meadow land. Hurrying forward about a quarter of a mile, he stopped and looked about him. The sun was still high in the heavens--for the days are long and nights brief in that region during summer--and its rays had so far scattered the mists that all the low-lying land was clear, though the mountain-range inland was only visible a short distance above its base. The effect of this was to enhance the weird grandeur of the view, for when the eye had traced the steep glens, overhanging cliffs, rugged water-courses, and sombre corries upward to the point where all was lost in cloud, the imagination was set free to continue the scenery to illimitable heights. The youth was still gazing upward, with solemnised feelings, when there was presented to him one of those curious aspects of nature which are sometimes, though rarely, witnessed in mountainous regions. Suddenly an opening occurred in the clouds--or mist--which shrouded the mountain-tops, and the summit of a stupendous cliff bathed in rich sunshine, was seen as if floating in the air. Although obviously part of the mountain near the base of which he stood, this cliff--completely isolated as it was--seemed a magical effect, and destitute of any real connection with earth. While he was looking in wonder and admiration at the sight, he observed a bird hovering about motionless in the blue vault high above the cliffs. Although inexperienced in such scenery and sights, Barret knew well enough that nothing but an eagle--and that of the largest size-- could be visible at all at such a distance. Suddenly the bird sailed downwards with a grand circular sweep, and was lost among the shadows of the perpendicular rocks. A few minutes more and the mists drifted over the opening, causing the vision to disappear. This was Barret's first view of the Eagle Cliff, which was destined to exercise a powerful and lasting influence upon his fortunes! A few yards beyond this the explorer came upon a sheep track, and a little farther on he found one of those primitive roads which are formed in wild out-of-the-way places by the passage of light country carts, with the aid of a few rounded stones where holes required to be filled up, or soft places strengthened. Following it a short distance to a spot where it ran between a precipice and the shore, he came suddenly in sight of a wilderness of fallen rocks, which were varied in size from mere pebbles to masses the size of an omnibus. These had all fallen from a steep spur of the mountains which projected towards the sea of that place. The whole of the level land at the base of the spur was strewn with them; some being old, moss-covered and weather-worn, others fresh and sharp in outline, as if they had fallen only the previous winter, as probably they had, for the places from which they had been dislodged could be seen still fresh and light-coloured, nearly a thousand feet up on the riven cliffs. It was a species of desolation that powerfully recalled some scenes in Dante's "Inferno," and had a depressing effect on the youth's spirits, for nothing seemed more unlikely than the existence of a human habitation in such a place. A new view of the matter broke upon him, however, when he suddenly became aware that a spot in the confused scene which he had taken to be a clump of withered bracken was in reality a red cow! Looking a little more narrowly at objects he soon perceived a hut among the rocks. It was so small and rude and rugged as almost to escape detection. A furious barking soon told that he had been seen, and two collie dogs rushed towards him with demonstrations that threatened him with immolation on the spot. The uproar put life into a few more clumps of red bracken, and produced a lively display of sheep and cattle throughout the region. Barret walked straight up to the door of the hut, and the collies withdrew from the attack--as most noisy demonstrators do when treated with silent indifference. "Is there any one inside?" he asked of a bare-legged, shaggy-headed boy, who came out and gazed at him, apparently with his mouth as well as his eyes. "Na," answered the boy. "Any other cottages or houses near this?" "Ay; yonder." The boy pointed in the direction of the sea, where, in a stony nook between two jutting masses of rock, nestled about a dozen huts built of boulder stones gathered from the sea-shore. So small were these huts, and so stupendous the rocks around them, that they might easily have been overlooked by a careless eye. So might the half-dozen fishing-boats that lay in the little cove beside them. A stream or rivulet--better known in Scotland as a burn--ran past the hamlet, formed a pool just below it, and dropped into the cove close to the place where the boats lay. Rejoiced to find even the poorest kind of shelter in such a place, Barret hastened down to the cove, and, tapping at the door of the largest of the cottages, was bidden "come in" by a soft voice. Entering, he was surprised to find a neatly, though plainly, furnished room, which was evidently the kitchen of the house--indeed, the sole room, with the exception of an off-shoot closet. The large open fireplace contained a peat fire on the hearth, over which hung a bubbling pot. There were two box-beds opposite the fire, and in the wall which faced the door there was a very small window, containing four panes of glass, each of which had a knot in the middle of it. One of them also presented the phenomenon of a flattened nose, for the boy with the ragged head had rushed down and stationed himself there to observe the result of the unexpected and singular visit. Beside the window, in a homely arm-chair, sat an invalid girl with pale thin cheeks, bright blue eyes, and long flaxen hair. If not pretty, she was, at all events, extremely interesting, and possessed the great charm of a winning smile. Apologising for causing her alarm by his damp, dishevelled, and sudden appearance, Barret asked if there were any men about the place. No, there were none there at the moment; most of them being out after the sheep and cattle, and some gathering peat, or away in the boats. "But surely they have not left you all by yourself?" said Barret, struck not only by the appearance of the girl, but by the comparative refinement of her language. "Oh no!" she replied, with a slight smile; "they look well after me. Mrs Anderson has only gone to fetch some peats. But where have you come from, sir? Your clothes are all wet!" "You are right. I have just been saved from drowning, through God's mercy, along with my companions." Here Barret gave her a brief outline of the recent disaster, and then asked if Mrs Anderson was her mother. "No; she is my aunt, but she is very good to me; takes as much care of me as if I was her own daughter. I don't belong to this place. They have sent me here for my health." At this point they were interrupted by Mrs Anderson herself, who entered with a load of peat, which she flung down, shook her fist at the nose-flattener outside, and turned in astonishment to her visitor. Of course our shipwrecked friend had to retail his story to the woman, and then learned from her that the island was a very large one, with a name unpronounceable by English lips, that it was very thinly inhabited, that it consisted almost entirely of pasture land, and that "the laird" owned a large portion of it, including the little fishing village of "Cove." While the woman was speaking an elderly man entered, whom she introduced as her husband Ian. To him Barret had to re-repeat his story, and then asked if he and his friends could obtain shelter in the village for the night. "Iss it shelter ye'll be wantin'? Ye'll hev that an' welcome, though it will be of the poorest. But in the mornin' ye'll gang up to the hoose, for the laird wud be ill-pleased if we keepit ye here." "Pray, who is this laird?" asked Barret; "your wife has already mentioned him." "Maister Gordon is his name. He lives near the heed o' Loch Lossie. It iss over eight mile from here," said Ian; "an' a coot shentleman he iss, too. Fery fond o' company, though it iss not much company that comes this way, for the steam-poats don't veesit the loch reg'lar or often. He'll be fery glad to see you, sir, an' to help ye to git home. But we'd petter be goin' to tell your freen's that we can putt them up for the nicht. I'll go pack with ye, an we'll take the poy to help an' carry up their things." "You forget that we have been wrecked," returned Barret with a laugh, "and have no `things' to carry, except our own damp carcases." "That's true, sir, but we'll be none the worse o' the poy, what-e-ver. Come away, Tonal'," said Ian, as they started back along the shore. "It iss under the Eagle Cliff where ye came to laund, I make no doot?" "Well, I suppose it was; at least, there is a range of cliffs close to the place where our raft struck." "Oo ay--but it iss not the wee precipices, it iss the big hull behind them that we ca' the Eagle Cliff." "Oh, indeed! I saw that cliff in a peculiar manner as I came along," said Barret giving a description of the scene. "Ay; it iss sometimes seen like that," said Ian; "an' we often see the eagle, but it's no' possible to git a shot at that crater. The laird is real keen to bring it doon, for it plays the mischief among the lambs, an' him an' his freen's hes aften tried, but they hev not manicht it yet." Thus chatting they soon reached the raft, and found the disconsolate party waiting impatiently for them. "Shall we leave it where it lies, or drag it further up on the beach?" asked Mabberly, referring to the raft. "Ye petter haul it a wee higher up," said Ian, examining the machine with much interest; "for when it comes on to plow there's a heavy sea here. Weel, weel, but it iss a strange contrivance!" "Ay; an' also a useful one," said the skipper, drily--at least as duly as was possible in the circumstance. "Noo, shentlemen, I think we had petter be goin'." It was indeed time, for although the weather was warm and fine, the sun had set, and their damp garments began to feel uncomfortable. At the Cove the whole party was accommodated in a single-roomed hut, which chanced to be empty at the time. Here the hospitable fishermen spread nets for bedding, and with plaids made up for the lack of blankets. They also kindled a large peat fire, and put on a pot of potatoes, and some splendid sea-trout, while Mrs Anderson prepared oat-cakes at her own fire, and sent them in as required. "Noo, shentlemen, ye'll tak a tram?" said Ian, producing a black bottle. Immeasurable was the astonishment of the Highlander when the gentlemen refused a dram. "But--but, ye'll catch yer death o' cauld, if ye don't!" he said, remonstratively, as he stood bottle and glass in hand. "Thanks, friend," replied Jackman, "but we have taken in so much salt water during our swim to land that we are not sure whether the whisky would agree with it." "Hoots! havers!" exclaimed Ian, pouring out some of the liquid; "ye're jokin'." "In truth we are not, then," said Mabberly; "for we are all total abstainers." "Nonsense!" exclaimed Ian, who could not understand the principles or feelings of men who, after a long exhausting swim in their clothes, were capable of refusing whisky! For it is to be remembered that, although the time we write of is comparatively recent, that remote island had not been visited by any apostle of temperance or total abstinence in regard to alcohol. Of course Ian had heard something of such principles, but he did not believe in them, and certainly did not practise them. "Hooiver, shentlemen," he added, "if ye wunna tak it--here's wushin' your fery coot health!" Raising the glass, he drained it without winking, as if the contents had been water, smacked his lips and put the bottle away. It must not be supposed that all the crew of the late unfortunate _Fairy_ witnessed this proceeding unmoved, for, although they had all been engaged on the understanding that no strong drink was to be allowed or consumed while the voyage lasted, not one of them was a pledged abstainer, and now that the voyage was ended it did seem as if the laws of the voyage should no longer be binding. Still there remained a feeling that, as long as they continued a united party, the spirit of the agreement should not be broken; therefore the skipper and "Shames" let the bottle pass with a sigh, and Quin followed suit with an undertoned remark to Tips that, "he wouldn't have belaved tim'tation to be so strong av he hadn't wrastled wid it!" By that time most of the men of the hamlet had returned, and a rig out of fisher clothes was lent to each of the unfortunates, so that they were enabled to pass the night in comfort while their own garments were in front of a good fire. "Is that sick girl your daughter, Ian?" asked Giles Jackman that night, as he walked on the shore with his host before retiring to rest. "No, sir; she's a niece--the daughter of a brother o' mine who hes feathered his nest petter than me. He's a well-to-do grocer in Oban, an' hes geen his bairn a pretty good edication; but it's my opeenion they hev all but killed her wi' their edication, for the doctor has telt them to stop it altogither, an' send her here for a change o' air." "Indeed! An interesting child, and so well-mannered, too," remarked Jackman. "Humph! Nae doot she is. They do say that it's because my brither has gotten an English wife. But for my pairt, oor weemen seem to me to be as weel mainered as the weemen sooth o' the Tweed." "Quite as well, I doubt not; though I have not seen much of your countrywomen, Ian. Besides, good manners are to be judged by varying standards. What is good in the opinion of the Eskimo may be thought very bad by the Hindoo, and _vice versa_. It is very much a matter of taste. The manners of your niece, at all events, are admirable. Now it is time to turn in. Good-night, Ian." The sun was high next morning when the wrecked men awoke, and began to feel the outcries of nature with reference to breakfast. Long before that time the men of Cove had gone off to the hills, the peat-hags, or the sea, according to their respective callings. But Mrs Anderson had a sumptuous breakfast of oatmeal porridge and fresh milk ready for the strangers. "Musha! but it'll make me mouth wather all the afthernoon thinkin' of it," said Quin, on finishing his second plateful. "It's prime wittles," remarked Tips, as he helped himself to more. "Now, Barret, have you finished?" asked Mabberly. "No; why?" "Because, in the first place, you are evidently eating too much for your health, and, in the second place, I want you to go up to what Ian calls the Hoose, as a deputation to the laird. You see, although we are forced, as it were, to throw ourselves on his hospitality, I don't quite like to descend on him all at once with the whole strength of our party. It will be better for one of us to break the ice, and as you are the best-looking and most hypocritically urbane, when you choose, I think we could not do better than devolve the duty upon you." "Right, Bob, as usual; but don't you think," said Barret, helping himself to another ladleful of the porridge, "that my going may cut in two directions? Doubtless the laird would be agreeably surprised to meet with me; but then that will raise his expectations so high, that he will be woefully disappointed on meeting with _you_!" "Come, friends," cried Jackman, "it is dangerous to play with edged tools immediately after a meal. My medical knowledge assures me of that. I quite approve of Barret forming the deputation, and the sooner he starts off the better. The rest of us will assist Ian to fish in his absence." Thus authorised and admonished, Barret finished breakfast, put on his own garments--which, like those of his companions, were semi-nautical-- and sallied forth for an eight miles' walk over the mountains to the mansion of the laird, which lay on the other side of the Eagle's Cliff ridge, on the shores of Loch Lossie. He was guided the first part of the journey by Tonal' with the ragged head, who, with an activity that seemed inexhaustible, led him up into wild and rugged places such as he had never before dreamed of--rocky fastnesses which, looked at from below, seemed inaccessible, even to goats, but which, on being attempted, proved to be by no means beyond the powers of a steady head and strong limbs. Reaching the summit of a heather-clad knoll that projected from a precipitous part of the mountain-side, Barret paused to recover breath and look back at the calm sea. It lay stretched out far below him, looking, with its numerous islets in bird's-eye view, somewhat like a map. The mists had completely cleared away, and the sun was glittering on the white expanse like a line of light from the shore to the horizon. Never before had our Englishman felt so like a bird, both as to the point of vision from which he surveyed the glorious scene, and the internal sensation of joy which induced him not only to wish that he could fly, but to think that a very little more of such exultation of spirit would enable him to do so! "Is that the Cove down there?" he asked of the ragged companion who stood beside him. "Ay, that's the Cove!" "Why, Donald, it looks like a mere speck in the scene from here, and the men look no bigger than crows." As this observation called for no answer none was given, and Donald seemed to regard his companion as one who was rather weak-minded. "Have we come half-way yet, Donald?" "No--no' near." "Is it difficult to find the rest of the way from this point?" "No; but it wad be diffeecult to miss it." "Well, Donald, my boy, I have a strong desire to be alone--that is, to try if I cannot go the rest of the way without guidance; so, if you will just give me a little direction, I'll let you go home, and many thanks for coming thus far. Now, point out the landmarks." He turned, as he spoke, towards the grand mountain that still towered behind him. "There's naethin' t' pint oot," returned the boy; "ye've only t' haud on by this sheep track till ee come close under the cliff yonder." "The Eagle Cliff?" "Ay. It'll bring ee to a cairt road, an' ye've only to follow that through the pass, an' haud on till ee come to the hoose. Ye can see the hoose frae the other side o' the pass." "And what is the `hoose' called?" asked Barret. "Kinlossie." "Thank you. Good-bye, my boy." A few coppers sent the youth of the ragged head away in high spirits. The young man watched him till he was concealed by a clump of small birch trees that hung like a fringe on the top of a neighbouring precipice. Barret had just turned to continue the ascent to the Eagle Cliff, whose frowning battlements still rose high above him, when a wild shout from the boy made him turn and look anxiously back. The place which he had reached was strewn with great masses of rock that had fallen from the cliffs. He was about to clamber on to one of these, in order to obtain a better view, when the cause of the shout became obvious. A splendid stag, frightened from its lair by the boy, burst from the birchwood, and, with antlers laid well back, bounded up the slope towards him. It was closely followed by two does. Barret crouched at once behind the mass of rock. The deer, thinking, doubtless, only of the danger behind, had failed to observe him. "Oh for Giles, with his rifle!" thought the youth, as the agile creatures passed within less than a hundred yards of him, and headed straight for the pass of the Eagle Cliff. Scarcely had the thought occurred, when a flapping noise behind caused him to turn quickly. It was the eagle himself, sailing majestically and slowly overhead, as though he knew full well that an Englishman without a gun was a harmless creature! Considerably excited by these unexpected and, to him, stirring sights, Barret pushed steadily upward, and soon reached a part of the pass whence he could see the valley beyond, with a house in the far distance--which, of course, must be Kinlossie--standing in a clump of wood on the margin of an inlet of the sea, known by the name of Loch Lossie. But a far more astonishing sight than anything he had beheld that morning was yet in store for Barret. On turning round a projecting rock at the foot of the Eagle Cliff, he suddenly came upon a young girl, lying on the road as if dead! Springing towards her, he knelt and raised her head. There was no blood upon the face, which was deadly pale, and no apparent injury. She did not seem to breathe, but on feeling her pulse he fancied that he felt a flutter there. A feeling of desperate regret passed through him as he thought of his utter destitution alike of medical or surgical knowledge. But Barret was not by any means a helpless man. Running to one of the many streams of water which trickled from the cliff, he filled the top of his wideawake therewith, and, returning, laved the girl's face, and poured a little into her mouth. His efforts were successful. She recovered consciousness, opened her eyes, and asked, with a confused look, what was the matter. "You must have had a fall, dear child; but you'll be better presently. Let me raise you." The girl tried to rise, but, with a sharp cry of pain, fell back again unconscious. Barret soon ascertained that one of the poor girl's arms was severely bruised, perhaps broken. He knew not what to do, but he knew that the greatest present evil was delay. He therefore wrapped her in the shepherd's plaid which she wore, and raised her as gently as possible in his arms--making use of the plaid as a sort of sling, with part of it round his own neck. Then, thanking God for the strong limbs and muscles with which he had been endowed, he set off with vigorous tread for Kinlossie House. CHAPTER FOUR. THE FAMILY AT KINLOSSIE. Serenity was the prevailing feature in the character of old Allan Gordon, the laird of Kinlossie; but when that amiable, portly, grand, silver-headed old gentleman suddenly met an unknown young man of fine proportions carrying his favourite niece, wrapped up as a bundle in his arms, all his serenity disappeared, and he stared, glared, almost gasped, with mingled astonishment and consternation. A very brief explanation, however, quickly sufficed to charge his susceptible spirit to overflowing with a compound of grave anxiety and heartfelt gratitude. "Come in, my dear sir, come in; luckily our doctor is spending the day with me. But for you, my poor dear Milly might have been--This way, to her own room. Are you sure the arm is broken?" "I fear so," replied Barret, entering the mansion; but before he could proceed farther his words were drowned in a shriek of surprise from four little Gordons, aged from sixteen to four, who yelled rather than demanded to know what ailed their cousin--ranging from Archie's, "What's wrong with Cousin Milly," to Flora's, "Wass wong wid Cuzn Miwy?" By that time Mrs Gordon, a pleasant-voiced lady, with benignity in her, looks, appeared on the scene, followed quickly by a man and several maid servants, all of whom added to the confusion, in the midst of which Cousin Milly was conveyed to her room and deposited on her bed. The family doctor, a rotund little man of fifty-five, was speedily in attendance. "So fortunate that the doctor happens to be here," said the laird, as he led Barret to the library and offered him a glass of wine. "No! you don't drink? Well, well, as you please. Here, Duncan, fetch milk, lemonade, coffee, hot, at once. You must be tired after carrying her so far, even though she _is_ a light weight. But, forgive me; in my anxiety about my poor niece I have quite forgotten to ask either your name or how you came here, for no steamer has been to the island for a week past. Pray be seated, and, wherever you may be bound for ultimately, make up your mind that my house is to be your home for a week at least. We suffer no visitor ever to leave us under that period." "You are very kind," returned the young man, smiling, "and I accept your proffered hospitality most gladly. My name is John Barret. I came to the other side of the island in a yacht, and swam on shore in my clothes with six companions, spent the night at Cove, and have walked over here to make known these facts to you." "You speak in riddles, my young friend," returned the laird, with an amused look. "Yet I speak the truth," returned Barret, who thereupon gave a circumstantial account of the disaster that had befallen himself and his friends. "Excuse me," said Mr Gordon, rising; throwing up the window he shouted to a man who was passing at the moment, "Roderick, get the big waggonette ready to go to Cove, and bring it round here as fast as you can. You see," he added to Barret, "the road is considerably longer than the short cut by which you came, and we must have them all over here without delay. Don't distress yourself about room. We have plenty of accommodation. But come, I'll take you to your own room, and when you have made yourself comfortable, we will talk over your future plans. Just let me say, however, to prevent your mind running away on wrong ideas, that in the circumstances we won't allow you to leave us for two months. The post goes out to-morrow, so you can write to your father and tell him so." Thus running on in a rich hearty voice, the hospitable Allan Gordon conducted Barret to a room in the southern wing of the rambling old edifice, and left him there to meditate on his good fortune, and enjoy the magnificent prospect of the island-studded firth, or fiord, from which the mansion derived its name. While the waggonette was away for the rest of the wrecked party, the laird, finding that Milly's arm was not actually broken, though severely bruised, sat down to lunch with restored equanimity, and afterwards drove Barret in his dog-cart to various parts of his estate. "Your friends cannot arrive for several hours, you see," he said on starting, "and we don't dine till seven; so you could not be better engaged than in making acquaintance with the localities of our beautiful island. It may seem a little wild to you in its scenery, but there are thousands of picturesque points, and what painters call `bits' about it, as my sweet little Milly Moss will tell you when she recovers; for she is an enthusiastic painter, and has made innumerable drawings, both in water-colour and oils, since she came to stay here. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you, Mr Barret, for rescuing the poor girl from her perilous position." "I count myself fortunate indeed in having been led to the spot so opportunely," said Barret; "and I sincerely hope that no evil effects may result from her injuries. May I ask if she resides permanently with you at Kinlossie?" "I wish she did," said the laird, fervently; "for she is like a sunbeam in the house. No, we have only got the loan of her, on very strict conditions too, from her mother, who is a somewhat timid lady of an anxious temperament. I've done my best to fulfil the conditions, but they are not easy." "Indeed! How is that?" "Well, you see, my sister is firmly convinced that there is deadly danger in wet feet, and one of her conditions is that Milly is not to be allowed to wet her feet. Now you know it is not easy for a Londoner to understand the difficulty of keeping one's feet dry while skipping over the mountains and peat-hags of the Western Isles." "From which I conclude that Mrs Moss is a Londoner," returned Barret, with a laugh. "She is. Although a Gordon, and born in the Argyll Highlands, she was sent to school in London, where she was married at the age of seventeen, and has lived there ever since. Her husband is dead, and nothing that I have been able to say has yet tempted her to pay me a visit. She regards my home here as a wild, uninhabitable region, though she has never seen it, and besides, is getting too old and feeble to venture, as she says, on a long voyage. Certes, she is not yet feeble in mind, whatever she may be in body; but she's a good, amiable, affectionate woman, and I have no fault to find with her, except in regard to her severe conditions about Milly, and her anxiety to get her home again. After all, it is not to be wondered at, for Milly is her only child; and I am quite sure if I had not gone to London, and made all sorts of promises to be extremely careful of Milly and personally take her home again, she never would have let her come at all. See, there is one of Milly's favourite views," said the laird, pulling up, and pointing with his whip to the scene in front, where a range of purple hills formed a fine background to the loch, with its foreground of tangle-covered stones; "she revels in depicting that sort of thing." Barret, after expressing his thorough approval of the young girl's taste in the matter of scenery, asked if Milly's delicate health was the cause of her mother's anxiety. "Delicate health!" exclaimed the laird. "Why, man, sylph-like though she appears, she has got the health of an Amazon. No, no, there's nothing wrong with my niece, save in the imagination of my sister. We will stop at this cottage for a few minutes. I want to see one of my men, who is not very well." He pulled up at the door of a little stone hut by the roadside, which possessed only one small window and one chimney, the top of which consisted of an old cask, with the two ends knocked out. A bare-legged boy ran out of the hut to hold the horse. "Is your brother better to-day?" asked the laird. "No, sir; he's jist the same." "Mind your head," said the laird, as he stooped to pass the low doorway, and led his friend into the hut. The interior consisted of one extremely dirty room, in which the confined air was further vitiated by tobacco smoke, and the fumes of whisky. One entire side of it was occupied by two box-beds, in one of which lay a brawny, broad-shouldered man, with fiery red hair and scarcely less fiery red eyes, which seemed to glare out of the dark den in which he lay. "Well, Ivor, are ye not better to-day, man?" There was a sternness in Mr Gordon's query, which not only surprised but grieved his young companion; and the surprise was increased when the sick man replied in a surly tone-- "Na, laird, I'm not better; an' what's more, I'll not be better till my heed's under the sod." "I'm afraid you are right, Ivor," returned the laird, in a somewhat softer tone; "for when a man won't help himself, no one else can help him." "Help myself!" exclaimed the man, starting up on one elbow, and gazing fiercely from under his shaggy brows. "Help myself!" he repeated. And then, as if resolving suddenly to say no more, he sank down and laid his head on the pillow, with a short groan. "Here, Ivor, is a bottle o' physic that my wife sends to ye," said Mr Gordon, pulling a pint bottle from his pocket, and handing it to the man, who clutched it eagerly, and was raising it to his mouth when his visitor arrested his hand. "Hoot, man," he said, with a short laugh, "it's not whisky! She bid me say ye were to take only half a glass at a time, every two hours." "Poor't oot, then, laird--poor't oot," said the man, impatiently. "Ye'll fin' a glass i' the wundy." Fetching a wine-glass from the window Mr Gordon half filled it with a liquid of a dark brown colour, which the sick man quaffed with almost fierce satisfaction, and then lay down with a sigh. "It seems to have done ye good already, man," said the laird, putting the bottle and glass on that convenient shelf--the window-sill. "I've no idea what the physic is, but my good wife seems to know, and that's enough for me; and for you, too, I think." "Ay, she's a good wumin. Thank her for me," responded Ivor. Remounting the dog-cart the old gentleman explained, as they drove along, that Ivor Donaldson's illness was the result of intemperance. "He is my gamekeeper," said the laird; "and there is not a better or more trustworthy man in the island, when he is sober; but when he takes one of his drinking fits, he seems to lose all control over himself, and goes from bad to worse, till a fit of _delirium tremens_ almost kills him. He usually goes for a good while after that without touching a drop, and at such times he is a most respectful, painstaking man, willing to take any amount of trouble to serve one, but when he breaks down he is as bad as ever--nay, even worse. My wife and I have done what we could for him, and have tried to get him to take the temperance pledge, but hitherto without avail. My wife has even gone the length of becoming a total abstainer, in order to have more influence over him; but I don't quite see my way to do that myself." "Then _you_ have not yet done all that you could for the man, though your wife has," thought Barret; but he did not venture to say so. At this point in the conversation they reached a place where the road left the shores of the loch and ascended into the hills. Being rather steep at its lower end, they alighted and walked; the laird pointing out, as they ascended, features in the landscape which he thought would interest his young guest. "Yonder," he said, pointing to a wood on the opposite side of the valley, "yonder is a good piece of cover for deer. The last time we had a drive there we got three, one o' them a stag with very fine antlers. It was there that a young friend of mine, who was not much accustomed to sporting, shot a red cow in mistake for a deer! The same friend knocked over five or six of my tame ducks, under the impression that they were wild ones, because he found them among the heather! Are you fond of sport?" "Not particularly," answered Barret; "that is, I am not personally much of a sportsman, though I have great enjoyment in going out with my sporting friends and watching their proceedings. My own tastes are rather scientific. I am a student of natural history--a botanist and geologist--though I lay no claim to extensive knowledge of science." "Ah! my young friend, then you will find a powerful sympathiser in my niece Milly--that is, when the poor child gets well--for she is half mad on botany. Although only two weeks have passed since she came to us, she has almost filled her room with specimens of what she calls rare plants. I sometimes tease her by saying it is fortunate that bracken does not come under that head, else she'd pull it all up and leave no cover for the poor rabbits. She has also half-filled several huge books with gummed-in specimens innumerable, though I can't see that she does more than write their names below them." "And that is no small advance in the science, let me tell you," returned Barret, who was stirred up to defend his co-scientist. "No one can succeed in anything who does not take the first steps, and undergo the drudgery manfully." "Womanfully, in this case, my friend; but do not imagine that I underrate my little niece. My remark was to the effect that I do not see that she _does_ more, though I have no manner of doubt that her pretty little head _thinks_ a great deal more. Now we will get up here, as the road is more level for a bit. D'you see the group of alders down in the hollow yonder, where the little stream that runs through the valley takes a sudden bend? There's a deep pool there, where a good many sea-trout congregate. You shall try it soon--that is, if you care for fishing." "Oh, yes, I like fishing," said Barret. "It is a quiet, contemplative kind of sport." "Contemplative!" exclaimed the old gentleman with a laugh; "well, yes, it is, a little. Sometimes you get down into the bed of the stream with considerable difficulty, and you have to contemplate the banks a long time, occasionally, before deciding as to which precipice is least likely to give you a broken neck. Yes, it is a contemplative sport. As to quiet, that depends very much on what your idea of quietude may be. Our burn descends for two or three miles in succession of leaps and bounds. If the roaring of cataracts is quieting to you, there is no end of it down there. See, the pool that I speak of is partly visible now, with the waterfall above it. You see it?" "Yes, I see it." "We call it Mac's pool," continued the laird, driving on, "because it is a favourite pool of an old school companion of mine, named MacRummle, who is staying with us just now. He tumbles into it about once a week." "Is that considered a necessary part of the process of fishing?" asked Barret. "No, it may rather be regarded as an eccentric addition peculiar to MacRummle. The fact is, that my good friend is rather too old to fish now; but his spirit is still so juvenile, and his sporting instincts are so keen, that he is continually running into dangerous positions and getting into scrapes. Fortunately he is very punctual in returning to meals; so if he fails to appear at the right time, I send off one of my men to look for him. I have offered him a boy as an attendant, but he prefers to be alone." "There seems to be some one down at the pool now," remarked Barret, looking back. "No doubt it is MacRummle himself," said the laird, pulling up. "Ay, and he seems to be making signals to us." "Shall I run down and see what he wants?" asked Barret. "Do; you are active, and your legs are strong. It will do you good to scramble a little." Leaping the ditch that skirted the road, the youth soon crossed the belt of furze and heather that lay between him and the river, about which he and his host had been conversing. Being unaccustomed to the nature of the Western Isles, he was a little surprised to find the country he had to cross extremely rugged and broken, and it taxed all the activity for which the laird had given him credit, as well as his strength of limb, to leap some of the peat-hags and water-courses that came in his way. He was too proud of his youthful vigour to pick his steps round them! Only once did he make a slip in his kangaroo-like bounds, but that slip landed him knee-deep in a bog of brown mud, out of which he dragged his legs with difficulty. Gaining the bank of the river at last, he soon came up to the fisher, who was of sturdy build, though somewhat frail from age, and dressed in brown tweed garments, with a dirty white wideawake, the crown of which was richly decorated with casting-lines and hooks, ranging from small brown hackle to salmon-fly. But the striking thing about him was that his whole person was soaking wet. Water dripped from the pockets of his shooting coat, dribbled from the battered brim of his wideawake, and, flowing from his straightened locks, trickled off the end of his Roman nose. "You have been in the water, I fear," said Barret, in a tone of pity. "And you have been in the mud, young man," said the fisher, in a tone of good-humoured sarcasm. The youth burst into a laugh at this, and the old fisherman's mouth expanded into a broad grin, which betrayed the fact that age had failed to damage his teeth, though it had played some havoc with his legs. "These are what I style Highland boots," said the old man, pointing to the muddy legs. "Indeed!" returned Barret. "Well, you see I have put them on at once, for I have only arrived a few hours since. My name is Barret. I believe I have the pleasure of addressing Mr MacRummle?" "You have that pleasure, Mr Barret; and now, if you will do me the kindness to carry my rod and basket, I will lead you back to the dog-cart by a path which will not necessitate an additional pair of native boots! I would not have hailed you, but having tumbled into the river, as you see, I thought it would be more prudent to get driven home as quickly as possible." "You have a good basket of fish, I see, or rather, feel," remarked Barret, as he followed the old man, who walked rather slowly, for his physical strength was not equal to his spirits. "Ay, it is not so bad; but I lost the best one. Fishers always do, you know! He was a grilse, a six-pounder at the least, if he was an ounce, for I had him within an inch of my gaff when I overbalanced myself, and shot into the stream head foremost with such force, that I verily believe I drove him to the very bottom of the pool. Strange to say the rod was not broken; but when I scrambled ashore, I found that the grilse was gone!" "How unfortunate! You were not hurt, I hope?" "Not in the least. There was plenty of depth for a dive; besides, I'm used to it." It became quite evident to John Barret that his new friend was "used to" a good many more things besides tumbling into the river, for as they went slowly along the winding footpath that led them through the peat-hags, MacRummle tripped over a variety of stumps, roots, and other excrescences which presented themselves in the track, and which on several occasions brought him to the ground. The old gentleman, however, had a fine facility in falling. Being slow in all his movements, he usually subsided rather than fell; a result, perhaps, of laziness as well as of unwillingness to struggle against fate. His frequent staggerings, also, on the verge of dark peat holes, caused his companion many a shock of alarm and many a start forward to prevent a catastrophe, before they gained the high road. They reached it at last, however, rather breathless, but safe. MacRummle's speech, like his movements, was slow. His personal courage, considering the dangers he constantly and voluntarily encountered, was great. "You've been in again, Mac, I see," exclaimed the laird heartily, extending his hand to his old friend with the view of hauling him up on the seat beside him. "Mind the step. Now then!" "Yes, I've been in, but the weather is warm! Stop, stop! Don't pull quite so hard, Allan; mind my rheumatic shoulder. Give a shove behind, Mr Barret--gently--there. Thankee." The old man sat down with something of a crash beside his friend. Barret handed him his rod, put the basket under his feet, and sprang up on the seat behind. Returning at a swift pace by the road they had come, they soon reached Kinlossie, where the laird drove into the back yard, so as to deliver the still dripping MacRummle at the back door, and thus prevent his leaving a moist track from the front hall to his bedroom. Having got rid of him, and given the dog-cart in charge to the groom, Mr Gordon led his young friend round to the front of the house. "I see your friends have already arrived," said the laird, pointing to the waggonette which stood in the yard. "No doubt we shall find them about somewhere." They turned the corner of the mansion as he spoke, and certainly did come on Barret's friends, in circumstances, however, which seemed quite unaccountable at first sight, for there, in front of the open door, were not only Bob Mabberly, Giles Jackman, Skipper McPherson, James McGregor, Pat Quin, and Robin Tips, but also Mrs Gordon, the two boy Gordons-- named respectively, Eddie and Junkie--Duncan, the butler, and little Flora, with a black wooden doll in her arms, all standing in more or less awkward attitudes, motionless and staring straight before them as if petrified with surprise or some kindred feeling. Barret looked at his host with a slight elevation of his eyebrows. "Hush!" said the laird, softly, holding up a finger of caution. "My boy Archie is behind that laurel bush. He's photographing them!" "That'll do," in a loud voice from Archie, disenchanted the party; and while the operator rushed off to his "dark closet," the laird hurried forward to be introduced to the new arrivals, and give them hospitable greeting. That evening the host and his wife entertained their guests to a genuine Highland feast in the trophied hall, and at a somewhat later hour Duncan, the butler, and Elsie, the cook, assisted by Roderick, the groom, and Mary, the housemaid, held their share of high revelry in the kitchen, with Quin, Tips, and "Shames" McGregor. "You have come to the right place for sport, gentlemen," said the laird, as he carved with vigour at a splendid haunch of venison. "In their seasons we have deer and grouse on the hills; rabbits, hares, partridges, and pheasants on the low grounds. What'll you have, Mr Mabberly? My dear, what have you got there?" "Pigeon pie," answered Mrs Gordon. "Mac, that will suit your taste, I know," cried the host with a laugh. "Yes, it will," slowly returned MacRummle, whose ruddy face and smooth bald head seemed to glow with satisfaction now that he had got into dry garments. "Yes, I'm almost as fond of pie as my old friend Robinson used to be. He was so fond of it that, strange though it may seem to you, gentlemen, he had a curious predilection for pie-bald horses." "Come, now, Mac, don't begin upon your friend Robinson till after dinner." "Has Archie's photography turned out well?" asked Mabberly at this point. "I do a little in that way myself, and am interested as to the result of his efforts to-day." "We cannot know that before to-morrow, I fear," replied Mrs Gordon. "Did I hear you ask about Archie's work, Mabberly?" said the laird, interrupting. "Oh! it'll turn out well, I have no doubt. He does everything well. In fact, all the boys are smartish fellows; a little self-willed and noisy, perhaps, like all boys, but--" A tremendous crash in the room above, which was the nursery, caused the laird to drop his knife and fork and quickly leave the room, with a look of anxiety, for he was a tender-hearted, excitable man; while his quiet and delicate-looking wife sat still, with a look of serenity not unmingled with humour. "Something overturned, I suppose," she remarked. In a few minutes her husband returned with a bland smile. "Yes," he said, resuming his knife and fork; "it was Junkie, as usual, fighting with Flo for the black doll. No mischief would have followed, I daresay, but Archie and Eddie joined in the scrimmage, and between them they managed to upset the table. I found them wallowing in a sea of porridge and milk--that was all!" CHAPTER FIVE. PLANS, PROSPECTS, AND A GREAT FIGHT. There is something very enjoyable in awaking in a strange bedroom with a feeling of physical strength and abounding health about one, with a glorious, early sunbeam irradiating the room--especially if it does not shine upon one's face--with a window opposite, through which you can see a mountain rising through the morning mists, until its summit appears to claim kindred with the skies, and with the consciousness that work is over for a time, and recreation is the order of the day. Some such thoughts and feelings caused John Barret to smile as he lay flat on his back, the morning after his arrival, with his hands under his head, surveying the low-roofed but cosy apartment which had been allotted to him in the mansion of Kinlossie. But the smile gave place to a grave, earnest expression as his eyes fell upon a framed card, on which was printed, in scarlet and blue and gold, "The earth is the Lords and the fulness thereof." "So it is," thought the youth; "and my power to enjoy it comes from the Lord--my health, my strength, myself. Yet how seldom do I thank Him for the mere fact of a happy existence. God forgive me!" Although Barret thus condemned himself, we would not have it supposed that he had been a careless unbeliever. His temperament was grave (not by any means gloomy) by nature, and a Christian mother's love and teaching had, before her early death, deepened his religious impressions. He was beginning to wonder whether it was Mrs Gordon who had hung the text there, and whether it had been executed by Milly Moss, when the "get up" gong sent forth a sonorous peal, causing him to bound out of bed. The act brought before his eyes another bed--a small one--in a corner of the room reminding him of what he had forgotten, that, the house being full to overflow by the recent accession of visitors, little Joseph, better known as Junkie, shared the room with him. Junkie was at the moment sleeping soundly, after the manner of the hedgehog--that is, curled up in the form of a ball. It was plain that neither dressing gongs nor breakfast-bells had any effect upon him, for he lay still in motionless slumber. "Hallo! Junkie, did you hear the gong?" said Barret, pushing the boy gently. But Junkie answered not, and he had to push him three or four times gently, and twice roughly, before he could awaken the youngster. Uncoiling himself and turning on the other side, Junkie heaved a deep sigh, and murmured,--"Leave m' 'lone." "Junkie! Junkie! you'll be late for breakfast," shouted Barret in his ear. "Don'--wan'--any--br'kf'st," murmured the boy. "Leave m' 'lone, I say-- or'll wallop you!" A laugh from Barret, and a still severer shake, roused the boy so far as to make him sit up and stare about him with almost supernatural solemnity. Then he yawned, rubbed his eyes, and smiled faintly. "Oh! it's _you_, is it?" he said. "I thought it was Eddie, and--" Another yawn checked his utterance. Then he suddenly jumped up, and began to haul on his clothes with surprising rapidity. It was evident that Junkie had a will of his own, and was accustomed to exert it on all occasions. He continued to dress, wash himself, brush his hair and his teeth, without speaking, and with such vigour that he soon distanced his companion in the race. True, he did not do everything thoroughly. He did not render his little hands immaculately clean. He did not remember that the secret places behind his ears required to be particularly attended to, and, in brushing operations, he totally forgot that he was possessed of back-hair. Indeed, it is just possible that he disbelieved that fact, for he neglected it entirely, insomuch that when he had completed the operation to his own entire satisfaction, several stiff and independent locks pointed straight to the sky, and two or three to the horizon. "That's a pretty text on the wall, Junkie," observed Barret, while the youngster was busy with the comb. "Yes, it's pretty." Barret wished to draw the boy out, but, like a tough piece of india-rubber, he refused to be drawn out. "It is beautifully painted. Who did it?" asked the youth, making another attempt. He had accidentally touched the right chord this time. It vibrated at once. Junkie looked up with sparkling eyes, and said that Milly did it. "She does everything beautifully," he added, as he brushed away at his forelock--a remarkably obstinate forelock, considering that it was the most highly favoured lock of his head. "You like Milly, I see," said his friend. "Of _course_ I do. Everybody does." "Indeed! Why does everybody like her so much?" "'Cause she's so nice," said Junkie, dropping his brush on the floor-- not accidentally, but as the easiest way of getting rid of it. "And she sometimes says that I'm good." "I'm glad to hear that, my boy, for if Milly says so it must be true." "No, it's _not_ true," returned the boy promptly, as he fastened his necktie in a complex knot, and thrust his arm through the wrong hole of his little vest. "Milly is mistaken, that's all. But I like her to say it, all the same. It feels jolly. But I'm bad--_awful_ bad! Everybody says so. Father says so, an' he must be right, you know, for he says he knows everything. Besides, I _feel_ it, an' I know it, an' I don't care!" Having given vent to this reckless statement, and wriggled into his jacket--the collar of which he left half down and half up--Junkie suddenly plumped down on his knees, laid his head on his bed, and remained perfectly still for the space of about one quarter of a minute. Then, jumping up with the pleased expression of one who felt that he had done his duty, he was about to rush from the room, when Barret stopped him. "I'm glad to see that you say your prayers, at all events," he said. "But I wouldn't say them if it wasn't for Milly," returned the urchin. "I do it to please her. An' I wash an' brush myself, an' all that, just 'cause she likes me to do it. I'd neither wash, nor pray, nor brush, nor anything, if it wasn't to please Milly--and mother," he added, after a moment's reflection. "I like _them_, an' I don't care a button for anybody else." "What! for nobody else at all?" "Well, yes, I forgot--I like Ivor, too." "Is that the sick gamekeeper, Junkie?" "Sick! no; he's the drunken keeper. Drunken Ivor, we call him--not to his face, you know. Wouldn't we catch it if we did that! But I'm fond of drunken Ivor, an' he's fond of me. He takes me out sometimes when he goes to shoot rabbits and fish. Sometimes he's awful fierce, but he's never fierce to his old mother that lives in the hut close behind his--'cept when he's drunk. D'ee know"--the boy lowered his voice at this point and looked solemn--"he very nearly killed his mother once, when he was drunk, you know, an' when he came sober he cried--oh, just as our Flo cries when she's bin whipped." At this point the breakfast-bell pealed forth with, so to speak, a species of clamorous enthusiasm by no means unusual in Scottish country mansions, as if it knew that there was spread out a breakfast worth ringing for. At the first sound of it, Junkie burst from the room, left the door wide open, clattered along the passage, singing, yelling vociferously as he went--and trundled downstairs like a retiring thunderstorm. The arrangements for the day at Kinlossie were usually fixed at the breakfast hour, if they had not been settled the night before. There was, therefore, a good deal to consult about during the progress of the meal. "You see, gentlemen," said the host, when the demands of nature were partially satisfied, "friends who come to stay with me are expected to select their occupations or amusements for the day as fancy or taste may lead them. My house is `liberty hall.' Sometimes we go together on the hills after grouse, at other times after red-deer. When the rivers are in order, we take our rods and break up into parties. When weather and wind are suitable, some go boating and sea-fishing. Others go sketching or botanising. If the weather should become wet, you will find a library next to this room, a billiard-table in the west wing, and a smoking-room--which is also a rod and gun-room--in the back premises. We cannot take the men from their work to-day, so that a deer-drive is not possible, but that can be done any day. So, gentlemen, think over it, and make your choice." "How is Milly this morning?" asked MacRummle, who came down late to breakfast, as he always did, and consequently missed morning prayers. "Better, much better than we could have expected. Of course the arm is inflamed and very painful, but not broken, which is almost a miracle, considering the height from which she fell. But for you, Mr Barret, she might have lain there for hours before we found her, and the consequences might have been very serious. As it is, the doctor says she will probably be able to leave her room in a few days." "Come, now, Mac," continued the host, "we have been talking over plans for the day. What do you intend to do?" "Try the river," said the old gentleman, with quiet decision, as he slowly helped himself to the ham and egg that chanced to be in front of him. "There's a three-pounder, if not a four, which rose in the middle pool yesterday, and I feel sure of him to-day." "Why, Mr MacRummle," said Mrs Gordon smilingly, "you have seen that three-pounder or four-pounder every day for a month past." "I have, Mrs Gordon; and I hope to see him every day for a month to come, if I don't catch him to-day!" "Whatever you do, Mac, don't dive for him," said the laird; "else we will some day have to fish yourself out of the middle pool. Have another cut of salmon, Mr Mabberly. In what direction do your tastes point?" "I feel inclined to make a lazy day of it and go out with your son Archie," said Mabberly, "to look at the best views for photographing. I had intended to photograph a good deal among the Western Isles, this summer; but my apparatus now lies, with the yacht, at the bottom of the sea." "Yes, in company with my sixteen-shooter rifle," said Giles Jackman, with a rueful countenance. "Well, gentlemen, I cannot indeed offer you much comfort as regards your losses, for the sea keeps a powerful hold of its possessions; but you will find my boy's camera a fairly good one, and there are plenty of dry plates. It so happens, also, that I have a new repeating rifle in the house, which has not yet been used; so, in the meantime, at all events, neither of you will suffer much from your misfortunes." It was finally arranged, before breakfast was over, that MacRummle was to go off alone to his usual and favourite burn; that Jackman and Quin, under the guidance of Junkie, should try the river for salmon and sea-trout; that Barret, with ex-Skipper McPherson, Shames McGregor, Robin Tips, Eddie Gordon, the laird's second son--a boy of twelve--and Ivor, the keeper--whose recoveries were as rapid as his relapses were sudden--should all go off in the boat to try the sea-fishing; and that Bob Mabberly, with Archie, should go photographing up one of the most picturesque of the glens, conducted by the laird himself. As it stands to reason that we cannot accompany all of these parties, we elect to follow Giles Jackman, Quin, and Junkie up the river. This expedition involved a preliminary walk of four miles, which they all preferred to being driven to the scene of action in a dog-cart. Junkie was a little fellow for his age, but remarkably intelligent, active, bright and strong. From remarks made by various members of the Gordon family and their domestics, both Jackman and his servant had been led to the conclusion that the boy was the very impersonation of mischief, and were more or less on the look out for displays of his propensity; but Junkie walked demurely by their side, asking and replying to questions with the sobriety of an elderly man, and without the slightest indication of the latent internal fires, with which he was credited. The truth is, that Junkie possessed a nature that was tightly strung and vibrated like an Aeolian harp to the lightest breath of influence. He resembled, somewhat, a pot of milk on a very hot fire, rather apt to boil over with a rush; nevertheless, he possessed the power to restrain himself in a simmering condition for a considerable length of time. The fact that he was fairly out for the day with two strangers, to whom he was to show the pools where salmon and sea-trout lay, was a prospect so charming that he was quite content to simmer. "D'ee know how to fish for salmon?" he asked, looking gravely up in Jackman's face, after they had proceeded a considerable distance. "Oh, yes, Junkie; I know how to do it. I used to fish for salmon before I went to India." "Isn't that the place where they shoot lions and tigers and--and g'rillas?" "Well, not exactly lions and gorillas, my boy; but there are plenty of baboons and monkeys there, and lots of tigers." "Have you shot them?" asked Junkie, with a look of keen interest. "Yes; many of them." "Did you ever turn a tiger outside in?" Jackman replied, with a laugh, that he had never performed that curious operation on anything but socks--that, indeed, he had never heard of such a thing being done. "I knew it was a cracker," said Junkie. "What d'you mean by a cracker, my boy?" inquired Jackman. "A lie," said Junkie, promptly. "And who told the cracker?" "Ivor. He tells me a great, great many stories." "D'you mean Ivor Donaldson, the keeper?" "Yes; he tells me plenty of stories, but some of them are crackers. He said that once upon a time a man was walkin' through the jungle--that's what they call the bushes, you know, in India--an' he met a great big tiger, which glared at him with its great eyes, and gave a tremendous roar, and sprang upon him. The man was brave and strong. He held out his right arm straight, so that when the tiger came upon him his arm went into its open mouth and right down its throat, and his hand caught hold of something. It was the inside end of the tiger's tail! The man gave an _awful_ pull, and the tiger came inside out at once with a _tremendous_ crack!" "Sure, and that _was_ a cracker!" remarked Quin, who had been listening to the boy's prattle with an amused expression, as they trudged along. "Nevertheless, it may not be fair to call it a lie, Junkie," said Jackman. "Did Ivor say it was true?" "No. When I asked if it was, he only laughed, and said he had once read of the same thing being done to a walrus, but he didn't believe it." "Just so, Junkie. He meant you to understand the story of the tiger as he did the story of the walrus--as a sort of fairy tale, you know." "How could he mean that," demanded Junkie, "when he said it was a _tiger's_ tail--not a _fairy's_ at all?" Jackman glanced at Quin, and suppressed a laugh. Quin returned the glance, and expressed a smile. "Better luck next time," murmured the servant. "Did you ever see walruses?" asked Junkie, whose active mind was prone to jump from one subject to another. "No, never; but I have seen elephants, which are a great deal bigger than walruses," returned Jackman; "and I have shot them, too. I will tell you some stories about them one of these days--not `crackers', but true ones." "That'll be nice! Now, we're close to the sea-pool; but the tide's too far in to fish that just now, so we'll go up to the next one, if you like." "By all means, my boy. You know the river, and we don't, so we put ourselves entirely under your guidance and orders," replied Jackman. By this time they had reached the river at the upper end of the loch. It ran in a winding course through a level plain which extended to the base of the encircling hills. The pool next the sea being unfishable, as we have said, owing to the state of the tide, Junkie conducted his companions high up the stream by a footpath. And a proud urchin he was, in his grey kilt and hose, with his glengarry cocked a little on one side of his curly head, as he strode before them with all the self-reliance of a Highland chieftain. In a few minutes they came to the first practicable pool--a wide, rippling, oily, deep hole, caused by a bend in the stream, the appearance of which--suggestive of silvery scales--was well calculated to arouse sanguine hopes in a salmon fisher. Here Quin proceeded to put together the pieces of his master's rod, while Jackman, opening a portly fishing-book, selected a casting line and fly. "Have you been in India, too?" asked Junkie of Quin, as he watched their proceedings with keen interest. "Sure, an' I have--leastways if it wasn't dhreamin' I've bin there." "An' have _you_ killed lions, and tigers, and elephants?" "Well, not exactly, me boy, but it's meself as used to stand by an' howld the spare guns whin the masther was killin' them." "Wasn't you frightened?" "Niver a taste. Och! thriflin' craters like them niver cost me a night's rest, which is more than I can say of the rats in Kinlossie, anyhow." A little shriek of laughter burst from Junkie on hearing this. "What are ye laughin' at, honey?" asked Quin. "At you not bein' able to sleep for the rats!" returned the boy. "It's the way with everybody who comes to stay with us, at first, but they get used to it at last." "Are the rats then so numerous?" asked Jackman. "Swarmin', all over! Haven't you heard them yet?" "Well, yes, I heard them scampering soon after I went to bed, but I thought it was kittens at play in the room overhead, and soon went to sleep. But they don't come into the rooms, do they?" "Oh, no--I only wish they would! Wouldn't we have a jolly hunt if they did? But they scuttle about the walls inside, and between the ceilings and the floors. And you can't frighten them. The only thing that scared them once was the bag-pipes. An old piper came to the house one day and played a great deal, and we heard nothing more of the rats for two or three weeks after that." "Sensible bastes," remarked Quin, handing the rod to his master; "an' a sign, too, that they've got some notion o' music." "Why, Quin, I thought you had bag-pipes in Ireland," said Jackman, as he fastened a large fly to his line. "An' that's what we have, sor; but the Irish pipes are soft, mellow, gentle things--like the Irish girls--not like them big Scotch bellows that screech for all the world like a thousand unwillin' pigs bein' forced to go to markit." "True, Quin; there's something in that. Now then, both of you stand close to me--a little behind--so; it's the safest place if you don't want to be hooked, and be ready with the gaff, Junkie," said the fisher, as he turned a critical eye on the water, and made a fine cast over what he deemed the most likely part of the pool. "Father never rose a fish there," said Junkie, with a demure look. The fisher paid no attention to the remark, but continued to cast a little lower down stream each time. "You're gettin' near the bit now," said Junkie, in the tone of one whose expectations are awakened. "Th-there! That's him!" "Ay, and a good one, too," exclaimed Jackman, as a fan-like tail disappeared with a heavy splash. Again the fisher cast, with the same result. "He's only playin' wi' the fly," said Junkie in a tone of disappointment. "That's often the way--no!--th-there! Got 'im!" The rod bent like a hoop at that moment; the reel spun round to its own merry music, as the line flew out, and the fish finished its first wild rush with a leap of three feet into the air. "Hooray!" yelled Junkie, now fairly aflame, as he jumped like the fish, flourished the big hook round his head, and gaffed Quin by the lappet of his coat! "Have a care, you spalpeen," shouted the Irishman, grasping the excited youngster by the collar and disengaging himself from the hook. "Sure it might have been me nose as well as me coat, an' a purty objec' that would have made me!" Junkie heeded not. When released he ran toward Jackman who was struggling skilfully with the fish. "Don't let him take you down the rapid," he shouted. "There's no good place for landin' him there. Hold on, an' bring 'im up if you can. Hi!" This last exclamation was caused by another rush of the fish. Jackman had wound up his line as far as possible, and was in hopes of inducing the salmon to ascend the stream, for he had run perilously near to the head of the rapid against which the boy had just warned him. But to this the fish objected, and, finding that the fisher was obstinate, had, as we have said, made a sudden rush across the pool, causing the reel to spin furiously as the line ran out, and finishing off with another splendid jump. "A few more bursts like that will soon exhaust him," said Jackman, as he wound in the line again and drew the fish steadily towards him. "Yes, but _don't_ let him go down," said the boy earnestly. It seemed almost as if the creature had heard the warning, for it turned at the moment and made a straight rush for the head of the rapid. When a large salmon does this it is absolutely impossible to stop him. Only two courses are open to the fisher--either to hold on and let him break the tackle; or follow him as fast as possible. The former alternative, we need hardly say, is only adopted when following is impracticable or involves serious danger. In the present case it was neither impossible nor dangerous, but it was difficult; and the way in which Giles Jackman went after that fish, staggering among pebbles, leaping obstructions, crashing through bushes and bounding over boulders, causing Quin to hold his sides with laughter, and little Junkie to stand transfixed and staring with admiration, was indescribable. For Junkie had only seen his old father in such circumstances, and sometimes the heavy, rather clumsy, though powerful Ivor Donaldson. He had not till that day seen--much less imagined--what were the capacities of an Indian "Woods and Forester" of athletic build, superb training, and fresh from his native jungles! "I say! _what_ a jumper he is!" exclaimed Junkie, recovering presence of mind and dashing after him. The rapid was a short though rough one. The chief danger was that the line might be cut among the foam-covered rocks, or that the hook, if not firmly fixed, might tear itself away; also that the fisher might fall, which would probably be fatal to rod or line, to say nothing of elbows and shins. But Jackman came triumphantly out of it all. The salmon shot into the pool below the rapid, and turned into the eddy to rest. The fisher, at the same moment, bounded on to a strip of sand there--minus only hat and wind--and proceeded to reel in the line for the next burst. But another burst did not occur, for the fish was by that time pretty well exhausted, and took to what is styled sulking; that is, lying at the bottom of a hole with its nose, probably, under a stone. While in this position a fish may recover strength to renew the battle. It is therefore advisable, if possible, to drive him or haul him out of his refuge by all or any means. A small fish may be hauled out if the tackle be strong, but this method is not possible with a heavy one such as that which Jackman had hooked. "What's to be done now, Junkie?" he said, after one or two vain efforts to move the fish. "Bomb stones at him," said the urchin, without a moment's hesitation. "Bomb away then, my boy!" Junkie at once sent several large stones whizzing into the pool. The result was that the salmon made another dash for life, but gave in almost immediately, and came to the surface on its side. The battle is usually about ended when this takes place, though not invariably so, for lively fish sometimes recover sufficiently to make a final effort. In this case, however, it was the close of the fight. Slowly and carefully the fisher drew the fish towards the shelving bank, where Junkie stood ready with the gaff. Another moment, and the boy bounded into the water, stuck the hook into the salmon's shoulder, and laid it like a bar of glittering silver on the bank. "A twenty-pounder," said Junkie, with critical gravity. "Twinty an' three-quarters," said Quin, as he weighed it. "And a good job, too," returned the practical urchin; "for I heard mother say we'd have no fish for dinner to-morrow if somebody didn't catch something." CHAPTER SIX. DANGEROUS STUDIES, PECULIAR ART, AND SPLENDID FISHING. There was a glass conservatory in one corner of the garden at Kinlossie House, to which the laird was wont to retire regularly for the enjoyment of a pipe every morning after breakfast. In this retreat, which was rich in hot-house plants, he was frequently joined by one or more of the members of his family, and sometimes by the friends who chanced to be staying with him. Thither John Barret got into the way of going--partly for the sake of a chat with the old man, of whom he soon became very fond, and partly for the sake of the plants, in which he was scientifically interested, botany being, as Mabberly said, his peculiar weakness. One morning--and a gloriously bright morning it was, such as induces one to thank God for the gift of sunshine and the capacity of enjoying it-- John Barret sauntered down to the garden, after breakfast, to have a quiet chat with his host. He had decided to remain at home that morning for the purpose of writing a letter or two, intending in the afternoon to follow up some of his companions, who had gone off to the hills. Entering the conservatory, he found that the laird was not there; but, in his usual rustic chair, there sat a beautiful girl, sound asleep, with her fair cheek resting on her little hand, and her nut-brown hair straggling luxuriantly over her shoulders. Barret was spell-bound. He could not move for a few seconds. Surprise may have had something to do with the sudden paralysis of his powers. It may have been curiosity, possibly admiration, certainly some sort of sensation that he could neither describe nor account for. He knew at a glance who the girl was, though he had not seen her since the day of her accident. Even if he had been so obtuse as not to know, the arm in a sling would have revealed that it was Milly Moss who slumbered there; yet he found it hard to believe that the neat little woman, with the lovely, benignant countenance before him was in very truth the dishevelled, dusty, scratched, and blood-sprinkled being whom he had carried for several miles over the heather a short time before. As we have said, Barret stood immovable, not knowing very well what to do. Then it occurred to him that it was scarcely gallant or fair thus to take advantage of a sleeping beauty. Staring at her was bad enough, but to awake her would be still worse; so he turned slowly about, as a cat turns when afraid of being pounced on by a glaring adversary. He would retire on tiptoe as softly as possible, so as not to disturb her. In carrying out this considerate intention, he swept a flower-pot off its stand, which fell with a mighty crash upon the stone floor. The poor youth clasped his hands, and glanced back over his shoulder in horror. The startled Milly was gazing at him with mingled surprise and alarm, which changed, however, into a flush and a look of restrained laughter as she began to understand the situation. "Never mind, Mr Barret," she said, rising, and coming forward with a gracious manner. "It is only one of the commonest plants we have. There are plenty more of them. You came, I suppose, in search of my uncle? Excuse my left hand; the right, as you see, is not yet fit for duty." "I did indeed come here in search of Mr Gordon," said Barret, recovering himself; "but permit me to lead you back to the chair; your strength has not quite returned yet, I see." He was right. Although Milly had recovered much more rapidly than the doctor had expected, she could not stand much excitement, and the shock given by the breaking flower-pot, coupled, perhaps, with the unexpected meeting with the man who had rescued her, from what might well have caused her death, somewhat overcame her. "Excuse me," she said, with a fluttering sigh, as she sank down into the rustic chair, "I do feel rather faint. It does seem so strange! I--I suppose it is because I have had no experience of anything but robust health all my life till now. There--I feel better. Will you kindly fetch me a glass of water? You will find a cistern with a tumbler beside it outside." The youth hurried out, and, on returning with the glass, found that the deadly pallor of the girl's face had passed away, and was replaced by a tint that might have made the blush rose envious. "You must understand," said Milly, setting down the glass, while Barret seated himself on a vacant flower-pot-stand beside her, "that this conservatory is a favourite haunt of mine, to which, before my accident, I have resorted every morning since I came here, in order to sit with Uncle Allan. The doctor thought me so much better this morning that he gave me leave to recommence my visits. This is why I came; but I had totally forgotten that uncle had arranged to go out with the shooting party to-day, so I sat down to enjoy my favourite plants, and paid them the poor compliment of falling asleep, owing to weakness, I suppose. But how does it happen, Mr Barret, that you have been left behind? They gave me to understand that you are a keen sportsman." "They misled you, then, for I am but a poor sportsman, and by no means enthusiastic. Indeed, whether I go out with rod or gun, I usually convert the expedition into a search for plants." "Oh, then, you are fond of botany!" exclaimed the girl, with a flush of pleasure and awakened interest. "I am so glad of that, because-- because--" "Well, why do you hesitate, Miss Moss?" asked Barret, with a surprised look and a smile. "Well, I don't quite like to lay bare my selfishness; but the truth is, there are some rare plants in terribly inaccessible places, which can only be reached by creatures in male attire. In fact, I was trying to secure one of these on the Eagle Cliff when I fell, and was so nearly killed at the time you rescued me." "Pray don't give the little service I rendered so dignified a name as `rescue.' But it rejoices me to know that I can be of further service to you--all the more that you are now so helpless; for if you found climbing the precipices difficult before, you will find it impossible now with your injured arm. By the way, I was very glad to find that I had been mistaken in thinking that your arm was broken. Has it given you much pain?" "Yes, a good deal; but I am very, very thankful it was no worse. And now I must show you some of the plants I have been trying to bring up since I came here," said Milly, with animation. "Of course, I cannot walk about to show them to you, so I will point them out, and ask you to fetch the pots--that is, if you have nothing better to do, and won't be bored." Barret protested earnestly that he had nothing--_could_ have nothing-- better to do, and that even if he had he wouldn't do it. As for being bored, the idea of such a state of mind being possible in the circumstances was ridiculous. Milly was rejoiced. Here she had unexpectedly found a friend to sympathise with her intelligently. Her uncle, she was well aware, sympathised with her heartily, but not intelligently; for his knowledge of botany, he told her frankly, was inferior to that of a tom-cat, and he was capable of little more in that line than to distinguish the difference between a cabbage and a potato. At it, therefore, the two young people went with real enthusiasm--we might almost say with red-hot enthusiasm--for botany was only a superstructure, so to speak, love being the foundation of the whole affair. But let not the reader jump to hasty conclusions. Barret and Milly, being young and inexperienced, were absolutely ignorant at that time of the true state of matters. Both were earnest and straightforward--both were ardently fond of botany, and neither, up to that period, had known what it was to fall in love. What more natural, then, than that they should attribute their condition to botany? There is, indeed, a sense in which their idea was correct, for sympathy is one of the most precious seeds with which poor humanity is entrusted, and did not botany enable these two to unite in planting that seed, and is not sympathy the germ of full-blown love? If so, may they not be said to have fallen in love botanically? We make no assertion in regard to this. We merely, and modestly, put the question, leaving it to the intelligent reader to supply the answer--an exceedingly convenient mode of procedure when one is not quite sure of the answer one's self. To return. Having got "at it," Barret and Milly continued at it for several hours, during which period they either forgot, or did not care to remember, the flight of time. They also contrived, during that time, to examine, discuss, and comment upon, a prodigious number of plants, all of which, being in pots or boxes, were conveyed by the youth to the empty stand at the side of the fair invalid. The minute examination with a magnifying glass of corolla, and stamen, and calyx, etcetera, rendered it necessary, of course, that these inquiries into the mysteries of Nature should bring the two heads pretty close together; one consequence being that the seed-plant of sympathy was "forced" a good deal, and developed somewhat after the fashion of those plants which Hindoo jugglers cause magically to sprout, blossom, and bloom before the very eyes of astonished beholders--with this difference, however, that whereas the development of the jugglers is deceptive as well as quick, that of our botanists was genuine and natural, though rapid. The clang of the luncheon gong was the first thing that brought them to their senses. "Surely there must be some mistake! Junkie must be playing with--no, it is indeed one o'clock," exclaimed Milly, consulting in unbelief a watch so small that it seemed like cruelty to expect it to go at all, much less to go correctly. As she spoke, the door of the conservatory opened, and Mrs Gordon appeared with affected indignation on her usually mild countenance. "You naughty child!" she exclaimed, hurrying forward. "Did I not warn you to stay no longer than an hour? and here you are, flushed, and no doubt feverish, in consequence of staying the whole forenoon. Take my arm, and come away directly." "I pray you, Mrs Gordon, to lay the blame on my shoulders," said Barret. "I fear it was my encouraging Miss Moss to talk of her favourite study that induced her to remain." "I would be only too glad to lay the blame on your shoulders if I could lay Milly's weakness there too," returned the lady. "It is quite evident that you would never do for a nurse. Strong men like you have not sympathy enough to put yourself in the place of invalids, and think how they feel. I would scold you severely, sir, if you were not my guest. As it is, I will forgive you if you promise me not to mention the subject of botany in the presence of my niece for a week to come." "The condition is hard," said Barret, with a laugh; "but I promise--that is, if Miss Moss does not force the subject on me." "I promise that, Mr Barret; but I also attach a condition." "Which is--?" "That you go to Eagle Cliff some day this week, and find for me a particular plant for which I have sought for a long time in vain, but which I am told is to be found there." "Most willingly. Nothing could give me greater pleasure," returned the youth, with an air of such eager enthusiasm that he felt constrained to add,--"you see, the acquisition of new and rare plants has been a sort of passion with me for many years, and I am quite delighted to find that there is a possibility of not only gratifying it here, but of being able at the same time to contribute to your happiness." They reached the house as he made this gallant speech, and Milly went straight to her room. The only members of the household who sat down to luncheon that day were Mrs Gordon, Archie, the enthusiastic photographer, and Flo, with her black doll; and the only guest, besides Barret, was McPherson, the skipper of the lost yacht. The rest were all out rambling by mountain, loch, or stream. "Milly won't appear again to-day," said the hostess, as she sat down. "I knew that she had overdone it. The shock to her system has been far too severe to admit of botanical discussions." Barret professed himself overwhelmed with a sense of guilt, and promised to avoid the dangerous subject in future. "Mother," exclaimed Flo, who was a good but irrepressible child, "what d'ee t'ink? Archie have pofografft dolly, an' she's as like as--as--two peas. Isn't she, Archie?" "Quite as like as that, Flo," replied Archie, with a laugh; "liker, if anything." "By the way, how did you get on with your photographing yesterday afternoon, Archie?" asked Barret. "Pretty well with some of the views; but I ruined the last one, because father would have me introduce Captain McPherson and his man McGregor." "Is that so, captain?" asked Mrs Gordon. "Oo, ay; it iss true enough," answered the skipper, with a grim smile. "He made a queer like mess o' me, what-e-ver." "How was it, Archie?" "Well, mother, this is how it was. You know the waterfall at the head of Raven's Nook? Well, I have long wanted to take that, so I went up with father and Mr Mabberly. We found the captain and McGregor sitting there smoking their pipes, and when I was arranging the camera, the captain said to me--" "No, Maister Archie," interrupted the skipper; "I did not say anything to Shames. You should be more parteekler. But Shames said something to _me_, what-e-ver." "Just so; I forgot," continued Archie. "Well, McGregor said to the captain, `What would you think if we wass to sit still an' co into the pictur'?'" "Oo, ay; that was just it, an' fery like him too," said the skipper, laughing at Archie's imitation, though he failed to recognise the similarity to his own drawling and nasal tones. People always do thus fail. We can never see ourselves! "Well," continued Archie, "father insisted that I was to take them, though they quite spoiled the view. So I did; but in the very middle of the operation, what did the captain do but insist on changing his--" "Not at all, Maister Archie," again interrupted the skipper; "you have not got the right of it. It wass Shames said to me that he thought you had feenished, an' so I got up; an' then you roared like a wild bullock to keep still, and so what could I do but keep still? an so--" "Exactly; that was it," cried Archie, interrupting in his turn; "but you kept still _standing_, and so there were three figures in the picture when it was done, and your fist in the standing one came right in front of your own nose in the sitting one, for all the world as if you were going to knock yourself down. Such a mess it was altogether!" "That iss fery true. It wass a mess, what-e-ver!" "You must show me this curious photograph, Archie, after lunch," said Barret; "it must be splendid." "But it is not so splendid as my dolly," chimed in Flo. "I'll show you zat after lunch too." Accordingly, after the meal was over, Archie carried Barret off to his workshop. Then Flo took him to the nursery, where she not only showed him the portrait of the nigger doll, which was a striking likeness--for dolls invariably sit well--but took special pains to indicate the various points which had "come out" so "bootifully"--such as the nails which Junkie had driven into its wooden head for the purpose of making it behave better; the chip that Junkie had taken off the end of its nose when he tried to convert that feature into a Roman; the deep line drawn round the head close to the hair by Junkie, when, as the chief of the Micmac Indians, he attempted to scalp it; and the hole through the right eye, by which Junkie proposed to let a little more light into its black brain. Having seen and commented on all these things, Barret retired to the smoking-room, not to smoke, but to consult a bundle of newspapers which the post had brought to the house that day. For it must not be imagined that the interests and amusements by which he was surrounded had laid the ghost of the thin, little old lady whom he had mur--at least run down--in London. No; wherever he went, and whatever he did, that old lady, like Nemesis, pursued him. When he looked down, she lay sprawling--a murdered, at least a manslaughtered, victim--at his feet. When he looked up, she hung, like the sword of Damocles, by a single fibre of maiden's hair over his head. It was of no use that his friend Jackman rallied him on the point. "My dear fellow," he would say, "don't you see that if you had really killed her, the thing would have been published far and wide all over the kingdom, with a minute description, and perhaps a portrait of yourself on the bicycle, in all the illustrated papers? Even if you had only injured her severely, they would have made a sensation of it, with an offer, perhaps, of a hundred pounds for your capture, and a careful indication of the streets through which you passed when you ran away--" "Ay, that's what makes the matter so much worse," Barret would reply; "the unutterable meanness of running away!" "But you repented of that immediately," Jackman would return in soothing tones; "and you did your utmost to undo it, though the effort was futile." Barret was usually comforted a good deal by the remarks of his friend, and indeed frequently forgot his trouble, especially when meditating on botanical subjects with Milly. Still, it remained a fact that he was haunted by the little old lady, more or less, and had occasional bad dreams, besides becoming somewhat anxious every time he opened a newspaper. While Barret and the skipper were thus taking what the latter called an easy day of it, their friend Mabberly, with Eddie and Junkie and the seaman McGregor, had gone over the pass in the waggonette to the village of Cove for a day's sea-fishing. They were driven by Ivor Donaldson. "You'll not have been in these parts before, sir?" said Ivor, who was a quiet, polite, and sociable man when not under the influence of drink. "No, never," answered Mabberly, who sat on the seat beside him; "and if it had not been for our misfortune, or the carelessness of that unknown steamer, I should probably never have known of the existence of your beautiful island. At least, I would have remained in ignorance of its grandeur and beauty." "That proves the truth of the south-country sayin', sir,--`It's an ill wind that blaws nae guid.'" "It does, indeed; for although the loss of my father's yacht is a very considerable one, to have missed the hospitality of the laird of Kinlossie, and the rambling over your magnificent hills, would have been a greater misfortune." The keeper, who cherished a warm feeling for old Mr Gordon, and admired him greatly, expressed decided approval of the young man's sentiments, as was obvious from the pleased smile on his usually grave countenance, though his lips only gave utterance to the expression, "Fery true, sir; you are not far wrong." At the Eagle Pass they halted a few minutes to breathe the horses. Eddie and Junkie, of course, jumped down, followed by James McGregor, with whom they had already formed a friendship. "Come away, an' we'll show you the place where Milly fell down. Come along, quicker, Shames," cried Junkie, adopting the name that the skipper used; for the boy's love of pleasantry not infrequently betrayed him into impudence. With a short laugh, Mabberly turned to Ivor, and asked if Shames was the Gaelic for James. "No, sir" replied the keeper; "but James is the English for Shames." "Ha! you are quoting now--or rather, misquoting--from the lips of some Irishman." "Weel, sir, I never heard it said that quota-ashun wass a sin," retorted Ivor; then, turning to the stupendous cliff that frowned above them, "Hev ye heard of the prophecy, sir, aboot this cliff?" "No. What is it?" "It's said that the cliff is to be the scene of a ghost story, a love story, and a murder all at the same time." "Is that all, Ivor? Did the prophet give no indication how the stories were to end, or who the murderer is to be, or the murdered one?" "Never a word, sir; only they wass all to be aboot the same time. Indeed, the prophet, whether man or wuman, is not known. Noo, we better shump up." In a few minutes the waggonette was rattling down the slopes that led to Cove, and soon afterwards they were exchanging greetings with old Ian Anderson, the fisherman. "Iss it to fush, ye'll be wantin'?" asked Ian, as he ushered the party into his cottage, where Mrs Anderson was baking oat-cakes, and Aggy was busy knitting socks with her thin fingers as deftly and rapidly as if she had been in robust health. "Yes, that is our object to-day," said Mabberly. "Good-day, Mrs Anderson; good-day, Aggy. I'm glad to see you looking so much better, though I can't see very well for your cottage is none of the lightest," he said, glancing at the small window, where a ragged head, with a flattened white nose, accounted for the obscurity. "There might be _more_ light," said Ian, seizing a thick thorn stick, and making a sudden demonstration towards the door, the instant effect of which action was an improvement in the light. It did not last long, however, for "Tonal'," after watching at the corner of the cottage long enough to make sure that the demonstration was a mere feint, returned to his post of observation. "Yes, sir," remarked Mrs Anderson; "Aggy is much better. The fresh air is doin' her cood already, an' the peels that the shentleman--your friend--gave her is workin' wonders." "They usually do, of one sort or another," returned Mabberly, with a peculiar smile. "I'm glad they happen to be wonders of the right sort in Aggy's case. My friend has been out in India, and his prescriptions have been conceived in a warm climate, you see, which may account for their wonder-working qualities. Can we have your boat to-day, Mr Anderson?" "Oo, ay; ye can hev that, sir," said Ian, summoning Donald to his presence with a motion of his finger. "Tonal'," he said, when ragged head stood at the open door, "hev we ony pait?" "Ay, plenty." "Co doon, then, an' git the poat ready." The boy disappeared without reply--a willing messenger. A few minutes more, and Ivor and Ian were rowing the boat towards a part of the sea which was deemed good fishing ground, while the rest of the party busied themselves arranging the lines. Strong brown lines they were, wound on little square wooden frames, each with a heavy leaden sinker and a couple of strong coarse hooks of whitened metal attached to the lines by stout whipcord; for the denizens of those western waters were not the poddlies, coddlings, and shrimps that one is apt to associate with summer resorts by the sea. They were those veritable inhabitants of the deep that figure on the slabs of Billingsgate and similar markets--plaice and skate of the largest dimensions, congers that might suggest the great sea serpent, and even sharks of considerable size. The surroundings were cognate. Curlews and sandpipers whistled on the shore, complaining sea-mews sailed overhead, and the low-lying skerries outside were swarming with "skarts" and other frequenters of the wild north. "Oh, _what_ a funny face!" exclaimed Junkie, as a great seal rose head and shoulders out of the sea, not fifty yards off, to look at them. Its observations induced it to sink promptly. "Let co the anchor, Tonal'," said Ian; "the pottom should be cood here." "Hand me the pait, Junkie," said McGregor. "Shie a bit this way," shouted Eddie. "There--I've broke it!" exclaimed Junkie, almost whimpering, as he held up the handle of his knife in one hand, and in the other a mussel with a broken blade sticking in it. "Never mind, Junkie. You can have mine, and keep it," said Mabberly, handing to the delighted boy a large buck-horn-handled knife, which bristled with appliances. "An' don't try it on again," said Ian. "Here iss pait for you, my poy." A few minutes more, and the lines were down, and expectation was breathlessly rampant. "Hi!" burst from Eddie, at the same moment that "Ho!" slipped from McGregor; but both ceased to haul in on finding that the "tugs" were not repeated. "Hallo!" yelled "Tonal'," who fished beside Junkie, on feeling a tug worthy of a whale; and, "Hee! hee!" burst from Junkie, whose mischievous hand had caused the tug when ragged head was not looking. In the midst of these false alarms Ivor drew up his line, and no one was aware of his success until a fish of full ten pounds' weight was floundering in the boat. The boys were yet commenting on it noisily, when Ian put a large cod beside it. "_What_ a tug!" cried Eddie, beginning to haul up in violent haste. "Hev a care, or the line will pairt," said McGregor. At the same moment "Shames" himself gave a jerk, as if he had received an electric shock, and in a few seconds a large plaice and a small crab were added to the "pile!" "I've got _something_ at last," said Mabberly, doing his best to repress excitement as he hauled in his line deliberately. The something turned out to be an eel about four feet long, which went about the boat as if it were in its native element, and cost an amazing amount of exertion, whacking, and shouting, to subdue. But this was nothing to the fish with which Junkie began to struggle immediately after, and which proved to be a real shark, five feet long. After the united efforts of Ian and Donald had drawn it to the surface, Junkie was allowed to strike the gaff into it, and a loud cheer greeted the monster of the deep as it was hurled into the bottom of the boat. Thus, in expectation, excitation, and animation, they spent the remainder of that memorable day. CHAPTER SEVEN. AMAZING DEEDS AND MISDEEDS AT A DEER-DRIVE. To some casts of mind there is no aspect of nature so enchanting or romantic as that which is presented, on a fine summer day from the vantage ground of a ridge or shoulder high up on the mountains of one of our western isles. It may be that the union of the familiar and beautiful with the unfamiliar and wild is that which arouses our enthusiastic admiration. As we stand in the calm genial atmosphere of a summer day, surveying the land and sea-scape from a commanding height that seems to have raised us above the petty cares of life, the eye and mind pass like the lightning-flash from the contemplation of the purple heather and purple plants around--and from the home-feelings thereby engendered--to the grand, apparently illimitable ocean, and the imagination is set free to revel in the unfamiliar and romantic regions "beyond seas." Some such thoughts were passing in the mind of Giles Jackman, as he stood alone, rifle in hand, on such a height one splendid forenoon, and contemplated the magnificent panorama. Far down below--so far that the lowing of the red and black specks, which were cattle, and the bleating of the white specks, which were sheep, failed to reach him--a few tiny cottages could be seen, each in the midst of a green patch that indicated cultivation. Farther on, a snow-white line told where the wavelets kissed the rugged shore, but no sound of the kiss reached the hunter's ear. Beyond, as if floating on the calm water, numerous rocky islets formed the playground of innumerable gulls, skarts, seals, loons, and other inhabitants of the wild north; but only to the sense of vision were their varied activities perceptible. Among these islets were a few blacker spots, which it required a steady look to enable one to recognise as the boats of fishermen; but beyond them no ship or sign of man was visible on the great lone sea, over, and reflected in which, hung a few soft and towering masses of cloudland. "If thus thy meaner works are fair, And beautiful beyond compare; How glorious must the mansions be Where Thy redeemed shall dwell with Thee!" Jackman murmured rather than spoke the words, for no human ear was there to hear. Nevertheless there were human ears and tongues also, not far distant, engaged in earnest debate. It was on one of the ledges of the Eagle Cliff that our hunter stood. At another part of the same cliff, close to the pass where Milly Moss met with her accident, Allan Gordon stood with nearly all his visitors and several of his retainers around him. "Higher up the pass you'll have a much better chance, Mr Barret. Is it not so, Ivor?" The keeper, who, in kilt, hose, and bonnet, was as fine a specimen of a tall athletic Highlander as one could wish to see, replied that that was true. "Nae doot," he said, "I hev put Mr Jackman in the best place of all, for, whativer way the deer come, they'll hev to pass close, either above or below him--an' that's maybe as weel for him wi' his queer new-fashioned rifle; but at the heed o' the pass is the next best place. The only thing is that ye'll hev to tak' sure aim, for there's more room for them to stray, an' ye may chance to git only a lang shot." "Well, then, it is not the place for me, for I am a poor shot," said Barret; "besides, I have a fancy to stay here, where I am. You say it is a very good spot, Ivor, I understand?" "Weel, it's no' that bad as a spote," answered the keeper, with a grim smile, for he had not much opinion of Barret's spirit as a sportsman; "but it's ackward as the lawnd lies." "Never mind. I'll stay here, and you know, laird, that I have some pleasant associations with it in connection with your niece." "That is more than Milly has," returned the old gentleman, laughing. "However, have your way. Now, gentlemen, we must place ourselves quickly, for the beaters will soon be entering the wood. I will take you, Mr Mabberly, to a spot beyond the pass where you will be pretty sure of a shot. And MacRummle--where shall we place him?" "He can do nothing wi' the gun at a', sir," muttered the keeper, in a low voice, so that he might not be overheard. "I wad putt him doon at the white rock. He'll git a lang shot at them there. Of course he'll miss, but that'll do weel enough for him--for he's easy pleased; ony way, if he tak's shootin' as he tak's fishin', a mere sight o' the deer, like the rise o' a salmon, 'll send him home happy." "Very well, Ivor, arrange as you think best. And how about Captain McPherson and McGregor?" "I'll tak' care o' them mysel', sir." "Ye need na' fash yer heed aboot us, laird," said the skipper. "Bein' more used to the sea than the mountains, we will be content to look on. Iss that not so, Shames?" "That iss so--what-e-ver," returned the seaman. "Well, come along then; the beaters must be at work now. How many did you get, Ivor?" "I'm not exactly sure, sir," returned the keeper; "there's Ian Anderson an' Tonal' from Cove, an' Mister Archie an' Eddie, an' Roderick--that's five. Oo, ay, I forgot, there's that queer English loon, Robin Tips-- he's no' o' much use, but he can mak' a noise--besides three o' Mr Grant's men." "That's plenty--now then--" "Please, father," said Junkie, who had listened with open eyes and mouth, as well as ears, for this was his first deer-stalk, "may I stop with Mr Barret?" "Certainly, my boy, if Mr Barret does not object." Of course Mr Barret did not object, though he was rather surprised at this mark of preference. "I say, me boy," whispered Pat Quin, "ask av I may stop wid ye." Junkie looked at the Irishman doubtfully for a moment, then said-- "Father, Quin says he wants to stop with me." "You mayn't do that, Quin," returned the laird with a smile; "but you may go and stay with your master. I heard him say that he would like you to be with him to keep you out of mischief." "Thankee, sor. I was used to attend on 'im in the jungles to carry his spare guns, for it's ellyphints, no less, that we was used to bag out there; but I make no question he can amuse himsilf wid deer an' things like that where there's nothin' better. He was always aisy to plaze, like Mr MacRummle." "Just so, Quin; and as MacRummle knows the hill, and has to pass the place where Mr Jackman has been left, you had better follow him." This arranged, the different parties took up their positions to await the result of the beating of a strip of dwarf forest, several miles in extent, which clothed part of the mountain slopes below the Eagle Cliff. On reaching the spot where Jackman was stationed, old MacRummle explained to him the various arrangements that had just been made for the comfort of all. "I am sorry they gave me the best place," said Jackman. "I suppose it is because the laird thinks my experience in India entitles me to it; but I would much rather that Mabberly or Barret had got the chance, for I'm used to this sort of thing, and, after bagging elephants, I can afford to lay on my oars and see my friends go in and win." "An' sure, aren't thim the very words I said, sor?" put in Quin. "Have they given you a good place?" asked Jackman of MacRummle, taking no notice of his man's remarks. "They've given me the worst," said the old man, simply; "and I cannot blame them, for, as the keeper truly remarked, I can do nothing with the gun,"--still less with the rifle, he might have added! "At the same time, I confess it would have added somewhat to the zest of the day if Ivor had allowed me some degree of hope. He thought I didn't overhear him, but I did; for they give me credit for greater deafness than I deserve." There was something so pitiful, yet half amusing, in the way in which this was said, that Jackman suddenly grasped the old gentleman's hand. "Mr MacRummle," he said firmly, "will you do me a favour?" "Certainly, with pleasure--if I can." "You can--and you shall. It is this: change places and rifles with me." "My dear, kind sir, you don't know what you ask. My rifle is an old double-barrel muzzle loader, and at the white rock you wouldn't have the ghost of a chance. I know the place well, having often passed it in fishing excursions up the burns. Besides, I never used a repeating rifle in my life. I couldn't manage it, even if I were to try." "Mr MacRummle, are you not a Highlander?" "I believe I am!" replied the old man, drawing himself up with a smile. "And is not that equivalent to saying that you are a man of your word?" "Well--I suppose it is so--at least it should be so." "But you will prove that it is not so, if you fail to do me a favour that lies in your power, after promising to do it. Come now, we have no time to lose. I will show you how to use the repeater. See; it is empty just now. All you have to do is to take aim as you would with any ordinary rifle, and pull the trigger. When the shot is off, you load again by simply doing _this_ to the trigger-guard--so. D'you understand?" "Yes, perfectly; but is that all? no putting in of cartridges anywhere?" "No, nothing more. Simply do _that_ (open--and the cartridge flies out), and _that_ (shut--and you are loaded and ready to fire)! Now, try it. That's it! Capital! Couldn't be better. Why, you were born to be a sportsman!" "Yes, with fish," remarked the gratified old man, as he went through the motions of loading and firing to perfection. "Now, then, I will load it thus. Watch me." As he spoke, he filled the chamber under the barrel with cartridge after cartridge to the amazement of MacRummle and the amusement of Quin, who looked on. "How many shots will it fire without reloading?" asked the old man at length. "Sixteen," replied Jackman. "What! sixteen? But--but how will I ever know how many I've let off?" "You don't require to know. Just blaze away till it refuses to fire! Now, I must be off. Where is this white rock that I have to go to?" "There it is--look. A good bit down the hill, on the open ground near the forest. If you have good eyes, you can see it from here. Look, just behind the ridge. D'you see?" "I see. Great luck to you. Do good work, and teach that rascal Ivor to respect your powers with the rifle. Come along, Quin." "But really, my young friend, it is too good, too self-denying of you to--" He stopped, for Jackman and Quin were already striding down the mountain on their way to the white rock. MacRummle had been somewhat excited by the enthusiasm of his young friend and the novelty of his situation. To say truth, he would much rather have been pottering along the banks of one of his loved Highland streams, rod in hand, than crouching in the best pass of the Eagle Cliff in expectation of red-deer; but being an amiable and sympathetic man, he had been fired by the enthusiasm of the household that morning, and, seeing that all were going to the drive, including the laird, he made up his mind to brace himself up to the effort, and float with the current. His enthusiasm had not cooled when he reached the Eagle Cliff, and Jackman's kindness, coupled with hope and the repeating rifle, increased it even to white heat. In which condition he sat down on a rock, removed his hat, and wiped his bald, perspiring head, while a benignant smile illuminated his glowing features. About the same time, Barret and Junkie having selected a convenient mass of rock as their outlook, so that they could command the pass for some distance in both directions without exposing themselves to view, rested the rifle against the cliff and began to talk. Soon the young man discovered that the little boy, like many other mischievous boys, was of an exceedingly inquiring disposition. Among other things, he not only began an intelligent inquiry about the locks of a rifle, but a practical inquiry with his fingers, which called for remonstrance. "Do you know, Junkie, that this is the very spot where your Cousin Milly fell?" said Barret, by way of directing the urchin's thoughts into a safer channel. "Is it? Oh, dear, _what_ a thump she must have come down!" "Yes, indeed, a dreadful thump--poor thing. She was trying to get flowers at the time. Do you know that she is exceedingly fond of flowers?" "Oh, don't I? She's got books full of them--all pasted in with names printed under them. I often wonder what she sees in flowers to be so fond of them. I don't care a button for them myself, unless they smell nice. But I often scramble after them for her." "There is a good deal to like in flowers besides the smell," said Barret, assuming an instructive tone, which Junkie resented on the spot. "Oh, yes, I don't want to know; you needn't try to teach me," he said, firmly. "Of course not. I wouldn't think of teaching you, my boy. You know I'm not a schoolmaster. I'm not clever enough for that, and when I was your age, I hated to be taught. But I could _show_ you some things about flowers and plants that would astonish you. Only it would not be safe to do it just now, for the deer might come up and--" "No they won't," interrupted the boy; "it's a monstrous big wood they've got to pass through before they can come here, so we have time to look at some of the 'stonishin' things." "Well, then, come. We will just go a little way up the cliff." Leading Junkie away among the masses of fallen rock, which strewed that ledge of the cliff, the wily youth began to examine plants and flowers minutely, and to gradually arouse in the boy's mind an interest in such parts of botanical science as he was capable of understanding. Meanwhile the small army of beaters had extended themselves across the distant end of the forest, which, being some miles off, and on the other side of a great shoulder of the mountain, was not only out of sight, but out of hearing of the stalkers who watched the passes of the Eagle Cliff. All the beaters, or drivers, were well acquainted with the work they had to do, with the exception of Robin Tips, to whom, of course, it was quite new. But Ian Anderson put him under Donald's care, with strict injunctions to look well after him. "Now, Tonal', see that ye don't draw together an' git ta-alkin' so as to forget what ye're about. Keep him at the right distance away from ye, an' as much in line as ye can." "Oo, ay," returned ragged head, in a tone that meant, when translated into familiar English, "Don't teach your grandmother to suck eggs!" In a sequestered dell on the slope of the hills, a lordly stag and several hinds were enjoying themselves that morning among the bracken and bright mosses, partially screened from the sun by the over-arching boughs of birch and hazel, and solaced by the tinkling music of a neighbouring rill. Thick underwood concealed the dell on all sides; grey lichen-covered boulders surrounded it; no sound disturbed it save the faint cry of the plover and curlew on the distant shore, or the flap of a hawk's wing as it soared overhead. Altogether it looked like a safe and sure retreat, but it did not prove to be so. Mingled with the plaintive cries of the wild fowl, there came a faint-- barely perceptible--sound of the human voice. The stag pricked up his ears, and raised his antlered head. It was by no means a new sound to him. The shepherd's voice calling to his collie on the mountain-side was a familiar sound, that experience had taught him boded no evil. The converse of friends as they plodded along the roads or foot-paths that often skirted his lairs, had a tone of innocence about it which only induced caution--not alarm. But there was nothing of this in the sounds that now met his ears. He raised himself higher, opened his nostrils wider, sniffed the tainted air, and then, turning his graceful head, made some remark--we presume, though we cannot be positive on this point--to his wives. These, meek and gentle--as females usually are, or ought to be--turned their soft inquiring gaze on their lord. Thus they stood, as if spell-bound, while the sounds slowly but steadily increased in volume and approached their retreat. Presently a shoulder of the mountain was turned by the drivers, and their discordant voices came down on the gentle breeze with unmistakable significance. We regret being unable to report exactly what the stag then said to his wives, but the result was that the entire family bounded from their retreat, and, in the hurry and alarm of the moment, scattered along various glades, all of which, however, trended ultimately towards those mountain fastnesses that exist about and beyond the Eagle Cliff. Two of the hinds followed their lord in a direction which led them out of the wood within sight of, though a considerable distance from, the white rock behind which Jackman and Quin were concealed. The others fled by tracks somewhat higher on the hill-sides, where however, as the reader knows, the enemy was posted to intercept them. "Sure it's a purty stag, afther all," whispered Quin, who, in spite of elephantine-Indian sport, was somewhat excited by this sudden appearance of the Scottish red-deer. "But they're a long way off, sor." "Not too far, if the rifle is true," said Jackman, in a very low voice, as he put up the long-range sight. "You'll git a good chance at the stag whin he tops the hillock forenent you, sor," remarked the somewhat garrulous Irishman. "I won't fire at the stag, Quin," returned Jackman, quietly. "You and I have surely killed enough of bigger game abroad. We can afford to let the stag pass on to our friends higher up, some of whom have never seen a red-deer before, and may never have a chance of seeing one again." All this was said by the sportsman in a low, soft voice, which could not have been heard three yards off, yet his sharp eye was fixed intently on the passing deer. Seeing that there was no likelihood of their coming nearer, he raised his rifle, took steady but quick aim, and fired. One of the hinds dropped at once; the other followed her terrified lord as he dashed wildly up the slope. Partial deafness is a slight disadvantage in deer-stalking. So, at least, MacRummle discovered that day. After having wiped his forehead, as already described, he set himself steadily to fulfil the duties of his situation. These were not so simple as one might suppose, for, as had been explained to him by Jackman, he had to watch two passes--one close above his post, the other close below it--either of which might bring the deer within easy reach of his rifle, but of course there was the uncertainty as to which of the two passes the deer would choose. As it was a physical impossibility to have his eyes on both passes at once, the old gentleman soon found that turning his head every few seconds from one side to the other became irksome. Then it became painful. At last it became torture, and then he gave up this plan in despair, resolving to devote a minute at a time to each pass, although feeling that by so doing his chances were greatly diminished. When Jackman fired his shot, MacRummle's ears refused to convey the information to his brain. He still sat there, turning his head slowly to and fro, and feeling rather sleepy. One of the scattered deer, which had gone higher up the mountain, passed him by the upper track. MacRummle was gazing at the lower track just then! Having given the allotted time to it, he turned languidly and beheld the hind, trotting rather slowly, for it was somewhat winded. The sight sent sportsman-fire through the old gentleman's entire frame. He sprang, he almost tumbled up, but before he could fire, a jealous boulder intervened. Rushing up a few yards, he was just in time to see the animal bound over a cliff and disappear. Depressed beyond measure, he returned to his post and resumed the rapid head-motion which he had foolishly discontinued. This was fortunate, for it enabled him to see in time the stag and hind which Jackman had sent bounding towards him. Another moment, and the affrighted creatures were within range. MacRummle sprang up, put the repeater to his shoulder, and then commenced a fusillade that baffles description. Bang, bang, bang, went the repeater; bang, bang, double-bang, and banging everywhere went the startled echoes of the mountain. Never since it sprang from the volcanic forces of nature had the Eagle Cliff sent forth such a spout of rattling reverberation. The old man took no aim whatever. He merely went through the operations of load and fire with amazing rapidity. Each crack delivered into the arms of echo was multiplied a hundredfold. Showers of bullets seemed to hail around the astounded quarry. Smoke, as of a battle, enshrouded the sportsman. The rifle became almost too hot to hold, and when at last it ceased to respond to the drain upon its bankrupt magazine, the stag and hind lay dead upon the track, and MacRummle lay exhausted with excitement and exertion upon the heather! This unwonted fusillade took the various parties higher up the hill by surprise. To Ivor, indeed, it was quite a new experience, and he regarded it with a smile of grim contempt. "There iss noise enough--what-e-ver!" remarked Skipper McPherson, who sat beside the keeper with a double-barrelled gun charged with buckshot, which he had in readiness. "Look! look!" exclaimed Ivor, pointing to another part of the pass, "your friend McGregor has got a fright!" "Ay, that's true. Shames would be troubled in his mind, I think." There was indeed some reason to suppose so. The worthy seaman, having got tired of waiting, had, against Ivor's advice, wandered a few yards along the pass, where, seeing something farther on that aroused his curiosity, he laid down the single-barrelled fowling-piece with which he had been provided, and began to clamber. Just as the repeater opened fire, two hinds, which had got ahead of the others, ran through the pass by different tracks. One of these McGregor saw before it came up, and he rushed wildly back for his gun. It was this act that his comrades rightly attributed to mental perturbation. "Look out!" whispered the keeper. As he spoke the other hind, doubling round a mass of fallen rock, almost leaped into McGregor's arms. It darted aside, and the seaman, uttering a wild shout, half raised his gun and fired. The butt hit him on the chest and knocked him down, while the shot went whizzing in all directions round his comrades, cutting their garments, but fortunately doing them no serious injury. "Oh, Shames! ye was always in too great a hurry," remonstrated the skipper, oblivious of the fact that he himself had been too slow. "Quick, man, fire!" cried Ivor, testily. The captain tried to energise. In doing so he let off one barrel at the celestial orbs unintentionally. The other might as well have gone the same way, for all the execution it did. When he looked at the keeper, half apologetically, he saw that he was quietly examining his leg, which had been penetrated by a pellet. "Eh! man, are 'ee shot?" cried the captain, anxiously. "Oo, ay, but I'm none the worse o' it! I had a presentiment o' somethin' o' this sort, an' loaded his gun wi' small shot," replied the keeper. Profound were the expressions of apology from McGregor, on learning what he had done, and patronisingly cool were the assurances of Ivor that the injury was a mere flea-bite. And intense was the astonishment when it was discovered that a stag and a hind had fallen to old MacRummle with that "treemendious" repeater! And great was the laughter afterwards, at lunch time on the field of battle, when Junkie gravely related that Barret was upon a precipice, trying to reach a rare plant, when the deer passed, so that he did not get a shot at all! And confused was the expression of Barret's face when he admitted the fact, though he carefully avoided stating that his mind was taken up at the time with a very different kind of dear! It was afternoon when the assembled party, including drivers, sat down to luncheon on the hill-side, and began to allay the cravings of appetite, and at the same time to recount or discuss in more or less energetic tones, the varied experiences of the morning. Gradually the victuals were consumed, and the experiences pretty well thrashed out, including those of poor Mabberly, who had failed to get even a chance of a shot. "An' sure it's no wonder at all," was Pat Quin's remark; "for the noise was almost as bad as that night when you an' me, sor, was out after the elephants in that great hunt in the North-western provinces of Indy." "Oh, _do_ tell us about that," cried Junkie and his brothers, turning eagerly to Jackman. "So I will, my boys; but not now. It will take too long. Some other time, in the house, perhaps, when a bad day comes." "No, now, _now_!" cried Junkie. Seeing that most of those present had lighted their pipes, and that the laird seemed to wish it, Jackman washed down his lunch with a glass of sparkling water, cleared his throat, and began. CHAPTER EIGHT. JACKMAN'S WONDERFUL ELEPHANT STORY. "Once upon a time," said Jackman, glancing at Junkie and Robin Tips, who sat before him open-mouthed and open-eyed, as if ready to swallow anything... "Yes," murmured Junkie, nodding, "that's the right way to begin." "But you must not interrupt, Junkie." "No, I won't do it again; but first, tell me, is it true?" "Yes, my boy; it is absolutely true in all its main points," replied Jackman. "Well, as I said, once upon a time, not very long ago, I was sent up to the North-west provinces of India, to a place near the base of the Himalaya mountain-range. The country was swarming with elephants at that time. You see, previous to that, the elephants had been hunted and killed to such an extent that the Government had been obliged to pass an Elephant Preservation Act for their protection, and the Act worked so well that the elephants multiplied very fast. They roamed at will through the forests, and frequently, leaving these, made raids upon the cultivated lands, to the great damage of property and danger of human life from the `rogues,' as old, solitary elephants which have been driven from the herds, are called. These `rogues' are extremely ill-natured and dangerous, so it was found necessary to take steps to kill some of them, and thin the herds by capturing some of the females, which might be tamed and made useful. "For this purpose of hunting and catching elephants a hunt upon a truly magnificent scale was instituted. Now, as it is very difficult to kill such huge creatures, and still more difficult to catch them, men are obliged to call to their aid tame elephants, which are trained for the purpose of what is called Khedda hunting. But I don't mean to tell you either about the killing or catching just now. I shall rather relate an extraordinary and thrilling incident that occurred before the hunt had properly begun. "Great men from all parts of the country assembled at this hunt, some of them bringing troops of tame elephants and followers with them. There were governors and rajahs, and private secretaries, with some of their wives, military officers, forest officers, commissioners, collectors, superintendents, magistrates, surgeons, medical officers, and even clergymen, besides a host of smaller fry and servants. It was a regular army! The Maharajah of Bulrampore sent sixty-five catching elephants, and five koonkies or fighting elephants, among which was a famous warrior named Chand Moorut. Along with these came a body of men trained to that special work. A good contingent also came from Rampore. The Rajah of Khyrigarh came in person with thirteen elephants and a noted fighting animal, named Berchir Bahadur; other elephants were collected from the rajahs and native gentlemen around. Among the koonkies, or gladiators, were two tremendous fellows, both as to colossal size and courage, named respectively Raj Mungul and Isri Pershad. "But far before them all in towering height and stupendous weight and unconquerable courage, as well as warlike tendency, was the mighty Chand Moorut, whom I first mentioned. This grand, slow-moving, sedate hero of a hundred fights, was a sort of elephantine bull-dog; a concentrated earthquake; an animal thunder-bolt; a suppressed volcano. Nothing in the forests had yet been found which could stand before his onset. And when we saw him stalk solemnly into camp with his mahowt, or guide, looking like a small monkey on his great neck, and remembered his fame as a fighter and his eager thirst at all times for battle, we felt that the keystone had been put to the arch of our arrangements. "This great mixed multitude was put under the direction of a Conservator of Forests, a man celebrated for his exploits and daring adventures in the field, and it was as a friend of his that I joined the hunt with my man, Pat Quin there." "Troth, sor, an' av it wasn't for Chand Moorut (blissin's on his great sowl, av he has wan, an' on his body av he hasn't) your man Pat Quin would have been left there as flat as a pancake. Excuse me, sor, for spakin', but me feelin's overcomed me." "No doubt, Quin, you had a narrow escape; I'll come to that soon. Well, the spot at last chosen for pitching the camp was a splendid one, facing northward, where we had an extensive view of the great forests that stretched to the base of the irregular and rugged Sawalick hills. Behind these rose the mighty Himalayas themselves, their grand peaks seeming to push up into the very heavens, where the sun shone with dazzling brilliancy on their everlasting snows. The camp covered an immense piece of ground, which was partly open and partly dotted with clumps of trees. It was so large that the tents, etcetera, were arranged in streets, and our Director pitched his tent in the very centre of it, with all the tame elephants and their attendants around him. "You may easily fancy that it was a noisy camp, with so many hundreds of men and animals around, full of excitement, more or less, about the coming fight; for we had a number of men, called trackers, out in the woods, who had brought in news that a herd of wild elephants had just been discovered in the Saharanpur and Dun forests, on the banks of the Ganges. "The glens in these forests were known to be well suited for hunting purposes, so our hopes and expectations were raised to a high pitch. Towards evening we had got pretty well settled down, when a rumour got about the camp that one of the Khedda elephants had killed a man, and that it was highly probable he would run _amuck_ to the great danger of every one. It happened thus:-- "A big tusker, named Mowla Buksh, was being taken by his mahowt to drink and bathe, according to custom, when it was observed that the elephant seemed to be out of temper. Just then one of the fodder-cutters chanced to pass by. "`Keep out of his way,' cried the mahowt, in a warning tone. `There's something wrong with him to-day. I won't bathe him, I think.' "`Oh! he knows me well, and won't harm me,' returned the cutter. "The words were scarcely out of the man's mouth, when the brute rushed at him, knocked him down, gored him with his tusks, and kicked him after the fashion of enraged elephants. Of course the poor man was instantly killed. When this deed was done, Mowlah Buksh seemed to feel that, having lost his character, he might as well go on in his course of mischief. He became wild with fury, and kept throwing his head back in a vain endeavour to seize his mahowt with his trunk and kill him also. In this effort he failed. The mahowt, though old, was active and strong. He managed to hold on and sit so far back on the elephant's hind quarters as to be just out of reach. Luckily the brute did not think of shaking him off. "Had he attempted that, he would soon have succeeded. The poor man would have fallen to the ground and been killed. Finding that he could not accomplish his purpose, the infuriated animal rushed towards the camp, where the khedda or hunting elephants were, and where, as I have said, our Director had pitched his tent. My own tent was close beside his. "The first I heard of what was going on was from Quin, who came running into my tent, where I was sitting quietly at the time, cleaning my rifle. Quin's eyes were starting out of his head, and there was, I assure you, nothing of the pleasant smile that rests on his face at this moment! "`Och, sor!' gasped Quin, `Bowla Muk--no--Mowla Buksh--has gone mad entoirely!' "I jumped up quickly, you may believe, for I didn't often see _that_ look on Quin's face, and when I did, I knew well that something very serious was in the wind. "`Where away is he?' I asked. "`Sorrow wan o' me knows, sor,' said Quin. "Rushing out with no very fixed purpose in view, I soon found that the shouting in the camp was a sufficient guide to the spot where the mischief was going on. In a few minutes I came on a cordon of musketeers who had been hastily drawn up, so as to prevent Mowla Buksh from getting at the other elephants, for if he had succeeded in doing so, he would certainly have gone knocking about the smaller ones, perhaps maiming them, and killing every man who might chance to come in his path. On the other hand, if the musketeers managed to turn him, there was the danger of his making for the main camp, and killing every one he could lay hold of in that direction. "Of course the thought of turning out the big fighting elephants to master him occurred to every one; but even here there would be risk, for these gladiators would not rest content without knocking Mowla Buksh off his legs, in which case the mahowt would assuredly be killed. Besides, our Director chanced to be in the forest at the time, and no one else seemed ready to take the responsibility of ordering them out. "When I came up to the musketeers, I saw the elephant rushing wildly about, trying to find a way through them, with the old mahowt sticking to his back like a burr. "The Bulrampore men shouted to him to try and get the elephant to go to his standing-place, saying that if he could persuade him to sit down they would tie his legs up. After the brute had exhausted itself somewhat by rushing about, the mahowt did succeed in recovering control so far as to persuade him to move to his standing-place, which was not far distant, and to our great relief he sat down in the usual way. The Bulrampore men were as good as their word. Smart hands every one, they ran up with ropes and commenced tying up his hind legs. Being experts at the work, they manipulated the thick ropes with amazing rapidity, and had the panting animal almost secured when he partially recovered, and began to understand what was being done to him. He started up indignantly, just before the knots were properly fastened, and struck out right and left with his trunk, scattering the men in all directions. "Although the ropes had not been quite secured, they were sufficiently fast to impede his movements. He therefore took to venting his rage on the surrounding trees, and, really, until that day, I had not realised the prodigious strength of this king of beasts. He knocked and smashed them down right and left with the greatest possible ease, although, I do assure you, some of them were fully eight inches in diameter. All this time the old mahowt was clinging to his back, not daring to slip off. "The men now began to lay large rope-nooses about here and there, in the hope that he would accidentally put a foot into one of them. But Mowla Buksh was much too knowing to be caught in this way. Whenever he came across one of these nooses, he took it up with his trunk and tossed it contemptuously aside. Gradually he worked his way up to a cluster of trees, near the tent in which our Director's wife had been seated all the time--with what feelings I will not pretend to guess. In this cluster he spent two hours, smashing down trees all the time, and occasionally, by way of variety, trying to lay hold of the poor mahowt, who was gradually becoming exhausted through terror and the exertion of holding on. "Strange to say, now and then the man appeared to regain control over the beast, though only for a few seconds. During one of these intervals he even succeeded in making Mowla Buksh partially sit down. "`Och! now or niver! Off wid ye!' yelled a splitting voice close to my ear! I need not tell you whose voice that was, or that its owner was skipping about like a gorilla, almost as mad as the elephant!" "Ah! sor," interrupted Quin, "don't ye remimber how yourself was--but I'll have mercy on ye! Go on, sor." "Well, I confess," resumed Jackman, "that I was a little excited. However, the Bulrampore men echoed Quin's advice in eagerly expressed Hindustani. The mahowt took it, slipped to the ground, and ran for his life! Fortunately the excited Mowla either did not perceive or did not care. He rose up and recommenced his work of destruction. "All this time he had been freeing himself from the ropes, with which he was imperfectly bound. At last he detached them entirely, and began to make furious rushes in every direction. "At that critical moment our Director arrived on the scene. Seeing how matters stood he at once gave orders to have the fighting elephants brought to the front, as the only chance that remained to bring the mischief to an end. The orders were gladly and promptly obeyed. "Before they arrived, however, Mowla Buksh, in one of his rushes, came straight to where Quin and I were standing--" "Skippin', sor, ye said." "Well, skipping. But we stopped skipping at once, and took to running as hard as we could. We both ran through some soft reedy ground, where the brute overtook us. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him knock Quin into the rushes and set his enormous foot on him--" "Oh! was he killed?" exclaimed Junkie with a look of consternation at the now heroic Quin! There was a general burst of laughter, in which Junkie joined, for he saw the absurdity of the question, which sudden anxiety had forced from him. "But why wasn't you killed?" he asked almost indignantly. "Whisht! honey, an' ye'll hear, av ye'll howld your tongue." "You must know," continued Jackman, "that the place he had tumbled into was wet, soft ground, and Quin has a sharp way of looking after his life! Although half stunned he rolled to one side, so that only the side of the great foot came down on his shoulder and thrust him deep into the mud. I stopped at once with a feeling of horror, but without the slightest conception of what I meant to do, and the horror was deepened as I saw the monster turn with the evident intention of completing his work. "At that terrible moment the colossal forms of Raj Mungul, Isri Pershad, and the mighty Chand Moorut appeared, coming towards us. Mowla Buksh did not carry out his deadly intentions. There was `method in his madness.' Seeing the koonkies approach, he retreated at once to the shelter of the cluster of trees, and waited. "I rushed forward, expecting to find my man dead and flattened, but he rose slowly as I came up, and with an indescribable expression of countenance said, `Arrah! then, but he _was_ heavy!'" "An' _that_ must have been true--what-ever" said McGregor, unable to restrain a comment at this point. "What you remark is true likewise, Shames," said the skipper. "Go on--quick!" cried Junkie, eagerly. "Well, our Director gave orders, to take Raj Mungul to the south side of the clump of trees, Isri Pershad to the west, and Chand Moorut to the east. It was impossible to let the last go in, though he was impatient to do so, for by that time it was getting dark, and his mahowt would have probably been swept off his back by the branches; and the risk of such a gladiator being let loose without a controlling hand was not to be thought of for a moment. "The difficulty was got over by means of a ruse. Two men were sent to the north side of the clump with orders to talk and attract the attention of Mowla. The plan succeeded. The moment the still fuming brute heard their voices, he went at them furiously! Now was the chance for the heroic Chand Moorut; and that warrior was never known to let an opportunity slip. No British bull-dog ever gave or accepted a challenge with more hilarious alacrity than he. As soon as Mowla came out of the trees, Chand Moorut went at him with a rush that seemed incredible in such a mountain of usually slow and dignified flesh. But darkness, coupled perhaps with haste, interfered. He missed his mark, and Mowla Buksh, turning round, dashed straight at the tent, in front of which our Director and a friend were standing. The friend, who was a V.C. as well as a cool and intrepid sportsman, directed the light of a lantern full on the monster's face till it was close upon him, thus enabling the Director to plant a bullet in his head. Whether the shot gave him a headache or not, I cannot tell. The only certain effect it had was to turn the animal aside, and cause it to rush off in the direction of the main camp, closely followed by Isri Pershad and Raj Mungul. Chand Moorut was held back in reserve. Happily Raj Mungul managed to outstrip and turn the runaway, and as Mowla Buksh came back, Chand Moorut got another chance at him. Need I say that he took advantage of it? Charging in like a live locomotive, he sent the mad creature flying--as if it had been a mere kitten--head over heels into a small hollow!" "Well done! Capital!" shouted Junkie, at this point unable to restrain himself, as, with glittering eyes, he glanced round the circle of listeners. A laugh at his enthusiasm seemed to Junkie to endorse his sentiment, so he turned to Jackman and earnestly bade him to "go on." "There is not much to go on with now, my boy," continued the narrator; "for Mowla Buksh being down, the fighting elephants took good care to punish him well before they let him up again. But as the encounter had aroused the combative propensities of Chand Moorut, it was thought wise to remove him from the scene before he became too excited. This being managed by his mahowt, the punishing of the rebel was left to Isri Pershad and Raj Mungul, who did their work thoroughly. No sooner did the culprit scramble out of the hollow than Isri Pershad knocked him back into it, and pummelled him heartily with trunk and legs. Again Mowla Buksh rose, and this time Raj Mungul gave him a tap on the forehead with his own ponderous head, which sent him into a bed of giant rushes, over the top of which his little tail was seen to wriggle viciously as he disappeared with a crash. "There he would probably have been content to lie still for a time, but his opponents had other views in regard to him. They went at him together, and so cuffed, kicked, bumped and pummelled him, that in about five minutes he was reduced to a pitiable state of humiliation. As Quin truly remarked at the time, his own mother would have failed to recognise him. "Just at this point, to my surprise, the old mahowt came forward, with tears in his eyes, and begged that his elephant might be spared! It had been punished quite sufficiently, he thought. I was much impressed with this display of a tender, forgiving spirit towards a brute that had done its very best to take his own life. But no one sympathised with him at the moment, and the punishment was continued until Mowla Buksh was thoroughly subdued, and compelled by his conquerors to return to his standing-place, where he was finally and firmly secured. Thus, at last, ended this exciting and most unexpected commencement to our hunt, and the whole camp was soon after steeped in silence and repose. Not a bad beginning, eh, Junkie?" "Yes, but go on wi' the hunt," said the boy with eager promptitude, a request which was loudly echoed by his brothers. "No, no, boys; you've had enough to digest for one day; besides, I see the cart coming up the road to fetch our deer. And perhaps your father has more work cut out for us." "Well, not much," replied the laird, who had been quite as much interested in the elephant story as his sons. "There is another drive on the east side of the hill, which we have still time for, though I don't expect much from it. However, we can try it. Come now, lads, we'll be going." "Shames," said Captain McPherson, as the party moved away from the lunching-ground, "I wonder if a good thrashin' like that would make the elephant a better beast afterwards?" "Weel now, Captain Mcphairson, I don't think it would," replied McGregor after a pause for consideration. "You are right, Shames," said Ian Anderson, the old fisherman, who was a deep-thinking man. "It has always appeared to me, that the object of poonishment, is a not to make us coot, but to make us obedient." "Then what for are ye always poonishin' me, an' tellin' me to be coot, when ye say it won't make me coot?" asked Donald. "Because, Tonal', it iss my duty to _tell_ ye to be coot, although I cannot _make_ ye coot, ye rascal!" answered the fisherman, sternly; "but I can make ye obey me by poonishin' you--ay, an' I wull do it too." Donald knew too well from experience that it was not safe to attempt arguing the question, but he gave a peculiarly defiant shake of his ragged head, which said as plainly as words that the time was coming when "poonishment" would cease to secure even obedience--at least in his case! "You are right, Ian," said Jackman, turning round, for he had overheard the conversation. "Punishment compelled Mowla Buksh to walk to his standing-place and submit to be tied up, for he did not dare to disobey with Isri Pershad and Raj Mungul standing guard over him, but it certainly did not make him good. I went, with many others, to see him the next morning. On the way over to the elephant camp, I saw the huge trees which he had smashed down in his rage lying about in all directions, and on reaching his standing-place, found him looking decidedly vicious and bad-tempered. It was quite evident that any one venturing within reach of his trunk would receive harsh treatment and no mercy. A small red spot in his great forehead showed that our Director's aim had been a fairly good one, though it had not hit the deadly spot in the centre." "But I want to know," said Junkie, who kept close to Jackman's side, thirsting for every word that fell from his lips, "why did the bullet not go in and kill Bowly Muksh?" "Because the head of Mowla Buksh was too thick," said Jackman, laughing. "You see, to be a thick-head is not always a disadvantage." "There, you ought to take comfort from that, Junkie," remarked his brother Archie, with that fine spirit of tenderness which is so often observable in brothers. "Ha! ha! ha!" yelled Eddie, with that delicacy of feeling which is equally common. "Hold your tongues!" growled Junkie--the more classic "shut up" not having at that time found its way to the Western Isles. "You must know, Junkie, that all parts of an elephant's head are not of equal thickness," said Jackman in that kindly confidential tone which tends so powerfully to soothe a ruffled spirit. "The only point in an elephant's forehead that can be pierced by a rifle ball is exactly in the centre. It is about the size of a saucer, and if you miss that, you might as well fire against the Eagle Cliff itself, for the ball would only stick in the skull." With this explanation Junkie was fain to rest content at the time, for the party had reached a part of the hill where it became necessary to station the guns at their several posts. In regard to this drive, we have only to say that it ended in nothing except heavy rain and a severe draft on the patience of the sportsmen, without any reward, save that which may be derived from mild martyrdom. Now, when the events which we have described were taking place on the mountains of Loch Lossie, a very different scene was occurring in the nursery of Kinlossie House. In that interesting apartment, which was one of the chief country residences of the spirits Row and Smash, little Flora was seated all alone in the afternoon of that day. Her seat was a low chair, before her was a low table to match. On the table sat her favourite doll, Blackie, to whom she was administering counsel of the gravest kind, in tones the most solemn. The counsel, we need scarcely say, gave unquestionable proof that her mother's admonitions to herself had been thoroughly understood, though not always acted on. Flo was in the midst of one of her most pathetic appeals to Blackie to be "dood," when her mother entered hastily. "Come with me, darling, to visit poor old Mrs Donaldson. She is not very well, I hear." Flo required no second bidding, for she was extremely fond of the keeper's mother--and love needs no persuasion. As we have said, Mrs Donaldson's little cottage stood behind that of her son Ivor. It was very small, consisting of only one apartment with a box bed and a few articles of old furniture, the most cherished of which was a little clock with a staring face, and a poor landscape on it. "What caused the bruise, Maggie?" asked Mrs Gordon, after much talk on the subject of fomentations and bandages. The old woman hesitated to tell, but after a little pressing she said, in half apologetic tone,--"Weel, mem, it was na Ivor's fau't, but the day before yesterday he cam in--fou--ye ken he's fond o' his glass, mem, an' he was swingin' aboot his airms, poor falla, an' withoot the least intention, his haund cam doon wi' sik a ding on my heed that knockit me doon. But he kens na aboot it, so ye'll no speak o't to him--or to the laird." "You may depend upon it, poor Maggie, that I will not. My mentioning it could do no good. And, as you say, Ivor was not quite himself at the time." "Thank'ee, mem, that's just it. An' he's the best sons to me--_whan he's sober_." Soon afterwards a shout outside told that the sportsmen had returned from the hills, so, bidding the old woman good-bye, Mrs Gordon and her sympathetic child returned to the house. CHAPTER NINE. A QUIET DAY WITH A STIRRING TERMINATION. What fisher does not know the charm, the calm delight, of a quiet day by the river-side, after, it may be, months of too much contact with society? On such an occasion a congenial comrade is an advantage, but unless the comrade be congenial, one is better alone. This may sound selfish to some ears, but is it really so? When a man has all but immolated himself for ten or eleven months, it may be, on the altar of business, art, and social duty, is a tremendous thirst for Nature and solitude altogether selfish? We think not. And evidently MacRummle thought not, as he wandered one soft, delightful morning, rod in hand, down to the river-side. The river-side! There is something restfully suggestive in the very words. The quiet pools, the gurgling deeps, the rushing rapids, the rippling shallows, the little cascades--what ardent hopes, what wild suggestions, what grand possibilities these have for the young; what gentle excitations, what pleasant, even though sad, memories for the old! Of course the non-fisher knows nothing of all this. His terrestrial joys are limited, poor thing! The painter, indeed, has some part in the matter--as regards his own line, so to speak--and when he goes on what is vulgarly termed his own hook. We have profound sympathy with the painter. But for the poor fellow who neither fishes nor paints, alas! To be sure he may botanise. Strange to say, we had almost forgotten that! and also geologise; but our concern at present is with fishers, or, rather, with that fishing enthusiast, MacRummle. The sunshine of his face was second only to that of Nature. His visage beamed with satisfaction; his eyes gleamed with hope, as he sat down on the bank near to his first pool, and began to select flies. We have probably given the impression that MacRummle was alone, but this is not strictly correct. In his own estimation he was, indeed, in absolute solitude, and, so far, his felicity was unbroken; but his steps had been dogged that morning, and the dogger was Junkie. That eccentric youngster possessed a mind which it is not easy to analyse or describe. One strong element in it, however, was curiosity. Another was ambition. The blending of these two qualities produced wonder in Junkie--wonder that he, though as ardent a sportsman as MacRummle, should go forth frequently to fish and catch little or nothing, while the old gentleman went out and was wont to return with baskets full to overflowing. There must be a secret of some sort. He did not like to ask what that secret was, so he made up his mind to follow the old man and watch him--not of course with the slightest intention of doing anything sly or wrong, but secretly, because he was well aware that MacRummle did not like to be distracted by company-- especially _his_ company! Following, then, at a respectful distance, and relying for success very much on the fisher's partial blindness and deafness, Junkie went out to have a day of it. He even went so far, in the matter of forethought, as to provide himself with a massive slice of bread and cheese to sustain him while carrying on his investigations. Before he had got far from the house, however, he encountered Donald of the ragged head, who had hung about the place in hopes of another deer-drive, and whom he styled "Tonal'," in semi-sarcastic imitation of old Ian. Him he at once took into his confidence. "I'll co wuth ye," said Donald. "Come along, then. But mind, if you make a noise, or show yourself; if you so much as cough or sneeze, I'll punch your head an' tumble you into the river." "Fery coot," said Donald. And upon this clear understanding they advanced. The other members of the company at the house, meanwhile, had scattered in various directions to fish, shoot, paint or botanise, according to fancy. We may explain here that there were several trouting streams in the vicinity of the house, besides the "river" at the head of the loch. Thus it was that MacRummle had a stream all to himself. At first the fisher tried fly, to which he was partial, but success did not attend his efforts. The water was not in the best condition for fly, being rather swollen by recent rains. Perseverance, however, was one of MacRummle's strong qualities. He was not to be easily beaten. There was a certain big boulder about the size of a dog-cart near the mouth of the stream, which narrowed its bed considerably, and thus produced a formation of rock below water favourable to the shelter of fish. It also sent an oily ripple over the surface of the water, which was favourable to the operations of the fisher. The old gentleman seldom failed to raise or hook a good sea-trout there, and always made his first cast with eager expectation. But the fish were either obdurate or blind that morning. They could not or they would not see. With a slight, but by no means desponding, sigh, the old man changed his cast and tried again. He knew every stone and ledge of the pool, and cast again and again with consummate skill and unusual care. Still, without result. "That's odd," he muttered, for, being naturally a sociable man, he found talking to himself an immense relief. "Try once more, just at the tail o' yon swirl, Dick, my boy." His Christian name was Richard. No one would have presumed to call him Dick but himself. No result following this appeal to the tail of the swirl, he sat down on the bank and once more changed his hook. The nature of change might have been heard by the insects among the heather close by, if they were listening, for Donald whispered to his companion,--"He's coin' to try pait!" "Didn't I bid ye hau'd your tongue?" "Ay." "Do't then." MacRummle dropped a worm gently into the head of the pool, and let it go with the current. Instantly the line straightened, the rod bent, the reel spun, and from the other side of the pool there leaped a lovely bar of silver, which fell back to its native element with a considerable splash. "A two-pounder!" gasped Donald, unable to restrain his excitable spirit, as he half rose. Junkie had him by the throat in a moment, and crammed his ragged head down among the heather. "Tonal'!" he whispered remonstratively. "I forgot," whispered Donald, when the strong little hands relaxed. "I'll not do't again." "Ye better no'," returned Junkie, with a shake of his fist that required no explanation. By this time the fish had darted like a lightning flash twice up stream, once down, three times across, and twice into the air. At the same time the fisher had hurried up and down the bank, had tripped over two stumps and a root, had dropped his wideawake, and had very nearly gone head foremost into the pool; for his tackle was fine and his fish large. The fisher-boy gasped. "Tonal'," said Junkie, in very low tones, "if ye don't behave better, I'll send ye away." "It iss not easy, but I'll try," said he. Donald could say no more. The best of men or boys could do no more than try. We may as well say here at once, however, that his efforts at self-control were crowned with success. He proved himself to be a great man in embryo by ruling his own spirit that day. In a few minutes the trout was landed by means of a miniature gaff, which the fisher carried in his basket, for the purpose of securing fish that were too heavy to be pulled out by the line. It was afterwards found to be a two-and-a-half pounder, which, being an unusually good fish for that stream, was the occasion of much rejoicing on the part of the old gentleman, as he stood wiping his forehead and commenting on it. "Capital! Not had such a fellow as that for more than a week. There's more where that came from; but you must give the pool a rest, Dick. Try the run higher up." In obedience to his own orders, MacRummle went up to a part of the stream where a high cliff on one side and a steepish bank on the other caused it to flow in a deep channel, not much more than a couple of yards wide. At the head of the run was a ledge where fish were invariably captured. Towards this spot the old man hurried eagerly. The two boys lay still in the heather, allowed him to pass, and then softly followed, bending low, and keeping as much as possible behind bushes and in hollows, until they were again close upon him. Ensconcing themselves in a convenient mass of heather, they raised their heads and saw the fisher stepping carefully from rock to rock, as he approached the run. Rounded boulders, large or small, are never safe to walk on, even for the young and active. MacRummle found it so. His foot slipped, and he sat down, with undignified haste, in a small pool of water. Down went the boys' heads, that they might explode their laughter as softly as possible among the roots of the heather. "Wass it not funny?" whispered Donald. "I hope he's not hurt," replied Junkie, raising his head cautiously. He saw that MacRummle had risen, and, with a rueful expression of face, was making insane and futile efforts to look at himself behind. A beaming smile overspread the boy's face as he glanced at his companion, for he knew well that the old gentleman cared little or nothing for water. And this was obviously the case, for, after squeezing as much water out of his nether garments as chose to come, he proceeded to the head of the runs and resumed fishing. "I'm beginnin' to see through't," murmured Junkie, after watching for some time. "See! he has hooked another. Ye see, Tonal', it must be lettin' the hook drift away down under the ledges that does it. Look! He's got 'im!" "I'm thinking ye are right, Junkie. An' the creat thing to know iss where the ledges lie. He keeps well back from the watter also. There maun be somethin' in that, what-e-ver. Ye wull be tryin' it yoursel' the morn, maype." To this Junkie vouchsafed no reply, for the fisher, having secured his fish, was proceeding further up stream. When he was sufficiently far in advance, the boys rose to their feet, and again followed him. Thus the trio occupied themselves all the forenoon--MacRummle gradually filling his basket with fine sea-trout, Junkie storing his inquisitive mind with piscatorial knowledge and "dodges," and Donald enjoying himself in the mere act of wallowing about in heather and sunshine. About noon MacRummle suddenly ceased to gaze intently on the water, and placed his hand upon his waistcoat. "Time, Dick?" he murmured, pulling out his watch. "I knew it. Commend me to nature. It's the best time-keeper, after all--needs no regulating." He was wrong, as was frequently the case, but it mattered little, for there was no one to contradict him. "Let me see," he muttered, taking off his basket, and drawing a newspaper parcel from the pocket of his coat--in which operation he was induced by memory to make a last futile attempt to see himself behind--"what have they put up for me?" The parcel, when opened, disclosed a tempting pile of meat sandwiches. The old gentleman spread them out on a flattish boulder, which served as an admirable table. Having leaned his rod against a tree, he emptied the basket on a grassy spot, and arranged the silver bars in a row. Then he sat down on his basket beside the table, and gave himself up to food and contemplation. "A goodly row," he muttered, as well as the ham sandwich would let him. "Not a bad beginning; and such a splendid dish. There's comfort in that, for I hate useless work of any kind. A sort of an illustration, this, of the fitness of things!" Apparently the peculiar unfitness of simultaneous mastication and speech struck him, for he paused a few moments, then continued,--"Yes, fitness. Supplies for the table absolutely needed. Healthy exercise a consequence. Result, felicity!" The supplies checking speech again, MacRummle looked around him, with benignant good-will to man and beast expressed on his countenance. Craning their necks over a bank, and seeing the old gentleman thus pleasantly engaged, the two boys sank into the heather, and disappeared from view as completely as did "Clan Alpine's warriors true," after they had been shown to Fitz James by Roderick Dhu. Like two sparrows in a purple nest they proceeded to enjoy themselves. "Now, Tonal', we will grub," said Junkie. "Why, what's the matter with you?" he asked, on observing a sudden fall in his companion's countenance. "The matter?" repeated the boy. "It iss the crub that's the matter, for I hev not a crumb with me." "Now, isn't that awful?" said Junkie, with a hypocritically woeful look. "We will just have to starve. But there's plenty of water," he added, in a consoling tone. "Here, Tonal', take this leather cup an' fill it. Ye can git down to the river by the back o' the bluff without bein' noticed. See that ye make no noise, now. Mind what I said to ye." While Donald went at a slow, sad pace to fetch water, Junkie spread his handkerchief on the ground, and on this tablecloth laid out the following articles, which he took from a small bag that he had carried, slung on his shoulder,--a very large piece of loaf bread, a thick slice of cheese, two hard biscuits, an apple, a bit of liquorice, a mass of home-made toffee, inseparably attached to a dirty bit of newspaper, three peppermint lozenges, and a gully knife with a broken blade. When Donald returned and beheld this feast, he opened his eyes wide. Then, opening his mouth, he was on the point of giving vent to a cheer, when Junkie stopped him with a glance and an ominous shake of the fist. It is to this day an undecided question which of those feasters enjoyed himself most. "I always bring with me more than I can eat, Tonal', so you're welcome to the half. `Fair play,' as daddy says, although he sometimes keeps the fairest play to himself;" with which dutiful remark the urchin proceeded to divide the viands very justly. It did not take long to consume the whole. But MacRummle was quicker even than they, possibly because he had enticing work still before him. The consequence was, that he had resumed his rod unnoticed by the boys, and in the process of his amusement, had reached that part of the bank on the top of which they lay concealed. Their devotion to lunch had prevented his approach being perceived, and the first intimation they had of his near presence was the clatter of pebbles as he made a false step, and the swish of his flies above their heads as he made a cast. The boys gazed at each other for one moment in silence, then hastily stuffed the remnant of their feast into their pockets. Suddenly the glengarry bonnet of Junkie leaped mysteriously off his head, and dropped on the heather behind him. "Hanked again!" growled MacRummle from the river-bed below. Every fisher knows the difficulty of casting a long line with a steep bank behind him. Once already the old gentleman had hanked on the bank a little lower down, but so slightly that a twitch brought the flies away. Now, however, the hank was too complicated to give way to a twitch, for the glengarry held hard on to the heather. In desperate haste, Junkie, bending low, tried to extract the hook. It need scarcely be said that a hook refuses to be extracted in haste. Before he could free it, the voice of MacRummle was heard in sighs and gasps of mild exasperation as he scrambled up the bank to disentangle his line. There was no time for consideration. Junkie dropped his cap, and, rolling behind a mass of rock, squeezed himself into a crevice which was pretty well covered with pendent bracken. Donald vanished in a somewhat similar fashion, and both, remaining perfectly still, listened with palpitating hearts to MacRummle's approach. "Well, well!" exclaimed the fisher in surprise; "it's not every day I hook a fish like this. A glengarry! And Junkie's glengarry! The small rascal! Crumbs, too! ha! that accounts for it. He must have been having his lunch here yesterday, and was so taken up with victuals that he forgot his cap when he went away. Foolish boy! It is like his carelessness; but he's not a bad little fellow, for all that." He chuckled audibly at this point. Junkie did the same inaudibly as he watched his old friend carefully disengage the hook; but the expression of his face changed a little when he saw his cap consigned to the fisher's pocket, as he turned and descended to the stream. Having given the fisher sufficient time to get away from the spot, Junkie emerged from his hiding-place. "Tonal'," he said, in a low voice, looking round, "ye may come oot noo, man. He's safe away." The ragged head, in a broad grin, emerged from a clump of bracken. "It wass awful amusin', Junkie, wass it not?" "Yes, Tonal', it was; but it won't be very amusin' for me to go all the rest of the day bareheaded." Donald sympathised with his friend on this point, and assured him that he would have divided his cap with him, as Junkie had divided his lunch, but for the fact that he never wore a cap at all, and the ragged hair would neither divide nor come off. After this they resumed their work of dogging the fisher's steps. It would require a volume to relate all that was said and done on that lovely afternoon, if all were faithfully detailed; but our space and the reader's patience render it advisable to touch only on two points of interest. As the day advanced the heat became overpowering, and, to escape from the glare of the sun for a little, the fisher took shelter under some very tall bracken on the bank near a deep pool. In order to secure a slight feeling of pleasurable expectation while resting, he put on a bait-cast, dropped the worm into the deepest part of the pool, propped up his rod with several stones, and then lay down to watch. The turf happened to be soft and level. As a natural consequence the tired man fell sound asleep. "What's to be done noo, Junkie?" "I don't know, Tonal'." To make matters more exasperating, at that moment the rod began to bend and the reel to spin jerkily. "A fush!" exclaimed Donald. "Looks like it," returned his friend drily. "I better gee a yell an' wauken him," suggested Donald. "Ye'd better no'," said Junkie, shaking his fist. "Yonder iss the end o' yer bonnet stickin' oot o' his pooch, what-e-ver," said Donald. "You'd better lie low an' keep still," said Junkie; and, without further explanation of his intentions, he went softly down the bank and crept towards the sleeper, taking advantage of every stone and root and bush as he went along. Really, for a first attempt, it was worthy of the child of a Pawnee brave. MacRummle was a heavy sleeper, so Junkie had no difficulty in recovering his cap. Putting it on, he returned the way he had come. "That wass cliver, man," said the admiring Donald, when his friend rejoined him. Junkie accepted the compliment with a dignified smile, and then sat down to wait; but it was a severe trial of patience to both of them, for the old man slept steadily on, and even snored. He seemed, in short, to have fairly gone to bed for the night. "What say ye to bomb stanes at 'um?" suggested Donald. "An' kill 'im, maybe," returned Junkie, with sarcasm in his eye. "Heave divits at 'um, then." "Ay; that's better." Accordingly, the two urchins tore up a mass of turf which was much too heavy to heave. "Let's row'd," suggested the active-minded Donald. As this also met the approval of Junkie, they carried the "divit," or mass of turf, to the bank just above the sleeper, and, taking a careful aim, let it go. The bank was not regular. A lump diverted the divit from its course, and it plunged into the pool, to the obvious discomposure of the fish, which was still at intervals tugging at the line. Another divit was tried, but with similar result. A third clod went still further astray. The bombardment then became exciting, as every kind of effort does when one begins to realise the beneficial effect of practice. "I can see how it is," whispered Junkie, as he carefully "laid" the next gun. "If we keep more to the right, it'll hit that lump o' grass, glance into the hollow, and--" He stopped abruptly, and both boys stood in crab-like attitudes of expectation, ready to fly, for the divit took the exact course thus indicated, and bounding down the bank, hit MacRummle fair on his broad back. The guilty ones dived like rabbits into the bracken. "Bless me!" exclaimed the old gentleman, jumping up and shaking the dry earth off. "This is most remarkable. I do believe I've been asleep. But why the bank should take to crumbling down upon me is more than I can understand. Hallo! A fish! You don't deserve such luck, Dick, my boy." Winding in the line in a way which proved that the divit had done him no harm, he gave utterance to an exclamation of huge disgust as he drew an eel to the bank, with the line entangled hopelessly about its shiny body. This was too much for MacRummle. Unable to face the misery of disentanglement, he cut the line, despatched the eel, attached a new hook, and continued his occupation. At the head of the pool in question the bank was so precipitous and high that the boys could see only the top of the rod swinging gracefully to and fro as the patient man pursued his sport. Suddenly the top of the rod described a wild figure in the air and disappeared. At the same moment a heavy plunge was heard. "Hech! he's tum'led in the pool," gasped Donald. They rushed to the overhanging edge of the cliff and looked down. Sure enough MacRummle was in the water. They expected to see him swim, for Junkie knew he was an expert swimmer; but the poor man was floating quietly down with the current, his head under water. "Banged his heed, what-e-ver!" cried Donald, jumping up and bounding down the bank to the lower and shallow end of the pool. Quick though he was, Junkie outran him; but the unfortunate MacRummle was unintentionally quicker than either, for they found him stranded when they got there. Running into the water, they seized him by the hair and the collar of his coat, and dragged him into the shallow part easily enough, but they had not strength to haul him ashore. "Fetch a divit, Tonal'--a big one, an' I'll keep up his head." One of the masses of recent artillery was fetched, and the fisher's head was gently pillowed on it, so as to be well out of the water. "There's no cut that I can see," said Junkie, inspecting the head critically; "he's only stunned, I think. Noo, Tonal', cut away to the hoose. Run as ye never ran before and tell them. I'll stop beside him for fear his heed slips in again." Donald went off like a shot. Junkie went a few steps with him, intending to fetch another divit. Looking back, he saw what made him sink into the heather, and give a low whistle. Donald heard it, stopped, and also hid himself, for MacRummle was seen trying to rise. He succeeded, and staggered to dry land, when, sitting down on a stone, he felt himself all over with an anxious expression. Then he felt a lump on the back of his head, and smiled intelligently. After that he squeezed as much water out of his garments as he could, quietly took down his rod, ascertained that the fish in his basket were all right, then looked with some perplexity at the big divit lying in the shallow close to where he stood, and finally, with a highly contented expression of countenance, wended his way homeward. The two boys gave him time to get well out of sight in advance, and then followed his example, commenting sagely as they went, on the desirability of possessing pluck in old age, and on the value of the various lessons they had learned that day. CHAPTER TEN. A WILDISH CHAPTER. It was the habit of our three friends--Bob Mabberly, John Barret, and Giles Jackman--during their residence at Kinlossie, to take a stroll together every morning before breakfast by the margin of the sea, for they were fond of each other's company, and Mabberly, as a yachtsman, had acquired the habit of early rising. He had also learned to appreciate the early morning hours as being those which present Nature in her sweetest, as well as her freshest, aspect--when everything seems, more than at other periods of the day, to be under the direct influence of a benignant Creator. It was also the habit of Captain McPherson and his man, James McGregor, to indulge daily in similar exercise at about the same hour, but, owing probably to their lives having been spent chiefly on the sea, they were wont to ramble up a neighbouring glen in preference to sauntering on the shore. One bright calm morning, however, when the sky was all blue and the loch was like a mirror, the two seamen took it into their heads to desert the glen and ramble along the shore. Thus it came to pass that, on returning homeward, they encountered our three friends. "It iss fery strange that we should foregather this mornin', Mr Mabberly," said the skipper, after greeting the young men; "for Shames an' me was jist speakin' aboot ye. We will be thinkin' that it iss foolishness for hum an' me to be stoppin' here wastin' our time when we ought to be at oor work." "Nonsense, Captain," said Mabberly; "surely you don't think that taking a holiday in a pleasant place like this is wasting time. Besides, I don't consider you free from your engagement to me. You were hired for the trip, and that includes land as well as water, so I won't give you your discharge till you have had a long rest, and recruited yourselves after the shock to your nervous systems occasioned by the wreck and the swim to shore!" A grim smile played on the skipper's iron features when reference was made to his nerves, and a flicker of some sort illumined the wooden visage of McGregor. "You are fery kind, sir," returned the skipper; "but we don't like to be receivin' pay for doin' nothin'. You see, neither Shames nor me cares much for fushin' in the burns, or goin' after the deer, an' there's no chance o' raisin' the yat from the pottom o' the sea, so, if you hev no objection, sir, we will be goin' by the steamer that arrives to-morrow. I thought I would speak to you to-day, for we will hev to start early in the mornin', before you're up, for it iss a long way we'll hev to go. Iss it not so, Shames?" "Oo, ay," replied the seaman, with more than ever of the nasal twang; "it iss a coot many miles to where the poat comes in--so the poy Tonal' wass tellin' me, what-e-ver." Mabberly tried to persuade the men to remain a little longer, but they were obdurate, so he let them go, knowing well that his father, who was a wealthy merchant and shipowner, would see to the interests of the men who had suffered in his son's service. As they retraced their steps to the house the skipper gave Giles Jackman some significant glances, which induced him to fall behind the others. "You want to speak with me privately, I think, skipper?" "Yes, sir, I do," replied the seaman, with some embarrassment. "But it iss not fery easy nor pleesant to do so. A man does not like to speak of another man's failin's, you see, but as I am goin' away I'm obleeged to do it. You will hev noticed, sir, that Ivor Tonalson iss raither fond of his tram?" "I'm afraid that I have observed that--poor fellow." "He is a goot man, sir, is Tonalson--a fery goot man--when he iss sober, but he hes got no power to resist the tram. An' whiles he goes on the spree, an' then he gits wild wi' D.T. you know, sir. Noo, ever since we cam' here, Ivor an' me hes been great friends, an' it hes been heavy on my mind to see him like that, for he's a fine man, a superior person, is Ivor, if he would only let alone the whusky. So I hev spoken to him wance or twice--serious like, you know. At first he was not pleased, but the last time I spoke, he took it kindly, an' said he would think aboot what I had been sayin'. Noo, it's heavy on me the thoucht o' goin' away an' leavin' him in that state, so I thoucht that maybe ye would tak the metter up, sir, an' see what ye can do wi' him. Git him, if ye can, to become a total abstainer, nothin' less than that wull do wi' a man in that condeetion." Jackman was greatly surprised, not only at the tenor of the skipper's remarks, but at the evidently deep feeling with which he spoke, for up to that time the reticence and quiet coolness of the man had inclined him to think that his mind and feelings were in harmony with his rugged and sluggish exterior. It was, therefore, with something of warmth that he replied,--"I shall be only too happy to do as you wish, Captain; all the more that I have had some serious thoughts and feelings in that direction. Indeed, I have made up my mind, as it happens, to speak to Ivor on that very subject, not knowing that you were already in the field. I am particularly sorry for his poor old mother, who has suffered a great deal, both mentally and physically, on his account." "Ay, that's the warst o' it," said the skipper. "It wass the sicht o' the poor wumin ailin' in body an' broken heartit that first set me at Ivor." "But how comes it, Captain, that you plead so earnestly for _total_ abstinence?" asked Jackman with a smile. "Have I not heard you defend the idea of moderate drinking, although you consented to sail in a teetotal yacht?" "Mr Jackman," said the skipper, with almost stern solemnity, "it iss all fery weel for men to speak aboot moderate drinkin', when their feelin's iss easy an' their intellec's iss confused wi' theories an' fancies, but men will change their tune when it iss brought home to themselves. Let a man only see his brither or his mither, or his faither, on the high road to destruction wi' drink, an' he'll change his opeenion aboot moderate drinkin'--at least for hard drinkers--ay, an' he'll change his practice too, unless he iss ower auld, or his stamick, like Timothy's, canna git on withoot it. An' that minds me that I would tak it kind if ye would write an' tell me how he gets on, for I hev promised to become a total abstainer if _he_ wull." That very afternoon, while out shooting on the hills, Jackman opened the campaign by making some delicate approaches to the keeper on the subject, in a general and indirect way, but with what success he could not tell, for Ivor was respectfully reserved. About the same time John Barret went off alone for a saunter in one of the nearest and most picturesque of the neighbouring glens. He had declined to accompany his comrades that day, for reasons best known to himself. After writing a few letters, to keep up appearances, and to prevent his being regarded as a mere idler, he went off, as we have said, to saunter in the glen. He had not sauntered far when he came upon a sight which is calculated, whenever seen, to arouse sentiments of interest in the most callous beholder--a young lady painting! It would be wrong to say he was surprised, but he was decidedly pleased, to judge from the expression of his handsome face. He knew who the lady was, for by that time he had studied the face and figure of Milly Moss until they had been indelibly photographed on his--well, on the sensitive-plate of his soul, wherever that lay. Milly had quite recovered from her accident by that time and had resumed her favourite pursuits. "I'm very glad to have caught you at work at last, Miss Moss," he said, on coming up to the picturesque spot on which her easel was erected. "I wish much to receive that lesson which you so kindly promised to give me." "I thought it was just the other way. Did you not say that you would teach me some of those perplexing rules of perspective which my book lays down so elaborately--and, to me, so incomprehensibly?" "I did, but did not you promise to show me how to manipulate oils--in regard to which I know absolutely nothing? And as practice is of greater importance than theory, you must be the teacher and I the pupil." Upon this point they carried on a discussion until Milly, declaring she was wasting her time and losing the effects of light and shade, went seriously to work on the canvas before her. Barret, whose natural colour was somewhat heightened, stood at a respectful distance, looking on. "You are quite sure, I hope," said the youth, "that it does not disturb you to be overlooked? You know I would not presume to do so if you had not promised to permit me. My great desire, for many a day, has been to observe the process of painting in oils by one who understands it." How he reconciled this statement with the fact that he was not looking at the picture at all, but at the little white hand that was deftly applying the brush, and the beautiful little head that was moving itself so gracefully about while contemplating the work, is more than we can explain. Soon the painter became still more deeply absorbed in her work, and the pupil more deeply still in the painter. It was a magnificent sweep of landscape that lay before them--a glen glowing with purple and green, alive with flickering sunlight and shadow, with richest browns and reds and coolest greys in the foreground; precipices, crags, verdant slopes of bracken, pine and birch woods hanging on the hillsides, in the middle distance, and blue mountains mingling with orange skies in the background, with MacRummle's favourite stream appearing here and there like a silver thread, running through it all. But Barret saw nothing of it. He only saw a pretty hand, a blushing cheek and sunny hair! The picture was not bad. There was a good deal of crude colour in the foreground, no doubt, without much indication of form; and there was also some wonderfully vivid green and purple, with impossible forms and amazing perspective--both linear and aerial--in places, and Turneresque confusion of yellow in the extreme distance. But Barret did not note that--though by means of some occult powers of comprehension he commented on it freely! He saw nothing but Milly Moss. It was a glorious chance. He resolved to make the most of it. "I had no idea that painting in oils was such a fascinating occupation," he remarked, without feeling quite sure of what he said. "I delight in it," returned the painter, slowly, as she touched in a distant sheep, which--measured by the rules of perspective, and regard being had to surrounding objects--might have stood for an average cathedral. Milly did not paint as freely as usual that afternoon. There was something queer, she said, about the brushes. "I _can't_ get it to look right," she said at last, wiping out an object for the third time and trying again. "No doubt," murmured the youth, "a cottage like that must be difficult to--" "Cottage!" exclaimed Milly, laughing outright; "it is not a cottage at all; it's a cow! Oh! Mr Barret, that is a very poor compliment to my work and to your own powers of discernment." "Nay, Miss Moss," retorted the pupil, in some confusion, "but you have wiped it out twice, confessing, as you did so, that you could not paint it! Besides, my remark referred to the cottage which I _thought_ you were going to paint--not to your unsuccessful representations of the cow." The poor youth felt that his explanation was so lame that he was somewhat relieved when the current of their thoughts was diverted by a loud shouting in the road farther down the glen. A shade of annoyance, however, rested for a moment on the face of his companion, for she recognised the voices, and knew well that the quiet _tete-a-tete_ with her willing and intelligent pupil must now be interrupted. "My cousins," she remarked, putting a touch on the cow that stamped that animal a _lusus naturae_ for all time coming. Another whoop told that the cousins were drawing near. In a few minutes they appeared in the path emerging from a clump of hazel bushes. "They are evidently bent on a photographic expedition," remarked Barret, as the boys approached, Junkie waving his hat with hilarious good-will when he discovered the painters. "And Flo is with them," said Milly, "from which I conclude that they are having what Junkie calls a day of it; for whenever they are allowed to take Flo, they go in for a high holiday, carrying provisions with them, so as to be able to stay out from morning till night." The appearance of the young revellers fully bore out Milly's statement, for they were all more or less burdened with the means or signs of enjoyment. Archie carried his box of dry plates in his left hand, and his camera and stand over his right shoulder; Eddie bore a colour-box and sketching-book; Junkie wielded a small fishing-rod, and had a fishing-basket on his back; and Flo was encircled with daisy chains and crowned with laurel and heather, besides which, each of the boys had a small bag of provisions slung on his shoulder. "Hooray! hooray! Out for the day!" sang, or rather yelled, Junkie, as he approached. "Ramble and roam-- Never go home!" added Archie, setting down his camera, and beginning to arrange it. "All of us must Eat till we bust! "Junkie teached me zat," said innocent Flo, with a look of grave surprise at the peals of laughter which her couplet drew from her brothers. "Yes, that's what we're goin' to do," said Junkie; "we've had lunch at the foot of Eagle Glen, and noo we are going up to Glen Orrack to dine, and fish, an' paint, an' botanise. After that we'll cross over the Swan's Neck, an' finish off the bustin' business with supper on the sea-shore. Lots of grub left yet, you see." He swung round his little wallet as he spoke, and held it up to view. "Would you like some, Cousin Milly?" asked Eddie, opening his bag. "All sorts here. Bread, cheese, ginger snaps, biscuits, jam--Oh! I say, the jam-pot's broken! Whatever shall we do?" He dipped his fingers into his wallet as he spoke, and brought them out magenta! Their hilarity was dissipated suddenly, and grave looks were bestowed on Eddie's digits, until Flo's little voice arose like a strain of sweet music to dissipate the clouds. "Oh! never mind," she said; "I's got anuzzer pot in my bag." This had been forgotten. The fact was verified by swift examination, and felicity was restored. "What are you going to photograph?" asked Milly, seeing that Archie was busy making arrangements. "_You_, Cousin Milly. You've no notion what a splendid couple you and Mr Barret look--stuck up so picturesquely on that little mound, with its rich foreground of bracken, and the grey rock beside you, and the peep through the bushes, with Big Ben for a background; and the easel, too--so suggestive! There, now, I'm ready. By the way, I might take you as a pair of lovers!" Poor Milly became scarlet, and suddenly devoted herself to the _lusus naturae_! Barret took refuge in a loud laugh, and then said: "Really, one would suppose that you were a professional, Archie; you order your sitters about with such self-satisfied presumption." "Yes, they always do that," said Milly, recovering herself, and looking calmly up from the cow--which now resembled a megatherium--"but you must remember, Cousin Archie, that I am a _painter_, and therefore understand about attitudes, and all that, much better than a mere photographer. So, if I condescend to sit, you must take your orders from _me_!" "Fire away then with your orders," cried the impatient amateur. "See, sir, I will sit thus--as if painting," said Milly, who was desperately anxious to have it over, lest Archie should make some awkward proposition. "Mr Barret will stand behind me, looking earnestly at the picture--" "Admiringly," interposed Barret. "Not so--earnestly, as if getting a lesson," said Milly, with a teacher's severity; "and Flo will sit thus, at my feet, taking care (hold it, dear,) of my palette." "More likely to make a mess of it," said Junkie. "Now, are you ready? Steady! Don't budge a finger," cried Archie, removing the little leather cap. In her uncertainty as to which of her fingers she was not to budge, Flo nervously moved them all. "You're movin', Flo!" whispered Junkie. "No, I'm not," said Flo, looking round indignantly. "There, I knew you couldn't hold your tongue, Junkie," cried the photographer, hastily replacing the cap. "However, I think I had it done before she moved." "And look--you've got the nigger in!" cried Junkie, snatching up the black doll, which had been lying unobserved on its owner's knee all the time. "Never mind, that'll do no harm. Now, then, soldiers, form up, an' quick march," said Archie, closing up his apparatus. "We have got plenty of work before us, and no time to waste." Obedient to this rather inaccurately given word of command, Archie's troops fell into line, and, with a whooping farewell, continued their march up the glen. During the remainder of that beautiful afternoon, the artist and pupil continued at their "fascinating" work. Shall we take advantage of our knowledge to lift the curtain, and tell in detail how Milly introduced a few more megatheriums into her painting, and violated nearly all the rules of perspective, to say nothing of colour and chiaro-oscuro? Shall we reveal the multitude of absurd remarks made by the pupil, in his wild attempts at criticism of an art, about which he knew next to nothing? No; it would be unwarrantable--base! Merely remarking that painter and pupil were exceedingly happy, and that they made no advance whatever in the art of painting, we turn to another scene in the neighbourhood of Kinlossie House. It was a wide grass-field from which the haycocks had recently been removed, leaving it bare and uninteresting. Nevertheless, there were two points of interest in that field which merit special attention. One was a small black bull, with magnificent horns, the shaggiest of coats, and the wickedest of eyes. The other was our friend MacRummle, taking a short cut through the field, with a basket on his back, a rod in one hand, and an umbrella in the other. We may at once account for the strange presence of the latter article, by explaining that, on the day before--which was rainy--the laird, had with an umbrella, accompanied his friend to his first pool in the river, at which point their roads diverged; that he had stayed to see MacRummle make his first two or three casts, during which time the sky cleared, inducing the laird to close his umbrella, and lean it against the bank, after which he went away and forgot it. Returning home the next day our angler found and took charge of it. That he had been successful that day was made plain, not only by the extra stoop forward, which was rendered necessary by the weight of his basket, and the beaming satisfaction on his face, but by the protruding tail of a grilse which was too large to find room for the whole of itself, inside. "You're a lucky man to-day, Dick," murmured the enthusiastic angler to himself, as he jogged across the field. Had he known what was in store for him, however, he would have arrived at a very different estimate of his fortunes! The field, as we have said, was a large one. MacRummle had reached the centre of it when the black bull, standing beside the wall at its most distant corner, seemed to feel resentment at this trespass on its domain. It suddenly bellowed in that low thunderous tone which is so awfully suggestive of conscious power. MacRummle stopped short. He was naturally a brave man, nevertheless his heart gave his ribs an unwonted thump when he observed the bull in the distance glaring at him. He looked round in alarm. Nothing but an unbroken flat for a hundred yards lay around him in all directions, unrelieved by bush, rock, or tree, and bounded by a five-foot wall, with only one gate, near to where the bull stood pawing the earth and apparently working itself into a rage. "Now, Dick," murmured the old gentleman, seriously, "it's do or die with you if that brute charges, for your legs are not much better than pipe-stems, and your wind is--Eh! he comes!" Turning sharply, he caused the pipe-stems to wag with amazing velocity-- too fast, indeed, for his toe, catching on something, sent him violently to the ground, and the basket flew over his head with such force that the strap gave way. He sprang up instantly, still unconsciously holding on to rod and umbrella. Meanwhile, the bull, having made up its mind, came charging down the field with its eyes flashing and its tail on high. MacRummle looked back. He saw that the case was hopeless. He was already exhausted and gasping. A young man could scarcely have reached the wall in time. Suddenly he came to a ditch, one of those narrow open drains with which inhabitants of wet countries are familiar. The sight of it shot a blaze of hope through his despair! He stopped at once, dropped his rod, and, putting up his umbrella, laid it on the ground. It was a large cotton one of the Gamp description. Under the shelter of it he stepped quietly into the ditch, which was not much more than knee-deep, with very little water in it. Placing the umbrella in such a position that it came between himself and the bull, he laid himself flat down in the drain. The opening was far too narrow to admit his broad shoulders, except when turned sidewise. The same treatment was not applicable to other parts of his person, but, by dint of squeezing and collapsing, he got down, nestled under the bank, and lay still. On came the bull till it reached the basket, which, with a deft toss, it hurled into the air and sent the silvery treasure flying. A moment more and it went head foremost into the umbrella. Whether it was surprised at finding its enemy so light and unsubstantial, or at the slipping of one of its feet into the drain, we cannot tell, but the result was that it came down and turned a complete somersault over the drain, carrying the umbrella along with it in its mad career! When the bull scrambled to its feet again, and looked round in some surprise, it found that one of its legs and both its horns were through and entangled with the wrecked article. It was a fine sight to witness the furious battle that immediately ensued between the black bull and that cotton umbrella! Rage at the man was evidently transmuted into horror at the article. The bull pranced and shook its head and pawed about in vain efforts to get rid of its tormenter. Shreds of the wreck flapped wildly in its eyes. Spider-like ribs clung to its massive limbs and poked its reeking sides, while the swaying handle kept tapping its cheeks and ears and nose, as if taunting the creature with being held and badgered by a thing so flimsy and insignificant! Happily this stirring incident was not altogether unwitnessed. Far up the valley it was observed by four living creatures, three of whom immediately came tearing down the road at racing speed. Gradually their different powers separated them from each other. Archie came first, Eddie next, and Junkie brought up the rear. On nearing the field the first wrenched a stake out of a fence; the second caught up a rake, that had been left by the haymakers; and the last, unscrewing the butt of his rod, broke the line, and flourished the weapon as a cudgel. They all three leaped into the field one after another, and bore courageously down on the bull, being well accustomed to deal with animals of the sort. Separating as they drew near, they attacked him on three sides at once. Short work would he have made with any of them singly; together they were more than his match. When he charged Junkie, Archie ran in and brought the stake down on his skull. When he turned on his assailant, Eddie combed his sides with the rake. Dashing at the new foe he was caught by the tail by Junkie, who applied the butt of his rod vigorously, the reel adding considerable weight to his blows. At last the bull was cowed--if we may venture to say so--and driven ignominiously into a corner of the field, where he vented his rage on the remnants of the umbrella, while the victors returned to the field of battle. "But what's come of MacRummle?" said the panting Junkie as they gathered up the fish and replaced them in the basket. "I never saw him get over the wall. Did you?" "No," replied Archie, looking round in surprise. "I dare say he ran off while we were thumpin' the bull," suggested Eddie. "I'm here, boys! I'm here, Junkie," cried a strange sepulchral voice, as if from the bowels of the earth. "Where?" asked the boys gazing down at their feet with expressions of awe. "He's i' the drain!" cried Junkie with an expanding mouth. "Ay--that's it! I'm in the drain! Lend a hand, boys; I can hardly move." They ran to him instantly, but it required the united powers of all three to get him out, and when they succeeded he was found to be coated all over one side with thick mud. "What a muddle you've made of yourself, to be sure!" exclaimed Junkie. "Let me scrape you." But MacRummle refused to be scraped until they had placed the five-foot wall between himself and the black bull. Then he submitted with a profound sigh. CHAPTER ELEVEN. PECULIAR INCIDENTS OF A SABBATH AMONG THE WESTERN ISLES. One beautiful Sunday morning while the party assembled in Kinlossie House was at breakfast, a message was brought to the laird that he "wass wantit to speak wi' the poy Tonal'." "Well, Donald, my lad, what want ye with me this fine morning?" asked the laird, on going out to the hall. "I wass telt to tell ye the'll be no kirk the day, for the minister's got to preach at Drumquaich." "Very well, Donald. Have you had breakfast?" "Oo, ay." "Go into the kitchen, then, and they will give you some more." "Thenkee, sir." "I find," said the laird on returning to his friends, "that we are to have no service to-day in our little church, as our minister has to take the duty at Drumquaich, on the other side of the loch. So those of you who are bent on going to church must make up your minds to cross the loch in the boat." "Is Drumquaich the little village close under the pine wood, that we see on doubling Eagle Point?" asked Mabberly. "The same. The little church there, like our own, is not supplied regularly. Sometimes a Divinity student is sent down to them. Occasionally they have a great gun from Edinburgh." "I think some of the students are better than the great guns," remarked Mrs Gordon quietly. "True, my dear, and that is most natural, for it stands to reason that some at least of the students must be the great guns of the future in embryo; and they have the freshness of youth to set against the weight of erudition." "The student who preached to us here last Sunday," observed Barret, "must surely be an embryo great gun, for he treated his subject in a learned and masterly way that amazed me. From the look of him I would not have expected even an average discourse." "That was partly owing to his modest air and reticence," returned the laird. "If you heard him converse on what he would call metapheesical subjects, you would perhaps have been still more surprised." "Well, I hope he will preach to-day," said Barret. "From which I conclude that you will be one of the boat party. My wife and Milly make three, myself four; who else?" "No--don't count me" interrupted the hostess; "I must stay with Flo; besides, I must visit poor Mrs Donaldson, who is again laid up. But I'll be glad if you will take Aggy Anderson. Ever since the poor girl came here for a little change of air she has been longing to go out in the boat. I really believe it is a natural craving for the free, fresh breezes of the sea. May she go?" "By all means; as many as the boat will hold," returned the laird. It was finally arranged that, besides those already mentioned, Mabberly, Jackman, MacRummle, Quin, the three boys, Roderick the groom, and Ian Anderson, as boatman in charge, should cross over to the little church at Drumquaich, about eight miles distant by water. While they were getting ready, Mrs Gordon and Flo, with the beloved black dolly, paid a visit to old Molly, the keeper's mother. They found her in her arm-chair, sitting by the large, open chimney, on the hearth of which a very small fire was burning--not for the sake of warmth, but for the boiling of an iron pot which hung over it. The old woman was enveloped in a large, warm shawl--a gift from the "Hoose." She also wore a close-fitting white cap, or "mutch," which was secured to her head by a broad, black ribbon. The rims of her spectacles were of tortoiseshell, and she had a huge family Bible on her knee, while her feet rested upon a three-legged stool. She looked up inquiringly as her visitors entered. "Why, Molly, I thought you were in bed. They told me you were ill." "Na, mem, I'm weel eneuch in body; it's the speerit that's ill. And ye ken why." She spoke in a faint, quavering voice, for her old heart had been crushed by her wayward, self-indulgent son, and a few tears rolled down her wrinkled cheeks; but she was too old and feeble to give way to demonstrative grief. Little Flo, whose heart was easily touched, went close to the poor old woman, and looked up anxiously in her face. "My bonny doo! It's a pleasure to look at ye," said the old woman, laying her hand on the child's head. Mrs Gordon drew in a chair and sat down by her side. "Tell me about it," she said confidentially; "has he given way again, after all his promises to Mr Jackman?" "Oo, ay; Maister Jackman's a fine man, but he canna change the hert o' my son--though it is kind o' him to try. No, the only consolation I hev is here." She laid her hand on the open Bible. "Where is he just now?" asked the lady. As she spoke, a fierce yell was heard issuing from the keeper's cottage, which, as we have said, stood close to his mother's abode. "Ye hear till 'im," said the old woman with a sorrowful shake of the head. "He iss fery pad the day. Whiles he thinks that horrible craters are crawlin' ower him, an' whiles that fearful bogles are glowerin' at him. Sometimes he fancies that the foul fiend himsel' has gotten haud o' him, an' then he screeches as ye hear." "Would it do any good, Molly, if I were to go and speak to him, think you?" "Na, ye'd better let him lie. He's no' hissel' the now, and there's no sayin' what he might do. Oh! drink! drink!" cried the old creature, clasping her hands; "ye took my man awa', an' now ye're ruinin' my son! But," she added with sudden animation, "we can pray for him; though it iss not possible for you or Maister Jackman to change my bairn's hert, the Lord can do it, for wi' Him `a' things are possible.'" To this Mrs Gordon gave a hearty assent. Sitting still as she was, with hand resting on the old woman's arm, she shut her eyes and prayed fervently for the salvation of the enslaved man. She was still engaged in this act of worship when another shriek was heard. At the same time the door of the keeper's cottage was heard to open, and Ivor's feet were heard staggering towards his mother's cottage. Poor Flo took refuge in great alarm behind Mrs Donaldson, while her mother, rising quickly, drew back a few paces. Next moment the small door was burst open, and the keeper plunged, almost fell, into the room with something like a savage cheer. He was a terrible sight. With wildly dishevelled hair, bloodshot eyes, and distorted features, he stood for a few seconds glaring at his mother; his tall figure swaying to and fro, while he held a quart bottle aloft in his right hand. He did not appear to observe the visitors, but continued to stare at his mother with an expression that perplexed her, accustomed though she was to his various moods. "See, mother," he shouted fiercely, "I have done wi' the accursed thing at last!" He dashed the bottle on the hearth with tremendous violence as he spoke, so that it vanished into minute fragments, while its contents spurted about in all directions. Happily very little of it went into the fire, else the cottage would have been set ablaze. With another wild laugh the man wheeled round, staggered out of the cottage, and went his way. "You are not hurt, I trust?" said the lady, anxiously bending down over the poor old creature, who had remained calmly seated in her chair, without the slightest appearance of alarm. "No, I'm not hurt, thank the Lord," she answered. "Don't you think that that was an answer to our prayer?" asked the lady with some eagerness. Old Molly shook her head dubiously. "It may be so," she replied; "but I hev often seen 'im i' that mind, and he has gone back to it again and again, like the soo that was washed, to her wallowin' i' the mire. Yet there did seem somethin' different aboot 'im the day," she added thoughtfully; "but it iss not the first time I hev prayed for him without gettin' an answer." "Answers do not always come as we expect them," returned her visitor; "yet they may be granted even while we are asking. I don't know how it is, but I feel sure that Jesus will save your son." Poor little Flo, who had been deeply affected by the terrible appearance of her favourite Ivor, and who had never seen him in such a plight before, quietly slipped out of old Molly's hut and went straight to that of the keeper. She found him seated on a chair with his elbows on his knees, his forehead resting on his hands, and his strong fingers grasping his hair as if about to tear it out by the roots. Flo, who was naturally fearless and trustful, ran straight to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He started and looked round. "Bairn! bairn!" he said grasping her little head, and kissing her forehead, "what brings ye here?" "Muzzer says she is _sure_ Jesus will save you; so I came to tell you, for muzzer _never_ says what's not true." Having delivered her consoling message, Flo ran back at once to Molly's cottage with the cheerful remark that it was all right now, for she had told Ivor that he was going to be saved! While Mrs Gordon and Flo were thus engaged on shore, the boat party were rowing swiftly down the loch to the little hamlet of Drumquaich. The weather was magnificent. Not a breath of air stirred the surface of the sea, so that every little white cloud in the sky was perfectly reproduced in the concave below. The gulls that floated on the white expanse seemed each to be resting on its own inverted image, and the boat would have appeared in similar aspect but for the shivering of the mirror by its oars. "Most appropriate type of Sabbath rest," said Jackman. "Ay, but like all things here pelow," remarked Ian Anderson, who possessed in a high degree the faculty of disputation, "it's not likely to last long." "What makes you think so, Ian?" asked Milly, who sat in the stern of the boat between John Barret and Aggy Anderson. "Well, you see, muss," began Ian, in his slow, nasal tone, "the gless has bin fallin' for some time past, an'--Tonal', poy, mind your helm; see where you're steerin' to!" Donald, who steered, was watching with profound interest the operations of Junkie, who had slily and gravely fastened a piece of twine to a back button of MacRummle's coat, and tied him to the thwart on which he sat. Being thus sternly asked where he was steering to, Donald replied, "Oo, ay," and quickly corrected the course. "But surely," returned Milly, "there is no sign of a rapid change, at least if we may judge from the aspect of Nature; and I am a fervent believer in Nature, whatever the glass may predict." "I am not sure o' that, muss," said Ian. "You needn't pull quite so hard, Muster Mabberly; we hev plenty o' time. Tak it easy. Well, as I wass sayin', muss, I hev seen it as calm as this i' the mornin' mony a time, an' plowin' a gale at nicht." "Let us hope that that won't be our experience to-day," said the laird. "Anyhow, we have a good sea-boat under us." "Weel, the poat's no' a pad wan, laird, but I hev seen petter. You see, when the wund iss richt astern, she iss given to trinkin'." "That's like Ivor," said Junkie with a laugh; "only _he_ is given to drinkin', no matter how the wind blows." "What do you mean?" asked Milly, much perplexed. Barret here explained that a boat which takes in much water over the bow is said to be given to drinking. "I'm inclined that way myself," said Jackman, who had been pulling hard at one of the oars up to that time. "Has any one thought of bringing a bottle of water?" "Here's a bottle," cried MacRummle, laughing. "Ah, sure, an' there seems to be a bottle o' milk, or somethin' white under the th'ort," remarked Quin, who pulled the bow oar. "But that's Milly's bottle of milk," shouted Junkie. "And Aggy's," chimed in Eddie. "Yes--no one must touch that," said Junkie. "Quite right, boys," said Jackman; "besides, milk is not good for quenching thirst." On search being made, it was found that water had not been brought with them, so that the thirsty rowers had to rest content without it. "Is that Eagle Cliff I see, just over the knoll there?" asked Barret. "It is," answered the laird; "don't you see the eagle himself like a black speck hovering above it? My shepherd would gladly see the bird killed, for he and his wife make sad havoc among the lambs sometimes; but I can't say that I sympathise with the shepherd. An eagle is a noble bird, and there are none too many of them now in this country." "I agree with you heartily," said Barret; "and I would regard the man who should kill that eagle as little better than a murderer." "_Quite_ as bad as a murderer!" said Milly with energy. "I am glad you speak out so clearly, Mr Barret; for I fear there are some among us who would not hesitate to shoot if the poor bird were to come within range." "Pray don't look so pointedly at me, Miss Moss," said Jackman; "I assure you I have no intention of attempting murder--at least not in that direction." "Och! an' it's murder enough you've done already for wan man," said Quin in an undertone. "Oh! I say, that reminds me. Do tell us the rest of the story of the elephant hunt, Mr Jackman," cried Junkie. "Not just now, my boy. It's a long story. Besides, we are on our way to church! Some other time I will tell it you." "It would take half the romance away from my mother's visit if the eagle were killed," remarked Milly, who did not overhear the elephant parenthesis. "Has your mother, then, decided to come?" asked Barret. "Yes. In spite of the sea, which she dreads, and steamers, which she hates, she has made up her mind to come and take me home." "How charming that will be!" said Barret. "Indeed!" returned Milly, with a significant look and smile. "Of _course_ I did not mean that," returned Barret, laughing. "I meant that it would be charming for you to have your mother out here, and to return home in her company. Is she likely to stay long?" "I cannot tell. That depends on so many things. But I am sure of one thing, that she longs to see and thank you for the great service you rendered me on the day of your arrival here." Barret began to protest that the service was a comparatively small one, and such as any man might gladly render to any one, when the arrival of the boat at the landing-place cut him short. About thirty or forty people had assembled from the surrounding districts, some of whom had come four or even six miles to attend church. They formed a quiet, grave, orderly company of men and women in homespun garments, with only a few children among them. The arrival of the laird's party made a very considerable addition to the congregation, and, as the hour for meeting had already passed by a few minutes, they made a general move towards the church. The building was wonderfully small, and in the most severely simple style of architecture, being merely an oblong structure of grey stone, with small square windows, and a belfry at one end of the roof. It might have been mistaken for a cottage but for this, and the door being protected by a small porch, and placed at one end of the structure, instead of at the side. A few of the younger men remained outside in conversation, awaiting the advent of the minister. After a time, however, these dropped in and took their seats, and people began to wonder why the minister was so late. Presently a boy with bare legs and a kilt entered the church and whispered to a very old man, who turned out to be an elder. Having heard the boy's message, the elder crossed over to the pew in which the laird was seated and whispered to him, not so low, however, as to prevent Giles Jackman from hearing all that passed. The minister's horse had fallen, he said, and bruised the minister's legs so that he could not officiate. "Very awkward," returned the laird, knitting his brows. "What's to be done? It seems absurd that so many of us should assemble here just to look solemn for a few minutes and then go home." "Yes, sir, it iss akward," said the elder. "Could you not gif us a discoorse yoursel', sir, from the prezenter's dask?" The latter part of the proposition was to guard himself from the imputation of having asked the laird to mount the _pulpit_. "Me preach!" exclaimed the laird; "I never did such a thing in my life." "Maype you'll read a chapter, what-e-ver," persisted the elder. "Impossible! I never read a chapter since I was born--in public, I mean, of course. But why not do it yourself, man?" "So I would, sir, but my throat'll not stand it." "Is there no other elder who could do it?" "Not wan, sir. I'm afraid we will hev to dismiss the congregation." At this point, to the laird's relief and no little surprise, Jackman leaned forward, and said in a low voice, "If you have no objection, I will undertake to conduct the service." The elder gave the laird a look which, if it had been translated into words, would probably have conveyed the idea--"Is he orthodox?" "By all means, Mr Jackman," said the laird; "you will be doing us a great favour." Accordingly Jackman went quietly to the precentor's desk and mounted it, much to the surprise of its proper occupant, a man with a voice like a brass trumpet, who thereupon took his seat on a chair below the desk. Profound was the interest of the congregation when they saw this bronzed, broad-shouldered, big-bearded young man pull a small Bible out of his pocket and begin to turn over the leaves. And it was noted with additional interest by several of the people that the Bible seemed to be a well-worn one. Looking up from it after a few minutes, during which it was observed that his eyes had been closed, Jackman said, in an easy, conversational tone, that quite took the people by surprise-- "Friends, it has been my lot in life to wander for some years in wild and distant lands, where ministers of the Gospel were few and far between, and where Christians were obliged to conduct the worship of God as best they could. Your minister being unable to attend, owing to an accident, which I trust may not turn out to be serious, I shall attempt, with the permission of your elder, to lead your thoughts Godward, in dependence on the Holy Spirit. Let us pray." The jealous ears of the rigorously orthodox heard him thus far without being able to detect absolute heresy, though they were sensitively alive to the unusual style and very unclerical tone of the speaker's voice. The same ears listened reverently to the prayer which followed, for it was, after the pattern of the Lord's Prayer, almost startlingly short; still it was very earnest, extremely simple, and, all things considered, undeniably orthodox. Relieved in their minds, therefore, the people prepared themselves for more, and the precentor, with the brazen but tuneful voice, sang the first line of the psalm which the young preacher gave out--"I to the hills will lift mine eyes"--with rasping energy. At the second line the congregation joined in, and sang praise with reverent good-will, so that, when a chapter of the Word had been read and another psalm sung, they were brought to a state of hopeful expectancy. The text still further pleased them, when, in a quiet voice, while turning over the leaves of the well-used Bible, Jackman said, "In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths." Laying down his little Bible, and looking at the people earnestly and in silence for a few moments, the preacher said-- "I have travelled in Italy, France, Germany, Switzerland, and other places, and I never yet went in these countries without a guide-book. More than that, never in all my experience have I seen men or women travelling in these countries without a guide-book. The travellers always carried their guide-books in their hands, or in their pockets, and consulted them as they went along. In the evenings, round the tables or on the sofas of the salons, they would sometimes sit poring over the pages of their guide-books, considering distances and the best routes, and the cost of travelling and board. Any man who would have travelled without a guide-book, or who, having one, neglected to use it, would have been considered weak-minded at the least. Still further, I have noted that such travellers _believed_ in their guide-books, and usually acted on the advice and directions therein given. "But one journey I can tell of in which all this seems to be reversed-- the journey from earth towards heaven. And here is our guide-book for that journey," said the preacher, holding up the little Bible. "How do we treat it? I do not ask scoffers, who profess not to believe in the Bible. I ask those who _call themselves_ Christians, and who would be highly offended if we ventured to doubt their Christianity. Is it not true that many of us consult our Guide-book very much as a matter of form and habit, without much real belief that it will serve us in all the minute details of life? We all wish to get on in life. The most obstinate and contradictory man on earth admits that. Even if he denies it with his lips, all his actions prove that he admits it. Well, what says our Guide-book in regard to what is called `getting on'? `In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He will direct thy paths.' Now, what could be simpler--we might even say, what could be easier--than this? Him whom we have to acknowledge is defined in the previous verse as `the Lord'--that is, Jesus, Immanuel, or God with us." From this point the sunburnt preacher diverged into illustration, leaning over the desk in a free-and-easy, confidential way, and thrilling his audience with incidents in his own adventurous career, which bore directly on the great truth that, as regards the Great End of life, success and blessedness result from acknowledging the Lord, and that failure and disaster inevitably await those who ignore Him. While Jackman proceeded with his discourse, the sky had become overcast, dark thunderclouds had been gathering in the nor'-east, rain had also begun to descend; yet so intently were the people listening to this unusual style of preacher, that few of them observed the change until a distant thunder-clap awoke them to it. Quietly, but promptly, Jackman drew his discourse to a close, and stepped out of the desk, remarking, in the very same voice with which he had preached, that he feared he had kept them too long, and that he hoped none of the congregation had far to go. "We hev that, sir," said the old elder, shaking him warmly by the hand; "but we don't heed that, an' we are fery glad that we came, what-e-ver." As the wind had also risen, and it seemed as if the weather was not likely to improve, the laird hurried his party down to the boat. Waterproofs were put on, umbrellas were put up, the sails were hoisted, and the boat put off. "I fear the sea is very rough," remarked Milly Moss, drawing close to Aggy Anderson, so as to shelter her somewhat from the driving rain. "Oo, ay; it iss a wee rough," assented Ian, who now took the helm; "but we wull soon rin ower. Haud you the main sheet, Mr Mabberly, an' pe ready to let co when I tell ye. It iss a wee thing squally." It was indeed a little more than a "wee thing squally," for just then a vivid flash of lightning was seen to glitter among the distant crags of the Eagle Cliff. This was followed by a loud clap of thunder, which, leaping from cliff to crag, reverberated among the mountains with a succession of crashes that died away in ominous mutterings. At the same time a blue line towards the nor'-east indicated an approaching squall. "Had we not better take in a reef, Ian?" asked the laird anxiously. "We had petter weather the pint first," said the boatman; "efter that the wund wul pe in oor favour, an'--but, ye're richt. Tak in a reef, Roderick an' Tonal'. Mind the sheet, Mr Mabberly, an' sit low in the poat, poys." These orders were promptly obeyed, for the squall was rushing down the loch very rapidly. When it burst on them the boat leaned over till her lee gunwale almost ran under water, but Ian was a skilful boatman, and managed to weather the point in safety. After that, as he had said, the wind was more favourable, enabling them to run before it. Still, they were not out of danger, for a wide stretch of foaming sea lay between them and the shores of Kinlossie, while a gathering storm was darkening the sky behind them. CHAPTER TWELVE. STIRRING EVENTS OF MORE KINDS THAN ONE. The squall which blew the Kinlossie boat round the Eagle Point was but the precursor of a succession of heavy squalls which quickly changed into a furious gale, compelling Ian Anderson to close reef his sails. Even when this was done, the boat rushed through the foaming water with tremendous velocity, and exhibited that tendency to drinking, to which reference has already been made; for every time she plunged into the trough of the sea, a little water came over the bow. Of course, going as they were at such a rate, the traversing of six or eight miles of water occupied but little time, and they were soon close to the bay, at the head of which Kinlossie House nestled among its trees. "Come aft, poys," shouted Ian, whose voice, strong though it was, could scarcely be heard in the bow owing to the roaring of the gale; "she's trinkin' too much; come aft, an' look sherp!" The three boys obeyed with alacrity, being well accustomed to boats, and aware of the necessity of prompt obedience in circumstances of danger. Thus lightened, the boat ceased drinking at the bow, but, being rather overweighted at the stern, she now and then took in a little water there. Unfortunately the point of rocks which formed the southern end of Kinlossie Bay obliged Ian to change his course a little in order to weather them. This was a critical operation. Even the girls had some sort of idea of that, as their looks bore witness. John Barret felt a strong inclination to slip his arm round Milly's waist and whisper, "Don't be afraid, beloved, _I'll_ take care of you!" but want of courage--to say nothing of a sense of propriety--kept his lips silent and his arm still. "Noo, keep stiddy, all of ye," said Ian, as he shifted the helm a little. An irrepressible shriek burst from Aggy Anderson, for the boat lay over so much that the hissing water rippled almost into her, and seemed about to swallow them up. "Tak anither haul o' the sheet, Maister Mabberly," cried Ian. Assisted by Jackman, Mabberly obeyed, and the boat went, as Quin said, "snorin'" past the rocks, which were now close under her lee, with the waves bursting wildly over them. Another minute and the outermost rock was under their port bow. To the eyes of the girls it seemed as if destruction were inevitable. To make matters worse, at that moment a vivid flash was succeeded by a loud thunder-clap, which, mingling with the gale, seemed to intensify its fury, while a deluge of rain came down. But Ian knew what he was about. With a firm hand on the tiller he steered past the point, yet so closely that it seemed as if an active man might have leaped upon the outermost rock, which rose, black and solid, amid the surging foam. Another moment and the boat swept safely round into the bay, and was again put before the wind. "We're a' richt noo, what-e-ver," said Ian with a grunt of satisfaction. Never before did a self-sufficient boatman have his words more effectually or promptly falsified than on that occasion. The distance between boat and shore at that moment was only a few hundred yards; but the water all the way was deep, and the waves, in consequence, were large and wild. There were great possibilities within the brief space of distance and time that lay before them! "Tak an oar, Maister Quin, an' help Rodereek to fend off," cried the boatman. "Hold ticht to the sheet, sir, an' pe ready to let co the moment I tell ye. Are ye ready wi' the halyards, Muster Airchie?" "All right, Ian," replied the boy, who stood ready to lower the sail. They could see that several men were standing on the beach, ready to render assistance, among them Duncan, the butler, and Ivor, the gamekeeper. The latter, who had evidently recovered himself, was standing waist-deep in the foam, as if anxious to grasp the boat when it grounded. "Ivor is unusually keen to help us to-day," remarked the laird, with a peculiar look; but no one was sufficiently disengaged to listen to or answer him. At that critical moment Junkie took it into his unaccountable head to scramble to the fore part of the boat, in order, as he said, to lend a hand with a rope. On reaching the bow he stumbled; the boat plunged heavily, as if to accommodate him, and he went overboard with a suddenly checked yell, that rose high and sharp above the roaring gale! Of course every man near him sprang to the side and made a wild grasp at him. The gunwale went down, the sea rushed in, and, in a space of time brief as the lightning-flash, all the occupants of the boat were struggling in the waves! A great cry arose from the shore, and Ivor, plunging into the surf, was seen to breast the billows with the force of a Hercules. In the moment of upsetting, John Barret's cowardice and scruples vanished. He seized Milly by the arm, and held her up when they rose from the plunge. And now, for the first time in his life, our hero found the advantage of having trained himself, not only in all manly exercises, but in the noble art of rescuing life from the water. Instead of rising to the wild discovery of helpless ignorance, as to what was the best way of using his great strength, he rose with the comfortable knowledge, first, that he was a powerful swimmer, and second, that he knew exactly what to do--at least to attempt. Instead, therefore, of allowing himself to be hugged, and probably drowned, by the girl he loved, he held her off at arm's length until he managed to grasp her by both arms close to the shoulders, and with her back towards him--treading water while doing so. Then, swimming on his own back, he gently drew her upon his breast, so that her head rested close to his chin. Thus the girl's face was turned upwards and held well out of the water, and the youth was able to say almost in her ear, "Trust in God, dearest, He will save us!" while he struck out vigorously with his legs. Thus, swimming on his back, he headed for the shore. Lest the reader should fancy that we are here merely inventing a mode of action, it may be well to state that we have conversed with a man styled "the Rescue," whose duty it was to watch the boys of Aberdeen while bathing on the dangerous coast there, and who told us that he had saved some hundreds of lives--many of them in the manner above described. Every one in the boat was fortunately able to swim, more or less, except Milly and Aggie Anderson. With the utmost anxiety to save the latter, her Uncle Ian made a desperate plunge when the boat upset, at the spot where, in the confusion, he thought he saw her go down. He grasped something under water, which clutched him violently in return. Rising to the surface he found that he had got hold of Giles Jackman, who, animated by the same desire to rescue the same girl, had also made a plunge at her. Flinging each other off almost angrily, they swam wildly about in search of her, for Giles had observed that Barret was sufficiently intent on Milly. But poor Aggie was in even better hands. Ivor Donaldson had kept his eyes on her from the moment that he could distinguish faces in the approaching boat. He was a splendid swimmer. Even against wind and waves he made rapid headway, and in a few seconds caught the girl by the hair. In his case the absence of a plan of rescue was to some extent remedied by sheer strength of body, coupled with determination. The poor girl did her best to choke him, as drowning people will, but, happily, she was too weak for the purpose and he too strong! He suffered her to do her worst, and, with the arm which she left free made his way gallantly to the beach, where Duncan and all the domestics were ready to receive them. Barret and Milly had landed just before them. Immediately after Archie and Eddie were swept in amid the foam, and Junkie himself--who, like his brothers, could swim like a cork--came careering in on the top of a wave, like a very water-imp! With all the energy of his nature he turned, the moment his feet touched ground, to lend a hand to his friend Tonal', who was not far behind him. Thus, one by one, the whole party got safely to land, for the laird, although old, was still vigorous, and, like the others, able to swim. MacRummle came in last, and they had some difficulty in getting him out of the water, for he was rather sluggish, as well as heavy; but he was none the worse for his immersion, and to the anxieties afterwards expressed by his friends, he replied quietly that he had become pretty well used to the water by that time. It was a trying experience, however, for all of them, and, in the opinion of Ian Anderson, as he gave it to his wife when they met, "it was a queer way o' feenishin' off a fery extraor'nar Sawbath tay--what-e-ver!" One morning, not long after this incident, the gentlemen made up a shooting party to try the summit of the hill for mountain hares--their hostess having twitted them with their inability to keep the household supplied with hare soup. "I will accompany you, gentlemen, to the shoulder of the first hill," observed their host, as he finished his breakfast, "but not farther, for I am not so young as I once was, and cannot be expected to keep pace with a `Woods and Forester.'" "That is not a good reason for your stopping short, laird," retorted Jackman, with a smile, "because it is quite possible for the `Woods and Forester' to regulate his pace to that of the Western Isles." "Well, we shall see," returned his host. "And what does my reckless Milly intend to do with herself?" "I mean to have a little picnic--all by myself," said Milly; "that is to say with nobody but me and Aggy Anderson." "D'you think that quite safe, so soon after her ducking?" asked Mrs Gordon. "Quite safe, auntie, for she has not felt a bit the worse for that ducking; indeed, she seems much the better for it, and I am quite sure that hill air is good for her." "Oh! then, you mean to have your very select picnic on the hills?" said the laird. "Yes, but no one shall know to what part we are going, for, as I have said, we mean to have a day of it all to ourselves; only we will take Junkie to protect us, and carry our provisions." There were two of the gentlemen who declined the shooting expedition. John Barret said he would start with them, but would at a certain point drop behind and botanise. MacRummle also preferred to make _one more_ effort to catch that grilse which had risen so often to him of late, but was still at large in the big pool under the fall. The result of the morning's discussion was that only Mabberly and Jackman proceeded to assault the hares on the mountain-top, accompanied by Archie and Eddie, with Ivor Donaldson to guide them. Up in the nursery--that devastated region which suggested the idea of an hospital for broken furniture and toys--poor little neglected Flo sat down on the floor, and, propping her favourite doll up against the remnant of a drum, asked that sable friend what she would like to do. Receiving no answer, she said, in a cheery, confidential tone, which she had acquired from her mother, "I'll tell you what, Miss Blackie, you an' I will go for a picnic too. Zere's plenty places for you an' me, as well as for Cuzn Miwy to go to, an' we will let muzzer go wid us--if she's dood. So go, like a dood chile', an' get your things on." As the day was particularly bright and warm, this minor picnic was splendidly carried into effect, in a little coppice close to the house. There Mrs Gordon knitted and sometimes read, and behaved altogether like a particularly "dood chile," while Flo and Blackie carried on high jinks around her. The Eagle Cliff was the spot which Milly Moss had fixed on for her select little picnic with the niece of the fisherman. Strange to say, and without the slightest knowledge or suspicion of this fact (so he said), John Barret had selected the very same spot for his botanical ramble. It must be remembered, however, that it was a wide spot. Seated in a secluded nook, not long after noon, Milly and Aggy, with Junkie, enjoyed the good things which were spread on a mass of flat rock in front of them. "Now I call this jolly!" said Junkie, as well as he could, with a mass of jam-tart stopping the way. "It is indeed," returned Milly; "but I don't feel quite sure whether you refer to the splendour of the scenery or the goodness of the tart." "To both," returned the boy, inarticulately. "Do you think you could eat any more?" asked Milly with a grave, earnest look that made Aggy giggle--for Aggy was a facile giggler! "No, I don't," said Junkie. "I'm stuffed!" "Well, then, you are at leisure to fill the cup again at the spring; so run, like a good boy, and do it." "How hard you are on a fellow, Cousin Milly," grumbled the youngster, rising to do as he was bid; but the expression of his jammy face showed that he was no unwilling slave. "How old are you, Aggy?" asked Milly when he was gone. "Sixteen last birthday," returned the girl. "Ah! how I wish I was sixteen again!" said Milly, with a profound sigh, as she gazed over the rim of a tartlet she happened to be eating, at the glittering sea and the far-off horizon. She was evidently recalling some very sad and ancient memories. "Why?" asked her companion, who exhibited a very slight tendency to laugh. "Because I was so light-hearted and happy at that age." "How old are you now, Miss Milly?" asked Aggy, in a tone of increased respect. "Nineteen," replied the other with a sigh. Again Aggy's pretty round face was rippled by a suppressed giggle, and it is highly probable that she would have given way altogether if Junkie had not returned at the moment and rescued her. "Here's the water, Milly. Now, Aggy, have you had enough?" "Yes, quite enough," laughed the highly convalescent invalid. "Well, then, come along wi' me and I'll show you the place where Cousin Milly fell down. You needn't come, Milly. I want to show it to Aggy all by herself, an' we won't be long away." "Very well, Junkie, as you please. I daresay I shall manage to pass the time pleasantly enough till you return." She leant back on a thick heather bush as she spoke, and indulged herself in that most enjoyable and restful of occupations, on a bright warm day, namely, looking straight up into the sunny sky and contemplating the soft fleecy clouds that float there, changing their forms slowly but continually. Now it so happened that John Barret, in his botanical wanderings about the Eagle Cliff, in quest of the "rare specimens" that Milly loved, discovered Milly herself! This was not such a matter-of-course discovery as the reader may suppose, for the Eagle Cliff occupied a vast space of the mountain-side, among the rugged ramparts and knolls of which several persons might have wandered for hours without much chance of observing each other, unless they were to shout or discharge the echo-disturbing gun. Whether it was the mysterious attraction or the occult discernment of love that drew him, we cannot tell, but certain it is that when Barret, standing on the upper edge of the cliff, glanced from the eagle--which was watching him suspiciously--downward to the base of the cliff, where the sheep appeared like little buff spots on the green grass, his startled eyes alighted on Milly, lying on her back, contemplating the heavens! At that distance she might have been a mole or a rabbit, as far as regards Barret's power to discern her face or figure or occupation went; nevertheless, Barret knew at once that it was she, as his look and colour instantly indicated. There is something in such matters which we cannot understand, and, perhaps, had better not attempt to comprehend. It is sufficient to say that the young man instantly forgot his occupation, and began to descend the cliff by break-neck routes in a way that must have surprised--if not alarmed--the very eagle himself. He even trod some exceedingly rare "specimens" under foot in his haste. In a few minutes he drew near to the spot where Milly lay. Then he suddenly stopped, for he remembered that she had that morning spoken of her picnic as a very private one; and was it not taking a base, unwarrantable advantage of her, thus to intrude on her privacy? But then--ah! how fatally, if not fortunately, that "but then" often comes in to seal our fate--"fix our flints," as backwoodsmen are fond of putting it!--but then, was not the opportunity unsought--quite accidental? Would it not be utterly absurd, as well as disingenuous, to pass her and pretend not to see her, with his botanical box full of her own favourite plants and flowers? Love is proverbially blind. The argument was more than sufficient. He shut his eyes, metaphorically, and rushed upon his fate. Milly heard him rushing--in reality, walking--and knew his step! Another instance of the amazing--well--She started up in some confusion, just in time to appear as if engaged in viewing with interest the majestic landscape spread out before her. Swooping downwards, and hovering overhead on grand expanded pinions, the eagle seemed to watch with keen interest the result of this meeting. "Pardon this intrusion, Miss Moss. I really did not know you were in this neighbourhood till a few minutes ago," said Barret, sitting down on the heather beside her. "I accidentally observed you, and I have been so very fortunate in finding rare plants this morning, that I thought I might venture, just for a few minutes, to interrupt the privacy of your picnic. See, here!" he added, taking off the botanical box and opening it; "just look at all this!" "It is _very_ kind of you to take so much trouble on my account, Mr Barret," said Milly, becoming deeply, almost too deeply-interested in the plants. "And, oh, _what_ a splendid specimen of the heliographipod. My dear mother will be so glad to get this, for she is quite as fond of botany as I am." "Indeed! Do you expect her soon?" "Yes; her last letter leads me to expect her very soon now." Milly looked up as she said this, but there was an expression on Barret's face which induced her instantly to recur to scientific research. Now, good reader, if you think we are going further, and expect us rudely to draw aside the curtain here, and betray confidences, you are mistaken. But there is no reason against--indeed, the development of our story supplies every reason in favour of--our taking note of certain facts which bear indirectly on the subject before us. Far away on a shoulder of the mountain, which rose on the other side of the valley, lying between it and the Eagle Cliff, a grey speck might have been seen perched on a rock. Even as the crow flies the distance was so great that the unassisted human eye could not have distinguished what it was. It might have been a grey cow, or a grew crow, or a grey rabbit, or a grey excrescence of the rock itself; but a telescope would have revealed the fact that it was Allan Gordon, the laird of Kinlossie! Serenity was stamped on the old man's brow, for he was amiable by nature, and he had been rendered more amiable that morning by having had a pleasant chat, while ascending the mountain, with Mabberly and Jackman. The latter he had begun facetiously to style the "Woods and Forester." The shooting party had left him there, according to previous arrangement, and the old gentleman had seated himself on the grey rock to rest and commune with nature for a short time, before beginning the descent of the steep mountain path, and wending his way homeward. From his commanding point of observation the entire range of the Eagle Cliff lay spread out before him, with the sea visible on the extreme of either hand. The great valley lay between, with impassable gulfs and gorges caused by its wild torrents, and its level patches, strewn with the fallen _debris_ of ages, out of which the larger masses of rock rose like islands in a grey ocean; but these huge masses became almost insignificant, owing to the overpowering impression of the cliff itself. For some time the laird gazed at it in silent admiration. Presently a smile beamed on his countenance. "Ha! my puss, is that you?" he muttered, as he took a binocular telescope from his pocket and adjusted it. "I guessed as much. The Eagle Cliff has powerful attractions for you, what with its grandeur and the `rare plants' you are so mad about. I _think_ it is _you_, though at such a distance I might easily mistake a sheep or a deer for you-- and, after all, that would be no mistake, for you _are_ a dear!" He did not condescend to smile at his own mild little joke, as he applied the telescope to his eyes. "Yes, I'm right--and very comfortable you seem too, though I can't make out your party. Both Aggy and Junkie seem to have left you. Perhaps the rocks may hide them. It's so far off that--hallo!" A sudden frown clouded the laird's face as he gave vent to that hallo. "The rascal!" he muttered between his compressed lips. "He heard at breakfast, as well as the rest of us, that Milly wanted no intruders. Humph! I had given him credit for better taste than this implies. Eh! come, sir, this is quite inexcusable!" The laird became excited as he continued to gaze, and his indignation deepened as he hastily wiped the glasses of the binocular. Applying them again to his eyes, his frown became still darker. "For shame, you young scamp!" he continued to mutter, "taking advantage of your contemptible botany to bring your two heads together in a way that Milly would never have permitted _but_ for that ridiculous science. Ha! they've let the whole concern fall--serves 'em right--and--no! dropped it on purpose. What! Do you _dare_ to grip my niece's hand, and--and--she lets you! Eh! your arm round--Stop!" shouted the wrathful man, springing up and almost hurling his binocular at the unconscious pair. But his shout, although fifty times louder, would have failed to cross the valley. Like his anger, it was unavailing. Thrusting the glass into its case with a bang, he strode down the mountain-side in rampant fury, leaving the solemn eagle to watch the lovers as they plighted their troth under the mighty cliff. Happily they brought the momentous transaction to a close just before Junkie and the highly convalescent Aggy Anderson re-appeared upon the scene. That afternoon, before dinner, John Barret asked Mr Gordon to accord him the pleasure of a private interview in the library. "Certainly, sir," said the laird sternly; "and all the more that I had very much desired some private conversation with _you_." Barret was not a little surprised at the old man's tone and manner, but took no notice of it, and went alone with him into the library, where he made a full and frank confession of his love for Milly, and of his having proposed to her and been accepted--on condition that her mother did not object. "And now, Mr Gordon," added the youth, earnestly, "I have come to apologise to you, to ask your forgiveness, in fact, and to express my extreme regret at the precipitancy of my conduct. It had been my full intention, I do assure you, to wait until I had Mrs Moss' sanction to pay my addresses to her daughter, but a--a--sudden opportunity, which I had not sought for or expected--for, of course, I knew nothing of the place where the picnic was to be--this--this--opportunity, I say, took me by surprise, and threw me off my guard--and--and--in short, love--Oh! _you_ know well enough the power of love, Mr Gordon, and can make allowance for my acting precipitately!" The old gentleman was touched on a tenderer spot than the young man was aware of when he made this appeal to his own experience, for, in days gone by, young Allan Gordon had himself acted precipitately. But, although the appeal had touched him, he did not allow the fact to be seen, nor did he interrupt the youth's confession. "Observe, Mr Gordon," continued Barret, drawing himself up slightly, "the only wrong-doing for which I ask pardon is undue haste. My position, financially and otherwise, entitles me to marry, and darling Milly has a right to accept whom she will. If it be thought that she is too young and does not know her own mind, I am willing to wait. If she were to change her mind in the meantime, I would accept the inevitable-- but I have no fear of _that_!" The laird's features had been relaxing while the enthusiastic youth proceeded, but the last speech upset his gravity altogether. "Well, well, Barret," he said, "since you have condemned yourself for acting hastily, it would ill become your host to overwhelm you with reproaches, and to say truth, after what you have said, I hope that the course of true love will in your case run smooth. But, my young friend," he added, in more serious tones, "I must strictly forbid any further reference to this with Milly, till her mother comes. She is under my care and, being responsible for her, I must see that nothing further takes place till I am able to hand her, and all her affairs, over to her mother. I will explain this to Milly, and give her to understand that you will behave to her in all respects as you did before the occurrence of this unfortunate picnic. Meanwhile it may comfort you to know that her mother is already predisposed in your favour--naturally too, for she would be ungrateful, as well as eccentric, if she had no regard for the man who has twice saved her child's life. Ah! there goes the dinner-bell, and I'm glad of it, for prolonged speaking fatigues me. Come along." CHAPTER THIRTEEN. A CHAPTER OF CATASTROPHES. It was the very next day after the conversation in the library that the waggonette was sent over to Cove to meet the steamer and fetch Mrs Moss, who was expected to arrive. As Ian Anderson and Donald with the ragged head had to return home that day, they were offered a lift by their friend Roderick. "I wad raither waalk, Rodereek," said Ian; "but I dar' say I may as weel tak a lift as far as the Cluff; chump up, Tonal'." Donald was not slow to obey. Although active and vigorous as a mountain goat, he had no objection to repose under agreeable conditions. "What think ye o' the keeper _this_ time, Rodereek?" asked the boatman as they drove away. "Oo, it wull be the same as last time," answered the groom. "He'll haud on for a while, an' then he wull co pack like the soo to her wallowin' i' the mire." "I doubt ye're richt," returned Ian, with a solemn shake of the head. "He's an unstiddy character, an' he hes naither the fear o' Cod nor man pefore his eyes. But he's a plees'nt man when he likes." "Oo, ay, but there iss not in him the wull to give up the trink. He hes given it up more than wance before, an' failed. He will co from pad to worse in my opinion. There iss no hope for him, I fear." "Fery likely," and on the strength of that opinion Ian drew a flask from his pocket, and the two cronies had what the groom called a "tram" together. Farther up the steep road they overtook John Barret and Giles Jackman, who saluted them with pleasant platitudes about the weather as they passed. Curiously enough, these two chanced to be conversing on the very subject that had engaged the thoughts of Ian and the groom. "They say this is not the first time that poor Ivor has dashed his bottle to pieces," said Barret. "I fear it has become a disease in this case, and that he has lost the power of self-control. From all I hear I have little hope of him. It is all the more sad that he seems to have gained the affections of that poor little girl, Aggy Anderson." "Indeed!" exclaimed Giles, laughing; "a fellow-feeling makes you wondrous sharp, I suppose, for I had not observed that interesting fact. But why do you speak in such pitiful tones of Aggy?" "Because she is an invalid, and her lover is a drunkard. Sufficient reasons, I should think." "No, not quite, because she has almost recovered her usual health while here, and poor Ivor is, after all, only one of the sinners for whom Jesus Christ died. I have great hopes of him." "I'm glad to hear you say so, Jackman, though I don't see that the fact of our Saviour's dying for us all proves his case to be hopeful. Are there not hundreds of men of whom the same may be said, yet they are not delivered from drunkenness, and don't seem likely to be?" "That is unquestionably true," rejoined his friend; "but such men as you refer to have not been brought to the condition of renouncing self, and trusting _only_ in our Saviour. They want to have some credit in the matter of their own salvation--hence they fail. Ivor, I have good reason to believe, _has_ been brought to that condition--a condition which insures success--hence my great hopes of him. I became aware of his state of mind, partly from having had a long talk with him the other day, and partly from the report of his good old mother. She told me yesterday that Ivor had come to her, laid his hand on her shoulder, and said, `Mither, I've lost all hope o' mysel' noo,' to which the old woman answered, `That's the best news I've heard for mony a day, my son, for noo the Lord wull let ye see what He can do for ye.' Ivor's reply to that was, `I believe ye're richt, mither.' Now I think that was a great deal to come from two such undemonstrative Celts." At this point in the conversation they reached a part of the road where a footpath diverged down to the river, the road itself rising abruptly towards the Eagle Cliff. "We separate here," said Jackman. "I need scarcely ask where you are going, or what going to do! Botany, coupled with inaccessible cliffs, seems to be your mania just now. Oh! John Barret, my friend, may I not with truth, in your case, paraphrase a well-known couplet,-- "Milly in the heart breeds Milly in the brain, And this reciprocally that again?" "Your paraphrases are about equal to your compositions, Jackman, and, in saying that, I don't compliment you. Pray, may I ask why you have forsaken your favourite weapon, the gun, and taken to the rod to-day?" "Because of amiability--pure and simple. You know I don't care a rush for fishing, but, to my surprise, this morning MacRummle expressed a wish to try my repeating rifle at the rabbits, and offered to let me try his rod, and--I might almost add--his river. Wasn't it generous of him? So I'm off to have a try for `that salmon,' and he is off no one knows where, to send the terrified rabbits into their holes. Good-bye, old fellow--a pleasant day to you." Left alone, Barret began to devote himself to the cliffs. It was arduous work, for the said cliffs were almost perpendicular, and plants grew in such high-up crevices, and on such un-get-at-able places, that it seemed as if "rare specimens" knew their own value, as well as the great demand for them, and selected their habitations accordingly. It was pleasant work, and our hero revelled in it! To be in such exceptional circumstances, with the grand cliffs above and below him, with no one near, save the lordly eagle himself, to watch his doings, with the wild sweeps of mountain-land everywhere, clothed with bracken, heather, and birch, and backed by the island-studded sea; with the fresh air and the bright sun, and brawling burns, and bleating sheep, and the objects of his favourite science around him, and the strong muscular frame and buoyant spirits that God had given to enable him to enjoy it all, was indeed enough to arouse a feeling of gratitude and enthusiasm; but when, in addition to this, the young man knew that he was not merely botanising on his own account, but working at it for Milly, he felt as though he had all but attained to the topmost pinnacle of felicity! It is sad to think that in human affairs this condition is not unfrequently the precursor of misfortune. It is not necessarily so. Happily, it is not always so. Indeed, we would fain hope that it is not often so, but it was so on this occasion. Barret had about half filled his botanical box with what he believed to be an interesting collection of plants that would cause the eyes of Milly Moss to sparkle, when the position of the sun and internal sensations induced him to think of his midday meal. It was tied up in a little square paper package. There was a spring at the bottom of the cliffs. It was near the stone where he had met Milly, and had given way to precipitancy. Not far from the spot also where he had made Milly up into a bundle, with a plaid, and started with her towards Kinlossie. No place could be better than that for his solitary luncheon. He would go there. Descending the cliffs, he gained the road, and was walking along towards the selected spot, when the sound of wheels arrested him. Looking up, he saw the waggonette turn sharp round the projecting cliff, and approach him at a walk. He experienced a little depression of spirit, for there was no one in it, only the groom on the box. Milly would be sorely disappointed! "Mrs Moss has not come, I see," he said, as the groom reined up. "Oo, ay, sir, she's come. But she iss a queer leddy. She's been chumpin' in an' oot o' the waginette a' the way up, like a whutret, to admire the scenery, as she says. When we cam' to the heed o' the pass she chumped oot again, an' telt me to drive on slow, an wait at the futt o' the first hull for her. She's no far ahint." "I'll go and meet her. You can drive on, slowly." Barret hurried forward with feelings of considerable uncertainty as to whether this chance of meeting his mother-in-law to be (he hoped!) alone, and in these peculiar circumstances, would be an advantage or otherwise. She might be annoyed by a sudden interruption in "admiring the scenery." There would be the awkwardness of having to introduce himself, and she might be fatigued after all her "chumpin'" in and out of the waggonette. He was still pondering these points while he walked smartly forward, turned the projecting cliff above referred to, and all but overturned the identical little old lady whom he had run down on his bicycle, weeks before, in London! To say that these two drew back and gazed at each other intently--the lady quivering and pale, the youth aghast and red--is to give but a feeble account of the situation. "Young man," she said, indignantly, in a low, repressed voice, "you have a peculiar talent for assaulting ladies." "Madam," explained the youth, growing desperate, "you are right. I certainly have a talent--at least a misfortune--of that sort--" He stopped short, for, being quite overwhelmed, he knew not what to say. "It is sad," continued the little old lady in a tone of contempt, "that a youth like you should so much belie your looks. It was so mean of you to run away without a word of apology, just like a bad little boy, for fear of being scolded--not that I cared much for being run down with that horrid bicycle, for I was not hurt--though I _might_ have been killed--but it was the cowardly way in which you left me lying helpless among bakers, and sweeps, and policemen, and dirty boys. Oh! it was disgraceful." Poor Barret became more and more overwhelmed as she went on. "Spare me, madam," he cried, in desperation. "Oh; if you only knew what I have suffered on your account since that unlucky day! Believe me, it was not cowardice--well, I cannot say that exactly--but it was not the fear of your just reproaches that made me fly. It was the approach of the police, and the fear of being taken up, and a public trial, and the disgrace of--of--and--then I felt ashamed before I had fled more than a few hundred yards, and I returned to the spot, but you were gone, and I had no means of--of--" "That will do, young man. There is no need to keep me standing in this wild place. You are living somewhere in this neighbourhood, I suppose?" "Yes. I am living in the neighbourhood," said Barret bitterly. "Well, I am going to stay at Kinlossie House. You know Kinlossie House, I suppose?" "Oh, yes, I know it." "There is no occasion to look so fierce or bitter, young sir. I am going to be at Kinlossie for some time. If you choose to call there, I shall be ready to listen to your explanations and apologies, for I have no desire to appear either harsh or unforgiving. Meanwhile, I wish you good morning." Saying which, and with a sweeping bow of a rather antiquated style, the offended lady passed on. For a considerable time Barret stood motionless, with folded arms, "admiring the scenery" with a stony stare. A stone about the size of his fist lay at his foot. He suddenly kicked that violently into space. Had it been the size of his head, he would probably not have kicked it! Then he gave vent to a wild laugh, became suddenly grave, thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and walked up the road with clenched teeth and a deadly stride. Mrs Moss heard the laugh as it echoed among the great cliffs. "What a dreadful young man!" she muttered, hurrying forward. She thought of asking her driver who he was, but she had found Roderick to be a very taciturn Highlander. He had not shown much disposition to converse on the way up, and his speech had not been very intelligible to her English--or Anglicised--ears. She re-entered the waggonette, therefore, in silence. Roderick drove on also in silence, although much surprised that the "young shentleman" had not returned with the "leddy." But that was none of his business "what-e-ver." As the little old lady brooded over the matter, she resolved to say nothing of the meeting to Milly. She happened to possess a spice of humour, and thought it might be well to wait until the youth should call, and then, after forgiveness sought and obtained, introduce him at Kinlossie as the young man who ran her down in London! Meanwhile Barret walked himself into a better state of mind, clambered to a nook on the face of one of the cliffs, and sat down to meditate and consider what was best to be done. Although he had not gone out that day to shoot, but to botanise, he carried a light double-barrelled shot gun, in case he might get a chance at a hare, which was always acceptable to the lady of Kinlossie. While the incidents just described were being enacted at the base of the Eagle Cliff higher up, on a distant part of the same cliff, MacRummle might have been seen prowling among the grey rocks, with the spirit of Nimrod, and the aspect of Bacchus. It was the habit of MacRummle, being half blind, to supplement his vision with that peculiar kind of glasses which support--or refuse to support--themselves on the human countenance by means of the nose. These, although admirably adapted for reading, and even for quietly fishing by the river-side, he found to be miserably unsuited for sporting among the cliffs, for they were continually tumbling off as he stumbled along, or were twitched off by his rifle when he was in the act of making false points. Perseverance was, however, the strong point in the old man's character-- if it had a strong point at all. He replaced the glasses perpetually, and kept pointing persistently. He did little more than point, because the thing that he pointed at, whatever it was, usually got out of the way before MacRummle obtained a reliable aim. With a shot gun he might have done better, for that weapon admits of snap-shooting, with some chance of success, even in feeble hands. But the old man was ambitious. His object was to "pot" something, as he expressed it, with a single ball. Of course it was not all pointing. He did fire occasionally, with no other result than awaking the echoes and terrifying the rabbits. But the memory of his former success with the same weapon was strong upon him, and perseverance, as we have said, was rampant. On the whole, the fusillade that he kept up was considerable, much to the amusement of Barret (before meeting Mrs Moss!), who rightly guessed the cause of all the noise. About midday, like Barret, he prepared to comfort himself with lunch, and, unlike our unfortunate hero, he enjoyed it in comfort, sitting on a green patch or terrace, high up near the summit of the cliffs, and a full mile distant from the spot where the peculiar meeting took place. Like a giant refreshed MacRummle rose from lunch, a good deal more like Bacchus, and much less like Nimrod. A rabbit had been watching him from the cliff above nearly all the time he was eating. It moved quietly into its burrow when he rose, though there was no occasion to do so, because, although within easy rifle shot, MacRummle did not see it. When the sportsman was past, the rabbit came out and looked after him. Fixing his glasses firmly he advanced in that stooping posture, with the rifle at the "ready," which is so characteristic of keen sportsmen! Next moment a rabbit stood before him--an easy shot. It sat up on its hind legs even, as if inviting its fate, and gazed as though uncertain whether the man was going to advance or not. He did not advance, but took a steady, deadly aim, and was on the point of pulling the trigger when the glasses dropped off. MacRummle was wonderfully patient. He said nothing. He merely replaced his glasses and looked. The rabbit was gone. Several surrounding rabbits saw it go, but did not follow its example. They evidently felt themselves safe. Proceeding cautiously onward, the sportsman again caught sight of one of the multitude that surrounded him. It was seated on the edge of its burrow, ready for retreat. Alas! for that rabbit, if MacRummle had been an average shot, armed with a shot gun. But it was ignorant, and with the characteristic presumption of ignorance, it sat still. The sportsman took a careful and long--very long--aim, and fired! The rabbit's nose pointed to the world's centre, its tail to the sky, and when the smoke cleared away, it also was gone. "Fallen into its hole! Dead, I suppose," was the remark with which the sportsman sought to comfort himself. A bullet-mark on a rock, however, two feet to the left of the hole, and about a foot too high, shook his faith a little in this view. It was impossible, however, that a man should expend so much ammunition in a region swarming with his particular prey without experiencing something in the shape of a fluke. He did, after a time, get one shot which was effectual. A young rabbit sat on the top of a mound looking at him with an air of impudence which is sometimes associated with extreme youth. A fat old kinsman--or woman--was seated in a hollow some distance farther on. MacRummle fired at the young one, missed it, and shot the kinsman through the heart. The disappointment of the old man when he failed to find the young one, and his joy on discovering the kinsman, we leave to the reader's imagination. Thus he went on, occasionally securing something for the pot, continually alarming the whole rabbit fraternity, and disgusting the eagle, which watched him from a safe distance in the ambient atmosphere above. By degrees he worked his way along till he came to the neighbourhood of the place where poor John Barret sat in meditative dejection. Although near, however, the two friends could neither see nor get at each other, being separated by an impassable gulf--the one being in a crevice, as we have said, not far from the foot of the cliff, the other hidden among the crags near the summit. Thus it came to pass that although Barret knew of MacRummle's position by his noise, the latter was quite ignorant of the presence of the former. "This is horrible!" muttered the youth in his crevice below. "Now I call this charming!" exclaimed the old man on his perch above. Such is life--viewed from different standpoints! Ay, and correctly estimated, too, according to these different standpoints; for the old man saw only the sunny surrounding of the Present, while the young one gazed into the gloomy wreck of the Future. Being somewhat fatigued, MacRummle betook himself to a sequestered ledge among the cliffs, and sat down under a shrub to rest. It chanced to be a well concealed spot. He remained quietly there for a considerable time, discussing with himself the relative advantages of fishing and shooting. It is probable that his sudden disappearance and his prolonged absence induced the eagle to imagine that he had gone away, for that watchful bird, after several circlings on outstretched and apparently motionless wings, made a magnificent swoop downwards, and again resumed its floating action in the lower strata of its atmospheric world. There it devoted its exclusive attention to the young man, whose position was clearly exposed to its view. As he sat there in gloomy thought, Barret chanced to raise his eyes, and observed the bird high above him--far out of gunshot. "Fortunate creature!" he said aloud; "whatever may be the troubles of your lot, you are at least safe from exasperating _rencontres_ with your future mother-in-law!" We need not point out to the intelligent reader that Barret, being quite ignorant of the eagle's domestic relations, indulged in mere assumptions in the bitterness of his soul. He raised his fowling-piece as he spoke, and took a long, deliberate aim at the bird. "Far beyond range," he said, lowering the gun again; "but even if you were only four yards from the muzzle, I would not fire, poor bird! Did not Milly say you were noble, and that it would be worse than murder to kill you? No, you are safe from me, at all events, even if you were not so wary as to keep yourself safe from everybody. And yet, methinks, if MacRummle were still up there, he would have the chance of giving you a severe fright, though he has not the skill to bring you down." Now it is well-known to trappers and backwoodsmen generally that the most wary of foxes, which cannot by any means be caught by one trap, may sometimes be circumvented by two traps. It is the same with decoys, whether these be placed intentionally, or place themselves accidentally. On this occasion Barret acted the part of a decoy, all unwittingly to that eagle or to MacRummle. In its extreme interest in the youth's proceedings the great bird soared straight over his head, and slowly approached the old man's position. MacRummle was not on the alert. He never was on the alert! but his eyes chanced to be gazing in the right direction, and his glasses happened to be on. He saw it coming--something big and black! He grasped his repeater and knocked his glasses off. "A raven, I think! I'll try it. I should like it as a trophy--a sort of memorial of--" Bang! The man who was half blind, who had scarcely used gun or rifle all his life, achieved that which dead shots and ardent sportsmen had tried in vain for years--he shot the eagle right through the heart, and that, too, with a single bullet! Straight down it fell with a tremendous flutter, and disappeared over the edge of its native cliff. MacRummle went on his knees, and, craning his neck, replaced his glasses; but nothing whatever could be seen, save the misty void below. Shrinking back from the giddy position, he rose and pulled out his watch. "Let me see," he muttered, "it will take me a full hour to go round so as to reach the bottom. No; too late. I'll go home, and send the keeper for it in the morning. The eagle may have picked its bones by that time, to be sure; but after all, a raven is not much of a trophy." While he was thus debating, a very different scene was taking place below. Barret had been gazing up at the eagle when the shot was fired. He saw the spout of smoke. He heard the crashing shot and echoes, and beheld the eagle descending like a thunder-bolt. After that he saw and heard no more, for, in reaching forward to see round a projecting rock that interfered with his vision, his foot slipped, and he fell headlong from the cliff. He had not far to fall, indeed, and a whin bush broke the force of the shock when he did strike; but he was rendered insensible, and rolled down the remainder of the slope to the bottom. There he lay bruised, bleeding, and motionless on the grass, close to the road, with his bent and broken gun beneath him, and the dead eagle not more than a dozen yards from his side! "It is not like Barret to be late," observed the laird that evening, as he consulted his watch. "He is punctuality itself, as a rule. He must have fallen in with some unusually interesting plants. But we can't wait. Order dinner, my dear, for I'm sure that my sister must be very hungry after her voyage." "Indeed I am," returned the little old lady, with a peculiar smile. "Sea-sickness is the best tonic I know of, but it is an awful medicine to take." "Almost as good as mountain air," remarked MacRummle, as they filed out of the drawing-room. "I do wish I had managed to bring that raven home." At first the party at dinner was as merry as usual. The sportsmen were graphic in recounting the various incidents of the day; Mrs Moss was equally graphic on the horrors of the sea; MacRummle was eulogistic of repeating rifles, and inclined to be boastful about the raven, which he hoped to show them on the morrow, while Milly proved herself, as usual, a beautiful and interested listener, as well as a most hearty laugher. But as the feast went on they became less noisy. Then a feeling of uneasiness manifested itself, but no one ventured to suggest that anything might have occurred to the absentee until the evening had deepened into night. Then the laird started up suddenly. "Something _must_ have happened to our friend," he exclaimed, at the same time ringing the bell violently. "He has never been late before, and however far he may have gone a-field, there has been more than time for him to return at his slowest pace. Duncan," (as the butler entered), "turn out all the men and boys as fast as you can. Tell Roderick to get lanterns ready--as many as you have. Gentlemen, we must all go on this search without another moment's delay!" There is little need to say that Barret's friends and comrades were not slow to respond to the call. In less than a quarter of an hour they were dispersed, searching every part of the Eagle Cliff, where he had been last seen by Giles Jackman. They found him at last, pale and blood-stained, making ineffectual efforts to crawl from the spot where he had fallen, both the eagle and the broken gun being found beside him. "No bones broken, thank God!" said Giles, after having examined him and bound up his wounds. "But he is too weak to be questioned. Now, lads, fetch the two poles and the plaid. I'll soon contrive a litter." "All right, old fellow! God bless you!" said Barret, faintly, as his friend bent over him. Roderick and Ivor raised him softly, and, with the eagle at his side, bore him towards Kinlossie House. Soon after, their heavy tramp was heard in the hall as they carried him to his room, and laid him gently in bed. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. SUSPICIONS, REVELATIONS, AND OTHER MATTERS. With a swelled and scratched face, a discoloured eye, a damaged nose, and a head swathed in bandages--it is no wonder that Mrs Moss failed to recognise in John Barret the violent young man with the talent for assaulting ladies! She was not admitted to his room until nearly a week after the accident, for, although he had not been seriously injured, he had received a rather severe shock, and it was thought advisable to keep him quiet as a matter of precaution. When she did see him at last, lying on a sofa in a dressing-gown, and with his head and face as we have described, his appearance did not call to her remembrance the faintest resemblance to the confused, wild, and altogether incomprehensible youth, who had tumbled her over in the streets of London, and almost run her down in the Eagle Pass. Of course Barret feared that she would recognise him, and had been greatly exercised as to his precise duty in the circumstances; but when he found that she did not recognise either his face or his voice, he felt uncertain whether it would not be, perhaps, better to say nothing at all about the matter in the meantime. Indeed, the grateful old lady gave him no time to make a "clean breast of it," as he had at first intended to do. "Oh! Mr Barret," she exclaimed, sitting down beside him, and laying her hand lightly on his arm, while the laird sat down on another chair and looked on benignly, "I cannot tell you how thankful I am that you have not been killed, and how very grateful I am to you for all your bravery in saving my darling Milly's life. Now, don't say a word about disclaiming credit, as I know you are going to do--" "But, dear madam," interrupted the invalid, "allow me to explain. I cannot bear to deceive you, or to sail under false colours--" "Sail under false colours! Explain!" repeated Mrs Moss, quickly. "What nonsense do you talk? Has not my daughter explained, and _she_ is not given to colouring things falsely." "Excuse me, Mrs Moss," said Barret; "I did not mean that. I only--" "I don't care what you mean, Mr Barret," said the positive little woman; "it's of no use your denying that you have behaved in a noble, courageous manner, and I won't listen to anything to the contrary; so you need not interrupt me. Besides, I have been told not to allow you to speak much; so, sir, if I am to remain beside you at all, I must impose silence." Barret sank back on his couch with a sigh, and resigned himself to his fate. So much for the mother. Later in the same day the daughter sat beside his couch. The laird was not present on that occasion. They were alone. "Milly," said the invalid, taking her small hand in his, "have you mentioned it yet to your mother?" "Yes, John," replied Milly, blushing in spite of--nay, rather more in consequence of--her efforts not to do so. "I spoke to her some days ago. Indeed, soon after the accident, when we were sure you were going to get well. And she did not disapprove." "Ay, but have you spoken since she has seen me--since this morning?" "Yes, John." "And she is still of the same mind--not shocked or shaken by my appearance?" "She is still of the same mind," returned Milly; "and not shocked in the least. My darling mother is far too wise to be shocked by trifles--I--I mean by scratches and bruises. She judges of people by their hearts." "I'm glad to hear that, Milly, for I have something shocking to tell her about myself, that will surprise her, if it does nothing else." "Indeed!" said Milly, with the slightest possible rise of her pretty eyebrows. "Yes. You have heard from your mother about that young rascal who ran into her with his bicycle in London some time ago?" "Yes; she wrote to me about it," replied Milly, with an amused smile. "You mean, I suppose, the reckless youth who, after running her down, had the cowardice to run away and leave her lying flat on the pavement? Mother has more than once written about that event with indignation, and rightly, I think. But how came you to know about it, John?" "Milly," said Barret, holding her hand very tight, and speaking solemnly, "_I am that cowardly man_!" "Now, John, you are jesting." "Indeed--indeed I am not." "Do you really mean to say that it was _you_ who ran against my--Oh! you _must_ be jesting!" "Again I say I am _not_. I am the man--the coward." "Well, dear John," said Milly, flushing considerably, "I must believe you; but the fact does not in the least reduce my affection for you, though it will lower my belief in your prudence, unless you can explain." "I will explain," said Barret; and we need scarcely add that the explanation tended rather to increase than diminish Milly's affection for, as well as her belief in, her lover! But when Barret went on further to describe the meeting in the Eagle Pass, she went off into uncontrollable laughter. "And you are sure that mother has no idea that you are the man?" she asked. "Not the remotest." "Well, now, John, you must not let her know for some time yet. You must gain her affections, sir, before you venture to reveal your true character." Of course Barret agreed to this. He would have agreed to anything that Milly proposed, except, perhaps, the giving up of his claim to her own hand. Deception, however, invariably surrounds the deceiver with more or less of difficulty. That same evening, while Milly was sitting alone with her mother, the conversation took a perplexing turn. There had been a pretty long pause, after a rather favourable commentary on the character of Barret, when the thin little old lady had wound up with the observation that the subject of their criticism was a remarkably agreeable man, with a playfully humorous and a delightfully serious turn of mind--"and _so_ modest" withal! Apparently the last words had turned her mind into the new channel, for she resumed-- "Talking of insolence, my dear--" "_Were_ we talking of insolence, mother?" said Milly, with a surprised smile. "Well, my love, I was thinking of the opposite of modesty, which is the same thing. Do you know, I had a meeting on the day of my arrival here which surprised me very much? To say truth, I did not mention it sooner, because I wished to give you a little surprise. Why do you change your seat, my love? Did you feel a draught where you were?" "No--no. I--I only want to get the light a little more at my back--to keep it off my face. But go on, mother. What was the surprise about? I'm anxious to know." If Milly did not absolutely know, she had at least a pretty good idea of what was coming! "Well, of course you remember about that young man--that--that _cowardly_ young man who--" "Who ran you down in London? Yes, yes, _I_ know," interrupted the daughter, endeavouring to suppress a laugh, and putting her handkerchief suddenly to her face. "I remember well. The monster! What about him?" "You may well call him a monster! Can you believe it? I have met him here--in this very island, where he must be living somewhere, of course; and he actually ran me down again--all _but_." She added the last two words in order to save her veracity. "You don't really mean it?" exclaimed Milly, giving way a little in spite of herself. "With a bicycle?" It was the mother's turn to laugh now. "No, you foolish thing; even _I_ have capacity to understand that it would be impossible to use those hideous--frightful instruments, on the bad hill-roads of this island. No; but it seems to be the nature of this dis-disagreeable--I had almost said detestable--youth, to move only under violent impulse, for he came round a corner of the Eagle Cliff at such a pace that, as I have said, he _all but_ ran into my arms and knocked me down." "Dreadful!" exclaimed Milly, turning her back still more to the light and working mysteriously with her kerchief. "Yes, dreadful indeed! And when I naturally taxed him with his cowardice and meanness, he did not seem at all penitent, but went on like a lunatic; and although what he said was civil enough, his way of saying it was very impolite and strange; and after we had parted, I heard him give way to fiendish laughter. I could not be mistaken, for the cliffs echoed it in all directions like a hundred hyenas!" As this savoured somewhat of a joke, Milly availed herself of it, set free the safety-valve, and, so to speak, saved the boiler! "Why do you laugh so much, child?" asked the old lady, when her daughter had transgressed reasonable limits. "Well, you know, mother, if you _will_ compare a man's laugh to a hundred hyenas--" "I didn't compare the man's voice," interrupted Mrs Moss; "I said that the cliffs--" "That's worse and worse! Now, mother, don't get into one of your hypercritical moods, and insist on reasons for everything; but tell me about this wicked--this dreadful young man. What was he like?" "Like an ordinary sportsman, dear, with one of those hateful guns in his hand, and a botanical box on his back. I could not see his face very well, for he wore one of those ugly pot-caps, with a peak before and behind; though what the behind one is for I cannot imagine, as men have no eyes in the back of their heads to keep the sun out of. No doubt some men would make us believe they have! but it was pulled down on the bridge of his nose. What I did see of his face seemed to be handsome enough, and his figure was tall and well made, unquestionably, but his behaviour--nothing can excuse that! If he had only said he was sorry, one might have forgiven him." "Did he _not_ say he was sorry?" asked Milly in some surprise. "Oh, well, I suppose he did; and begged pardon after a fashion. But what truth could there be in his protestations when he went away and laughed like a hyena." "You said a hundred hyenas, mother." "No, Milly, I said the cliffs laughed; but don't interrupt me, you naughty child! Well, I was going to tell you that my heart softened a little towards the young man, for, as you know, I am not naturally unforgiving." "I know it well, dear mother!" "So, before we parted, I told him that if he had any explanations or apologies to make, I should be glad to see him at Kinlossie House. Then I made up my mind to forgive him, and introduce him to you as the man that ran me down in London! This was the little surprise I had in store for you, but the ungrateful creature has never come." "No, and he never will come!" said Milly, with a hearty laugh. "How do you know that, puss?" asked Mrs Moss, in surprise. Fortunately the dinner-bell rang at that moment, justifying Milly in jumping up. Giving her mother a rather violent hug, she rushed from the room. "Strange girl!" muttered Mrs Moss as she turned, and occupied herself with some mysterious--we might almost say captious--operations before the looking-glass. "The mountain air seems to have increased her spirits wonderfully. Perhaps love has something to do with it! It may be both!" She was still engaged with a subtle analysis of this question--in front of the glass, which gave her the advantage of supposing that she talked with an opponent--when sudden and uproarious laughter was heard in the adjoining room. It was Barret's sitting-room, in which his friends were wont to visit him. She could distinguish that the laughter proceeded from himself, Milly, and Giles Jackman, though the walls were too thick to permit of either words or ordinary tones being heard. "Milly," said Mrs Moss, severely, when they met a few minutes later in the drawing-room, "what were you two and Mr Jackman laughing at so loudly? Surely you did not tell them what we had been speaking about?" "Of course I did, mother. I did not know you intended to keep the matter secret. And it did so tickle them! But no one else knows it, so I will run back to John and pledge him to secrecy. You can caution Mr Jackman, who will be down directly, no doubt." As Barret had not at that time recovered sufficiently to admit of his going downstairs, his friends were wont to spend much of their time in the snug sitting-room which had been apportioned to him. He usually held his levees costumed in a huge flowered dressing-gown, belonging to the laird, so that, although he began to look more like his former self, as he recovered from his injuries, he was still sufficiently disguised to prevent recognition on the part of Mrs Moss. Nevertheless, the old lady felt strangely perplexed about him. One day the greater part of the household was assembled in his room when Mrs Moss remarked on this curious feeling. "I cannot tell what it is, Mr Barret, that makes the sound of your voice seem familiar to me," she said; "yet not exactly familiar, but a sort of far-away echo, you know, such as one might have heard in a dream; though, after all, I don't think I ever did hear a voice in a dream." Jackman and Milly glanced at each other, and the latter put the safety-valve to her mouth while Barret replied-- "I don't know," he said, with a very grave appearance of profound thought, "that I ever myself dreamt a voice, or, indeed, a sound of any kind. As to what you say about some voices appearing to be familiar, don't you think that has something to do with classes of men? No man, I think, is a solitary unit in creation. Every man is, as it were, the type of a class to which he belongs--each member possessing more or less the complexion, tendencies, characteristics, tones, etcetera, of his particular class. You are familiar, it may be, with the tones of the class to which I belong, and hence the idea that you have heard my voice before." "Philosophically put, Barret," said Mabberly; "I had no idea you thought so profoundly." "H'm! I'm not so sure of the profundity," said the little old lady, pursing her lips; "no doubt you may be right as regards class; but then, young man, I have been familiar with all classes of men, and therefore, according to your principle, I should have some strange memories connected with Mr Jackman's voice, and Mr Mabberly's, and the laird's, and everybody's." "Well said, sister; you have him there!" cried the laird with a guffaw; "but don't lug me into your classes, for I claim to be an exception to all mankind, inasmuch as I have a sister who belongs to no class, and is ready to tackle any man on any subject whatever, between metaphysics and baby linen. Come now, Barret, do you think yourself strong enough to go out with us in the boat to-morrow?" "Quite. Indeed, I would have begged leave to go out some days ago, but Doctor Jackman there, who is a very stern practitioner, forbids me. However, I have my revenge, for I compel him to sit with me a great deal, and entertain me with Indian stories." "Oh!" exclaimed Junkie, who happened to be in the room, "he hasn't told you yet about the elephant hunt, has he?" "No, not yet, Junkie," returned Barret; "he has been faithful to his promise not to go on with that story till you and your brothers are present." "Well, but tell it now, Mr Jackman, and I'll go an call Eddie and Archie," pleaded the boy. "You will call in vain, then," said his father, "for they have both gone up the burn, one to photograph and the other to paint. I never saw such a boy as Archie is to photograph. I believe he has got every scene in the island worth having on his plates now, and he has taken to the cattle of late--What think ye was the last thing he tried? I found him in the yard yesterday trying to photograph himself!" "That must indeed have puzzled him; how did he manage?" asked MacRummle. "Well, it was ingenious. He tried to get Pat Quin to manipulate the instrument while he sat; but Quin is clumsy with his fingers, at least for such delicate work, and, the last time, he became nervous in his anxiety to do the thing rightly; so, when Archie cried `Now,' for him to cover the glass with its little cap, he put it on with a bang that knocked over and nearly smashed the whole concern. So what does the boy do but sets up a chair in the right focus and arranges the instrument with a string tied to the little cap. Then he sits down on the chair, puts on a heavenly smile, and pulls the string. Off comes the cap! He counts one, two--I don't know how many--and then makes a sudden dash at the camera an' shuts it up! What the result may be remains to be seen." "Oh, it'll be the same as usual," remarked Junkie in a tone of contempt. "There's always something goes wrong in the middle of it. He tried to take Boxer the other day, and _he_ wagged his tail in the middle of it. Then he tried the cat, and she yawned in the middle. Then Flo, and she laughed in the middle. Then me, an' I forgot, and made a face at Flo in the middle. It's a pity it has got a middle at all; two ends would be better, I think. But won't you tell about the elephants to _us_, Mr Jackman? There's plenty of us here--please!" "Nay, Junkie; you would not have me break my word, surely. When we are all assembled together you shall have it--some wet day, perhaps." "Then there'll be no more wet days _this_ year, if I've to wait for that," returned the urchin half sulkily. That same day, Milly, Barret, and Jackman arranged that the mystery of the cowardly young man must be cleared up. "Perhaps it would be best for Miss Moss to explain to her mother," said Giles. "That will not I," said Milly with a laugh. "I have decided what to do," said Barret. "I was invited by her to call and explain anything I had to say, and apologise. By looks, if not by words, I accepted that invitation, and I shall keep it. If you could only manage somehow, Milly, to get everybody out of the way, so that I might find your mother alone in--" "She's alone _now_," said Milly. "I left her just a minute ago, and she is not likely to be interrupted, I know." "Stay, then; I will return in a few minutes." Barret retired to his room, whence he quickly returned with shooting coat, knickerbockers, pot-cap and boots, all complete. "`Richard's himself again!' Allow me to congratulate you," cried Jackman, shaking his friend by the hand. "But, I say, don't you think it may give the old lady rather a shock as well as a surprise?" Barret looked at Milly. "I think not," said Milly. "As uncle often says of dear mother, `she is tough.'" "Well, I'll go," said Barret. In a few minutes he walked into the middle of the drawing-room and stood before Mrs Moss, who was reading a book at the time. She laid down the book, removed her glasses, and looked up. "Well, I declare!" she exclaimed, with the utmost elevation of her eyebrows and distension of her eyes; "there you are at last! And you have not even the politeness to take your hat off, or have yourself announced. You are the most singularly ill-bred young man, for your looks, that I ever met with." "I thought, madam," said Barret in a low voice, "that you would know me better with my cap on--" He stopped, for the old lady had risen at the first sound of his voice, and gazed at him in a species of incredulous alarm. "Forgive me," cried Barret, pulling off his cap; but again he stopped abruptly, and, before he could spring forward to prevent it, the little old lady had fallen flat upon the hearth-rug. "Quick! hallo! Milly--Giles! Ass that I am! I've knocked her down _again_!" he shouted, as those whom he summoned burst into the room. They had not been far off. In a few more minutes Mrs Moss was reviving on the sofa, and alone with her daughter. "Milly, dear, this has been a great surprise; indeed, I might almost call it a shock," she said, in a faint voice. "Indeed it has been, darling mother," returned Milly in sympathetic tones, as she smoothed her mother's hair; "and it was all my fault. But are you quite sure you are not hurt?" "I don't _feel_ hurt, dear," returned the old lady, with a slight dash of her argumentative tone; "and don't you think that if I _were_ hurt I should _feel_ it?" "Perhaps, mother; but sometimes, you know, people are so _much_ hurt that they _can't_ feel it." "True, child, but in these circumstances they are usually unable to express their views about feeling altogether, which I am not, you see-- no thanks to that--th-to John Barret." "Oh! mother, I cannot bear to think of it--" "No wonder," interrupted the old lady. "To think of my being violently knocked down _twice--almost_ three times--by a big young man like that, and the first time with a horrid bicycle on the top of us--I might almost say mixed up with us." "But, mother, he _never_ meant it, you know--" "I should _think_ not!" interjected Mrs Moss with a short sarcastic laugh. "No, indeed," continued Milly, with some warmth; "and if you only knew what he has suffered on your account--" "Milly," cried Mrs Moss quickly, "is all that _I_ have suffered on _his_ account to count for nothing?" "Of course not, _dear_ mother. I don't mean that; you don't understand me. I mean the reproaches that his own conscience has heaped upon his head for what he has inadvertently done." "Recklessly, child, not inadvertently. Besides, you know, his conscience is not _himself_. People cannot avoid what conscience says to them. Its remarks are no sign of humility or self-condemnation, one proof of which is that wicked people would gladly get away from conscience if they could, instead of agreeing with it, as they should, and shaking hands with it, and saying, `we are all that you call us, and more.'" "Well, that is exactly what John has done," said Milly, with increasing, warmth. "He has said all that, and more to me--" "To _you_?" interrupted Mrs Moss; "yes, but you are not his conscience, child!" "Yes, I am, mother; at least, if I'm not, I am next thing to it, for he says _everything_ to me!" returned Milly, with a laugh and a blush. "And you have no idea how sorry, how ashamed, how self-condemned, how overwhelmed he has been by all that has happened." "Humph! I have been a good deal more overwhelmed than he has been," returned Mrs Moss. "However, make your mind easy, child, for during the last week or two, in learning to love and esteem John Barret, I have unwittingly been preparing the way to forgive and forget the cowardly youth who ran me down in London. Now go and send Mr Jackman to me; I have a great opinion of that young man's knowledge of medicine and surgery, though he _is_ only an amateur. He will soon tell me whether I have received any hurt that has rendered me incapable of feeling. And at the same time you may convey to that coward, John, my entire forgiveness." Milly kissed her mother, of course, and hastened away to deliver her double message. After careful examination and much questioning, "Dr" Jackman pronounced the little old lady to be entirely free from injury of any kind, save the smashing of a comb in her back-hair, and gave it as his opinion that she was as sound in wind and limb as before the accident, though there had unquestionably been a considerable shock to the feelings, which, however, seemed to have had the effect of improving rather than deranging her intellectual powers. The jury which afterwards sat upon her returned their verdict in accordance with that opinion. It was impossible, of course, to prevent some of all this leaking into the kitchen, the nursery, and the stable. In the first-mentioned spot, Quin remarked to the housemaid,--"Sure, it's a quare evint entirely," with which sentiment the housemaid agreed. "Aunt Moss is a buster," was Junkie's ambiguous opinion, in which Flo and the black doll coincided. "Tonal'," said Roderick, as he groomed the bay horse, "the old wumman iss a fery tough person." To which "Tonal'" assented, "she iss, what-e-ver." CHAPTER FIFTEEN. ELEPHANTS AGAIN--FOLLOWED BY SOMETHING MORE AWFUL. There came a rainy day at last at Kinlossie House. Such days will come at times in human experience, both in metaphor and fact. At present we state a fact. "It will bring up the fush," was Roderick's remark, as he paused in the operation of cleaning harness to look through the stable door on the landscape; "an' that wull please Maister MacRummle." "It will pe good for the gress too, an' that will please Muss Mully," said Donald, now permanently appointed to the stables. "H'm! she wull pe carin' less for the gress, poy, than she wass used to do," returned the groom. "It iss my opeenion that they wull pe all wantin' to co away sooth pefore long." We refer to the above opinions because they were shared by the party assembled in Barret's room, which was still retained as a snuggery, although its occupant was fully restored to normal health and vigour. "You'll be sure to get `that salmon' next time you try, after all this rain, MacRummle," said Mabberly. "At least, I hope you will before we leave." "Ay, and you must have another try with the repeater on the Eagle Cliff, Mac. It would never do to leave a lone widdy, as Quin calls it, after murdering the husband." "Perhaps I _may_ have another day there," answered the old gentleman, with a pleased smile; for although they roasted him a good deal for mistaking an eagle for a raven, and only gave him credit for a "fluke," it was evident that he congratulated himself not a little on his achievement. "Archie is having an awful time skinning and stuffing it," said Eddie, who sat by the window dressing trout flies. Junkie, who was occupied at another window, mending the top of his rod, remarked that nothing seemed to give Archie so much pleasure as skinning and stuffing something. "He's always doing it," said the youngster. "Whatever happens to die, from a tom-cat to a tom-tit, he gets hold of. I do believe if he was to die, he would try to skin and stuff himself!" At that moment Archie entered the room. "I've got it nearly done now," he said, with a pleased expression, while he rubbed his not-over-clean hands. "I'll set him up to-night and photograph him to-morrow, with Flo under his wings to show his _enormous_ size." "Oh! that minds me o' the elephants," cried Junkie, jumping up and running to Jackman, who was assisting. Barret to arrange plants for Milly. "We are _all_ here now--an' you _promised_, you know." A heavy patter of rain on the window seemed to emphasise Junkie's request by suggesting that nothing better could be done. "Well, Junkie, I have no objection," said the Woods-and-Forester, "if the rest of the company do not object." As the rest of the company did not object, but rather expressed anxiety to hear about the hunt, Jackman drew his chair near to the fire, the boys crowded round him, and he began with,--"Let me see. Where was I?" "In India, of course," said Junkie. "Yes; but at what part of the hunt?" "Oh! you hadn't begun the hunt at all. You had only made Chand somethin' or other, Isri Per-what-d'ee-call-it, an' Raj Mung-thingumy give poor Mowla Buksh such an awful mauling." "Just so. Well, you must know that next day we received news of large herds of elephants away to the eastward of the Ganges, so we started off with all our forces--hunters, matchlock-men, onlookers, etcetera, and about eighty tame elephants. Chief among these last were the fighting elephants, to which Junkie gave such appropriate names just now, and king of them all was the mighty Chand Moorut, who had never been known to refuse a fight or lose a victory since he was grown up. "It was really grand to see this renowned mountain of living flesh towering high above his fellows. Like all heroes, he was calm and dignified when not in action--a lamb in the drawing-room, a lion in the field. Even the natives, accustomed as they were to these giants, came to look at him admiringly that morning as he walked sedately out of camp. He was so big that he seemed to grow bigger while you looked at him, and he was absolutely perfect in form and strength--the very Hercules of brutes. "The trackers had marked down a herd of wild elephants, not three miles distant, in a narrow valley, just suited to our purpose. On reaching the ground we learned that there was, in the jungle, a `rogue' elephant--that is, an old male, which had been expelled from the herd. Such outcasts are usually very fierce and dangerous. This one was a tusker, who had been the terror of the neighbourhood, having killed many people, among them a forester, only a few days before our arrival. "As these `rogues' are always very difficult to overcome, and are almost sure to injure the khedda, or tame elephants of the hunt, if an attempt is made to capture them, we resolved to avoid him, and devote our attention entirely to the females and young ones. We formed a curious procession as we entered the valley--rajah and civilians, military men and mahowts, black and white, on pads and in howdahs--the last being the little towers that you see on elephants' backs in pictures. "Gun-men had been sent up to the head of the valley to block the way in that direction. The sides were too steep for elephants to climb. Thus we had them, as it were, in a trap, and formed up the khedda in battle array. The catching, or non-combatant elephants, were drawn up in two lines, and the big, fighting elephants were kept in reserve, concealed by bushes. The sides of the valley were crowded with matchlock-men, ready to commence shouting and firing at a given signal, and drive the herd in the direction of the khedda. "It was a beautiful forenoon when we commenced to move forward. All nature seemed to be waiting in silent expectation of the issue of our hunt, and not a sound was heard, the strictest silence having been enjoined upon all. Rich tropical vegetation hung in graceful lines and festoons from the cliffs on either side, but there was no sign of the gun-men concealed there. The sun was--" "Oh! bother the sun! Come on wi' the fight," exclaimed the impatient Junkie. "All in good time, my boy. The sun was blazing in my eyes, I was going to say, so, you see, I could not make out the distant view, and therefore, can't describe it," ("Glad of it," murmured the impertinent Junkie); "but I knew that the wild elephants were there, somewhere in the dense jungle. Suddenly a shot was heard at the head of the valley. We afterwards learned that it had been fired over the head of a big tusker elephant that stood under a tree not many yards from the man who fired. Being young, like Junkie, and giddy, it dashed away down the valley, trumpeting wildly; and you have no conception how active and agile these creatures can be, if you have seen only the slow, sluggish things that are in our Zoos at home! So terrible was the sound of this elephant's approach, that the ranks of the khedda elephants were thrown into some confusion, and the mahowts had difficulty in preventing them from turning tail and running away. Our leader, therefore, ordered the gladiator, Chand Moorut, to the front. Indeed, Chand ordered himself to the front, for no sooner did he hear the challenge of the tusker, than he dashed forward alone to accept it, and his mahowt found it almost impossible to restrain him. Fortunately the jungle helped the mahowt by hiding the tusker from view. "When the wild elephant caught sight of the line of the khedda, he went at it with a mighty rush, crashing through bush and brake, and overturning small trees like straws, until he got into the dry bed of a stream. There he stopped short, for the colossal Chand Moorut suddenly appeared and charged him. The wild tusker, however, showed the white feather. He could not, indeed, avoid the shock altogether, but, yielding to it, he managed to keep his legs, turned short round, and fled past his big foe. Chand Moorut had no chance with the agile fellow in a race. He was soon left far behind, while the tusker charged onward. The matchlock-men tried in vain to check him. As he approached the line, the khedda elephants fled in all directions. Thrusting aside some, and overturning others that came in his way, he held on his course, amid the din of shouting and rattling of shots, and finally, got clear away!" "Oh, _what_ a pity!" exclaimed Junkie. "But that did not matter much," continued Jackman; "for news was brought in that the herd we had been after were not in that valley at all, but in the next one, and had probably heard nothing of all the row we had been making; so we collected our forces, and went after them. "Soon we got to the pass leading into the valley, and then, just beyond it, came quite suddenly on a band of somewhere about thirty wild elephants. They were taken quite by surprise, for they were feeding at the time on a level piece of ground of considerable extent. As it was impossible to surround them, away the whole khedda went helter-skelter after them. It was a tremendous sight. The herd had scattered in all directions, so that our khedda was also scattered. Each hunting elephant had two men on its back--one, the nooseman, sitting on its neck, with a strong, thick rope in his hands, on which was a running noose; the other, the driver, who stood erect on the animal's back, holding on by a loop with one hand, and in the other flourishing an instrument called the _mungri_, with sharp spikes in it, wherewith to whip the poor animal over the root of his tail; for of course an ordinary whip would have had no more effect than a peacock's feather, on an elephant's hide! "I ordered my mahowt to keep near one of the noosemen, whom I knew to be expert in the use of the giant-lasso. His name was Ramjee. Both Ramjee and his driver were screaming and yelling at the pitch of their voices, and the latter was applying his mungri with tremendous energy. The elephant they were after was a small female. It is always necessary that the chasing elephant should be much heavier than the one chased, else evil results follow, as we soon found. Presently the khedda elephant was alongside. Ramjee lifted the great loop in both hands, and leaned over till he almost touched the wild animal. Frequently this noosing fails from various reasons. For one thing, the wild creatures are often very clever at evading the noose: sometimes they push it away with their trunks; occasionally they step right through it, and now and then get only half through it, so that it forms a sort of tow rope, and the other end of this rope being made fast to the neck of the tame elephant, the wild one drags it along violently, unless the tame one is much heavier than itself. This is exactly what happened to Ramjee. He dropped the noose beautifully over the creature's head, but before it could be hauled tight--which was accomplished by checking the tame animal--the active creature had got its forelegs through. The loop caught, however, on its hind quarters, and away it went, dragging the tame elephant after it, Ramjee shrieking wildly for help. Two of the other tame elephants, not yet engaged, were sent to his assistance. These easily threw two more nooses over the wild creature, and, after a good run, she was finally exhausted, secured with ropes, and driven back to camp, there to be subjected to coercive treatment until she should become tame. "Meanwhile, other captures were being made in the field. I was just moving off, after seeing this female secured, when a tremendous shouting attracted me. It was a party chasing a fine young tusker. He was very cunning, and ran about, dodging hither and thither, taking advantage of every tree and bush and inequality, while the mahowts failed again and again to noose him. I made my mahowt drive our animal so as to turn him back. We had no appliances to capture, as I was there only to look on and admire. At last a good throw noosed him, but he slipped through, all except one hind leg. On this the noose luckily held, and in a few minutes we had him secure. Of course, in driving our prisoners to camp, the tame elephants were used to guide them, stir them up, push them on, and restrain or punish them, as the case might require. This was easy with the smaller females and young ones, but it was a very different matter with big males, especially with rogues, as we found out before the close of that day. "We were getting pretty well used up towards the afternoon, and had sent ten full-grown elephants and three calves into camp, when we received news that the rogue, which had been so long a terror to the district, was in the neighbouring valley. So we resolved to go for him. Of course there was no possibility of noosing such a monster. The ordinary elephants could never have been brought to face him. Our only hope therefore lay in our gladiators; and our plan was to make them knock him down repeatedly, until, at length, he should be tired out. "I need not waste time with details. It is sufficient to say that, after about an hour's search, we came upon the rogue in a dense part of the jungle. He was, as I have said, unusually big, as well as fierce. But our hero, Chand Moorut, had never yet met his match, so we resolved to risk an encounter. There was the dry bed of a river, which the rogue would have to cross when driven down the valley by the gun-men. Here our gladiator was placed, partially concealed and ready to meet the rogue when he should appear. Fifty yards back the other fighting elephants were placed in support, and behind these were drawn up the rest of the khedda in three lines. Then the spectators, many of whom were ladies, were placed on a ledge of rock about forty feet above the river-bed, which commanded a good view of the proposed field of battle. "Up to this time perfect silence had been maintained in our ranks. My elephant was stationed near the centre of the line, from which point I could see Chand Moorut standing calmly near the river-bed, with what I could almost fancy was a twinkle in his eye, as though he suspected what was coming. "Suddenly a single shot was heard from up the valley. As it came echoing towards us, it was mingled with the spattering fire, shouting and yelling of the beaters, who began to advance. Chand Moorut became rigid and motionless, like a statue. He was evidently thinking! Another instant, and the rogue's shrill trumpet-note of defiance rang high above the din. Trembling and restive the ordinary khedda elephants showed every symptom of alarm; but the fighters stood still, with the exception of Chand, who, becoming inflated with the spirit of war, made a sudden dash up the valley, intent on accepting the challenge! Fifty yards were passed before his mahowt, with voice, limb, and prod managed to reduce the well-trained warrior to obedience. Solemnly, and with stately gait, he returned to his position, his great heart swelling, no doubt, with anticipation. "Scarcely had he taken up his position when the bushes higher up were seen to move, and the huge black form of the rogue appeared upon the scene. Unlike the lively young elephant that had escaped us in the morning, this old rogue marched sedately and leisurely down the hill-side, apparently as much unconcerned about the uproar of shooting and shouting in his rear as if it had been but the buzzing of a few mosquitoes. I confess that doubts as to the issue of the combat arose in my mind when I first saw him, for he appeared to be nearly, if not quite, as big as Chand Moorut himself, and of course I knew that the hard and well-trained muscles of a wild elephant were sure to be more powerful than those of a tame one. I stupidly forgot, at the moment, that indomitable pluck counts for much in a trial of mere brute force. "Ignorant of what was in store for him, with head erect, and an air of quiet contempt for all animate creation, the rogue walked into the dry bed of the river, and began to descend. Expectation was now on tiptoe, when to our disgust he turned sharp to the right, and all but walked in amongst the spectators on the ledge above, some of whom received him with a volley of rifle balls. As none of these touched a vital spot, they might as well have been rhubarb pills! They turned him aside, however, and, breaking through the left flank of the khedda, he took refuge in the thickest jungle he could find. The whole khedda followed in hot pursuit, crashing through overgrowth of canes, creepers, and trees, in the midst of confusion and rumpus utterly inconceivable, therefore beyond my powers of description! We had to look out sharply in this chase, for we were passing under branches at times. One of these caught my man Quin, and swept him clean off his pad. But he fell on his feet, unhurt, and was quickly picked up and re-seated. "In a short time we came in sight of the rogue, who suddenly turned at bay and confronted us. The entire khedda came to a most inglorious halt, for our heavy fighters had been left behind in the race, and the others dared not face the foe. Seeing this, he suddenly dashed into the midst of us, and went straight for the elephant on which our director and his wife were seated! Fortunately, a big tree, chancing to come in the rogue's way, interfered with his progress. He devoted his energies to it for a few moments. Then he took to charging furiously at everything that came in his way, and was enjoying himself with this little game when Chand Moorut once more appeared on the scene! The rogue stopped short instantly. It was evident that he recognised a foeman, worthy of his steel, approaching. Chand Moorut advanced with alacrity. The rogue eyed him with a sinister expression. There was no hesitation on either side. Both warriors were self-confident; nevertheless, they did not rush to the battle. Like equally-matched veterans they advanced with grim purpose and wary deliberation. With heads erect, and curled trunks, they met, more like wrestlers than swordsmen, each seeming to watch for a deadly grip. Suddenly they locked their trunks together, and began to sway to and fro with awful evidence of power, each straining his huge muscles to the uttermost--the conflict of Leviathan and Behemoth! "For only a few minutes did the result seem doubtful to the hundreds of spectators, who, on elephant-back or hill-side, gazed with glaring eyes and bated breath, and in profound silence. The slightly superior bulk and weight of our gladiator soon began to tell. The rogue gave way, slightly. Chand Moorut, with the skill of the trained warrior or the practised pugilist, took instant advantage of the move. With the rush of a thunder-bolt he struck the rogue with his head on the shoulder. The effect was terrific. It caused him to turn a complete somersault into the jungle, where he fell with a thud and a crash that could be heard far and near, and there he lay sprawling for a few moments, nothing but struggling legs, trunk, and tail being visible above the long grass!" "Hooray!" shouted Junkie, unable to restrain himself. "Just what my man Quin said," continued Jackman. "Only he added, `Musha!' `Thunder-an'-turf,' and `Well, I niver!' And well he might, too, for none of us ever saw such a sight before. But the victory was not quite gained yet, for the rogue sprang up with amazing agility, and, refusing again to face such a terrible foe, he ran away, pursued hotly and clamorously by the whole khedda. I made my mahowt keep as close to Chand Moorut as possible, wishing to be in at the death. Suddenly a louder uproar in advance, and a shrill trumpeting assured me that the rogue had again been brought to bay. "Although somewhat exhausted and shaken by his flight and the tremendous knock down, he fought viciously, and kept all his smaller foes at a respectful distance by repeated charges, until Chand Moorut again came up and laid him flat with another irresistible charge. He staggered to his feet again, however, and now the other fighting elephants, Raj Mungul, Isri Pershad, and others, were brought into action. These attacked the rogue furiously, knocking him down when he attempted to rise, and belabouring him with their trunks until he was thoroughly exhausted. Then one of the khedda men crept up behind him on foot, with thick ropes fitted for the purpose of tying him, and fixed them on the rogue's hind legs. But the brave man paid heavily for his daring. He was still engaged with the ropes when the animal suddenly kicked out and broke the poor fellow's thigh. He was quickly lifted up and taken to camp. "Not so quickly, however, was the rogue taken to camp! As it was growing dark, some of us resolved to bivouac where the capture had been made, and tied our captive to a tree. Next morning we let him go with only a hind leg hobbled, so that he might find breakfast for himself. Then, having disposed of our own breakfast, we proceeded to induce our prisoner to go along with us--a dangerous and difficult operation. As long as he believed that he might go where he pleased, we could induce him to take a few steps, forward, but the moment he understood what we were driving at, he took the sulks, like an enormous spoilt child, and refused to move. The koonkies were therefore brought up, and Raj Mungul, going behind, gave him a shove that was irresistible. He lost temper and turned furiously on Raj, but received such an awful whack on the exposed flank from Isri Pershad, that he felt his case to be hopeless, and sulked again. Going down on his knees he stuck his tusks into the ground, like a sheet anchor, with a determination that expressed, `Move me out o' this if you can!' "Chand Moorut accepted the unspoken challenge. He gave the rogue a shove that not only raised his hind legs in the air, but caused him to stand on his head, and finally hurled him on his back. As he rose, doggedly, he received several admonitory punches, and advanced a few paces. Spearmen also were brought forward to prick him on, but they only induced him to curl his trunk round a friendly tree that came in his way, and hold on. Neither bumping, pricking, nor walloping had now any effect. He seemed to have anchored himself there for the remainder of his natural life by an unnatural attachment. "In this extremity the khedda men had recourse to their last resource. They placed under him some native fireworks, specially prepared for such emergencies, and, as it were, blew him up moderately. Being thus surprised into letting go his hold of the tree, he was urged slowly forward as before. You see, we did not want to kill the beast, though he richly deserved death, having killed so many natives, besides keeping a whole neighbourhood in alarm for years. We were anxious to take him to camp, and we managed it at last, though the difficulty was almost superhuman, and may to some extent be conceived when I tell you that, although we spent the whole of that day, from dawn to sunset, struggling with our obstinate captive, and with the entire force of the khedda, we only advanced to the extent of four or five hundred yards!" Now, while this amazing story was being told by Giles Jackman to his friends in Barret's room, a very different story was being told in the room above them. That room was the nursery, and its only occupants were little Flo and her black doll. The rain had cleared off towards the afternoon, and a gleam of sunshine entering the nursery windows, had formed a spot of intense light on the nursery floor. This seemed to have suggested something of great interest to Flo, for, after gazing at it with bright eyes for some time, she suddenly held the doll before her and said-- "Blackie, I'm goin' to tell you a stowy--a bustingly intewestin' stowy." We must remind the reader here that Flo was naturally simple and sweet, and that as Junkie was her chief playmate, she was scarcely responsible for her language. "The stowy," continued Flo, "is all 'bout Doan of Ak, who was bu'nt by some naughty men, long, long ago! D'you hear, Blackie? It would make your hair stand on end--if you had any!" Thereupon the little one set Blackie on a stool, propped her against the wall, and gave her a fairly correct account of the death of the unfortunate Joan of Arc, as related by Mrs Gordon that morning. She wound up with the question,--"Now, what you think of _zat_, Blackie?" As Blackie would not answer, Flo had to draw on her own bank of imagination for further supplies of thought. "Come," she cried, suddenly, with the eagerness of one whose cheque has just been honoured; "let's play at Doan of Ak! You will be Doan, and I will be the naughty men. I'll bu'n you! You mustn't squeal, or kick up a wumpus, you know, but be dood." Having made this stipulation, our little heroine placed the black martyr on an old-fashioned straw-bottomed chair near the window, and getting hold of a quantity of paper and some old cotton dresses, she piled the whole round Blackie to represent faggots. This done, she stepped back and surveyed her work as an artist might study a picture. "You've dot your best muslin fock on, da'ling, an it'll be spoiled; but I don't care for zat. Now, say your pays, Doan." With this admonitory remark, Flo screwed up a piece of paper, went to the fireplace, made a very long arm through the fender, and lighted it. Next moment she applied the flame to the faggots, which blazed up with surprising rapidity. Stepping quickly back, the dear little child gazed at her work with intense delight beaming from every feature. "Now be dood, Blackie. Don't make a wumpus!" she said; and as she said it, the flames caught the window curtains and went up with a flare that caused Flo to shout with mingled delight and alarm. "I wonder," remarked Mrs Gordon, who chanced to be in the drawing-room on the windward side of the nursery, "what amuses Flo so much!" She arose and went, leisurely, to see. Roderick, the groom, being in the harness-room on the lee side of the nursery at the time, made a remark with the same opening words. "I wonder," said he, "what _that_ wull pe!" A sniffing action of the nose told what "that" meant. "Don't you smell a smell, Tonal'?" Donald sniffed, and replied that he did--"what-e-ver." "It wull pe somethin' on fire, Tonal'," said the groom, dropping the harness-brush and running out to the yard. Donald being of the same opinion, followed him. At the same moment a piercing shriek was heard to issue from the house and wild confusion followed. "Fire! fire!" yelled a voice in the yard outside, with that intensity of meaning which is born of thorough conviction. Who that has never been roused by "fire!" can imagine the sensations that the cry evokes, and who that really has experienced those sensations can hope to explain them to the inexperienced? We cannot. We will not try. But let us not plunge with undue haste into a fire! It will be remembered that we left Jackman in Barret's room, having just ended his elephant story, to the satisfaction of his friends, while Mrs Gordon was on her way to the nursery, bent on investigation. Well, the voice that shrieked in the nursery was that of Mrs Gordon, and that which yelled in the yard was the voice of the groom, supplemented by Donald's treble. Of course the gentlemen sprang to their feet, on hearing the uproar, dashed from the room in a body, and made straight for the nursery. On the way they met Mrs Gordon with Flo in her arms--all safe; not a hair of her pretty little head singed, but looking rather appalled by the consequences of what she had done. "Safe! thank God!" exclaimed the laird, turning and descending with his wife and child, with some vague thoughts that he might be likely to find Mrs Moss in her favourite place of resort, the library. He was right. He found her there in a dead faint on the floor. He also found his three boys there, exerting themselves desperately to haul her out of the room by a foot and an arm and the skirt of her dress. "We knew she was here, daddy," gasped Eddie, "and came straight to help her." "Out o' the way!" cried the laird as he grasped Mrs Moss in his arms and bore her away. "Mother and Flo are safe, boys. Look out for yourselves." "I'll go for the photographs! Come, help me, Ted," cried Archie, as he ran up the now smoking stairs. "I'll go for Milly!" cried the heroic Junkie, as, with flashing eyes, he dashed towards her room. But Barret had gone for Milly before him! and without success. She was not in her room. "Milly! Milly!" he shouted, in tones of undisguised anxiety, as he burst out of the nursery, after finding, with his companions, that no one was there and that suffocation was imminent. Then, as no Milly replied, he rushed up to the garret in the belief that she might have taken refuge there or on the roof in her terror. Just after he had rushed out of the nursery, Junkie burst in. The boy was in his element now. We do not mean that he was a salamander and revelled in fire and smoke, but he had read of fires and heard of them till his own little soul was ablaze with a desire to save some one from a fire--any one--somehow, or anyhow! Finding, like the rest, that he could scarcely breathe, he made but one swift circuit of the room. In doing so he tumbled on the chair on which the cause of all the mischief still sat smoking, but undeniably "dood!" "Blackie!" he gasped, and seized hold of her denuded but still unconsumed wooden body. A few moments later he sprang through the entrance door and tumbled out on the lawn, where most of the females of the establishment were standing. "Saved!" he cried, in a voice of choking triumph, as he rose and held up the rescued and smoking doll. "Doan! my da'ling Doan!" cried Flo, extending her arms eagerly to receive the martyr. By that time the house was fairly alight in its upper storey, despite the utmost efforts of all the men to extinguish the fire with buckets of water. "No use, no use to waste time trying," said the laird, as he ran out among the females on the lawn. "Is everybody safe? eh? Milly--where's Milly?" "Milly! where's Milly?" echoed a stentorian voice, as Barret bounded out of the smoking house with singed hair and blackened face. "There--there she is!" cried several of the party, as they pointed towards the avenue leading to the house. All eyes were eagerly turned in that direction, and a general exclamation of thankfulness escaped, as Milly was seen running towards the scene of action. She had been down seeing old Mrs Donaldson, and knew nothing of what had occurred, till she came in sight of the conflagration. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. TWO FIRES SUBDUED. Barret, half ashamed of the wild anxiety he displayed, turned at once, sprang back into the burning house, and began to expend his energies in helping his companions and the men of the establishment to save as much as possible of the laird's property. While this was being done and the attention of every one was directed exclusively to the work of salvage--in which work Pat Quin shone conspicuous for daring as well as for all but miraculous power to endure heat and swallow smoke, Roderick, the groom, retired to the lawn for a few moments' respite. He was accompanied by Donald, his faithful assistant, who was almost exhausted by his labours. "Tonal', poy, what iss it that Muster Archie wull pe doin'?" "I think he wull pe takin' the hoose!" They had not time to make further inquiry, for just then the wind changed and blew the flames towards the part of the mansion that had been already burned, giving some hope that the other parts might yet be saved, and calling for the redoubled efforts of all hands. Donald was right in his conjecture. Archie was indeed "takin'" the house! He and Eddie--having succeeded in rescuing the photographic apparatus, and, finding that no lives were in danger, and that enough people were already endeavouring to save the property--had calmly devoted themselves to taking photographs of the blazing scene from several points of view--a feat that was still possible, as daylight had not yet been diminished in power. The change of wind, however, brought their operations to an abrupt close, for no idlers were tolerated. Even the women were summoned to stand in a row, and pass buckets from a neighbouring pond to the burning house. The proceedings now had been reduced to some degree of order by Giles Jackman, whose experience abroad had tended to develop his powers of organisation. The buckets were passed in uninterrupted succession from the pond to the house, where Mabberly received them at the front door, that being deemed the point where danger and the need for unusual energy began. He passed them in through the smoke of the hall to MacRummle, who handed them to Roderick and the butler. These last stood in the dense smoke of the staircase, at the head of which the tall gamekeeper, Jackman and Barret, were engaged in close and deadly conflict with the flames, intense heat, falling _debris_, and partial suffocation. The rest of the people, headed by the laird, who seemed to have renewed his youth and become ubiquitous, continued the work of salvage. By that time the party of warriors who fought the flames was increased by the shepherds and a few small farmers who dwelt in the neighbourhood. These being stalwart and willing men, were a valuable accession to the force, and did good service not only in saving property, but in extinguishing the fire. So that, before night closed in, the flames were finally subdued, after about one-half of the mansion had been consumed. That half, however, was still a source of great danger, the walls being intensely hot and the fallen beams a mass of glowing charcoal, which the least breath of wind blew into a flame. A few of the shepherds were therefore stationed to watch these, and pour water on them continually. But the need for urgent haste was past, and most of the people had assembled on the lawn among the furniture when the stars began to glimmer in the darkening sky. "My dear," said the laird, on finding his wife in the group, "it is all safe now, so you had better get off to rest, and take all the women with ye. Come, girls, be off to your beds," he added, turning with kindly smile to the domestics, and with the energetic manner that was habitual to him. "You've done good service, and stand much in need of rest, all of you. The men will keep a sharp look out on what's left o' the fire, so you have nothing to fear. Off with you, an' get to sleep!" There was no hesitation in obeying the laird's commands. The female domestics went off at once to their dormitories, and these were fortunately in that part of the mansion which had escaped. Some of the younger girls, however, made no effort to conceal a giggle as they glanced at their master who, with coat off, shirt torn, face blackened, hair dishevelled, and person dripping, presented rather an undignified appearance. But as worthy Allan Gordon had never set up a claim to dignity, the giggles only amused him. "Duncan! Duncan, man, where are ye?" he called out, when the ladies and female domestics had gone. "Oh! there ye are--an' not much more respectable than myself!" he added, as the butler answered to his summons. "Go and fetch the whisky bottle. We'll all be the better of a dram after such a fight. What say you, gentlemen? Do you not relax your teetotal principles a little on an occasion like this?" "We never relax our _total abstinence_ principles," returned Jackman, with a smile, as he wrung some of the water out of his garments. "I think I may speak for my companions as well as myself. Friendship has been a sufficient stimulant while we were engaged in the work, and gratitude for success will suffice now that the work is done." "Run, Donald, boy, an' tell them to get some hot coffee ready at once! It's all very well, gentlemen," said the laird, turning again to his friends, "to talk of subsisting on friendship and gratitude; but although very good in their way, they won't do for present necessities. At least it would ill become me to express my gratitude to such good friends without offering something more. For myself," he added, filling and tossing off a glass of whisky, "I'm an old man, and not used to this kind of work, so I'll be the better of a dram. Besides, the Gordons--my branch of them, at least--have always taken kindly to mountain dew, in moderation, of course, in strict moderation!" There was a quiet laugh at this among some of the men who stood near, for it was well-known that not a few of the laird's ancestors had taken kindly to mountain dew without the hampering influence of moderation, though the good man himself had never been known to "exceed"--in the Celtic acceptation of that term. "Are ye laughing, you rascals?" he cried, turning to the group with a beaming, though blackened countenance. "Come here an' have your share-- as a penalty!" Nothing loath, the men came forward, and with a quiet word of thanks each poured the undiluted fiery liquid down his throat, with what the boy Donald styled a "pech" of satisfaction. Ivor Donaldson chanced to be one of the group, but he did not come forward with the rest. "Come, Ivor, man, and have a dram," said the laird, pouring out a glass. But the keeper did not move. He stood with his arms crossed firmly on his broad chest, and a stern dogged expression on his handsome face. "Ivor, hi!" exclaimed the old gentleman, in a louder voice, supposing that the man had not heard. "After work like this a dram will do you good." "Oo, ay!" remarked one of the shepherds, who had probably began to feel the "good" by that time; "a tram of whusky iss a fery coot thing at _all_ times--specially when it is _coot_ whusky!" At this profound witticism there was a general laugh among the men, in the midst of which the laird repeated his invitation to Ivor, saying that he seemed knocked up after his exertions (which was partially true), and adding that surely he was man enough to take a little for his good at such a time, without giving way to it. The laird did not mean this as a taunt, but it was taken as such by the keeper, who came forward quickly, seized the glass, and drained it. Having done so he stood for a moment like one awaking from a dream. Then, without a word of thanks, he dropped the glass, sprang into the shrubbery, and disappeared. The laird was surprised, and his conscience smote him, but he turned the incident off with a laugh. "Now, lads," he said, "go to work again. It will take all your energies to keep the fire down, if it comes on to blow; and your comrades must be tired by this time." Fortunately it did not come on to blow. The night was profoundly calm, so that a steady though small supply of water sufficed to quench incipient flames. Meanwhile Giles Jackman had left the group on the lawn almost at the same moment with the gamekeeper; for, having been accustomed to deal with men in similar circumstances, he had a suspicion of what might follow. The poor man, having broken the resolve so recently and so seriously formed, had probably, he thought, become desperate. Ivor was too active for him, however. He disappeared before Jackman had followed more than a few yards. After a few moments of uncertainty, the latter made straight for old Molly Donaldson's cottage, thinking it possible that her unhappy son might go there. On the way he had to pass the keeper's own cottage, and was surprised to see a light in it and the door wide open. As he approached, the sound of the keeper's voice was heard speaking violently, mingled with blows, as if delivered with some heavy instrument against timber. A loud crash of breaking wood met Jackman's ear as he sprang in. Ivor was in the act of rending the remains of a door from a corner cupboard, while an axe, which he had just dropped, lay at his feet on the earthen floor. A black quart bottle, visible through the opening which had been made, showed the reason of his assault on the cupboard. If there had been any uncertainty on the point, it would have been dispelled by the wild laugh, or yell of fierce exultation, with which he seized the bottle, drew the cork, and raised it to his dry lips. Before it reached them, however, Jackman's strong hand seized the keeper's arm. A gasp from the roused giant, and the deadly pallor of his countenance, as he glanced round, showed that superstition had suddenly seized on his troubled soul; but no sooner did he see who it was that had checked him, than the hot blood rebounded to his face, and a fierce glare shot from his eyes. "Thank God!--not too late!" exclaimed Jackman, fervently. The thanksgiving was addressed to God, of course without reference to its influence on Ivor; but no words, apparently, could have been used with better effect upon the keeper's spirit. His eyes lost their ferocity, and he stood irresolute. "Break it, like a good fellow," said Jackman, in a soft, kindly voice, as he pointed to the bottle. "I broke one before, sir," said Ivor, in a despairing tone; "and you see how useless that was." "Give it to me, then." As he spoke, he took the bottle from the man's grasp, and cast it through the open doorway, where it was shivered to atoms on the stones outside. Striding towards a pitcher of water which stood in a corner of the room, the keeper seized it, put it to his lips, and almost drained it. "There!" he exclaimed; "that will drown the devil for a time!" "No, Ivor, it won't; but it will _help_ to drown it," said Jackman, in the same kindly, almost cheerful, voice. "Neither cold water nor hottest fire can slay the evils that are around and within us. There is only one Saviour from sin--Jesus, `who died for the sins of the whole world.' He makes use of means, however, and these means help towards the great end. But it was not the Saviour who told you to lock that bottle in that cupboard--was it?" An expression of perplexity came over the keeper's face. "You are right, sir; it was not. But, to my thinkin' it was not the devil either!" "Very likely not. I think sometimes we are inclined to put many things on the devil's shoulders which ought to rest on our own. You know what the Bible says about the deceitfulness of our hearts." "I do, sir, an' yet I don't quite see that it was that either. I did not put that bottle there to have it handy when I wanted it. I put it there when I made up my mind to fight this battle in Christ's name, so as I might see if He gave me strength to resist the temptation, when it was always before me." "Just so, Ivor, my friend. That `if' shows that you doubted Him! Moreover, He has put into our mouths that prayer, `lead us not into temptation,' and you proposed to keep temptation always before your eyes." "No, sir, no, not quite so bad as that," cried the keeper, growing excited. "I shut the door an' locked the accursed thing out of my sight, and when I found I could _not_ resist the temptation, I took the key out and flung it into the sea." "Would it not have been better to have flung the evil thing itself into the sea? You soon found another key!" said his friend, pointing to the axe. "You say truth, sir; but oh, you hev no notion o' the fight I hev had wi' that drink. The days an' nights of torment! The horrors! Ay, if men could only taste the horrors _before_ they tasted the drink, I do believe there would be no drunkards at all! I hev lain on that bed, sir," he pointed to it as he spoke, while large drops stood on his pale brow at the very recollection, "and I hev seen devils and toads and serpents crawlin' round me and over me--great spiders, and hairy shapeless things, wi' slimy legs goin' over my face, and into my mouth, though I gnashed my teeth together--and glaring into my tight shut eyes, an' strangling me. Oh! sir, I know not what hell may be, but I think that it begins on earth wi' some men!" "From all this Jesus came to save us, Ivor," said Jackman, endeavouring to turn the poor man's mind from the terrible thoughts that seemed about to overwhelm him; "but God will have us to consent to be saved in _His_ _own_ way. When you put the temptation in the cupboard, you disobeyed Him, and therefore were trying to be saved in _your own_ way. Disobedience and salvation cannot go together, because salvation means deliverance from disobedience. You and I will pray, Ivor, that God would give us his holy Spirit, and then we shall fight our battles in future with more success." Thereupon, standing as they were, but with bowed spirits and heads, they laid the matter in the hands of God in a brief but earnest prayer. While these two were thus engaged, the scene at the house had entered upon another phase. The weather, which all that day had been extremely changeable, suddenly assumed its gloomiest aspect, and rain began to fall heavily. Gradually the fall increased in volume, and at last descended in an absolute deluge, rendering the use of water-buckets quite unnecessary, and accomplishing in a very few minutes what all the men at the place could not have done in as many hours. But that which prevented effectually the extension of the fire, caused, almost as effectually, the destruction of much of the property exposed on the lawn. The men were therefore set to work with all their energies to replace in the unburnt part of the mansion all that they had so recently carried out of it. In this work Ivor Donaldson found a sufficient outlet for the fierce unnatural energies which had been aroused within him. He went about heaving and hauling, and staggering under weights that in an ordinary state of body and mind he could scarcely have moved. Little notice was taken of him, however, for every one else was, if not doing the same thing, at least working up to the utmost extent of his ability. Before midnight all was over. The fire was what the cook termed black out. The furniture, more than half destroyed, was re-housed. The danger of a revival of the flames was past, and the warriors in the great battle felt themselves free to put off their armour and seek refreshment. This they did--the males at least--in the gun-room, which, being farthest from the fire, and, therefore, left untouched, had not been damaged either by fire or water. Here the thoughtful laird had given orders to have a cold collation spread, and here, with his guests, men-servants, boys, and neighbouring farmers around him, he sat down to supper. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. CONCLUSION. "We are a queer lot, what-e-ver!" remarked one of the farmers, with a deep sigh and a candid smile, as he looked round the company. The observation was incontrovertible, if charcoaled faces, lank hair, torn and dripping garments, and a general appearance of drowned-ratiness may be regarded as "queer." "My friends," said the laird, digging the carving fork into a cold turkey, "we are also a hungry lot, if I may judge of others by myself, so let me advise you to fall to. We can't afford to sit long over our supper in present circumstances. Help yourselves, and make the most of your opportunities." "Thank God," said Giles Jackman, "that we have the opportunity to sit down to sup under a roof at all." "Amen to that," returned the laird; "and thanks to you all, my friends, for the help you have rendered. But for you, this house and all in it would have been burnt to ashes. I never before felt so strongly how true it is that we `know not what a day may bring forth.'" "What you say, sir, is fery true," remarked a neighbouring small farmer, who had a sycophantish tendency to echo or approve whatever fell from the laird's lips. "It is indeed true," returned his host, wiping the charcoal from his face with a moist handkerchief; "but it is the Word that says it, not I. And is it not strange," he added, turning with a humorous look to Barret, "that after all these years the influence of Joan of Arc should be still so powerful in the Western Isles? To think that she should set my house on fire in this nineteenth century!" "I am very glad she did!" suddenly exclaimed Junkie, who, having been pretty well ignored or forgotten by everybody, was plying his knife and fork among the other heroes of the fight in a state of inexpressible felicity. "You rascal!" exclaimed his father; "you should have been in bed long ago! But why are you so glad that Joan set the house on fire?" "Because she gave me the chance to save Blackie's life!" replied Junkie, with supreme contentment. The company laughed, and continued their meal, but some of them recalled the proverb which states that "the boy is father to the man," and secretly prophesied a heroic career for Junkie. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Ten months passed away, during which period Allan Gordon retired to his residence in Argyllshire while his mansion in the Western Island was being restored. During the same period Archie produced innumerable hazy photographs of Kinlossie House in a state of conflagration; Eddie painted several good copies of the bad painting into which Milly Moss had introduced a megatherium cow and other specimens of violent perspective; and Junkie underwent a few terrible paroxysms of intense hatred of learning in all its aspects, in which paroxysms he was much consoled by the approval and sympathy of dear little Flo. During this period, also, Mabberly applied himself to his duties in London, unaffected by the loss of the _Fairy_, and profoundly interested in the success of his friend Barret, who had devoted himself heart and head to natural history, with a view to making that science his profession, though his having been left a competence by his father rendered a profession unnecessary, from a financial point of view. As for Giles Jackman, that stalwart "Woods-and-Forester" returned to his adopted land, accompanied by the faithful Quin, and busied himself in the activities of his adventurous career, while he sought to commend the religion of Jesus alike to native and European, both by precept and example, proving the great truth that "godliness is profitable unto all things, having promise of the life which now is, and of that which is to come." MacRummle, during the same period, spent much time in his study, writing for publication an elaborate treatise on fishing, with a few notes on shooting, in the Western Isles. He was encouraged in this work by a maiden sister who worshipped him, and by the presence of an enormous stuffed eagle in a corner of his study. One day, towards the close of this period of ten months, a beautiful little woman and a handsome young man might have been seen riding in one of the quiet streets of London. They rode neither on horseback, nor in a carriage, still less in a cab! Their vehicle was a tricycle of the form which has obtained the name of "Sociable." "See, this is the corner, Milly," said the young man. "I told you that one of the very first places I would take you to see after our marriage would be the spot where I had the good fortune to run _our_ mother down. So now I have kept my word. There is the very spot, by the lamp-post, where the sweep stood looking at the thin little old lady so pathetically when I was forced to rise and run away." "Oh, John!" exclaimed Milly, pointing with eager looks along the street; "and there is the thin little old lady herself!" "So it is! Well, coincidences will never cease," said Barret, as he stepped from the "sociable" and hurried to meet Mrs Moss, who shook her finger and head at him as she pointed to the pavement near the lamp-post. "I would read you a lecture now, sir," she said; "but will reserve it, for here is a letter that may interest you." It did indeed interest all three of them, as they sat together that afternoon in the sunshine of Milly's boudoir, for it was a long and well-written epistle from old Molly Donaldson. We will not venture to weary the reader with all that the good old woman had to say, but it may perhaps be of interest to transcribe the concluding sentence. It ran thus,--"You will be glad to hear that my dear Ivor is doing well. He was married in March to Aggy Anderson, an' they live in the old cottage beside me. Ivor has put on the blue ribbon. The laird has put it on too, to the surprise o' everybody. But I think little o' that. I think more o' a bit pasteboard that hangs over my son's mantelpiece, on which he has written wi' his own hand the blessed words--`_Saved by Grace_.'" THE END. 
12405	----	Proofreaders FRANK AND ARCHIE SERIES * * * * * FRANK THE YOUNG NATURALIST BY HARRY CASTLEMON, AUTHOR OF "THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES," "THE GO-AHEAD SERIES," ETC. 1892 [Illustration] THE GUN-BOAT SERIES. FRANK, THE YOUNG NATURALIST, FRANK ON A GUN-BOAT, FRANK IN THE WOODS, FRANK ON THE PRAIRIE, FRANK BEFORE VICKSBURG, FRANK ON THE LOWER MISSISSIPPI. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. THE HOME OF THE YOUNG NATURALIST CHAPTER II. AN UGLY CUSTOMER CHAPTER III. THE MUSEUM CHAPTER IV. A RACE ON THE WATER CHAPTER V. A FISHING EXCURSION CHAPTER VI. THE REGULATORS CHAPTER VII. THE REVENGE CHAPTER VIII. HOW TO SPEND THE "FOURTH" CHAPTER IX. THE COAST-GUARDS OUTWITTED CHAPTER X. A QUEER COURSE CHAPTER XI. TROUT-FISHING CHAPTER XII. A DUCK-HUNT ON THE WATER CHAPTER XIII. A 'COON-HUNT CHAPTER XIV. BILL LAWSON'S REVENGE CHAPTER XV. WILD GEESE CHAPTER XVI. A CHAPTER OF INCIDENTS CHAPTER XVII. THE GRAYHOUND OUTGENERALED FRANK, THE YOUNG NATURALIST. * * * * * CHAPTER I. THE HOME OF THE YOUNG NATURALIST. About one hundred miles north of Augusta, the Capital of Maine, the little village of Lawrence is situated. A range of high hills skirts its western side, and stretches away to the north as far as the eye can reach; while before the village, toward the east, flows the Kennebec River. Near the base of the hills a beautiful stream, known as Glen's Creek, has its source; and, after winding through the adjacent meadows, and reaching almost around the village, finally empties into the Kennebec. Its waters are deep and clear, and flow over a rough, gravelly bed, and under high banks, and through many a little nook where the perch and sunfish love to hide. This creek, about half a mile from its mouth, branches off, forming two streams, the smaller of which flows south, parallel with the river for a short distance, and finally empties into it. This stream is known as Ducks' Creek, and it is very appropriately named; for, although it is but a short distance from the village, every autumn, and until late in the spring, its waters are fairly alive with wild ducks, which find secure retreats among the high bushes and reeds which line its banks. The island formed by these two creeks is called Reynard's Island, from the fact that for several years a sly old fox had held possession of it in spite of the efforts of the village boys to capture him. The island contains, perhaps, twenty-five acres, and is thickly covered with hickory-trees; and there is an annual strife between the village boys and the squirrels, to see which can gather the greater quantity of nuts. Directly opposite the village, near the middle of the river, is another island, called Strawberry Island, from the great quantity of that fruit which it produces. The fishing-grounds about the village are excellent. The river affords great numbers of perch, black bass, pike, and muscalonge; and the numberless little streams that intersect the country fairly swarm with trout, and the woods abound in game. This attracts sportsmen from other places; and the _Julia Burton_, the little steamer that plies up and down the river, frequently brings large parties of amateur hunters and fishermen, who sometimes spend months enjoying the rare sport. It was on the banks of Glen's Creek, about half a mile from the village, in a neat little cottage that stood back from the road, and which was almost concealed by the thick shrubbery and trees that surrounded it, that FRANK NELSON, the young naturalist, lived. His father had been a wealthy merchant in the city of Boston; and, after his death, Mrs. Nelson had removed into the country with her children, and bought the place of which we are speaking. Frank was a handsome, high-spirited boy, about sixteen years of age. He was kind, open-hearted, and generous; and no one in the village had more friends than he. But his most prominent characteristic was perseverance. He was a slow thinker, and some, perhaps, at first sight, would have pronounced him "dull;" but the unyielding application with which he devoted himself to his studies, or to any thing else he undertook, overcame all obstacles; and he was further advanced, and his knowledge was more thorough than that of any other boy of the same age in the village. He never gave up any thing he undertook because he found it more difficult than he had expected, or hurried over it in a "slipshod" manner, for his motto was, "Whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doing well." At the time of which we write Frank was just entering upon what he called a "long vacation." He had attended the high-school of which the village boasted for nearly eight years, with no intermission but the vacations, and during this time he had devoted himself with untiring energy to his studies. He loved his books, and they were his constant companions. By intense application he succeeded in working his way into the highest class in school, which was composed of young men much older than himself, and who looked upon him, not as a fellow-student, but as a rival, and used every exertion to prevent him from keeping pace with them. But Frank held his own in spite of their efforts, and not unfrequently paid them back in their own coin by committing his lessons more thoroughly than they. Things went on so for a considerable time. Frank, whose highest ambition was to be called the best scholar in his class, kept steadily gaining ground, and one by one the rival students were overtaken and distanced. But Frank had some smart scholars matched against him, and he knew that the desired reputation was not to be obtained without a fierce struggle; and every moment, both in and out of school, was devoted to study. He had formerly been passionately fond of rural sports, hunting and fishing, but now his fine double-barrel gun, which he had always taken especial care to keep in the best possible "shooting order," hung in its accustomed place, all covered with dust. His fishing-rod and basket were in the same condition; and Bravo, his fine hunting-dog, which was very much averse to a life of inactivity, made use of his most eloquent whines in vain. At last Frank's health began to fail rapidly. His mother was the first to notice it, and at the suggestion of her brother, who lived in Portland, she decided to take Frank out of school for at least one year, and allow him but two hours each day for study. Perhaps some of our young readers would have been very much pleased at the thought of so long a respite from the tiresome duties of school; but it was a severe blow to Frank. A few more months, he was confident, would have carried him ahead of all competitors. But he always submitted to his mother's requirements, no matter how much at variance with his own wishes, without murmuring; and when the spring term was ended he took his books under his arm, and bade a sorrowful farewell to his much-loved school-room. It is June, and as Frank has been out of school almost two months, things begin to wear their old, accustomed look again. The young naturalist's home, as his schoolmates were accustomed to say, is a "regular curiosity shop." Perhaps, reader, if we take a stroll about the premises, we can find something to interest us. Frank's room, which he called his "study," is in the south wing of the cottage. It has two windows, one looking out toward the road, and the other covered with a thick blind of climbing roses, which almost shut out the light. A bookcase stands beside one of the windows, and if you were to judge from the books it contained, you would pronounce Frank quite a literary character. The two upper shelves are occupied by miscellaneous books, such as Cooper's novels, Shakspeare's works, and the like. On the next two shelves stand Frank's choicest books--natural histories; there are sixteen large volumes, and he knows them almost by heart. The drawers in the lower part of the case are filled on one side with writing materials, and on the other with old compositions, essays, and orations, some of which exhibit a power of imagination and a knowledge of language hardly to be expected in a boy of Frank's age. On the top of the case, at either end, stand the busts of Clay and Webster, and between them are two relics of Revolutionary times, a sword and musket crossed, with the words "Bunker Hill" printed on a slip of paper fastened to them. On the opposite side of the room stands a bureau, the drawers of which are filled with clothing, and on the top are placed two beautiful specimens of Frank's handiwork. One is a model of a "fore-and-aft" schooner, with whose rigging or hull the most particular tar could not find fault. The other represents a "scene at sea." It is inclosed in a box about two feet long and a foot and a half in hight. One side of the box is glass, and through it can be seen two miniature vessels. The craft in the foreground would be known among sailors as a "Jack." She is neither a brig nor a bark, but rather a combination of both. She is armed, and the cannon can be seen protruding from her port-holes. Every sail is set, and she seems to be making great exertion to escape from the other vessel, which is following close in her wake. The flag which floats at her peak, bearing the sign of the "skull and cross-bones," explains it all: the "Jack" is a pirate; and you could easily tell by the long, low, black hull, and tall, raking masts that her pursuer is a revenue cutter. The bottom of the box, to which the little vessels are fastened in such a manner that they appear to "heel" under the pressure of their canvas, is cut out in little hollows, and painted blue, with white caps, to resemble the waves of the ocean; while a thick, black thunder-cloud, which is painted on the sides of the box, and appears to be rising rapidly, with the lightning playing around its ragged edges, adds greatly to the effect of the scene. At the north end of the room stands a case similar to the one in which Frank keeps his books, only it is nearly twice as large. It is filled with stuffed "specimens"--birds, nearly two hundred in number. There are bald eagles, owls, sparrows, hawks, cranes, crows, a number of different species of ducks, and other water-fowl; in short, almost every variety of the feathered creation that inhabited the woods around Lawrence is here represented. At the other end of the room stands a bed concealed by curtains. Before it is a finely carved wash-stand, on which are a pitcher and bowl, and a towel nicely folded lies beside them. In the corner, at the foot of the bed, is what Frank called his "sporting cabinet." A frame has been erected by placing two posts against the wall, about four feet apart; and three braces, pieces of board about six inches wide, and long enough to reach from one post to the other, are fastened securely to them. On the upper brace a fine jointed fish-pole, such as is used in "heavy" fishing, protected by a neat, strong bag of drilling, rests on hooks which have been driven securely into the frame; and from another hook close by hangs a large fish-basket which Frank, who is a capital fisherman, has often brought in filled with the captured denizens of the river or some favorite trout-stream. On the next lower brace hang a powder-flask and shot-pouch and a double-barrel shot-gun, the latter protected from the damp and dust by a thick, strong covering. On the lower brace hang the clothes the young naturalist always wears when he goes hunting or fishing--a pair of sheep's-gray pantaloons, which will resist water and dirt to the last extremity, a pair of long boots, a blue flannel-shirt, such as is generally worn by the sailors, and an India-rubber coat and cap for rainy weather. A shelf has been fastened over the frame, and on this stands a tin box, which Frank calls his "fishing-box." It is divided into apartments, which are filled with fish-hooks, sinkers, bobbers, artificial flies, spoon-hooks, reels, and other tackle, all kept in the nicest order. Frank had one sister, but no brothers. Her name was Julia. She was ten years of age; and no boy ever had a lovelier sister. Like her brother, she was unyielding in perseverance, but kind and trusting in disposition, willing to be told her faults that she might correct them. Mrs. Nelson was a woman of good, sound sense; always required implicit obedience of her children; never flattered them, nor allowed others to do so if she could prevent it. The only other inmate of the house was Aunt Hannah, as the children called her. She had formerly been a slave in Virginia, and, after years of toil, had succeeded in laying by sufficient money to purchase her freedom. We have already spoken of Frank's dog; but were we to allow the matter to drop here it would be a mortal offense in the eyes of the young naturalist, for Bravo held a very prominent position in his affections. He was a pure-blooded Newfoundland, black as jet, very active and courageous, and there was nothing in the hunting line that he did not understand; and it was a well-established saying among the young Nimrods of the village, that Frank, with Bravo's assistance, could kill more squirrels in any given time than any three boys in Lawrence. CHAPTER II. An Ugly Customer. Directly behind the cottage stands a long, low, neatly constructed building, which is divided by partitions into three rooms, of which one is used as a wood-shed, another for a carpenter's shop, and the third is what Frank calls his "museum." It contains stuffed birds and animals, souvenirs of many a well-contested fight. Let us go and examine them. About the middle of the building is the door which leads into the museum, and, as you enter, the first object that catches your eye is a large wild-cat, crouched on a stand which is elevated about four feet above the floor, his back arched, every hair in his body sticking toward his head, his mouth open, displaying a frightful array of teeth, his ears laid back close to his head, and his sharp claws spread out, presenting altogether a savage appearance; and you are glad that you see him dead and stuffed, and not alive and running at liberty in the forest in the full possession of strength. But the young naturalist once stood face to face with this ugly customer under very different circumstances. About forty miles north of Lawrence lives an old man named Joseph Lewis. He owns about five hundred acres of land, and in summer he "farms it" very industriously; but as soon as the trapping season approaches he leaves his property to the care of his hired men, and spends most of the time in the woods. About two-thirds of his farm is still in its primeval state, and bears, wild-cats, and panthers abound in great numbers. The village boys are never more delighted than when the winter vacation comes, and they can gain the permission of their parents to spend a fortnight with "Uncle Joe," as they call him. The old man is always glad to see them, and enlivens the long winter evenings with many a thrilling story of his early life. During the winter that had just passed, Frank, in company with his cousin Archie Winters, of whom more hereafter, paid a visit to Uncle Joe. One cold, stormy morning, as they sat before a blazing fire, cracking hickory-nuts, the farmer burst suddenly into the house, which was built of logs, and contained but one room, and commenced taking down his rifle. "What's the matter, Uncle Joe?" inquired Archie. "Matter!" repeated the farmer; "why, some carnal varmint got into my sheep-pen last night, and walked off with some of my mutton. Come," he continued, as he slung on his bullet-pouch, "let's go and shoot him." Frank and Archie were ready in a few minutes; and, after dropping a couple of buck-shot into each barrel of their guns, followed the farmer out to the sheep-pen. It was storming violently, and it was with great difficulty that they could find the "varmint's" track. After half an hour's search, however, with the assistance of the farmer's dogs, they discovered it, and began to follow it up, the dogs leading the way. But the snow had fallen so deep that it almost covered the scent, and they frequently found themselves at fault. After following the track for two hours, the dogs suddenly stopped at a pile of hemlock-boughs, and began to whine and scratch as if they had discovered something. "Wal," said Uncle Joe, dropping his rifle into the hollow of his arm, "the hounds have found some of the mutton, but the varmint has took himself safe off." The boys quickly threw aside the boughs, and in a few moments the mangled remains of one of the sheep were brought to light. The thief had probably had more than enough for one meal, and had hidden the surplus carefully away, intending, no doubt, to return and make a meal of it when food was not quite so plenty. "Wal, boys," said the farmer, "no use to try to foller the varmint any further. Put the sheep back where you found it, and this afternoon you can take one of your traps and set it so that you can ketch him when he comes back for what he has left." So saying, he shouldered his rifle and walked off, followed by his hounds. In a few moments the boys had placed every thing as they had found it as nearly as possible, and hurried on after the farmer. That afternoon, after disposing of an excellent dinner, Frank and Archie started into the woods to set a trap for the thief. They took with them a large wolf-trap, weighing about thirty pounds. It was a "savage thing," as Uncle Joe said, with a powerful spring on each side, which severely taxed their united strength in setting it; and its thick, stout jaws, which came together with a noise like the report of a gun, were armed with long, sharp teeth; and if a wolf or panther once got his foot between them, he might as well give up without a struggle. Instead of their guns, each shouldered an ax. Frank took possession of the trap, and Archie carried a piece of heavy chain with which to fasten the "clog" to the trap. Half an hour's walk brought them to the place where the wild-cat had buried his plunder. After considerable exertion they succeeded in setting the trap, and placed it in such a manner that it would be impossible for any animal to get at the sheep without being caught. The chain was them fastened to the trap, and to this was attached the clog, which was a long, heavy limb. Trappers, when they wish to take such powerful animals as the bear or panther, always make use of the clog. They never fasten the trap to a stationary object. When the animal finds that he is caught, his first impulse is to run. The clog is not heavy enough to hold him still, but as he drags it through the woods, it is continually catching on bushes and frees, and retarding his progress. But if the animal should find himself unable to move at all, his long, sharp teeth would be put to immediate use, and he would hobble off on three feet, leaving the other in the trap. After adjusting the clog to their satisfaction, they threw a few handfuls of snow over the trap and chain, and, after bestowing a few finishing touches, they shouldered their axes and started toward the house. The next morning, at the first peep of day, Frank and Archie started for the woods, with their dogs close at their heels. As they approached the spot where the trap had been placed they held their guns in readiness, expecting to find the wild-cat secure. But they were disappointed; every thing was just as they had left it, and there were no signs of the wild-cat having been about during the night. Every night and morning for a week they were regular in their visits to the trap, but not even a twig had been moved. Two weeks more passed, and during this time they visited the trap but once. At length the time allotted for their stay at Uncle Joe's expired. On the evening previous to the day set for their departure, as they sat before the huge, old-fashioned fireplace, telling stories and eating nuts. Uncle Joe suddenly inquired, "Boys, did you bring in your trap that you set for that wild-cat?" They had not thought of it; they had been hunting nearly every day, enjoying rare sport, and they had entirely forgotten that they had a trap to look after. "We shall be obliged to let it go until to-morrow," said Frank. And the next morning, as soon as it was light, he was up and dressed, and shouldering an ax, set out with Brave as a companion, leaving Archie in a sound sleep. It was very careless in him not to take his gun--a "regular boy's trick," as Uncle Joe afterward remarked; but it did not then occur to him that he was acting foolishly; and he trudged off, whistling merrily. A few moments' rapid walking brought him to the place where the trap had been set. How he started! There lay the remains of the sheep all exposed. The snow near it was saturated with blood, and the trap, clog, and all were gone. What was he to do? He was armed with an ax, and he knew that with it he could make but a poor show of resistance against an enraged wild animal; and he knew, too, that one that could walk off with fifty pounds fast to his leg would be an ugly customer to handle. He had left Brave some distance back, digging at a hole in a stump where a mink had taken refuge, and he had not yet come up. If the Newfoundlander had been by his side he would have felt comparatively safe. Frank stood for some minutes undecided how to act. Should he go back to the house and get assistance? Even if he had concluded to do so he would not have considered himself a coward; for, attacking a wounded wild-cat in the woods, with nothing but an ax to depend on, was an undertaking that would have made a larger and stronger person than Frank hesitate. Their astonishing activity and strength, and wonderful tenacity of life, render them antagonists not to be despised. Besides, Frank was but a boy, and although strong and active for his age, and possessing a good share of determined courage that sometimes amounted almost to rashness, it must be confessed that his feelings were not of the most enviable nature. He had not yet discovered the animal, but he knew that he could not be a great distance off, for the weight of the trap and clog would retard him exceedingly; and he judged, from the appearance of things, that he had not been long in the trap; perhaps, at that very moment, his glaring eyes were fastened upon him from some neighboring thicket. But the young naturalist was not one to hesitate long because there was difficulty or danger before him. He had made up his mind from the first to capture that wild-cat if possible, and now the opportunity was fairly before him. His hand was none of the steadiest as he drew off his glove and placed his fingers to his lips; and the whistle that followed was low and tremulous, very much unlike the loud, clear call with which he was accustomed to let Brave know that he was wanted and he hardly expected that the dog would hear it. A faint, distant bark, however, announced that the call had been heard, and in a few moments Frank heard Brave's long-measured bounds as he dashed through the bushes; and when the faithful animal came in sight, he felt that he had a friend that would stand by him to the last extremity. At this juncture Frank was startled by a loud rattling in the bushes, and the next moment the wild-cat sprang upon a fallen log, not half a dozen rods from the place where he was standing, and, growling fiercely, crouched and lashed his sides with his tail as if about to spring toward him. The trap hung from one of his hind-legs, but by some means he had relieved himself of the clog and chain, and he moved as if the weight of the trap were no inconvenience whatever. The young naturalist was frightened indeed, but bravely stood his ground, and clutched his ax desperately. What would he not have given to have had his trusty double-barrel in his hands! But he was not allowed much time for reflection. Brave instantly discovered the wild-cat, and sprang toward him, uttering an angry growl. Frank raised his ax and rushed forward to his assistance, and cheered on the dog with a voice which, to save his life, he could not raise above a whisper. The wild-cat crouched lower along the log, and his actions seemed to indicate that he intended to show fight. Brave's long, eager bounds brought him nearer and nearer to his enemy. A moment more and he could have seized him; but the wild-cat suddenly turned and sprang lightly into the air, and, catching his claws into a tree that stood full twenty feet distant, ascended it like a streak of light; and, after settling himself between two large limbs, glared down upon his foes as if he were already ashamed of having made a retreat, and had half a mind to return and give them battle. Brave reached the log just a moment too late, and finding his enemy fairly out of his reach, he quietly seated himself at the foot of the tree and waited for Frank to come up. "Good gracious!" exclaimed the young naturalist, wiping his forehead with his coat-sleeve, (for the exciting scene through which he had just passed had brought the cold sweat from every pore in his body); "it is a lucky circumstance for you and me, Brave, that the varmint did not stand and show fight." Then ordering the dog to "sit down and watch him," the young naturalist threw down his ax, and started toward the house for his gun. He was still very much excited, fearful that the wild-cat might take it into his head to come down and give the dog battle, in which case he would be certain to escape; for, although Brave was a very powerful and courageous dog, he could make but a poor show against the sharp teeth and claws of the wild-cat. The more Frank thought of it, the more excited he became, and the faster he ran. In a very few moments he reached the house, and burst into the room where Uncle Joe and Archie and two or three hired men sat at breakfast. Frank seemed not to notice them, but made straight across the room toward the place where his shot-gun hung against the wall, upsetting chairs in his progress, and creating a great confusion. "What in tarnation is the matter?" exclaimed the farmer, rising to his feet. "I've found the wild-cat," answered Frank, in a scarcely audible voice. "What's that?" shouted Archie, springing to his feet, and upsetting his chair and coffee-cup. But Frank could not wait to answer. One bound carried him across the floor and out of the door, and he started across the field at the top of his speed, dropping a handful of buck-shot into each barrel of his gun as he went. It was not until Frank had left the house that Archie, so to speak, came to himself. He had been so astonished at his cousin's actions and the announcement that he had "found the wild-cat," that he seemed to be deprived of action. But Frank had not made a dozen steps from the house before Archie made a dash for his gun, and occasioned a greater uproar than Frank had done; and, not stopping to hear the farmer's injunction to "be careful," he darted out the door, which Frank in his hurry had left open, and started toward the woods at a rate of speed that would have done credit to a larger boy than himself. But Frank gained rapidly on him; and when he reached the tree where the wild-cat had taken refuge, Archie was full twenty rods behind. He found that the animals had not changed their positions. The wild-cat was glaring fiercely down upon the dog as if endeavoring to look him out of countenance; and Brave, seated on his haunches, with his head turned on one side, and his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, was steadily returning the gaze. Frank took a favorable position at a little distance from the foot of the tree, and cocking both barrels, so as to be ready for any emergency, in case the first should not prove fatal, raised his gun to his shoulder, and glancing along the clean, brown tube, covered one of the wild-cat's eyes with the fatal sight, and pressed the trigger. There was a sharp report, and the animal fell from his perch stone-dead. At this moment Archie came up. After examining their prize to their satisfaction, the boys commenced looking around through the bushes to find the clog which had been detached from the trap. After some moments' search they discovered it; and Archie unfastened the chain, and shouldering the ax and guns, he started toward the house. Frank followed after, with the wild-cat on his shoulder, the trap still hanging to his leg. The skin was carefully taken off; and when Archie and Frank got home, they stuffed it, and placed it as we now see it. CHAPTER III. The Museum. Let us now proceed to examine the other objects in the museum. A wide shelf, elevated about four feet above the floor, extends entirely around the room, and on this the specimens are mounted. On one side of the door stands a tall, majestic elk, with his head thrown forward, and his wide-spreading antlers lowered, as if he meant to dispute our entrance. On the opposite side is a large black fox, which stands with one foot raised and his ears thrown forward, as if listening to some strange sound. This is the same fox which so long held possession of Reynard's Island; and the young naturalist and his cousin were the ones who succeeded in capturing him. The next two scenes are what Frank calls his "masterpieces." The first is a large buck, running for dear life, closely followed by a pack of gaunt, hungry wolves, five in number, with their sharp-pointed ears laid back close to their heads, their tongues hanging out of their mouths, and their lips spotted with foam The flanks of the buck are dripping with blood from wounds made by their long teeth. In the next scene the buck is at bay. Almost tired out, or, perhaps, too closely pressed by his pursuers, he has at length turned furiously upon them, to sell his life as dearly as possible. Two of the wolves are lying a little distance off, where they have been tossed by the powerful buck, one dead, the other disabled; and the buck's sharp antlers are buried deep in the side of another, which had attempted to seize him. Well may Frank be proud of these specimens, for they are admirably executed. The animals are neatly stuffed, and look so lifelike and the positions are so natural, that you could almost fancy that you hear the noise of the scuffle. The next scene represents an owl, which, while engaged in one of his nocturnal plundering expeditions, has been overtaken by daylight, and not being able to reach his usual hiding-place, he has taken refuge in a clump of bushes, where he has been discovered by a flock of his inveterate enemies, the crows. The owl sits upon his perch, glaring around with his great eyes, while his tormentors surround him on all sides, their mouths wide open, as if reviling their enemy with all their might. The next scene represents a flock of ducks sporting in the water, and a sly old fox, concealed behind the trunk of a tree close by, is watching their motions, evidently with the intention of "bagging" one of them for his supper. In the next scene he is running off, at full speed, with one of the ducks thrown over his shoulder; and the others, with their mouths open as if quacking loudly, are just rising from the water. In the next scene is a large black wolf, which has just killed a lamb, and crouches over it with open mouth, as if growling fiercely at something which is about to interrupt his feast. The next scene represents a fish-hawk, which has just risen from the lake, with a large trout struggling in his talons; and just above him is a bald-eagle, with his wings drawn close to his body, in the act of swooping down upon the fish-hawk, to rob him of his hard-earned booty. In the next scene a raccoon is attempting to seize a robin, which he has frightened off her nest. The thief had crawled out on the limb on which the nest was placed, intending, no doubt, to make a meal of the bird; but mother Robin, ever on the watch, had discovered her enemy, and flown off just in time to escape. The next scene is a large "dead-fall" trap, nicely set, with the bait placed temptingly within; and before it crouches a sleek marten, peeping into it as if undecided whether to enter or not. All these specimens have been cured and stuffed by Frank and Archie; and, with the exception of the deer and wolves, they had killed them all. The latter had been furnished by Archie's father. The boys had never killed a deer, and he had promised to take them, during the coming winter with him up into the northern part of the state, where they would have an opportunity of trying their skill on the noble game. But the museum is not the only thing that has given Frank the name of the "young naturalist." He is passionately fond of pets, and he has a pole shanty behind the museum, which he keeps well stocked with animals and birds. In one cage he has a young hawk, which he has just captured; in another, a couple of squirrels, which have become so tame that he can allow them to run about the shanty without the least fear of their attempting to escape. Then he has two raccoons, several pigeons, kingbirds, quails, two young eagles, and a fox, all undergoing a thorough system of training. But his favorite pets are a pair of kingbirds and a crow, which are allowed to run at large all the time. They do not live on very good terms with each other. In their wild state they are enemies, and each seems to think the other has no business about the cottage; and Frank has been the unwilling witness to many a desperate fight between them, in which the poor crow always comes off second best. Then, to console himself, he will fly upon Frank's shoulder, cawing with all his might, as if scolding him for not lending some assistance. To make amends for his defeat, Frank gives him a few kernels of corn, and then shows him a hawk sailing through the air; and Sam, as he calls the crow, is off in an instant, and, after tormenting the hawk until he reaches the woods, he will always return. Not a strange bird is allowed to come about the cottage. The kingbirds, which have a nest in a tree close by the house, keep a sharp look-out; and hawks, eagles, crows, and even those of their own species, all suffer alike. But now and then a spry little wren pays a visit to the orchard, and then there is sport indeed. The wren is a great fighting character, continually getting into broils with the other birds, and he has no notion of being driven off; and, although the kingbirds, with Sam's assistance, generally succeed in expelling the intruder, it is only after a hard fight. Directly opposite the door that opens into the museum is another entrance, which leads into a room which Frank calls his shop. A work-bench has been neatly fitted up in one corner, at the end of which stands a large chest filled with carpenter's tools. On the bench are several half-finished specimens of Frank's skill--a jointed fish-pole, two or three finely-shaped hulls, and a miniature frigate, which he is making for one of his friends. The shop and tools are kept in the nicest order, and Frank spends every rainy day at his bench. The young naturalist is also a good sailor, and has the reputation of understanding the management of a sail-boat as well as any other boy in the village. He has two boats, which are in the creek, tied to the wharf in front of the house. One of them is a light skiff, which he frequently uses in going to and from the village and on his fishing excursions, and the other is a scow, about twenty feet long and six feet wide, which he built himself. He calls her the Speedwell. He has no sail-boat, but he has passed hour after hour trying to conjure up some plan by which he might be enabled to possess himself of one. Such a one as he wants, and as most of the village have, would cost fifty dollars. Already he has laid by half that amount; but how is he to get the rest? He has begun to grow impatient. The yachting season has just opened; every day the river is dotted with white sails; trials of speed between the swiftest sailers come off almost every hour, and he is obliged to stand and look on, or content himself with rowing around in his skiff. It is true he has many friends who are always willing to allow him a seat in their boats, but that does not satisfy him. He has determined to have a yacht of his own, if there is any honest way for him to get it. For almost a year he has carefully laid aside every penny, and but half the necessary sum has been saved. How to get the remainder is the difficulty. He never asks his mother for money; he is too independent for that; besides, he has always been taught to rely on his own resources, and he has made up his mind that, if he can not _earn_ his boat, he will go without it. Three or four days after the commencement of our story, Frank might have been seen, about five o'clock one pleasant morning, seated on the wharf in front of the house, with Brave at his side. The question how he should get his boat had been weighing heavily upon his mind, and he had come to the conclusion that something must be done, and that speedily. "Well," he soliloquized, "my chance of getting a sail-boat this season is rather slim, I'm afraid. But I've made up my mind to have one, and I won't give it up now. Let me see! I wonder how the Sunbeam [meaning his skiff] would sail? I mean to try her. No," he added, on second thought, "she couldn't carry canvas enough to sail with one of the village yachts. I have it!" he exclaimed at length, springing to his feet. "The Speedwell! I wonder if I couldn't make a sloop of her. At any rate, I will get her up into my shop and try it." Frank, while he was paying a visit to his cousin in Portland, had witnessed a regatta, in which the Peerless, a large, schooner-rigged scow, had beaten the swiftest yachts of which the city boasted; and he saw no reason why his scow could not do the same. The idea was no sooner conceived than he proceeded to put it into execution. He sprang up the bank, with Brave close at his heels, and in a few moments disappeared in the wood-shed. A large wheelbarrow stood in one corner of the shed, and this Frank pulled from its place, and, after taking off the sides, wheeled it down to the creek, and placed it on the beach, a little distance below the wharf. He then untied the painter--a long rope by which the scow was fastened to the wharf--and drew the scow down to the place where he had left the wheelbarrow. He stood for some moments holding the end of the painter in his hand, and thinking how he should go to work to get the scow, which was very heavy and unwieldy, upon the wheelbarrow. But Frank was a true Yankee, and fruitful in expedients, and he soon hit upon a plan, which he was about putting into execution, when a strong, cheery voice called out: "Arrah, me boy! What'll yer be after doing with the boat?" Frank looked up and saw Uncle Mike, as the boys called him--a good-natured Irishman, who lived in a small rustic cottage not far from Mrs. Nelson's--coming down the bank. "Good morning, Uncle Mike," said Frank, politely accepting the Irishman's proffered hand and shaking it cordially. "I want to get this scow up to my shop; but I'm afraid it is a little too heavy for me to manage." "So it is, intirely," said Mike, as he divested himself of his coat, and commenced rolling up his shirt-sleeves. "Allow me to lend yer a helpin' hand." And, taking the painter from Frank's hand, he drew the scow out of the water, high upon the bank. He then placed his strong arms under one side of the boat, and Frank took hold of the other, and, lifting together, they raised it from the ground, and placed it upon the wheelbarrow. "Now, Master Frank," said Mike, "if you will take hold and steady her, I'll wheel her up to the shop for you." Frank accordingly placed his hands upon the boat in such a manner that he could keep her steady and assist Mike at the same time; and the latter, taking hold of the "handles," as he termed them, commenced wheeling her up the bank. The load was heavy, but Mike was a sturdy fellow, and the scow was soon at the door of the shop. Frank then placed several sticks of round wood, which he had brought out of the wood-shed, upon the ground, about three feet apart, to serve as rollers, and, by their united efforts, the Speedwell was placed upon her side on these rollers, and in a few moments was left bottom upward on the floor of the shop. CHAPTER IV. A Race on the Water. A week passed, and the Speedwell again rode proudly at her moorings, in front of the cottage; but her appearance was greatly changed. A "center-board" and several handy lockers had been neatly fitted up in her, and her long, low hull painted black on the outside and white on the inside; and her tall, raking mast and faultless rigging gave her quite a ship-like appearance. Frank had just been putting on a few finishing touches, and now stood on the wharf admiring her. It was almost night, and consequently he could not try her sailing qualities that day; and he was so impatient to discover whether or not he had made a failure, that it seemed impossible for him to wait. While he was thus engaged, he heard the splashing of oars, and, looking up, discovered two boys rowing toward him in a light skiff As they approached, he recognized George and Harry Butler, two of his most intimate acquaintances. They were brothers, and lived about a quarter of a mile from Mrs. Nelson's, but they and Frank were together almost all the time. Harry, who was about a year older than Frank, was a very impulsive fellow, and in a moment of excitement often said and did things for which he felt sorry when he had time to think the matter over; but he was generous and good-hearted, and if he found that he had wronged any one, he never failed to make ample reparation. George, who was just Frank's age, was a jolly, good-natured boy, and would suffer almost any indignity rather than retaliate. "Well, Frank," said Harry, as soon as they came within speaking distance, "George and I wanted a little exercise, so we thought we would row up and see what had become of you. Why don't you come down and see a fellow? Hallo!" he exclaimed, on noticing the change in the Speedwell's appearance, "what have you been trying to do with your old scow?" "Why, don't you see?" said Frank. "I've been trying to make a yacht out of her." "How does she sail?" inquired George. "I don't know. I have just finished her, and have not had time to try her sailing qualities yet." "I don't believe she will sail worth a row of pins," said Harry, confidently, as he drew the skiff alongside the Speedwell, and climbed over into her. "But I'll tell you what it is," he continued, peeping into the lockers and examining the rigging, "you must have had plenty of hard work to do in fixing her over. You have really made a nice boat out of her." "Yes, I call it a first-rate job," said George. "Did you make the sails yourself, Frank?" "Yes," answered Frank. "I did all the work on her. She ought to be a good sailer, after all the trouble I've had. How would you like to spend an hour with me on the river to-morrow? You will then have an opportunity to judge for yourself." The boys readily agreed to this proposal, and, after a few moments' more conversation, they got into their skiff and pulled down the creek. The next morning, about four o'clock, Frank awoke, and he had hardly opened his eyes before he was out on the floor and dressing. He always rose at this hour, both summer and winter; and he had been so long in the habit of it, that it had become a kind of second nature with him. Going to the window, he drew aside the curtain and looked out. The Speedwell rode safely at the wharf, gallantly mounting the swells which were raised by quite a stiff breeze that was blowing directly down the creek. He amused himself for about two hours in his shop; and after he had eaten his breakfast, he began to get ready to start on the proposed excursion. A large basket, filled with refreshments, was carefully stowed away in one of the lockers of the Speedwell, the sails were hoisted, the painter was cast off, and Frank took his seat at the helm, and the boat moved from the shore "like a thing of life." The creek was too narrow to allow of much maneuvering, and Frank was obliged to forbear judging of her sailing qualities until he should reach the river. But, to his delight, he soon discovered one thing, and that was, that before the wind the Speedwell was no mean sailer. A few moments' run brought him to Mr. Butler's wharf, where he found George and Harry waiting for him. Frank brought the Speedwell around close to the place where they were standing in splendid style, and the boys could not refrain from expressing their admiration at the handsome manner in which she obeyed her helm. They clambered down into the boat, and seated themselves on the middle thwarts, where they could assist Frank in managing the sails, and in a few moments they reached the river. "There comes Bill Johnson!" exclaimed George, suddenly, "just behind the Long Dock." The boys looked in the direction indicated, and saw the top of the masts and sails of a boat which was moving slowly along on the other side of the dock. "Now, Frank," said Harry, "turn out toward the middle of the river, and get as far ahead of him as you can, and see if we can't reach the island [meaning Strawberry Island] before he does." Frank accordingly turned the Speedwell's head toward the island, and just at that moment the sail-boat came in sight. The Champion--for that was her name--was classed among the swiftest sailers about Lawrence; in fact, there was no sloop that could beat her. She was a clinker-built boat, about seventeen feet long, and her breadth of beam--that is, the distance across her from one side to the other--was great compared with her length. She was rigged like Frank's boat, having one mast and carrying a mainsail and jib; but as her sails were considerably larger than those of the Speedwell, and as she was a much lighter boat, the boys all expected that she would reach the island, which the young skippers always regarded as "home" in their races, long before the Speedwell. The Champion was sailed by two boys. William Johnson, her owner, sat in the stern steering, and Ben. Lake, a quiet, odd sort of a boy, sat on one of the middle thwarts managing the sails. As soon as she rounded the lock, Harry Butler sprang to his feet, and, seizing a small coil of rope that lay in the boat, called out, "Bill! if you will catch this line, we'll tow you." "No, I thank you," answered William. "I think we can get along very well without any of your help." "Yes," chimed in Ben. Lake, "and we'll catch you before you are half-way to the island." "We'll see about that!" shouted George, in reply. By this time the Speedwell was fairly before the wind, the sails were hauled taut, the boys seated themselves on the windward gunwale, and the race began in earnest. But they soon found that it would be much longer than they had imagined. Instead of the slow, straining motion which they had expected, the Speedwell flew through the water like a duck, mounting every little swell in fine style, and rolling the foam back from her bow in great masses. She was, beyond a doubt, a fast sailer. George and Harry shouted and hurrahed until they were hoarse, and Frank was so overjoyed that he could scarcely speak. "How she sails!" exclaimed Harry. "If the Champion beats this, she will have to go faster than she does now." Their pursuers were evidently much surprised at this sudden exhibition of the Speedwell's "sailing qualities;" and William hauled more to the wind and "crowded" his boat until she stood almost on her side, and the waves frequently washed into her. "They will overtake us," said Frank, at length; "but I guess we can keep ahead of them until we cross the river." And so it proved. The Champion began to gain--it was very slowly, but still she did gain--and when the Speedwell had accomplished half the distance across the river, their pursuers were not more than three or four rods behind. At length they reached the island, and, as they rounded the point, they came to a spot where the wind was broken by the trees. The Speedwell gradually slackened her headway, and the Champion, which could sail much faster than she before a light breeze, gained rapidly, and soon came alongside. "There is only one fault with your boat, Frank," said William; "her sails are too small. She can carry twice as much canvas as you have got on her now." "Yes," answered Frank, "I find that I have made a mistake; but the fact is, I did not know how she would behave, and was afraid she would capsize. My first hard work shall be to make some new sails." "You showed us a clean pair of heels, any way," said Ben. Lake, clambering over into the Speedwell. "Why, how nice and handy every thing is! Every rope is just where you can lay your hand on it." "Let's go ashore and see how we are off for a crop of strawberries," said Harry. William had pulled down his sails when he came alongside, and while the conversation was going on the Speedwell had been towing the Champion toward the island, and, just as Harry spoke, their bows ran high upon the sand. The boys sprang out, and spent two hours in roaming over the island in search of strawberries; but it was a little too early in the season for them, and, although there were "oceans" of green ones, they gathered hardly a pint of ripe ones. After they had eaten the refreshments which Frank had brought with him, they started for home. As the wind blew from the main shore, they were obliged to "tack," and the Speedwell again showed some fine sailing, and when the Champion entered the creek, she was not a stone's throw behind. Frank reached home that night a good deal elated at his success. After tying the Speedwell to the wharf, he pulled down the sails and carried them into his shop. He had promised, before leaving George and Harry, to meet them at five o'clock the next morning to start on a fishing excursion, and, consequently, could do nothing toward the new sails for his boat for two days. CHAPTER V. A Fishing Excursion. Precisely at the time agreed upon, Frank might have been seen sitting on the wharf in front of Mr. Butler's house. In his hand he carried a stout, jointed fish-pole, neatly stowed away in a strong bag of drilling, and under his left arm hung his fish-basket, suspended by a broad belt, which crossed his breast. In this he carried his hooks, reels, trolling-lines, dinner, and other things necessary for the trip. Brave stood quietly by his side, patiently waiting for the word to start. They were not obliged to wait long, for hasty steps sounded on the gravel walk that led up to the house, the gate swung open, and George and Harry appeared, their arms filled with their fishing-tackle. "You're on time, I see," said Harry, as he climbed down into a large skiff that was tied to the wharf, "Give us your fish-pole." Frank accordingly handed his pole and basket down to Harry, who stowed them away in the boat. He and George then went into the boat-house, and one brought out a pair of oars and a sail, which they intended to use if the wind should be fair, and the other carried two pails of minnows, which had been caught the night before, to serve as bait. They then got into the boat, and Frank took one oar and Harry the other, and Brave stationed himself at his usual place in the bow. George took the helm, and they began to move swiftly down the creek toward the river. About a quarter of a mile below the mouth of the creek was a place, covering half an acre, where the water was about four feet deep, and the bottom was covered with smooth, flat stones. This was known as the "black-bass ground," and large numbers of these fish were caught there every season. George turned the boat's head toward this place, and, thrusting his hand into his pocket, drew out a "trolling-line," and, dropping the hook into the water behind the boat, began to unwind the line. The trolling-hook (such as is generally used in fishing for black-bass) can be used only in a strong current, or when the boat is in rapid motion through the water. The hook is concealed by feathers or a strip of red flannel, and a piece of shining metal in the shape of a spoon-bowl is fastened to it in such a manner as to revolve around it when the hook is drawn rapidly through the water. This is fastened to the end of a long, stout line, and trailed over the stern of the boat, whose motion keeps it near the surface. It can be seen for a great distance in the water, and the fish, mistaking it for their prey, dart forward and seize it. A few moments' pulling brought them to the bass ground, and George, holding the stick on which the line had been wound in his hand, waited impatiently for a "bite." They had hardly entered the ground when several heavy pulls at the line announced that the bait had been taken. George jerked in return, and, springing to his feet, commenced hauling in the line hand over hand, while whatever was at the other end jerked and pulled in a way that showed that he was unwilling to approach the surface. The boys ceased rowing, and Frank exclaimed, "You've got a big one there, George. Don't give him any slack, or you'll lose him." "Haul in lively," chimed in Harry. "There he breaches!" he continued, as the fish--a fine bass, weighing, as near as they could guess, six pounds--leaped entirely out of the water in his mad efforts to escape. "I tell you he's a beauty." Frank took up the "dip-net," which the boys had used in catching the minnows, and, standing by George's side, waited for him to bring the fish within reach, so that he might assist in "landing" him. The struggle was exciting, but short. The bass was very soon exhausted, and George drew him alongside the boat, in which he was soon safely deposited under one of the seats. They rowed around the ground for half an hour, each taking his turn at the line, and during that time they captured a dozen fish. The bass then began to stop biting; and Frank, who was at the helm, turned the boat toward the "perch-bed," which was some distance further down the river. It was situated at the outer edge of a bank of weeds, which lined the river on both sides. The weeds sprouted from the bottom in the spring, and by fall they reached the hight of four or five feet above the surface of the water. They were then literally swarming with wild ducks; but at the time of which we write, as it was only the latter part of June, they had not yet appeared above the water. The perch-bed was soon reached, and Harry, who was pulling the bow-oar, rose to his feet, and, raising the anchor, which was a large stone fastened to the boat by a long, stout rope, lifted it over the side, and let it down carefully into the water. The boat swung around until her bow pointed up stream, and the boys found themselves in the right spot to enjoy a good day's sport. Frank, who was always foremost in such matters, had his pole rigged in a trice, and, baiting his hook with one of the minnows, dropped it into the water just outside of the weeds. Half a dozen hungry perch instantly rose to the surface, and one of them, weighing nearly a pound, seized the bait and darted off with it, and the next moment was dangling through the air toward the boat. "That's a good-sized fish," said Harry, as he fastened his reel on his pole. "Yes," answered Frank, taking his prize off the hook and throwing it into the boat; "and we shall have fine sport for a little while." "But they will stop biting when the sun gets a little warmer; so we had better make the most of our time," observed George. By this time the other boys had rigged their poles, and soon two more large perch lay floundering in the boat. For almost two hours they enjoyed fine sport, as Frank had said they would, and they were too much engaged to think of being hungry. But soon the fish began to stop biting, and Harry, who had waited impatiently for almost five minutes for a "nibble," drew up his line and opened a locker in the stern of the boat, and, taking out a basket containing their dinner, was about to make an inroad on its contents, when he discovered a boat, rowed by a boy about his own age, shoot rapidly around a point that extended for a considerable distance out into the river, and turn toward the spot where they were anchored. "Boys," he exclaimed, "here comes Charley Morgan!" "Charley Morgan," repeated Frank. "Who is he?" "Why, he is the new-comer," answered George. "He lives in the large brick house on the hill." Charley Morgan had formerly lived in New York. His father was a speculator, and was looked upon by some as a wealthy man; but it was hinted by those who knew him best that if his debts were all paid he would have but little ready money left. Be that as it may, Mr. Morgan and his family, at any rate, lived in style, and seemed desirous of outshining all their neighbors and acquaintances. Becoming weary of city life, they had decided to move into the country, and, purchasing a fine village lot in Lawrence, commenced building a house upon it. Although the village could boast of many fine dwellings, the one on Tower Hill, owned by Mr. Morgan, surpassed them all, and, as is always the case in such places, every one was eager to discover who was to occupy the elegant mansion. When the house was completed, Mr. Morgan returned to New York to bring on his family, leaving three or four "servants," as he called them, to look after his affairs; and the Julia Burton landed at the wharf, one pleasant morning, a splendid open carriage, drawn by a span of jet-black horses. The carriage contained Mr. Morgan and his family, consisting of his wife and one son--the latter about seventeen years old. At the time of his introduction to the reader they had been in the village about a week. Charles, by his haughty, overbearing manner, had already driven away from him the most sensible of the village boys who had become acquainted with him; but there are those every-where who seem, by some strange fatality, to choose the most unworthy of their acquaintances for their associates; and there were several boys in Lawrence who looked upon Charles as a first-rate fellow and a very desirable companion. George and Harry, although they had frequently seen the "new-comer," had not had an opportunity to get acquainted with him; and Frank who, as we have said, lived in the outskirts of the village, and who had been very busy at work for the last week on his boat, had not seen him at all. "What sort of a boy is he?" inquired the latter, continuing the conversation which we have so unceremoniously broken off. "I don't know," replied Harry. "Some of the boys like him, but Ben. Lake says he's the biggest rascal in the village. He's got two or three guns, half a dozen fish-poles, and, by what I hear the boys say, he must be a capital sportsman. But he tells the most ridiculous stories about what he has done." By this time Charles had almost reached them, and, when he came alongside, he rested on his oars and called out, "Well, boys, how many fish have you caught?" "So many," answered George, holding up the string, which contained over a hundred perch and black-bass. "Have you caught any thing?" "Not much to brag of," answered Charles; "I hooked up a few little perch just behind the point. But that is a tip-top string of yours." "Yes, pretty fair," answered Harry. "You see we know where to go." "That does make some difference," said Charles. "But as soon as I know the good places, I'll show you how to catch fish." "We will show you the good fishing-grounds any time," said George. "Oh, I don't want any of your help. I can tell by the looks of a place whether there are any fish to be caught or not. But you ought to see the fishing-grounds we have in New York," he continued. "Why, many a time I've caught three hundred in less than half an hour, and some of them would weigh ten pounds." "Did you catch them with a hook and line?" inquired George. "Of course I did! What else should I catch them with? I should like to see one of you trying to handle a ten or fifteen-pound fish with nothing but a trout-pole." "Could you do it?" inquired Harry, struggling hard to suppress a laugh. "Do it? I _have_ done it many a time. But is there any hunting around here?" "Plenty of it." "Well," continued Charles, "I walked all over the woods this morning, and couldn't find any thing." "It is not the season for hunting now," said George; "but in the fall there are lots of ducks, pigeons, squirrels, and turkeys, and in the winter the woods are full of minks, and now and then a bear or deer; and the swamps are just the places to kill muskrats." "I'd just like to go hunting with some of you. I'll bet I can kill more game in a day than any one in the village." The boys made no reply to this confident assertion, for the fact was that they were too full of laughter to trust themselves to speak. "I'll bet you haven't got any thing in the village that can come up to this," continued Charles; and as he spoke he raised a light, beautifully-finished rifle from the bottom of the boat, and held it up to the admiring gaze of the boys. "That is a beauty," said Harry, who wished to continue the conversation as long as possible, in order to hear some more of Charles's "large stories." "How far will it shoot?" "It cost me a hundred dollars," answered Charles, "and I've killed bears and deer with it, many a time, as far as across this river here." Charles did not hesitate to say this, for he was talking only to "simple-minded country boys," as he called them, and he supposed he could say what he pleased and they would believe it. His auditors, who before had been hardly able to contain themselves, were now almost bursting with laughter. Frank and George, however, managed to draw on a sober face, while Harry turned away his head and stuffed his handkerchief into his mouth. "I tell you," continued Charles, not noticing the condition his hearers were in, "I've seen some pretty tough times in my life. Once, when I was hunting in the Adirondack Mountains, in the northern part of Michigan, I was attacked by Indians, and came very near being captured, and the way I fought was a caution to white folks. This little rifle came handy then, I tell you. But I must hurry along now; I promised to go riding with the old man this afternoon." And he dipped the oars into the water, and the little boat shot rapidly up the river. It was well that he took his departure just as he did, for our three boys could not possibly have contained themselves a moment longer. They could not wait for him to get out of sight, but, lying back in the boat, they laughed until the tears rolled down their cheeks. "Well, Frank, what do you think of him?" inquired Harry, as soon as he could speak. "I think the less we have to do with him the better," answered Frank. "I did think," said Harry, stopping now and then to indulge in a hearty fit of laughter, "that there might be some good things about him; but a boy that can tell such whopping big lies as he told must be very small potatoes. Only think of catching three hundred fish in less than half an hour, and with only one hook and line! Why, that would be ten every minute, and that is as many as two men could manage. And then for him to talk about that pop-gun of his shooting as far as across this river!--why, it's a mile and a half--and I know it wouldn't shoot forty rods, and kill. But the best of all was his hunting among the Adirondack Mountains, in Michigan, and having to defend himself against the Indians; that's a good joke." And Harry laid back in the boat again, and laughed and shouted until his sides ached. "He must be a very ungrateful fellow," said Frank, at length. "Didn't you notice how disrespectfully he spoke of his father? He called him his 'old man.' If I had a father, I'd never speak so lightly of him." "Yes, I noticed that," said George. "But," he continued, reaching for the basket which Harry, after helping himself most bountifully, had placed on the middle seat, "I'm hungry as blazes, and think I can do justice to the good things mother has put up for us." After eating their dinner they got out their fishing-tackle again; but the perch had stopped biting, and, after waiting patiently for half an hour without feeling a nibble, they unjointed their poles, drew up the anchor, and Frank seated himself at the helm, while George and Harry took the oars and pulled toward home. CHAPTER VI. The Regulators One of the range of hills which extended around the western side of the village was occupied by several families, known as the "Hillers." They were ignorant, degraded people, living in miserable hovels, and obtaining a precarious subsistence by hunting, fishing, and stealing. With them the villagers rarely, if ever, had intercourse, and respectable persons seldom crossed their thresholds. The principal man among the Hillers was known as Bill Powell. He was a giant in strength and stature, and used to boast that he could visit "any hen-roost in the village every night in the week, and carry off a dozen chickens each time, without being nabbed." He was very fond of liquor, too indolent to work, and spent most of his time, when out of jail, on the river, fishing, or roaming through the woods with his gun. He had one son, whose name was Lee, and a smarter boy it was hard to find. He possessed many good traits of character, but, as they had never been developed, it was difficult to discover them. He had always lived in the midst of evil influences, led by the example of a drunken, brutal father, and surrounded by wicked companions, and it is no wonder that his youthful aspirations were in the wrong direction. Lee and his associates, as they were not obliged so attend school, and were under no parental control, always amused themselves as they saw it. Most of their time was spent on the river or in the woods, and, when weary of this sport, the orchards and melon-patches around the village, although closely guarded, were sure to suffer at their hands; and they planned and executed their plundering expeditions with so much skill and cunning, that they were rarely detected. A day or two after the events related in the preceding chapter transpired, Charles Morgan, in company with two or three of his chosen companions, was enjoying a sail on the river. During their conversation, one of the boys chanced to say something about the Hillers, and Charles inquired who they were. His companions gave him the desired information, and ended by denouncing them in the strongest terms. Charles, after hearing them through, exclaimed, "I'd just like to catch one of those boys robbing our orchard or hen-roost. One or the of us would get a pummeling, sure as shooting." "Yes," said one of the boys, "but, you see, they do not go alone. If they did, it would be an easy matter to catch them. But they all go together, and half of them keep watch, and the rest bag the plunder; and they move around so still that even the dogs don't hear them." "I should think you fellows here in the village would take the matter into your own hands," said Charles. "What do you mean?" inquired his companions. "Why don't you club together, and every time you see one of the Hillers, go to work and thrash him like blazes? I guess, after you had half-killed two or three of them, they would learn to let things alone." "I guess they would, too," said one of the boys. "Suppose we get up a company of fifteen or twenty fellows," resumed Charles, "and see how it works. I'll bet my eyes that, after we've whipped half a dozen of them, they won't dare to show their faces in the village again." "That's the way to do it," said one of the boys. "I'll join the company, for one." The others readily fell in with Charles's proposal, and they spent some time talking it over and telling what they intended to do when they could catch the Hillers, when one of the boys suddenly exclaimed, "I think, after all, that we shall have some trouble in carrying out our plans. Although there are plenty of fellows in the village who would be glad to join the company, there are some who must not know any thing about it, or the fat will all be in the fire." "Who are they?" demanded Charles. "Why, there are Frank Nelson, and George and Harry Butler, and Bill Johnson, and a dozen others, who could knock the whole thing into a cocked hat, in less than no time." "Could they? I'd just like to see them try it on," said Charles, with a confident air. "They would have a nice time of it. How would they go to work?" "I am afraid that, if they saw us going to whip the Hillers, they would interfere." "They would, eh? I'd like to see them undertake to hinder us. Can't twenty fellows whip a dozen?" "I don't know. Every one calls Frank Nelson and his set the best boys in the village. They never fight if they can help it; but they are plaguy smart fellows, I tell you; and, if we once get them aroused, we shall have a warm time of it, I remember a little circumstance that happened last winter. We had a fort in the field behind the school-house, and one night we were out there, snowballing, and I saw Frank Nelson handle two of the largest boys in his class. There were about a dozen boys in the fort--and they were the ones that always go with Frank--and all the rest of the school were against them. The fort stood on a little hill, and we were almost half an hour capturing it, and we wouldn't ever have taken it if the wall hadn't been broken down. We would get almost up to the fort, and they would rush out and drive us down again. At last we succeeded in getting to the top of the hill, and our boys began to tumble over the walls, and I hope I may be shot if they didn't throw us out as fast as we could get in, and--" "Oh, I don't care any thing about that," interrupted Charles, who could not bear to hear any one but himself praised. "If I had been there, I would have run up and thrown _them_ out." "And you could have done it easy enough," said one of the boys, who had for some time remained silent. "Frank Nelson and his set are not such great fellows, after all." "Of course they ain't," said the other. "They feel big enough; but I guess, if we get this company we have spoken of started, and they undertake to interfere with us, we will take them down a peg or two." "That's the talk!" said Charles. "I never let any one stop me when I have once made up my mind to do a thing. I would as soon knock Frank Nelson down as any body else." By this time the boat, which had been headed toward the shore, entered the creek, and Charles drew up to the wharf, and, after setting his companions ashore, and directing them to speak to every one whom they thought would be willing to join the company, and to no one else, he drew down the sails, and pulled up the creek toward the place where he kept his boat. A week passed, and things went on swimmingly. Thirty boys had enrolled themselves as members of the Regulators, as the company was called, and Charles, who had been chosen captain, had carried out his plans so quietly, that he was confident that no one outside of the company knew of its existence. Their arrangements had all been completed, and the Regulators waited only for a favorable opportunity to carry their plans into execution. Frank, during this time, had remained at home, working in his garden or shop, and knew nothing of what was going on. One afternoon he wrote a letter to his cousin Archie, and, after supper, set out, with Brave at his heels, to carry it to the post-office. He stopped on the way for George and Harry Butler, who were always ready to accompany him. On the steps of the post-office they met three or four of their companions, and, after a few moments' conversation, William Johnson suddenly inquired, "Have you joined the new society, Frank?" "What society?" "Why, the Regulators." "I don't know what you mean," said Frank. "Yes, I guess they have managed to keep it pretty quiet," said William. "They don't want any outsiders to know any thing about it. They asked me to join in with them, but I told them that they ought to know better than to propose such a thing to me. Then they tried to make me promise that I wouldn't say any thing about it, but I would make no such promise, for--" "Why, Bill, what are you talking about?" inquired Harry. "You rattle it off as if we knew all about it." "Haven't you heard any thing about it, either?" inquired William, in surprise. "I was certain that they would ask you to join. Well, the amount of it is that Charley Morgan and a lot of his particular friends have been organizing a company for the purpose of thrashing the Hillers, and making them stop robbing hen-roosts and orchards and cutting up such shines." "Yes," chimed in James Porter, "there are about thirty of them, and they say that they are going to whip the Hillers out of the village." "Well, that's news to me," said Frank. "For my part," said Thomas Benton, "I, of course, know that the Hillers ought to be punished; but I do not think it is the duty of us boys to take the law into our own hands." "Nor I," said James Porter. "Well, _I_ do," said Harry, who, as we have said, was an impetuous, fiery fellow, "and I believe I will join the Regulators, and help whip the rascals out of the country. They ought, every one of them, to be thrashed for stealing and--" "Now, see here, Harry," interrupted George. "You know very well that such a plan will never succeed, and it _ought_ not to. You have been taught that it is wrong to take things that do not belong to you, but with the Hillers the case is different; their parents teach them to steal, and they are obliged to do it." "Besides," said Frank, "this summary method of correcting them will not break up their bad habits; kindness will accomplish much more than force." "Kindness!" repeated Harry, sneeringly; "as if kindness could have any effect on a Hiller!" "They can tell when they are kindly treated as well as any one else," said George. "And another thing," said Ben. Lake; "these Regulators must be a foolish set of fellows to suppose that the Hillers are going to stand still and be whipped. I say, as an old sea-captain once said, when it was proposed to take a man-o'-war with a whale-boat, 'I guess it will be a puttering job.'" "Well," said James, "I shall do all I can to prevent a fight." "So will I," said Frank. "_I_ won't," said Harry, who, with his arms buried almost to the elbows in his pockets, was striding backward and forward across the steps. "I say the Hillers ought to be thrashed." "I'm afraid," said William, without noticing what Harry had remarked, "that our interference will be the surest way to bring on a fight; because, after I refused to join the company, they told me that if any of us attempted to defend the Hillers, or break up the company, they would thrash us, too." "We don't want to break up their company," said Frank, with a laugh. "We must have a talk with them, and try to show them how unreasonable they are." "Here they come, now," said George, pointing up the road. The boys looked in the direction indicated, and saw the Regulators just turning the corner of the street that led to Mr. Morgan's house. They came around in fine order, marching four abreast, and turned up the street that led to the post-office. They had evidently been well drilled, for they kept step admirably. "They look nice, don't they?" said Ben. "Yes," answered George; "and if they were enlisted in a good cause, I would off with my hat and give them three cheers." The Regulators had almost reached the post-office, when they suddenly set up a loud shout, and, breaking ranks, started on a full run down the street. The boys saw the reason for this, when they discovered Lee Powell coming up the road that led from the river, with a large string of fish in his hand. He always had good luck, but he seemed to have been more fortunate than usual, for his load was about as heavy as he could conveniently carry. He walked rapidly along, evidently very much occupied with his own thoughts, when, suddenly, two or three stones came skipping over the ground, and aroused him from his reverie. He looked up in surprise, and discovered that his enemies were so close to him that flight was useless. The Regulators drew nearer and nearer, and the stones fell thick about the object of their wrath, until, finally, one struck him on the shoulder, and another knocked his cap from his head. "I can't stand that," said Frank; and, springing from the steps, he started to the rescue, followed by all of his companions, (except Harry, who still paced the steps), and they succeeded in throwing themselves between Lee and his assailants. Several of the Regulators faltered on seeing Lee thus defended; but Charles, followed by half a dozen of his "right-hand men," advanced, and attempted to force his way between Frank and his companions. "Hold on, here!" said Frank, as he gently, but firmly, resisted Charles's attempts to push him aside. "What are you trying to do?" "What business is that of yours?" answered Charles, roughly, as he continued his efforts to reach Lee. "You question me as if you were my master. Stand aside, if you don't want to get yourself in trouble." "You don't intend to hurt Lee, do you?" "Yes, I do. But it's none of your business, any way. Get out of the way!" "Has he ever done you any harm?" "It's none of your business, I say!" shouted Charles, now almost beside himself with rage. "And I want you to keep your hands off me!" he continued, as Frank seized his arm, which he had raised to strike Lee, who stood close behind his protector. Frank released his hold, and Charles sprang forward again, and, dodging Frank's grasp, slipped under his arm, and attempted to seize the Hiller. But Frank was as quick as a cat in his motions; and, before Charles had time to strike a blow, he seized him with a grip that brought from him a cry of pain, and seated him, unceremoniously, on the ground. As soon as Charles could regain his feet, he called out, "Here it is, boys--just as I expected! Never mind the Hiller, but let's go to work and give the other fellows a thrashing that they won't get over in a month." And he sprang toward Frank, against whom he seemed to cherish an especial grudge, followed by a dozen Regulators, who brandished their fists as if they intended to annihilate Lee's gallant defenders. But, just as Charles was about to attack Frank, a new actor appeared. Harry Butler, who had greatly changed his mind in regard to "thrashing the Hillers," seeing that the attack was about to be renewed, sprang down the steps, and caught Charles in his arms, and threw him to the ground, like a log. The others had been no less successful in repulsing their assailants; and, when Charles rose to his feet, he saw three or four of the Regulators, who had followed him to the attack, sprawling on the ground, and the rest retreating precipitately. "Now," said Harry, "let's stop this. We've had enough of it." But Charles, and several more of the Regulators, seemed to be of a different opinion, and were about to recommence their hostile demonstrations, when Harry continued, "We've only been playing with you so far Charley; so you had better not try to come any more of your Regulator tricks on us. We don't want to fight, but we shall defend ourselves." "If you had attended to your own affairs, you would not have been obliged to defend yourselves," said Charles, sullenly. "What sort of fellows do you suppose we are?" said Harry. "If you expected us to stand still and see thirty fellows pitch on one, you are very much mistaken." "Come, Lee," said Frank, taking the former by the arm, "I guess we can go now. We'll see you out of harm's way." The crest-fallen Regulators divided right and left, and allowed Frank and his companions to depart, unmolested. They accompanied Lee almost to the miserable hovel he called "home," and, when about to bid him good-night, he said, with some feeling, "I'll remember you, boys; and, if it ever comes handy, you will find that Lee Powell has got feelings, as well as any one else." And he sprang over a fence, and disappeared. CHAPTER VII. The Revenge. While Frank and his companions were accompanying Lee toward home, some of the Regulators were indulging in feelings of the deepest malice; and there were about a dozen of them--Frank's old enemies--who determined that he should not go unpunished. But there were others who began to see how cowardly they had acted in attacking a defenseless boy, for the only reason that he was a bad boy, and to fear that they had lost the good-will of Frank and his associates. The village boys, with a few exceptions, were accustomed to look up to Frank as a sort of leader; not that he aspired to the position, but his generosity, and the easy way he had of settling the disputes that sometimes arose among the boys, had won for him many a fast friend. We have seen, however, that he was not beloved by all; every good boy has his enemies, and Frank, of course, had his share of them. They were boys who were jealous of him, and hated him because he held a position in the estimation of the village people to which they could not attain. But this class was very small, comprising, as we have said, about a dozen of the Regulators; and, while they were enraged at their defeat, and studying plans for revenge, the others were repenting of their folly, and trying to think of some way by which they might regain their lost reputation. Charles's overbearing and haughty manner was so different from Frank's kind, obliging ways, that they had already grown tired of his company, and began to think seriously of having nothing more to do with him; and the things that had just transpired served to convince them that the sooner they left him the better. As soon as Lee and his gallant defenders had disappeared, one of the Regulators remarked, "Well, boys, I don't call this a paying business, trying to thrash a boy who has done us no harm." "That's my opinion," said another. "And I, for one, wish I had kept out of this scrape," said a third. "So do I," said the one who had first spoken. "Oh, you begin to back down, do you, you cowards?" exclaimed Charles, who was taken completely by surprise by this sudden change of affairs. "_I_ never give up till I am whipped. If it hadn't been for my lame hand, I would have knocked some of those fellows into cocked hats. I'll fix that Frank Nelson, the next time I catch him." "Why didn't you do it to-night?" inquired one of the boys, sneeringly. "I've got a lame hand, I tell you," roared the bully; "and I don't want you to speak to me in that way again; if you do, you and I will have a meeting." "That would be an unpleasant job for you, to say the least," said one of the boys; "the most of us are heartily sick of your company, and we have been talking, for two or three days, of sending in our resignations. Now, boys," he continued, "this is as good an opportunity as we shall have; so those that won't have any thing more to do with Regulating, say 'I!'" "I! I!" burst from a score of throats. "Now," he resumed, turning to Charles, "good-by; and, if you ever wish to recruit another company, you need not call on any of us." So saying, he walked off, followed by nearly all the Regulators; those who remained were Frank's enemies and rivals. "Well, boys," said Charles, as soon as the others had gone, "there are a few of us left, and we can annoy the fellows who think they are too good to associate with us in the worst way. Let us adjourn to our barn, where we can talk the matter over." A few moments' walk brought them to Mr. Morgan's house, and, when they entered the long carriage-way that led up to the barn, Charles said, "Now, boys, you stay here, and I'll go in and get a light." He ran into the house, and soon reappeared with a lantern in each hand, and led the way toward the barn. He unlocked the door, and he and his companions entered; and, after allowing them time to examine, to their satisfaction, the splendid equipage that had attracted so much attention the morning they arrived at the village, Charles proceeded to call the meeting to order. "Now, boys," said he, "we don't intend to disband, do we?" "No," answered several. "Then, the first thing for us to do is to change our name, for we don't want to let those cowardly sneaks that deserted us to-night know any thing about us. What shall we be called?" Several names were proposed, but they did not suit Charles. At length, one of the boys inquired, "What name would you like?" "I think that 'Midnight Rangers' would be a good name for us," answered Charles. "That's a splendid name!" "Now," continued Charles, "we must change our plan of operations a little. We must give up the idea of thrashing the Hillers for awhile, because there are not enough of us; but I should like it, if we could go to work and whip every one of those fellows that stuck up for Lee Powell to-night, especially Frank Nelson." "So would I," answered William Gage, whom Charles looked upon as his 'right-hand man;' "but it wouldn't do to attempt it, for he has got too many friends. We must shoot his dog, or steal his boat, or do something of that kind. It would plague him more than a dozen whippings." "That's so!" exclaimed another of the Rangers. "If we could only go up there, some dark night, and steal his scow, and run her out into the river, and burn her, wouldn't he be mad?" "Yes," chimed in another, "but it wouldn't pay even to attempt that. He always keeps his boats chained up, and the noise we would make in getting them loose would be sure to start that dog of his, and then we should have a dusty time, I reckon." "I guess so, too," said William Gage. "Whatever we do, we must be careful not to start that dog, for he would go through fire and water to catch us; and, if he ever got hold of one of us--" And William shrugged his shoulders, significantly. "Hasn't he got an orchard or melon-patch that we could visit?" inquired Charles. "No," answered one of the Rangers; "but he's got as nice a strawberry-patch as ever laid out-doors. But it's a little too early for strawberries." "Who cares for that?" said Charles. "We don't go to get the fruit; we only want to pay him for defending the Hiller--meddling with other people's business. It's too late to do any thing to-night," he added, glancing at his watch, "but let us go there to-morrow night, and pull up every strawberry-plant we can lay our hands on. You know, we can do as much mischief of that kind as we please, and it will all be laid to the Hillers." "Where shall we meet?" inquired one of the Rangers. "Come here at precisely seven o'clock; and, remember, don't lisp a single word to any one about it, for, if you do, we shall be found out." The Rangers were about to disperse, when one of them suddenly inquired, "Will not folks mistrust that something is in the wind, if they see us all starting up the road at that time of night?" "That's a fact," said William Gage. "Wouldn't it be a better plan for us to meet in the woods, at the back of Mrs. Nelson's lot? Let us all be there at eight o'clock; and, if no two of us go in company, no one will be the wiser for it." "That is the best plan," said Charles. "Now, remember, don't say any thing about it." "All right!" was the answer; and, in a few moments more, the Rangers were on their way home. The next evening, at seven o'clock, Charles left his home, and, avoiding the principal streets as much as possible, started toward the place of rendezvous, where he arrived at almost precisely the time agreed upon. He found the Rangers all waiting for him; and, as it was already dark, it was decided to commence operations immediately. "We want a guide," said Charles, who, of course, was captain of the Rangers. "Who knows exactly where that strawberry-bed lies? for, if we have to fumble about much, we shall start that dog, and then, it strikes me, from what I have seen and heard of him, we shall be in a predicament." "You may safely bet on that," said one of the boys; "he's a savage fellow." "And a first-rate watch-dog, too," observed another. "Well," said Charles, "all we have to do is to move so still that you can't hear a leaf rustle; but, if we do rouse the dog, let each one grab a stone and let him have it." "That would only make a bad matter worse," said one. "I am afraid we shall have more than we bargained for, if we undertake that," remarked another. "Let the cowards go home, and the rest come with me," said Charles, impatiently. "Bill," he continued, turning to his right-hand man, "can you act as guide?" "Yes." "Then, lead on." William led the way out of the woods, across a narrow meadow, where they came to the fence that inclosed Mrs. Nelson's garden. "Now, boys," he whispered, "keep still as mice; but, if we do start the dog, don't stop to fight him, but run like white-heads." The Rangers climbed over the fence, and followed their guide, who threaded his way through the trees and bushes with a skill worthy of a better cause, and a few moments sufficed to bring them to the strawberry-patch. "Be careful, boys," said Charles, in a low whisper. "Don't leave a single plant in the ground." The young scapegraces worked with a will, and, in a few moments, the strawberry-bed--which was Frank's pride, next to his museum, and on which he had expended a great amount of labor--was almost ruined; and so quietly did they proceed in their work of wanton destruction, that Brave, although a very vigilant dog, was not aroused, and the marauders retraced their steps, and reached the woods in safety. "There," said Charles, at length, "that's what I call doing it up brown. It almost pays off my debts. I don't think they will receive much benefit from those strawberries this year." "They have got some nice pears," said one of the Rangers, "and when they get ripe, we must plan another expedition." "That's so," answered Charles. "But we must not forget that we have others to settle with; and we must meet, some time next week, and determine who shall be visited next." On the following morning, Frank arose, as usual, at four o'clock, and, shouldering his fish-pole, started off through the woods to catch a mess of trout, intending to be back by breakfast-time. But, as the morning was cloudy, the trout bit voraciously, and in the excitement of catching them, he forgot that he was hungry, and it was almost noon before he reached home. As soon as he entered the house, Aunt Hannah exclaimed, "Master Frank, you were altogether too good to Lee Powell, the other night." "What makes you think so?" he inquired. At this moment Julia, hearing his voice, burst in from the dining-room, exclaiming, "Frank, the Hillers have robbed your strawberry-patch!" "Not robbed it, exactly," said his mother, who had followed close after Julia, "but they have completely ruined it. There are not a dozen plants left in the ground." Frank was so surprised that he could scarcely utter a word; and, hardly waiting to hear what his mother said, he hurried from the house toward the strawberry-patch. It did, indeed, present a strange and desolate appearance. The bed had covered nearly half an acre; and, so well had the Rangers performed their work, that but few plants were left standing. The sight was enough to upset even Frank's well-established patience, and he exclaimed, "If I had the rascals that did this mischief, I could pay them for it, without troubling my conscience much." "You must tell Lee Powell, the next time you see him," said Julia, who had followed him, "that he ought not to--" "Lee didn't do it," said Frank. "What makes you think so?" "See here," said Frank, bending over a footprint in the soft earth; "the Hillers all go bare-foot, and these fellows wore boots. I know who did it, as well as if I had seen them. It was the work of Charles Morgan and a few of his particular friends. They must have been very still about it, for Brave didn't hear them." "I don't see what object they had in doing it," said Julia. "I know what they did it for," said Frank; "and if I ever catch--But," he added, checking himself, "there's no use in grumbling about it; no amount of fretting will repair the damage." So saying, he led the way toward the house. It did not take him long to don his working-suit, and, shouldering his hoe, he returned to the strawberry-bed, and, in less than an hour, the plants were all in the ground again. CHAPTER VIII. How to Spend the "Fourth." That evening, after supper, Frank retired to his room, and, settling himself in his comfortable armchair, was soon deeply interested in one of Bayard Taylor's works. While thus engaged, a light step was heard in the hall, and, afterward, a gentle rap at his door, and Julia came into the room. "Now, Frank," she began, "I don't want you to read to-night." "Why not?" he inquired. "Why, you know that day after to-morrow is the Fourth of July, and--" "And you haven't got your fire-works yet?" interrupted Frank. "That's it, exactly." "Well," said her brother, rising to put away his book, "then, I suppose, I shall have to go down to the village and get you some. What do you want?" "I want all the things that are written down on this paper." Frank took the paper and read, "Three packs of fire-crackers, four boxes of torpedoes, three Roman candles, half a dozen pin-wheels, and a dozen sky-rockets." "Whew!" said Frank, as he folded up the paper and put it into his pocket, "that's what I should call going it strong! Well, I'll tell Mr. Sheldon [the store-keeper] to send up all the fire-works he has got." Julia burst into a loud laugh, and, the next moment, Frank and Brave were out of the gate, on their way to the village. In the mean time several of Frank's acquaintances had been amusing themselves on the village common with a game of ball. At length it grew too dark for their sport to continue, and one of the boys proposed that they should decide upon some pleasant way of spending the Fourth. In spite of the humiliating defeat which Charles Morgan and his companions had sustained, they were present; and the former, who had been making every exertion to regain the good-will of the village boys, exclaimed, "Let's go hunting." "No, no," shouted several. "The game in the woods isn't good for any thing this time of year, Charley," said James Porter, who, although he cordially disliked Charles, always tried to treat him kindly. "Who cares for that?" exclaimed Charles, who, having always been accustomed to lead and govern his city associates, could not endure the steadfastness with which these "rude country boys," as he called them, held to their own opinions. Although, during the whole afternoon, he had been endeavoring to work himself into their favor, he was angry, in an instant, at the manner in which they opposed his proposition. He had been considerably abashed at his recent defeat, and he knew that it had humbled him in the estimation of the Rangers, who, although they still "held true" to him, had changed their minds in regard to the prowess of their leader, and began to regard him, as one of them remarked, as a "mere bag of wind." Charles was not long in discovering this, and he determined to seize the first opportunity that was offered to retrieve his reputation. Hastily casting his eyes over the group that surrounded him, he discovered that Frank and Harry, the ones he most feared, were still absent. This was exactly what he had wished for. With the assistance of his companions, the Rangers, who, he was confident, would uphold him, he could settle up all old scores, without fear of suffering in return. Addressing himself to James, he continued, in an insulting tone, "We don't go to get the game to _eat_, you blockhead, but only for the sport of killing it." "I know that," answered James, in a mild voice, not the least disconcerted by the other's furious manner; "but wouldn't it be better to--" "Shut up!" shouted Charles. "I'll do just as I please. Besides, I never allow any one to dictate to me." "I didn't intend to dictate at all, Charley. I was going to say--" "Are you going to keep still," roared the bully, "or shall I make you?" And he began to advance toward James. "See here, old fellow," said Ben. Lake, suddenly striding up, and placing himself directly in front of Charles, "don't begin another fight, now." "I'll show you whether I will or not!" exclaimed Charles; and, turning to the Rangers, he continued, "Come on, boys! We can have things all our own way now. We'll see if--" "Hold on!" shouted William Johnson. "Here comes Frank. Now you had better take yourself off in a hurry." Charles's hostile demonstrations ceased in an instant; and, hastily whispering a few words to the Rangers, they disappeared. In a few moments, Frank, accompanied by George and Harry, arrived, and the boys, in a few words, explained to them what had just happened. "I hope," said Frank, "that Charley will see, before long, how unreasonably he acts. He makes himself, and every one around him, uncomfortable." "Well," said James Porter, "all I have got to say is that those fellows who go with him are very foolish. However, we can't help it. But, come," he added, "we were trying to find some pleasant way of spending the Fourth." "Let's have a picnic on Strawberry Island," said one. "We want something exciting," said another "Let's have a boat-race." "Come, Frank," said Ben. Lake, "let's hear what you have got to say. Suggest something." "Well," answered Frank, who was always ready with some plan for amusement, "I have been thinking, for two or three days, of something which, I believe, will afford us a great deal of sport. In the first place, I suppose, we are all willing to pass part of the day on the river?" "Yes, of course," answered the boys. "The next thing," continued Frank, "is to ascertain how many sail-boats we can raise." "I'll bring mine." "And mine," called out several voices. "Oh, that's no way to do business," exclaimed William Johnson, who always liked to see things go off in order. "Let all those who have boats hold up their hands." Sixteen hands came up, and Frank said, "We shall be gone all day, and, of course, we want plenty of provisions." "Of course." "Well, then, what I thought of proposing is this: Let us take three or four of the swiftest sailing-boats, and give the provisions into their charge, and call them smugglers, and let the other boats play the part of revenue-cutters, or a blockading squadron, and let the smugglers try to land the provisions on Strawberry Island, without being caught." "That's capital!" shouted several. "It's better than shooting game, at this time of year," said one. "Yes, and being scolded all day by that tyrant," observed another, who had belonged to the Regulators. "It will take some time to make all our arrangements," said William, "and I move that we adjourn to our house, where we can hold our meeting in order." This was readily assented to, and William led the way, followed by all the boys, who were highly delighted at Frank's plan of spending the Fourth. George Butler was speedily chosen president of the meeting, and, in less than half an hour, their arrangements were completed. The Speedwell, Champion, and Alert--the latter a fine little schooner, owned by George and Harry--were to act the part of smugglers, and Ben. Lake and Thomas Benton, who had no boats, were chosen by the smugglers to assist them. The provisions, of which each boy was expected to furnish his share, were all to be left at Mr. Butler's boat-house by six o'clock on the following evening, where they were to be taken charge of by the smugglers, of whom Frank was chosen leader. It was also understood that the smugglers were to carry the provisions all in one boat, and were to be allowed to take every possible advantage of the "men-o'-war," and to make every effort to land the provisions on the island. The other thirteen boats, which were to act as "coast-guards," were to be under the command of Charles Sheldon, a shrewd, cunning fellow, who had the reputation of being able to handle a sail-boat as well as any boy in the village. The coast-guards were also divided into divisions of three boats each, and a captain was appointed for each division. These arrangements, as we have said, were speedily completed; and, although the coast-guards were almost wild with delight at the prospect of the exciting times that would occur during the race, they were confident that the smugglers could be easily caught, and even some of the smugglers themselves seemed to think that their chances of landing the provisions were small indeed. As the meeting was about to break up, one of the coast-guards exclaimed, "We'll have easy times catching you smugglers." "Do you think so?" asked Harry Butler. "It would be funny if you should slip up on it, wouldn't it?" "We'll risk that," said another, "for we've got thirteen boats to your three." "I say, Frank," said Charles Sheldon, "don't you think we can catch you?" "Oh, yes," answered Frank, "easily enough, if you only try. Now, boys," he continued, "remember that we want all the refreshments left at Mr. Butler's boat-house, by six o'clock to-morrow evening." They all promised to be on hand, and the meeting broke up. But the coast-guards gathered in little knots in front of the house, or walked slowly toward home, talking the matter over, and congratulating themselves on the easy manner in which the capture of the "contrabands" was to be effected. The smugglers remained together, and, as soon as the others were out of hearing, George inquired, "Do you think we can give them the slip?" "Yes," answered Frank, "I am certain we can. We must not think of beating them in sailing, because there are too many of them, but we must outwit them." "What do you propose to do?" inquired Ben. "We must get up in the morning before they do." "We shall be obliged to get up at twelve o'clock, then," said Thomas. "I had rather stay up all night than have them beat us," said Harry. "Well, boys," said George, "you must all come and sleep at our house to-morrow night. Some of us will be sure to wake up early, and, I think, we shall have no trouble in getting the start of the coast-guards." The boys spent some time in talking over their plans, and, finally, reluctantly separated, and started for home. CHAPTER IX. The Coast-guards Outwitted. About three o'clock in the afternoon of the following day, Frank bade his mother and sister good-by, and he and Brave got into the Speedwell, and sailed slowly down the creek. He found the Champion already moored at Mr. Butler's dock, and the smugglers were all waiting for him. As soon as he landed, Ben. Lake said, "Frank, it is a gone case with us. I _know_ we shall be caught." "You think so, do you?" asked Frank, as if not at all concerned. "Yes, I'm certain of it. I overheard some conversation among the coast-guards, this afternoon, and one of them said that Charley Sheldon would have the whole fleet anchored before the mouth of the creek at half-past two to-morrow morning." "Besides," said William Johnson, "they are all going to sleep in their boats to-night, and the North Star and Sampson are to act as police." "And I heard Charley Sheldon say," chimed in Harry, "that strict watch must be kept of the Speedwell, and no attention paid to the other boats." "That's all right," said Frank. "I'm glad of it." "Why are you?" asked George, in surprise. "You know, we agreed to carry the provisions all in one boat, and yours is the only one that will hold them all." "I tell you, Frank, we're gone suckers," said Ben. "You fellows seem to be pretty well posted as to the coast-guards' intentions," said Frank. "Yes," said George; "we've been spying about and playing eavesdroppers all day." "I have learned one thing to-day," said Frank, "that pleased me very much, and that is that the coast-guards intend to keep spies about the boat-house all night." "Why does that please you?" inquired Harry. "Do you want them to discover all our plans, so that they may be ready for us?" "By no means. I'll risk good deal that they will not learn more than we want them to know. I've thought of a way to set them on the wrong scent, and, from what I have heard, I think it will work first-rate." "What is it?" "I'll show you in half a minute," said Frank, "All we have got to do is to fool the spies; then we are all right." At this moment several boys, belonging to the blockading squadron, entered the boat-house, bringing their refreshments, and this, of course, put a stop to all further conversation between the smugglers. By six o'clock the last basket of provisions had been brought in, and the coast-guards took their departure, after repeatedly assuring the smugglers that their capture was certain. The provisions had been brought in twenty medium-sized market-baskets, and one large clothes-basket that belonged to George and Harry, and seven pails. There was, also, a small bag filled with lemons, which had been brought by Charles Sheldon. The boys stood for some time looking at them without speaking. At length, Thomas Benton said, "You will have to carry them, Frank. They will make too large a load for either of the other boats." "I know that," said Frank; "but we must make the coast-guards think that the Alert is going to carry them." "How can we manage that?" inquired George. "Have you got three or four market-baskets, a clothes-basket, one or two pails, and a salt-bag?" asked Frank, without stopping to answer George's question. "I guess so," said Harry. "I'll go up to the house and see." He led the way, followed by three or four of the smugglers, and the articles in question were soon brought into the boat-house. "Now, Bill," said Frank, "you take this salt-bag, if you please, and fill it with smooth, round stones, about the size of lemons." "All right," answered William, who began to see through the trick. "Now," continued Frank, "we want some pieces of cloth, large enough to tie over the tops of these baskets and pails." These were speedily procured, and, in a few moments, William returned with the salt-bag filled with stones. "Now, tell us what you intend to do," exclaimed Harry, whose patience was well-nigh exhausted. "We are making some sham provisions," said Frank. "Oh, yes, I thought so," said Thomas; "but we haven't got pails and baskets enough." "Oh, that's nothing," said Frank. "We'll fill half a dozen of these old bags with shavings, and, as soon as it grows dark, we'll pull the Alert alongside the wharf, and tumble these sham provisions into her; then we will cover them up with that piece of sail, as if we wanted to keep them dry. We'll be sure to fool the men-o'-war." "I don't exactly see it," said Thomas. "Why," said Harry, "as soon as we are out of sight, their spies, who are, of course, watching every movement, will go and tell Charley Sheldon that we have got the things stowed away in the Alert." "That's very well, as far as you go," said Ben; "but suppose they should mistrust that something is in the wind, and should go to work and examine the provisions?" "What if they do?" said Frank. "It will be too dark for them to make much of an examination; and, if they put their hands into the boat, they will feel the baskets and pails there, and will go away satisfied." The boys now saw through the trick, and there was no longer any feeling of doubt in their minds. They were now as certain of success as they had before been of being captured. In a few moments the "sham provisions," as Frank had called them, were all completed, and, placing them where they could be easily taken out, they locked the door, to prevent surprise, and started for the house. As they were about to enter the gate, George suddenly exclaimed, "See there!" The boys looked in the direction George indicated, and saw the blockading squadron, with the exception of two boats, anchored in the creek, just opposite the long dock. The North Star, a fine, swift-sailing little schooner, was anchored near the middle of the stream, and a boy sat in the stern sheets, reading a book. The Sampson, a very large sloop-rigged boat, was standing up the creek, under full sail. These were the "police boats," and they were taking their stations. "I wonder where the Sampson is going," said Harry. "She's going to take her station in Duck's Creek," said Ben. Upon hearing this, Harry's expectations fell again. "It's no use," he exclaimed. "Charley Sheldon knows too much for us." "Not a bit," said Frank. "This arrangement is only for to-night. When we get up in the morning, we shall find the boats all out in the river." This immediately reassured Harry; and, after watching the Sampson until she disappeared in Duck's Creek, he led the way to the house. After supper, as soon as it began to grow dark, they proceeded to put their plans into execution; but, before they started, Frank said, "Now, boys, we must watch and see how the trick takes, for I know that there are spies now around that boat-house. As soon as we get the sham provisions into the boat, one or two of us had better slip down into the willows behind the wharf, and see what course things are going to take." "Well," said Harry, "suppose you and Bill act as spies." "Agreed. Come on, but don't act as if you suspected anything." And he led the way toward the boat-house. Two of the boys busied themselves in bringing out the sham provisions, and the others brought the Alert alongside, and fastened her to the dock, in front of the boat-house. Frank and Harry then got down into the boat, and the other boys passed the provisions down to them, and they placed them in such a manner as to take up as much space as possible. They were soon all stowed away, and covered over with a large sail, as if to keep off the dew. Ben and George then got into a small skiff that lay at the dock, and towed the Alert out into the middle of the creek, and anchored her. As soon as this was done they returned, and the smugglers began to amuse themselves by pushing each other about the wharf. They all appeared to enter heartily into the sport, and kept nearing the willows which extended along the bank of the creek, close to the wharf, and Frank and William, watching their opportunity, concealed themselves, and the others ran toward the house. They had hardly disappeared, when the smugglers saw several boys steal cautiously around the corner of the boat-house, where they had been concealed, and one of them crept up the bank, to assure himself that the coast was clear, while the others remained in the shadow of the house. The former, who proved to be Charles Sheldon, the commander of the coast-guards, as soon as he had satisfied himself that the smugglers had gone into the house, called out, in a low whisper, to the others, who were the captains of the divisions of the squadron, "All right, boys; go ahead, but be careful not to make any noise. I didn't see Frank Nelson's dog go into the yard," he continued; "he must be around here somewhere. We must not let him hear us." Brave _was_, as Charles had said, "around there somewhere." He was lying by his master's side, among the willows, no doubt wondering at the strange things that were going on, and, well-trained as he was, it was with great difficulty that Frank could keep him quiet. The coast-guards crossed the wharf with noiseless steps, and, unfastening the skiff which the smugglers had just used, they climbed down into it, and pushed off toward the Alert. A few strokes brought them alongside of her, and, thrusting their arms under the sail, they began the examination which the smugglers had so much dreaded. "What do you find?" inquired Charles, who still kept watch at the top of the bank. "Here are a lot of baskets and pails," said one "And here's the large basket that George and Harry brought," said another. "What are these round things in this bag, I wonder?" said the one who had first spoken. "Oh, those are the lemons I brought," said Charles. "Gracious! how hard they are!" continued the boy, trying to dig his fingers into them. At this, Frank and William, who, of course, had heard every word of the conversation, and had sat fairly trembling with excitement, fearful that their trick would be discovered, could scarcely refrain from laughing outright. Had it been daylight, the ruse of the smugglers would certainly have been detected, but, as it was, the coast-guards never mistrusted that any thing was wrong. The night was rather dark, and the sham provisions were so neatly tied up, and so carefully stowed away, that the deception was complete. "I guess they are all here," said one of the boys, at length. "Well, come ashore, then," said Charles, "and let's be off." The boys pulled back to the wharf, and Charles continued, "I didn't think that the Alert would hold all of the refreshments, did you?" "No," answered one of the boys, whom the smugglers recognized as James Porter; "I guess it was a tight squeeze; I could hardly get my hand in between the baskets." "What do you suppose the smugglers intend to do?" inquired another. "I don't know," answered Charles, "unless they propose to get up in the morning before we do, and slip over to the island before we know it. I wonder how they felt when they saw us taking our positions." "But what do you suppose made them put the provisions in the Alert?" "Oh, I think I can see through that easily enough," said James. "Frank knows that we expected that he was going to carry them over to the island, and he calculates to get us to chase him and give the Alert a chance to land the provisions. He is a cunning fellow, but this time we are too sharp for him." "I wonder why Frank don't send some one out to act as a spy," said Charles. "I guess he's afraid that he would be taken prisoner." We may as well state here (and we should have done so before) that it had been agreed that if one side could catch any of the other acting as spies, they were at liberty to hold them as prisoners until the race was over, and that the prisoner should, if required, give his captors all the information possible relative to the movements and plans of his party, and they could also require him to lend assistance in carrying out their own. The prisoner, of course, was allowed the privilege of escaping, if he could. This _was_ the reason why the smugglers had not sent out any spies; and, if the coast-guards had been aware that Frank and William were hidden away in the willows, they could easily have captured them, and, according to the agreement, obliged them to divulge all their plans. "Well," said Charles, "we don't want any prisoners now, for we know all their plans; but I wanted to catch Frank this morning, for I was afraid he would beat us. If he should find out that this trick was discovered, he would plan another in five minutes. I guess we had better remain where we are to-night," he continued, "and, at half-past two o'clock, we will pull out into the river, and blockade the creek. All we have to do is to take care of the Alert, and let the other boats do as they please. But we had better be off, or the smugglers may slip out and make some of us prisoners." And the spies departed as cautiously and quickly as they had come. As soon as they had gone, the smugglers arose from their places of concealment, and stole into the house, and acquainted the other boys with the success of their stratagem. After enjoying a hearty laugh at the expense of the coast-guards, led by George and Harry, they ran up stairs into the "large chamber," a room containing three beds, and they were soon snug between the sheets. But sleep was, for a long time, out of the question; they laughed and talked until their jaws ached, and the hands of the old clock that stood in the room pointed to twelve; then they allowed their tired tongues to rest, and lay for a long time, each occupied with his own thoughts, and, finally, one after the other fell asleep. The hours passed on, and nothing was heard but their gentle breathing. Suddenly Harry, who always talked in his sleep when any thing exciting was going on, turned over in bed with a jerk, and began to mutter some unintelligible words. All at once, raising himself to a sitting posture, he sang out, at the top of his voice, "Starboard your helm there, George--starboard your helm; bring her around quick. The Alert can show as clean a pair of heels as any boat about the village." In an instant the other boys were awake, and Harry continued to shout his directions, until several hearty thumps on the back caused him to change his tune. "Let me alone!" he shouted. "We haven't cheated you. We promised to carry the provisions all over in one boat, and we've done it." Harry was quickly dragged out of bed and placed upon his feet, and he was wide awake in an instant, but he stood in the middle of the room, as if bewildered, while the others rolled on the beds, convulsed with laughter. At length, William Johnson, who was the first that could speak, inquired, "I wonder what time it is." "Wait until I light this candle, and we'll see," said George. "No, no, don't do that," said Frank. "The coast-guards may be on the watch, and, if they see a light in the house, will be getting ready for us." And, going to the clock, he opened it, and, feeling of the hands, said, "It's about ten minutes to three." "What shall we do?" inquired Ben. "Let us go and see what our friends of the squadron are doing," said Thomas; "and, if they are not on hand, we can slip over and land our goods." By this time every one was dressed, and they crept carefully down stairs and out of the house. "Hold on a minute, boys," said Frank. "I will bet there are spies around that boat-house now." "Let's take them prisoners," exclaimed Harry. "That's just what I was about to propose," said Frank; "but, in order to do it, we had better divide into two parties, so as to surround the house." "Well," said George, "three of us will go up the road, and cross over by the bridge, and the rest of you can go down the road, and get into the willows behind the mill." "That's a good idea," said Frank. "We will meet at the back of the boat-house." The boys accordingly separated, and started in different directions. Frank and his party, which consisted of Harry and Ben, threaded their way through the garden, and across a meadow, until they arrived opposite Mr. Butler's mill. Here they crossed the road, and, after a careful reconnoissance, entered the willows, and crawled, almost on their hands and knees, toward the boat-house. At length they arrived at the place where they were to meet their companions, but nothing was to be seen or heard of them. "I hope they have not been taken prisoners," whispered Frank. "I don't think they have," said Ben, "because we should have heard something of it. They are not the ones to give up without a struggle. But I don't see any thing of the spies." "Neither do I," said Harry. "They must be around the other side of the boat-house." "If they are there," said Frank, "we will soon make them show themselves." And, as he spoke, he seized a branch above his head, and shook it violently. "Oh, that's no way," whispered Harry, excitedly; "you will frighten the--" "--sh! there they are!" said Frank. And, as he spoke, the smugglers saw a boy come cautiously around the corner of the boat-house. He gazed impatiently toward the willows, and uttered a low whistle. Frank instantly answered it, and the boy came down the bank, and said, in a low voice, "Come out here, Jim. I thought you would never relieve us. No signs of the smugglers yet--" "You must be mistaken," said Frank, springing lightly from his concealment; and, before the coast-guard could recover from his surprise, he found himself a prisoner. "Don't make any noise," said Frank. "Where's your companion? There must be two of you." "Yes, there is another one," answered the prisoner. "Ned Wilbur is around the other side of the boat-house." "Well, Ben," said Frank, "if you will watch this fellow, Harry and I will see what we can do for Ned." So saying, he went carefully around one side of the boat-house, and Harry disappeared around the other. Frank reached the end of the house first, and discovered the coast-guard standing in the door-way, as motionless as a statue. He was waiting for Harry to make his appearance at the opposite end, when the sentinel suddenly uttered an ejaculation of surprise, and bounded up the bank; but, just as he reached the top, a dark form, which seemed to rise out of the ground, clasped the fleeting coast-guard in its arms, and a voice, which Frank recognized as William Johnson's, said, in a low whisper, "You're my prisoner!" "It's just my luck," said the crest-fallen sentinel, bitterly, as William led him down the bank. "I told Charley Sheldon that we would be sure to be gobbled up if we were stationed here. Now, I suppose, you want me to tell all our plans." "No, we don't," answered Harry; "we know all your plans already." By this time the smugglers had all come in, and, holding fast to their captives, they held a consultation, in which it was decided that it would be best to reconnoiter before attempting to leave the creek. It was very dark, and not a sound broke the stillness of the night; but the smugglers were too cunning to believe that the coast was clear, for they knew that the enemy would resort to every possible means to effect their capture. Three of the smugglers were directed to get into Mr. Butler's yawl, taking one of the prisoners with them, and drop down to the mouth of Glen's Creek, and note the position of the enemy there; and Frank and the other boys stepped into the skiff, and started up toward Ducks' Creek, to ascertain the condition of affairs, taking Ned with them. They pulled rapidly, but noiselessly, along, and had almost reached the creek, when a strong, cheery voice, directly before them, called out, "Boat ahoy!" "There," whispered Harry, "we're discovered." "No, I guess not," said Frank. "Ned," he continued, turning to the prisoner, "you must talk for us. Answer them." "Ay, ay, sir," shouted Ned, in reply to the hail. "What boat is that?" "Dispatch boat," answered Ned, prompted by Frank; "and we bring orders for you to pull down and join the fleet, which is now blockading the mouth of Glen's Creek." "All right," answered the voice. "We've been waiting an hour for that order. This playing police is dull business." And the smugglers heard the rattling of a chain, as if the anchor was being pulled up. "Tell them to make haste," whispered Frank. "Come, hurry up there, now," shouted Ned. "Ay, ay," was the answer. And, in a few moments, the Sampson, propelled by four oars, shot past them, on her way down the creek. "That's what I call pretty well done," said Ben, as soon as the coast-guards were out of hearing. "I don't," said Ned. "It goes against me to fool a fellow in that way; and my own friends, too." The smugglers now continued on their way, and a few strong pulls brought them within a short distance of the mouth of Ducks' Creek; and Frank, who was at the helm, turned the boat's head toward the shore, and, as soon as her keel touched the bottom, he and Ben sprang out, leaving Harry to watch the prisoner. They had landed upon Reynard's Island, and immediately started for the opposite side, to learn, if possible, what was going on upon the river. Every thing was as silent as midnight; and the smugglers were obliged to move very carefully, for the slightest sound--the snapping of a twig or the rustling of a leaf--could be heard at a long distance. After proceeding a quarter of a mile in this cautious manner, they reached the opposite side of the island. "Well," said Ben, after trying in vain to peer through the darkness, "how do matters stand? I wonder if we could not have slipped by their police, and reached the island, before they knew it?" "No, sir," said Frank, "not by a good deal. We should certainly have been captured." "How do you know? I can't see any thing." "Neither can I; but listen, and you will _hear_ something. They are taking their positions." The boys remained silent, and the suppressed murmur of voices, the strokes of muffled oars, and, now and then, a gentle splashing in the water, as of an anchor dropped carefully overboard, could be distinctly heard. "I am still of the opinion," said Ben, "that we could run the blockade before they could catch us." "And I still think that we should get caught," said Frank. "If we should attempt to hoist a sail, it could be heard across the river; besides, there is no breeze." "Then, try the oars." "They would overtake us before we had gone twenty rods. You must remember that they outnumber us, six to one, and could easily tire us out, or cut us off from the island. Wait until the breeze springs up, and then we will see what we can do." "Listen," whispered Ben, suddenly; "some of the boats are coming down this way. They are sending a division of the fleet to guard Ducks' Creek." And so it proved. The slow, measured strokes of oars came nearer and nearer, and, finally, the tall, raking masts of three of the swiftest-sailing boats in the squadron could be dimly seen moving down the river toward the creek. As they approached, the smugglers discovered that two boys, in a light skiff, led the way, and one of them, who proved to be Charles Sheldon, pointed out the position he wished each boat to occupy. The places assigned them were not directly opposite the mouth of the creek, but a little up the river, and about twenty feet from the shore; and this, afterward, proved to be a very favorable circumstance for the smugglers. "Now, boys," said Charles, after he had placed the little vessels to his satisfaction, "keep a good look-out up the river." "I should think," said the captain of the division "that you ought to have us anchor directly in the mouth of the creek. We shall have a good stiff breeze before long, and the Alert might slip out at any time, and, before we could hoist a sail, she would be half-way across the river." "I don't think she will trouble you down here," said Charles. "Frank Nelson wouldn't be foolish enough to send her out here, for it's a good quarter of a mile below the foot of the island; and, even if she does come out here, and succeeds in getting by you, all we will have to do will be to send a division down to the foot of the island to meet her there, and then her capture is certain. Now, remember, keep an eye open to everything that goes on up the river. Never mind the Speedwell and Champion--let them go where they please; but, if you see the Alert, why, you know what to do." And Charles and his attendant pulled back up the river. "Now, Ben," said Frank, "we've heard enough to know that we have fooled them nicely; so let's go back." This, however, was no easy undertaking. The way to their boat lay through bushes that could scarcely be penetrated, even in the day-time. The coast-guards were anchored close by the shore, and the slightest noise would arouse their suspicions. Frank led the way on his hands and knees, carefully choosing his ground, and they, at length, succeeded in reaching their boat, without disturbing the coast-guards. A few moments' pulling brought them alongside Mr. Butler's wharf, where they found the others waiting for them. "What news?" inquired George, as they clambered up out of the boat. Frank explained, in a few words, the position of the squadron at the mouth of Ducks' Creek, as well as the conversation they had overheard, and also inquired of George the result of his observations. "It was too dark to see much," he answered; "but we could plainly hear them taking their positions opposite the mouth of the creek. It will be hard work to get through them, I tell you." "How are you going to work it, Frank?" inquired Ben. "I'll tell you what I thought of doing," he answered "By the way Charley Sheldon spoke, I should judge that he expects to see the Alert start from Glen's Creek; so, I think, it would be a good plan, as soon as the breeze springs up, to have the Champion and Alert drop down Ducks' Creek, and let the former run out and start for the island. The coast-guards will not give chase, of course, but will think it is only a ruse of ours to make them believe that the Alert is going to start from the same place, and that will make them watch Glen's Creek closer than ever, and the Alert will have a chance to get a good start before they can hoist their sails, and, while they are after her, Ben and I will run out and land our goods." "That's the way to do it," said William, approvingly. "We will fool them so completely that they will not want to hear of smugglers again for six months." "Let's go and get some breakfast," said George. "Never go to work on an empty stomach, you know." "Yes, come on," said Harry, taking each of the captive coast-guards by the arm; "we never feed our prisoners on half rations." After "stowing away" a large supply of bread and milk, the smugglers, in company with their prisoners, again repaired to the boat-house. By this time it was five o'clock, and the breeze which the coast-guards had predicted began to spring up, and promised to freshen into a capital "sailing wind." In a few moments the _real_ provisions were all packed away, as closely as possible, in the Speedwell, and the load was as large as she could well carry, there being scarcely room enough left for the action of the sails. "I guess we are all ready now," said Frank; "so, Bill, you might as well drop down Ducks' Creek and sail out." "All right," answered William. And he and Thomas clambered down into the boat, with the prisoners, the sails were hoisted, and the Champion was soon hidden from sight by the tall reeds and bushes that lined the banks of the creek. "Now, Harry," continued Frank, "Ben and I will take our boat and hide behind the point, and, in about five minutes, you may follow the Champion." "Now, make use of your best seamanship," said Ben. "You can lead them a long chase, if you try." "I assure you that we will do our best," said George. The Speedwell's sails were hoisted, and Frank took his seat at the helm, while Ben placed himself so as to assist in managing the sails. Brave took his usual station in the bow, and they moved slowly down the creek. The point of which Frank had spoken was a long, low neck of land, covered with trees, which completely concealed the mouth of Glen's Creek. In a few moments they reached this point, and the Speedwell's bow ran high upon the sand, and the boys sprang out, and hurried over to the other side of the point, to watch the proceedings on the river, while Brave, at his master's command, remained in the boat. Concealing themselves behind a large log, they waited impatiently for the appearance of the Champion. The vessels of the squadron, with the exception of the division stationed at the foot of Reynard's Island, were anchored in a semicircle directly before the mouth of Glen's Creek, from which it was expected that the Alert would start. Each sloop was manned by two boys, and the schooners had a crew of four. Every one stood at his post, and was ready to move at the word. "They meant to be ready for us, didn't they?" asked Frank. "I wonder if they thought we would be foolish enough to send the Alert out of this creek, in the face of all those boats?" "I don't know," answered Ben. "I suppose they thought--See there! there goes the Champion." Frank looked down the river, and saw that the stanch little sloop had already run the blockade, and was standing boldly toward the island. Her appearance was sudden and wholly unexpected and several of the coast-guards sprang to their feet, and a dozen sails were half-way up the mast in a twinkling; but, as soon as they discovered that it was not the Alert, they quickly returned to their posts, and, in a moment, all the bustle and confusion was over. The eye of every boy in the squadron was now directed toward Glen's Creek, expecting, every moment, to see the schooner round the point. The Champion had accomplished, perhaps, half the distance across the river, when the Alert suddenly shot from Ducks' Creek, and, hauling around before the wind, ran in between two of the blockading fleet, so close as to almost graze them, and stood toward the foot of the island. As soon as the coast-guards could recover from their surprise, Charles shouted, "Up anchor--quick!" The next moment he called out, "Jim, take your division, and creep down the shore of the island, and be ready to catch her there, if she gets away from us." For a few moments there was a "great hurrying" among the coast-guards. The anchors were drawn up with a jerk, the sails flew up the masts, and the little fleet bore rapidly down upon the smuggler. As soon as Frank saw that the race had fairly begun, he exclaimed, "Now's our time, Ben!" They ran back to their boat, and hastily shoved from the shore, and the Speedwell, making good her name, was soon plowing the river, in the direction of the island. So intent were the coast-guards upon catching the Alert, that they thought of nothing else; and Frank rounded the head of the island, and landed, without being discovered. Meanwhile, George and Harry were leading their pursuers a long chase. Under their skillful management--standing first on one tack and then on the other--they had succeeded in outmaneuvering several of the swiftest-sailing vessels in the squadron. Two or three small sloops had succeeded in getting between the Alert and the island; but Harry, who was at the helm, did not deem them worthy a moment's notice. He was confident that his schooner, by her superior sailing qualities, would soon leave these behind also. The smugglers began to grow jubilant over their success, and George called out, "Where are your men-o'-war now? Throw us a line, and we'll tow you." "Come on, you coast-guards," chimed in Harry. "You will never catch us, at this rate." If the smugglers _had_ succeeded in eluding their pursuers, it would, indeed, have been an achievement worth boasting of; but they had to deal with those who were as cunning and skillful as themselves. Charles was not to be beaten so easily; and, although he said nothing, the smugglers saw him smile and shake his head, as if he were certain that he could yet win the day. "Can you discover any fast boats ahead of us, George?" inquired Harry. George rose to his feet to take a survey of the squadron, and answered, "No, there are only two or three little things standing across our bows, but we'll soon--We're caught, sure as shooting!" he suddenly exclaimed, changing his tone. "Bring her around before the wind--quick! There's the North Star, Sunshine, and Sampson. We might as well haul down the sails." James Porter's division, which had been "laying to" at the foot of Glen's Island, now bore down upon the Alert, and George had just discovered them; and they were coming on in such a manner that escape was impossible. "Yes," answered Harry, as soon as he had noted the positions of the approaching vessels, "we are caught. We began to brag too soon." "Well, we don't lose any thing," said George. "Frank has landed the provisions long before this." "I know it; but still I wish we could have beaten them." "What do you think now, Harry?" asked Charles, whose boat was following close in the wake of the Alert. "I think we are done for." And, as Harry "luffed in the wind," George drew down the sails, and gave up the struggle. In a moment the little fleet closed about the smuggler, and, to prevent accident, the sails were all hauled down, and the boats lay motionless on the water. "I tell you," said Charles, "you fellows worked it pretty well." "Yes," answered George, as if a little crest-fallen at their defeat. "We did the best we could." "I thought we had more provisions than this," said one of the captains of the squadron, pulling his boat alongside of the Alert. "I didn't think you could get them all in here." And he pulled up the covering, and looked under it. "They are packed in tight, you see," said Harry, who wished to keep up the "sell," as he called it, as long as possible. "What are in these bags?" inquired one. "Shavings," answered George. "We thought we might want to kindle a fire for something." "I say, George," said James Porter, standing up in his boat to get a good view of the things in the Alert. "I wish you would feel in my basket, and get a cup that is in there, and pass it over this way. I'm thirsty. I was so excited," he continued, taking off his hat and wiping the perspiration from his forehead, "that I sweat as if I had been dumped in the river. There isn't a dry rag on me." "Which is your basket?" inquired Harry, struggling hard to suppress a laugh. "It's a brown basket, with a white cover," answered James. George and Harry were too full of laughter to trust themselves to speak; but Charles exclaimed, as he drew aside the covering, "There's no brown basket here." "There ought to be," said one of the coast-guards; "I brought my things in a brown basket." "So did I," exclaimed another. "There's a cheat somewhere," said James. "You haven't done as you agreed," said Charles. "You promised to carry all the things in one boat." "Yes, that's what you agreed to do," shouted several. "And we've kept our promise," said Harry. "Then, where's _my_ basket?" inquired one of the boys, who had failed to discover it among the things in the Alert. "I'll bet the Champion carried some of the provisions over," said another, "for there are not half of them here." "No, the Champion didn't have a thing in her," said a third. "She passed so close to my boat, that I could have jumped into her, and I took particular pains to see that she was empty." "Well, here are the things that I brought, at any rate," said Charles, who had just caught sight of the bag which contained, as he supposed, his lemons. "My goodness!" he continued, as he lifted them out of the boat, "how heavy they are!" And he began to untie the bag, and soon disclosed to the view of the coast-guards, not the lemons, but almost half a peck of smooth, round stones. George and Harry, who could contain themselves no longer, rolled on the bottom of the boat, convulsed with laughter; and several ready hands tore off the coverings of the baskets and pails, and they were found to be empty. A more astonished set of boys one never saw; and, as soon as they could speak, they burst out with a volley of ejaculations that will hardly bear repetition. "We've been chasing the wrong boat," said one. "Yes," answered another, "and I knew it would be so. That Frank Nelson is too much of a Yankee for us." "The Speedwell--the Speedwell!" shouted another; "keep a good look-out for her." "Oh, you're too late," said Harry, with a laugh, "the provisions were landed long ago." "I don't believe it. I didn't see any thing of her." "Of course you didn't," said Charles; "you were too intent on catching the Alert. Boys," he continued, "we're fairly beaten. Let's start for the island." The coast-guards silently obeyed, and the smugglers refrained from making any remarks, for they saw that the squadron's crew took their defeat sorely to heart. In a few moments the little fleet rounded the foot of the island, and the boys discovered the Champion and Speedwell, lying with their bows high upon the sand, and their crews were busy carrying the provisions under the shade of a large oak, that stood near the water's edge. As soon as the last vessel came in sight, the smugglers on shore greeted them with three hearty cheers, which George and Harry answered with a will, but the coast-guards remained silent. In a few moments they had all landed, and the smugglers joined their companions; and Charles took off his hat, and said to the coast-guards, "Boys, I want to have just one word with you. We have been beaten," he continued, as they gathered silently about him, "completely outwitted; but it was fairly done. We took all the advantage of the smugglers that we could, but they have beaten us at our own game. I feel as cheap as any of you do, but it can't be helped now; and there's no use of having unpleasant feelings about it, for that would spoil a good day's sport. If we didn't catch them, we did our best, and we had a good, exciting race--one that I wouldn't have missed for a good deal. Now, boys, show that you appreciate the good trick that has been played on us, by giving the smugglers three hearty cheers." This little speech--showing Charles to be a boy of good feeling--had the effect of convincing the coast-guards that to manifest any ill-will at their defeat would be both unkind and selfish, and the cheer that rose from forty strong lungs was almost deafening. The smugglers, who had heard what Charles had said, cheered lustily, in turn, for the coast-guards, and instantly every unkind feeling vanished. The coast-guards readily entered into conversation with the smugglers, and the latter explained the trick of which they had made use, as well as the manner in which the capture of the prisoners was affected, and the adventure with the police-boat; and, although the coast-guards were provoked at themselves for "not having more sense," as they termed it, they could not refrain from joining in a hearty laugh. By this time the refreshments had all been carried under the tree of which we have spoken, where there was a smooth grass-plat, which made a nice place to set the table. The boys had spent some time relating various incidents that had occurred during the chase, when Ben suddenly inquired, "Well, boys, what's to be the order of the day? You know that we came over here to enjoy ourselves, and we had better be about it." "I think," said Charles, "that it would be a good plan to appoint a committee to arrange those eatables. We came away without our breakfast, and I, for one, feel hungry." "There's where we had the advantage of you," said Thomas. "While you were hurrying around, and taking your positions, we were eating our breakfast. You see, we took matters easy." "And beat us, after all," said one of the coast-guards; "it's too bad. But let's have that committee appointed." A dozen boys were speedily chosen to set the table, and the others, catching up all the empty pails and baskets they could find, scattered over the island in search of strawberries. In about an hour they met again under the tree, and found the refreshments all ready for them, and they fell to work in earnest. So full were they of their sport, that it took them two hours to eat their dinner, as they had said they had come to enjoy themselves, and felt in duty bound to eat all their baskets contained. After dinner, one of the smugglers proposed to go squirrel-hunting; but many of the coast-guards had passed the preceding night without any sleep, and, to use their own expression, they "didn't feel like it;" so this project was abandoned, and the boys lay on the grass, under the tree, telling stories, until almost three o'clock, and then began to get ready to start for home. CHAPTER X. A Queer Cousin. As every one knows, it would be almost an impossibility for sixteen sail-boats to go any where in company without trying their speed, especially if they were sailed by boys. When our heroes stepped into their vessels, each skipper made up his mind that his boat must be the first one to touch the opposite shore. Not a word was said about a race, but every one knew that one would be sure to come off. Every thing was done in a hurry, and the little vessels were all afloat in a moment. They were on the leeward side of the island--that is, the side from the wind--and they would be obliged to get around to the opposite side before they could use their sails. The coast-guards shoved their boats out into the current, and allowed themselves to float down toward the foot of the island, thinking that course easier than pulling, against the current, up to the head of the island. Frank noticed this movement, and said, in a low voice, to the smugglers, "Don't follow them, boys. They will find themselves becalmed in less than a quarter of an hour. The breeze is dying away. If you want to beat them, hoist your sails, and get out your oars, and row up to the head of the island; we can reach it before they reach the foot, and, besides, the current will carry them further down the river than they want to go." The smugglers did as Frank had directed; and as they moved from the shore, and turned up the river, one of the coast-guards called out, "Where are you fellows going?" "Home," answered Ben. "You are taking the longest and hardest way." "The longest way around is the nearest way home, you know," answered William. "I don't believe it is, in this instance," said James Porter. "Let's see who will be at the long dock first." "All right," answered the smugglers. And they disappeared behind a high-wooded promontory of the island. It was hard work, pulling against a current that ran four miles an hour, but they were accustomed to it, and the thought of again beating the coast-guards gave strength to their arms. In a few moments a sudden filling of the sails announced that they had caught the breeze. The oars were drawn in, and every sheet hauled taut, and, when they rounded the head of the island, not one of the squadron was in sight. "I expected," said Harry, speaking in a loud voice, so that the others could hear, "that they would feel the wind long before this." "Even if they had," answered Frank, "we could have beaten them easily enough. You see, when they come around the foot of the island, they will be some distance below the long dock, and the current will carry them still further down, while we are above it, and can sail right down to it. Here they come!" The boys looked down the river, and saw the men-o'-war rapidly following each other around the foot of the island. "I guess they have discovered their mistake before this time," said William. "Now," he continued, as he drew his mainsail down a little closer "the Champion is going to be the first to sail into the creek." "That's the game, is it?" said Frank. "Ben, perch yourself up on the windward side, and we'll see which is the best boat." Ben did as he was desired, and the little vessels increased their speed, and bounded over the gentle swells as if some of their crews' spirit had been infused into them. They had started nearly even--the Alert and Champion being a little in advance of the Speedwell--and the boys knew that the race was to be a fair trial of the speed of their boats. The Alert and Speedwell had never been "matched" before, and the boys were anxious to learn their comparative speed. The former was the "champion" boat of the village, and Harry and George were confident that Frank's "tub," as they jokingly called it, would soon be distanced. Frank thought so, too; but the reputation of owning the swiftest boat in the village was well worth trying for, and he determined to do his best. Since his race with the Champion, he had made larger sails for his boat, and added a flying-jib and a gaff-topsail, and he found that her speed was almost doubled. The Champion soon fell behind, and the two rival boats were left to finish the race, which, for a long time, seemed undecided. But, at length, the Speedwell, with her strong mast groaning and creaking under the weight of the heavy canvas, began to gain steadily, and soon passed the Alert. Ten minutes' run brought them across the river; and when Frank, proud of the victory he had gained, rounded the long dock, the Alert was full four rods behind. The breeze was rapidly dying away, and not one of the coast-guards had yet reached the shore. Some of them had been carried almost a mile below the creek, and lay with the sails idly flapping against the masts. Frank and Ben sailed slowly along up the creek, and, when they arrived at the end of the dock, the Speedwell was "made fast," and the boys started to get their mail. As they entered the post-office, Frank stepped up to the "pigeon-hole," and the postmaster handed him two letters; one was addressed to his mother, and the other bore his own name, written in a full, round, school-boy's hand. "Ben," he exclaimed, as he broke the seal, "I've got a letter from Archie. I wrote to him a month ago; I should think it was about time to get an answer." "See if he says any thing about getting a letter from me," said Ben. "I haven't heard from him in a long time." Before proceeding further, it may not be improper to say a word about Archie Winters. He was, as we have already said, Frank's cousin, and lived in the city of Portland. He was just Frank's age, and, like him, was kind and generous; but he was not the boy for books. When in school, he was an obedient and industrious pupil, and learned very readily; but, when four o'clock came, he was the first to lay aside his books. He was very fond of rural sports, and, for a city boy, was a very expert hunter; he even considered himself able to compete with Frank. He was also passionately fond of pets, and, if he could have had his own way, he would have possessed every cat and dog in the city. His father was a wealthy ship-builder, and Archie was an only child. But he was not, as is generally the case, spoiled by indulgence; on the contrary, his parents always required his prompt and cheerful obedience, and, when out of their sight, Archie was very careful to do nothing of which he thought his parents would not approve. Every vacation he paid a visit to his cousin, and sometimes staid until late in the winter, to engage in his favorite sport. He was well known to the village boys, among whom his easy and obliging manners had won many a steadfast friend. But let us now return to the letter, which ran as follows: PORTLAND, _June_ 28, 18--. DEAR COUSIN: Your letter of the 16th of last month was duly received, and, I suppose, you think it is about time for me to answer it. They say that a person who is good at making excuses is good for nothing else; but, I suppose, you will expect some apology for my seeming neglect. You perhaps remember hearing your mother speak of James Sherman, a cousin whom we had never seen. About two weeks since, father received a letter from his mother, stating that she and James would be at our house in about three days. Well, they came agreeably to notice, and I have had the pleasure of entertaining our cousin ever since. I have had to pilot him around, and show him all the sights, and I have had time for nothing else. I will not tell you what sort of a fellow he is; I will leave you to judge of his general character, etc. He and his mother are now on their way to Lawrence, and they expect to be at your house about the 6th (July). They intend to remain about two weeks. When I saw them getting into the train, and knew that in a few days they would be with you, I wanted very much to accompany them. But mother says _one_ noisy boy in the house is sufficient. (I wonder whether she means you or James!) But as soon as they have ended their visit, if nothing happens, you may expect to see our family landing from the Julia Burton, some fine morning. I have been pent up in the city now almost six months, and I am impatient to get into the country again--especially among the trout-streams about your quiet little village. I have often thought of the sport we had the day we went up to Dungeon Brook. I know it rained hard, but the string of trout we caught beat any thing of the kind I ever happened to see. But I've got some good news for you. Father has decided to spend part of the winter at Uncle Joe's, and he promises to take you and me with him; so you can begin to pack up your duds as soon as you wish. That trout-pole you made for me last winter met with a serious accident a few days since. One of my schoolmates invited me to go up the river with him, and try a perch-bed he had accidentally discovered. I had sent off my heavy pole to the painters, so I was obliged to take my trout-pole. I was afraid that I should break it, but it behaved beautifully for about two hours, during which time I drew in sixty fine perch and rock-bass--some of the former weighing between one and two pounds--and I began to think that the pole was too tough to break. But I was very soon convinced of my mistake, for, as bad luck would have it, I hooked on to a black-bass. I thought I handled him very carefully, but, before we could land him, he broke my pole in three pieces; but the line held, and he was soon floundering in the boat. He was a fine fellow--a regular "sockdologer"--weighing six pounds and a half. But I heartily wished him safe in the bottom of the river. I have laid the pole away, and intend to bring it to you for repairs. But it is ten o'clock, and father suggests that, if I wish to get to the post-office before the mail closes, I had "better make tracks." So I must stop. Love to all. Yours affectionately, A. Winters. P.S.--Please tell Ben and Harry that I will answer their letters immediately. A.W. By this time the rest of the smugglers had arrived, and, as soon as Frank had run his eye over the letter, and began to fold it up, George inquired, "Well, what does he say? Did he receive Harry's letter?" "Yes, and also one from Ben. He says he will answer them at once." After a few moments' conversation, the boys separated, and started for home, expressing themselves highly delighted at Frank's way of spending the Fourth. The day on which Mrs. Sherman and her son were expected at length arrived. As a fine breeze was blowing, Frank and his sister--accompanied, of course, by Brave--stepped into the Speedwell, and started to enjoy a sail on the river. It was now the summer vacation, and the boys were determined to have plenty of recreation after their long siege of study; and, when Frank reached the mouth of the creek, he found the river dotted with white sails as far as he could see. Several of the boats had started on fishing excursions, but the majority of them were sailing idly about, as if nothing particular had been determined on. Frank turned the Speedwell's head down the river, and soon joined the little fleet. He had hoisted every stitch of canvas his boat could carry, and she flew along, passing several of the swiftest vessels, and finally encountered the Alert. The race was short, for the Speedwell easily passed her, and George and Harry were compelled to acknowledge that, to use their own expression, "the Alert was nowhere." In about two hours the Julia Burton was seen rounding the point, and a loud, clear whistle warned the villagers of her approach. Frank turned the Speedwell toward home, and arrived at the wharf about ten minutes after the steamer had landed. As they sailed along up the creek, Julia suddenly exclaimed, "I wonder who those people are!" Frank turned, and saw a lady just getting into a carriage, and a boy, apparently about his own age, stood by, giving orders, in a loud voice, to the driver, about their baggage. Both were dressed in the hight of fashion, and Frank knew, from the description his aunt had given his mother, that they were the expected visitors. As soon as the boy had satisfied himself that their baggage was safe, he continued, in a voice loud enough to be heard by Frank and his sister, "Now, driver, you're sure you know where Mrs. Nelson lives?" "Yes, sir," answered the man, respectfully. "Well, then, old beeswax, hurry up. Show us how fast your cobs can travel." So saying, he sprang into the carriage, and the driver closed the door after him, mounted to his seat, and drove off. "Why," said Julia, in surprise, "I guess that's Aunt Harriet--don't you?" "Yes," answered her brother, "I know it is." "I am afraid I shall not like James," continued Julia; "he talks too loud." Frank did not answer, for he was of the same opinion. He had inferred from Archie's letter that James would prove any thing but an agreeable companion. The brisk wind that was blowing carried them rapidly along, and, in a few moments, they came to a place where the road ran along close to the creek. The distance to Mrs. Nelson's, by the road, was greater, by a quarter of a mile, than by the creek, and, consequently, they had gained considerably on the carriage. Soon they heard the rattling of wheels behind them, and the hack came suddenly around a turn in the road. James was leaning half-way out of the window, his cap pushed on one side of his head, and, not knowing Frank, he accosted him, as he came up, with his favorite expression. "Hallo, old beeswax! Saw-logs must have been cheap when you had that boat built. You've got timber enough there to finish off a good-sized barn." Frank, of course, made no reply; and, in a moment more, the hack was out of sight. They soon reached the wharf, in front of the house, and Frank helped Julia out, and, after making his boat fast, started toward the house, and entered the room where their visitors were seated. His aunt's greeting was cold and distant, and she acted as if her every motion had been thoroughly studied. James's acknowledgment was scarcely more than agreeable. To Frank's inquiry, "How do you do, sir?" he replied, "Oh, I'm bully, thank you, old beeswax. Not you the cod I twigged[A] navigating that scow up the creek?" [Footnote A: Saw.] Frank acknowledged himself to be the person, and James continued, "I suppose she's the champion yacht, isn't she?" "Yes," answered Frank, "she is. There's no boat about the village that can beat her." "Ah, possibly; but, after all, you had better tell that to the marines. I've seen too much of the world to have a country chap stuff me, now I tell you, old beeswax." We will not particularize upon James's visit. It will suffice to relate one or two incidents that will illustrate his character. A day or two after his arrival, he discovered the schooner standing on Frank's bureau, and he could not be contented until he should see "how she carried herself in the water," and Frank, reluctantly, carried it down to the creek and set it afloat. For a few moments James seemed to have forgotten his evil propensities, and they amused themselves by sailing the schooner from one side of the creek to the other. But he very soon grew tired of this "lame, unexciting sport," as he called it, and, gathering up an armful of stones, he began to throw them into the water near the boat, shouting, "Storm on the Atlantic! See her rock!" "Please don't, James," urged Frank; "I'm afraid you will hit the schooner." "No fear of that," answered James, confidently, still continuing to throw the stones; "I can come within a hair's-breadth of her, and not touch her. Now, see." And, before Frank could speak, away flew a large stone, with great force, and, crashing through the mainsail of the little vessel, broke both masts and the bowsprit short off. "There," exclaimed Frank, "I was afraid you would do that." James did not appear to be in the least sorry for it, but he skipped up the bank, shouting, in an insulting tone, "There's your boat, old beeswax. When do you expect her in port?" Frank did not answer, but drew what remained of the schooner to the shore, and, taking it under his arm, started for his shop, saying, "Now, that's a nice cousin for a fellow to have. I'll do my best to treat him respectfully while he stays, but I shall not be sorry when the time comes to bid him good-by." And that time was not far distant. James often complained to his mother that Frank was a "low-minded, mean fellow," and urged an immediate departure. His mother always yielded to his requests, or rather _demands_, no matter how unreasonable they might be; and they had scarcely made a visit of a week, when they announced their intention of leaving Lawrence by the "next boat." On the day previous to their departure, Mrs. Nelson had occasion to send Frank to the village for some groceries, and, as a favorable wind was blowing, he decided to go in his boat. But, before starting, he managed to slip away from James long enough to write a few lines to Archie, urging him to come immediately. Frank intended to start off without James's knowledge; but the uneasy fellow was always on the look-out, and, seeing his cousin going rapidly down the walk, with a basket on each arm, and his dog--which, like his master, had not much affection for James--he shouted, "Hallo, old beeswax, where are you bound for?" "For the village," answered Frank. "Are you going to take the tow-path?" "The tow-path! I don't know what you mean." "Are you going to ride shanks' horses?" "I don't understand that, either." "Oh, you are a bass-wood man, indeed," said James, with a taunting laugh. "Are you going to _walk_? Do you think you can comprehend me now?" "Yes," answered Frank, "I can understand you when you talk English. No, I am not going to walk." "Then I'll go with you, if you will leave that dog at home." "I don't see what objections you can have to his company. He always goes with me." "I suppose you think more of him than you do of your relations; but I'm going with you, at any rate." And he quickened his pace to overtake Frank. While his cousin was hoisting the sails, James deliberately seated himself in the stern of the boat, and took hold of the tiller. "Do you understand managing a sail-boat?" inquired Frank, as he stood ready to cast off the painter. "If any one else had asked me that question," answered James, with an air of injured dignity, "I should have considered it an insult. Of course I _do_." "All right, then," said Frank, as he pushed the boat from the wharf. "Go ahead. We shall be obliged to tack a good many times, going down but we can sail back like a book, and--" "Oh, you teach your grandmother, will you?" interrupted James. "I've sailed more boats than you ever saw." Frank, at first, did not doubt the truth of this assertion, for James lived in a seaport town, and had had ample opportunity to learn how to manage a yacht; but they had not made twenty feet from the wharf, when he made up his mind that his cousin had never before attempted to act as skipper. Instead of keeping as close as possible to the wind, as he should have done, he turned the boat's head first one way and then another, and, of course, made no headway at all. "I never saw such a tub as this," said James, at length; "I can't make her mind her helm." Just at this moment a strong gust of wind filled the sails, and, as James was not seaman enough to "luff" or "let go the sheet," the Speedwell same very near capsizing. As she righted, the wind again filled the sails, and the boat was driven with great speed toward the shore. Frank had barely time to pull up the center-board before her bows ran high upon the bank, and the sheet was roughly jerked from James's hand, and flapped loudly against the mast. "There," said Frank, turning to his cousin, who sat, pale with terror, "I guess it's a long time since you attempted to sail a boat; you seem to have forgotten how, I tell you," he continued as he noticed James's trepidation, "if I hadn't pulled up that center-board just as I did, we should have been obliged to swim for it." "I can't swim," said James, in a weak voice. "Then you would have been in a fix," said Frank. "Now, let me see if I can have any better luck." James very willingly seated himself on one of the middle thwarts, and Frank pushed the boat from the shore, and took hold of the tiller, and, under his skillful management, the Speedwell flew through the water like a duck. James soon got over his fright, and his uneasy nature would not allow him to remain long inactive, and, as he could find nothing else to do, he commenced to rock the boat from one side to the other, and, as she was "heeling" considerably, under the weight of her heavy canvas, the water began to pour in over her side. Although the speed of the boat was greatly diminished, Frank, for some time, made no complaint, hoping that his cousin would soon grow tired of the sport. But James did not seem inclined to cease, and Frank, at length, began to remonstrate. He reminded James that it would not require much to capsize the boat, and, as the creek was very deep, and as he (James) had said he could not swim, he might be a "gone sucker." This, at first, had the effect of making James more careful, but he soon commenced again as bad as ever. Brave was seated in his usual place, and directly behind James. He seemed to dislike the rocking of the boat as much as his master, but he bore it very patiently for awhile, thinking, no doubt, that the best way to deal with James was to "let him severely alone." But the rocking increased, and Brave began to slide from one side of the boat to the other. This was enough to upset his patience; and, encouraged, perhaps, by some sly glances from Frank, he sprang up, and, placing a paw on each shoulder of his tormentor, barked fiercely, close to his ear. James screamed loudly; and Brave, evidently thinking he had punished him enough, returned to his seat. "Let me ashore," shouted James; "I shan't stay in here any longer." Frank gladly complied, and, the moment the Speedwell's bows touched the bank, James sprang out. "I wouldn't risk my life in that tub again for any money," he shouted; "you may bet on that, old beeswax." Frank made no reply, but pushed the boat from the shore again as soon as possible. James now felt safe; and, gathering up a handful of stones, determined to wreak his vengeance on Brave. The sensible Newfoundlander, at first, paid no attention to this cowardly assault; but the stones whizzed by in unpleasant proximity, now and then striking the sail or the side of the boat, and he began to manifest his displeasure, by showing his teeth and growling savagely. Frank stood it as long as possible, knowing that the best plan was to remain silent; but James continued to follow the boat, and the stones struck all around the object of his vengeance. "I wish you wouldn't do that," said Frank, at length. "You do, eh?" said James. "How are you going to hinder it? But perhaps you would rather have me throw at you." And, picking up a large stone, he hurled it at his cousin with great force. It fell into the creek, close to the boat, and splashed the water all over Frank. This seemed to enrage Brave more than ever, and he sprang into the water, and swam toward the shore, and no amount of scolding on Frank's part could induce him to return. James, fearing that he was about to be punished in a way he had not thought of, turned and took to his heels. At this moment a loud shout was heard, and several boys sprang over the fence into the road, and James was speedily overtaken and surrounded. They were a ragged, hard-looking set of fellows, and Frank knew that they were the Hillers; besides, he recognized the foremost of them as Lee Powell. They had their fishing-rods on their shoulders, and each boy carried in his hand a long string of trout. "Look'e here, you spindle-shanked dandy," said Lee, striding up and laying hold of James's collar with no friendly hand, "does yer know who yer was a heavin' rocks at? Shall we punch him for yer?" he added, turning to Frank. "No," answered Frank; "let him go; he's my cousin." Lee accordingly released him, and James said, in a scarcely audible voice, "I was only in fun." "Oh, only playin', was yer?" said Lee; "that alters the case 'tirely--don't it, Pete?" The boy appealed to nodded his assent, and Lee continued, "We thought yer was in blood arnest. If yer _had_ been, we wouldn't a left a grease-spot of yer--would we, Pete?" "Mighty cl'ar of us," answered Pete. As soon as James found himself at liberty, he started toward home at full speed, hardly daring to look behind him. Brave had by this time gained the shore, and was about to start in pursuit, but a few sharp words from Frank restrained him. "Whar are yer goin'?" inquired Lee, walking carelessly down the bank. "I'm going to the village," answered Frank. "Will yer give a feller a ride?" "Certainly. Jump in." The Hillers accordingly clambered into the boat, and, in a few moments, they reached the wharf, at the back of the post-office. Lee and his companions immediately sprang out, and walked off, without saying a word; and Frank, after fastening his boat to the wharf, began to pull down the sails, when he discovered that the Hillers had left two large strings of trout behind them. Hastily catching them up, he ran around the corner of the post-office, and saw Lee and his followers, some distance up the road. "Hallo!" he shouted, at the top of his lungs; "Lee Powell!" But they paid no attention to him. "I know they heard me," said Frank. And he shouted again, but with no better success. At length, one of the village boys, who was coming across the fields, with a basket of strawberries on his arm, shouted to the Hillers, and, when he had gained their attention, pointed toward Frank, "See here!" Frank shouted, as he held up the fish; "you have forgotten these." "No, I guess not," shouted Lee, in reply. "We Hillers don't forget favors as easy as all that comes to. Ye're welcome to 'em." And he and his companions walked rapidly off. CHAPTER XI. Trout-Fishing. A few days after the events related in the preceding chapter transpired, Frank, with one or two companions, was standing in the post-office, waiting for the opening of the mail. The steamer had just landed, and the passengers which she had brought were slowly walking toward the hotel, where they intended to take dinner. At length, a village hack came rapidly down the road leading from the wharf, and, when it came opposite the post-office, a head was suddenly thrust out at the window, the driver reined in his horses, the door flew open, and Archie Winters sprang out. We shall not attempt to describe the meeting of the cousins, nor the joy that prevailed among the village boys at the arrival of their city friend. Archie had not written that it was his intention to come so soon, and his sudden appearance among them took them completely by surprise. After a few moments' conversation, Frank and Archie got into the carriage, and, in a short time, were set down at the door of Mrs. Nelson's house. Frank's mother and sister expressed much joy at Archie's arrival, and, after the excitement of meeting was over, they inquired after his parents. "When are they coming?" asked Frank. "They intended to come in the fall," answered Archie, "but father has more business on his hands than he expected, and they may not be here before the holidays; but I couldn't wait." "I'm glad you didn't," said Frank. "You are not going home before spring, are you?" "No," said Archie, "I'm going to stay as long as you will keep me." Frank was overjoyed at this, and, if he had not been in the house, he would have given, as he said, "a yell that would have done credit to an Indian." But, before going further, we must say a word about Archie's companions--we mean his dogs. One of them, that answered to the name of Sport, was as fine a fox-hound as one would wish to see. He was a large, tan-colored animal, very fleet and courageous, and was well acquainted with all the tricks of his favorite game, and the boys often boasted that "Sport had never lost a fox in his life." The black fox, which had held possession of Reynard's Island so long, was captured by Frank and his cousin, with the assistance of Sport, after a chase of three hours. Lightfoot--for that was the name of the other--was an English grayhound. He stood full three feet high at the shoulders, and his speed was tremendous. He was young, however, and knew nothing about hunting; but he had been taught to "fetch and carry," and, as he learned very readily, the boys expected plenty of sport in training him. After supper, Archie's trunk was carried into the "study," and the boys busied themselves in taking out its contents. The clothing was all packed away in the bureau; and then came Archie's "sporting cabinet," as he called it--a fine double-barreled shot-gun, which was hung upon the frame at the foot of the bed; a quantity of ammunition, a small hatchet, powder-flasks, shot bags, and a number of other things, which were stowed away in safe places. At length Archie drew out two fish-poles, neatly stowed away in strong bags, and one of them proved to be the one about which Archie had written. This was placed away in one corner, and Frank promised to mend it immediately. "See here," said Archie, as he drew out two queer-looking implements; "I have been acting on the suggestion of Uncle Joe Lewis." "What are they?" inquired Frank. One of them was a thin rod of steel, about three feet in length, very pointed and sharp at the end the other looked very much like a fish-spear, only the "tines" were smaller and sharper. "They are spears," said Archie, in answer to Frank's question. "So I see; but what use can you put them to?" "This," said Archie, taking up the rod of steel, "is a mink-spear. Last winter we lost a good many minks, when, if we had had an instrument like this, we could have secured them easily enough. You know that sometimes you get a mink into a place where you can see him, but, if you go to work to chop a hole large enough to get a stick in to kill him, he will jump out before you know what you are about. You will remember a little incident of this kind that happened last winter--that day we had such good luck. We were following a mink up the creek on the ice, when Brave suddenly stopped before a hollow stub, and stuck his nose into a hole, and acted as if there was a mink in there; and, you know, we didn't believe there was, but we thought we could stop and see. So we cut a hole in the stub, and, sure enough, there was a mink, and, as good luck would have it, we had cut the hole close to the place where he was, and we thought we had him sure; and, while Harry Butler went to cut a stick to kill him with, I chopped the hole a little larger, so that we could see him plainer, when, all of a sudden, out popped the mink, and, before we could say 'scat,' it was under the ice." "Yes," said Frank, "I remember it very well; and, I guess, there were some mad boys around that place, somewhere." "Yes," said Archie, "I was provoked because it was all my fault that we lost him. If we had had this spear, we could have killed him easy enough. We wouldn't be obliged to cut a hole larger than an inch square, and no mink I ever saw could get through that. And this," he continued, taking up the other instrument, "is a muskrat-spear. The way to proceed is this: Go to a muskrat's house, and, with an ax, cut a chunk out of the top, directly over where they sleep." "And, by the time you get that done," said Frank, with a laugh, "the muskrats will be out of your way." "I know that; they will undoubtedly start off the first blow you strike, and swim to some breathing-hole; but in a quarter of an hour they will be sure to return. While they are gone, you will have plenty of time to cut the chunk, and, after taking it out, place it carefully back, in such a manner that it can be removed instantly; then, if there are any other houses near, serve them in the same way. Then, in half an hour or so, take your spear and go to the houses, making as little noise at possible, and let your companion lift out the chunk suddenly, and you be ready to strike. Father says he has seen Uncle Joe Lewis catch half a dozen in one house, in this way, very frequently. He always spears the one nearest the passage that leads from the house down into the water, and this will prevent the others from escaping." "I don't much like the idea," said Frank. "Neither do I," said Archie. "It will do well enough for those who make their living by hunting; but, if I want to hunt muskrats, I would rather wait until the ice breaks up, in spring; I can then shoot them quite fast enough to suit me, and the sport is more exciting." One morning, about a week after Archie's arrival, they arose, as usual, very early, and, while they were dressing, Frank drew aside the curtain, and looked out. "I say, Archie," he exclaimed, "you've got your wish; it's a first-rate morning to go trout-fishing." Archie had been waiting impatiently for a cloudy day; he was very fond of trout-fishing, and he readily agreed to his cousin's proposal to "take a trip to Dungeon Brook," and they commenced pulling on their "hunting and fishing rig," as they called it, which consisted of a pair of stout pantaloons that would resist water and dirt to the last extremity, heavy boots reaching above their knees, and a blue flannel shirt. While Archie was getting their fishing-tackle ready, Frank busied himself in placing on the table in the kitchen such eatables as he could lay his hands on, for he and his cousin were the only ones up. Their breakfast was eaten in a hurry; and, after drawing on their India-rubber coats--for Frank said it would rain before they returned--they slung on their fish-baskets, and took their trout-poles in their hands, and started out. Dungeon Brook lay about five miles distant, through the woods. It was a long tramp, over fallen logs and through thick bushes; but it was famous for its large trout, and the boys knew they would be well repaid for their trouble. In about two hours they arrived at their destination; and, after partaking of a lunch, which Frank had brought, they rigged their "flies," and Archie went up the brook a little distance, to try a place known among the boys as the "old trout-hole," while Frank dropped his hook down close to a large log that lay across the stream, near the place where he was standing. The bait sank slowly toward the bottom, when, suddenly, there was a tremendous jerk, and the line whizzed through the water with a force that bent the tough, elastic pole like a "reed shaken with the wind." Frank was a skillful fisherman, and, after a few moments' maneuvering, a trout weighing between three and four pounds lay floundering on the bank. Archie soon came up, having been a little more successful, as two good-sized fish were struggling in his basket. They walked slowly down the brook, stopping now and then to try some favorite spot, and, about three o'clock in the afternoon, they reached the place where the brook emptied into Glen's Creek, and were about two miles from home. They had been remarkably successful; their baskets were filled, and they had several "sockdologers" strung on a branch, which they carried in their hands. After dropping their hooks for a few moments among the perch, at the mouth of the brook, they unjointed their poles, and started toward home, well satisfied with their day's work. The next day, as Frank and Archie were on their way to the village, on foot--the wind being contrary, they could not sail--they met George and Harry, who had started to pay them a visit. "Hallo, boys!" exclaimed the former, as soon as they came within speaking distance, "we've got news for you." "And some that you will not like to hear, Frank," said Harry, with a laugh. "What is it?" inquired Archie. "Why, you know, Charley Morgan, some time since, sent to New York for a couple of sail-boats, a sloop and schooner. They arrived yesterday, and he thinks they are something great, and says the Speedwell is nowhere." "Yes," chimed in Harry, "he said, when those boats came, he would show us 'country chaps' some sailing that would make us open our eyes; but, come to find out, they are perfect tubs. I saw the sloop coming up the creek, and she made poor headway. The Alert can beat her all hollow, with only the foresail hoisted." During the conversation the boys had been walking toward the village, and, in a few moments, they reached the dock behind the post-office, where the two new boats lay. One of them was a short, "dumpy," sloop-rigged boat, with no deck or center-board, and the other was a beautifully-modeled schooner. "What do you think of them?" inquired Harry, after they had regarded them several moments. "Well," answered Archie, "I have seen a good many boats like these in New York, but I don't think they will do much here. That schooner may show some fine sailing qualities, but that sloop will prove to be the slowest boat about the village; she is altogether too short. Take it where the waves are long and regular, and she will do well enough but here in the river, where the waves are all chopped up, she can't accomplish much." "That's your private opinion, expressed here in this public manner, is it?" said a sneering voice. "You have made a fine show of your ignorance." The boys turned, and saw Charles Morgan and several of the Rangers standing close by. "If I didn't know more about yachts than that," continued Charles, "I'd go home and soak my head." This remark was greeted by the Rangers with a loud laugh; and Archie, who, like Frank, was a very peaceable fellow, said, "Every one to his own way of thinking, you know." "Certainly," answered Charles; "but, if I was as much of a blockhead as you are, I'd be careful to keep my thoughts to myself." Archie did not answer, for he knew it would only add fuel to the fire; for Charles's actions indicated that he was bent on getting up a quarrel. He had determined to make another attempt to "settle accounts" between himself and Frank. "I'll bet you fifty dollars," said Charles, "that there are not half a dozen boats about the village that can beat that sloop." "I'm not in the habit of betting," answered Archie; "but, if you will find a boat about the village that _can't_ beat her, I'll eat your sloop." "You are green, indeed," said Charles. "Now, what do you suppose that sloop cost me?" "Well," answered Archie, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, "I think ten dollars would foot the bill." Archie said this in so comical a manner that Frank and the others could not refrain from laughing outright. Charles was angry in an instant, and, quick as thought, he sprang forward and seized Archie. But he soon discovered that he had undertaken more than he could accomplish; for his antagonist, though considerably smaller than himself, was possessed of enormous strength, and was as active as a cat, and he glided like an eel from Charles's grasp, and, seizing him by both wrists, held him fast. After a few desperate, but ineffectual, attempts to free himself, Charles shouted to the Rangers, who had been bustling about in a state of considerable excitement, but very prudently keeping in the background, "Help, help, you cowards!" But nothing could induce them to attempt the rescue. At this moment a boat, which had entered the creek unnoticed by the boys, drew up to the dock, and a strong, cheery voice, called out, "Hang on to him, little fellow--hang on to him. We've got a few little matters to settle up." And Leo Powell came running toward them, with half a dozen of his ragged followers close at his heels. "Oh, let me go," cried Charles, turning very pale, and writhing and twisting in the strong grasp that held him; "I'll be civil to you after this, only don't let them get hold of me; they will half kill me." Archie accordingly released his captive, but the Hillers were so close to him that Charles dare not run, and he remained close to Frank for protection, while the rest of the Rangers beat a precipitate retreat. "Here, Pete, hold my coat," said Lee, tossing his tattered garment to one of his companions; "I'll show this Cap'n Regulator that some folks are as good as others." And he advanced toward Charles, and commenced rolling up his sleeves. "No, Lee," said Frank, placing himself before the frightened Ranger, "you mustn't touch him." "Mustn't touch him!" repeated Lee, in surprise. "Why, wasn't he jest tryin' to wallop your friend here?" "Oh, he's able to defend himself," answered Frank. "Then he's all right. But I haven't paid for trying to Regulate me, that night." "He didn't do it, did he?" inquired Frank. "No, 'cause you fellows wouldn't let him." "Then, we don't want you to whip him now." "Wal, if you say so, I won't; but he oughter be larnt better manners--hadn't he, Pete?" "'Course," was Pete's laconic answer. "Now, Charley," said Archie, "you may take yourself off as soon as you wish; they will not hurt you." "Not this time," said Lee, shaking his hard fist in Charles's face; "but we may come acrost you some time when you hasn't nobody to stand up for you; then you had better look out--hadn't he, Pete?" "Hadn't he, though!" was the answer. Charles did not need any urging, and he was quickly out of sight. "I'd like to see you jest a minit, Frank," said Lee, as the former was about to move away. Frank drew off on one side, and the Hiller continued, "I promised I'd allers be a friend to you fellers that stood up for me that night, and I want to let you see that I haven't forgot my promise. I know that I can't do much for you, but I jest want to show you that I allers remember favors." Here he turned, and made a motion to one of his companions, who darted off to the boat, and soon returned, bringing a young otter in his arms. "I allers heerd," continued Lee, as his companion came up, "that you have a reg'lar hankerin' arter ketchin' and tamin' wild varmints. Now, we want you to take this as a present from us. I know it ain't much, but, arter all, a young otter is a thing a feller can't ketch every day. Will you take it?" "Certainly," answered Frank, as he took the little animal in his arms. "I have long wished for an otter, and I thank--" "Hold on there," interrupted Lee. "Keep your thanks for them as needs them, or likes to hear 'em. We Hillers have got feelings as well as any body. It's our way of bringin' up that makes us so bad. Now, good-by; and, if you ever want any thing, jest call on Lee Powell." And he and his companions walked rapidly toward their boat, and soon disappeared. CHAPTER XII. A Deer-Hunt on the Water. The next morning, after breakfast, Frank and his cousin, accompanied by the dogs, got into the skiff, and pulled up the creek, on a "prospecting expedition." They had started for the swamp, which lay about two miles and a half from the cottage, to see what the prospects were for a good muskrat-hunt in the spring. This swamp covered, perhaps, five hundred acres, and near its center was a small lake, which emptied into Glen's Creek. A few moments' pulling brought them to this lake, and Frank, who was seated at the helm, turned the boat's head toward a high point that projected for some distance out into the lake, and behind which a little bay set back into the land. This point was the only high land about the swamp, and stretched away back into the woods for several miles. It was a favorite place for sunfish and perch; and the boys landed, and were rigging their poles, intending to catch some for their dinner, when they heard a strange noise, that seemed to come from the bay behind the point. They knew in a moment that it was made by a duck, but still it was a sound they had never heard before, and, hunter-like, they determined to discover where it came from. So, reaching for their guns, they crawled carefully through the bushes, until they came within sight of the bay. A brood of young ducks, under the direction of two old ones, were sporting about among the broad leaves of the water-lilies. They had never seen any like them before; but Frank knew in a moment, from descriptions he had often read, that they were eider-ducks, and he determined, if possible, to capture some of the young ones, which, he noticed, were but half-fledged, and too small to fly. But the question was how to proceed. If the ducklings could not fly, they could swim like a streak; and he knew that, the moment they were alarmed, they would either make for the opposite side of the bay or for the lake, and, if they succeeded in reaching the open water, he might whistle for his ducks. His only chance was to corner them in the bay; they would then be obliged to hide among the lilies, and perhaps they might succeed in capturing some of them. Hurriedly whispering to his cousin, they crept back to the skiff, pulled around the point, and entered the bay. The moment they came in sight, the old ones uttered their cries of warning, took to wing, and flew out over the lake, and, as they had expected, the young ones darted in among the lilies, and were out of sight in an instant. But the boys had kept their eyes open, and knew about where to look for them; and, after half an hour's chase, they succeeded in securing three of them with the dip-net. After tying them up in their caps, Frank pulled leisurely along out of the bay, and was just entering the lake, when Archie, who was steering, suddenly turned the boat toward the shore, and said, in a scarcely audible whisper, "A deer--a deer! sure as I live!" Frank looked in the direction his cousin indicated, and saw a large buck standing in the edge of the water, not twenty rods from them. Luckily he had not heard their approach, and Frank drew the boat closer under the point, to watch his motions. They were a good deal excited, and Archie's hand trembled like a leaf, as he reached for his gun. Another lucky circumstance was, that the dogs had not discovered him. Brave and Hunter could have been kept quiet, but Lightfoot was not sufficiently trained to be trusted. The boys determined to make an effort to capture him; he would make a splendid addition to their museum. Besides, they had never killed a deer, and now the opportunity was fairly before them. But the question was how to proceed. The buck was out of range of their shot-guns, and they knew it would be worse than useless to fire at him; so they concluded to lie still in the boat, and await the movements of the game. The buck was standing in the water, up to his knees, deliberately cropping the leaves of the lilies, and now and then gazing toward the opposite shore, as if he were meditating upon something. At length he appeared to have decided upon his course, for he waded deeper into the water, and swam boldly out into the lake. This was exactly what the boys had wished for; and, when the buck had made about ten rods from the shore, Archie took his seat at the oars, and pulled the boat silently out from behind the point. The moment they entered the lake, Lightfoot discovered the game, and uttered a loud bark. The buck heard it, and his first impulse was to turn and regain the shore he had just left. But Archie gave way on the oars manfully, and succeeded in intercepting him; and the buck, finding himself fairly cut off, uttered a loud snort, and, seeming to understand that his only chance for escape was straight ahead, he settled himself down in the water, and struck out again for the opposite shore. The dogs now all broke out into a continuous barking, and Archie exclaimed, in an excited voice, "Shoot him! shoot him!" "He is too far off," answered Frank. "You must remember that our guns are loaded with small shot. Give way lively!" The boys very soon discovered that they had no easy task before them. The light skiff, propelled by Archie's powerful strokes, danced rapidly over the little waves; but the buck was a fast swimmer and made headway through the water astonishingly. "Don't we gain on him any?" inquired Archie, panting hard from his exertions. "Yes, a very little," answered Frank. "But he swims like a streak." At length they reached the middle of the lake, and Frank, to his delight, discovered that they were gaining rapidly. Archie redoubled his efforts, and a few more strokes brought them close alongside of the buck, which snorted aloud in his terror, and leaped half-way out of the water, then settled down nobly to his work. Had Frank been an experienced deer-hunter, he would have been very careful not to approach the game in that manner; for a deer, when he finds himself unable to escape, will fight most desperately, and his sharp antlers and hoofs, which will cut like a knife, are weapons not to be despised. But Frank, in his excitement, did not step to think of this, and, letting go the tiller, he seized his gun, and fired both barrels in quick succession. But the shot was not fatal; and the buck, maddened with pain, leaped almost entirely out of the water. Frank now saw their danger, and, seizing the oars, attempted to turn the boat out of the reach of the wounded animal; but it was too late, for the buck, in his struggles, placed his fore-feet in the bow of the skiff, and overturned it in an instant, and boys, dogs, ducks, and all, were emptied into the cold waters of the lake. When they rose to the surface, they found the skiff right side up, and dancing over the waves they had made, and the ducks and oars were floating in the water around them. Their first thought was to discover what had become of the buck; he and Brave were engaged in a most desperate fight, in which the dog was evidently getting the better of it. The hounds, probably not relishing their ducking, were making for the nearest shore, as if their lives depended upon the issue. Frank swam up to the skiff, and took hold of it, to keep himself afloat; but Archie picked up an oar, and struck out toward the buck, exclaiming, "I guess I'd better take a hand in this fight." "No, no," said Frank, quickly, "you had better keep away from him; he has too much strength left. He would beat you down under the water in less than a minute. Brave can manage him alone." The next moment Frank happened to think of his gun. Where was it? He drew himself up and looked into the canoe. It was not there; it was at the bottom of the lake. "Archie," he exclaimed, "we've lost our guns." "Just my luck," answered his cousin, bitterly. "Now, I'll have revenge for that." And, swimming around behind the buck, out of reach of his dangerous hoofs, he raised himself in the water, and struck him a powerful blow, that shivered the blade of the oar into fragments. It was a fatal blow; and the buck ceased his struggles, and lay motionless on the water. It was a lucky circumstance for Brave that Archie had taken part in the fight, for the poor dog had experienced some pretty rough handling. He had received several wounds from the sharp hoofs of the buck, and there was a severe cut in his neck, from which the blood was flowing profusely; but the way he continued to shake the buck after Archie had dealt the fatal blow showed that there was plenty of fight left in him. Frank carefully lifted him into the boat, and, by their united efforts, after a good deal of hard work, the buck was thrown in after him. The boys then climbed in themselves, and Frank said, "Well, we have captured our first deer, haven't we?" "I wish we had never seen him," answered Archie. "We've lost our guns by the operation." "I am afraid so; but we will, at least, make an attempt to recover them." "How will we go to work?" "We will dive for them." Archie shrugged his shoulders, but made no reply. Frank's first care was to bandage Brave's neck with his handkerchief. He then divested himself of his clothes, and, after wringing the water out of them, he spread them out in the bow of the boat to dry. "I don't much like the idea of going down in there," said Archie, looking dubiously at the dark, muddy water; "there may be snakes in it, or it may be full of logs, or the bottom may be covered with weeds that will catch hold of a fellow's leg and keep him down." "I can't help it," said Frank; "we must have the guns; I'd rather risk any thing than lose them. The only thing I am afraid of is that the water is too deep. I'll be a little careful at first" So saying, he lowered himself over the side of the boat, and, drawing in a long breath, sank slowly out of sight. Meanwhile Archie was pulling off his clothes, and, when his cousin appeared, he exclaimed, "How do things look down there? Rather muddy, isn't it?" "Yes," answered Frank, as he wiped the water from his face, "but the bottom is all clear, and the water is only about fifteen feet deep." "Did you see any thing of the guns?" "No, I couldn't stay down long enough to make observations. I'm going to dive this time," he continued, as he commenced climbing back into the boat. "Well, here goes!" said Archie. And, clasping his hands above his head, he dived out of sight, and Frank followed close after. When the latter again appeared at the surface, he found Archie holding on to the boat, with one of the guns elevated above his head, to allow the water to run out of the barrels. The boys climbed up into the boat, and dived again, but neither of them met with any success. The next time Archie was again the fortunate one, for, when Frank rose to the surface, he was climbing up into the boat, with the other gun in his hand. "I don't call this a very unlucky hunt, after all," said Frank. "Neither do I," said Archie. "I say, Frank," he continued, "I wish we could reproduce in our museum the scene we have just passed through." "So do I. If we could represent the buck in the act of upsetting us, it would be our 'masterpiece,' wouldn't it? But I am afraid that is further than our ingenuity extends." The boys drew on their clothes, which were but partially dry, and, after pulling ashore to get the hounds, which had kept up a loud barking all the time, they turned the boat's head toward home. After changing their clothes and eating a hearty dinner--during which they related their adventure to Mrs. Nelson and Julia--they carefully removed the buck's skin, and hung it up in the shop by a fire to dry. Their guns were found to be none the worse for their ducking; the loads, of course, were wet, and had to be drawn, but a good coat of oil, and a thorough rubbing inside and out, made them look as good as new. During the afternoon, as the boys sat on the piazza in front of the house, talking over the events of the morning, their attention was attracted by a combat that was going on between one of Frank's pet kingbirds and a red-headed woodpecker. The latter was flying zigzag through the air, and the kingbird was pecking him most unmercifully. At length the woodpecker took refuge in a tree that stood on the bank of the creek, and then seemed perfectly at his ease. He always kept on the opposite side of the tree, and the kingbird, active as he was, could not reach him. His loud, angry twittering soon brought his mate to his assistance, and then the woodpecker found himself between two fires. After trying in vain to elude them, he suddenly popped into a hole in the tree, and stuck out his long bill, as if defying them to enter. The kingbirds were completely outwitted; and, after making two or three angry darts at the hole in which their cunning enemy had taken refuge, they settled down on the branches close by to wait until he should show himself. They had no intention of giving up the contest. The woodpecker seemed to take matters very coolly, and improved his time by pounding away industriously on the inside of the tree. Occasionally he would thrust his head out of the hole, but, seeing his enemies still on the watch, he would dodge back, and go to work again. After waiting fully a quarter of an hour for him to come out, and seeing that the kingbirds had no idea of "raising the siege," Archie concluded (to age his own expression) that he "might as well lend a little assistance." So he ran round to the shop, and, having procured an ax, he went up to the tree, and dealt it a heavy blow. The next moment the woodpecker flew out, and the kingbirds were after him in an instant They followed him until he reached the woods, and then returned to the cottage. CHAPTER XIII. A 'Coon-Hunt. We might relate many more interesting events that transpired before the hunting season set in; we might tell of the "tall times" the boys had whipping the trout-streams, of the trials of speed that came off on the river, when it turned out, as Archie had predicted, that Charles Morgan's sloop "couldn't sail worth a row of pins;" and we might tell of many more desperate "scrapes" that came off between the bully and his sworn enemies the Hillers; but we fear, reader, you are already weary of the Young Naturalist's home-life, and long to see him engaging in his favorite recreations--roaming through the woods, with his gun on his shoulder, or dealing death among the ducks on the river. Well, autumn came at length; and, early one chilly, moonlight evening, Frank and his cousin, accompanied by George and Harry, might have been seen picking their way across the meadow at the back of Mrs. Nelson's lot, and directing their course toward a large cornfield, that lay almost in the edge of a piece of thick woods, about a quarter of a mile distant. They had started on a 'coon-hunt. Frank and Harry, who were two of the best shots in the village, were armed with their double-barreled shot-guns, and the others carried axes and lanterns. We have said that it was a moonlight night, but, so far as a view of the chase was concerned, the light of the moon would benefit them but little; and the boys carried the lanterns, not to be able to follow the 'coon when started, but to discover him when "treed," and to assist them in picking their way through the woods. During a raccoon-hunt, but little is seen either of the dogs or the game. The woods, let the moon shine ever so bright, are pitch-dark; and the dogs rely on their scent and the hunter trusts to his ears. The 'coon seldom strays far from his tree, and, of course, when started, draws a "bee-line" for home, and the game is for the dogs--which should be very swift, hardy animals, having the courage to tackle him if he should turn at bay--to overtake him, and compel him to take to some small tree, where he can be easily shaken off or shot. But if he succeeds in reaching home, which he always makes in a large tree, he is safe, unless the hunter is willing to go to work and fell the tree. The boys were accompanied by their dogs, which followed close at their heels. Lightfoot was about to take his first lesson in hunting, but Brave and Sport evidently knew perfectly well what the game was to be, and it was difficult to restrain them. A few moments' walk brought them to the corn field. A rail-fence ran between the field and the woods; and two of the boys, after lighting their lanterns, climbed over the fence, and the others waved their hands to the dogs, and ordered them to "hunt 'em up." Brave and Sport were off in an instant, and Lightfoot was close at their heels, mechanically following their motions, and evidently wondering at their strange movements. The boys moved quietly along the fence, and, in a few moments, a quick, sharp yelp from Brave announced that he had started the first 'coon. The boys cheered on the dogs, and presently a dark object appeared, coming at full speed through the corn, and passed, at a single bound, over the fence. The dogs, barking fierce and loud at every jump, were close at his heels, and both they and the game speedily disappeared in the darkness. The boys followed after, picking their way through the bushes with all possible speed. The chase was a short one, for the dogs soon broke out in a regular, continuous barking, which announced that the 'coon was treed. The hunters, guided by the noise, soon came in sight of them, standing at the foot of a small sapling. Brave and Sport took matters very easily, and seemed satisfied to await the arrival of the boys, but Lightfoot had caught sight of the 'coon as he was ascending the tree, and was bounding into the air, and making every exertion to reach him. Frank and Harry stood ready with their guns to shoot him, and the others held their lanterns aloft, and peered up into the top of the tree, to discover his hiding-place; but nothing could be seen of him. The sapling had grown up rather high, and all objects outside of the circle of light made by their lanterns seemed to be concealed by Egyptian darkness. "He's up there, I know," said Archie. And, laying down his ax and lantern, he caught hold of the sapling, and shook it with all his strength. But it was a little too large for him to manage, and, although it swayed considerably, the 'coon could easily retain his hold. "Well," said Archie, "if he will not come down to us, we'll have to go up to him, I suppose." And he commenced ascending the tree. Archie was a good hand at climbing, and had shaken more than one 'coon from his roost, and he carefully felt his way up, until he had almost reached the top of the sapling, when, not wishing to trust his weight on the small limbs, he stopped, and again shook the tree, and this time with better success. There was an angry snarling among the branches above his head, and the 'coon, after trying in vain to retain his hold, came tumbling to the ground. Quick as thought the dogs were upon him, and, although he made a most desperate resistance, he was speedily overpowered and killed. The boys picked up their prize, and went back to the cornfield. The dogs were again sent in, and another 'coon was started, which, like the first, "drew a bee-line" for the woods, with the dogs close behind, and the boys, worked up to the highest pitch of excitement, followed after as fast as their legs could carry them. The 'coon had managed to get a good start of his pursuers, and he led them a long chase through a low, swampy part of the woods, to the top of a ridge, where the heavy timber grew; and when, at length, the boys came up with the dogs, they found them standing at the foot of a large maple fully ten feet in circumference. "There!" exclaimed George, "the rascal has succeeded in reaching home. Good-by, 'coon!" "Yes," said Frank, leaning on the muzzle of his gun, and wiping the perspiration from his forehead, "we're minus that 'coon, easily enough, unless we wait until morning, and cut the tree down." "Look here, boys," suddenly exclaimed George, who had been holding his lantern above his head, and examining the sides of the tree; "did you ever see a tree look like this before?" As they moved around to the side where George stood, Archie called out, "There must be a big nest of 'coons in here; the tree is completely skinned." "Yes," said Frank, "we've accidentally stumbled upon a regular 'coon-tree. There must be a big family of them living here. The tree looks as if some one had taken an ax and cleaned off the bark. But," he added, "finding where the 'coons have been and catching them are two very different things." "What do you mean?" inquired Archie, "You don't pretend to say that the 'coons are not in the tree?" "Certainly I do. I wouldn't be afraid to stake Brave against any little cur in the village that the 'coon the dogs have just followed here is the only one in the tree." "What makes you think so?" "Why, now is their feeding-time, and all the 'coons in this part of the woods are in the cornfield. It wouldn't pay to cut down this big tree for one 'coon; so let's go home and go to bed, and early to-morrow morning we will come back here and bag our game." The boys agreed to this, and they whistled to their dogs, and started through the woods toward home. The next morning, at the first peep of day, they again set out, and in half an hour arrived at the 'coon-tree. The boys knew that they had something to accomplish before they could secure their game, but they were not the ones to shun hard work. They had frequently cut down trees for a single 'coon, and they felt confident that there were at least three of the animals in the tree, and they were willing to work for them. Archie and George were armed, as on the preceding night, with axes, and, after pulling off their coats, they placed themselves on opposite sides of the tree, and set manfully to work. Harry and Frank stood by, ready to take their places when they grew tired, and the dogs seated themselves on the ground close by, with their tongues hanging out of the sides of their mouths, and now and then giving vent to an impatient whine. The boys worked for an hour and a half--taking their turns at chopping--almost without speaking. At length the top of the tree began to waver, and a loud crack announced that it was about to fall. Frank and Archie were chopping, and the blows of their axes resounded with redoubled force, and the other boys caught up the guns, and ran off in the direction in which the tree was about to fall, followed by Sport and Lightfoot, and Brave stationed himself close behind his master, and barked and whined furiously. A few sturdy blows finished the business, and the tree began to sink--slowly at first, then with a rushing sound, and struck the earth with a tremendous crash. In an instant boys and dogs were among the branches. The 'coons--some of which were not injured in the least by the fall--scattered in every direction; and one of them--a fine, large fellow--bounded off through the bushes. Frank discovered him just in time, and, fearing that he would lose sight of him, he hurled his ax at him with all his strength; but it went wide of the mark, and Frank started in hot pursuit. He was very swift of foot, and there seemed to be no limit to his endurance, but, in running through the bushes, the 'coon had decidedly the advantage. Frank was not slow to discover this, and he began to think about sending his ax after him again, when he heard a crashing in the bushes behind him, and the grayhound passed him like the wind, and two or three of his tremendous bounds brought him up with the 'coon. Frank knew very well that Lightfoot had something of a job before him, for it requires a very tough, active dog to "handle" a full-grown coon when he is cornered. But Frank thought it was a capital time to judge of the grayhound's "grit;" so he cheered him on, and hurried forward to witness the fight. As Lightfoot came up, he made a grab at the 'coon, which, quick as a flash, eluded him, and, when the hound turned upon him, the 'coon gave him one severe bite, when Lightfoot uttered a dismal howl, and, holding his nose close to the ground, beat a hasty retreat; and the Young Naturalist could not induce him to return. During the fight, short as it was, Frank had gained considerably, and, as the 'coon turned to make off, he again threw his ax at him, which, true to its aim, struck the 'coon on the head, and stretched him lifeless on the ground. Meanwhile Archie was endeavoring to secure his 'coon, under rather more difficult circumstances. As soon as the tree had begun to fall, Archie dropped his ax, seized a short club that lay near him on the ground, and, discovering a 'coon making for the bushes, he started after him at full speed. The animal appeared to run heavily, as if he had been partially stunned by the falling of the tree; and Archie had followed him but a short distance, when he had the satisfaction of discovering that he was gaining at every step. The 'coon seemed to understand that his chance of escape was rather small; and, after various windings and twistings, commenced ascending a small tree. Archie ran forward with all possible speed, with the hope of reaching the tree before he could climb out of the way. The 'coon moved but slowly, and Archie felt sure of his prize; and, as soon as he came within the proper distance, he struck a powerful blow at the animal, but he was just out of reach, and the club was shivered to pieces against the tree. Archie, however, did not hesitate a moment, but, placing his hands on the tree, commenced climbing after him. The 'coon ascended to the topmost branch, and looked down on his enemy, growling and snapping his teeth, as if to warn him that he intended to make a desperate resistance; but Archie was not in the least intimidated, and, reaching the branch on which the 'coon was seated, he shook it violently, and the animal tumbled to the ground, and, as soon as he could regain his feet, started off again. Archie descended as quickly as possible, and started in pursuit, hoping to overtake his game before he could again take to a tree. There was an abundance of large trees growing in the woods, and, if the 'coon should take it into his head to ascend one of them, Archie might whistle for his game. The young hunter well understood this, and he "put in his best licks," as he afterward remarked, and, in a few moments, had almost overtaken him, and began to look around for something to strike him with, when the 'coon, as if guessing his intention, suddenly turned and ran up a large tree that stood close by, and, crawling out on a limb, about fifty feet from the ground, he settled himself down, as if he had concluded to take matters more easily. This was discouraging; and Archie seated himself on a log under the tree, and for a moment thought seriously of giving up the chase. But the 'coon was a fine, fat fellow, and his skin would make a valuable addition to the museum, and, besides, he had followed him so far already, that he was reluctant to go back to his companions without him, and, on second thought, he concluded that he would _not_ go back unless he could carry the 'coon with him. He first thought of ascending the tree, but, after taking a hasty survey of it, he abandoned the idea. The tree was partially decayed; in fact, there was but one sound limb in it that Archie could discover, and that was about four feet above the one on which the 'coon was seated, and stretched out directly over it. Archie did not like the idea of trusting himself among the unsound limbs, and, besides, the cunning animal had crawled out to the extreme end of one of the decayed branches, which bent beneath his weight, and the young hunter, of course, could not follow him. There was only one way that Archie could discover to bring him down; and he straightway opened upon the devoted 'coon a tremendous shower of clubs and sticks. He was a very accurate thrower, and, for some time, had hopes of being able to bring down the 'coon; but, although the missiles frequently hit him, Archie could not throw them with sufficient force; and he again turned his attention to the tree. Throwing his arms around it, he commenced working his way up. The bark was very smooth and slippery, and the lowest limb was the one on which the 'coon had taken refuge; but he kept steadily at work, and his progress, though slow, was sure, and he reached the limb; and, bearing as little of his weight as possible upon it, he drew himself up to the sound limb above. After testing it thoroughly, to make sure that it would sustain his weight, he commenced walking out on the branch on which the 'coon was seated, keeping a firm hold of the limb above his head. He had made scarcely a dozen steps, when there was a loud crack, and the branch on which he was standing broke into fragments, and fell to the ground with a crash, carrying the 'coon with it, and leaving Archie hanging in the air, fifty feet from the ground. Not in the least terrified at his dangerous situation, the young hunter coolly swung himself up on the limb, and, crawling carefully back to the tree, slid rapidly down the trunk, and, as if nothing had happened, ran to the place where the 'coon had fallen, hoping that at last he was secured. But he was again disappointed. Nothing was to be seen of the animal, and only a few drops of blood on the leaves indicated the direction in which he had gone. This quickly caught Archie's eye, and he began to follow up the trail, which led toward a creek that flowed close by. But when he arrived upon its bank he was again at fault--the trail was lost; and, while he was running up and down the bank, searching for it, he happened to cast his eye toward the opposite side of the creek, and there was his 'coon, slowly ascending a tall stump that stood at the water's edge. Archie could not refrain from giving a shout of joy, for he was confident that the chase would soon be over; and he hurried, impatiently, up and down the bank to find some place to cross, and finally discovered a small tree lying in the water, whose top reached almost to the opposite bank. The 'coon had undoubtedly crossed on this bridge; and Archie sprang upon it. It shook considerably, but he kept on, and had almost reached the opposite side, when the tree broke, and he disappeared in the cold water. He rose immediately, and, shaking the water from his face, struck out for the shore, puffing and blowing like a porpoise. A few lusty strokes brought him to the bank, and, as he picked up a handful of stones, he said to himself, "I guess I'm all right now. If I could only have found some stones when I treed that 'coon in the woods, he would not have been up there now, and I should not have got this wet hide. But we'll soon settle accounts now." As we have said, the 'coon had taken refuge in a high stump. The branches had all fallen off, with the exception of one short one, about two feet from the top; and the 'coon, after trying in vain to squeeze 'himself into a small hole, about half-way up the stump, settled down on this limb, and appeared to be awaiting his fate. Archie took a favorable position, and, selecting a stone, hurled it with all his force at the 'coon. It whizzed harmlessly by, close to his head; but the next brought him to the ground, dead. "There!" exclaimed the young hunter, as he shouldered his prize, and walked up the creek to find a crossing-place, "I've worked pretty hard for 'coons, first and last, but this beats all the hunts I ever engaged in." He at length reached a place where the water was about knee-deep, waded across the creek, and started through the woods to find his companions. When he arrived at the place where they had felled the tree, he saw Harry sitting on a log, with Frank's gun in his hand, but nothing was to be seen of the other boys. As soon as the latter discovered Archie, he burst into a loud laugh. "No doubt you think it a good joke," said Archie, as he came up, "but I don't. It isn't a funny thing to tramp through the woods, on a cold day like this, with your clothes wringing wet. But I've got the 'coon." "You must have had a tough time catching him," said Harry. "But let us go down to the camp." As they walked along, Archie related his adventures; and, when he told about being "dumped in the creek," Harry laughed louder than ever. A few moments' walk brought them to what Harry had called the "camp." It was in a little grove of evergreens, on the banks of a clear, dancing trout-brook. A place about forty feet square had been cleared of the trees and bushes and in it stood a small, neatly-built, log-cabin, which Frank and some of his companions had erected the winter previous. Near the middle of the cabin a hole about four feet square, had been dug, and in this a fire was burning brightly; and a hole in the roof, directly over it, did duty both as chimney and window. On the floor, near the fire--or, rather, there _was_ no floor, the ground serving for that purpose--stood some tin dishes, which one of the boys had just brought to light from a corner of the cabin, four plates, as many knives and forks, two large platters, a coffee-pot, four quart-cups, and a pan containing some trout, which George had caught in the brook, all cleaned and ready for the spit, and there was also a large plate of bread and butter. Frank, who always acted as cook on these expeditions, and knew how to get up a dinner that would tempt an epicure, was kneeling before the fire, engaged in skinning some squirrels which Brave had treed for him. George was in front of the cabin, chopping wood; and close by the door lay five 'coons--the fruits of the morning's hunt; and near them lay the dogs, fast asleep. Such was the scene presented when Harry and Archie burst in upon the camp. The latter was greeted with a loud laugh. "Well, boys," said he, as he threw his 'coon down with the others, "you may laugh, but I wish some of you were obliged to go through what I did. I was bound to have the 'coon, if I had to follow him clear to Moosehead Lake." "That's the way to talk," said Frank. "Now, throw yourself down by the fire, and I'll soon be ready to give you something to eat. A cup or two of hot coffee will set you all right again." Archie's ducking and his long walk in his wet clothes had chilled him completely through, and he was very willing to comply with his cousin's suggestion, and he drew up as close as possible to the fire. When Frank had finished skinning the squirrels, he stuck them up before the fire, on spits, to roast. The trout he served in the same manner; and, raking out a few live coals from the fire, he placed the coffee-pot upon them, when the work of getting breakfast began in earnest. In the course of half an hour the impatience of the hungry hunters (whose appetites had been sharpened by the savory smell of the cooking viands) was relieved by Frank's welcome invitation-- "Now, boys, you may help yourselves." And they _did_ help themselves most bountifully. Archie kept his place by the fire, and a plate filled with bread and butter, and roasted squirrel and trout, and a cup of coffee, were passed over to him; and, supporting himself on one elbow, he did them ample justice. The dogs were well supplied with what remained of the breakfast; and, after washing the dishes in the clear water of the brook, and placing them carefully away for future use, the boys seated themselves around the fire, and Harry exclaimed, as he settled himself back into a comfortable position, "Give us a story, Frank." "Well," answered Frank, after thinking a few moments, "I remember one that, I think, will interest you. You will probably remember, Archie, that, during the last visit we made at Uncle Joe's, we met his brother Dick, who has passed forty years of his life among the Rocky Mountains. You will remember, also, that he and I went mink-trapping, and camped out all night, and during the evening he related to me some of his adventures, and wound up with the following story of his 'chum,' Bill Lawson. I will try to give it, as nearly as possible, in his own words. CHAPTER XIV. Bill Lawson's Revenge. "This Bill Larson," said Dick, knocking the ashes from his pipe, "was _some_ in his day. I have told you about his trappin' qualities--that there was only one man in the county that could lay over him any, an' that was ole Bob Kelly. But Bill had some strange ways about him, sometimes, that I could not understand, an' the way he acted a'most made me think he was crazy. Sometimes you couldn't find a more jolly feller than he was; an' then, again, he would settle down into one of his gloomy spells, an' I couldn't get a word out of him. He would sit by the camp-fire, an' first fall to musing; then he would cover his face with his hands, an' I could see the big, scalding tears trickle through his fingers, an' his big frame would quiver and shake like a tree in a gale of wind; then he would pull out his long, heavy huntin'-knife, an' I could see that he had several notches cut in the handle. He would count these over an' over again; an' I could see a dark scowl settle on his face, that would have made me tremble if I had not known that I was his only sworn friend, an' he would mutter, "'Only seven! only seven! There ought to be eight. There is one left. He must not escape me. No, no; he must die!' "An' then he would sheath his knife, an' roll himself up in his blanket, an' cry himself to sleep like a child. "I had been with ole Bill a'most ten years--ever since I was a boy--but he had never told me the cause of his trouble. I didn't dare to ask him, for the ole man had curious ways sometimes, an' I knowed he wouldn't think it kind of me to go pryin' into his affairs, an' I knowed, too, that some day he would tell me all about it. "One night--we had been followin' up a bar all day--we camped on the side of a high mountain. It was very cold. The wind howled through the branches of the trees above our heads, makin' us pull our blankets closer about us an' draw as nigh to the fire as possible. "Ole Bill sat, as usual, leanin' his head on his hands, an' lookin' steadily into the fire. Neither of us had spoken for more than an hour. At len'th the ole man raised his head, an' broke the silence by sayin', "'Dick, you have allers been a good friend to me, an' have stuck by me like a brother, through thick an' thin, an', I s'pose, you think it is mighty unkind in me to keep any thing from you; an' so it is. An' now I'll tell you all.' "He paused a moment, an', wipin' the perspiration from his forehead with his coat-sleeve, continued, a'most in a whisper, "'Dick, I was not allers as you see me now--all alone in the world. Once I was the happiest boy west of the mountains. My father was a trader, livin' on the Colorado River, I had a kind mother, two as handsome sisters as the sun ever shone on, an' my brother was one of the best trappers, for a boy, I ever see. He was a good deal younger nor I was, but he was the sharer of all my boyish joys an' sorrows. We had hunted together, an' slept under the same blanket ever since we were big enough to walk. Oh! I was happy then! This earth seemed to me a paradise. Now look at me--alone in the world, not one livin' bein' to claim me as a relation; an' all this was brought upon me in a single day.' "Here the ole man stopped, an' buried his face in his hands; but, suddenly arousin' himself, he continued, "'One day, when the ice were a'most out of the river, father an' me concluded it was about time to start on our usual tradin' expedition; so we went to work an' got all our goods--which consisted of beads, hatchets, lookin'-glasses, blankets, an' such like--into the big canoe, an' were goin' to start 'arly in the mornin' to pay a visit to the Osage Injuns, an' trade our things for their furs. That night, while we were eatin' our supper, a party of horsemen came gallopin' an' yellin' down the bank of the river, an', ridin' up to the door of the cabin, dismounted, an', leavin' their horses to take care of themselves, came in without ceremony. We knowed very well who they were. They were a band of outlaws an' robbers, that had been in the county ever since I could remember, an', bein' too lazy to make an honest livin' by trappin', they went around plunderin' an' stealin' from every one they come across. They had stole three or four horses from us, an' had often come to our cabin an' called for whisky; but that was an article father never kept on hand. Although he was an ole trapper, an' had lived in the woods all his life, he never used it, an' didn't believe in sellin' it to the red-skins. The captain of the outlaws was a feller they called "Mountain Tom," an' he was meaner than the meanest Injun I ever see. He didn't think no more of cuttin' a man's throat than you would of shootin' a buck. The minute they came into the cabin we could see that they had all been drinkin'. They acted like a lot of wild buffalo-bulls, an', young as I was, I could see that they meant mischief, an' I knowed that our chance for life was small indeed. As I arterwards learned, they had been up the river, about two miles, to a half-breed's shanty, an' had found half a barrel of whisky, an', arter killin' the half-breed, an' drinkin' his liquor, they felt jest right for a muss, an' had come down to our cabin on purpose for a fight. "'"Now, ole Lawson," said Mountain Tom, leanin' his rifle up in the corner, "we have come down here for whisky. We know you've got some; so jest draw your weasel, if you want to save unpleasant feelin's; an' be in a hurry about it, too, for we're mighty thirsty." "'"Tom," said my father, "how often have I told you that I haven't got a drop of liquor in the shanty? I never had. I don't use it myself, an' I don't keep it for--" "'"That's a lie!" yelled three or four of the band. "'"You a trader among the Injuns, an' not keep whisky?" "'"We know a thing or two more than that." "'"We have heard that story often enough," said Tom. "We know you have got the liquor, an' we are goin' to get it afore we leave this shanty. If you won't bring it out an' treat, like white man had ought to do, we'll have to look for it ourselves--that's all. Here, boys," he said, turning to his men, "jest jump down into the cellar an' hunt it up, 'cause we know he's got some. An' you, Jake," he added, catching hold of a big, ugly-lookin' feller, "you stand here, an shoot the first one that tries to get away." "'The men ran down into the cellar, and we could hear them cussin' an' swearin', as they overturned every thing in the useless search. My mother, a'most frightened to death, gathered us children around her, an' sank back into the furthest corner. I thought my father had gone crazy; he strode up an' down the floor of the cabin like some caged wild animal, clenchin' his hands an' grindin' his teeth in a way that showed that there was plenty of fight in him, if he only had a chance to let it out. Once in awhile he would look at his rifle, that hung against the wall, then at the man that stood at the top of the cellar-stairs, guardin' us, as if he had a'most made up his mind to begin a knock-down an' drag-out fight with the rascals. But then he would look at my mother an' us children, back in the corner, an' go to pacin' the floor again. If we had been out of the way, I know that he would not have let them rummage about as he did; he would have had a fight with them that would do your eyes good to look at. But, as it was, I guess he kinder thought that if he was peaceable they would go off an' leave us, arter they found that no whisky was to be had. After searchin' around the cellar for more 'n ten minutes, one of 'em called out, "'"Wal, boys, it's easy enough to see that the cuss has fooled us. Thar's no liquor here. He's hid it in the woods, somewhere 'bout the shantee." "'"That's so," said another. "I'll bet he has got plenty of whisky somewhere. Let's go up and hang him till he tells us where it is." "'"No, no, that won't do," said Mountain Tom. "You fellers are gettin' so that you talk like babies. Shoot the rascal down. We've had trouble enough with him. If we can't get the liquor here, there are plenty of places where we can get it." "'"That's the talk!" yelled the band. "Shoot him down! Tear him to pieces!" "'The man who was standin' at the head of the stairs heard all the rascals had said, an', with a yell of delight, he raised his rifle an' drew a bead on my mother. But the ole man was too quick for him. With a bound like a painter, he sprang across the floor, an', grabbin' the villain by the throat, lifted him from his feet, and throwed him down into the cellar, an' in an instant shut the door, an' fastened it with a heavy bar of wood. Then, takin' down his rifle, he said to us, a'most in a whisper, "'"Now run! run for your lives! We must cross the prairy an' get into the woods afore the rascals cut their way out. Run! quick!" "'My mother took my sisters by the hand an' led them out, an' me an' my brother followed her. Father closed both the windows an' the door, an' fastened them on the outside. All this while the robbers had been yellin' an' swearin', an' cuttin' away at the cellar-door with their tomahawks; an' we well knowed that they would soon be out an' arter us. Our cabin stood in a large, natural prairy, an' we had to travel full half a mile acrost the open ground afore we come to the woods. My father followed close behind us, with his rifle, ready to shoot the first one that come in sight, an' kept urgin' us to go faster. We hadn't gone more'n half the distance acrost the prairy, when a loud crash and yells of triumph told us, plain enough, that the villains had worked their way out of the cellar. Then heavy blows sounded on the window-shutter, which, strong as it was, we knowed could not long hold out ag'in 'em. In a few minutes it was forced from its hinges, an' Mountain Tom sprang out. "'"Here they are, boys," he shouted. "Come on! We'll l'arn 'em not to hide--" "'The report of father's rifle cut short his words, an' Mountain Tom, throwin' his hands high above his head, sank to the ground like a log. By this time the rest of the band had come out, an the bullets rattled around us like hailstones. My father and brother both fell-the latter never to rise; but father, although he had received three bullets, staggered to his feet, an' follered along arter us, loadin' his rifle. Then began the race for life. It seemed to me that we flew over the ground, but the villains gained on us at every step. Just as we reached the woods, my father called out, "'"Down--down, every one of you! They're going to shoot again!" "'Obeyin' that order was what saved my life. I throwed myself flat into the bushes, an' escaped unhurt; but both my sisters were shot dead, an' my father received another ball that brought him to the ground. My mother, instead of thinkin' of herself, kneeled beside him, an' supported his head in her arms. The next minute the outlaws entered the woods, an' one passed so close to me that I could have touched him. "'"Wal, Bill Lawson," said a voice that I knowed belonged to Mountain Tom, "you see I'm here again. I s'pose you kind o' thought you had rubbed me out, didn't you?" "'"Yes, I did," said father--an' his voice was so weak that I could hardly hear him. "'"You won't have a chance to draw a bead on me again, I guess. We shoot consider'ble sharp--don't we?" "'"I shan't live long," said father. "But, whatever you do to me, be merciful to my wife an'--" "'The dull thud of the tomahawk cut short my father's dying prayer, an' his brains were spattered on the bush where I was concealed; an', a'most at the same moment, another of the band buried his knife in my mother's heart.' "Old Bill could go no further. He buried his face in his hands an' cried like a child. At length, by a strong effort, he choked down his sobs, and went on. "'I knew no more until I found myself lyin' in the cabin of an ole hunter, who lived about ten miles from where we used to live. He had been out huntin', an' had found me lyin' close beside my father an' mother. He thought I was dead, too, at first, but he found no wounds on me; so, arter buryin' all my relatives in one grave, he took me home with him. In three or four days I was able to get around again; an', beggin' a rifle an' some powder an' ball of the ole hunter, I started out. I went straight to the grave that contained all I loved on earth, an' there, kneelin' above their heads, I swore that my life should be devoted to but one object--vengeance on the villains who had robbed me of all my happiness. How well I have kept my oath the notches on my knife will show. Seven of them have fallen by my tomahawk; one only is left, an' that is Mountain Tom. For fifteen long years I have been on his trail; but the time will come when my vengeance will be complete.' "An' the ole man rolled himself up in his blanket, an', turning his back to me, sobbed himself to sleep. "But my story is not yet told," continued Dick. "About a year arter this, Bill an' me were ridin' along, about noon, in a little valley among the mountains, when we came, all of a sudden, on the camp of two trappers. "'Heaven be praised! there he is!' said ole Bill. "An', swinging himself from his horse, he strode up to one of the men, who sprang from his blanket, and ejaculated, "'Bill Lawson!' "'Yea, Mountain Tom,' said ole Bill, 'I'm here. You an' me have got a long reckonin' to settle now.' "The villain at first turned as pale as a skewer; but he seemed to regain his courage, and exclaimed, "'It won't take us long to settle up,' "And, quick as lightnin', he drew his knife, an' made a pass at Bill. "But he had got the wrong buck by the horn. The ole man was as quick as he; an', grabbin' hold of his arm, he took the knife away from him as if he had been a baby. "'Tom,' said he, as he drew his tomahawk from his belt, 'I've followed you all over this country for fifteen years, an', thank Heaven, I've found you at last.' "'Oh, Bill,' shrieked the condemned man, sinkin' on his knees before the ole man, 'I was--' "'Stand up,' said Bill, ketchin' hold of him, an' jerkin' him to his feet. 'You were brave enough when you were killing my wounded father.' "'Oh, Bill--' "'With the tomahawk you killed my father, an' by the tomahawk you shall die.' "'For mercy's sake, Bill,' again shrieked the terrified man, taking hold of a tree for support, 'hear me!' "The tomahawk descended like a streak of light, and the last of the murderers sank at the ole man's feet. The eighth notch was added to those on the knife, an' the debt was canceled." CHAPTER XV. Wild Geese. About two o'clock in the afternoon the boys concluded that it was about time to start for home; so, after putting out the fire and fastening the door of the cabin, they set out. Archie led the way, with a 'coon slung over each shoulder, and another dangling from his belt behind. The others followed close after him, in "Indian file." In this manner they marched through the woods, joking and shouting, and talking over the events of the day, and now and then indulging in a hearty laugh when they happened to think how Archie looked when he came into the camp, dripping wet. But Archie took matters very good-naturedly, and replied, "If I had come back without the 'coon, I should never have heard the last of it; and now you laugh at me because I fell into the drink while I was trying to catch him." In half an hour they reached the edge of the timber, and were about to climb over the fence into the cornfield, when a long, loud bark echoed through the woods. "That's Brave," exclaimed Frank; "and," he continued, as all the dogs broke out into a continuous cry, "they've found something. Let's go back." The boys all agreed to this, and they started back through the woods as fast as their legs could carry them. A few moments' run brought them in sight of the dogs, sitting on their haunches at the foot of a stump, that rose to the hight of twenty feet, without leaf or branch. Near the top were several holes; and, as soon as Frank discovered these, he exclaimed, "The dogs have got a squirrel in here." "How are we going to work to get him out?" inquired Archie. "Let's cut the stump down," said George. "That's too much sugar for a cent," answered Harry. "That will be working too hard for one squirrel." "Why will it?" asked George. "The stump is rotten." And he laid down his 'coon, and walked up and dealt the stump several lusty blows with his ax. Suddenly two large black squirrels popped out of one of the holes near the top, and ran rapidly around the stump. Quick as thought, Frank, who was always ready, raised his gun to his shoulder, and one of the squirrels came tumbling to the ground; but, before he had time to fire the second barrel, the other ran back into the hole. "Hit the tree again, George," exclaimed Harry, throwing down his 'coon, and bringing his gun to his shoulder. "It's no use," said Frank; "they will not come out again, if you pound on the stump all day." George, however, did as his brother had requested, but not a squirrel appeared. "Let's cut the tree down," said Archie. And, suiting the action to the word, he set manfully to work. A few blows brought off the outside "crust," and the heart of the tree was found to be decayed, and, in a few moments, it came crashing to the ground, and was shivered into fragments by the fall. The boys supposed that there was only one squirrel in the tree, and were running up to secure him, when, to their surprise, they discovered a number of the little animals scattering in different directions, and drawing "bee-lines" for the nearest trees. Frank killed one with his remaining barrel, and Harry, by an excellent shot, brought down another that had climbed up into the top of a tall oak, and was endeavoring to hide among the leaves. Brave and Sport both started after the same one, and overtook and killed it before it could reach a tree; but the grayhound came very near losing his. As soon as the stump had fallen, he singled out one of the squirrels, and, with two or three of his long bounds, overtook it; but, just as he was going to seize it, the squirrel dived into a pile of brush, out of the reach of the hound. A few loud, angry yelps brought Archie and George to his assistance, and they immediately began to pull the pile of brush to pieces. Suddenly the squirrel darted out, and started for a tree that stood about two rods distant. The boys threw their clubs at him, but he reached the foot of the tree unharmed. At this moment Lightfoot discovered him; two or three bounds carried him to the tree, and, crouching a moment, he sprang into the air, and attempted to seize the squirrel. But he was just a moment too late; the little animal had ascended out of his reach; but the next moment the sharp report of Harry's gun brought him to the ground. The squirrels were now all secured, and the young hunters again turned their faces homeward. One cold, stormy night, in the latter part of October, Frank and his cousin lay snug in bed, listening to the howling of the wind and the pattering of the rain against the window, and talking over their plans for the future, when, all at once, Frank sat upright in bed, and, seizing Archie's arm with a grip that almost wrung from him a cry of pain, exclaimed, "Listen! listen!" And the next moment, clear and loud above the noise of the storm, they heard the trumpet-like notes of a flock of wild geese. They passed over the house, and the sound grew fainter as they flew rapidly away. "My eye!" exclaimed Archie, "don't I wish it was daylight, and we stood out in front of the house, with our guns all ready!" "That's a nice thing to wish for," answered Frank; "but, if it were daylight, we should not stand any better chance of shooting them than we do here in bed." "What's the reason?" "Why, in the first place, if they went over at all, they would fly so high that it would need a rifle to reach them; and, in the next place, we have not got a rifle. Just wait until morning, and we'll make a scattering among them, if some one don't get the start of us." "I suppose we are not the only ones that have heard them." "Not by a good deal. I shouldn't wonder if there were a dozen fellows that have made up their minds to have a crack at them in the morning." And Frank was right. Many a young hunter, as he lay in bed and heard the wild geese passing over, had determined to have the first shot at them, and many a gun was taken down, and cleaned and loaded, in readiness for the morning's hunt. Wild geese seldom remained longer than two or three days about the village, and then they generally staid in the swamp. This made it difficult for the young hunters to get a shot at them, and only the most active and persevering ever succeeded. Although for a month the young sportsmen had been expecting them, and had carefully scanned the river every morning, and listened for the welcome "honk-honk" that should announce the arrival of the wished-for game, this was the first flock that had made its appearance. "I am afraid," said Archie, "that some one will get the start of us. Let's get up." "No; lie still and go to sleep," said Frank. "I am afraid we shall oversleep ourselves. I wonder what time it is." "I'll soon find out," said Frank. And, bounding out on to the floor, he lighted a match, and held it up before the little clock that stood on the mantle-piece. "It's twelve o'clock," he continued. And he crawled back into bed, and in a few moments was almost asleep, when Archie suddenly exclaimed, "They're coming back!" And the geese again passed over the house, in full cry. They knew it was the same flock, because they came from toward the river, and that was the same direction in which they had gone but a few moments before. In a short time they again returned; and, during the quarter of an hour that followed, they passed over three times more. "I wonder what is the matter with those geese," said Archie, at length. "Nothing," replied Frank; "only they have got a little bewildered, and don't know which way to go." "Where will we have to go to find them in the morning?" "Up to the swamp," answered Frank. "The last time they passed over they flew toward the north, and the swamp is the only place in that direction where they can go to find water, except Duck Lake, and that is too far for them to fly this stormy night." "I wish it was morning," said Archie, again. "Let's get up." "What's the use? It will be five long hours before it will be light enough to hunt them up; and we might as well go to sleep." "I'm afraid we shall sleep too long," said Archie, again, "and that some one will beat us." "No fear of that," answered Frank; "I'll wake you up at three o'clock." And he turned over and arranged his pillow, and in a few moments was fast asleep. But Archie was so excited that he found it difficult even to lie still; and he lay awake almost two hours, thinking of the sport they should have in the morning, and at last dropped into an unquiet slumber. It seemed to him that he had hardly closed his eyes, when a strong hand was laid on his shoulder, and a voice said, in his ear, "Wake up here; it's three o'clock." He did not need a second call, but was out on the floor in an instant. It was still storming. The wind moaned and whistled through the branches of the trees around the cottage, and sent the big drops of rain rattling against the window. It was a wild time to go hunting, and some boys would have preferred tumbling back into bed again. But Frank and his cousin had made up their minds that if any one got a shot at the geese, they were to be the ones. As soon as they were dressed, Frank led the way into the kitchen, and, while he was lighting a fire, Archie brought out of the pantry a pan of milk, two spoons and bowls, and a loaf of bread. He was so impatient to "get a crack at the geese," as he said, that, although he was very fond of bread and milk, he could scarcely eat at all. "I'm afraid some one will get the start of us," he exclaimed, noticing that his cousin, instead of being in a hurry, was taking matters very coolly. "What if they do?" answered Frank, deliberately refilling his bowl from the pan. "We shall stand just as good a chance as they do. It will not be daylight these two hours. It's as dark as pitch, and all we can do is to go up to the swamp, and get under a tree, and wait until it is light enough to see where our geese are." As soon as they had finished their breakfast, they brought out their guns, and began to prepare for the hunt. Extra charges were put in each barrel; and, while they were drawing on their rubber coats, Archie said, "We had better leave my dogs at home, hadn't we? Lightfoot would make too much noise, and Sport, although he would keep still enough, would be of no use to us, for he will not go into the water after a wounded bird." "Yes," said Frank, "we had better leave them behind. But we must have Brave with us. I'll go and call him." And he opened the door, and, walking out upon the piazza, which ran entirely around the cottage, gave a low whistle. There was a slight rustling among the straw in the kennel where the dogs slept, and Brave came out, and followed his master into the house. After wrapping up their guns in their coats, they were ready to set out. Half an hour's walk, through mud up to their ankles, brought them to Uncle Mike's house, which stood at the end of the road, and, climbing over the fence that inclosed his pasture, they struck off through the woods toward the lake. After picking their way for half a mile over fallen logs, and through wet, tangled bushes, Frank, who was leading the way, suddenly stopped, and, leaning back against a tree to get out of the rain, said, "Here we are. Had we better try to cross the creek now, or shall we wait until daylight?" "You must have cat's eyes," said Archie, trying to peer through the darkness. "I knew there was a creek here somewhere, but I didn't suppose we had reached it yet." "Well, we have; and, unless I am very much mistaken, you will find the bridge right before you. Shall we try to cross it now? It will be a slippery job." The "bridge" that Frank referred to was simply a large tree that the boys had felled across the creek, and stripped of its branches. It could easily be crossed in the day-time, but in a dark, stormy night it was a difficult task to undertake. The boys could scarcely see their hands before them; and Frank had accomplished something worth boasting of in being able to conduct his cousin directly to the bridge. "It will require the skill of a rope-dancer to cross that bridge now," said Archie; "and, if we should happen to slip off into the water, we would be in a nice fix." "Besides," said Frank, "if we did succeed in crossing, we could not go far in the dark, on account of the swamp; so, I think, we had better wait." The boys stood under the tree, talking in low tones, when Frank suddenly exclaimed, "We're all right. The geese are in the lake. Do you hear that?" Archie listened, and heard a splashing in the water, mingled with the hoarse notes of the gander. "I wish it was daylight," said he, impatiently. "Don't be in a hurry," said Frank; "there's time enough." "I'm afraid they will start off as soon as it gets light." "Oh, no; the lake is a good feeding-ground, and they would stay, perhaps, all day, if they were not disturbed." In about an hour the day began to dawn; and, as soon as objects on the opposite side of the creek could be discerned, Frank led the way across the bridge. A short run through the woods brought them to the swamp. Now the hunt began in earnest. The swamp was covered with water, which, in some places, was two feet deep; and the trees and bushes grew so thick, that it was with difficulty that they could work their way through them. Besides, they were obliged to proceed very carefully, for every step brought them nearer the game; and the slightest splashing in the water, or even the snapping of a twig, might alarm them. At length they found themselves on the shore of the lake; and, peering out from behind a thicket, where they had crept for concealment, they discovered, about half-way to the opposite shore, as fine a flock of geese as one would wish to see--fifteen of them in all. They were swimming around, turning their heads first one way and then the other, as if they had been alarmed. "It's a long shot, isn't it?" said Archie, measuring the distance with his eye. "Yes," answered his cousin; "but that is not the worst of it; they are getting further away from us every moment." "Well," said Archie, cocking his gun, and pushing it carefully through the bushes, "you be ready to take them as they rise." As he spoke he took a quick aim at the nearest of the flock, and pulled the trigger. The cap snapped. "Plague on the gun!" he exclaimed. "Shall I throw it in the lake!" "No, no," answered Frank; "try the other barrel; and you had better be quick about it--they're going to fly." Archie again raised his gun to his shoulder. This time there was no mistake. The nearest of the geese received the entire charge, and lay dead on the water. Frank now waited for his turn; but the geese, after skimming along the surface of the water until they were out of gun-shot, rose in the air, and flew rapidly across the lake. As the boys stood watching their flight, they saw a cloud of smoke issue from a clump of bushes on the opposite shore, followed by the report of a gun, and one of the flock fell to the water, and another, evidently badly wounded, rose high in the air, and flew wildly about. Another puff of smoke rose from the bushes, a second report was heard, and the wounded bird came tumbling into the lake. The geese, surprised at this sudden repulse, quickly wheeled, and flew back toward the place where our hunters were stationed. Frank raised his gun to his shoulder, and, as soon as they came within range, he pulled the trigger, and brought down two geese--one stone-dead, and the other with a broken wing. Hardly waiting to see the effect of the shot, he fired his second barrel at the flock, just as they were disappearing over the tops of the trees. They had flown so high, that he hardly expected the shot would prove effective. To his surprise, one of the flock gradually fell behind, and, after trying in vain to support itself, fell slowly through the air, until it almost reached the water; then it seemed to regain the power of using its wings, and began to fly more regularly. "Try your gun again, Archie," said Frank; "I'm afraid we are going to lose him." Archie accordingly drew a bead on the goose, but with no better success, and the bird speedily disappeared over the trees. "Confound my luck!" exclaimed Archie, impatiently. "I'll try and keep my powder dry after this." "He can't fly far," said Frank. "Let's be lively, and we will have him yet. Here, Brave!" he continued, pointing to the geese in the lake, "fetch 'em out!" Brave plunged into the water, and made toward the nearest of the geese, which happened to be the one Frank had wounded. As soon as the bird saw him approaching, instead of trying to save himself by flight, he raised himself in the water, elevated his uninjured wing, and set up a loud hiss. But these hostile demonstrations, instead of intimidating the Newfoundlander, served rather to enrage him, and he kept on, with open mouth, ready to seize the game. The moment he came within reach, the goose thrust out his long neck, and, catching Brave by the ear, dealt him a hard blow over the head with his wing. But he did not have time to repeat it, for the dog gave a loud, angry yelp, and, springing forward in the water, seized the goose, and killed it with a single bite; then, turning round, he swam back to the shore, deposited the game at his master's feet, and again plunged in to bring out the others. "I wonder who that is on the other side of the lake?" said Archie. "I guess it's Bill Johnson," answered Frank, who had reloaded his gun, and stood holding it in the hollow of his arm. "I saw a dog that looked very much like his bringing out the geese. There he is now!" And as he spoke the boy stepped out of the bushes, and a loud, shrill whistle echoed across the lake. "That's Bill," said Archie. "Hallo!" he continued, raising his voice so that William could hear; "wait for us at Uncle Mike's--will you?" "All right," shouted William, in reply. And, gathering up his game, he again disappeared in the bushes. By this time Brave had brought out the last of the geese, and Archie had succeeded in shooting off the wet charge; so they started back toward the road. Frank led the way, carrying three of the geese; Brave followed close at his heels, carrying the fourth; and Archie brought up the rear, loading his gun as he went. An hour's walk brought them to Uncle Mike's, where they found William sitting on the fence, waiting for them. "What luck?" inquired Archie, as they came up. "Only two," answered William; "but you have been more fortunate." "Yes," said Archie, "we've got four; and Frank wounded another so badly that he can't fly far. We are going to look for him in the creek, as we go along." "And I hope we shall get him," said Frank; "for he was the largest of the flock, and I want him for our museum." The boys walked slowly down the creek, keeping a good look-out for the wounded bird among the reeds along the bank; but they reached the cottage without seeing any signs of him. "I'm afraid we've lost him," said Archie. "I'm sorry," said Frank, "for he was a nice, big fellow. Let's go back; perhaps we've overlooked him. I am certain that he could not have flown to the river." At this moment a slight splashing in the water, on the opposite side of the creek, attracted their attention, and they discovered their game swimming slowly about among the reeds, as if trying to find some place of concealment. "Now, Archie," said Frank, dropping the butt of his gun to the ground, "there's a chance for you to retrieve your lost reputation." "And I'll take advantage of it," said Archie, raising his gun to his shoulder. A loud report followed his words, and the goose, after a few slight struggles, lay motionless on the water. Brave immediately sprang into the creek, and, forcing his way among the reeds, seized the bird and brought it to the shore. CHAPTER XVI. Chapter of Incidents. The next day had been set apart by Frank and his cousin for a squirrel-hunt; but the first thing they heard, when they awoke in the morning, was the pattering of the rain against their bedroom window, and the hunt was, to use Archie's expression, "up stump." Although they had been expecting exciting times, bringing down the squirrels (for the woods were fairly alive with them), and were a good deal disappointed at being obliged to postpone their intended excursion, they were not the ones to complain, they knew there would be many pleasant days before the winter set in, and the hunt was put off without ceremony. They were at no loss to know how to pass the day. There was plenty of work to be done: their traps must be overhauled and put in working order; the Speedwell was waiting to be dismasted and put cover; their fishing-tackle must be oiled and packed away, their pets taken care of and provided with winter-quarters; and there was a host of other things to attend to; and they were in no fear that the time would hang heavily on their hands. As soon as the boys were dressed, they went into the shop and set manfully to work. Archie kindled a fire in the stove--for it was a cold, unpleasant day--and Frank pulled from under the work-bench a large chest, filled with spring-traps, "dead-falls," broken reels, scraps of lead, and numberless other things he had collected, and began to pull over the contents. The traps were taken out and subjected to a thorough rubbing and greasing. While thus engaged, their attention was attracted by the peculiar "cawing" of a crow that flew over the shop, and, a moment afterward, a whole chorus of the harsh notes sounded in the direction of the woods. The boys hurried to the door, and saw a multitude of crows pouring from every part of the woods, cawing with all their might, and directing their course toward a large pine-tree, which stood in the meadow back of the orchard, and which was already covered with them. "What's the matter?" inquired Archie. "They act as if they had discovered an owl," answered Frank. "Have they? Let's go and shoot him." "That will, probably, be a harder job than you anticipate," said Frank. "However, we will try." After shutting the dogs up in the shop, the boys ran into the house, drew on their rubber coats, and started through the orchard, loading their guns as they went--putting an extra charge of powder and a couple of buck-shot into each barrel. In a few moments they reached the fence that ran between the orchard and the meadow, and Archie inquired, "What shall we do now?" "We can't go much further," said Frank, drawing a flap of his coat over his gun, to protect it from the rain. "There isn't a stump, or even a tuft of grass, in the meadow large enough to cover us. Besides, if we undertake to climb over the fence, every crow will be out of sight in a moment; then good-by, owl." "He wouldn't fly off, would he?" "I should say he would," answered Frank, with a laugh. "He'd leave like a streak of lightning." "That's news to me. I always thought owls couldn't see in the day-time. Natural history says so." "I know it," said Frank. "But there is one thing certain: they must be able to see a little, or else their sense of smell or hearing is very acute for it is very difficult to get a shot at them, even in the day-time. That one in our museum led me a chase of half a day before I shot him, and I had a rifle, too." "What is to be done now?" inquired Archie. "We don't want to stand here in the rain much longer." "We must wait until he flies into the woods, or somewhere else, so that we can get a shot at him." "I can make him fly. I've killed squirrels further off than that, many a time. Suppose I shoot at him?" "Shoot away; but you must remember that an owl and a squirrel are two different things. The thick feathers of the owl will glance a charge of shot that would blow a squirrel to pieces." Archie made no reply, but crawled up behind a thick cluster of currant-bushes that grew close by the fence, and, thrusting his gun between the branches, was settling himself into a comfortable position, when the owl suddenly leaped from his perch, and flew off toward the woods, as Frank had said he would, "like a streak of lightning," followed by the whole flock of his tormentors, which screamed with all their might. "Now's our time," said Frank. "Come on!" And, clearing the fence at a bound, he started across the meadow at the top of his speed. Archie followed close at his heels, and a few minutes run brought them to the edge of the woods. "Now the hunt begins in earnest," said Frank, "We must separate; we shall make too much noise if we go together." "Where's the owl?" inquired Archie. "As near as I can guess, he must be in that tall hemlock," answered Frank, pointing through the woods toward the tree in question. Archie immediately moved cautiously off in the direction indicated, leaving his cousin to take care if himself. Guided by the noise made by the crows, he soon discovered the owl, not where Frank had supposed him to be, but on a tree that stood to the right, and several rods further off. Placing a large tree between himself and the game, he threw himself on his hands and knees, and crawled along as silently as possible, taking good care to keep out of sight of the crows. He had arrived almost within range of the owl, when he found before him a spot of considerable extent, which was entirely destitute of bushes or large trees, and covered only with saplings, which grew so thinly that he would certainly be discovered if he attempted to pass through them. This brought him to a stand-still. He stood thinking whether he had better risk a shot at the owl or retrace his steps, when one of the crews uttered a cry of warning, which was immediately answered by the others, and the whole flock was out of sight in an instant. The owl gazed around a moment with his great eyes, then spread his wings, leaped into the air, and was flying rapidly away, when there was a sharp report, and he came tumbling to the ground, and the indefatigable Frank rose from the bushes, and ran forward to secure his prize. "Dished again!" said Archie, to himself. "I would have wagered a good deal that Frank was not within gun-shot." "I say, Archie, where are you?" called out Frank. "Here I am. I thought, sure, that owl was mine." And Archie came forward, holding his gun in the hollow of his arm, and looking a little crest-fallen. "You were not far behind," said Frank, laughing. "That's poor consolation. I wanted to be first. Never mind," he added, catching up the owl, and throwing it over his shoulder, "I'll be ahead of you yet." This generous rivalry had existed between the cousins from their earliest boyhood. In all athletic sports--such as running, ball-playing, swimming, and the like--Archie was acknowledged to be the superior; but in hunting Frank generally carried off the palm. Archie, however, perseveringly kept up the contest, and endeavored to accomplish, by bold and rapid movements, what his cousin gained by strategy; and, although he sometimes bore off the prize, he more frequently succeeded in "knocking every thing in the head" by what the boys called his "carelessness." This was the source of a great deal of merriment between the cousins; and, although they sometimes felt a little mortified at their defeat (as did Archie now), they ever afterward spoke of it as a "good joke." After breakfast the boys went into the shop again, and Frank sharpened his knife, and began to remove the skin of the owl, intending to stuff it and place it in the museum, while Archie took his ax and started for a grove of willows, that grew on the banks of the creek, to get some timber to make a dead-fall trap. He had been gone scarcely a moment before he returned in a great hurry, and, throwing down his ax, seized his gun, which stood in the corner behind the door, exclaiming, "Now I've got a chance to make up for losing that owl. A flock of ducks, regular canvas-backs, have just flown over, and I think they lit in the swamp. You'll have to make tracks to get the start of me this time." And he shouldered his gun, and ran out of the shop, banging the door after him. Frank immediately dropped the owl, caught up his gun, and started in hot pursuit. But his cousin had made the most of his time, and, when Frank reached the gate, he saw Archie far up the road, tearing along as fast as his legs could carry him, and spattering the mud in every direction. Under any other circumstances, Frank would have stopped to laugh; but, as it was, he had no time to lose. So he ran down the bank of the creek, and, untying his skiff, pushed out into the stream, and a few strokes of the oars brought him to the opposite shore; then, fastening the skiff to a tree, he started through the woods, toward the swamp. This enabled him to gain on his cousin almost half a mile. But Archie happened to have luck on his side this time; for the ducks, instead of alighting in the swamp, as he had supposed, had come down in the creek; and, as he was hurrying along the road, which ran close to the creek, a slight splashing in the water and a hoarse "quack" attracted his attention, and caused him to proceed with more caution. He listened until the noise was repeated, in order that he might know exactly where the ducks were, and then began to worm his way through the wet bushes, in the direction of the sound. At length he crawled up behind a large log, that lay close to the water's edge, and had the satisfaction of finding the game fairly before him. But the most difficult part of the undertaking was yet to come. The ducks--seven of them in all--were fully twenty rods off; and, although Archie had great confidence in the "shooting qualities" of his gun, he hardly dared to fire--he might only wound the birds; and, as he had no ammunition with him besides the loads in his gun, he was anxious to make every shot tell. "This won't do," he soliloquized. "I must get up nearer." He was about to retrace his steps, when he noticed that the ducks began to move impatiently around, and acted as if about to fly. In an instant Archie's mind was made up; it was now or never; and, taking a quick aim at the nearest of the flock, he blazed away. It was his only chance, and a slim one at that, for the distance was so great that he hardly expected the shot would take effect; but, when the smoke cleared away, he discovered one of the flock lying motionless on the water, and another, too badly wounded to rise, was swimming slowly around him. The rest of the flock were skimming along the surface of the creek, toward the swamp. They were far beyond the range of his gun, and he knew it would do no good to fire at them; so he concluded, to use his own expression, to "make sure of what he had got," and, taking aim at the wounded bird, was about to give it the contents of the other barrel, when he heard the report of a gun some distance further up the creek, and looked up just in time to see one of the birds fall into the water. "Who's that, I wonder," said Archie, to himself. "It can't be Frank, for he wouldn't be on that side of the creek; besides, I had a good long start of him." His soliloquy was cut short by the movements of the flock, which, instead of continuing on their course up the creek, rose higher in the air, and flew about in confusion. This opportunity was not lost by the concealed sportsman, and a second bird came down with a broken wing. The ducks then wheeled and flew back toward the place where Archie was stationed. As soon as they came within range, he fired and brought down another bird, which landed among the bushes on the opposite side of the creek. He now turned his attention to the wounded duck, which was swimming in a circle around his dead companion, as if perfectly bewildered. "I wish I had my powder-flask and shot-bag," said Archie. "How foolish I was not to bring them! I bet that I'll never start out again with only one load in my gun." But there was no time for regrets. The duck seemed to be recovering his strength, and began co flap his wings, as if preparing to fly. Archie began to fear that he should lose him; and, throw down his gun, he gathered up an armful of sticks and branches, and straightway opened fire on the bird. The duck dodged the missiles like a flash, and every now and then renewed his attempts to fly; but, at length, a heavy piece of root struck him, and stretched him out lifeless on the water. "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed a strong, cheery voice. "That's what I call shooting ducks under difficulties." Archie looked up and saw his cousin standing on the opposite side of the creek, with his gun on one shoulder and two of the flock slung over the other. "I came very near getting the start of you, after all--didn't I?" continued Frank. "Was that you shooting up there?" inquired Archie. "Yes; I had almost reached the swamp, when I happened to think that perhaps the ducks might be in the creek, so I turned back." "A lucky circumstance for you. But I beat you, after all. I've got three ducks." "Where are they? I don't see but two." "The other is over there in the bushes, somewhere." Frank immediately commenced looking for it, and Archie procured a long branch, and waded out as far as possible into the creek, and, after considerable exertion and a thorough wetting, succeeded in pulling both of his ducks to the shore. During the three weeks that followed, the boys passed the time in various ways--sometimes hunting in the woods or on the river, but more frequently working in the shop. They also spent considerable time in attending to their pets. The young otter proved to be the most interesting little animal they had ever seen. He grew quite tame, and when the boys entered the room where he was kept, he would come toward them, uttering a faint whine, and, if they seated themselves, he would jump up into their laps, and search through their pockets for something to eat--such as bread or crackers, of which the boys always took especial care to have a good supply. At length they began to long for winter, and many were the speculations as to when the "first fell of snow" would come. Their traps were all in order, and they were impatient for an opportunity to make use of them. Besides, they had agreed with George and Harry to "go fox-hunting the very first time there was snow enough for tracking." A week more passed, and Thanksgiving Day came; and in the evening Frank and his cousin went down to visit George and Harry, intending, as they said, to "stay only a few minutes." But Mr. Butler soon came in, and began to relate some of his "sailor yarns," as he called them (for he was a retired sea-captain), and the boys became so interested in listening to them, that they did not notice how rapidly the time flew by, and it was ten o'clock before they knew it. They then bade the Captain "good-night." George and Harry, as usual, agreed to accompany them part of the way, and, when they reached the door, what was their surprise to find the ground white with snow, and the air filled with the rapidly-falling flakes. "We'll have that fox-hunt to-morrow," exclaimed Harry, in delight. "Of course we will," said Archie, "and I wouldn't take ten dollars for my chance of catching one." "You mean, if the snow doesn't melt," said Frank, quietly. "Oh, that's always the way with you," said Archie. "What makes you try to throw cold water on all our expectations, in that way?" "I didn't intend to," answered Frank, with a laugh; "but, you know, we have been disappointed very often." "Yes," said George, "but I guess we are all right this time. It snows pretty fast, and the air doesn't feel like a thaw or rain." Frank acknowledged this; and they walked along, talking about the exciting times they expected to have on the morrow, until they reached the "big elm"--a large tree that stood leaning over the creek, just half-way between Captain Butler's and where Frank lived. Here George and Harry stopped, and, after promising to be at the cottage early on the following morning, turned their faces homeward. CHAPTER XVII. The Grayhound Outgeneraled. The next morning, at an early hour, George and Harry arrived at the cottage, and, after a light and hastily-eaten breakfast, they set out. Frank and Harry were armed, as usual, with their guns, while the others carried axes. They crossed the meadow at the back of the orchard, passed through the cornfield which had been the scene of the 'coon-hunt, a few weeks before, and struck out through the woods. The dogs were then sent out ahead, and they had not gone more than half a mile, when Sport uttered a long, loud howl, and, when the boys came up with him, he was running impatiently about with his nose close to the ground. "A fox has been along here," said Frank, bending over and examining a track in the snow, "and the trail looks fresh." "Hunt 'em up! hunt 'em up!" shouted Archie, excitedly, waving his hand to the dogs. Sport bounded off on the track like a shot, and Lightfoot followed close after. Brave barked and howled furiously, and acted as if he wished very much to accompany them; but the swift hounds would have distanced him in a moment. It must not be supposed that it was the intention of the boys to follow up the hounds--that would have been worse than useless. Perhaps the chase would continue for several hours. They had once hunted a fox all day, without coming in sight of him. Reynard has ways and habits of his own, which a person who has had experience in hunting him understands. He always runs with the wind, and generally follows a ridge. The hunters take advantage of this, and "run cross-lots" to meet him, sometimes gaining on him several miles in this manner. The moment the hounds had disappeared on the trail, Frank--who knew all the "run-ways" of the game like a book--led the way through the woods toward a ridge that lay about a mile distant, where they expected the fox would pass. A quarter of an hour's run brought them to this ridge, and they began to conceal themselves behind trees and bushes, when Archie suddenly exclaimed, "We're dished, boys. The fox has already passed." "Come on, then," said Frank. "No time to lose. We must try again." And he again led the way, on a keen run, through a strip of woods, across a wide meadow toward another ridge, that lay fully three miles distant. At length the baying of the hounds echoed through the woods, far below them. Louder and louder it grew, and, in a few moments, they swept up the ridge in full cry. The boys hurried on as rapidly as possible, and reached the ridge in about an hour. Although they were accustomed to such sport, they were pretty well tired out. They had run the greater part of the way through thick woods, filled with fallen logs and tangled bushes; but they now felt confident that the hunt was nearly over. They knew they had gained considerably on the fox, and his capture would be an ample reward for their trouble. As soon as they reached the ridge, they threw themselves rapidly across it in all directions, and, to their delight, discovered that the fox had not yet passed. They stationed themselves in such a manner that it would be impossible for him to pass on either side of them without coming within reach of their guns, and patiently awaited his appearance. They had not remained long in this position, when Archie, who was stationed lowest down the ridge, exclaimed in a subdued voice, "There they come, boys! Now, look sharp!" The boys listened intently, and heard, faint and far off, the well-known bay of Sport. It was sharp and short--very different from the note he had uttered when the chase first commenced. Louder and louder grew the noise, as the hounds came rapidly up the ridge toward the place where the boys were stationed, and every one was on the alert, expecting every moment to see the fox break cover. Suddenly a loud howl blended with Sport's baying, and the hounds seemed to turn and sweep down the valley. "The fox has left the ridge, boys," said Frank. "Then we're dished again," exclaimed Archie. "Perhaps not," continued Frank. "He will have to go across the meadow, and will run the risk of being caught by Lightfoot. We must try and cut him off." And he led the way down the ridge, in the direction the chase was tending. In a few moments the hounds broke out into a continuous cry, and, when the boys emerged from the woods, they saw them standing at the foot of a tall stump, which stood near the middle of the meadow. Brave immediately ran to join them, and Harry exclaimed, "I'd like to know what those dogs are doing there?" "Why, they've got the fox treed," said Frank. "A fox treed!" repeated Harry, with a laugh, "Whoever heard of such a thing?" "I have often read," answered Frank, "that when a fox is hard pressed, and finds himself unable to escape, he will take advantage of any place of concealment he can find." While this conversation was going on, the boys had been running toward the stump, and, when they reached it, they found Brave with his head buried in a hole near the ground, now and then giving his tail a jerk, but otherwise remaining as motionless as a statue. "What do you think now of the possibility of seeing a fox?" inquired Frank, turning to Harry. "I don't believe it yet," said the latter. "Then how is it that the dogs are here?" "The fox may have run down here and doubled on his trail, and thus thrown the dogs off the scent." "He didn't have time to do that," said Archie, who had divested himself of his coat, and stood with his ax, ready to cut down the stump. "He's in here, I'm certain. See how Brave acts." "It will not take long to find out," said George, who was a good deal of his brother's opinion that the fox was not in the tree. And he and Archie set to work, with the intention of cutting it down. But it was found to be hollow; and, after taking out a few chips, Archie stooped down to take a survey of the interior, and spied the fox crouched in the darkest corner. "Hand me your gun, Frank," said he; "I'll shoot him." "I wouldn't shoot him," said Frank. "It is a good time to try Lightfoot's speed. Let's get the fox out, and give him a fair start, and if he gets away from the hound, he is entitled to his life." The boys readily agreed to this proposal--not out of any desire to give the fox a chance for his liberty, but in order to witness a fair trial of the grayhound's speed, and to enjoy the excitement of the race. George and Harry provided themselves with long poles, with which to "poke" the fox out of his refuge. Brave and Sport were unceremoniously conducted away from the tree, and ordered to "lie down;" and Frank took hold of the grayhound, intending to restrain him until the fox could get a fair start. "All ready now," said Archie. "Keep a good look-out, Frank, and let the hound go the instant the fox comes out. You know, Lightfoot is young yet, and it won't do to give the game too long a start." "All right," answered Frank. And he tightened his grasp on the strong, impatient animal, which struggled desperately to free himself, while George and Harry began the work of "poking out the fox." They thrust their poles into the holes they had cut in the roots of the stump, and the next moment out popped the fox, and started toward the woods like a streak of light. The meadow was about a mile and a half square, and was laid off in "dead furrows"--deep ditches, which are dug, about four rods apart, to drain off the water. The fox took to the bank of one of these furrows, and followed it at a rate of speed which the boys had never seen equaled. The moment Lightfoot discovered him, he raised himself on his hind-legs, and struggled and fought furiously. But Frank would not release him in that position, for fear the hound would "throw" himself; and he commenced striking him on the head, to compel him, if possible, to place his fore-feet on the ground, but all to no purpose. During the struggle, short as it was, the fox had gained nearly thirty rods. Archie was not slow to notice this, and he shouted to his cousin, "Let him go! let him go! The fox has too long a start already." Frank accordingly released the hound, which made an enormous bound, and, as Frank had expected, he landed, all in a heap, in one of the dead furrows, and, before he could recover himself, the fox had gained two or three rods more. But when the hound was fairly started, his speed was astonishing. He settled down nobly to his work, and moved over the ground as lightly as if he had been furnished with wings. Had he been a well-trained dog, the boys would have felt no concern whatever as to the issue of the race; but, as it was, they looked upon the escape of the fox as a very probable thing. The fox was still following the dead furrow, and Lightfoot, instead of pursuing directly after him, as he ought to have done, took to another furrow which ran parallel to the one the fox was following, and about four rods from it. The fox had a good start, but the enormous bounds of the greyhound rapidly lessened the distance between them; he gained at every step, and finally overtook him, and the two animals were running side by side, and only four rods apart. Suddenly the cunning fox turned, and started off exactly at right angles with the course he had been following. The gray hound, of course, had not been expecting this, and he made a dozen of his long bounds before he could turn himself. During this time the fox gained several rods. As before, the hound pursued a course parallel with that of the fox, instead of following directly after him. In a few moments they were again running side by side, but this time further apart than before. Again and again the fox turned, each time nearing the woods, and gaining considerably; and finally, reaching the end of the meadow, he cleared the fence at a bound, and disappeared in the bushes. "Now, that's provoking!" exclaimed Archie. "Never mind," answered Frank. "I don't think the fox can go much further. He must be pretty well tired out, judging by the way he ran. Here, Sport!" he continued, "hunt 'em up!" Sport was off like a shot, and the boys followed after as fast as their legs could carry them. When they reached the woods, they found Lightfoot beating about in the bushes, as if he expected to find the fox concealed among them. Sport was standing over the trail of the fox, as motionless as if he had been turned into stone. "Hunt 'em up!" shouted Frank, again--"hunt 'em up." The hound uttered a loud bark, and instantly set off on the trail, and Lightfoot, as before, followed close at his heels. "Now," exclaimed Frank, "we must change our tactics." "Yes," said Harry. "A little further on, the ridge branches off, and there is no knowing which one the fox will follow. Come, George, we will go this way." And he turned and ran down into the meadow again. "Run like blazes, now!" shouted Frank. And, suiting the action to the word, he turned off in the opposite direction, and led the way through the woods at a rate which made Archie wonder. They ran along in "Indian file"--Brave bringing up the rear--for almost two miles, through the thickest part of the woods, when they again found themselves on the ridge. After ascertaining that the fox had not yet passed, they took their stations. "I would really like to know which way that fox went," said Archie, panting hard after his long run. "I am almost certain that he took to the other ridge," answered Frank. "I think we should have heard the hound before this time, if he had turned this way." They remained in their places of concealment for almost an hour, without hearing any sounds of the chase, and Frank said, "We might as well start for home." "Dished again, are we?" said Archie, in a deprecating tone. "That's too bad! Well," he continued, "we can't always be the fortunate ones, but I wish I could have had the pleasure of shooting that fox. But which way do we go to get home?" "We must go exactly south," said Frank. "Which way is that?" "I will soon tell you." And Frank drew a small compass from his pocket, and, in a moment, continued, "This is the way. Come on!" And he turned his face, as Archie thought, directly _from_ home, and struck boldly out. Their long run had taxed their endurance to the utmost. If they had "been in practice," they would have looked upon it as merely a "little tramp;" for, during the previous winter, they had often followed a fox all day without experiencing any serious inconvenience; but, as this was the first exercise of the kind they had had for almost a year, they felt the effects of it pretty severely. Archie, who had lived in the city during the summer, was "completely used up," as he expressed it; and his cousin was weary and footsore; and it seemed as though neither of them had sufficient strength left to take another step. They kept on, hour after hour, however, without once stopping to rest; and, about three o'clock in the afternoon, they climbed over the fence that inclosed Uncle Mike's pasture, and came in sight of the cottage. George and Harry were sitting on the piazza, and, as soon as they came within speaking distance, the latter held up the fox, exclaiming, "We were lucky, for once in our lives." "If we had been five minutes later, we should have lost him," said George, as Frank and his cousin came up to where the brothers were sitting. "We reached the ridge just in the 'nick of time,' The fox was just passing, and Harry brought him down by a chance shot. Here, Frank," he continued, "you take the fox; we have no use for him." Frank thanked him; and the boys then went into the house, and, after dinner, the brothers started for home. Frank and his cousin went into the study, and the former selected his favorite book from his library, and settled himself in an easy-chair before the fire; while Archie stretched himself on the bed, and was fast asleep in a moment. And here, reader, we will leave them reposing after their long run; but we hope soon to introduce them again in works entitled, "FRANK IN THE WOODS," and "FRANK ON THE PRAIRIE." THE END. 
23048	----	Adrift in a Boat, by W.H.G. Kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ This is not a very long book, but the story is a good one. Several families have met together to have a picnic on a pleasant local beach. To everyone's delight they are joined by Harry Merryweather, a midshipman home on leave. Harry and another youth, David Moreton, go for a wander round the rocks, but are cut off by the strong tide. The weather then turns very nasty, but the boys are able to swim to a passing boat containing an old man, Jefferies, and his young grandson, Tristram. The weather is now so bad they can't get back to the local harbour at Penmore. There is an accident and young Tristram is lost overboard, and drowned. They see a vessel, a brig, on her way down channel, but when they get to her they find she is an abandoned wreck. More bad weather. They are seen by a schooner about some bad business, who opens fire, probably to destroy an unwanted witness to some crime. The brig is sinking. They make a raft. Old Jefferies dies. They are picked up by a French schooner, which turns out to be a privateer. At this point the story gets even more convoluted, and you will have to read the book to see what happens next, and how the boys eventually get home. ________________________________________________________________________ ADRIFT IN A BOAT, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON. CHAPTER ONE. THE PICNIC ON THE SANDS--THE MIDSHIPMAN--HARRY MERRYWEATHER AND DAVID MORETON CAUGHT BY THE TIDE--THE ALARM. Few parts of the shores of old England present more beautiful and romantic scenery than is to be found on the coast of Cornwall. There are deep bays, and bold headlands, and wild rocks, and lofty cliffs, and wooded heights, and bare downs, and yellow sands full of the most minute and delicate shells, so delicate that it is surprising how they could have existed in the rough and boisterous ocean, and been cast up whole from the depths below. In one of those beautiful bays, many years ago, a large party was collected, on a bright afternoon in the early part of autumn. Among the party were persons of all ages, but most of them were young, and all were apparently very busy. Some were engaged in tending a fire over which a pot was boiling, and others were collecting drift-wood thrown up close under the cliff, with which to feed it. Two or three young ladies, under the superintendence of a venerable matron, were spreading a tablecloth, though the sand looked so smooth and clear that it did not seem as if the most dainty of people could have required one. Several were very eager in unpacking sundry hampers and baskets, and in carrying the dishes and plates, and bottles of wine, and the numerous other articles which they contained, to the tablecloth. Two young ladies had volunteered to go with a couple of pails to fetch water from a spring which gushed out of the cliff, cool and fresh, at some distance off, and two young gentlemen had offered to go and, assist them, which was very kind in the young gentlemen, as they certainly before had not thought of troubling themselves about the matter. To be sure the young ladies were very pretty and very agreeable, and it is possible that their companions might not have considered the trouble over-excessive. The youngest members of the party were as busy as the rest, close down to the water collecting the beautiful shells which have been mentioned. The shells were far too small to be picked up singly, and they therefore came provided with sheets of thick letter-paper, into which they swept them from off the sand where they had been left by the previous high tide. A loud shout from a hilarious old gentleman, who had constituted himself director of the entertainment, and who claimed consequently the right of making more noise than anybody else, or indeed than all the rest put together, now summoned them up to the tablecloth, to which at the sound, with no lingering steps, they came, exhibiting their treasures on their arrival to their older friends. The party forthwith began to seat themselves round the ample tablecloth, but they took up a good deal more room than had it been spread on a table. The variety of attitudes they assumed was amusing. The more elderly ladies sat very upright, with their plates on their laps; the younger ones who had gone for the water, and their friends of the same age, managed to assume more graceful attitudes; while the young men who had been to school and college, and had read how the Romans took their meals, stretched themselves out at the feet of the former, leaning on their elbows, and occasionally, when not actually engaged in conveying ham and chicken or pie to their mouths, giving glances at the bright and laughing eyes above them. The hilarious old gentleman tried kneeling, that he might carve a round of beef placed before him, but soon found that attitude anything but pleasant to his feelings; then he sat with one side to the cloth, then with the other. At last he scraped a trench in the sand sufficient to admit his outstretched legs, and, placing the beef before him, carved vigorously away till all claimants were supplied. The younger boys and girls, tucking their legs under them like Turks, speedily bestowed their undivided attention to the task of stowing away the good things spread out before their eyes. "This is jolly, don't you think so, Mary?" exclaimed a fine boy of about fourteen to a pretty little girl who sat next to him; "there is only one thing wanting to make it perfect--Harry Merryweather ought to be here. He wrote word that he expected to be with us this morning, and I told him where the picnic was to take place, that should he be too late to get home, he might come here direct. Oh, he is such a capital fellow, and now that he is in the navy, and has actually been in a battle, he will have so much to tell us about." Mary Rymer fully agreed with David Moreton, for Harry was a favourite with every one who knew him. Although Harry Merryweather had not arrived for the picnic, his friends appeared to be enjoying themselves very much, judging by the smiles and giggling and the chattering, and the occasional shouts of laughter which arose when old Mr Tom Sowton, and florid, fat Mr Billy Burnaby, uttered some of their jokes. Not that they were the only people who uttered good things, but they were professed jokers, and seemed to consider it their duty to make people merry; Mr Burnaby, indeed, if he could not make people laugh at what he said, made them laugh at what he did. The party had come from various quarters in the neighbourhood, some from a distance inland, in carriages, and two or three families who lived on or near the coast, in two pretty yachts, which lay at anchor in the bay. One of them belonged to Mr Moreton, David's father, and the other to Captain Rymer, with whose family David was as much at home as with his own; and he and his sisters looked upon Mary, Captain Rymer's daughter, quite in the light of a sister. She was, indeed, a very charming little girl, well worthy of their affections. The first course of the picnic was concluded--that is to say, the chickens, and hams, and pies, and cold beef, and tongues, and a few other substantials were pushed back; the potatoes, which had been boiled in salt water, having been pronounced excellent. The tarts and cakes and fruit, peaches and figs and grapes, were brought to the front, and underwent the admiration they deserved, when suddenly David Moreton, looking up, raised a loud shout, and, jumping to his feet, clapped his hands and waved them vehemently. The shout was echoed in different keys by many others, and all turning their eyes in the direction David was pointing, they saw, on the top of the cliff a boy, on whose jacket and cap the glitter of a little gold lace and his snow-white trousers proclaimed him to be that hero in embryo, a midshipman. Having looked about him for a few seconds, he began to descend the cliff at so seemingly breakneck a speed, that several of the ladies shrieked out to him to take care, and Mary Rymer turned somewhat pale and stood looking anxiously as the young sailor dropped from one point of rock to another, or slid down a steep incline, or swung himself by the branches of shrubs or tufts of grass to the ledge below him, and ran along it as if it had been a broad highway, though a false step might have proved his destruction. Once he stopped. To go back was impossible, and to attempt to descend seemed almost certain destruction. Mr Sowton and Billy Burnaby jumped up, almost dragging away the tablecloth, upsetting tarts, and fruit-dishes, and bottles of wine, and all the other things, when Harry gave a tremendous spring to a ledge which his sharp eye had detected, and was in a few seconds afterwards standing safe on the sands and shaking hands warmly with everybody present. When he came to Mr Tom Sowton and Billy Burnaby, it might have been supposed from the way in which they wrung each other's hands, that there was a wager pending as to which should first twist off his friend's fist. "Fortunately, we haven't eaten up all the good things, Harry," exclaimed Mr Sowton, dragging the midshipman, nothing loth, to the well-spread cloth. "Now open your mouth, and Burnaby and I will try and feed you. What will you have first,--beef, or pudding, or a peach, or a tongue, or a cold chicken? Oh dear me, there is but a drumstick and a merrythought left. Which will you have? No! I see I am wrong again, the drumstick is in the dish, and the merrythought is in my head, with numerous companions. Does anybody wish to know what they are? I'll fill my naval friend's plate first with cold beef and mustard, and then inform you." Thus the old gentleman ran on. He kept his word with regard to Harry, who very soon by diligent application caught up the rest of the party, and was able to commence on the tarts and peaches. All the gentlemen asked him to take wine, and the ladies were eager to hear his adventures. He briefly recounted them in an animated manner, for as he had been little more than a year at sea, everything he had seen and done had the freshness of novelty. He belonged to the gallant _Arethusa_ frigate, which had put into Plymouth from a successful cruise in the Bay of Biscay, where, after capturing several minor prizes of considerable value, she had taken an enemy's frigate of equal force. He had consequently got leave for a few days to come home and see his widowed mother. He was her only son; her husband had been an officer in the army, and was killed in battle; her daughter Jane could never be induced to leave her, but they had promised to send Harry on to the picnic after he had indulged them with a little of his society. He had come by a chance conveyance, knowing that he should be able to return with some of his friends. In those days it was the custom to sit long after dinner, and even at a picnic people consumed a considerable amount of time round the cloth. At length, however, they got up and broke into separate parties. Some went in one direction, some in another. The elders were more inclined to sit still, or went only a little way up the cliff; but several of the grown-up young ladies and gentlemen climbed up by somewhat steep paths to the downs above. The younger ones, the tide being low, very naturally preferred scrambling out on the rocks in search of sea-anemones, and other marine curiosities. There were numerous projecting rocks forming small bays in the large bay, and thus completely hiding the different parties from each other. No two boys could have had a more sincere regard for each other than had David Moreton and Harry Merryweather. David was longing to go to sea with Harry, but his father was greatly averse to his going. He was the eldest son, and heir to a large property. As the boys had been separated for so long a time (long in their lives), they had a great deal to say to each other. They consequently strolled away, forgetting what Mary Rymer or the rest of their fair companions might have thought of their gallantry, in and out along the sands, round the points and over the rocks, till they had got to a considerable distance from the place where the picnic had been held. A dry rock, high above the water, which they could reach by going along a ledge connecting it with the mainland, tempted them to scramble out to it. There they chose a nice cosy, dry nook, where, sitting down, the water immediately around them was hidden from their sight. This circumstance must be remembered. It was very delightful. They had not yet said one-half of what they had got to say to each other, so they sat on talking eagerly, looking out seaward and watching the white sails which glided by coming up channel in the distant horizon. David was so delighted with the accounts Harry gave him, that he resolved to make a further attempt to induce his father to allow him to go to sea. It must be owned that Harry, full of life and happiness himself, had pictured only the bright side of everything. He had described the courage and determination to win with which he and his shipmates had gone into action, and the enthusiasm and delight they had felt on gaining the victory and capturing the prize; but he forgot to speak of the death of some cut down in their prime, and the wounds and sufferings of others, many maimed and crippled for life. Thus they talked on without marking how the time went by. Harry's watch, which he had locked up carefully before going into action, had been destroyed by a shot which had knocked the desk and everything in it to pieces; and David had forgotten to wind his up. Suddenly it occurred to them that the sun was getting very low, and that it was high time for them to return. They jumped up to scramble back over the rock, but no sooner had they done so than Harry cried out, "We are caught!" and David exclaimed, "The tide has risen tremendously, how shall we get to the shore?" "Swim there," answered Harry; "I see no other way. If we were to shout ever so loud we should not be heard, and I do not suppose any one knows where we are." By this time they had got to the inner end of the rock, where they found that the distance between them and the shore was not only considerable, but that a strong current swept round the rock, and that though before the sea had been calm, it had got up somewhat, and caused a surf to break on the shore. What was to be done? David was a first-rate swimmer, and would not have had much difficulty by himself in stemming the current, and landing through the surf; but Harry, though a sailor, had not learned that art before he went to sea, and could swim very little. It is extraordinary how many sailors in those days could not swim, and lost their lives in consequence. They stood looking at the foaming, swirling waters, not knowing what to do. "I would try it," said Harry at length, "but I am afraid if I were to give in that I should drown you as well as myself." "I think that I might support you, and we should drift in somewhere a little further down, perhaps," said David. "Much more likely that we should be swept out to sea," answered Harry. "No, no, David, that will never do. You can swim on shore before the surf gets heavier, and your father or Captain Rymer will send a boat for me very soon." "But these are spring tides, and if the sea gets up at all, it will soon wash right over this rock," said David. "The more reason for you to hurry to get a boat from the yachts," observed the midshipman. While they were speaking, they observed the two yachts, which had hitherto been hid by a point of land, standing out to sea. They had come from the east with a fine northerly smooth water breeze, but the wind had drawn off shore to the east, and as the tide was at flood running up channel, the vessels had stood off shore to get the full strength of it. This the boys at once understood, but how they should have gone off without them was the puzzle. Matters were growing serious. Even should David reach the shore, he might not find a boat, and it was a long way he feared from any house where he could get help, so that Harry might be lost before he could get back. They retraced their steps to the highest part of the rock, and waved and shouted, even though they knew that their voices could not be heard, but the yachts stood on at some distance from each other; it should be remarked, Captain Rymer's leading. It was evident that they were not seen. The hot tide came rushing in, rising higher and higher. Both the boys became very anxious, David more on his friend's account than his own. So many persons have lost their lives much in the same way, that it seemed probable the two boys would lose theirs. We must now go back to the picnic party. Mr Sowton and Mr Burnaby, and a few of the other more elderly ladies and gentlemen, began at length to think it time to return home. The hampers were repacked and carried, some up the cliffs by the servants, and others on board the yachts; and Mr Sowton and Billy Burnaby acting, as they said, as whippers-in, began shouting and screeching at the top of their voices. Captain Rymer and Mr Moreton had gone on board their vessels to get ready, and thus there was no one actually in command. The boats to take off the party were rather small, and several trips had to be made. In the meantime, those who were returning home by land climbed up the steep path to the top of the cliff, where their carriages were waiting for them. When they were fairly off, each party inquired what had become of Harry and David. Captain Rymer's yacht, the _Arrow_, was off the first, for the _Psyche_, Mr Moreton's, fouled her anchor, and it was some time before it could be got up. Mr Moreton thought that his son, and the young midshipman had, attracted by sweet Mary Rymer, gone on board the _Arrow_; while Mary, who, it must be owned, was rather sorry not to see them, took it for granted that Harry was returning, as he had come, by land, and that David had gone with him. The yachts had a long beat back. As they got away from the land, the wind increased very much, and came in strong sharp cold gusts which made it necessary first to take in the gaff-topsails, and then one reef and then another in the mainsails. As the wind increased the sea got up, and the little vessels, more suited to fine weather than foul, had hard work to look up to the rising gale. Still there was no help for it. The tide helped them along, but by its meeting the wind much more sea was knocked up than if both had been going the same way. Had such been the case, the vessels could not have made good their passage. Darkness coming on made matters worse: poor old Mr Sowton became wonderfully silent, and Mr Burnaby, who was sitting on the deck of the cabin, holding on by the leg of the table, looked the very picture of woe. Mary Rymer, who was well accustomed to yachting, and a few others, kept up their spirits, though all hailed with no little satisfaction the lights which showed the entrance to Pencliffe harbour, into which they were bound. Mr Moreton's party had been at home some time, and most of the family had retired to their rooms, when they began to wonder why David had not appeared. "He is probably still at the Rymers', or has accompanied Harry to Mrs Merryweather's," said Mrs Moreton to her husband; still, as night drew on, she became somewhat anxious. Her anxiety increased when a servant came with a message from Mrs Merryweather to inquire why Mr Harry did not come home. Mr Moreton himself now became even more anxious than his wife. Neither his daughters, nor some friends staying with them, remembered seeing either Harry or David for some time before they embarked. Mr Moreton, putting on a thick coat, for it was now blowing very hard, went off to Captain Rymer's house, which was close down to the bay, accompanied by Mrs Merryweather's servant, and greatly alarmed the family by asking for his son and Harry. "Why, did they not come back with you?" asked the captain. "No, we thought they were on board the _Arrow_," answered Mr Moreton. "They may have gone with the Trevanians, but I do not think that Harry would have failed to come back to his mother. I will go back and see her. They must have set off by land, and there may have been an upset or a break-down. It will be all right tomorrow." The morrow, however, came, but the boys did not appear. Mr Moreton therefore rode over early to the Trevanians, but they knew nothing of the boys. He now became seriously alarmed. As it was blowing too hard to go by sea, he sent a messenger to say that he should not be home for some hours, and continued on to the bay where the picnic had been held. Then he made inquiries at the nearest cottages, but no one had seen his son or Harry Merryweather. He went from cottage to cottage in vain, making inquiries. At last a fisherman suggested that the beach should be searched. Mr Moreton at once set out with a party quickly assembled to perform the anxious task, dreading to find the mangled body of his son and his brave young friend. No signs of them could be found. Still his anxiety was in no respect lessened. He stopped on his way back at one cottage which he had not before visited. He found the inmate, an old woman, in deep affliction. Her husband, old Jonathan Jefferies, a fisherman, when out on his calling, had perished during the gale in the night. He could sympathise with her, and as far as money help was concerned, he promised all in his power. With an almost broken heart he returned home to give the sad news to his wife and family. Poor Mrs Merryweather, she was even still more to be pitied. To have her son restored to her, and then to find him snatched away again so suddenly, perhaps for ever! Day after day passed by, and no news came of the much-loved missing ones. CHAPTER TWO. ON THE ROCKS--A BRAVE LAD--SAVED--TRISTRAM'S FATE--STILL IN A BOAT. "David, you must try to swim on shore, and save yourself," exclaimed Harry Merryweather, looking at the foaming seas, which now began, with a deafening noise, to dash furiously round the rock on which he and his friend stood. "If you don't go soon, you will not be able to get there at all. Leave me, I beg you. There is no reason why both should be lost." "No indeed, that I will not," answered David, stoutly. "If I thought that I could get help by trying to swim on shore I would go, but I do not think there is a place near where I could find a boat." Harry did not speak for a minute or two. At last he put his hand on David's shoulder, and said, "I ask you again to swim on shore by yourself. I will pray for you as you are swimming, and you shall pray for me when you reach the beach. My dear mother taught me to pray when I was a child, and she has ever shown to me that God hears all faithful prayers, and in His good time grants them; so that I have always prayed since I went to sea, both when I was turning into my hammock, and when I was turning out; and I knew that my mother was praying for me too, for she is always praying for me; and I know that God hears those prayers, so you see that makes me very brave. I am sure that I can trust Him." "I am so glad to hear you say that," answered David. "My father was teaching us just the same thing after reading the Bible at prayers the other night. It's true--it's true, I know." "Then trust to Him, and do as I ask you," said Harry, earnestly. "Take off your jacket and shoes at all events--you will be back in time to save them and me also." "I don't like leaving you at all, but I will do as you wish," exclaimed David, after a moment's further thought, taking off his jacket. As he did so he turned his head round seaward. "Hillo!--why, there is a boat," he exclaimed. "She is under sail, standing this way." The boys together sprang back to the highest part of the rock, and David still holding his jacket waved it vehemently. It was a small fishing-boat, beating up from the westward. She was then standing in for the land, and Harry, whose nautical knowledge was not as yet by-the-bye very great, was doubtful where she would go about again before she got near enough for those on board to see them. All they could do was to wave and wave, and to shout--though their shouting, shrill as it was, would have been of no use. David, who really knew more about boat-sailing than his naval friend, expressed his opinion that she was beating up for the little boat-harbour of Penmore, about two miles to the eastward. How anxiously they watched her, as the tide sweeping her along she drew nearer and nearer! The wind, having--as the expression is--backed into the south-east, enabled her to lay up well along shore, or their hope of being seen would have been small indeed. For some minutes longer she stood on almost directly for them; then at length she went about--high time, too, for she was getting near the breakers. Now was the moment for them to shout and wave, for if they were now neither seen nor heard they must abandon their hope of help from her, as by the next tack she would be a long way to the eastward. How eagerly they watched her! Again and again they waved and shouted. "Yes, see--she is about," cried Harry, joyfully. He was right--the boat was evidently standing towards them. Harry, forgetting all past dangers, shouted and danced for joy. Life was very sweet to him. He thought nothing of the ordinary risk of losing it which he was every day running--but this was out of the way, and he had almost made up his mind that he should not escape. There were two people in the boat--an old man and a boy. The sail was lowered, and getting out their oars they approached the rock cautiously. It would have been excessively dangerous to get close, as a heavier sea than usual might have driven the boat against the rock and dashed her to pieces. This Harry and David saw. The old man stood up in the boat, and beckoned to them. He was shouting also, but the thundering noise of the sea against the rock prevented them from hearing him. "He wants us to swim out to the boats," said David. "I am sure that I could do it, and I will bring in a rope for you." "Oh, I do not think that you could," answered Harry. "The sea rolls in so heavily that you would be driven back. They might let the end of a rope, made fast to a cork or a float of some sort, drift in, and haul us off." The plan was clearly a good one, and they made signals to the old man to carry it out; but either he did not understand them, or had not a rope long enough. "I must go," cried David, throwing off his coat and shoes. "Pray for me, remember." He had been watching his opportunity: a heavy sea had just passed, and, before Harry could even say another word, slipping down to the edge of the rock, he glided in, giving himself all the impetus he could with his feet, and almost the next instant was breasting a sea at some distance from the rock. Harry watched him anxiously, not forgetting to pray. Now he seemed almost driven back, and now a foam-crested sea rolling in looked as if it would inevitably overwhelm him. Alas! yes--he disappeared. "He is lost--he is lost!" cried Harry. But no. Directly after he was again seen on the surface, working his way up another advancing sea. Harry was now guided chiefly by the gesticulations of the people in the boat,--that is to say, by the way the old man waved a hand, or looked out, for they had to keep their oars moving with all their might and main to avoid being driven dangerously near the rock. At length Harry, with thankfulness, saw David close to the boat but she seemed to be going from him--then the old man stood up--stretched out his arm, and David, well-nigh exhausted, was dragged into the boat. Harry saw that he was talking to the old man. "What will he do? I hope that he will not attempt to swim back to the rock," thought Harry; yet he felt very sure that he should never reach the boat by himself. As the boat rose on the top of a wave, Harry saw that David was employed in fastening several ropes together. The task which the old man and the boy could not perform, as they were obliged to continue rowing, he was able to do. Harry saw him very busy in the bottom of the boat, and now he lifted a water-cask into the sea, and veered away the rope over the stern. For some time Harry did not regain sight of the cask; at last he saw it on the top of a sea, but still a long way from the rock. He watched it anxiously; but still he doubted whether he should be able to get hold of it. It might, even if it reached the rock, be dashed to pieces. He got down as close to the water as he dared go, for the seas were dashing so high up the rock that he might easily be carried away by them--indeed, he was already wet through and through with the spray, which was flying in dense sheets over the rock, and in a few minutes more it seemed to him that it would be completely overwhelmed--indeed, any moment a sea might sweep over it. Harry had a brave heart, and as long as he had life was not likely to lose courage. He showed his coolness, indeed, for believing that the cask would soon reach him, he deliberately tied David's jacket and shoes round his waist, that he might have the pleasure of restoring them to him. He had observed how David slipped into the water. There came the cask, nearer and nearer. Before it had time to touch the rock, he slid down into the sea, and struck out boldly for it, and throwing his arms over it caught the rope to which it was made fast, and drew himself up till his chest rested on it. He then shouted at the top of his voice, "Haul in--all right." David, however, could not hear him: but having watched him with intense eagerness, now began slowly to haul in the rope, while the old man and boy pulled the boat further off the rock. Harry held firmly on, though he almost lost his breath by the waters, which dashed in his face. He kept his senses, however, and had the wisdom to strike out with all his might with his feet, which greatly helped him on, and took off the drag from his arms which they would otherwise have felt. As he rose to the top of a sea he again shouted out every now and then, "All right--haul away." He was, however, not much inclined to shout by the time he got up to the stern of the boat. David, with the help of the old man, then quickly hauled him on board. "And you have brought me my jacket and shoes," exclaimed David, gladly putting them on, for he felt very cold directly the exertions he had just gone through ceased. The boys sincerely thanked God in their hearts that they were saved--though but a very few audible words of thanksgiving were uttered. No time, indeed, was to be lost in getting away from the rock. The old man told David to go to the helm. "And you other young master take my oar and pull with all your might, while I sets the sails," he added. A sprit-mainsail, much the worse for wear, and a little rag of a foresail were soon set. It was as much sail as the boat in the rising gale could carry, and away she flew seaward. The old man took the helm, and the boy, who had not spoken, laid in his oar, and facing forward, put his hand on the foresheet to be ready to go about when the word was given. The boat was somewhat old and battered, like its master,--the rigging especially seemed in a bad condition. The old man saw the boys examining her, and divined their thoughts. "She's not like one of your fine-painted yachts, young masters; but she has helped to save your lives, and she'll serve my time, I'm pretty sure of that," he observed. "She'll be tried, howsomever, not a little to-night, I'm thinking. We were late as it was coming up from `Put off shoal,' and this work with you made us still later, so that we shall have to be thankful if we get into Penmore harbour before the tide turns." "She is a good boat, no doubt, and at all events we are most thankful to you for having by her means saved our lives," said David; and Harry repeated what he had said. "No, young masters, it wasn't I saved you, it was God. Don't thank me. Man can do no good thing of himself, you know, and I couldn't have saved you if it hadn't been His will." The fishing-boat went careering on over the foaming seas, guided by the skilful hand of the old man. It is surprising how much sea a small boat with good beam will go through when well managed. The old man was far more loquacious than the young one, who sat quite still forward, only every now and then turning his face aside as the spray dashed in it, and shaking the water from his sou'-wester. To the boys' inquiry of the old man to which place he belonged, "Little better than a mile to the eastward of where I took you aboard," he replied; "but when the wind blows as it does now, there's no place for landing nearer than Penmore harbour. That matters nothing, as we get a good market for our fish near there, and we have a good lot to sell, you see." He pointed to the baskets in the centre of the boat, well filled with mackerel and several other kinds of fish. He told them that his name was Jonathan Jefferies, that he had married a Cornish woman, and settled in the parish, and that the lad was his grandson. "Not quite right up there," he remarked, touching his forehead; "but he is a good lad, and knows how to do his duty. We call him Tristram Torr, for he is our daughter's son. She is dead, poor thing, and his father was lost at sea, we suppose, for he went away and never came back." The old man thus continued giving scraps of his family history, till the gloom of evening gave way to the darkness of night. His chief regret at being out so late was that his old woman would be looking for him, as he had told her that he expected to be home earlier than usual. The darker it grew the less talkative, however, he became; indeed, all his attention was taken up in steering, for with the darkness the wind and sea increased, till the boat could hardly look up to it. At last Harry and David began to suspect that though they had escaped from the rock, they were in no small danger of being swamped, and thus, after all, losing their lives. Every now and then a heavy sea broke into the boat and half filled her. Still the boy Tristram said nothing, but turning round took a bailer from under the thwart, and began energetically bailing away. Harry and David did the same with their hats, till old Jefferies handed them a bucket, with which they more rapidly cleared the boat. They had to be quick about it, for scarcely was she free of water than another sea came in and again half filled her. It seemed also pretty evident to them that instead of going to windward she was making leeway, though, as the tide was still running to the eastward, she was going in that direction. The two boys were feeling thoroughly chilled and uncomfortable; they were, of course, wet to the skin, and the wind was strong and keen, and even when they sat down, by the old man's advice, in the bottom of the boat, their legs were in water. Still they kept up their spirits, and when the water washed into the boat they were glad to jump up and bail it out again. Besides that they were in danger of being swamped, it appeared to the midshipman and his friend that there was a great risk of being run down. Already two or three phantom-like forms had suddenly appeared out of the darkness, and gliding by were soon lost to sight. The boy, however, had made no remark about them; suddenly he shouted, "Grandfather, a sail on the weather-bow." "About, then," cried the old man. Harry and David looked out, and saw, almost ahead of them, towering to the skies it seemed, a dark pyramid of canvas. "She is a big ship running down channel," said Harry. "She will be over us! she will be over us!" The boat was at that moment in stays, going about. Scarcely had he spoken, when there was a loud crack. The mast went by the board, and as it came down struck the old man on the head. He would have fallen overboard had not Harry and David seized his coat and dragged him in. "Here, pull, masters," cried Tristram, trying to get out both the oars. In doing so he let one of them go overboard; both would have gone had not Harry, springing forward, seized the other. But poor Tristram, in endeavouring to regain the one he had lost, overbalanced himself, and met the fate his grandfather had just escaped. Harry threw the oar over to the side on which he had fallen, but the poor lad in vain endeavoured to clutch it. There was a piercing cry; Harry thought he saw a hand raised up through the darkness, and then he neither saw nor heard more. How came it that the boy's cry did not rouse the grandfather? Sad to say, he lay without moving at the bottom of the boat. "This is fearful," cried David, feeling the old man's face and hands; "I am afraid that he is dead, and the poor lad gone too. What are we to do?" "Keep the boat's head to the sea as long as we can with one oar, and then up helm and run before the wind," answered Harry, who knew that such was the way a big ship would be managed under similar circumstances. David sat at the helm, and Harry vigorously plied his oar--now on one side, now on the other, and thus managed to keep the boat from getting broadside to the sea. It was very hard work, however, and he felt that, even though relieved by David, it could not be kept up all night. Several times David felt the old man's face; it was still warm, but there was no other sign of life. The boat was broad and deep, or she would very quickly have been turned over. This, however, made her very heavy to pull, while from the same cause the sea continually washed into her. At length they agreed that she must be put before the wind. They waited for a lull, and then getting her quickly round, hoisted the jib, which had been before taken in, to the end of the spreet, which they lashed to the stump of the mast. The wind blew as strong as ever, but the tide having turned there was less sea than before, and thus away they went down channel, at a far greater rate than they supposed. "It is going to be only a summer gale," observed Harry. "When the morning comes we shall be easily able to rig a fore and aft sail, and stand in for the shore. The poor, good old man, I am very sorry for him, and so I am for the boy; but for ourselves it does not so much matter, except that we shall have to breakfast on raw fish, and perhaps after all not get home to dinner. My dear mother, too, and Jane, may be frightened, and I don't like the thought of that." "Yes, to be sure, I forgot that; I am afraid those at my home will be frightened too, when they hear nothing of us," said David. "One comfort is, that we did not keep away intentionally, though, to be sure, it was thoughtless of us to be caught by the tide as we were. But don't let us think of ourselves; better let us see what we can do for this poor old man. I believe that he is still alive, though how to bring him round I don't know. If we had any liquor to give him we might pour it down his throat, but as we have nothing we must keep his head up and let him lay quiet till daylight," said Harry. David was thoroughly accustomed to boat-sailing, so that he was well able to keep the boat dead before the wind. The sea came curling up astern, but none broke over her; had even one done so it would have sent her to the bottom. A very little conversation took place after this. Only Harry, fearing that he and his friend might lose heart, every now and then said something to keep up their spirits. It was somewhat forced, it must be owned, for they both saw that their position was very critical. The hours passed slowly by--now the one, now the other took the helm. Morning broke at last; they looked out, expecting to see the land aboard on the starboard hand, but not a glimpse of land was visible--nothing but sea and sky on every side around of a leaden grey hue--not a streak in the horizon showed where the sun was rising. They could only guess by the wind the points of the compass. Harry proposed hauling up for where they supposed the land to be, but David considered that such a proceeding would be dangerous, and that it would be safer to run on till the weather moderated and they could get sail on the boat. They neither of them sufficiently calculated the strength of the tide, which, running for six hours, had carried them many miles to the eastward. The old man was alive, but sat perfectly still at the bottom of the boat. It seemed indeed doubtful if, after remaining in that state so long, he would ever recover. Their anxiety prevented them from feeling hungry; indeed, as yet, they fancied that they could not bring themselves to eat raw fish. They now tried various means to bring the old man to consciousness, by rubbing his hands and his feet, and occasionally his forehead. It is difficult to say whether these means had any effect. At length, at all events, he slowly opened his eyes; then he closed them again, and they thought that he was dying. Then once more he opened them, and looked about him with a puzzled and pained expression of countenance. Now he gazed inquiringly at David--now at Harry. "Where is Tristram? where is my grandson?" he asked, speaking very slowly. "Gone! gone! oh, don't say that. What have you done with him, my young masters?" With sad hearts the boys told him how the accident had happened. "Then may God take me to my boy, my poor boy," he exclaimed hiding his face in his hands, and sinking back once more into the bottom of the boat. CHAPTER THREE. WHERE WERE THEY?--RAW FISH--SLEEP--THE BRIG WITHOUT A CREW--AN AGED CHRISTIAN. The gale continued blowing harder than ever, and had not the boat been built especially to encounter heavy seas, she would very soon have been swamped. It was only by careful steering, indeed, that this could be avoided, while the two boys took it by turns to bail out the water which occasionally came in over the gunwale in rather alarming quantities. Still they did not lose courage. They, however, grew very hungry, and began to look wistfully at the hamper of fish. "I wish we had a stove of some sort, that we might cook some of these fish," said David, holding up a mackerel. "I am getting fearfully ravenous." "Just scrape off the scales and take out the inside of one of them, and hand it to me," answered Harry, who was steering. "I have seen seamen eat raw fish, and raw meat too, and the islanders in the South Seas I know do, so we must if we are not to starve." David prepared the fish as directed, during the intervals of bailing. Still he could not bring himself to eat any. Harry's inside was more seasoned. A midshipman's berth in those days did not allow of any squeamishness. "Just pour a little water into the tin mug, it will help it down," he said, after he had taken a few mouthfuls of the fish. They had found a tin mug, with a jar of fresh water. They husbanded the water carefully, and David poured out very little, lest it should be jerked out of the mug as the boat was tossed about. Harry dipped the bits of fish into the water before eating them. It took away somewhat of the raw taste, he fancied. Still he very soon came to an end of his meal. "I shall do better another time," he observed, putting the remainder of the fish down by his side, and drinking up the water. David sat for some time very silent, bailing out the water. At last he looked into the basket and took out a fish, which he began to scrape with his knife. He held it in one hand while he bailed with the other, then he scraped a little more, and finally cleaned the fish completely. He looked at it, his lips curled, as is often the case when a person is about to take nauseous physic. A pang came into his inside. He could stand the hunger no longer, and, putting the fish between his teeth, he began to gnaw away at a great rate. He far outdid Harry. When the water rose to the side of the boat, he dipped the fish into it. It added to the flavour, and made it more digestible. The boys were thankful that there was not much risk of their starving as long as the fish kept good and the water lasted. It was not food that would keep them in health for any length of time; yet it stopped the pangs of hunger, and that was a great thing. All this time they were looking out for some abatement in the gale, but not a break appeared in the mass of dark lead-coloured clouds which formed a canopy above their heads, reaching down to the horizon on every side. "Whereabouts do you think we are?" asked David, after a long silence. Harry thought for some time. "Somewhere in the chops of the British Channel, to the westward of Scilly, I fear," he answered. "Possibly, if the wind shifts to the southward, we may get driven up the Irish Channel, and then it will be a tremendous time before we get home; I may be wrong, but I fear not." "That's what I think too," said David. "I wish that the old man was sensible. We might consult him what to do." Old Jefferies, however, continued in the same unconscious state as before. They had some hope of getting assistance from any vessels which might pass them, but though they saw a number at a distance gliding quickly by, not one came near them. On they drove, further and further they feared from land. Again darkness came on. They were very drowsy, but they feared, should they yield to sleep, that the boat would be swamped. Harry had, he said, more practice in keeping awake, so he insisted that David should lie down on one of the thwarts and take an hour's rest, while he could steer and bail out at the same time. "I can manage it," answered David, with a yawn, stretching himself out on a seat, and in less than half a minute he was sound asleep. Poor Harry had very hard work to keep awake. He could not venture to remain sitting. More than once his eyes closed. Phantom shapes passed before his eyes, strange sounds came into his ears, shrieks, cries, and groans; sometimes he heard, he thought, shouts from afar. His brain swam round. In another instant he would have lost all consciousness. He had to spring to his feet, and to bail away with one hand while he held the tiller with the other. He would not venture to sit down again; indeed, the high, green, rolling, froth-topped seas, by which he was surrounded, were sufficient to keep him awake. At last, putting down the skid, he looked at his watch. It was past six o'clock. David had slept more than his allotted hour, and yet he could scarcely bring himself to awake him. "Poor fellow, he is not so accustomed to this sort of work as I am," he said to himself. "After that long swim, too, he requires rest, and had it not been for his courage I should no longer have been in this world. I'll try and keep awake a little longer." Harry did his best to do as he intended. He kept moving his feet, he talked aloud, he sang even. He looked at old Jefferies. He thought he was nodding his head and answering him, but he could not make out what was said. At last he felt that, if David did not wake up and come to his relief, he should drop down, and the boat would broach to, and they would all be drowned. "David! David!" he tried to cry out, but his tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth. Still he kept the tiller in his hand, striving steadily. He made one more effort. "David! help! help!" he shouted. David's mind was far away in his father's garden, with his sisters and sweet Mary Rymer. He was telling them about Harry being in danger, but he had forgotten he was with his friend. At last he heard himself called. He started up, and was just in time to seize the tiller, which Harry had that instant let slip from his grasp, as he sank down to the bottom of the boat. In another second of time the boat would have broached to. The gloom of evening was coming on rapidly, and there was but a dreary prospect for poor David. He still felt very sleepy, and had almost as much difficulty in keeping awake as before. He managed to drag Harry to one side, and to place some of the nets under his head as a pillow, but no moving had the effect of rousing him up. David felt as he had never felt before; sitting there, the only being conscious of external affairs in that lone boat, running on amidst those huge billows. As long as the gale continued, on the boat must go, he well knew, or run almost the certainty of being swamped. The short sleep he had enjoyed had refreshed him, and he thought that he should now be able to keep awake. He felt very hungry, though. No wonder! Most people would have been hungry who had eaten nothing but raw fish during upwards of twenty-four hours. He, however, would now have been very glad to get some more raw fish, but he could not reach the hamper, and he dared not leave the helm for an instant. There was a locker under where he sat. He had just bailed out the boat, when stooping down, he put his hand in, and, feeling round, discovered to his great joy a large piece of bread, the best part of a quartern loaf. It was very stale, but he was not inclined to be particular. Never had he tasted bread so sweet. He took, though, only a small portion, as he did not like to eat more without having Harry to share it with him, or old Jefferies, if he could be aroused. The bread, with a little fresh water, greatly revived him. He thought, indeed, that he should be able to keep awake all the night, if Harry should sleep on. He tried his best. He stood up, then he bailed, but as much less water came into the boat than before, he had but little to do in that way. He tried to sing and whistle, but the tunes were somewhat melancholy. The wind was certainly decreasing, and the sea going down. "I must wake up Harry, and then, if we can but manage to rig a fore and aft sail, we might haul our wind, and stand to the north-east," he said to himself. "But which is the north-east, I wonder? The wind may have changed, and there is not a break in the clouds. Without a compass, how can we find our way? If the clouds clear away, the stars would help us--at least, I suppose Harry knows all about them. I wish that I did. But I was lazy, and to this moment am not quite certain as to the look of the Polar Bear. I remember that the North Star is in that. However, we could not do much yet, and, with her beam to the sea, the boat would not be steady enough to rig our mast properly. We must wait patiently till morning. Dear me, how heavy my head feels! They must be all wondering what has become of us at home. I hope they don't think we are lost. That is the worst part of the business. It will not be pleasant to live upon raw fish for very long, but I suppose that it will keep us alive, and probably we shall fall in with some vessel or other, which will tow us home. That will be very nice. What a pleasant picnic we had, and Harry to come home just in time, and Mary Rymer, and what a dear--oh! how pleasant--how--" Poor David was asleep. No wonder, after having been awake for so many hours, and only just a little more than one hour's rest on a hard plank. He still held the tiller, and instinctively moved it to or from him, as he felt the boat inclined to broach to. His eyes, indeed, were not quite closed, so that in reality he saw the seas as they rolled before him, and perhaps steered almost as well as he had done before. Meantime the old man remained in a state of stupor, and Harry slept as soundly as a "church door," or rather as midshipmen are generally supposed to do. Thus the boat must have gone on for hours. Happily, the wind and sea were going down, or it would have been a serious matter to the boys. It will be understood that, after an easterly gale in the Channel, the sea goes down more rapidly than after a westerly one, when there has been a commotion across the whole sweep of the Atlantic. Suddenly a loud concussion and a continued grating sound made both David and Harry start to their feet, and they saw what seemed a huge black mass towering above them. What could it be? "A ship! a ship!" shouted Harry. "Heave a rope here!" No one answered. As the boat was slowly rubbing by the side of the ship (for Harry was right in his conjecture), he found a rope hanging overboard. With the activity of a seaman he secured the end round the fore-thwart of the boat, while David hauled down the sail--not that that was of any consequence, as the wind had fallen almost to a calm. Again Harry, joined by David, shouted loudly, but no one answered. "I believe the ship is abandoned," he observed. "Yes, I am sure she is, for I see no masts. She is not quite so large, either, as I thought at first--a brig probably. However, we shall soon have daylight, and know all about it." The dawn was already breaking, but no roseate hue was seen in the sky, to indicate the position of the rising sun. Although the sea had gone down greatly, still the boat struck heavily every now and then against the vessel, as she rolled slowly from side to side. There was, indeed, great danger that she would be stove in, if not altogether swamped. The boys, therefore, agreed that the sooner they could get on board the better. "We shall find some food, at all events; and if we can get nothing more, we may shove off again," observed David. "Oh! I hope we shall get much more than that," exclaimed Harry, in a confident tone. "What do you think of a compass, and sail, and spars, and rigging for our boat, and if so we shall without difficulty be able to find our way home. Hurrah! what do you think of that?" "I did not fancy that we were likely to be so fortunate," answered David. "To think that we should have run directly against a ship out in the ocean here! What shall we do now?" "Why, get on board ourselves, and then hoist the old man up," answered Harry. "We must not leave him in the boat, lest she should get stove in." The boys quickly scrambled up the ship's side. Both her masts were gone, and the bowsprit had been carried away, with a considerable portion of the bulwarks, when the masts fell, and all her boats and caboose. Altogether she had a very forlorn appearance, while there was no sign of a human being on board. Their first care was to get up the old man. Harry leaped down into the cabin of the brig, and instantly returned with a long horsehair sofa cushion. "We must pass straps round this, and parbuckle him up," he observed. Fortunately a davit remained. To this they secured a tackle, and David, jumping into the boat to pass the cushion under old Jefferies, they soon had him up safe on deck. They then, having got up the hamper of fish, with the bread and the jar of water, veered the boat away with a hawser astern. They were now able for the first time to attend to the old man. They examined his head, and finding where he had been struck, bathed the place with water, and they also poured a few drops of water down his throat. This seemed to revive him greatly, and at last they thought that they might leave him, to examine the vessel. The cold dull grey light of the early morning enabled them to do so. The brig had not long been deserted, and great was their satisfaction to find all sorts of things to eat on board-- biscuits, and even soft bread, though it was rather stale, and a box of eggs, and bacon and cheese, and even some cooked meat, and there were also melons, and oranges, and dried figs, and grapes, and other fruits, which showed that she had probably come from a warm country, where these fruits grew; indeed, they afterwards learned from some papers they found, that she was the _Fair Ianthe_, and was from the Mediterranean, homeward bound. While Harry and David were examining one of the lockers, they felt something moving against their legs. They looked down, and saw a fine white cat, which by her movements, and the pleased purrs she gave when she saw that she was noticed, seemed to welcome them. "She must be a fairy, or the good genius of the ship," exclaimed David. "Or, if she is a mere mortal cat, she must be very hungry, as I am sure I am, so let us go up and breakfast on deck, and try and get the old man to eat something." "Do you know, I think that he would do much better down below, if we could take off his wet things, and put him to bed," observed Harry. To this David agreed, and, after they had eaten a little bread, for they would not give themselves time to take more, they contrived, with considerable exertion, to lower old Jefferies into the cabin, and to put him into bed. This done, they lighted a fire in the cabin stove, and made tea and boiled some eggs, and did some rashers. They wisely, also, took off their own wet things, which they hung up to dry, while they put on some clothes which they found in the cabin. What a hearty breakfast they made!--and if it had not been for the thoughts of the poor lad who had gone overboard, and the anxiety of their friends, they would have pronounced themselves very jolly. As it was, it cannot be said that they were very unhappy. At last they contrived to get old Jefferies to swallow some tea, and a little substantial food, for which he seemed much the better, and in a few minutes they had the satisfaction of seeing him drop off into a sound sleep. Harry and David returned to their meal, for they still felt somewhat hungry. They soon began to nod, and at last David's head dropped on the table. "I shall be off too, if I don't jump on deck and look after the boat, and see how the weather is," said Harry. He found the boat secure, but the weather very dull and far from promising, though there was then but little wind. He scanned the horizon. Not a sail was in sight, and unless with a stronger breeze than then blew, none could approach for some time to come. On examining the vessel he thought that there was no danger of her sinking; indeed, except that she had lost her mast, he could not make out why she had been deserted. He judged by the way she rolled that she was slightly leaking, and had made some water. "We'll pump her out by and by, and she will be all right till we get a fair breeze to return home," he thought to himself. "Perhaps we may carry her in, and obtain salvage. That would be very fine, better than all the prize-money I am likely to make for a long time to come." Such were the ideas that floated through his mind as he returned to the cabin. A comfortable-looking bed invited him to rest, and rousing up David for a moment, he made him crawl half asleep into another. Both of them in half a second were soundly sleeping, and had the tempest again arisen, they would not probably have awakened then. Very different would have been the case had Harry been a captain, but the cares and responsibilities of midshipmen are light, and their slumbers sound. Hours passed by, when they both started up, hearing a voice crying out, "Where am I? What has happened? Ah me! ah me!" It was old Jefferies who spoke. They went to him. He had returned to consciousness, and now remembered the loss of his grandson. They did their best to comfort the old man. They felt that they had been remotely the cause of the lad's death. "No fault of yours, young gentlemen," he answered to a remark one of them had made; "it was God's will to call the boy home. We must never murmur at what God chooses to do. He knows what's best for us. Ah, if you had heard Mr Wesley preach, as I often have, you'd understand these things better than you do, perhaps." They were glad to let him talk on, as the doing so seemed to divert his mind from his grief. He told them much about the great preacher, and among other things that he was never stopped by weather from keeping an appointment, and that though wet through, with his high boots full of water, he would deliver his message of love to an assembled congregation before he would change his garments. While they were all asleep the fire had gone out. They relighted it, and cooked an abundance of their fish, and spread their table with it, and several other things they had discovered. They little knew how the time had gone by, and were therefore greatly surprised to find darkness again coming on. The two lads hurried on deck, followed by old Jefferies. The sky was still obscured. No land was in sight, and only two or three sails could be observed in the far distance. They watched them, but they were steering away from the ship. It was evidently too late, even if old Jefferies had been strong enough, to leave her that day. They therefore made up their minds to pass another night on board, and to leave early the next day. "If the sky is clear we may do so," observed Harry. "But I have hunted everywhere, and can find no compass; so that unless we can see the stars, we shall be unable to steer a right course. If we venture to make the attempt, we may perhaps find ourselves far away in the Atlantic, and never be able to return." CHAPTER FOUR. A STORM--THE BOAT LOST--A DISCOVERY--HARRY SAVES DAVID'S LIFE--PUMPING-- THE STRANGE SAIL. Another night began on board the wreck. The boys, however, saw nothing unpleasant in the prospect. They had plenty of food and firing, their clothes were dry, old Jefferies appeared to be recovering, and they hoped he would be able to assist them in navigating the boat homeward. They agreed that they would be up by daylight, and fit the boat with a mast and sails and oars, besides loading her with as many provisions as she could carry. They felt rather chilly, so they made up a fire, and sat chatting over it quite comfortably, till they almost forgot they were out on the ocean, no land in sight, in a dismasted vessel, and all by themselves. Harry again broached the idea of carrying in the ship herself, but David doubted whether they could manage to do so. Harry then explained that they might form ury-masts out of a number of spars lashed together, and that sails might be hoisted on these, fixed in different parts of the deck. "The rudder is in good order, so that we may just as easily find our way to the land, and into port, I hope, in the ship, as in the boat; while we shall be far more comfortable, and not much longer about it, I should think," he remarked. "I only fear lest an enemy's cruiser should see us, and either take possession of the brig, or burn her, and carry us off prisoners." "Not much chance of that, I should hope," answered David. "We should not prove a prize of much value, after all." "Oh, indeed! they would think it no small thing to capture a British naval officer," remarked the young mid, drawing himself up to his full height, which was not very great; "and I vote we do not give in without a fight for it." "But I only saw two guns on deck, and I do not think that we should be able to work them, even if we can find powder and shot," said David. "Oh, there is a store of both on board, depend on it, and if we put on a bold face, we may drive off an enemy, provided he is not a very big one," answered the midshipman. Some time was occupied in these discussions. They then went on deck and looked about them. Though a long slow swell swept as it were occasionally across the ocean, the surface was otherwise perfectly smooth; indeed, there was not a breath of air to disturb it, but a thick mist hung over the sea, which prevented any objects from being seen even at a short distance off. This was as likely to prove advantageous to them as the contrary; and so, having taken a short walk on dock, they went below, said their prayers, found that the old man was asleep, turned in and followed his example. Harry knew perfectly well that, according to strict discipline, a watch ought to have been kept, but he and David agreed that, as there was a calm, they could not be run down, and that the wreck was not likely to drift far from where they then were, while it was clearly far pleasanter to be asleep than walking the deck. Hitherto they had not had time to examine the hold or the fore part of the vessel. This, however, they purposed doing in the morning. Happy time of youth! They slept very soundly and comfortably, looking forward with confidence to the future, and little dreaming what was to happen. When people have been deprived of their night's rest, they frequently sleep a very long time on a stretch. Harry was awaked by David, who exclaimed-- "Dear me! the ship is tumbling about fearfully; the gale must have sprung up again." He then heard old Jefferies say, in a weak voice, "What, lads, are you there? I was afraid that you had deserted the old man." "No, no, we would not do that," answered David. "But I am afraid that the ship must be shaken to pieces if this continues." "If she has floated through one gale she may float through another. We must trust in God," said the old man. "Ah me! I am very feeble. If we couldn't put our faith in Him, we should be badly off indeed. I cannot help myself, much less you." Harry was by this time fully awake, and called David to follow him on deck, to ascertain what was the matter. When David got there, he wished himself below again. The gale had returned with tenfold fury, and the helpless ship was driving before it, surrounded by high foaming and roaring seas; the mist had cleared away, but the clouds were as thick as ever, chasing each other across the sky. Nothing else was to be seen. Mountain waves and dark clouds almost pressing down on their heads--no sail in sight to bring them assistance. So violently was the ship tossed about, that they could scarcely keep their feet, even by holding on. "Oh, the boat! the boat!" shouted David. Just before, they had seen her still afloat, secured by the hawser, when a heavy sea, rolling towards the ship, broke aboard the boat, and filled her in an instant. She rose on the top of a high foaming sea, when the thwart to which the two ropes were secured was torn out of her, and the next moment she sunk from sight. The boys looked at each other for a minute or more without speaking. "We shall have to stick to the ship now, at all events," said Harry at last. "I hope that the ship will stick to us, and keep afloat, then," remarked David. "We'll sound the well presently, and see what water she has in her," said Harry. "In the meantime, let us go down into the hold, and see of what her cargo consists. Much depends on that, whether or not she keeps afloat. I want to have a look into the fore peak also; I cannot make out why the vessel should have been deserted." The main hatch was on, and as it would have been dangerous to lift it, even if they could have done so, when any moment the deck might have been swept by a sea, they worked their way on to the fore hatch. This was not secured. They descended. It was some time before they could see about them in the close, dark, and dirty abode of the seamen. On either side were bed-places, one above another, with a few large wooden chests below them, and jackets and trousers, and various other articles, hanging up against the bulkhead. They observed nothing of consequence, and as the atmosphere was stirring, they were about to climb up again on deck, when a low groan was heard. Both were brave fellows, but it must be confessed that their hearts sunk, and their first impulse was to hurry up the ladder as fast as they could go. Again there was a groan. They looked at each other. Was it a human voice? There could be little doubt about that. Where could it come from? They stopped for a few seconds, holding on to the ladder, to recover their composure. The voice came from one of the berths; of that they were soon satisfied. Just then Harry observed a small locker close to the ladder, and putting in his hand found a candle and tinder-box. A light was soon struck; and they approached the berth whence the groans had proceeded. It is not surprising that they should have started back with horror. The dim light of the candle fell on the ghastly features of a human being, who, except that his eyes moved wildly, might have been taken for a corpse. His beard was long and tangled, and blood, which had flowed from a fearful gash across his brow, stained the blankets in which he was wrapped. His eyes were staring wildly, his mouth was open. He seemed at the point of death. Yet he was not dying of starvation, for within his reach hung a bottle of water and a bag of biscuits. Why, however, he had been deserted was a mystery which he himself seemed incapable of solving. In vain Harry and David asked him. Not a word did he speak in answer to their questions. He was, however, conscious of their presence, they thought, by the way his eyes followed them as they moved about the cabin. Had they discovered him before, they might have been of some assistance to him, but they could not now even attempt to move him into another berth. David, however, undertook to get some better food from the cabin. Harry did not feel altogether comfortable when left alone with the dying man. He looked so horrible, and the groans which he uttered were so fearful. David seemed to be absent a long time. He did not like to leave the wretched man, or he would have gone to look for him. What could have become of David? The sea every now and then washed with a loud sound across the deck. Could he have been carried away by it? How dreadful the thought! He went back to the dying man, and stood over him, hoping that he might return, to consciousness. Suddenly the man sat up, and pointing with his thin hand across the cabin, uttered a loud shriek, and sinking back was a corpse. The young midshipman was left alone in the dark fore peak of the sinking vessel. The sad thought came across him that perhaps he might be the only living person on board. Old Jefferies was apparently on the point of death, and perhaps David had been washed overboard. As he could be of no use where he was, he determined to ascertain the worst, and climbed up on deck, immediately closing the hatch again. He looked about him. David was not to be seen. Even during the time he had been below matters had grown worse--the ship was tumbling about more than ever, and the seas, which rose high above the bulwarks, seemed every instant about to engulf her. But where was David? He worked his way, not without great danger of being carried overboard, to the companion hatch, over which, stooping down, he shouted David's name. His heart sank within him. There was no answer. "David! David!" he cried again. "Oh, David, where are you?" Was his dear brave friend really gone? Just then he observed that some rigging had been washed over the starboard quarter, and he fancied that he heard a faint cry. From the temporary position of the wreck, the sea ceased just then to break aboard. Harry sprang aft, and there, clinging desperately to the rigging, now almost under water, now lifted into the air, as the stern of the ship was thrown upwards, he saw David. His friend recognised him, but seemed unable to speak. Though Harry could not swim he could climb well, and was strong and active. His immediate impulse was to fasten a rope round his own waist, the other end secured round a stanchion, and to spring towards David. "We will die together," he said to himself as he did so, "or I will save him. May we be protected!" He alighted on a spar close to David, whose arm he saw was caught by a rope, from which he could not disengage himself. To do this without the risk of his friend being washed away was no easy task. He succeeded at length, however, in doing so, and by an effort, of which he would not have thought himself capable, he scrambled up on deck again by means of the tangled mass of ropes, and tattered sails and spars, which hung overboard. Then, dreading that another sea would come and sweep them back together into the seething ocean, they tottered to the companion hatchway, down which Harry half dragged, half carried his friend, closing the hatch above him. Scarcely had he done so than a tremendous blow on the hatch, and the loud rushing sound of the water as it passed over the deck, told them that another sea had broken aboard, which would in all probability have swept them away to destruction. They fell on their knees in thankfulness as they reached the cabin, that they had been thus providentially preserved. They then went to the berth in which old Jefferies lay. He was still too weak to move, but perfectly sensible. They told him what had just occurred, and of the death of the poor seaman whom they had discovered in the fore peak. He could not conjecture why the man had been left there. The boys, however, thought that, by examining all the papers, they might elucidate the mystery. They feared, from the appearance of the poor stranger, that some foul deed had been done on board. Now, however, they were more concerned about themselves. The brig had hitherto withstood all the buffeting she had received without apparently leaking much, but would she continue to do so? Old Jefferies thought not. He had heard, he said, strange sounds as he lay in bed, which he knew well proceeded from water forcing its way into the hold, or rather from the air which was thereby forced out--groans, and sighs, and low cries. "Some people, when they hear these sounds for the first time, think that the ship is full of ghosts and spirits, and that they are crying out that she is going down," observed the old man. "But I know better. I wish that I hadn't heard them, for they make me sad. Not for myself, though, for I am well-nigh worn out, and that poor boy's death weighs heavy on me. I daren't face his grandmother, and tell her that he is gone. But, boys, I am sorry for you. You are young and full of life, and there are many who love you on shore, and will mourn your loss." "What, do you think that the ship is going down?" exclaimed Harry and David together, in a very natural tone of dismay. "It would be cruel in me not to tell you so, and I hope that you are prepared to die, my boys," answered the old man. "Still I don't say but that in God's mercy you may escape. A vessel may heave in sight in time to take you off, or you may build a raft, and it may float you till you are picked up. I don't say give in, but be prepared for the worst." The boys listened calmly to what the old man said. "We will hope for the best, rig the pumps, and try and keep her free," answered Harry. "Not much hope of that, I fear," said the old man. "We can but try," exclaimed David. "Let us go on deck at once, and see what we can do." "You may be washed overboard if you go now on deck," said old Jefferies. "You must wait till the sea goes down again somewhat, and you may then pump away with a will." The latter part of this advice the boys agreed, after waiting some time, to disregard. If the ship was sinking, the sooner the water could be pumped out of her the better. They fancied, also, that she rolled less than before. In spite of the old man's warnings, they once more, therefore, found their way on deck. The state of the wreck seemed almost hopeless, but, like brave boys as they were, they still kept to their resolution of trying to pump out the water. They fortunately found the brake of the pump, as the handle is called, and shipping it, began to work away with might and main. The water quickly came up in a clear, bright stream, which told too plainly, without their sounding the well, the large amount of water which had either leaked in or found its way below. They had left their coats and shoes in the cabin, everything that would encumber them, in case they should be washed from their hold. The waves rose up around them, the spray in dense showers dashing every instant over their heads, and almost blinding them when it struck them in the face. Still undaunted they stood at their post. "This must tell," exclaimed David, as he watched the full stream flowing from the pump. "If we get the ship clear, all may yet be well." "It may be coming in faster than we are pumping it out," said Harry. "Still it may keep us afloat till help comes." "I am afraid that there is not much prospect of that," said David. "Though, to be sure, we cannot be so very far from land, or those screeching seagulls would not be hovering about us." "They have powerful wings, and can fly a long way from land," observed Harry. "Those come probably from the west coast of Ireland." These remarks were made at intervals and by jerks, as it were, while they stopped pumping for an instant to change their position. They were encouraged to persevere, first, by believing that their efforts were producing some effect on the amount of water in the ship, and then, by observing that the sea was again going down. During one of these intervals, when the wreck had been thrown higher up than usual, Harry exclaimed, "A sail! a sail! she is standing this way." The glimpse was momentary, and before David could catch sight of the stranger the ship had again sunk into the trough of the sea. In vain David looked out for the ship. Still Harry asserted that he was not mistaken. After pumping for some time they were compelled to knock off from fatigue. For fear of being washed away they lashed themselves to the stump of the nearest mast, and thus secured they lay down on the wet deck to rest. Again they rose bravely to their work, but each tune they had to stop pumping they rested for a longer period, and continued pumping after it for a shorter period. David, at last, caught sight of the vessel Harry had seen, and was also of opinion that she was approaching them. The hope of being saved, which had never died, now grew stronger and stronger. Now, as the wreck was lifted up the side of a sea, or the stranger mounted a foaming billow, her whole hull was visible, and they saw she was a long, low black schooner. Even at that distance Harry did not like her appearance. To satisfy himself he went to the companion hatch, inside of which a telescope was hung up. With it both he and David took a more exact examination of the stranger, and came to the same conclusion. "She is not an English craft, of that I am certain," observed Harry. "She may be a privateer, but is more like those rascally pirates who infest the West Indies and African coast, and used to be found down on the Spanish main; she has a large crew, too, I see. Now, I suspect, if we were to get aboard her the fellows would make us join them or walk the plank. Still, it might be better to pretend to enter on board than to go down with this wreck. What do you say?" "If yonder craft is of the character you fancy, I say let us stick to the wreck; but we will ask old Jefferies what he thinks about it--we wouldn't leave him on any account; at the same time, if he wishes to go, I should say that we ought to go." "I agree with you," answered Harry. "Let us pump away till she gets nearer, and then we will go and consult Jefferies." The schooner approached, and a nearer view only confirmed the boys in their opinion of her character. Why she came near the wreck it was difficult to say. Another look through the spy-glass showed them a number of men on board and several guns on her deck. "I do not suppose they will trouble themselves about us unless we hail them, and then, perhaps, they might endeavour to take us off the wreck, but I am not quite certain about it," observed Harry. They were standing while speaking inside the companion hatch, with their heads just above it. The schooner was coming up fast. Suddenly the ports nearest them were opened, wreaths of smoke burst forth, and several shots whistled close above their heads, one going through the bulwarks and ploughing up the deck. Their impulse was to jump below. They could do nothing to help themselves, but they hoped that the strangers would not continue to make a target of them. Jefferies had heard the shots, and wondered why they had been fired. When they told him their suspicions, he advised them to keep below. "I have my thoughts on the subject," he remarked. "Hark! they are firing again; there! another shot struck the ship. If it was not for the heavy sea running we should be worse off than we are. It is no easy matter to take aim from the deck of a craft tumbling about as the schooner must be. If it was, depend upon it there would be a score or more sent into the brig between wind and water." "But why should the schooner's people be so anxious to make a target of the brig?" asked David. "To sink her," answered the old man. "They think, if fallen in with, she might tell a tale they don't wish to have known. That's my notion, but I may be wrong." "There they go again at it!" exclaimed Harry. "Two shots struck us. Don't you think, David, that we had better go on deck and show ourselves? They would scarcely try to sink the wreck if they found that there were people on board, even though they might not take us off." "The very reason that would make them still more anxious to send us to the bottom. You had better not show yourselves," said the old man; but the lads did not hear him, for they were already on their way on deck. CHAPTER FIVE. MAKING A RAFT--AFLOAT ON IT--THE GRIEF AT HOME--CAPTAIN RYMER'S APPOINTMENT--THE VOYAGE. That raging sea, which it appeared at first would prove the destruction of those on board the brig, was in reality the means of their preservation. Just as the boys got their heads above the companion hatch, another whole broadside was let fly, and though many of the shots passed over the ship, two or three struck her between wind and water. Had the sea been calmer, many more probably would have found their way through her sides, and she must instantly have gone to the bottom. Such was the fate the boys, not without good reason, now anticipated for her. Another broadside would prove sufficient. "Had we not better show ourselves, and ask to be taken on board?" said David. "What, boys, and be murdered!" cried the old man from below. "Stick to the ship, and don't trust those villains. There's One who will take care of you if you put faith in Him." "Old Jefferies is right. Let us die rather than go on board the pirate," said Harry. Once more they climbed up the companion ladder, from which they had jumped down at the last broadside. They watched the schooner. She had tacked, as if about to run down close to them, and deliver another broadside. Seeing this, they were prepared to leap back into the cabin, when suddenly she hauled her tacks aboard, and stood directly away from them. Did her crew believe that the shots they had fired would speedily effect their supposed purpose, and take the brig to the bottom, or were they only firing for practice? As soon as the schooner had got a little distance off, the boys jumped on deck and hurried to the pump. Harry first sounded the well. His face grew very serious. "David," he said, "the water has gained fearfully on us. The shot-holes must be letting in the water fast, and I do not think that the brig can float another hour--perhaps not ten minutes." "What are we to do, then?" asked David. "Build a raft," answered Harry. "There are plenty of spars. I saw some carpenter's tools and large nails in the cabin, and we may break off the hatches. They will help us. We must be sharp about it, though." Of this there could be no doubt. That they might give the old fisherman a better chance of saving his life, they agreed to get him up first. By taking an abundance of food and rest, he had greatly recovered his strength, and was now able to do as they proposed. "If I cannot work, I may give you my advice," he observed. "I have more than once had to trust to a raft for my life." The cat followed them on deck. The old man shook his head when he saw her. "She knows that the cabin is no longer a safe place for her, and that she will be better off up here," he said, as the boys placed him on a heavy coil of rope near the mainmast. The ship was happily more quiet than she had before been, and the boys, having collected all the spars and planks they could find, as well as some chairs and a table from the cabin, commenced, under old Jefferies' directions, to form the proposed raft. They worked away with all their might, knowing well that a few minutes' delay would be fatal. A large raft was not required, as it had to support only three persons and their provisions. The great thing was to make it strong enough. They brought up all the small rope they could find and lashed the stoutest of the spars together, so as to form an oblong framework, with a centre spar as a keel. They further secured them with large nails. Then they placed planks and smaller spars across this, with the table, top downwards, and the chairs on their backs, secured to it. They managed to wrench off two of the cabin doors, and these, nailed down and lashed across the raft, raised the deck and increased its strength. Besides the chairs, there were some strong stools in the cabin. These they nailed down at each corner, and secured them also by lashings, with their legs up. They then passed ropes round the legs, thus forming a sort of bulwark that might save them from being washed off the raft. They had still much to do after this before the raft would be complete. They wanted a couple of chests in which to keep their provisions, a cask for water, a mast and sails, and oars, and blankets to keep them warm at night. They had been some time at work, and the water was already over the cabin floor. Any attempt to save the vessel was now hopeless. Harry, happening to look up, saw what, had he been on the watch, he would have observed long before, a large ship, under a press of sail, at no great distance. Was the wreck seen by those on board? If so, their prospect of escape was greatly improved. They hoped that they were seen, for although they were thankful that they had had time to form a raft, they knew well that at best it was a perilous means of support, that it might be upset or dashed to pieces, or that they might float about on it unseen till all their provisions and water were exhausted, and then die of starvation and thirst. They earnestly hoped, therefore, that they might be seen from the passing ship. They had reserved a short spar as a mast for the raft. To this they fastened a flag, and secured it to the mainmast. So occupied were they, indeed, in watching the stranger, that for a few minutes they forgot to go on with their raft, till recalled by old Jefferies to continue the important work. They had now to search for some chests. They had seen several in the fore peak. It was with a degree of awe, perhaps not altogether free from fear, that they again went to where the dead seaman lay. They quickly cut two chests clear of the lashings which secured them, and were emptying them of their contents, when they came upon a box or case, the size of an ordinary writing-case. It was of foreign manufacture, and secured with strong brass bands. When taking it out with other things, Harry heard a sound like the chink of money within. He shook it. There was no doubt about the matter. "We'll keep it. It may be useful, and it is our lawful prize," he observed, as he put it back into the chest. Fastening ropes to the handles of the chests, they were soon hauled on deck, and secured to the raft. Now came the important work of provisioning their ark of safety. They had already got on deck some biscuits, and salt beef and pork uncooked. They again descended for more articles which they had seen, and which, together with some blankets, they brought up. Once more they went below, and even during the short time they had been on deck, they observed that the water had considerably risen. Still they were persevering in their search for more provisions, when old Jefferies' voice summoned them hastily on deck. "She is going down!--she is going down!" he shouted. They rushed up, and had just time to drag him on to the raft, and to seize the oars and spars they had got ready, when the vessel's bow rose, and her stern gradually sank, till she glided away towards the bottom, literally from beneath their feet. Just before this the cat, who seemed determined to stick to the vessel to the last, made a spring on to the raft, where she stood trembling with fear and astonishment at the disappearance of her home. As soon as the water reached the raft, by means of the poles they shoved off from the wreck, and then pulled away with all their might, so as completely to clear her. The raft rocked violently, and, in spite of all their efforts, seemed dragged towards the vortex formed by the sinking vessel. In another instant the brig was no longer to be seen, and her secret, whatever it was, was buried with her. They looked anxiously around. The ship was standing in the direction the schooner had gone. They floated alone on that wild, stormy waste of waters. The old man had been placed in the middle of the raft, while the boys took their places on either side of him, endeavouring with the oars to keep the raft before the seas. Among other things placed on it were some carpenter's tools, spars, blankets, and a good supply of rope. They had thus the means of rigging a mast. They did this by nailing boards between the two front legs of the table, and lashing the mast to the middle of the boards, while they carried stays forward and on either side. The wind was so much warmer, that they supposed it must have shifted to the west, though the thick clouds which still shrouded the sky prevented them from finding out the points of the compass. By Jefferies' advice, they continued making the arrangements which have been described, though they still hoped they might be seen from the passing ship, which Harry declared to be the frigate to which he belonged--the _Ariadne_. At last, however, they had to abandon this hope, as the frigate continued her course, in chase, apparently, of the mysterious schooner. Unless seen by some other vessel, Harry and David felt that they must now, humanly speaking, depend on their own exertions for reaching the shore. Harry rigged a mast; they next fitted a sail, and with no small satisfaction hoisted it. By fixing an oar so as to act as a rudder astern, the raft, as soon as the sail was hoisted, behaved remarkably well, and glided over the seas with considerable ease and rapidity. Their spirits rose again, for they fully believed that they should in two or three days reach either the English or the Irish coast. They had no idea how far to the westward they had been driven. By degrees the sea went down, which was very pleasant, but so also did the wind, till it became a perfect calm. An end was thus put to their hopes of soon reaching the land. However, they were far more comfortable than they had been for some time. The afternoon sun shone out brightly, and dried their clothes; and they had plenty to eat--biscuits, and cooked meat, and cheese and butter, and figs and raisins, and several other fruits, and some bottles of wine, of which they wisely partook very sparingly. It, however, did the old man much good, and he appeared to have recovered both his strength and spirits. Although well off in many respects, they had, however, a scarcity of one article, without which they could not hope to prolong existence. That was water. They could only secure one small cask, and they saw, therefore, that they must husband the precious liquid with the greatest care. They now floated tranquilly on the calm waters, and though they would far rather have been sailing northward, they were thus enabled to strengthen the raft, and to prepare for it encountering any more rough weather which might come on. They had made old Jefferies as comfortable as they could in the centre of the raft, and they soon had the satis faction of finding that he had fallen asleep. Having accomplished all that could be done, they began to chat away as composedly as if nothing very particular had occurred. They went on, indeed, almost with the conversation which had been interrupted when they discovered that the rock on which they were sitting was surrounded by water. Strange to say, Harry expressed no wish or intention of leaving the profession he had embraced should they reach the shore, while David was as determined as ever to enter it should he be able to obtain his father's leave. No wonder, when the long list of glorious victories won by the British navy was fresh in the memory of the nation, and naval officers in all social circles were looked upon and courted as heroes. At length old Jefferies awoke. "Now, boys, you must take your rest," he said. "You have watched for me, and now I'll watch for you. It won't do for us all to nap together, and if I see any change I'll call you. Never fear, puss and I will look after the ship." The boys did not require a second bidding, but stretching themselves inside the legs of the upturned table, were soon fast asleep. We must now return for a short time to their friends on shore. Poor Mrs Merryweather was almost broken-hearted on being at length compelled to give up all hopes of ever again seeing her gallant son, and on being able to account in no other way for his and his friend's disappearance than that they had fallen over a cliff, or been washed away by the sea. She knew where to go for comfort and consolation; and her chief satisfaction, when she heard that old Mrs Jefferies had lost her husband and grandson on the same night, was to show her whence she could derive the same consolation she herself had found. It was a sore trial to the poor old woman. Mr and Mrs Morton also did their best to comfort her; indeed, had it not been for them she would have been compelled to resort to the workhouse for support. They sympathised with the old woman, not because they were aware of the service her husband had rendered those dear to them, but because, as they supposed, a like calamity had overtaken her and themselves at the same time. Still Mr Morton did not cease for a long time to have search made for them, till at length he was with a sad heart compelled to give it up in despair. Captain Rymer sympathised heartily with his neighbour's misfortune, and pretty little Mary shed many a tear for the loss of her two friends. Several months passed by, and still no news came of the lost ones. With great reluctance the two families at length went into mourning. It was a sad day, for it was an acknowledgment that hope was given up, and that the two dear lads were no longer among the living. One morning Captain Rymer and his family were seated at breakfast; Mrs Rymer had just poured out a cup of tea, and Mary had handed it to him with a slice of toast which she had carefully buttered, when the post-bag was brought into the room. He opened it, and drew forth a long official-looking envelope. "No other letter?" asked his wife. "No, not one; and this is probably of no great importance either," he answered, placing it by his side, and beginning to eat the toast Mary had just given him. Captain Rymer had been actively engaged during the whole of the late war in many dangerous and arduous services, and, like other officers, felt somewhat aggrieved that his services had not been fully recognised. He had frequently applied for some civil appointment, but his requests had not been attended to, and the only results were polite answers, couched in the same official language, stating that his merits would be duly considered. At last he made up his mind that he was to be laid on the shelf, and that he should never get anything. However, when he had finished his toast, he opened the letter. "This is indeed what I little expected," he exclaimed. "I am appointed as Lieutenant-Governor of Saint -- in the West Indies. It is one of the most healthy of the islands. I have often been there; indeed, it is in consequence of my knowledge of the inhabitants that I have been selected; and you will all be able to accompany me." This information, as may be supposed, caused a great deal of excitement in the family. As Captain Rymer was ordered to proceed at once, there was no time to be lost in making the necessary preparations. Their friends called to congratulate, and at the same time to express their regret at losing them. The Mortons, and poor Mrs Merryweather, would certainly miss them more than anybody else. Mary could not help looking forward with pleasure to the interesting places she would probably visit, and the new style of life she would have to lead; though she was very sorry to leave so many kind friends, and the attached servants, who could not accompany them. In those days outfits were not to be procured, nor other arrangements made, so rapidly as at present, and Captain Rymer found it impossible to be ready to sail in the ship appointed to carry him out. He had, therefore, to take his passage in a West India trader, to sail a few weeks later. The _Betsy_ was a fine large ship, carrying guns, to enable her to defend herself against the pirates and small privateers, often no better, which at that time infested the Caribbean Sea, and especially on the Spanish main and round the coast of Cuba. The cabins of the _Betsy_, on board which many wealthy West India planters frequently came backwards and forwards, were for their accommodation fitted up in a style of luxury seldom found on board merchantmen in general. The _Betsy_ put into Falmouth to take the family and their baggage on board. She then had to remain till joined by several other West India ships. Everything was then made ready for sailing, and a bright look-out was kept for another fleet, bound in the same direction, coming down channel under convoy of two men-of-war. They were at length descried, and the ships in Falmouth harbour immediately got under weigh, and stood out to join them. At that time, although most of the men-of-war carrying the flag of England's enemies had been swept from the seas, a large number of their privateers still remained to annoy and often injure her commerce. It was therefore not considered safe for merchantmen to sail without the protection of one or more men-of-war. Mary was delighted with the appearance of the cabins, so luxurious compared to what she had expected; and she was still more pleased when, on going on deck, she observed a large fleet of stately ships with which she was surrounded. The water was calm, the sky clear, and the sun shone brightly on the pyramids of white canvas towering up from the black, shining, freshly painted hulls which floated on the blue ocean in all directions. On the outskirts were the still more stately men-of-war, their bright-coloured signal flags continually moving up and down, while they occasionally fired a gun either on one side or the other, in rather a difficult attempt to keep their somewhat refractory charges on their proper course. Mary, after watching the manoeuvres of the men-of-war and the fleet of merchant vessels for some time, exclaimed-- "Why, papa, they put me in mind of a herd of cattle driven through the country, the drovers running here and there, shouting loudly, and sending their sharp barking dogs now to one side, now to the other, to keep them together." "Not a bad idea, Mary," answered Captain Rymer. "But should thick weather come on, or a heavy gale spring up, the work will be much more difficult. Sometimes a whole herd, as you would call them, is scattered, and lions or wolves occasionally pounce down on the weakest, and carry them off." "I hope that will not be our fate, papa," said Mary, timidly. "No fear of that, dearest. I am sorry that I should have put such a notion into your head," answered Captain Rymer. "The _Betsy_ is a well-found ship, well manned and well armed, and Captain Bolton has the character of being a first-rate seaman, so that we have every reason for expecting to arrive in safety at our destination." "Oh, I am not at all afraid," said Mary. "Besides, you know, papa, we can pray to be protected; and what a comfort it is, and how brave it should make us, to know that God hears our prayers, and will grant them whenever He sees that to do so is best for us!" What a support in daily life, what a consolation to the voyager over the stormy ocean, is a firm confidence in that glorious truth! CHAPTER SIX. ON THE RAFT--THE SHARK--THE SEA-FIGHT. The raft still floated uninjured; the sea continued perfectly calm. Harry and David retained their health and spirits, hoping that they should reach the land at last; and the old man appeared to be steadily recovering. The calm tried them in one respect more than when the wind blew, because after the raft had been strengthened they had nothing to do. They talked of the past and of the future, but even friends cannot talk on all day, especially if they are hungry and thirsty, and are anxious about any matter. At last David recollected that they had taken some fishing lines and hooks out of the boat, and thrown them with other articles on the raft. They were soon discovered, and the lads flattered themselves that they had nothing more to do than to bait the hooks, if bait could be found, and to throw them overboard. Old Jefferies smiled when he saw their preparations, and told them that, although certain fish were to be caught occasionally in the open sea, the greater number were to be found along the coasts of the different countries of the world. "To my mind God has so ordered it that all the fish which best serve for the food of man swim round and round the coasts of the countries of the world, in shallow water, where they can be got at and caught, or else they visit certain known spots, like the banks of Newfoundland, or the fishing grounds in the North Sea. Now if they all lived in the deep seas, or kept wandering about to all parts just as fancy led them, fishermen would never know where to go and look for them. Instead of that, as I have said, as the seasons come round, God leads them to the same places and almost on the same day every year; and so the fisherman is prepared with his nets or lines to catch them. However, I don't mean to say that there are no fish out even in mid-ocean, and if we get our lines, perhaps we shall catch some." The lines were fitted in different ways; one with a heavy lead that it might sink towards the bottom, the other to throw to a distance, and then to drag quickly back again. The chief difficulty was with regard to the bait. David, however, proposed using a piece of salt pork, though old Jefferies thought that no fish would bite at it. "I'll try, at all events," he answered; and baiting his hook he threw it skilfully to a considerable distance. He tried over and over again till his arm grew tired, while Henry let his line down to its entire end, but neither of them got a bite. "Very little use, I am afraid," said Harry, drawing up his line. "Let it hang out, at all events. It can do no harm, and something may take a fancy to it," observed David, again throwing his own line. "Halloa! I have got something--a big fellow, too--he'll pull me off the raft if I don't take care. Lend a hand, Harry." Harry took hold of the line. Now they were able to haul in some of the line, and then again the fish swam off in an opposite direction, actually moving the raft. "It may be a porpoise," said Harry. "Perhaps it is a shark!" exclaimed David. "It can't be a young whale." "It is a big fish of some sort, of that there is no doubt," responded Harry. "The fellow will get tired before long, and then we will make him show his nose." "If he does not cut through the line before that," observed old Jefferies, who would not pronounce as to what fish it was. "If the line does not break I have little fear of its being cut through, for there is a long shank to the hook, and the line has never been slack," answered David, hauling in more of the line. The fish, if such it was, at length began to grow weary of towing the raft, and allowed himself to be drawn nearer and nearer till his mouth was seen for an instant close to the surface. "Ah! I know him," exclaimed old Jefferies. "A shark! a shark! he's as mischievous a fellow as any that swims, though he will hurt no one who does not put his hand down his mouth." He explained that the fish they had hooked was the _blue shark_, which, although he does not attempt to take the fisherman's life, is yet one of his greatest foes. If he cannot bite through a line he often rolls it round and round himself in a way that is most difficult for the fisherman to undo; and sometimes he will swim among the nets, killing the fish in mere wantonness apparently, and biting the meshes. Now and then, however, he gets caught himself--a small satisfaction considering the damage he causes. It took some time before his sharkship was wearied out, and when at length he was hauled up on the raft, it was found that he had contrived to wind several fathoms of the line round his body. From the line having been kept tight, it was not so cleverly twisted as is often the case, and a blow on the tail quieted him before he had managed further to wriggle it round himself after he was out of the water. When the line was unwound, and the shark stretched out, he was a handsome-looking fish of a blue lead colour, about four feet long. Harry and David did not feel disposed to eat any of the shark, but when assured by the old fisherman that neither he nor any of his ancestors had ever touched flesh, they got over their reluctance, and as their appetites told them it was dinner-time, they each took a thin slice with some biscuit. They agreed that when cooked it would be tolerable food. After this meal David, having got his line in order, and both their lines being baited with shark, they commenced fishing. After some time Harry got a bite. "A fine fish, I am sure, by the way he tugged," he exclaimed, hauling up the line. It came up very easily, though, and instead of the large fish he expected, a small whiting appeared. Several others were pulled up in succession. As Harry was hauling in his line after a bite, he felt a heavy weight suddenly come on it. Still he was able to get it in. "It is something curious, but what it can be I am sure I don't know," he exclaimed, hauling away, while David looked eagerly on. "What a monster!" they cried out both together, when a huge mass, with what looked like a number of snakes wriggling about round it, was seen on the surface amidst a circle of dark water. "That's a squid," remarked old Jefferies. "Some of them are awkward customers in the water, but he can do you very little harm out of it." The truth of this last assertion was put to the test when, in spite of its struggles, the creature was hauled up on the raft, and its long arms chopped off. It had expected simply to catch a whiting, and had itself been caught by the hook sticking through the whiting's mouth. It was very untempting-looking for food, though they might have preferred it to shark flesh. The whiting, however, supplied them with as much fish as they could eat raw. Altogether they agreed that they had had a good evening's sport, and that if they could have forgotten where they were, and that their friends were anxious about them, they should have enjoyed themselves amazingly, only that they should have preferred cooked fish to raw. As night, however, crept on, they began to feel the loneliness and helplessness of their position. Still, the calm continued, and the stars shone forth, each spark of light being reflected in the mirror-like ocean; and Harry made out the polar star, and wished that there was a good breeze that they might steer by it towards England. The air was very chilly, but as they had saved several blankets, they wrapped themselves up, and kept tolerably warm. As they had not got a lantern or candle, or any means of striking a light, they could do nothing, and so they chatted away till they both went off to the land of dreams. "Sleep on, my poor lads," said the old man, guessing by their silence what had happened. "You little think of the danger you are in. If a gale springs up, how is this small raft to weather it? For myself, I am worn out, and my time must come in a year or two, or a few months it may be; but life is fresh and pleasant for the young lads. Well, well, God is kind and just. He knows what is best for them. His will be done." The lives of most men are metaphorically varied by storms and calms, clouds and sunshine, and so in reality was the existence of our two young friends on the raft. The night passed away quietly, and towards morning the old man, in spite of his intentions to keep watch, fell asleep. David was the first to rouse up. The sun had not risen, but a streak of red in the sky showed in what quarter he was about to appear. David stood up to look around him. He would not call Harry till it was necessary, for he was sleeping so calmly, with a smile on his countenance, dreaming of some pleasant scenes at home, probably with his mother and sister present. As David was thus standing up, holding on to the mast, he felt a light air fan his cheek. It came from the south. He turned his eyes in that direction to look for a further sign of the wished-for breeze. As he did so he observed in the horizon a sail--he judged a large ship. Directly afterwards another appeared, in a different part of the horizon. He watched them attentively for some time. Their sails were filled with wind, and they seemed to be drawing nearer to each other, and also nearer to the raft. As soon as it struck David that this was the case, he could no longer resist the temptation of rousing up his companion. Harry sprang to his feet. Midshipmen do not rub their eyes and yawn, and groan and growl, before they get up, especially if they happen to be sleeping on a raft in the chops of the channel. "Yes, they are standing this way," he exclaimed. "They are frigates, and what is more, though one is English, I doubt by the cut of the sails whether the other is." "At all events we shall have a good chance of being picked up," said David. "I hope so; but if an idea which has struck me is correct, they will have too much to do to look after each other to take any notice of us," observed the midshipman. "What do you mean?" asked David. "That one is English and the other French, and if so, it is not likely that, having come in sight of each other, they will part without exchanging shots," remarked Harry. "Unless the Frenchman runs away," said David. "No fear of that. The monsieurs are brave fellows, though we can lick them, and it is not often they show the white feather," remarked Harry. "I really think that I am right. They look to me like two frigates, and one I am sure is French. We'll rouse up the old man, and hear what he has to say about the matter. He'll not thank us for letting him sleep on." "The old man is awake," said Jefferies, sitting up and gazing in the direction indicated by the boys, under his open hand. For some time he was silent. "Yes, there's little doubt about the matter," he said at length. "They are frigates, and one is English; the other is a foreigner, but whether Spaniard, Dutchman, or French, is more than I can say. If they are going to fight, as you think, we can't help it, neither can we make them sail near enough to see us, and pick us up; but I'll tell you what we can do, young gentlemen, we can lift up our voices in prayer to God to thank Him for His favours, and to ask Him for His protection." All three knelt down, and lifted up their voices to God in prayer, with a heartiness which might be sought for in vain within the lofty walls of many a proud building. Such is the spiritual worship in which God the Spirit alone has pleasure. The party on that wave-tossed raft rose from their knees greatly refreshed in spirit, and sat down to enjoy their morning meal with hearts grateful that they had food sufficient to sustain life. Soon after, the sun rose, as it were with a spring out of his ocean bed, and shed his light across the expanse of waters on the sails of the approaching ships, which seemed to have drawn suddenly near, so clear and defined did their forms become. Harry watched with even greater eagerness than before one of the ships, which he declared was, he believed, that to which he belonged. David was rather inclined to laugh at the notion, as he considered that it was impossible Harry should be able to know his own ship at so great a distance off. There seemed to be no doubt that both were frigates--of that the old man expressed himself sure; that they were not both English he thought very likely. As to the other point, it was, if correct, a guess of Harry's. They continued to draw nearer and nearer to each other, and as they approached the raft at the same time, the breeze which filled their sails reached her. "Shall we hoist our sails, and stand for the shore as before?" asked David. "We should miss the chance of being picked up if we did so," answered Harry. "Besides, I should not like to run away without knowing after all whether the ships would fight, and who was the conqueror." "Not much chance of our getting out of sight before they begin, for they are already not far off gun-shot of each other," observed the old man, who again raised himself to look out, but sunk down once more to his seat in the centre of the raft. The two boys, however, stood up, holding on by the mast, in spite of the increasing rocking of the raft, watching eagerly the movements of the two frigates--for frigates there was no doubt they both were. "Up go the colours!" exclaimed Harry, with a shout. "Hurrah! There's the glorious old flag of England, and the other is French--there's no doubt about it. Then there'll be a fight. Hurrah! I wish I was aboard the old ship; I'm sure it's her. Couldn't we manage it even now? Pull the raft up to her. I wish that she would see us and pick us up. Oh dear! how provoking! I'd give anything to be on board!" Such were the exclamations to which the young midshipman gave utterance, as he stood watching the ships. "The old ship has tacked, she is standing away from us! The Frenchman is about also. They'll be away. We shall not see any of the fighting after all." "We shall be less likely to suffer from their shots, and for that we may be grateful," observed the old man. The midshipman, so eager was he, scarcely listened to what was said. The frigates were manoeuvring, each endeavouring to gain the weather-gauge before commencing the action, which it was very evident would take place. There appeared to be no lack of a disposition to fight on either side, for they both took in their lighter sails, and finally hauled up their courses. Now the English frigate wore round, her example being followed by the Frenchman, both running back towards the raft, which it seemed that the former would pass by, or even run over, when suddenly she tacked, and standing close to a wind towards the French frigate, fired a broadside into her quarter, while the latter was in stays. The effect of the broadside must have been severe, for it was some time before she actually got about, leaving to the English frigate the advantage of the weather-gauge, which had been the object of all the previous manoeuvres. For some time the two ships ran on alongside of each other, rapidly exchanging shots, without any great apparent damage to the masts or rigging. They were so placed that many of the shots which missed came flying towards the raft, but providentially she was too far off for them to reach her. Once more the after-yards of the French ship being shot away, she kept off the wind, and, followed by her antagonist, stood towards the raft, still keeping up a hot fire at her. In a short time the damage was repaired, and once more the French ship hauling her wind, the two stood on together close-hauled. It was evident, from the rapid way in which the French frigate's damages had been repaired, that she was well manned, and that the result was by no means so certain as Harry had at first anticipated. The firing had had the effect, it appeared, of lessening the little wind there had previously been. The two frigates, therefore, moved but slowly, and consequently kept within sight of those on the raft. Harry was almost too eager to speak. David now and then made a few remarks. More than an hour had passed away since the commencement of the action, and as yet there was no visible advantage gained by either party. Suddenly Harry gave a cry of anger and annoyance, in which David joined him. The old man looked up. There was cause for it. The flag of England was seen to drop from the masthead of the frigate. Could it be that she had struck? The firing continued as furious as ever. No, it was impossible! "See! see! there's another flying out!" exclaimed the midshipman, exultingly. "All right, some fine fellow has climbed up and nailed it there. Only the halliards were shot away. My captain would go down sooner than strike; I know that." The loud reports of the guns came succeeding each other rapidly over the calm ocean. Now a loud crash, then a broadside was fired by both parties at once, the sound of the different guns blending into one; now a perfect silence, and then again single shots, and after a cessation another broadside. At length the combatants scarcely moved, and became enshrouded in a dense cloud of smoke, which nearly concealed them from view. The firing was more furious than ever. They were yard-arm to yard-arm, discharging their broadsides into each other. A light breeze played over the water--the ships emerged from the cloud of smoke. The English frigate had lost her mizen-mast, and its wreck lay over her quarter. Harry groaned, but directly afterwards he shouted, "They'll not give in, though--they'll not give in, I am sure they won't." CHAPTER SEVEN. THE UNION JACK BEATS--THE RAFT STILL UNSEEN--THE PRIVATEER--DEATH OF OLD JEFFERIES--THE FRENCH CAPTAIN. The loss of her mizen-mast did not appear to damp the ardour of the British frigate's crew. The firing was continued with unabated fury on both sides, neither ship apparently moving through the water; now they were shrouded in smoke--now the smoke was blown away, and the firing ceased. "The Frenchman's foremast is tottering!" shouted Harry. "See! see! David. Down it comes--hurrah! hurrah!" Still the flags of their respective countries waved at the mastheads of the frigates. The mast did not come down either when Harry thought it would, neither did the firing cease altogether. Faint sounds of musketry or pistol-shots came across the water--then three or four great guns were fired--the sides of the ships were close together, or rather, the bow of the English frigate was fast to the Frenchman's side. "They are boarding," cried Harry; "I know it must be that--then our fellows will win the day.--The Frenchman's flag will be down directly. Watch! watch! I know it will." They waited eagerly, looking out for some time. Suddenly a cloud of smoke ascended from one of the ships. It was difficult to say from which; again and again the guns were fired. "I am afraid that after all our friends are getting the worst of it," remarked David, with a sigh. "Oh, no, no! impossible!" exclaimed Harry. "See, see! down comes the Frenchman's flag--hurrah! hurrah! I knew it would be so. Englishmen are never licked. We would go down first with our colours flying. Hurrah! hurrah! we've gained the day." Harry waved his cap above his head, and shouted long and loudly, communicating his enthusiasm, not only to David, but to the old man himself; but so vehement in his demonstrations of joy did he become at last, that he nearly upset the raft, and then well-nigh fell overboard himself. David was rather more quiet in his demonstrations, still he did not feel less satisfaction probably than his friend. "We must get on board to congratulate them," exclaimed Harry; "I wouldn't miss that on any account; if we pull hard we shall be able to get up to them--eh, Mr Jefferies? They will be some time repairing damages and shifting the prisoners, and they are not likely to make sail till then." "We mustn't count too much upon that, young gentleman; we are further off than you think, and darkness will be down over the ocean long before we can get up to them. Besides, do you know, I don't think the sights aboard those ships, either the conqueror or the conquered, would be so pleasant as you suppose. I know what a man-of-war is after a hard-fought battle. The decks strewn with the dead, and slippery with blood and gore, the cockpit full of wounded men, lately strong and hardy, now cripples for life, many dying, entering into eternity, without a hope beyond their ocean grave, Christless, heathens in reality if not in name, stifled groans and sighs, and oftentimes shrieks of despair on every side. Such sights I have seen in my youth, and I speak the language of some of the great preachers who have come down to these parts, and boldly put forth the gospel of salvation to perishing sinners under the blue vault of heaven. You only look at one side of the picture, and that quickly vanishes away; mine, unhappily, is too real to be wiped out quickly." The old man spoke in a tone he had not hitherto used, which showed that his education had been superior to that which men of his vocation generally possess. This remark, it must be confessed, considerably damped the ardour of the young midshipman. The latter, however, still continued to urge him and David to try and get on board one of the ships. They were in reality as anxious as he was to do so, for they could not but feel that they were exposed to many dangers while they remained on the raft. The wind had dropped, and in one respect this was in their favour, as the frigates could not sail away; but what little wind there was was against them, and this made rowing their heavy craft more tedious. They progressed very slowly, and after two hours' hard rowing they seemed no nearer than before. The day was drawing on; still they persevered. Hope continued to cheer the two boys, whatever the old man might have thought about the matter. At last Harry stopped. "They are making sail, and the breeze is getting up. Oh dear! oh dear! They'll be off before we can reach them. Still we'll try--pull away, David, pull away, there's a good fellow." All the efforts of the lads brought them no nearer the two frigates. They could see the British ensign run up above that of the French. Still it was evident that they themselves were not observed: no wonder, under the circumstances, as everybody on board must have been busily engaged. Still thus, as it were, to be deserted, was very trying to the young lads. They bore up, however, manfully under the disappointment. "Perhaps the wind may fall or shift again, and they may have after all to take a tack this way," exclaimed Harry, whose hopeful enthusiasm it was impossible to damp. At last the night returned, and the darkness shut out the frigates from their sight. The lads had to while away the time by conversation, and expressed their intentions of not going to sleep during the night; they, however, stowed themselves away in their accustomed places, where, should they by any chance begin to slumber, they might not run the risk of falling into the sea. For some time they kept to this resolution, Harry still buoyed up with the hope that they might get on board the frigate in the morning. At last David's voice began to get very drowsy, so even did Harry's, and in spite of their strange position and their anxiety, first one and then the other dropped off to sleep. The old man leaned forward to ascertain that they were both secure. "Sleep on, lads! sleep on!" he muttered. "He who reigns above can alone tell whether or not this is the last night you will spend on earth. I liked not the look of the sky when the sun went down, and before many hours have passed this frail raft may be tossing on an ocean of foaming seas." The old man was silent, but he did not sleep. Often he prayed. He thought over many things of his past life, as men under such circumstances are apt to do. Happy are those who have not to reflect on crimes committed, injuries done to others too late to remedy! and still more fearful must be the thoughts of those who are not trusting to the perfect and complete sacrifice offered on Calvary--whose sins have not been washed away in the blood of the Lamb. The old man knew in whom he trusted, and no bitterness entered his thoughts. The hours passed on; stars became obscured; clouds were seen chasing each other across the dark sky, slowly at first, then more and more rapidly; the raft began to rock, scarcely perceptibly, then gently, then with more and more movement, but the boys slept on; accustomed to spend their time on the heaving wave, they did not feel the motion. At length a grey cold light began gradually to steal over the foam-covered ocean. The boys still slept on. The old man alone was awake on the raft. He lifted himself up, and bent forward as if in prayer. Thus he remained for some time. At length David, less accustomed to the sea than Harry, awoke from the motion of the raft. The exclamation to which he gave utterance aroused his companion; David quickly started to his feet, and gazed anxiously around the horizon. The two frigates had disappeared. No sail was in sight; nothing was to be seen but the heavy leaden-coloured waves, while the clouds seemed to come closely down on all sides. The raft drove quickly on before the storm. "In what direction are we going?" asked David. "To the south-west, I have an idea," answered Harry; "but I should not mind that, if I thought we were likely to fall in with the two frigates." "Trust in God, my lads," said old Jefferies. He spoke truly; for already the raft gave signs of breaking up, from the violence to which it had been exposed. The old man and the two boys did all they could to secure it more strongly by such ropes as they still had to spare, but it was difficult and dangerous to move from their positions. The seas followed rapidly, and more than once had almost broken over them. Still, while their mast stood, and they could keep their sail set, they hoped to continue running before the sea. They spoke but little to each other, and continued looking out on either side, in the hope of seeing some vessels which might afford them a refuge. Still none appeared. The old man continued steering the raft with great judgment and dexterity, but it was clear that the gale was increasing, and that in a very short time the frail structure on which they floated could not hold together amidst the fierce waves to which it would be exposed. Still, serious as was their position, the boys did not forget that they had had nothing to eat since the previous night. Harry dived down into their provision-box, and produced some biscuits and a piece of tongue. Their first care was to offer some to the old man. "No, thank you, good lads, I've no hunger," he answered. In spite of their pressing, he refused to take any of the food. "I can't say that I'm not hungry," cried Harry, "though I'm afraid we must go without our tea." David, who felt something like old Jefferies, when pressed, however, by Harry, gladly joined him in discussing such provisions as they could easily get at. Both of them were much refreshed by the nourishment, and in spite of the foreboding looks of the old man could not help holding sanguine hopes of escaping from their perilous position. Still they were hoping against hope, for in spite of the additional lashings they had cast round their raft, first one piece of plank and then another was torn off. "Hold on tight!" cried Harry, as he gazed astern, "here comes a tremendous sea, and I don't know how we shall keep before it." As he spoke a high foaming wave came roaring up. Already the raft was mounting a wave in front, or the consequences would have been more disastrous. The upper part of the sea broke completely over the raft, but it still floated on. Those on it looked anxiously round to see if any of their number were missing. The old man was still at his post at the helm, and the two boys at their places. It was evident, however, that a few more such seas would utterly destroy the raft. As Harry again gazed astern, he saw to his dismay many similar seas preparing to follow; still he would not say this, even to David, and tried in his own hearty way to keep up his companions' spirits. An hour or so thus passed away, when the raft gave stronger signs than ever of not having power to hold together. "How fearful it would be if we were separated!" said David, who clearly comprehended what was likely to happen. Just then another tremendous sea came rolling up, and washed over the raft. The boys clung on for their lives, but when the raft once more rose to the surface, the mast was gone. "No hope, I fear," said David. "Yes, there is!" cried Harry; "I see a vessel bearing down directly for us." The boys eagerly turned their eyes towards the stranger. It seemed doubtful, however, whether the raft would hold together till her arrival, or whether they could avoid being washed off the raft by the sea, which kept continually rolling over them. On she rapidly came. "I don't much like her appearance," said the old man; "she doesn't look much better than the craft which we before refused to go on board." "We have no choice at all," said Harry. "She looks like a Frenchman; but even the Monsieurs, considering our circumstances, would not treat us otherwise than with kindness," said David. The boys waved and shouted with all their might. It seemed doubtful whether or not they were observed; still the stranger, a large topsail schooner, was standing directly for them. Presently they saw her shorten sail. "All right!" cried Harry; "we're seen." She rounded-to close to them, so close, indeed, that the two boys were able to grasp the ropes which were thrown to them, and were immediately hauled up on deck. "But old Jefferies, we mustn't desert him!" cried Harry, as he saw the old man still on the raft. "Here! fasten this rope round my waist, and I'll go and haul him in." The crew of the stranger seemed to understand him, but at that moment a sea rolling up drove the raft completely under the schooner's bottom. A few fragments again appeared, but the old man was not to be seen. "Oh, where is he? where is he?" cried David and Harry; "we must save the good old man." The people on board looked round on every side. So deep was the grief of the boys for his loss, that they scarcely for the moment seemed to think of their own preservation, nor of the character of the vessel on board which they had got. It was very clear that the old man had sunk for ever, as no signs of him appeared. Once more the vessel was put before the wind, and flew onward on her course. Harry and David, on looking round, observed she was an armed vessel, carrying sixteen long guns, with swivels and other pieces. From the language they heard spoken by the crew, they knew she was French; while, from the varied dresses of the men and officers, they suspected she was a privateer, and not a man-of-war. "I'm afraid we shall not much like our quarters here," said Harry. "The best thing we can do is to put a good face on the matter, and go aft and thank the captain for saving our lives; he will see by my uniform that I am an officer, and treat us as gentlemen." Poor Harry's patch of white cloth, however, was not likely to be treated with much respect by a French privateer captain of those days. "I wonder which of these fellows is captain," said Harry, as they approached three or four rough-looking fellows, as they were walking the deck with the air of officers. "Oh, I wonder whether they will understand English, for not a word of French can I speak." "Nor can I indeed," said David; "I didn't think of that." "We must make our intentions known, however," said Harry, "and I must muster up what I can say. I know they always begin by saying `Monsieur' if they want to be polite, so I'll say `Monsieur Captain, Monsieur Captain,'" looking round as he spoke, "we have to thank you for taking us aboard your vessel, and should be still further obliged if you could give us a change of clothes while ours are drying." The Frenchmen looked at the boys with an air of indifference. "Monsieur Captain," again began Harry, "I say we want to thank you for pulling us out of the water." "Perhaps the captain is not among these men," suggested David. "I want to see the captain," said Harry, bowing as before. At length a small wizen-faced man appeared from below. His countenance wore anything but a pleasant aspect. By his dress, and the respect with which the others seemed to treat him, the boys had little doubt that he was the person of whom they were in search. They accordingly approached him. "Are you the captain?" said Harry, bowing as before, for he did not forget his politeness, in spite of his wet clothes. "Yes, I am," said the wizen-faced man. "Oh, you speak English; how glad we are!" answered Harry, "because we can thus thank you for saving our lives." "No great reason to thank me," said the man, in an unpleasant tone. "You speak English very well, sir," said Harry, wishing to soothe him. "I have had plenty of time to learn it," said the captain. "Where was that, sir?" asked Harry. "In an English prison," answered the Frenchman, with a grin, turning on his heel; "and I've no great cause to love those who kept me there, or their countrymen." "I'm afraid we've gained very little by the expression of our gratitude," said David; "what are we to do?" CHAPTER EIGHT. THE GOOD-NATURED SEAMEN--PIERRE LAMONT--DAVID'S EMPLOYMENT--THE REPUBLICAN OFFICER. No one seemed disposed to pay the slightest attention to the two boys. The officers glanced at them superciliously. The captain, after taking a few turns on deck, scowled on them as he passed on his way below. They were left standing on the deck of the schooner, which went flying on before the still increasing gale. They were wet and cold, and grieving for the loss of their old friend, as well as very anxious about the sorrow their absence would cause their relatives at home. "I suppose the Frenchmen won't let us starve altogether," said David. "The officers indeed don't seem inclined to treat us well, but perhaps the men may be differently disposed. I propose that, having done what we considered our duty, we go forward and throw ourselves upon their kindness. Still, as I'm a quarter-deck officer, we ought to be treated with respect by the officers. I'm sure, if we had picked up two French midshipmen on board our frigate, we should have made regular pets of them, and given them no cause to complain." "But remember this is not a frigate," observed David; "I think it will be wiser to put our dignity in our pockets, and make the best of things as they are." Still Harry held out for some little time; but at length the surly looks of the officers, not to mention his hunger, made him yield to David's suggestions, and they quietly worked their way forward. As soon as the backs of the officers were turned the men came round them, and by the expression of their countenances showed that they at least bore them no ill-will. One or two, by signs, invited them below, and they were very glad to escape from the cold autumn gale which was blowing through their wet clothes. Although unable to communicate by words, the lads had no difficulty in making their wishes known to the Frenchmen by signs. Some dry clothes were quickly produced from the bag of a young seaman. As soon as Harry and David had dressed themselves in these, some provisions and a bottle of wine were brought to them, the Frenchmen standing round looking on with great satisfaction while they discussed them. "_Buvez, me amis_," said a stout good-natured looking seaman, pouring out a glass of claret. The boys guessed by his signs clearly enough what he said, and thanked him by nodding in return. They both felt considerably better for their repast. "If it wasn't for the loss of poor old Jefferies, I should not have minded it at all," said David; "but for him to lose his life, and for us to find ourselves little better than prisoners on board a Frenchman, is very trying." "As you remember, nearly his last words were, `Trust in God,'" remarked Harry; "so let us go on trusting; he was a good old man, and is gone to heaven I'm sure, so we ought not to mourn for him much. It would have broken his heart to find himself on board this vessel." "I wonder in what direction we are going?" said David. "I will try and get a look at the compass when we go on deck again, but we mustn't let the Frenchmen think we care anything about the matter," said Harry. "What a pity it is we can't talk French a little! I wish we could thank these kind, good-natured fellows, because really I am very grateful for their kindness to us." "At all events, we can do it by signs," said Harry, jumping up and shaking the Frenchman by the hand who had given them the wine. "Much obliged, monsieur; much obliged for your good dinner; the sausages were excellent. We don't often taste such claret at sea as you gave us." Of course, though the Frenchman did not understand a word Harry had said, yet he was evidently in the way of becoming a favourite among them. When invited to return on deck they did not hesitate to do so, for by keeping forward they were not recognised among the French crew. In the evening they were again invited to join the mess of the men below, which, if not quite in accordance with English notions, was not quite the wretched fare on which Frenchmen are supposed to exist. Indeed, it must be owned that the provisions were far better cooked and made into more palatable messes than they would have been on board an English vessel of the same character. At night they had a berth allotted to them in a standing bed-place forward, into which they were too glad to creep. Having thanked the God of mercy who had thus preserved them, in a prayer which came from the very bottom of their hearts, and asked for a blessing on all those they had left at home, they lay down in their narrow berth, and stowed themselves away as well as space would allow. They had reason to be thankful that they had escaped the perils to which they had been exposed for so many nights on the raft; and though their sleeping-place was very close and dark, it had the advantage of being dry. They were very quickly fast asleep, in spite of all the rolling and pitching of the vessel, as she dashed forward across the stormy ocean. There was no danger of their being pitched out. In spite of the groaning of the bulkheads, the whistling of the wind through the rigging, the loud dash of the seas against the vessel, and the numerous other loud wild sounds which are heard during a gale at sea, the boys slept on till a gleam of daylight found its way down to their narrow berth. "_Mangez, mangez, mes amis_!" said a voice, which was recognised as that of their kind friend of the previous evening. He had come, it appeared, to summon them to breakfast, for the crew were employed below in discussing that meal. Once on their feet, the boys found themselves perfectly ready to join their French friends, and to do ample justice to the food placed before them. "If it were not for the dignity of the thing we should not be so badly off, after all," said Harry; "but really I cannot quite get over the skipper not treating us as officers, as he should have done." The Frenchmen greeted them with kind smiles, and soon again reconciled them to their wretched fate. The gale now increased to a regular hurricane. The schooner ran before it under a close-reefed fore-topsail, but even then the seas followed so rapidly that there appeared great probability of their breaking on board. Both officers and men either remained below, or, when necessity compelled them to be on deck, kept close to the bulwarks, that they might have something to catch hold of should an accident occur. Under these circumstances no work was expected to be done; the boys were therefore allowed to do just as they pleased. They wisely kept forward among their friends the seamen. They had observed a boy about their own age eyeing them occasionally as he passed sometimes with a dish from the cook's caboose, or with various messages with which he seemed to be generally employed; yet he had not hitherto spoken to them. "I like his looks," said David; "I can't help fancying that he wants to be friendly. Next time he passes us I will say something to him; or see, I've got a knife in my pocket; I'll present it to him, it will show our good-will." "That will be very much like purchasing kindness," answered Harry. In a few minutes after this the boy again came near. "Here, garcon," said David, pulling out his knife as he spoke, "take this, you may find it very useful." "Merci," said the boy, "thank you--much obliged." "What! do you speak English?" asked David. "Very little, but I know what you say." "Oh, we're so glad of that," exclaimed the two boys in the same breath. "What is your name?" asked David. "Pierre Lamont," answered the French boy. "We shall be friends," said David. "You don't hate the English, I hope, like the captain?" "Oh no, no," answered Pierre, "I love the English; my poor mother was English, but she is dead, and so is my father, but he was French." "Then have you no one to look after you?" exclaimed David, in a tone of commiseration. "No, I am all alone in the world, no one to care for me," said Pierre. "Are you happy here on board this ship?" asked Harry. "Oh no, no. Sometimes I am pretty well off; but often our cruel men order me about, and beat me with the rope's-end if I do not do quickly what they command." "You see, Harry," said David, "there's one on board this ship worse off than we are. We have some dear friends on shore, and though they don't know what has become of us, we hope that they are are safe, and that we shall get back to them some day." "Do you know where we're going, Pierre?" asked Harry. "I wanted to look at the compass; but I'm afraid of going aft, lest I should meet the captain." "You are right to keep away from him," answered Pierre. "If he knew even that I spoke English he would treat me worse than he does. But you ask where are we going. I believe that we're bound out to the West Indies to take as many English merchant-vessels as we can find." "I thought we were going in that direction," answered David. "But, Pierre, do you think if any of the English vessels are defended, that the captain will make us fight against our own countrymen?" "Oh, you may depend on that," said Pierre. "That is, you will be employed in bringing up powder from below." "What! shall we be turned into powder-monkeys?" exclaimed Harry, in a tone of indignation. "That will be too bad." "Is that what you call the boys who bring up the powder?" "Yes, but only the smallest among the ship's crew are employed in that work, and they should not treat officers in that way, even though we are their enemies," exclaimed Harry, indignantly. "That is the very reason the captain will take delight in giving you such employment," said Pierre. "No one likes him on board. Even the officers fear him; but he is said to be a very good seaman and a daring character, so brave that he cares for nothing." From this account of the captain the boys saw that they were not far wrong in the opinion they had formed of him from his countenance and his manner towards them. They resolved, therefore, to keep out of his way, and to avoid irritating him if they could. While the gale continued he had quite enough to do to look after the vessel without troubling himself about them. Indeed, as far as they could judge, he had forgotten that they were on board. Although the place below where they sat with the men was close and dark in consequence of being battened down, they spent much of their time there. Many of the men were employed in various works. Several were making models of vessels in a way few English seamen could have done. David proposed doing something of the sort, to show the Frenchmen that he did not wish to be idle, and that he felt himself at home among them. He asked Pierre to get him some corks, and to set to work to make a model of a village church. This, with the aid of some pins, he rapidly accomplished with a file which he borrowed from one of the men, and he drew down the warm commendations of his companions, who were especially well disposed to appreciate such efforts. He accordingly presented it to his stout friend, Jacques Rossillion, the good-natured seaman who had from the first taken an interest in him. Thus several days passed away till the gale abated, the sea went down, and sail was once more made on the schooner. Harry had been perhaps unwisely anxious to put on his own uniform again, which was now thoroughly dry and fit to wear. Pierre advised him not to appear before the captain in it. "Still it's my proper dress," answered Harry, who, like many midshipmen, was very tenacious on that subject. The gale, which had been in their favour, had carried them a long way towards their destination, as they judged by the warmth of the atmosphere and the tropical appearance of the sea. The officers as usual paced the quarter-deck, and the men congregated together forward. A monkey, which had hitherto stowed himself away somewhere out of sight, was among the occupants of the deck. To an English crew a monkey is a great acquisition, but a French ship's company can scarcely get on without one. When they are inclined to play pranks he is always at their service, and woe betide the unhappy small boy of a ship's company on whose muster-roll a monkey is not to be found! as he has to endure what the four-handed animal would otherwise have to go through. On looking over the side Harry observed a black fin gliding along at the same rate as the schooner. "Look there, David; did you ever see a regular shark before?" he said. "If anybody was to fall overboard that fellow would snap him in two in half a second. The best swimmer would have but a poor chance unless he was well prepared. I have heard of a sailor attacking a shark with a knife in his hand, and cutting him up; but a man only with iron nerves and great presence of mind and a good swimmer could ever make the attempt." While they were speaking the captain appeared on deck. "Here, you boys, come aft," he shouted. "What, do you think you are to pass away your time in idleness, and get fed and grow fat? You are very much mistaken if you think any such thing. Take each of you a tar-bucket, and go and black down the rigging from the fore-topmast head." Poor Harry looked at his uniform; it had endured the wetting, but it would be spoiled in a few minutes by the operation which he was ordered to perform. He saw that it would not do to disobey the captain's orders. If they had time to find Pierre they might borrow some frocks and canvas trousers. "I say what I mean," shouted the captain; "and off with you at once--one taking the starboard, and one the larboard rigging. What, you don't like to spoil your clothes, I see. I was not allowed any clothes to spoil when I was in an English prison." "Surely you will let us borrow some frocks, sir," answered David. "Though we are gentlemen, and unaccustomed to such work, we are willing to obey you, only we don't want to spoil our clothes." "Aloft, I say, or overboard you go. There's a fellow alongside ready to breakfast off you, if you are anxious to feed him." The little Frenchman looked so fierce that the boys really believed he was in earnest. "It can't be helped," said David. "You must tell me what to do, for I never blacked down rigging even on board the yacht." "Just secure the bucket as you descend, and take care not to let the tar drop from the brush on deck. It's not the difficulty of the thing, but it is very derogatory." Seeing that there was no use in further expostulation, the boys took each of them a bucket as they were ordered, and ascended, one on one side, and one on the other, of the fore-rigging, and having reached the masthead Harry secured his bucket, and showed David how to secure his. The operation, besides being a very dirty one, was tedious, as each rope had to be gone carefully round with the tar. Often they made melancholy faces at each other as they gradually descended, but neither the captain nor officers showed the slightest commiseration, only watching apparently to see that the work was effectually performed. While the captain remained on deck the crew took no notice of them. This was, however, evidently done in kindness. At length the work was over, and, seeing the captain on deck, they thought the best way was to go aft and report what they had done. "Very well," said the captain; "tomorrow you will black down the main-rigging; in the meantime I want to see a polish put upon those brass stanchions, and the swivel guns are not so bright as they should be. I shall have work for you in my cabin, too, by and by. You are young English gentlemen, I understand. You may consider it a privilege to have to serve a poor republican seaman, who has worked his way up from before the mast." "We will do our best to obey you, sir," answered David, who wisely wished to conciliate the man, in spite of his surly manners. He remembered that "a soft answer turneth away wrath." CHAPTER NINE. THE PRISONERS HAVE TO WORK--THE CHASE--THE MERCHANT SHIP IS TAKEN--THE BOYS FIND THEIR FRIEND CAPTAIN RYMER AND MARY--THE HURRICANE. Next morning, as soon as the boys appeared on deck, the captain again called them aft. "Aloft with you, lads, and black down the main-rigging," he exclaimed as they approached him, looking more humble even than they felt. Knowing, however, that there was no use in refusing to do what they were ordered, Harry and David took up the buckets to which the captain pointed, and ascended as before. "We must look out not to drop any tar on deck," said Harry, "he will make it an excuse to give us a rope's-ending if we do; I'm sure he means mischief." The boys soon gained the masthead, and began their very disagreeable task. The sun was extremely hot; the ship rolled slowly from side to side as she glided on before the wind. Poor David felt very sick and wretched; more than once he thought he must give in, but Harry cheered him by exclaiming-- "Let us show that we are Englishmen, and at all events that we are not to be daunted by any work these Frenchmen can give us." Thus encouraged, David, who really had as much spirit as Harry, determined to persevere. The work, however, progressed more slowly than on the previous day. Several times the captain came on deck and watched them; they continued their work as it they did not observe him. By the time it was completed, as may be supposed, their clothing was entirely spoiled. As they stepped on deck he grinned at them maliciously. "Ah! now you look what you must in future expect to be," he remarked; "go forward and stow away those buckets, and then come aft to me." "I wonder what he is going to make us do next?" said Harry, as they handed the buckets over to the boatswain. Poor David, overcome with the heat, scarcely answered. A cup of water which he had obtained from a cask on deck somewhat revived him. "Well, we must go aft, and face it out as best we can," he answered; "come along, I'm ready." The captain ordered them into his cabin. "Now, lads, I want that furniture cleaned; the brass has not been burnished for some time." He put some leather into their hands. The difficulty of the work was not so great, but it was evidently given to insult them on account of its menial character. Harry especially felt this. Still they had no resource but to obey, and scrubbed away with might and main. At last the captain came below. "Now, you young English midshipman, I've some special work for you to do. See that locker; there are several pairs of boots and shoes--you'll find a blacking-bottle and brushes. I want them cleaned." Harry's proud spirit rose within him. Should he defy the tyrannical captain, and declare that he would die sooner than so employ himself? The captain seemed to divine his thoughts. "As you please, youngster," he observed; "no one disobeys me on board this vessel." Harry remembered the shark, and the captain's threat on the previous day. "Oh! I will help you," said David, looking at him. "No, it is his work," said the captain. Poor Harry saw there was no use in offering any resistance, and taking out the brushes began to clean the shoes. It was a work which a midshipman in those days often had to perform for himself; but then it was very different doing it for another, and that other a Frenchman. At length, however, the boys were dismissed, having performed all the tasks given to them. They hurried forward and dived below. The first person they met was Pierre, who looked with commiseration on their tarred dresses. "I came on board with a nice clean suit, and had to spoil it just as you have had to spoil yours," he observed; "and now he abuses me when I go into his cabin, for not looking clean." After this the boys were regularly sent aft to help wash down decks, and to keep the stanchions and other parts about the ship bright. This gave them abundant occupation. However, when they could manage to get below, they were treated even more kindly than before by the crew. They had been for some weeks cruising up and down without even sighting a sail, when one morning, on Harry and David coming on deck, they found the captain and officers in a considerable state of excitement. The captain himself went aloft with his glass, and on his return ordered the ship's course to be altered, and all sail to be set. "We are in chase of some vessel or other," observed Harry; "depend upon it the Frenchmen expect to make a prize of her." All hands were called on deck. Now one sail and now another was added,--some rigged out so as just to skim the surface of the water, while with buckets and scoops the sails were wetted as high as they could be reached. Harry and David could see in the far distance a large ship, which from her narrow yards and the cut of her sails Harry said he thought was really a merchantman, which of course the Frenchman took her to be. "But suppose she is not," said David. "Then they will find out that they have caught a Tartar, and we shall get out of the power of this Monsieur Sourcrout," answered Harry; "however, we mustn't raise our hopes too high." "The ship ahead has shown English colours," the boys heard from some of the crew, for they could not get a glass to look through. She, it seemed, did not like the appearance of the stranger, for she now set all sail and went off also directly before the wind. A stern chase is a long chase, but if the chaser is a faster vessel than the chased, she will come up with her at last. As the day drew on it was very evident that the schooner had gained very considerably on the chase. She was seen to be an old-fashioned merchant vessel, a regular West India trader, probably, which would afford a rich prize to the captors. The excitement of the captain and officers was extreme. Already they anticipated the rich booty which would soon be theirs. "Oh! do you think those people on board that vessel will give in without fighting?" asked David. "I think very likely not," said Harry; "we shall soon know; in less than an hour we shall be alongside." "What had we better do?" asked David. "Stay on deck and see what takes place," said Harry. "What, and run the chance of being shot?" said David; "I don't think that would be wise." "Well, let us wait and see till the time comes," said Harry, who was evidently very unwilling to go below while any fighting was taking place. In the meantime the Frenchmen were very active in preparing the ship for action. Arm-chests were thrown open, and arms were handed to each of the crew. The cutlasses were secured to their waists, and the pistols they stuck in their belts. The guns were cast loose and loaded, and the French ensign run up at the peak. The magazine was opened, and Harry and David were called aft by the captain, and told to go below. "I knew that's what we should have to do," said Harry. "Stand by, and hand up the powder as it is wanted," said the captain, in an authoritative tone, which there was no disobeying. Pierre and the other boys were employed in the same way. "We shall have to carry the powder on deck in these tubs, and sit on it till it is wanted," said Harry. "And run as great a risk of being shot as any of the crew?" asked David. "There's no help for it," said Harry. "If we refuse, the French skipper is just as likely to shoot us through the head as not. He's been waiting for this opportunity to have his revenge on us." As soon as the guns were loaded, a fresh supply of powder was called for, and Harry and the other boys were ordered to carry it up on deck. There they sat in a row on the tubs which contained the bags of powder, looking anything but contented with their lot. The schooner now rapidly came up with the merchant vessel,--for such there seemed no doubt was the character of the chase. Whether or not she would fight seemed a question. As they drew nearer, a considerable number of men were seen on deck, and she gave no signs of yielding. As soon as the Frenchman's bow-chaser could be brought to bear, a shot was fired, but no reply was given. Another and another followed in rapid succession. Neither of the shots took effect. At length the schooner got near enough to fire a whole broadside. As she was about to do so, the ship hauled up her courses, and, standing across the Frenchman's bows, gave her a raking broadside which struck down several of her crew, and caused some little damage to her masts and spars. Harry and David looked anxiously towards each other. Neither of them was hurt, nor was Pierre, in whom they took a warm interest. This opposition, however, seemed to excite the captain to the utmost pitch of fury. He stamped and swore, and ordered a broadside to be immediately poured into the English ship. The two vessels now ran on alongside each other. It was clear if the English vessel was to be taken, she would not be captured without a severe struggle. The Frenchman's guns were heavier and more numerous than hers, and the crew were better trained to their use. This soon began to tell. Several of her spars were soon shot away, and from the faintness of her fire it seemed too probable that many of her crew had been killed or wounded. As long as the Frenchman's spars remained standing, to escape was hopeless, and her guns were therefore directed rather to knock away the Frenchman's masts than to kill the crew. In this, however, she was not successful, and several of her own spars were shot away instead. At length the French captain, delivering another broadside, ranged up alongside with the intention of boarding. An attempt was made to avoid this, and boarding nettings were seen triced up above the bulwarks of the English ship. Again the Frenchman ran alongside. "They shall not foil us a second time," exclaimed the French captain; "no quarter if they do not yield." Harry and David trembled for the fate of their unfortunate countrymen on board the merchantman. Just then the English ensign was seen to descend from the peak. Those on board the English vessel thought that further resistance was hopeless. The Frenchmen swarmed up the sides, and were quickly in possession of the English ship. "We'll follow, and see what takes place," said Harry; "we may perhaps help some of the poor people." As there was no one to interfere with them, they were soon on the merchantman's deck. Some five or six of the crew lay dead, while three or four others, badly wounded, were being conveyed below. The French captain, by his gestures, seemed disappointed at not having his expected revenge, and he was abusing the English captain for having attempted to oppose him. A man stood by, receiving the swords of the captain and several other persons, who seemed to be gentlemen. Harry and David observed one whose face had been turned away from them at first. "Harry," exclaimed David, "I'm sure that's Captain Rymer. If Mary is on board, how dreadful for her!" "It's very like him," said Harry; "I'm afraid it must be him. But how could he have come on board the ship? We shall soon know, at all events--I will try and speak to him." As may be supposed, even their dearest friends would not have known the two lads in their tarry clothes, and their faces begrimed with powder. As soon as the French captain and his followers went below to examine the cargo of the ship, Harry and David stole up to the gentleman whom they supposed to be Captain Rymer. He was indeed their friend. "What, lads!" he exclaimed, looking at them, "are you really alive? I am thankful to find you so, even in this plight." Harry rapidly explained how they came to be on board the French vessel. "And is Mary with you?" asked Harry, eagerly. "Yes, and there are several other ladies in the cabin below. They have shut themselves in, and I trust will receive no annoyance from the Frenchmen." "I don't think we should be seen talking with you," said Harry, "because we may hope to be of some assistance, although we don't see clearly how that is to be just yet." The Frenchmen seemed highly elated at finding they had captured an unusually rich prize, and were in a very good humour, in spite of the loss of a few of their number. The dead were soon thrown overboard, and the wounded placed in the doctor's hands out of sight, the decks washed down, and most of the traces of the combat done away with. A picked crew of the Frenchmen was sent on board the English merchantman, which it seemed the intention of the captain to carry into the nearest port in the West Indies belonging to France. Harry and David could not bear the thoughts of being separated from Captain Rymer, and resolved to stow themselves away on board the English vessel, hoping they might not be missed. Among the prize crew were, to their great satisfaction, their good-natured friends Jacques Rossillion and Pierre Lamont. The first lieutenant came to take the command. The Frenchmen more than doubled the remainder of the English crew, who, however, were expected to assist in working the ship. Scarcely had these arrangements been made when a strong breeze sprang up. The boats were hoisted in, and the two vessels separated. The wind increased very rapidly, and so heavy a sea got up that it would have been dangerous for a boat to pass from one vessel to the other. Before long, however, the schooner ranged up near the ship. "You have got those two English boys on board; give them the rope's-end," shouted the French captain, who, apparently, had only just then discovered that Harry and David had escaped him. The French lieutenant replied that he would see to it, and again the vessels separated. He, however, had never looked at them in the same surly way the other officers had done, and as they took good care to keep out of his sight, he seemed to forget the orders he had received. The wind went on increasing till it seemed likely to become a regular hurricane. The management of the ship completely occupied the French crew, so that they had but little time to look after their prisoners. The English captain and his officers were ordered to remain as prisoners in one of the cabins with a sentinel placed over them, but the rest of the crew were allowed to go about at liberty. "Don't you think it would be possible to get back the ship?" said Harry to David. "Shall I propose to make the attempt to Captain Rymer?" "If it was not for Mary and the other ladies," said David, "he might consent; but the risk to them would be too fearful were we to fail." Hitherto they had not had the opportunity of seeing Mary. Finding, however, that the Frenchmen as well as the English crew were engaged in making the ship snug, they stole aft and found their way to the cabin door. "May we come in?" said Harry. "Yes, yes," answered a voice, which they thought was Mary's. When, however, they opened the door and presented themselves, for a minute Mary could scarcely recognise them, so changed were they since the day they had parted from her after the picnic--Harry in his bright new uniform, and David in his trim yachtsman's attire. Now their hair was long, their cheeks were sunken, at least so far as could be seen through the powder which begrimed them, and their dresses were covered from head to foot with tar; still, the moment they spoke, she sprang forward and took them warmly by the hands. "Oh, I am so thankful that you have not been lost, as we thought you were," she exclaimed, and the tears came into her eyes; "this is a very sad way of meeting, but still I hope God will protect us all, and I am thankful to see you both." Most of the ladies, who were all passengers, were eager to hear of the boys' adventures. These they briefly gave. Some, however, were too frightened by the sound of the hurricane, and the tossing and rolling of the ship, to listen to them. "Do you think there is any danger?" at last asked Mary of Harry. "I hope not," said Harry, "but Captain Rymer knows more about it than I do." Captain Rymer, who at this moment entered the cabin, looked somewhat anxious, though he endeavoured to speak in a cheerful voice, and began to express his satisfaction at the escape of his young friends from the numerous dangers to which they had been exposed. Night was now coming on, and it was evident that the ship was in the midst of a regular West Indian hurricane. The French officer was evidently a good seaman, and did all that could be done under the circumstances for the safety of the ship. The topgallant-masts were struck, and every sail was furled except a closely reefed fore-topsail, with which the ship ran before the gale. Night had now come on; the wind, as is generally the case during a hurricane, shifted so much that it was difficult to ascertain in what direction she was driving. Captain Rymer several times went on deck, but had a not very satisfactory report to give on his return. "As long as the ship does not spring a leak we have nothing to fear, however," he observed. Still the ship rolled and pitched so much that it seemed scarcely possible that a structure of wood and iron could hold together. The poor ladies had to sit on the deck of the cabin and hold on by the legs of the table, while the lamp swung backwards and forwards in a way that threatened every instant to cause its fracture. Harry and David, though they had seen enough of storms, agreed to go up on deck and see what was taking place. One glance satisfied them. The mountain seas, covered with white foam, were rolling up on either side of the ship, and threatened every instant to come down upon her deck. They gladly descended again. "I don't at all like the look of things, I confess," said David. "As long, however, as Captain Rymer is satisfied that all is right, so should we be." CHAPTER TEN. ON A REEF--FATE OF THE FRENCH CREW--THE ISLAND--THE SHIPWRECKED PEOPLE-- THE FRENCH LIEUTENANT L'HIRONDELLE. It is scarcely necessary to relate that Captain Rymer was on his way, on board the _Cerberus_, West Indian merchantman, to take the command to which he had been appointed when he was captured by the privateer. He had been too much accustomed to the ups and downs of a sailor's life to be disheartened at what had occurred, though it was a great trial it must be owned. He had cause also to be grateful that he and his companions had not received that ill-usage to which passengers were too often subjected when their vessel was taken by a privateer. It might have been very different had the French captain himself remained on board. He had now, however, great cause for apprehension, in consequence of the increasing violence of the hurricane. The _Cerberus_, he knew, was a stout, strong-built ship, but many a stout ship had gone down in a West Indian hurricane; not long before, several line-of-battle ships with all their gallant crews had been lost. Things on deck looked as bad as they well could do. He was a Christian man, and put his trust in One who is all-able to save. Thus he could impart hope and confidence to his companions. Hitherto the ship had not sprung a leak, and, as far as he could judge, they were at some distance from any land. The French had, however, become alarmed. Some, like true men, stayed at their posts on deck, but the greater number had gone below and stowed themselves away in the berths. A few had endeavoured to break open the spirit-room, but the French officers, suspecting their intentions, had been in time to prevent them, and threatened to shoot the first man, whether Frenchman or Englishman, who would again make the attempt. Order was thus kept on board. No human power was longer of any avail in guiding the ship. The hatches were battened down in time to prevent the seas, which now began to break on board, from washing below. On she drove before the hurricane. The caboose and spars were first washed away; then two of the quarter-boats shared the same fate. The seas were making a clean sweep over the decks; still on she drove. Now part of the bulwarks were knocked to pieces, and it seemed that in a short time everything on deck would follow; still the masts stood and the ship floated. There was hope, but it grew fainter and fainter; even the stoutest hearts had cause to fear. Several fearful hours followed. The hurricane howled more loudly and fiercely around the ship, and the raging seas seemed to have gained her as their prey. "Do you really think she will live through it?" asked David of Harry. "Yes, I do think so; we've gone through so many dangers, that I can't fancy that we're to be lost at last," was Harry's reply. Another and another hour passed away. "Surely the hurricane must come to an end at last," said David. "Did you ever know one last so long, Captain Rymer?" he inquired. "They seldom last more than twelve or fifteen hours, and this gives me hope that we shall escape," answered their friend. "I see a gleam of daylight coming through a scuttle. Depend upon it, before long the wind will begin to fall." While they were speaking loud cries arose from those on deck. "Breakers ahead!" shouted the English crew. Directly afterwards there was a fearful crash. "We're cast upon a reef!" exclaimed Harry; "perhaps, after all, our last day is come." Captain Rymer set an example of coolness to his companions. "Remain together," he said to Mary and the other ladies, "I will go on deck and ascertain the state of affairs, and return for you, if there is a prospect of your reaching the shore. We are in God's hands, and though we may be unable to help ourselves, let us feel that He will care for us." While he was thus speaking, the ship seemed to be lifted by the seas, and then down she came again with another crash. Just as Captain Rymer reached the deck, followed by David and Harry, the masts were seen to go by the board; the ship had struck upon a reef, over which the sea was driving her, and inside of it the waters seemed comparatively calm. "Why, men," shouted Captain Rymer to the crew, "I believe if we remain by the ship we shall all be able to gain the shore in safety." The Frenchmen, however, did not understand him, and were engaged in launching the remaining boats. He felt sure that in the raging seas which surrounded the ship no boats would live. "Whatever happens, we will remain on board," he said to Harry and David. "The ship I know is strong, and will hold together till the storm is abated. Those who attempt to embark now will, I fear, lose their lives." In vain he urged the Frenchmen to remain. The English captain alone, with one of his officers, agreed that he was right. The boats were lowered and the infatuated men leaped into them. Pierre Lamont had courageously remained on deck during the hurricane, but he now seemed inclined to follow his countrymen into the boats. Harry and David saw him, and shouted to him not to go. Hearing them he turned back, but one of the Frenchmen seized him by the arms, and before he could disengage himself, had dragged him into the boat. Scarcely, however, had the boats shoved off, crowded with human beings, than first one, then the other, was capsized, and all were thrown into the water. In vain the shrieking wretches attempted to regain the ship; some clung to the boats; a few who could swim struggled for some time amid the foaming waves. Captain Rymer had before this gone below, but Captain Williams and those who remained on deck, got ropes ready to throw to any who might be washed near the ship. None were so fortunate, and one by one they were carried far away, and disappeared amid the foaming breakers. "Is there not one who can be saved?" exclaimed David, who had stood watching the scene with horror. "Yes, yes, I see one clinging to the wreck of our masts," answered Harry; "I must go and try to rescue him. I do believe that it is Pierre!" "Oh, let me go then," said David; "I can swim better than you, you know." "This is a case for scrambling rather than for swimming," answered Harry; "I'll fasten a rope round my waist, and we'll have him quickly on board." Harry, before David could offer another objection, did as he proposed. It was an undertaking, however, of the greatest danger, and the utmost activity and vigilance could alone have saved him from being struck by the broken spars which were dashed here and there by the seas. At length Harry reached the object of his search. Pierre looked up at him eagerly. "Oh, save me, save me! I cannot hold on longer," he exclaimed. Harry sprang forward and grasped the French boy by the collar just as his hands relaxed their hold. He dragged him up on the mast. To return with him was even more difficult than the first part of the undertaking. Undaunted, however, Harry persevered, and, though more than once almost losing his footing, succeeded at length in bringing young Pierre on board. "Brave garcon!" exclaimed Jacques, as he helped him up; "oh, I would die for you! I will be ever your friend." Except the lieutenant in command, and honest Jacques Rossillion, no Frenchman remained on board, and the ship was once more, therefore, in possession of the English. Scarcely had this fearful catastrophe occurred than the weather gave evident signs of improving. Captain Williams, the English commander, accompanied by Captain Rymer, went round the ship below and brought back a satisfactory report that she appeared to have suffered very little damage by the blows she had received. The shore was, however, not particularly inviting; a few groups of cocoa-nut trees and other tropical plants were alone to be seen. It was an island scarcely more than two miles in circumference, one of those spots known as keys in the West Indies; still, should the ship break up, it would afford them shelter, and they could not help longing to be able to reach the beach. As the boats and all had been lost, this could not be done till a raft had been built. The gentlemen immediately set about constructing one. As the spars had all been washed away, it was necessary first to get those which floated alongside from the rigging. There were planks also below; these were got up, with all the empty casks which could be collected. By knocking away some of the bulwarks, and by bringing on deck a few of the seamen's chests, they soon had materials for constructing a raft large enough for carrying the whole party. All hands worked with a will. The French lieutenant was very active, and seemed in no way put out by having the tables so completely turned upon him. He was probably grateful, as he ought to have been, for having escaped with his life. By the time the raft was finished, the sea had so completely gone down that there was little difficulty in launching it. The bulwarks having been already completely washed away, all that was necessary was to let it slip quietly overboard. Its constructors gave a cheer as they saw it floating calmly alongside; they had still, however, to rig the mast and sail, as well as to fit some oars to guide it towards the shore. When this was done, the captains invited all the passengers up on deck. It was agreed that it would be safer to convey only half at a time. Harry and David begged that they might accompany Captain Rymer and Mary. Captain Rymer agreed to let Captain Williams conduct the first party, saying that he should be content to remain on board till the return of the raft. Before the raft left the side, a supply of provisions were lowered down upon it; and, with the prayers of those who remained on board for its safe voyage, the raft shoved off from the side of the ship. Its progress was slow, for there was very little wind, and there seemed to be a current sweeping round the island which took it out of its direct course. At length, however, it reached the beach, and those on it leaped out and ran eagerly up on to the dry land. The men had, however, to return for the provisions, which were landed in safety. Then Captain Williams, and two seamen who accompanied him, had to return to the ship; they were a considerable time, and it seemed doubtful indeed, in consequence of the current which had to be encountered, whether they would regain her. They succeeded, however, at last. Captain Rymer, with those who had remained on board, had employed their time in getting up provisions, and their first care was to load her with as large a supply as she could safely carry; this done, the remainder of those on board now made for the shore, which by some exertion they safely reached. The first care of the shipwrecked party on reaching the shore was to send out some of their number in search for water. Captain Rymer had brought some from the wreck, but this was only sufficient to last for a short time, and their lives might depend upon their obtaining a supply. Only those who have felt the want of water know how to appreciate its value. Others, in the meantime, employed themselves in getting up a tent for the ladies; for which purpose they had brought some spare sails and ropes. In a short time the party which had gone out in search of water returned with the report that none was to be found. This rendered it important to economise their slender store, and to procure a future supply from the ship as soon as possible. All this time no one seemed to have thought of the French privateer. She had not been seen since the commencement of the hurricane, from which, if she had escaped, it was too probable she would come and look for her prize. This was a source of anxiety to Captain Rymer, for, though of course anxious to escape from their present position, he had no wish at all to fall again into the hands of the French. The men of the party found ample occupation for the rest of the day, in putting up shelter for themselves, for hot as is the climate of the West Indies, it is dangerous to sleep exposed to the night dews. Pierre seemed anxious to make himself useful, and begged that he might be allowed to attend on the ladies. Jacques offered to undertake the office of cook, the duties of which he was far better able to perform than any of the English. The French lieutenant seemed the most cast-down of any of the party. He sat by himself not speaking to any one, and with an air of discontent, put away the food which was brought to him. "The poor lieutenant mourns and seems very unhappy," said David to Pierre. "Yes," answered Pierre, "he is often thus morose when anything annoys him; the poor man has no religion." "Is he not a Roman Catholic?" asked David. "Oh, no; a large number of my countrymen threw off all religion at the Revolution, and many, like him, have not taken to any since. He, I am afraid, does not believe in God, or in any future state, but that when he dies he will become just like a dog or a pig; so, you see, he has no hope, and nothing to keep him up." "But what are you, Pierre? are you not a Roman Catholic?" asked David. "Oh, no, I am a Protestant," answered Pierre; "there are a great many Protestants in France, and though some few at the Revolution became infidels, by far the greater number remained firm to the true faith." "I didn't know there were any Protestants in France," said Harry, who, like many boys at that time, fancied that the English were the only Protestant people in Europe. "Oh, yes, there are a great number who are known as Huguenots, and who fought bravely for the Protestant faith," said Pierre. "My father was of a Huguenot family, and many of his ancestors lost their lives for the love they bore the Bible." "Ah! that was a noble cause to die for," remarked David. "How sad to think that people should reject the truths it contains." This conversation took place as the boys were sitting together in front of the tent. Darkness now came rapidly on, but from the look of the weather there seemed every prospect of their having the blessing of a quiet night. The sea had gone completely down, and the moon shone forth over the calm waters, the light just falling upon the spot where the wreck lay, so that any object could be seen approaching it. Captain Rymer and Captain Williams agreed, however to keep watch for the protection of their charges. Three English seamen, with the mate, wisely remained by their captain. There were, besides Captain Rymer, four gentlemen passengers, West Indian planters, going out to their property. They were not men of much individual character, evidently more accustomed to look after their own creature comforts than to trouble them selves about their fellow-beings. There was one subject in which they were all agreed, that the emancipation of the negroes would ruin them, and all persons concerned. It was a doubtful matter whether negroes had souls, and that to attempt to educate them was a work of the greatest folly. In this matter Captain Rymer did not agree with them, and the discussion of the subject afforded them abundant supply of conversation at all times. The night passed quietly away. As soon as it was dawn, Captain Rymer urged Captain Williams to return at once to the wreck, and bring on shore a further supply of provisions and water. "We cannot tell what may occur," he observed. "The hurricane season is not yet over, and should another hurricane come on, and the vessel go to pieces, we might be starved, and die for want of water." The wisdom of this advice was so evident, that the raft was immediately despatched, under the captain's charge, to bring off the cargo. In a short time it returned, and a message was delivered from the captain, that he thought it would be wiser to build another raft, in order more rapidly to get the stores on shore. This work occupied the men the whole of the day. Jacques alone remained on shore to cook the provisions, with the help of Pierre, while David and Harry begged that they might be allowed to go off to the wreck, where they thought that they could make themselves useful. "I vote that we make a small raft for ourselves," said Harry; "and I think that we can paddle her backwards and forwards several times, while the big raft is only making one voyage." With the experience they had already attained, they soon carried their plan into execution, and in a short time conveyed a considerable quantity of the stores on shore. During their last trip, however, Harry observed close alongside the raft a black fin, and a wicked pair of eyes glancing up at him. "There's a brute of a shark," he exclaimed; "he thinks he's going to get a meal off one of us, I suspect." Still they kept paddling on, and the shark did not attempt to come nearer them. They were not sorry, however, when they reached the shore, and Captain Rymer told them that he considered they had done enough for the day. It must be owned it was far pleasanter to sit near Mary, and listen to the account of all their friends at home. She did not tell them how completely they had been given up, for she knew it would make Harry especially melancholy to think of the sorrow his supposed loss had caused his mother, nor did she tell him how very sorry she herself had been. Indeed, she could say truly that many of their friends fully expected that they would turn up at last. "Doesn't this put you in mind of our picnic?" said Harry, looking up at her, "though to be sure we are somewhat changed since then," looking down on his tarred and dirty dress. "I really think the next time I go on board the wreck I must try and find a new suit of clothes." "You do look rather disreputable," said Mary, laughing, "for an officer in His Majesty's service. Here comes Jacques with the dinner. Really Jacques must be a first-rate cook, and we ought to be thankful that he escaped." None of the party seemed inclined to be out of spirits, except the lieutenant, who sat as usual by himself, and refused to take the food Pierre offered him. Had it even been otherwise, the good well-cooked dinner provided by Jacques might have put them in good humour, while there was no lack of wine, of which the West Indian planters had laid in a good store. In the evening a further supply of provisions and water was obtained from the wreck. The next day was wisely occupied in the same way, till a sufficient supply of food was landed to last for a couple of months or more. More than once it was discussed whether it could be possible to get the wreck off, but it was agreed that without more strength than they possessed it would be impossible, though, as far as could be ascertained, she had suffered no material damage. Some of the party thought they took a great deal of trouble for little purpose, and that it would be more easy to get the stores on shore as they were required. "They will see the wisdom of what we have done should a hurricane come on," said Captain Rymer, "and I am not at all sure, from the appearance of the weather, that we shall escape one." The next morning the heat was intense. The sun rose surrounded by a mass of ruddy hue, but was hidden ere long in a thick canopy of cloud. Not a breath of wind stirred the calm waters. In the distance a sail was seen, which had approached the island during the night. Captain Rymer had been watching her for some time through his glass. The French lieutenant, on observing her, sprang to his feet, and eagerly asked the captain to let him look through the glass. "It is the _Hirondelle_!" he exclaimed. "Then she did not go down in the last hurricane. My captain guessed rightly that the prize was cast away on some island in this direction. He is a sagacious man." "I wish his sagacity had not led him to discover us," said Captain Rymer. "If he lands here he may after all succeed in getting off the ship." This announcement caused, as may be supposed, a considerable amount of anxiety among those on the island. While they were watching, two boats were seen to leave the schooner. Hitherto it had been so calm that a feather held up would have fallen to the ground. Suddenly, however, there came a low moaning sound, and the leaves of the palm trees began to rustle strangely. In an instant afterwards the blast swept over the island, snapping off the tops of many of the tallest trees. The tents were blown down, and it was with difficulty that those on the island could avoid being carried away. The sea, hitherto so calm, came dashing in huge foaming billows against the weather side, and breaking over the wreck with tremendous force, and it seemed scarcely possible that she could resist the blows that she was receiving. Now one sea and now another dashed against her, till she seemed to be completely covered with a mass of foam. They looked out for the schooner, she was nowhere to be seen. Either she had gone down, or had been driven far away by the hurricane. The hurricane continued blowing without cessation; now coming from one quarter, and now from another. Evening was approaching, and an unusual darkness overspread the ocean. It was fearful to contemplate what might be the fate of many of those who floated on that stormy sea. It was impossible to put up any shelter for the ladies, but Mary felt that she had her father to protect her, who sat by her side, sheltering her as well as he could, aided by Harry and David. Thus the night passed away, the whole party sitting grouped together for mutual protection. "What could have become of the schooner?" was a question often asked and answered. The morning broke at length. The _Cerberus_ had disappeared, but still further off, at the end of the reef, an object was seen. It was part of a wreck; there were human beings clinging to it. "Whether Englishmen or Frenchman we must endeavour to save them," said Captain Rymer. CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE RESCUE OF THE FRENCH SEAMEN--MARY A PRISONER TO THE FRENCH--PIERRE DELIVERS HER--BAD CONDUCT OF THE FRENCH. The hurricane had given signs of abating, but the sea was still far too rough to allow of even a good boat going off to the people on the reef; still more impossible would it have been to have reached them by means of a raft. On examining the rafts which had been constructed to bring the cargo on shore, both were found to have suffered by the hurricane. It was determined, therefore, to build a smaller and more manageable one, by means of which it was hoped to reach the shipwrecked people. This work Captain Williams and his companions immediately set about performing. The French lieutenant now thoroughly aroused, lent his hand to it. In the course of a couple of hours a structure was formed with which it was hoped they might venture out to sea. Their next undertaking was to cut out a number mast, and fit a sail for the raft. Still the sea would not allow them to venture from the shore; they had, therefore, to wait patiently, watching in the meantime the people whom they were anxious to rescue. The wreck seemed to be fixed firmly at the end of a reef, and to have afforded them a shelter from the fury of the seas, which would otherwise have washed them away. Still, as they probably had no food nor water, it was impossible that they could exist there for any length of time. Should any attempt be made by those on the wreck to reach the shore by swimming, it was but too probable that they would be carried off by the sharks, numbers of which swarmed around the island. In the meantime, the men were employed in getting up the tent, and in restoring matters to the condition they were in before the hurricane. The poor ladies had suffered greatly from the alarm into which they had been thrown, and it was necessary they should obtain that rest which had been denied them during the night. Mary, however, kept up her spirits, and could not help expressing her thankfulness that Harry and David had been saved, and were thus sharing with her the adventures which she was not likely to forget to the end of her days. "How curious it will be when they hear about us at home," said David, "and that we were all wrecked together on this out-of-the-way island." "But how are they to hear about us?" observed Mary; "we must get away from this before we can send a letter home, and how we are to get away seems the question." "Some means will turn up, depend upon it," said Harry, "we shall be seen by some passing ship, or if not, we must build a boat and try to reach some of the nearest islands. We are not likely to have to spend all our lives here, depend on that." They little thought of the difficulties and dangers they had still to go through. The day was advancing, but still the sea was considered too rough to allow the raft to be launched. They watched the people on the reef, who seemed to be clustering together, and who probably, unless they had a telescope, would not be aware that there were any people on the shore likely to come to their assistance. At length the sun set, and very unwillingly they were obliged to abandon the hope of going off till the following morning. They anxiously watched the weather during the night, and were thankful to find that the wind had dropped to a perfect calm. By daybreak Captain Williams summoned those who had agreed to accompany him, consisting of his mate and two English seamen, and Jacques Rossillion. By means of the long sweeps, which had been carefully fitted to the raft, they were enabled to urge it along at a good speed over the waters. "Success attend your efforts!" said Captain Rymer, as he assisted in shoving off the raft. Harry and David begged that they might also go, and assist in working the sweeps; and their offer was accepted. They had a somewhat long voyage to perform, and though they vigorously worked the sweeps they could not move the raft more than at the rate of three miles an hour. As they approached the reef they were perceived by the shipwrecked party, who waved to them as if urging them to come faster. As they drew near the men pointed to their mouths, indicating that they were suffering from thirst. Unhappily, no water had been brought off. Several, it appeared, had been in a state of delirium, and it was very evident that it would be dangerous to approach too close to the wreck, lest a number jumping upon the raft might upset it. There appeared to be about twenty or thirty people on the wreck, and Captain Williams agreed that it would not be safe to convey more than eight or ten at a time to the shore. The French lieutenant recognised the men as belonging to the schooner's crew, and he called out to them by name, ordering eight at a time to come down, and that they would be taken on board. They did not seem, however, inclined to obey him. Fortunately, Captain Williams had stuck a brace of pistols in his belt, and he now threatened to shoot any who might attempt to come on board the raft unless ordered by the lieutenant. This had the effect of keeping back the greater number, and eight of the Frenchmen were safely got on board the raft, which now at once commenced its return to the shore. Those who remained on the reef entreated that they might not be deserted, though they would scarcely believe the promise made by their officer that he would return for them. The poor men who had been rescued showed how much they had been suffering by pointing to their parched tongues, and again and again asking for water. Captain Williams and his companions exerted themselves to the utmost to reach the shore. This they at length accomplished, and water was immediately procured for the thirsty men. Their sufferings might be those of the whole party, unless great economy was used in distributing the precious fluid. A small cask was put on the raft, with some cups, and once more the party set forth to return to the reef, leaving those who had first landed to the care of their friends on shore. As the raft again approached the reef, the poor wretches who had been left upon it were seen stretching out their hands eagerly for water. There was still great danger lest they might rush down, in their anxiety to obtain it, and either fall into the water or upset the raft. Much caution was therefore necessary. The lieutenant and Jacques first leaped on to the rock, when Captain Williams handed them up the cups of water; but the first man who got the cup refused to let it leave his lips till he had drained every drop. Two were seen to fall backward after they had drunk, and it was with difficulty they were saved from falling into the sea. Several who were already in a state of delirium, scarcely seemed to value the boon which had been brought them. In time, however, water was given to all, and it was now necessary to select those who might be carried away on the raft, as it would require another trip before all could be removed. Harry and David looked somewhat anxiously for the French captain, but neither he nor any of the officers were among those saved. More than half of the crew, it was evident, had been lost. The lieutenant did not ask questions; indeed the poor men were not in a condition to have replied to them. For the safety of the raft it was necessary to secure the limbs of those who were in a state of delirium, and it was painful to see them struggling, as they lay on the raft, not understanding that this was done for their own safety. The second party were thus landed safely, and again the raft put off for the remainder of the crew. They had to row the whole way; indeed it was fortunate that there was no wind, as it would have made the approach to the reef much more dangerous. As it was, during the last trip the raft was very nearly driven against the rocks by one of those sudden upheavings of the ocean which sometimes occur, and send the water breaking over any opposing obstacle. Happily, they were able to shove off in time. Altogether, nearly thirty people were safely landed. It became, however, a serious consideration to the former occupants of the island, how the new comers were to be fed. They had provisions which might have lasted them a couple of months or more, though they had already seen the necessity of going upon an allowance of water; their numbers were now doubled, and they had not water to last them more than a very short time. Still, disregarding the character of those who had been rescued, they did their utmost to restore the poor men who had been thrown upon their care. Two of them, however, died from having drunk a large quantity of salt water, and others remained seriously ill for several days. The excitement of going off on the raft having subsided, the French lieutenant again sunk into his former moody state. At length the Frenchmen appeared to have recovered, but they did not seem inclined to associate with the English, nor with Jacques nor Pierre, who continued to perform their former duties. Captain Rymer and Captain Williams agreed that it would be necessary to put a guard over their provisions and stores, lest the Frenchmen should take it into their heads to help themselves without leave. It was explained to them that they must be content with a very moderate amount of food, and a still smaller quantity of water, unless a supply of the latter could be found. They seemingly acquiesced in the wisdom of this, but from the looks they exchanged with each other, it was but too probable that they would be tempted to break through the regulations which had been formed on the subject. With regard to food, they might obtain sufficient to support life both from the shell-fish on the shore, and from any fish they might catch, while the trees promised to afford them a supply of cocoanuts. But water was what they most required; without that it would be impossible to support existence. As long, however, as they were supplied with food, the Frenchmen did not show any inclination to search for it for themselves. Pierre was sent to tell them that lines would be provided for them, if they would try to catch some fish, and again the captain set out to make a fresh search for water. As soon as the Frenchmen had recovered, they showed a very different disposition to what they had previously exhibited. They then received the food given to them by the English with apparent gratitude. Now, however, when it was sent to them they seized it rudely, and grumbled because the supply was not larger. Captain Rymer endeavoured to explain to the French lieutenant that the arrangements made were for the good of all. He, however, either had no authority over his countrymen or pretended to have none. Still, as he associated himself with them, it was evident that he intended to side with them whatever they might do. This state of things gave considerable anxiety to the English officers. It was arranged that a strict guard should be kept over the provisions and water, and that no one should be allowed to take anything from the stores. Pierre continued, as before, to attend on the English, though he occasionally paid a visit to the French, who were encamped at some little distance, and out of sight of the rest of the party. On being questioned, he said that the French claimed the stores as their own, because they had captured the vessel from which they were taken, and that they were very angry at the idea of the English appropriating them. It was agreed, however, that unless they were preserved as before, the French sailors would probably consume the whole in a very short time, and all the party would be left in a state of starvation. Still, as the French had hitherto shown no disposition to annoy the English, the passengers continued to stroll about the shore of the island without any apprehension, as they had been accustomed to do. Harry and David frequently escorted Mary in these expeditions. They always returned with a basket-full of shell-fish of various sorts. The boys also fitted some fishing lines, and after a little practice they succeeded in catching a great many fish. Some of them were very beautiful; but when they showed them to Jacques, he told them that they were not fit to be eaten. Others, however, were excellent, and they had thus no apprehension with regard to not having provisions for their support, even though they might remain on the island for many months. The great anxiety was with regard to water. One day Mary and her young companions had gone along the shore for a considerable distance, when they reached a point of rock upon which they believed that they should be able to catch a number of fish. Mary did not take the same interest in the sport that they did, but preferred wandering along the beach and picking up the beautiful shells, and several curious creatures that had been cast on shore. Harry and David soon began to catch a number of fish, and were completely absorbed in their sport. Mary said that she would go along the beach some little distance, and then return to them. They saw her walking along, now stooping down to pick up a shell, now continuing her course close to the water, when a rock hid her from view. Just at that moment the fish began to bite faster and faster, and as they hauled them up in their eagerness they forgot to look out for their companion. Suddenly Harry exclaimed, "What can have become of Mary? She is a long time away." They both shouted her name, but there was no answer. Gathering up their lines and their fish they leaped off the rock, and ran along the beach in the direction she had gone. They did not, however, see her, and became greatly alarmed. In vain they shouted her name. "She certainly could not have turned back and gone the other way," said Philip; "besides, see, here are the marks of her feet on the sand; she must have gone on further than she intended." They traced her by the marks of her feet in the sand for a considerable distance, when she appeared to have turned inland, away from the beach. "Surely here are the marks of other feet," said David; "if there were any savages on the island, I should be afraid she had been carried off by them." They now pursued in the direction of the marks of the feet, though Mary's were no longer to be traced. The ground in the centre of the island being hard, they here lost all traces. They looked round in every direction. No persons were to be seen. They continued running eagerly forward, shouting again and again Mary's name, when they found themselves in front of the French camp. The French jeered at them as they passed, and as they were unable to speak French, they could not enquire if any of the people had seen Mary. Not knowing what else to do, they hurried back to their own friends with the bad news. Captain Rymer at first would scarcely credit the account they gave him. He however, with the two boys and Captain Williams, immediately set out to search the neighbourhood of the spot where Mary had disappeared. It was evident to them that she had not been carried away from the island; they therefore came to the conclusion that the Frenchmen had made her a prisoner, in the hopes that they might thus compel the English to agree to any terms they might propose. Captain Rymer therefore determined to go to the French with Pierre as interpreter, and to ascertain what terms the French had to propose. At first they denied that she was with them, but said that they were determined to have one half of the provisions and water as their proper share. Captain Rymer replied that they were determined for the good of all those on the island not to give up the provisions, and again enquired whether they had seen his young daughter, but could get no answer in return; and doubting whether the French really knew anything about Mary, he returned to consult further with Captain Williams. It was agreed that, should they yield to the demands of the Frenchmen, as soon as the first half of the provisions were consumed they would demand the remainder, and that, therefore, it would be wiser at once to refuse their demands. The day was drawing on, but still there were no signs of Mary. They arranged that Jacques should carry their food as usual to the French, and endeavour to obtain all the information that he could. Harry and David offered to go and watch in the neighbourhood of the camp, so that if she really was there, and could make her escape, they might be ready to assist her. While they remained concealed, Pierre went on into the camp. He brought a larger supply of food than usual to each man, and talked to one and then to the other, often in no complimentary terms of the English. "And why do you remain with them?" was the question put to him. "Because I am well fed; and until you came I had none else to associate with except Jacques, and I cannot make out whether he likes the English or our own countrymen the best." "Then do you intend to remain with us now?" was the question put to Pierre. "O yes! I have had enough of the English, and wish to throw in my fortunes with my own countrymen." The Frenchmen seemed to think that Pierre was in earnest, as he showed no inclination to leave them. He was, however, very busy in going about among the huts, whilst he put several questions to his countrymen, as to whether they could guess anything about the little girl who had been carried off. "Our lieutenant knows something about that, and as he does not want to fight with the English, hopes to gain his object by diplomacy." This convinced Pierre that Mary was in the camp, and he determined to set her free if he could. There was a hut in a grove close to the camp, into which he had hitherto not looked, and he thought it very likely that Mary had been shut up there. He knew, however, that he should be watched, especially by the lieutenant, who was walking up and down on the beach, in his usual moody manner. Nothing could be done, at all events, until it was dark; and he therefore continued laughing and talking with his countrymen, so as if possible to throw them off their guard. He observed the lieutenant once visit the hut with a tin of food, and, on leaving it, he placed a log of wood across the door. This convinced him more even than before that Mary was shut up there. Night came on at last. By the conversation of the Frenchmen, he feared that they had determined to have possession of the provisions by force, if they could not gain them in any other way. The Frenchmen amused themselves as their countrymen, even under the most adverse circumstances, are accustomed to do, by singing, telling stories, and occasionally getting up and dancing. At last, tired with their exertions, they laid themselves down in their huts. Pierre waited until they all seemed asleep. He most dreaded being detected by the lieutenant. He crept cautiously near the hut in which he was lying down, and, greatly to his satisfaction, found that he also was asleep. He instantly stole off to the hut in which he believed Mary was confined. The log at the entrance was somewhat heavy, and he had no little difficulty in removing it without making a noise. He pushed back the rough planks that formed the door, and there, to his infinite satisfaction, he saw Mary. She was seated on a heap of boughs in a corner of the hut, with her hands tied together, and her feet secured to a log. She uttered an exclamation of surprise on hearing Pierre approach. "Hush!" he said, "make no noise, I have come to release you." He fortunately had the knife in his pocket that David had given him, and with this he quickly cut the ropes with which the little girl was bound. "Now," he said, "take my hand, and I will lead you to those with whom you will soon find your way back to your friends." Saying this, he took her hand and led her through the grove, the French camp soon being lost sight of. They quickly found the spot where Harry and David were waiting. The boys were delighted at finding their young companion, and hurried off, supporting her between them, to their friends, while Pierre returned to the French. Captain Rymer was overjoyed at seeing his daughter, as will be supposed. The English did not rest much that night, not knowing what the French would next do. It was nearly morning when a footstep was heard approaching the camp, and Pierre came running up. "My countrymen have determined to attack you, and take the provisions by force," he said; "I had just time to escape, for they already suspected me of assisting Miss Rymer to escape." Jacques, who had remained with the English, was very sorry to hear what the French proposed doing; he promised, however, to fight on the side of his friends. Ten muskets, and a small supply of powder and ball, had been brought from the wreck. Of these the Frenchman were not aware, but as there was very little ammunition, it would soon be exhausted, and then numbers would prevail. CHAPTER TWELVE. THE ARRIVAL OF THE "ARETHUSA"--THE FRENCH TAKEN PRISONERS--DAVID BECOMES A MIDSHIPMAN--THE FIGHT AND VICTORY--JOY AT HOME--THE END. Captain Rymer had taken the precaution of throwing up a breastwork round the camp, which might assist him in repelling any attack of the Frenchmen. "Though my countrymen will kill me if they discover I have warned you, I would rather die than that you should be taken by surprise," exclaimed Pierre, as he was helped over the parapet. "We hope that we shall be able to protect you," said Harry, who with David had been on guard some time. "Never fear; we have firearms, and your countrymen are without them. If they come, they will receive a warmer reception than they expect." A few minutes afterwards a number of persons were seen stealing towards the camp, and evidently hoping to take the company by surprise. "Silence!" said Captain Rymer to his companions, "we will let them suppose that we are asleep, and then, if we suddenly start up and fire a musket or two over their heads they will become so alarmed that they will perhaps desist from the attack." This plan was followed out. The Frenchmen were evidently somewhat startled at finding that those they had come to attack were better armed than themselves. "Now, Pierre, tell them that if they come on many of them will be killed," said Captain Rymer; "we don't wish to injure them, but we are resolved not to yield to their demand." The Frenchmen hearing this at first seemed to hesitate, but shouting to each other they again advanced towards the embankment. "You will take the consequences of your folly," said Captain Rymer, and Pierre interpreted what he said. Several shots were fired, and two or three of the Frenchmen were apparently hit. The discharge had the effect of making them retreat. It was evident, however, that from the few muskets that had gone off that the powder was far from good, and that little dependence could therefore be placed on their firearms. Still it appeared that the French had had enough for the moment, as having failed in their expected surprise of the English they retreated once more to their own camp. But the state of affairs was very serious, as it could not be supposed that they would not again attempt to attack the camp. "One thing must be done," observed Captain Rymer; "as soon as the sun comes out we must dry our powder, that it may prove of more use than it did just now." In a short time daylight broke, and the sun, rising out of the ocean, shed a bright light over the scene. As he rose, his rays fell on the white sails of a ship, not two miles from the island. Captain Rymer's telescope was immediately turned towards her. "She's an English frigate," he exclaimed. "Let me look, sir! let me look!" cried Harry, eagerly. "That she is, indeed, and my own ship, the _Arethusa_, I am sure she is, I should know her among fifty other frigates. We expected that she would be sent out to the West Indies." The great point was now to draw the attention of those on board the frigate to the island. A flagstaff was quickly erected at a point clear of the trees, and as the flag was run up, several muskets were fired at the same time. They waited anxiously to see the effect. In another minute an answering gun was fired from the frigate, and almost at the same moment a couple of boats were seen approaching the shore. Harry's delight was very great when he recognised several of his shipmates in the boats. The second lieutenant of the frigate, who came in command, was the first person to step on shore. Harry, forgetting his own appearance, instantly ran up to him, and was somewhat mortified at the look of astonishment with which the lieutenant regarded him. "What, don't you know me, sir?" exclaimed Harry. "I begin to have an idea," said the lieutenant, putting out his hand, "though there are one or two reasons why I should not know you. The first is, that we thought you had lost the number of your mess; and, excuse me, you certainly do not look like an English midshipman." "No, sir, I don't think I do," said Harry, laughing. "Now let me introduce my friends to you. Here is Mr David Morton, and Captain Rymer and Miss Rymer, and all these ladies and gentlemen. And it will take some time to tell you all about ourselves." Harry, in his joy, let his tongue run on, scarcely knowing what he was saying. Captain Rymer now stepped forward and explained the state of affairs. This required some little time to do. "I am sure the captain will be very glad to receive the master, crew, and all the passengers of the _Cerberus_ on board the frigate," replied the lieutenant; "but I don't know how he will be inclined to treat the Frenchmen, who have behaved as you have described. If they are left on the island they will probably perish of thirst. But, in the meantime, should any English vessel come here, they might take the crew prisoners, and make off in her." It was agreed, therefore, that the best way would be to carry them off as prisoners to Jamaica. The Frenchmen were very indignant at hearing the arrangements that had been made, but when they saw that the boat's crew were armed they had the sense to know that resistance was useless. Harry and David entreated that Pierre and Jacques might not be made prisoners, and of course their request was granted. Both Jacques and Pierre begged that they might enter on board the frigate. In a short time nearly all those who had lately been living on the island were carried on board the frigate. The Frenchmen were placed in the prison forward. There was one exception, however, the French lieutenant was nowhere to be found. While the rest of his countrymen were embarking he had disappeared. A boat's crew was sent on shore to search for him. The only trace that could be discovered of him was his hat at the end of a ledge of rocks, off which it was supposed he had thrown himself, and been drowned. Poor man! he had given up all hopes of happiness in this life, and had refused to believe in a life to come. In those days it was not so difficult to enter the navy as at the present time. Notwithstanding all the hardships David had gone through he was as anxious as ever to become a midshipman. The captain promised to place him on the quarter-deck, if he preferred remaining out in the West Indies instead of going home. David was naturally very anxious to see his friends; but at the same time his darling desire to enter the navy could now be realised. If he went home he would be separated from Harry, whom he now looked upon more than ever as a brother. "At all events, I will remain out," said David, "till I can hear from home, and then, should my father and mother desire me to return, I must obey them." The frigate conveyed Captain Rymer to his government, in the island of, and as she was constantly cruising about in that neighbourhood Harry and David had frequent opportunities of seeing Mary. Those were stirring days, and midshipmen met with various adventures. David at length anxiously broke open a letter which reached him from home. His father and mother expressed their gratitude to Heaven that he had escaped so many dangers, and told him that, as his heart was set on becoming a midshipman, they would no longer oppose his wishes. Several years passed by; the frigate was at one time cruising amongst the West Indian Islands, and at another time she was sent to Halifax, then the chief station of the American squadron. Fully four years passed away before she was ordered home. The command held by Captain Rymer at the same time came to an end, and he and Mary prepared to return to England. The _Arethusa_ sailed some little time after them. Her crew, as was too often the case, was diminished by yellow fever; but the survivors thought only of once more reaching their native land, and looked forward with joy at the prospect of again seeing the white cliffs of old England. Already the frigate was more than half-way across the Atlantic, when one morning a sail was espied on the weather-bow; the sails were trimmed and the frigate gave chase. The stranger took her for an enemy, and did everything to escape, and not without good hopes of success, for she was evidently a fast craft. The _Arethusa_ was, however, one of the fastest frigates in the navy, and it was not likely that the chase would succeed, unless, favoured by the darkness, she might alter her course during the night. A sharp look-out was kept. Twice the look-out man exclaimed that she was nowhere to be seen, but again she was caught sight of. When morning dawned it was calculated that the frigate had gained considerably upon her. The chase continued for the best part of the day. At last the frigate got her within length of her bow-chasers. Several shots were fired without inducing her to haul down her colours, which were French. She was a large schooner, a powerful vessel, with heavy masts and sails. At length a shot carried away her main-topmast, and now, finding that any further attempt at escaping was useless, the colours were hauled down. She proved to be a French privateer returning home after a successful cruise. The rage of the Frenchmen was very great at finding themselves captured, when they so soon expected to be in _La Belle France_ to enjoy the booty they had obtained. In a short time, however, after the greater number had been transferred to the deck of the frigate, they were dancing and singing, apparently forgetful of their misfortune. As no lieutenant from the frigate could be spared to take charge of the prize, Harry, who had now become an experienced officer, was sent on board in command, and David went as his lieutenant. Pierre begged that he might accompany them. For two or three days they kept in sight of the frigate, but a gale coming on, with thick weather, when morning broke the _Arethusa_ was nowhere to be seen. "We must find our way up Channel as best we can," said Harry. "I think you and I can manage a correct day's work, though we have not had as much experience in navigation as would be desirable." The weather continued bad for several days, during which the schooner was hove-to. Once more the sky cleared; the wind moderated, and a coarse was steered up Channel. "I can scarcely fancy that more than four years have passed away since you and I drifted out here in a boat with poor old Jefferies. We return in a very different style, don't we?" remarked Harry to his companion. They had reached, they calculated, the chops of the Channel, when a large merchant ship was seen ahead. "Should she prove to be an enemy's craft she will make a rich prize," said David. "I rather think she is English," said Harry; "but see, there is another vessel, a large lugger I make her out to be, bearing down upon her. The lugger is French, there is no doubt about that. I should not be surprised if she is a privateer, about to pounce down upon the merchant vessel. If the Frenchmen have seen us, they take us to be French also, and are anxious to secure the prize before we come up," observed Harry. "I am not, however, certain that she will do that; see, there is a strong breeze from the westward coming up, and the sails of the two vessels are already becalmed." Harry was right; the schooner carried up the breeze, and stood in between the two vessels before the lugger had time to fire a shot. Instantly hoisting English colours, Harry boldly stood towards the lugger, followed by the merchant ship. He at once opened fire on the lugger, who made all sail to escape. This was what Harry had determined she should not do. The schooner carried two long guns in her bows. These were so well worked that after a few shots the lugger's mizen-mast was knocked away. The main-mast followed, and the lugger, being now reduced to an almost helpless condition, hauled down her colours. As may be supposed, Harry and David's delight was very great, at not only having made so valuable a prize, but saving a valuable merchant vessel from capture. Still greater was their satisfaction when going on board the merchant vessel, they found that Captain Rymer and Mary were amongst the passengers. The merchantman was bound for Falmouth, and to that port Harry also resolved to steer with the prize, as she was not in a condition to be taken up Channel. The next morning the three vessels anchored in Falmouth Harbour. As neither Harry nor David could leave their vessels, a messenger was despatched to their homes, and in a short time Mr and Mrs Morton, Mrs Merryweather, and a considerable number of friends who formed the picnic party on that memorable day when Harry and David went adrift in a boat, were collected at the Green Bank Hotel. If Harry had been looked upon as a hero on the distant day of which we speak, much more so was he now. Both Harry and David rose to rank and honour in the noble profession they had selected, and as soon as the former obtained his rank as post-captain, Mary Rymer became his wife; and among the adventures he loved to describe to his young descendants, was that of how he and his friend Admiral Morton, in their younger days, went "Adrift in a Boat." THE END. 
4506	----	LOST IN THE FOG by JAMES DE MILLE 1870 I. Old Acquaintances gather around old Scenes.--Antelope, ahoy!--How are you, Solomon?--Round-about Plan of a round about Voyage.--The Doctor warns, rebukes, and remonstrates, but, alas! in vain.--It must be done.--Beginning of a highly eventful Voyage. It was a beautiful morning, in the month of July, when a crowd of boys assembled on the wharf of Grand Pre. The tide was high, the turbid waters of Mud Creek flowed around, a fresh breeze blew, and if any craft was going to sea she could not have found a better time. The crowd consisted chiefly of boys, though a few men were mingled with them. These boys were from Grand Pre School, and are all old acquaintances. There was the stalwart frame of Bruce, the Roman face of Arthur, the bright eyes of Bart, the slender frame of Phil, and the earnest glance of Tom. There, too, was Pat's merry smile, and the stolid look of Bogud, and the meditative solemnity of Jiggins, not to speak of others whose names need not be mentioned. Amid the crowd the face of Captain Corbet was conspicuous, and the dark visage of Solomon, while that of the mate was distinguishable in the distance. To all these the good schooner Antelope formed the centre of attraction, and also of action. It was on board of her that the chief bustle took place, and towards her that all eyes were turned. The good schooner Antelope had made several voyages during the past few months, and now presented herself to the eye of the spectator not much changed from her former self. A fine fresh coat of coal tar had but recently ornamented her fair exterior, while a coat of whitewash inside the hold had done much to drive away the odor of the fragrant potato. Rigging and sails had been repaired as well as circumstances would permit, and in the opinion of her gallant captain she was eminently seaworthy. On the present occasion things bore the appearance of a voyage. Trunks were passed on board and put below, together with coats, cloaks, bedding, and baskets of provisions. The deck was strewn about with the multifarious requisites of a ship's company. The Antelope, at that time, seemed in part an emigrant vessel, with a dash of the yacht and the coasting schooner. In the midst of all this, two gentlemen worked their way through the crowd to the edge of the wharf. "Well, boys," said one, "well, captain, what's the meaning of all this?" Captain Corbet started at this, and looked up from a desperate effort to secure the end of one of the sails. "Why, Dr. Porter!" said he; "why, doctor!--how d'ye do?--and Mr. Long, too!--why, railly!" The boys also stopped their work, and looked towards their teachers with a little uneasiness. "What's all this?" said Dr. Porter, looking around with a smile; "are you getting up another expedition?" "Wal, no," said Captain Corbet, "not 'xactly; fact is, we're kine o' goin to take a vyge deoun the bay." "Down the bay?" "Yes. You see the boys kine o' want to go home by water, rayther than by land." "By water! Home by water!" repeated Mr. Long, doubtfully. "Yes," said Captain Corbet; "an bein as the schewner was in good repair, an corked, an coal-tarred, an whitewashed up fust rate, I kine o' thought it would redound to our mootooil benefit if we went off on sich a excursion,--bein pleasanter, cheaper, comfortabler, an every way preferable to a land tower." "Hem," said Dr. Porter, looking uneasily about. "I don't altogether like it. Boys, what does it all mean?" Thus appealed to, Bart became spokesman for the boys. "Why, sir," said he, "we thought we'd like to go home by water--that's all." "Go home by water!" repeated the doctor once more, with a curious smile. "Yes, sir." "What? by the Bay of Fundy?" "Yes, sir." "Who are going?" "Well, sir, there are only a few of us. Bruce, and Arthur, and Tom, and Phil, and Pat, besides myself." "Bruce and Arthur?" said the doctor; "are they going home by the Bay of Fundy?" "Yes, sir," said Bart, with a smile. "I don't see how they can get to the Gulf of St. Lawrence and Prince Edward's Island from the Bay of Fundy," said the doctor, "without going round Nova Scotia, and that will be a journey of many hundred miles." "O, no, sir," said Bruce; "we are going first to Moncton." "O, is that the idea?" "Yes, sir." "And where will you go from Moncton?" "To Shediac, and then home." "And are you going to Newfoundland by that route, Tom?" asked the doctor. "Yes, sir," said Tom, gravely. "From Shediac?" "Yes, sir." "I never knew before that there were vessels going from Shediac to Newfoundland." "O, I'm going to Prince Edward's Island first, sir, with Bruce and Arthur," said Tom. "I'll find my way home from there." The doctor smiled. "I'm afraid you'll find it a long journey before you reach home. Won't your friends be anxious?" "O, no, sir. I wrote that I wanted to visit Bruce and Arthur, and they gave me leave." "And you, Phil, are you going home by the Antelope?" "Yes, sir." "You are going exactly in a straight line away from it." "Am I, sir?" "Of course you are. This isn't the way to Chester." "Well, sir, you see I'm going to visit Bart at St. John." "O, I understand. And that is your plan, then?" "Yes, sir," said Bart. "Pat is going too." "Where are you going first?" "First, sir, we will sail to the Petitcodiac River, and go up it as far as Moncton, where Bruce, and Arthur, and Tom will leave us." "And then?" "Then we will go to St. John, where Phil, and Pat, and I will leave her. Solomon, too, will leave her there." "Solomon!" cried the doctor. "What! Solomon! Is Solomon going? Why, what can I do without Solomon? Here! Hallo!--Solomon! What in the world's the meaning of all this?" Thus summoned, Solomon came forth from the cabin, into which he had dived at the first appearance of the doctor. His eyes were downcast, his face was demure, his attitude and manner were abject. "Solomon," said the doctor, "what's this I hear? Are you going to St. John?" "Ony temp'ly, sah--jist a leetle visit, sah," said Solomon, very humbly, stealing looks at the boys from his downcast eyes. "But what makes you go off this way without asking, or letting me know?" "Did I, sah?" said Solomon, rolling his eyes up as though horrified at his own wickedness; "the sakes now! Declar, I clean forgot it." "What are you going away for?" "Why, sah, for de good oh my helf. Docta vises sea vyge; sides, I got frens in St. John, an business dar, what muss be tended to." "Well, well," said the doctor, "I suppose if you want to go you'll find reasons enough; but at the same time you ought to have let me known before." "Darsn't, sah," said Solomon. "Why not?" "Fraid you'd not let me go," said Solomon, with a broad grin, that instantly was suppressed by a demure cough. "Nonsense," said the doctor; and then turning away, he spoke a few words apart with Mr. Long. "Well, boys," said the doctor, at last, "this project of yours doesn't seem to me to be altogether safe, and I don't like to trust you in this way without anybody as a responsible guardian." Bart smiled. "O, sir," said he, "you need not be at all uneasy. All of us are accustomed to take care of ourselves; and besides, if you wanted a responsible guardian for us, what better one could be found than Captain Corbet?" The doctor and Mr. Long both shook their heads. Evidently neither of them attached any great importance to Captain Corbet's guardianship. "Did you tell your father how you were going?" asked the doctor, after a few further words with Mr. Long. "O, yes, sir; and he told me I might go. What's more, he promised to charter a schooner for me to cruise about with Phil and Pat after I arrived home." "And we got permission, too," said Bruce. "Indeed!" said the doctor. "That changes the appearance of things. I was afraid that it was a whim of your own. And now, one thing more,--how are you off for provisions?" "Wal, sir," said Captain Corbet, "I've made my calculations, an I think I've got enough. What I might fail in, the boys and Solomon have made up." "How is it, Solomon?" asked the doctor. Solomon grinned. "You sleep in the hold, I see," continued the doctor. "Yes, sir," said Bruce. "It's whitewashed, and quite sweet now. We'll only be on board two or three days at the farthest, and so it really doesn't much matter how we go." "Well, boys, I have no more to say; only take care of yourselves." With these words the doctor and Mr. Long bade them good by, and then walked away. The other boys, however, stood on the wharf waiting to see the vessel off. They themselves were all going to start for home in a few minutes, and were only waiting for the departure of the Antelope. This could not now be long delayed. The tide was high. The wind fresh and fair. The luggage, and provisions, and stores were all on board. Captain Corbet was at the helm. All was ready. At length the word was given, the lines were cast off; and the Antelope moved slowly round, and left the wharf amid the cheers of the boys. Farther and farther it moved away, then down the tortuous channel of Mud Creek, until at last the broad expanse of Minas Basin received them. For this voyage the preparations had been complete. It had first been thought of several weeks before, and then the plan and the details had been slowly elaborated. It was thought to be an excellent idea, and one which was in every respect worthy of the "B. O. W. C." Captain Corbet embraced the proposal with enthusiasm. Letters home, requesting permission, received favorable answers. Solomon at first resisted, but finally, on being solemnly appealed to as Grand Panjandrum, he found himself unable to withstand, and thus everything was gradually prepared. Other details were satisfactorily arranged, though not without much serious and earnest debate. The question of costume received very careful attention, and it was decided to adopt and wear the weather-beaten uniforms that had done service amidst mud and water on a former occasion. Solomon's presence was felt to be a security against any menacing famine; and that assurance was made doubly sure by the presence of a cooking stove, which Captain Corbet, mindful of former hardships, had thoughtfully procured and set up in the hold. Finally, it was decided that the flag which had formerly flaunted the breeze should again wave over them; and so it was, that as the Antelope moved through Mud Creek, like a thing of life, the black flag of the "B. O. W. C." floated on high, with its blazonry of a skull, which now, worn by time, looked more than ever like the face of some mild, venerable, and paternal monitor. Some time was taken up in arranging the hold. Considerable confusion was manifest in that important locality. Tin pans were intermingled with bedding, provisions with wearing apparel, books with knives and forks, while amid the scene the cooking stove towered aloft prominent. To tell the truth, the scene was rather free and easy than elegant; nor could an unprejudiced observer have called it altogether comfortable. In fact, to one who looked at it with a philosophic mind, an air of squalor might possibly have been detected. Yet what of that? The philosophic mind just alluded to would have overlooked the squalor, and regarded rather the health, the buoyant animal spirits, and the determined habit of enjoyment, which all the ship's company evinced, without exception. The first thing which they did in the way of preparation for the voyage was to doff the garments of civilized life, and to don the costume of the "B. O. W. C." Those red shirts, decorated with a huge white cross on the back, had been washed and mended, and completely reconstructed, so that the rents and patches which were here and there visible on their fair exteriors, served as mementos of former exploits, and called up associations of the past without at all deteriorating from the striking effect of the present. Glengary bonnets adorned their heads, and served to complete the costume. The labor of dressing was followed by a hurried arrangement of the trunks and bedding; after which they all emerged from the hold and ascending to the deck, looked around upon the scene. Above, the sky was blue and cloudless, and between them and the blue sky floated the flag, from whose folds the face looked benignantly down. The tide was now on the ebb, and as the wind was fair, both wind and tide united to bear them rapidly onward. Before them was Blomidon, while all around was the circling sweep of the shores of Minas Bay. A better day for a start could not have been found, and everything promised a rapid and pleasant run. "I must say," remarked Captain Corbet, who had for some time been standing buried in his own meditations at the helm,--"I must say, boys, that I don't altogether regret bein once more on the briny deep. There was a time," he continued, meditatively, "when I kine o' anticipated givin up this here occypation, an stayin to hum a nourishin of the infant. But man proposes, an woman disposes, as the sayin is,--an you see what I'm druv to. It's a great thing for a man to have a companion of sperrit, same as I have, that keeps a' drivin an a drivin at him, and makes him be up an doin. An now, I declar, if I ain't gittin to be a confirmed wanderer agin, same as I was in the days of my halcyon an shinin youth. Besides, I have a kine o' feelin as if I'd be a continewin this here the rest of all my born days." "I hope you won't feel homesick," remarked Bart, sympathetically. "Homesick," repeated the captain. "Wal, you see thar's a good deal to be said about it. In my hum thar's a attraction, but thar's also a repulsion. The infant drors me hum, the wife of my buzzum drives me away, an so thar it is, an I've got to knock under to the strongest power. An that's the identical individool thing that makes the aged Corbet a foogitive an a vagabond on the face of the mighty deep. Still I have my consolations." The captain paused for a few moments, and then resumed. "Yes," he continued, "I have my consolations. Surroundins like these here air a consolation. I like your young faces, an gay an airy ways, boys. I like to see you enjoy life. So, go in. Pitch in. Go ahead. Sing. Shout. Go on like mad. Carry on like all possessed, an you'll find the aged Corbet smilin amid the din, an a flutterin of his venerable locks triumphant amid the ragin an riotin elements." "It's a comfort to know that, at any rate," said Tom. "We'll give you enough of that before we leave, especially as we know it don't annoy you." "I don't know how it is," said the captain, solemnly, "but I begin to feel a sort of somethin towards you youngsters that's very absorbin. It's a kine o' anxious fondness, with a mixtoor of indulgent tenderness. How ever I got to contract sech a feelin beats me. I s'pose it's bein deprived of my babby, an exiled from home, an so my vacant buzzom craves to be filled. I've got a dreadful talent for doin the pariential, an what's more, not only for doin the pariential, but for feelin of it. So you boys, ef ever you see me a doin of the pariential towards youns, please remember that when I act like an anxious an too indulgent parient towards youns, it's because I feel like one." For some hours they traversed the waters, carried swiftly on by the united forces of the wind and tide. At last they found themselves close by Blomidon, and under his mighty shadow they sailed for some time. Then they doubled the cape, and there, before them, lay a long channel--the Straits of Minas, through which the waters pour at every ebb and flood. Their course now lay through this to the Bay of Fundy outside; and as it was within two hours of the low tide, the current ran swiftly, hurrying them rapidly past the land. Here the scene was grand and impressive in the extreme. On one side arose a lofty, precipitous cliff, which extended for miles, its sides scarred and tempest-torn, its crest fringed with trees, towering overhead many hundreds of feet, black, and menacing, and formidable. At its base was a steep beach, disclosed by the retreating tide, which had been formed by the accumulated masses of rock that had fallen in past ages from the cliffs above. These now, from the margin of the water up to high-water mark, were covered with a vast growth of sea-weed, which luxuriated here, and ran parallel to the line of vegetation on the summit of the cliff. On the other side of the strait the scene was different. Here the shores were more varied; in one place, rising high on steep precipices, in others, thrusting forth black, rocky promontories into the deep channel; in others again, retreating far back, and forming bays, round whose sloping shores appeared places fit for human habitation, and in whose still waters the storm-tossed bark might find a secure haven. As they drifted on, borne along by the impetuous tide, the shores on either side changed, and new vistas opened before them. At last they reached the termination of the strait, the outer portal of this long avenue, which here was marked by the mighty hand of Nature in conspicuous characters. For here was the termination of that long extent of precipitous cliff which forms the outline of Blomidon; and this termination, abrupt, and stern, and black, shows, in a concentrated form, the power of wind and wave. The cliff ends abrupt, broken off short, and beyond this arise from the water several giant fragments of rock, the first of which, shaped like an irregular pyramid, rivals the cliff itself in height, and is surrounded by other rocky fragments, all of which form a colossal group, whose aggregated effect never fails to overawe the mind of the spectator. Such is Cape Split, the terminus of Cape Blomidon, on the side of the Bay of Fundy. Over its shaggy summits now fluttered hundreds of sea-gulls; round its black base the waves foamed and thundered, while the swift tide poured between the interstices of the rugged rocks. "Behind that thar rock," said Captain Corbet, pointing to Cape Split, "is a place they call Scott's Bay. Perhaps some of you have heard tell of it." "I have a faint recollection of such a place," said Bart. "Scott's Bay, do you call it? Yes, that must be the place that I've heard of; and is it behind this cape?" "It's a bay that runs up thar," said the captain. "We'll see it soon arter we get further down. It's a fishin and ship-buildin place. They catch a dreadful lot of shad thar sometimes." Swiftly the Antelope passed on, hurried on by the tide, and no longer feeling much of the wind; swiftly she passed by the cliffs, and by the cape, and onward by the sloping shores, till at length the broad bosom of the Bay of Fundy extended before their eyes. Here the wind ceased altogether, the water was smooth and calm, but the tide still swept them along, and the shores on each side receded, until at length they were fairly in the bay. Here, on one side, the coast of Nova Scotia spread away, until it faded from view in the distance, while on the other side the coast of New Brunswick extended. Between the schooner and this latter coast a long cape projected, while immediately in front arose a lofty island of rock, whose summit was crowned with trees. "What island is that?" asked Tom. "That," said Captain Corbet, "is Isle o' Holt." "I think I've heard it called Ile Haute," said Bart. "All the same," said Captain Corbet, "ony I believe it was named after the man that diskivered it fust, an his name was Holt." "But it's a French name," said Tom; "Ile Haute means high island." "Wal, mebbe he was a Frenchman," said Captain Corbet. "I won't argufy--I dare say he was. There used to be a heap o' Frenchmen about these parts, afore we got red of 'em." "It's a black, gloomy, dismal, and wretched-looking place," said Tom, after some minutes of silent survey. II. First Sight of a Place destined to be better known.--A Fog Mill.--Navigation without Wind.--Fishing.--Boarding.--Under Arrest.--Captain Corbet defiant.--The Revenue Officials frowned down.--Corbet triumphant. The Antelope had left the wharf at about seven in the morning. It was now one o'clock. For the last two or three hours there had been but little wind, and it was the tide which had carried her along. Drifting on in this way, they had come to within a mile of Ile Haute, and had an opportunity of inspecting the place which Tom had declared to be so gloomy. In truth, Tom's judgment was not undeserved. Ile Haute arose like a solid, unbroken rock out of the deep waters of the Bay of Fundy, its sides precipitous, and scarred by tempest, and shattered by frost. On its summit were trees, at its base lay masses of rock that had fallen. The low tide disclosed here, as at the base of Blomidon, a vast growth of black sea-weed, which covered all that rocky shore. The upper end of the island, which was nearest them, was lower, however, and went down sloping to the shore, forming a place where a landing could easily be effected. From this shore mud flats extended into the water. "This end looks as though it had been cleared," said Bart. "I believe it was," said the captain. "Does anybody live here?" "No." "Did any one ever live here?" "Yes, once, some one tried it, I believe, but gave it up." "Does it belong to anybody, or is it public property?" "O, I dare say it belongs to somebody, if you could only get him to claim it." "I say, captain," said Bruce, "how much longer are we going to drift?" "O, not much longer. The tide's about on the turn, and we'll have a leetle change." "What! will we drift back again?" "O, I shouldn't wonder if we had a leetle wind afore long." "But if we don't, will we drift back again into the Basin of Minas?" "O, dear, no. We can anchor hereabouts somewhar." "You won't anchor by this island,--will you?" "O, dear, no. We'll have a leetle driftin first." As the captain spoke, he looked earnestly out upon the water. "Thar she comes," he cried at last, pointing over the water. The boys looked, and saw the surface of the bay all rippled over. They knew the signs of wind, and waited for the result. Soon a faint puff came up the bay, which filled the languid sails, and another puff came up more strongly, and yet another, until at length a moderate breeze was blowing. The tide no longer dragged them on. It was on the turn; and as the vessel caught the wind, it yielded to the impetus, and moved through the water, heading across the bay towards the New Brunswick shore, in such a line as to pass near to that cape which has already been spoken of. "If the wind holds out," said Captain Corbet, "so as to carry us past Cape d'Or, we can drift up with this tide." "Where's Cape d'Or?" "That there," said Captain Corbet, pointing to the long cape which stretched between them and the New Brunswick shore. "An if it goes down, an we can't get by the cape, we'll be able, at any rate, to drop anchor there, an hold on till the next tide." The returning tide, and the fresh breeze that blew now, bore them onward rapidly, and they soon approached Cape d'Or. They saw that it terminated in a rocky cliff, with rocky edges jutting forth, and that all the country adjoining was wild and rugged. But the wind, having done this much for them, now began to seem tired of favoring them, and once more fell off. "I don't like this," said Captain Corbet, looking around. "What?" "All this here," said he, pointing to the shore. It was about a mile away, and the schooner, borne along now by the tide, was slowly drifting on to an unpleasant proximity to the rocky shore. "I guess we've got to anchor," said Captain Corbet; "there's no help for it." "To anchor?" said Bruce, in a tone of disappointment. "Yes, anchor; we've got to do it," repeated the captain, in a decided tone. The boys saw that there was no help for it, for the vessel was every moment drawing in closer to the rocks; and though it would not have been very dangerous for her to run ashore in that calm water, yet it would not have been pleasant. So they suppressed their disappointment, and in a few minutes the anchor was down, and the schooner's progress was stopped. "Thar's one secret," said the captain, "of navigatin in these here waters, an that is, to use your anchor. My last anchor I used for nigh on thirty year, till it got cracked. I mayn't be much on land, but put me anywhars on old Fundy, an I'm to hum. I know every current on these here waters, an can foller my nose through the thickest fog that they ever ground out at old Manan." "What's that?" asked Bart. "What did you say about grinding out fog?" "O, nothin, ony thar's an island down the bay, you know, called Grand Manan, an seafarin men say that they've got a fog mill down thar, whar they grind out all the fog for the Bay of Fundy. I can't say as ever I've seen that thar mill, but I've allus found the fog so mighty thick down thar that I think thar's a good deal in the story." "I suppose we'll lose this tide," said Phil. "Yes, I'm afeard so," said the captain, looking around over the water. "This here wind ain't much, any way; you never can reckon on winds in this bay. I don't care much about them. I'd a most just as soon go about the bay without sails as with them. What I brag on is the tides, an a jodgmatical use of the anchor." "You're not in earnest?" "Course I am." "Could you get to St. John from Grand Pre without sails?" "Course I could." "I don't see how you could manage to do it." "Do it? Easy enough," said the captain. "You see I'd leave with the ebb tide, and get out into the bay. Then I'd anchor an wait till the next ebb, an so on. Bless your hearts, I've often done it." "But you couldn't get across the bay by drifting." "Course I could. I'd work my way by short drifts over as far as this, an then I'd gradually move along till I kine o' canted over to the New Brunswick shore. It takes time to do it, course it does; but what I mean to say is this--it CAN be done." "Well, I wouldn't like to be on board while you were trying to do it." "Mebbe not. I ain't invitin you to do it, either. All I was sayin is, it CAN be done. Sails air very good in their way, course they air, an who's objectin to 'em? I'm only sayin that in this here bay thar's things that's more important than sails, by a long chalk--such as tides, an anchors in particular. Give me them thar, an I don't care a hooter what wind thar is." Lying thus at anchor, under the hot sun, was soon found to be rather dull, and the boys sought in vain for some way of passing the time. Different amusements were invented for the occasion. The first amusement consisted in paper boats, with which they ran races, and the drift of these frail vessels over the water afforded some excitement. Then they made wooden boats with huge paper sails. In this last Bart showed a superiority to the others; for, by means of a piece of iron hoop, which he inserted as a keel, he produced a boat which was able to carry an immense press of sail, and in the faint and scarce perceptible breeze, easily distanced the others. This accomplishment Bart owed to his training in a seaport town. At length one of them proposed that they should try to catch fish. Captain Corbet, in answer to their eager inquiries, informed them that there were fish everywhere about the bay; on learning which they became eager to try their skill. Some herring were on board, forming part of the stores, and these were taken for bait. Among the miscellaneous contents of the cabin a few hooks were found, which were somewhat rusty, it is true, yet still good enough for the purpose before them. Lines, of course, were easily procured, and soon a half dozen baited hooks were down in the water, while a half dozen boys, eager with suspense, watched the surface of the water. For a half hour they held their lines suspended without any result; but at the end of that time, a cry from Phil roused them, and on looking round they saw him clinging with all his might to his line, which was tugged at tightly by something in the water. Bruce ran to help him, and soon their united efforts succeeded in landing on the deck of the vessel a codfish of very respectable size. The sight of this was greeted with cheers by the others, and served to stimulate them to their work. After this others were caught, and before half an hour more some twenty codfish, of various sizes, lay about the deck, as trophies of their piscatory skill. They were now more excited than ever, and all had their hooks in the water, and were waiting eagerly for a bite, when an exclamation from Captain Corbet roused them. On turning their heads, and looking in the direction where he was pointing, they saw a steamboat approaching them. It was coming from the head of the bay on the New Brunswick side, and had hitherto been concealed by the projecting cape. "What's that?" said Bart. "Is it the St. John steamer?" "No, SIR," said the captain. "She's a man-o'-war steamer--the revenoo cutter, I do believe." "How do you know?" "Why, by her shape." "She seems to be coming this way." "Yes, bound to Minas Bay, I s'pose. Wal, wal, wal! strange too,--how singoolarly calm an onterrified I feel in'ardly. Why, boys, I've seen the time when the sight of a approachin revenoo vessel would make me shiver an shake from stem to starn. But now how changed! Such, my friends, is the mootability of human life!" The boys looked at the steamer for a few moments, but at length went back to their fishing. The approaching steamer had nothing in it to excite curiosity: such an object was too familiar to withdraw their thoughts from the excitement of their lines and hooks, and the hope which each had of surpassing the other in the number of catches animated them to new trials. So they soon forgot all about the approaching steamer. But Captain Corbet had nothing else to do, and so, whether it was on account of his lack of employment, or because of the sake of old associations, he kept his eyes fixed on the steamer. Time passed on, and in the space of another half hour she had drawn very near to the Antelope. Suddenly Captain Corbet slapped his hand against his thigh. "Declar, if they ain't a goin to overhaul us!" he cried. At this the boys all turned again to look at the steamer. "Declar, if that fellow in the gold hat ain't a squintin at us through his spy-glass!" cried the captain. As the boys looked, they saw that the Antelope had become an object of singular attention and interest to those on board of the steamer. Men were on the forecastle, others on the main deck, the officers were on the quarter-deck, and all were earnestly scrutinizing the Antelope. One of them was looking at her through his glass. The Antelope, as she lay at anchor, was now turned with her stern towards the steamer, and her sails flapping idly against the masts. In a few moments the paddles of the steamer stopped, and at the same instant a gun was fired. "Highly honored, kind sir," said Captain Corbet, with a grin. "What's the matter?" asked Bart. "Matter? Why that thar steamer feels kine o' interested in us, an that thar gun means, HEAVE TO." "Are you going to heave to?" "Nary heave." "Why not?" "Can't come it no how; cos why, I'm hove to, with the anchor hard and fast, ony they can't see that we're anchored." Suddenly a cry came over the water from a man on the quarter-deck. "Ship aho-o-o-o-o-oy!" "Hel-lo-o-o-o-o!" Such was the informal reply of Captain Corbet. "Heave to-o-o-o, till I send a boat aboard." "Hoo-r-a-a-a-a-ay!" Such was again Captain Corbet's cheerful and informal answer. "Wal! wal wal!" he exclaimed, "it does beat my grandmother--they're goin to send a boat aboard." "What for?" Captain Corbet grinned, and shook his head, and chuckled very vehemently, but said nothing. He appeared to be excessively amused with his own thoughts. The boys looked at the steamer, and then at Captain Corbet, in some wonder; but as he said nothing, they were silent, and waited to see what was going to happen. Meanwhile Solomon, roused from some mysterious culinary duties by the report of the gun, had scrambled upon the deck, and stood with the others looking out over the water at the steamer. In a few moments the steamer's boat was launched, and a half dozen sailors got in, followed by an officer. Then they put off, and rowed with vigorous strokes towards the schooner. Captain Corbet watched the boat for some time in silence. "Cur'ouser an cur'ouser," he said, at length. "I've knowed the time, boys, when sech an incident as this, on the briny deep, would have fairly keeled me over, an made me moot, an riz every har o' my head; but look at me now. Do I tremble? do I shake? Here, feel my pulse." Phil, who stood nearest, put his finger on the outstretched wrist of the captain. "Doos it beat?" "No," said Phil. "Course it beats; but then it ony beats nateral. You ain't feelin the right spot--the humane pulse not bein sitooated on the BACK of the hand," he added mildly, "but here;" and he removed Phil's inexperienced finger to the place where the pulse lies. "Thar, now," he added, "as that pulse beats now, even so it beat a half hour ago, before that thar steamer hev in sight. Why, boys, I've knowed the time when this humane pulse bet like all possessed. You see, I've lived a life of adventoor, in spite of my meek and quiet natoor, an hev dabbled at odd times in the smugglin business. But they don't catch me this time--I've retired from that thar, an the Antelope lets the revenoo rest in peace." The boat drew nearer and nearer, and the officer at the stern looked scrutinizingly at the Antelope. There was an air of perplexity about his face, which was very visible to those on board, and the perplexity deepened and intensified as his eyes rested on the flag of the "B. O. W. C." "Leave him to me," said Captain Corbet. "Leave that thar young man to me. I enjy havin to do with a revenoo officer jest now; so don't go an put in your oars, but jest leave him to me." "All right, captain; we won't say a word," said Bruce. "We'll go on with our fishing quietly. Come, boys--look sharp, and down with your lines." The interest which they had felt in these new proceedings had caused the boys to pull up their hooks; but now, at Bruce's word, they put them in the water once more, and resumed their fishing, only casting sidelong glances at the approaching boat. In a few minutes the boat was alongside, and the officer leaped on board. He looked all around, at the fish lying about the deck, at the boys engaged in fishing, at Captain Corbet, at Solomon, at the mysterious flag aloft, and finally at the boys. These all took no notice of him, but appeared to be intent on their task. "What schooner is this?" he asked, abruptly. "The schooner Antelope, Corbet master," replied the captain. "Are you the master?" "I am." "Where do you belong?" "Grand Pre." "Grand Pre? "Yes." "Hm," he replied, with a stare around--"Grand Pre--ah---hm." "Yes, jest so." "What's that?" "I briefly remarked that it was jest so." "What's the reason you didn't lie to, when you were hailed?" "Lay to?" "Yes." "Couldn't do it." "What do you mean by that?" asked the officer, who was rather ireful, and somewhat insulting in his manner. "Wal bein as I was anchored here hard an fast, I don't exactly see how I could manage to go through that thar manoeuvre, unless you'd kindly lend me the loan of your steam ingine to do it on." "Look here, old man; you'd better look out." "Wal, I dew try to keep a good lookout. How much'll you take for the loan o' that spy-glass o' yourn?" "Let me see your papers." "Papers?" "Yes, your papers." "Hain't got none." "What's that?" "Hain't got none." "You--haven't--any--papers?" "Nary paper." The officer's brow grew dark. He looked around the vessel once more, and then looked frowningly at Captain Corbet, who encountered his glance with a serene smile. "Look here, old man," said he; "you can't come it over me. Your little game's up, old fellow. This schooner's seized." "Seized? What for?" "For violation of the law, by fishing within the limits." "Limits? What limits?" "No foreign vessel can come within three miles of the shore." "Foreign vessel? Do you mean to call me a foreigner?" "Of course I do. You're a Yankee fisherman." "Am I?" "Of course you are; and what do you mean by that confounded rag up there?" cried the officer, pointing to the flag of the "B. O. W. C." "If you think you can fish in this style, you'll find yourself mistaken. I know too much about this business." "Do you? Well, then, kind sir, allow me to mention that you've got somethin to larn yet--spite o' your steam injines an spy-glasses." "What's that?" cried the officer, furious. "I'll let you know. I arrest you, and this vessel is seized." "Wait a minute, young sir," cried Captain Corbet; "not QUITE so fast, EF you please. You'll get YOURSELF arrested. What do you mean by this here? Do you know who I am? I, sir, am a subject of Queen Victory. My home is here. I'm now on my own natyve shore. A foreigner, am I? Let me tell you, sir, that I was born, brung up, nourished, married, an settled in this here province, an I've got an infant born here, an I'm not a fisherman, an this ain't a fishin vessel. You arrest me ef you dar. You'll see who'll get the wust of it in the long run. I'd like precious well to get damages--yea, swingin damages--out of one of you revenoo fellers." The officer looked around again. It would not do to make a mistake. Captain Corbet's words were not without effect. "Yea!" cried Captain Corbet. "Yea, naval sir! I'm a free Nova Scotian as free as a bird. I cruise about my natyve coasts whar I please. Who's to hender? Seize me if you dar, an it'll be the dearest job you ever tried. This here is my own private pleasure yacht. These are my young friends, natyves, an amatoor fishermen. Cast your eye down into yonder hold, and see if this here's a fishin craft." The officer looked down, and saw a cooking stove, trunks, and bedding. He looked around in doubt. But this scene had lasted long enough. "O, nonsense!" said Bart, suddenly pulling up his line, and coming forward; "see here--it's all right," said he to the officer. "We're not fishermen. It's as he says. We're only out on a short cruise, you know, for pleasure, and that sort of thing." As Bart turned, the others did the same. Bruce lounged up, dragging his line, followed by Arthur and the others. "We're responsible for the schooner," said Bruce, quietly. "It's ours for the time being. We don't look like foreign fishermen--do we?" The officer looked at the boys, and saw his mistake at once. He was afraid that he had made himself ridiculous. The faces and manners of the boys, as they stood confronting him in an easy and self-possessed manner, showed most plainly the absurdity of his position. Even the mysterious flag became intelligible, when he looked at the faces of those over whom it floated. "I suppose it's all right," he muttered, in a vexed tone, and descended into the boat without another word. "Sorry to have troubled you, captain," said Corbet, looking blandly after the officer; "but it wan't my fault. I didn't have charge of that thar injine." The officer turned his back without a word, and the men pulled off to the steamer. The captain looked after the boat in silence for some time. "I'm sorry," said he, at length, as he heaved a gentle sigh,--"I'm sorry that you put in your oars--I do SO like to sass a revonoo officer." III. Solomon surpasses himself.--A Period of Joy is generally followed by a Time of Sorrow.--Gloomy Forebodings.--The Legend of Petticoat Jack.--Captain Corbet discourses of the Dangers of the Deep, and puts in Practice a new and original Mode of Navigation. This interruption put an end to their attempts at fishing, and was succeeded by another interruption of a more pleasing character, in the shape of dinner, which was now loudly announced by Solomon. For some time a savory steam had been issuing from the lower regions, and had been wafted to their nostrils in successive puffs, until at last their impatient appetite had been roused to the keenest point, and the enticing fragrance had suggested all sorts of dishes. When at length the summons came, and they went below, they found the dinner in every way worthy of the occasion. Solomon's skill never was manifested more conspicuously than on this occasion; and whether the repast was judged of by the quantity or the quality of the dishes, it equally deserved to be considered as one of the masterpieces of the distinguished artist who had prepared it. "Dar, chil'en," he exclaimed, as they took their places, "dar, cap'en, jes tas dem ar trout, to begin on, an see if you ever saw anythin to beat 'em in all your born days. Den try de stew, den de meat pie, den de calf's head; but dat ar pie down dar mustn't be touched, nor eben so much as looked at, till de las ob all." And with these words Solomon stepped back, leaning both hands on his hips, and surveyed the banquet and the company with a smile of serene and ineffable complacency. "All right, Solomon, my son," said Bart. "Your dinner is like yourself--unequalled and unapproachable." "Bless you, bless you, my friend," murmured Bruce, in the intervals of eating; "if there is any contrast between this present voyage and former ones, it is all due to our unequalled caterer." "How did you get the trout, Solomon?" said Phil. "De trout? O, I picked 'em up last night down in de village," said Solomon. "Met little boy from Gaspereaux, an got 'em from him." "What's this?" cried Tom, opening a dish--"not lobster!" "Lobster!" exclaimed Phil. "So it is." "Why, Solomon, where did you get lobster?" "Is this the season for them?" "Think of the words of the poet, boys," said Bart, warningly,-- "In the months without the R, Clams and lobsters pison are." Solomon meanwhile stood apart, grinning from ear to ear, with his little black beads of eyes twinkling with merriment. "Halo, Solomon! What do you say to lobsters in July?" Solomon's head wagged up and down, as though he were indulging in some quiet, unobtrusive laughter, and it was some time before he replied. "O, neber you fear, chil'en," he said; "ef you're only goin to get sick from lobsters, you'll live a long day. You may go in for clams, an lobsters, an oysters any time ob de yeah you like,--ony dey mus be cooked up proper." "I'm gratified to hear that," said Bruce, gravely, "but at the same time puzzled. For Mrs. Pratt says the exact opposite; and so here we have two great authorities in direct opposition. So what are we to think?" "O, there's no difficulty," said Arthur, "for the doctors are not of equal authority. Mrs. Pratt is a quack, but Solomon is a professional--a regular, natural, artistic, and scientific cook, which at sea is the same as doctor." The dinner was prolonged to an extent commensurate with its own inherent excellence and the capacity of the boys to appreciate it; but at length, like all things mortal, it came to a termination, and the company went up once more to the deck. On looking round it was evident to all that a change had taken place. Four miles away lay Ile Haute, and eight or ten miles beyond this lay the long line of Nova Scotia. It was now about four o'clock, and the tide had been rising for three hours, and was flowing up rapidly, and in a full, strong current. As yet there was no wind, and the broad surface of the bay was quite smooth and unruffled. In the distance and far down the bay, where its waters joined the horizon, there was a kind of haze, that rendered the line of separation between sea and sky very indistinct. The coast of Nova Scotia was at once enlarged and obscured. It seemed now elevated to an unusual height above the sea line, as though it had been suddenly brought several miles nearer, and yet, instead of being more distinct, was actually more obscure. Even Ile Haute, though so near, did not escape. Four miles of distance were not sufficient to give it that grand indistinctness which was now flung over the Nova Scotia coast; yet much of the mysterious effect of the haze had gathered about the island; its lofty cliffs seemed to tower on high more majestically, and to lean over more frowningly; its fringe of black sea-weed below seemed blacker, while the general hue of the island had changed from a reddish color to one of a dull slaty blue. "I don't like this," said Captain Corbet, looking down the bay and twisting up his face as he looked. "Why not?" Captain Corbet shook his head. "What's the matter?" "Bad, bad, bad!" said the captain. "Is there going to be a storm?" "Wuss!" "Worse? What?" "Fog." "Fog?" "Yes, hot an heavy, thick as puddin, an no mistake. I tell you what it is, boys: judgin from what I see, they've got a bran-new steam injine into that thar fog mill at Grand Manan; an the way they're goin to grind out the fog this here night is a caution to mariners." Saying this, he took off his hat, and holding it in one hand, he scratched his venerable head long and thoughtfully with the other. "But I don't see any fog as yet," said Bart. "Don't see it? Wal, what d'ye call all that?" said the captain, giving a grand comprehensive sweep with his arm, so as to take in the entire scene. "Why, it's clear enough." "Clear? Then let me tell you that when you see a atmosphere like this here, then you may expect to see it any moment changed into deep, thick fog. Any moment--five minutes 'll be enough to snatch everything from sight, and bury us all in the middle of a unyversal fog bank." "What'll we do?" "Dew? That's jest the question." "Can we go on?" "Wal--without wind--I don't exactly see how. In a fog a wind is not without its advantages. That's one of the times when the old Antelope likes to have her sails up; but as we hain't got no wind, I don't think we'll do much." "Will you stay here at anchor?" "At anchor? Course not. No, sir. Moment the tide falls again, I'll drift down so as to clear that pint there,--Cape Chignecto,--then anchor; then hold on till tide rises; and then drift up. Mebbe before that the wind 'll spring up, an give us a lift somehow up the bay." "How long before the tide will turn?" "Wal, it'll be high tide at about a quarter to eight this evenin, I calc'late." "You'll drift in the night, I suppose." "Why not?" "O, I didn't know but what the fog and the night together might be too much for you." "Too much? Not a bit of it. Fog, and night, and snow-storms, an tide dead agin me, an a lee shore, are circumstances that the Antelope has met over an over, an fit down. As to foggy nights, when it's as calm as this, why, they're not wuth considerin." Captain Corbet's prognostication as to the fog proved to be correct. It was only for a short time that they were allowed to stare at the magnified proportions of the Nova Scotia coast and Ile Haute. Then a change took place which attracted all their attention. The change was first perceptible down the bay. It was first made manifest by the rapid appearance of a thin gray cloud along the horizon, which seemed to take in both sea and sky, and absorbed into itself the outlines of both. At the same time, the coast of Nova Scotia grew more obscure, though it lost none of its magnified proportions, while the slaty blue of Ile Haute changed to a grayer shade. This change was rapid, and was followed by other changes. The thin gray cloud, along the south-west horizon, down the bay, gradually enlarged itself; till it grew to larger and loftier proportions. In a quarter of an hour it had risen to the dimensions of the Nova Scotia coast. In a half an hour it was towering to double that height. In an hour its lofty crest had ascended far up into the sky. "It's a comin," said Captain Corbet. "I knowed it. Grind away, you old fog mill! Pile on the steam, you Grand Mananers!" "Is there any wind down there?" "Not a hooter." "Is the fog coming up without any wind?" "Course it is. What does the fog want of wind?" "I thought it was the wind that brought it along." "Bless your heart, the fog takes care of itself. The wind isn't a bit necessary. It kine o' pervades the hull atmosphere, an rolls itself on an on till all creation is overspread. Why, I've seen everything changed from bright sunshine to the thickest kind of fog in fifteen minutes,--yea, more,--and in five minutes." Even while they were speaking the fog rolled on, the vast accumulation of mist rose higher and yet higher, and appeared to draw nearer with immense rapidity. It seemed as though the whole atmosphere was gradually becoming condensed, and precipitating its invisible watery vapor so as to make it visible in far-extending fog banks. It was not wind, therefore, that brought on the clouds, for the surface of the water was smooth and unruffled, but it was the character of the atmosphere itself from which this change was wrought. And still, as they looked at the approaching mist, the sky overhead was blue, and the sun shone bright. But the gathering clouds seemed now to have gained a greater headway, and came on more rapidly. In a few minutes the whole outline of the Nova Scotia coast faded from view, and in its place there appeared a lofty wall of dim gray cloud, which rose high in the air, fading away into the faintest outline. Overhead, the blue sky became rapidly more obscured; Ile Haute changed again from its grayish blue to a lighter shade, and then became blended with the impenetrable fog that was fast enclosing all things; and finally the clouds grew nearer, till the land nearest them was snatched from view, and all around was alike shrouded under the universal veil; nothing whatever was visible. For a hundred yards, or so, around them, they could see the surface of the water; but beyond this narrow circle, nothing more could be discerned. "It's a very pooty fog," said Captain Corbet, "an I only wonder that there ain't any wind. If it should come, it'll be all right." "You intend, then, to go on just the same." "Jest the same as ef the sky was clear. I will up anchor as the tide begins to fall, an git a good piece down, so as to dodge Cape Chegnecto, an there wait for the rising tide, an jest the same as ef the sun was shinin. But we can't start till eight o'clock this evenin. Anyhow, you needn't trouble yourselves a mite. You may all go to sleep, an dream that the silver moon is guidin the traveller on the briny deep." The scene now was too monotonous to attract attention, and the boys once more sought for some mode of passing the time. Nothing appeared so enticing as their former occupation of fishing, and to this they again turned their attention. In this employment the time passed away rapidly until the summons was given for tea. Around the festive board, which was again prepared by Solomon with his usual success, they lingered long, and at length, when they arose, the tide was high. It was now about eight o'clock in the evening, and Captain Corbet was all ready to start. As the tide was now beginning to turn, and was on the ebb, the anchor was raised, and the schooner, yielding to the pressure of the current, moved away from her anchorage ground. It was still thick, and darkness also was coming on. Not a thing could be discerned, and by looking at the water, which moved with the schooner, it did not seem as though any motion was made. "That's all your blindness," said the captain, as they mentioned it to him. "You can't see anything but the water, an as it is movin with us, it doesn't seem as though we were movin. But we air, notwithstandin, an pooty quick too. I'll take two hours' drift before stoppin, so as to make sure. I calc'late about that time to get to a place whar I can hit the current that'll take me, with the risin tide, up to old Petticoat Jack." "By the way, captain," said Phil, "what do you seafaring men believe about the origin of that name--Petitcodiac? Is it Indian or French?" "'Tain't neither," said Captain Corbet, decidedly. "It's good English; it's 'Petticoat Jack;' an I've hearn tell a hundred times about its original deryvation. You see, in the old French war, there was an English spy among the French, that dressed hisself up as a woman, an was familiarly known, among the British generals an others that emply'd him, as 'Petticoat Jack.' He did much to contriboot to the defeat of the French; an arter they were licked, the first settlers that went up thar called the place, in honor of their benefacture, 'Petticoat Jack;' an it's bore that name ever sence. An people that think it's French, or Injine, or Greek, or Hebrew, or any other outlandish tongue, don't know what they're talkin about. Now, I KNOW, an I assure you what I've ben a sayin's the gospel terewth, for I had it of an old seafarin man that's sailed this bay for more'n forty year, an if he ain't good authority, then I'd like to know who is--that's all." At this explanation of the etymology of the disputed term, the boys were silent, and exchanged glances of admiration. It was some minutes after eight when they left their anchorage, and began to drift once more. There was no moon, and the night would have been dark in any case, but now the fog rendered all things still more obscure. It had also grown much thicker than it had been. At first it was composed of light vapors, which surrounded them on all sides, it is true, but yet did not have that dampness which might have been expected. It was a light, dry fog, and for two or three hours the deck, and rigging, and the clothes of those on board remained quite dry. But now, as the darkness increased, the fog became denser, and was more surcharged with heavy vapors. Soon the deck looked as though it had received a shower of rain, and the clothes of those on board began to be penetrated with the chill damp. "It's very dark, captain," said Bruce, at last, as the boys stood near the stern. "Dradful dark," said the captain, thoughtfully. "Have you really a good idea of where we are?" "An idee? Why, if I had a chart,--which I haven't, cos I've got it all mapped out in my head,--but if I had one, I could take my finger an pint the exact spot where we are a driftin this blessed minute." "You're going straight down the bay, I suppose." "Right--yea, I am; I'm goin straight down; but I hope an trust, an what's more, I believe, I am taking a kine o' cant over nigher the New Brunswick shore." "How long will we drift?" "Wal, for about two hours--darsn't drift longer; an besides, don't want to." "Why not?" "Darsn't. Thar's a place down thar that every vessel on this here bay steers clear of, an every navigator feels dreadful shy of." "What place is that?" "Quaco Ledge," said Captain Corbet, in a solemn tone. "We'll get as near it as is safe this night, an p'aps a leetle nearer; but, then, the water's so calm and still, that it won't make any difference--in fact, it wouldn't matter a great deal if we came up close to it." "Quaco Ledge?" said Bruce. "I've heard of that." "Heard of it? I should rayther hope you had. Who hasn't? It's the one great, gen'ral, an standin terror of this dangerous and iron-bound bay. There's no jokin, no nonsense about Quaco Ledge; mind I tell you." "Where does it lie?" asked Phil, after a pause. "Wal, do you know whar Quaco settlement is?" "Yes." "Wal, Quaco Ledge is nigh about half way between Quaco settlement and Ile Haute, bein a'most in the middle of the bay, an in a terrible dangerous place for coasters, especially in a fog, or in a snow-storm. Many's the vessel that's gone an never heard of, that Quaco Ledge could tell all about, if it could speak. You take a good snowstorm in this Bay of Fundy, an let a schooner get lost in it, an not know whar she is, an if Quaco Ledge don't bring her up all standin, then I'm a Injine." "Is it a large place?" "Considerably too large for comfort," said the captain. "They've sounded it, an found the whole shoal about three an a half mile long, an a half a mile broad. It's all kivered over with water at high tide, but at half tide it begins to show its nose, an at low tide you see as pooty a shoal for shipwrecking as you may want; rayther low with pleasant jagged rocks at the nothe-east side, an about a hundred yards or so in extent. I've been nigh on to it in clear weather, but don't want to be within five miles of it in a fog or in a storm. In a thick night like this, I'll pull up before I get close." "You've never met with any accident there, I suppose." "Me? No, not me. I always calc'late to give Quaco Ledge the widest kine o' berth. An I hope you'll never know anythin more about that same place than what I'm tellin you now. The knowlege which one has about that place, an places ginrally of that kine, comes better by hearsay than from actool observation." Time passed on, and they still drifted, and at length ten o'clock came; but before that time the boys had gone below, and retired for the night. Shortly after, the rattle of the chains waked them all, and informed them that the Antelope had anchored once more. After this they all fell asleep. IV. In Clouds and Darkness.--A terrible Warning.--Nearly run down.--A lively Place.--Bart encounters an old Acquaintance.--Launched into the Deep.--Through the Country.--The Swift Tide.--The lost Boy. The boys had not been asleep for more than two hours, when they were awakened by an uproar on deck, and rousing themselves from sleep, they heard the rattle of the chains and the crank of the windlass. As their night attire was singularly simple, and consisted largely of the dress which they wore by day, being the same, in fact, with the exception of the hat, it was not long before they were up on deck, and making inquiries as to the unusual noise. That the anchor was being hoisted they already knew, but why it was they did not. "Wal," said Captain Corbet, "thar's a good sou-wester started up, an as I had a few winks o' sleep, I jest thought I'd try to push on up the bay, an get as far as I could. If I'd ben in any other place than this, I wouldn't hev minded, but I'd hev taken my snooze out; but I'm too near Quaco Ledge by a good sight, an would rayther get further off. The sou-wester'll take us up a considerable distance, an if it holds on till arter the tide turns, I ask no more." Soon the anchor was up, and the Antelope spread her sails, and catching the sou-wester, dashed through the water like a thing of life. "We're going along at a great rate, captain," said Bart. "Beggin your pardon, young sir, we're not doin much. The tide here runs four knots agin us--dead, an the wind can't take us more'n six, which leaves a balance to our favor of two knots an hour, an that is our present rate of progression. You see, at that rate we won't gain more'n four or five miles before the turn o' tide. After that, we'll go faster without any wind than we do now with a wind. O, there's nothin like navigatin the Bay o' Fundy to make a man feel contempt for the wind. Give me tides an anchors, I say, an I'll push along." The wind was blowing fresh, and the sea was rising, yet the fog seemed thicker than ever. The boys thought that the wind might blow the fog away, and hinted this to the captain. His only response was a long and emphatic whistle. "Whe-e-e-ew! what! Blow the fog away? This wind? Why, this wind brings the fog. The sou-wester is the one wind that seafarin men dread in the Bay of Fundy. About the wust kine of a storm is that thar very identical wind blowin in these here very identical waters." Captain Corbet's words were confirmed by the appearance of sea and sky. Outside was the very blackness of darkness. Nothing whatever was visible. Sea and sky were alike hidden from view. The waves were rising, and though they were not yet of any size, still they made noise enough to suggest the idea of a considerable storm, and the wind, as it whistled through the rigging, carried in its sound a menace which would have been altogether wanting in a bright night. The boys all felt convinced that a storm was rising, and looked forward to a dismal experience of the pangs of seasickness. To fight this off now became their chief aim, and with this intention they all hurried below once more to their beds. But the water was not rough, the motion of the schooner was gentle, and though there was much noise above, yet they did not notice any approach of the dreaded sea-sickness, and so in a short time they all fell asleep once more. But they were destined to have further interruptions. The interruption came this time in a loud cry from Solomon, which waked them all at once. "Get up, chil'en! get up! It's all over!" "What, what!" cried the boys; "what's the matter?" and springing up in the first moment of alarm, they stood listening. As they stood, there came to their ears the roaring of the wind through the rigging, the flapping of the sails, the dashing and roaring of the waters, in the midst of which there came also a shrill, penetrating sound, which seemed almost overhead--the sound of some steam whistle. "Dar, dar!" cried Solomon, in a tone of deadly fear. "It's a comin! I knowed it. We're all lost an gone. It's a steamer. We're all run down an drownded." Without a word of response, the boys once more clambered on deck. All was as dark as before, the fog as thick, the scene around as impenetrable, the wind as strong. From a distance there came over the water, as they listened, the rapid beat of a steamboat's paddles, and soon there arose again the long, shrill yell of the steam whistle. They looked all around, but saw no sign of any steamer; nor could they tell exactly in which direction the sound arose. One thought it came from one side, another thought it came from the opposite quarter, while the others differed from these. As for Captain Corbet, he said nothing, while the boys were expressing their opinions loudly and confidently. At last Bart appealed to Captain Corbet. "Where is the steamer?" "Down thar," said the captain, waving his hand over the stern. "What steamer is it? the revenue steamer?" "Not her. That revenoo steamer is up to Windsor by this time. No; this is the St. John steamer coming up the bay, an I ony wish she'd take us an give us a tow up." "She seems to be close by." "She is close by." "Isn't there some danger that we'll be run down?" As those words were spoken, another yell, louder, shriller, and nearer than before, burst upon their ears. It seemed to be close astern. The beat of the paddles was also near them. "Pooty close!" said the captain. "Isn't there some danger that we'll be run down?" To this question, thus anxiously repeated, the captain answered slowly,-- "Wal, thar may be, an then again thar mayn't. Ef a man tries to dodge every possible danger in life, he'll have a precious hard time of it. Why, men air killed in walkin the streets, or knocked over by sun-strokes, as well as run down at sea. So what air we to do? Do? Why, I jest do what I've allus ben a doin; I jest keep right straight on my own course, and mind my own biz. Ten chances to one they'll never come nigh us. I've heard steamers howlin round me like all possessed, but I've never ben run down yet, an I ain't goin to be at my time o' life. I don't blieve you'll see a sign o' that thar steamer. You'll only hear her yellin--that's all." As he spoke another yell sounded. "She's a passin us, over thar," said the captain, waving his hand over the side. "Her whistle'll contenoo fainter till it stops. So you better go below and take your sleep out." The boys waited a little longer, and hearing the next whistle sounding fainter, as Captain Corbet said, they followed his advice, and were soon asleep, as before. This time there was no further interruption, and they did not wake till about eight in the morning, when they were summoned to breakfast by Solomon. On reaching the deck and looking around, a cry of joy went forth from all. The fog was no longer to be seen, no longer did there extend around them the wall of gloomy gray, shutting out all things with its misty folds. No longer was the broad bay visible. They found themselves now in a wide river, whose muddy waters bore them slowly along. On one side was a shore, close by them, well wooded in some places, and in others well cultivated, while on the other side was another shore, equally fertile, extending far along. "Here we air," cried Captain Corbet. "That wind served us well. We've had a fust-rate run. I calc'lated we'd be three or four days, but instead of that we've walked over in twenty-four hours. Good agin!" "Will we be able to land at Moncton soon?" "Wal, no; not till the next tide." "Why not?" "Wal, this tide won't last long enough to carry us up thar, an so we'll have to wait here. This is the best place thar is." "What place is this?" "Hillsborough." "Hillsborough?" "Yes. Do you see that thar pint?" and Captain Corbet waved his arm towards a high, well-wooded promontory that jutted out into the river. "Yes." "Wal, I'm goin in behind that, and I'll wait thar till the tide turns. We'll get up to Moncton some time before evenin." In a few minutes the Antelope was heading towards the promontory; and soon she passed it, and advanced towards the shore. On passing the promontory a sight appeared which at once attracted the whole attention of the boys. Immediately in front of them, in the sheltered place which was formed by the promontory, was a little settlement, and on the bank of the river was a ship-yard. Here there arose the stately outline of a large ship. Her lower masts were in, she was decorated with flags and streamers, and a large crowd was assembled in the yard around her. "There's going to be a launch!" cried Bart, to whom a scene like this was familiar. "A launch!" cried Bruce. "Hurrah! We'll be able to see it. I've never seen one in my life. Now's the time." "Can't we get ashore?" said Arthur. "Of course," said Phil; "and perhaps they'll let us go on board and be launched in her." The very mention of such a thing increased the general excitement. Captain Corbet was at once appealed to. "O, thar's lots of time," said he. "Tain't quite high tide yet. You'll have time to get ashore before she moves. Hullo, Wade! Whar's that oar?" The boys were all full of the wildest excitement, in the midst of which Solomon appeared with the announcement that breakfast was waiting. To which Bart replied,-- "O, bother breakfast!" "I don't want any," said Bruce. "I have no appetite," said Arthur. "Nor I," said Pat. "I want to be on board that ship," said Phil. "We can easily eat breakfast afterwards," said Tom. At this manifest neglect of his cooking, poor Solomon looked quite heart-broken; but Captain Corbet told him that he might bring the things ashore, and this in some measure assuaged his grief. It did not take long to get ready. The oar was flung on board the boat, which had thus far been floating behind the schooner; and though the boat had a little too much water on board to be comfortable, yet no complaints were made, and in a few minutes they were landed. "How much time have we yet?" asked Bart, "before high tide?" "O, you've got fifteen or twenty minutes," said Captain Corbet. "Hurrah, boys! Come along," said Bart; and leading the way, he went straight to the office. As he approached it he uttered suddenly a cry of joy. "What's the matter, Bart?" Bart said nothing, but hurried forward, and the astonished boys saw him shaking hands very vigorously with a gentleman who seemed like the chief man on the place. He was an old acquaintance, evidently. In a few minutes all was explained. As the boys came up, Bart introduced them as his friends, and they were all warmly greeted; after which the gentleman said,-- "Why, what a crowd of you there is! Follow me, now. There's plenty of room for you, I imagine, in a ship of fifteen hundred tons; and you've just come in time." With these words he hurried off, followed by all the boys. He led the way up an inclined plane which ran up to the bows of the ship, and on reaching this place they went along a staging, and finally, coming to a ladder, they clambered up, and found themselves on the deck of the ship. "I must leave you now, Bart, my boy," said the gentleman; "you go to the quarter-deck and take care of yourselves. I must go down again." "Who in the world is he, Bart?" asked the boys, as they all stood on the quarter-deck. "Was there ever such luck!" cried Bart, joyously. "This is the ship Sylph, and that is Mr. Watson, and he has built this ship for my father. Isn't it odd that we should come to this place at this particular time?" "Why, it's as good as a play." "Of course it is. I've known Mr. Watson all my life, and he's one of the best men I ever met with. He was as glad to see me as I was to see him." But now the boys stopped talking, for the scene around them began to grow exciting. In front of them was the settlement, and in the yard below was a crowd who had assembled to see the launch. Behind them was the broad expanse of the Petitcodiac River, beyond which lay the opposite shore, which went back till it terminated in wooded hills. Overhead arose the masts, adorned with a hundred flags and streamers. The deck showed a steep slope from bow to stern. But the scene around was nothing, compared with the excitement of suspense, and expectation. In a few minutes the hammers were to sound. In a few minutes the mighty fabric on which they were standing would move, and take its plunge into the water. The suspense made them hold their breath, and wait in perfect silence. Around them were a few men, who were talking in a commonplace way. They were accustomed to launches, and an incident like this was as nothing in their lives, though to the boys it was sufficient to make their hearts throb violently, and deprive them of the power of speech. A few minutes passed. "We ought to start soon," said Bart, in a whisper; for there was something in the scene which made them feel grave and solemn. The other boys nodded in silence. A few minutes more passed. Then there arose a cry. And then suddenly there came to their excited ears the rattle of a hundred hammers. Stroke after stroke, in quick succession, was dealt upon the wedges, which thus raised the vast structure from her resting-place. For a moment she stood motionless, and then-- Then with a slow motion, at first scarce perceptible, but which every instant grew quicker, she moved down her ways, and plunged like lightning into the water. The stern sank deep, then rose, and then the ship darted through the water across the river. Then suddenly the anchor was let go, and with the loud, sharp rattle of chains, rushed to the bed of the river. With a slight jerk the ship stopped. The launch was over. A boat now came from the shore, bringing the builder, Mr. Watson; and at the same time a steamer appeared, rounding a point up the river, and approaching them. "Do you want to go to St. John, Bart?" "Not just yet, sir," said Bart. "Because if you do you can go down in the ship. The steamer is going to take her in tow at once. But if you don't want to go, you may go ashore in the boat. I'm sorry I can't stay here to show you the country, my boy; but I have to go down in the ship, and at once, for we can't lie here in the river, unless we want to be left high and dry at low tide. So good by. Go to the house. Mrs. Watson'll make you comfortable as long as you like; and if you want to take a drive you may consider my horses your own." With these words he shook hands with all the boys for good by, and after seeing them safely on board the boat, he waited for the steamer which was to tow the Sylph down the bay. The boys then were rowed ashore. By the time they landed, the steamer had reached the ship, a stout cable was passed on board and secured, her anchor was weighed, and then, borne on by steam, and by the tide, too, which had already turned, the Sylph, in tow of the steamer, passed down the river, and was soon out of sight. Bart then went to see Mrs. Watson, with all the boys. That lady, like her husband, was an old acquaintance, and in the true spirit of hospitality insisted on every one of them taking up their abode with her for an indefinite period. Finding that they could not do this, she prepared for them a bounteous breakfast, and then persuaded them to go off for a drive through the country. This invitation they eagerly accepted. Before starting, they encountered Captain Corbet. "Don't hurry back, boys," said he, "unless you very pertik'l'ry wish to go up to Moncton by the arternoon tide. Don't mind me. I got several things to occoopy me here." "What time could we start up river?" "Not before four." "O, we'll be back by that time." "Wal. Ony don't hurry back unless you like. I got to buy some ship-bread, an I got to fix some things about the boat. It'll take some time; so jest do as you like." Being thus left to their own devices, and feeling quite unlimited with regard to time, the boys started off in two wagons, and took a long drive through the country. The time passed quickly, and they enjoyed themselves so much that they did not get back until dusk. "It's too late now, boys, to go up," said the captain, as he met them on their return. "We've got to wait till next tide. It's nearly high tide now." "All right, captain; it'll do just as well to go up river to-night." "Amen," said the captain. But now Mrs. Watson insisted on their staying to tea, and so it happened that it was after nine o'clock before they were ready to go on board the Antelope. Going down to the shore, they found the boat ready, with some articles which Captain Corbet had procured. "I've been fixing the gunwales," said he; "an here's a box of pilot-bread. We were gettin out of provisions, an I've got in a supply, an I've bought a bit of an old sail that'll do for a jib. I'm afeard thar won't be room for all of us. Some of you better stay ashore, an I'll come back." "I'll wait," said Bart, taking his seat on a stick of timber. "An I'll wait, too," said Bruce. The other boys objected in a friendly way, but Bart and Bruce insisted on waiting, and so the boat at length started, leaving them behind. In a short time it reached the schooner. Captain Corbet secured the boat's painter to the stem, and threw the oar on board. "Now, boys, one of you stay in the boat, an pass up them things to me--will you?" "All right," said Tom. "I'll pass them up." On this Captain Corbet got on board the schooner, followed by Arthur, and Phil, and Pat. Tom waited in the boat. "Now," said Captain Corbet, "lift up that thar box of pilot-bread fust. 'Tain't heavy. We'll get these things out afore we go ashore for the others." "All right," said Tom. He stooped, and took the box of biscuit in his arms. At that time the tide was running down very fast, and the boat, caught by the tide, was forced out from the schooner with such a pressure that the rope was stiffened out straight. Tom made one step forward. The next instant he fell down in the bottom of the boat, and those on board of the schooner who were looking at him saw, to their horror, that the boat was sweeping away with the tide, far down the river. V. A Cry of Horror.--What shall we do?--Hard and fast.--Bart and Bruce.--Gloomy Intelligence.--The Promontory.--The Bore of the Petitcodiac.--A Night of Misery.--A mournful Waking.--Taking Counsel. A cry of horror escaped those on board, and for some time they stood silent in utter dismay. "The rope wasn't tied," groaned Arthur. "Yes, it was," said Captain Corbet; "it bruk; catch me not tyin it. It bruk; see here!" and he held up in the dim light the end of the rope which still was fastened to the schooner. "I didn't know it was rotten," he moaned; "'tain't over ten year old, that bit o' rope, an I've had it an used it a thousand times without its ever thinkin o' breakin." "What can we do?" cried Arthur. "We must do something to save him." Captain Corbet shook his head. "We've got no boat," said he. "Boat! Who wants a boat?" "What can we do without a boat?" "Why, up anchor, and go after him with the schooner." "The schooner's hard and fast," said Captain Corbet, mournfully. "Hard and fast?" "Yes; don't you notice how she leans? It's only a little, but that's a sign that her keel's in the mud." "I don't believe it! I won't believe it!" cried Arthur. "Come, boys, up with the anchor." As the boys rushed to the windlass, Captain Corbet went there, too, followed by the mate, and they worked at it for some time, until at last the anchor rose to the surface. But the Antelope did not move. On the contrary, a still greater list to one side, which was now unmistakable, showed that the captain was right, and that she was actually, as he said, hard and fast. This fact had to be recognized, but Arthur would not be satisfied until he had actually seen the anchor, and then he knew that the vessel was really aground. "Do you mean to say," he cried at last, "that there is nothing to be done?" "I don't see," said Captain Corbet, "what thar is to be done till the schewner muves." "When will that be?" "Not till to-morrow mornin." "How early?" "Not before eight o'clock." "Eight o'clock!" cried Arthur, in horror. "Yes, eight o'clock. You see we had to come in pooty nigh to the shore, an it'll be eight o'clock before we're floated." "And what'll become of poor Tom?" groaned Arthur. "Wal," said the captain, "don't look on the wust. He may get ashore." "He has no oar. The oar was thrown aboard of the schooner." "Still he may be carried ashore." "Is there any chance?" "Wal, not much, to tell the truth. Thar's no use of buo-oyin of ourselves up with false hopes; not a mite. Thar's a better chance of his bein picked up. That thar's likely now, an not unnatooral. Let's all don't give up. If thar's no fog outside, I'd say his chances air good." "But it may be foggy." "Then, in that case, he'll have to drift a while--sure." "Then there's no hope." "Hope? Who's a sayin thar's no hope? Why, look here; he's got provisions on board, an needn't starve; so if he does float for a day or two, whar's the harm? He's sure to be picked up eventooally." At this moment their conversation was interrupted by a loud call from the promontory. It was the voice of Bruce. While these events had been taking place on board the schooner, Bruce and Bart had been ashore. At first they had waited patiently for the return of the boat, but finally they wondered at her delay. They had called, but the schooner was too far off to hear them. Then they waited for what seemed to them an unreasonably long time, wondering what kept the boat, until at length Bruce determined to try and get nearer. Burt was to stay behind in case the boat should come ashore in his absence. With this in view he had walked down the promontory until he had reached the extreme point, and there he found himself within easy hail of the Antelope. "Schooner ahoy!" he cried. "A-ho-o-o-o-y!" cried Captain Corbet. "Why don't you come and take us off?" he cried. After this there was silence for some time. At last Captain Corbet shouted out,-- "The boat's lost." "What!" "The boat's adrift." Captain Corbet said nothing about Tom, from a desire to spare him for the present. So Bruce thought that the empty boat had drifted off, and as he had been prepared to hear of some accident, he was not much surprised. But he was not to remain long in ignorance. In a few moments he heard Arthur's voice. "Bruce!" "Hallo!" "The boat's gone." "All right." "TOM'S ADRIFT IN HER!" "What!" shouted Bruce. "TOM'S ADRIFT IN HER." At this appalling intelligence Bruce's heart seemed to stop beating. "How long?" he dried, after a pause. "Half an hour," cried Arthur. "Why don't you go after him?" cried Bruce again. "We're aground," cried Arthur. The whole situation was now explained, and Bruce was filled with his own share of that dismay which prevailed on board of the schooner; for a long time nothing more was said. At length Arthur's voice sounded again. "Bruce!" "Hallo!" "Get a boat, and come aboard as soon as you can after the tide turns." "All right. How early will the tide suit?" "Eight o'clock." "Not before?" "No." After this nothing more was said. Bruce could see for himself that the tide was falling, and that he would have to wait for the returning tide before a boat could be launched. He waited for some time, full of despair, and hesitating to return to Bart with his mournful intelligence. At length he turned, and walked slowly back to his friend. "Well, Bruce?" asked Bart, who by this time was sure that some accident had happened. "The boat's adrift." "The boat!" "Yes; and what's worse, poor Tom!" "Tom!" cried Bart, in a horror of apprehension. "Yes, Tom's adrift in her." At this Bart said not a word, but stood for some time staring at Bruce in utter dismay. A few words served to explain to Bart the situation of the schooner, and the need of getting a boat. "Well," said Bart, "we'd better see about it at once. It's eleven o'clock, but we'll find some people up; if not, we'll knock them up." And with these words the two lads walked up from the river bank. On reaching the houses attached to the shipyard, they found that most of the people were up. There was a good deal of singing and laughter going on, which the boys interpreted to arise from a desire to celebrate the launching of the ship. They went first to Mrs. Watson's house, where they found that good lady up. She listened to their story with undisguised uneasiness, and afterwards called in a number of men, to whom she told the sad news. These men listened to it with very serious faces. "It's no joke," said one, shaking his head. The others said nothing, but their faces spoke volumes. "What had we better do?" asked Bruce. "Of course ye'll be off as soon as ye can get off," said one. "The lad might have a chance," said another. "The return tide may drift him back, but he may be carried too far down for that." "He'll be carried below Cape Chignecto unless he gets to the land," said another. "Isn't there a chance that he'll be picked up?" asked Bart. The man to whom he spoke shook his head. "There's a deal of fog in the bay this night," said he. "Fog? Why, it's clear enough here." "So it is; but this place and the Bay of Fundy are two different things." "A regular sou-wester out there," said another man. "An a pooty heavy sea by this time," said another. And in this way they all contributed to increase the anxiety of the two boys, until at last scarce a ray of hope was left. "You'd better prepare yourselves for the worst," said one of the men. "If he had an oar he would be all right; but, as it is--well, I don't care about sayin what I think." "O, you're all too despondent," said Mrs. Watson. "What is the use of looking on the dark side? Come, Bart, cheer up. I'll look on the bright side. Hope for the best. Set out on the search with hope, and a good heart. I'm confident that he will be safe. You will pick him up yourselves, or else you will hear of his escape somewhere. I remember two men, a few years ago, that went adrift and were saved." "Ay," said one of the men, "I mind that well. They were Tom Furlong and Jim Spencer. But that there boat was a good-sized fishing boat; an such a boat as that might ride out a gale." "Nonsense," said Mrs. Watson. "You're all a set of confirmed croakers. Why, Bart, you've read enough shipwreck books to know that little boats have floated in safety for hundreds of miles. So hope for the best; don't be down-hearted. I'll send two or three men down now to get the boat ready for you. You can't do anything till the morning, you know. Won't you stay here? You had better go to bed at once." But Bart and Bruce could not think of bed. "Well, come back any time, and a bed will be ready for you," said Mrs. Watson. "If you want to see about the boat now, the men are ready to go with you." With those words she led the way out to the kitchen, where a couple of men were waiting. Bart and Bruce followed them down to a boat-house on the river bank, and saw the boat there which Mrs. Watson had offered them. This boat could be launched at any time, and as there was nothing more to be done, the boys strolled disconsolately about, and finally went to the end of the promontory, and spent a long time looking out over the water, and conversing sadly about poor Tom's chances. There they sat late in the night, until midnight came, and so on into the morning. At last the scene before them changed from a sheet of water to a broad expanse of mud. The water had all retired, leaving the bed of the river exposed. Of all the rivers that flow into the Bay of Fundy none is more remarkable than the Petitcodiac. At high tide it is full--a mighty stream; at low tide it is empty--a channel of mud forty miles long; and the intervening periods are marked by the furious flow of ascending or descending waters. And now, as the boys sat there looking out upon the expanse of mud before them, they became aware of a dull, low, booming sound, that came up from a far distant point, and seemed like the voice of many waters sounding from the storm-vexed bay outside. There was no moon, but the light was sufficient to enable them to see the exposed riverbed, far over to the shadowy outline of the opposite shore. Here, where in the morning a mighty ship had floated, nothing could now float; but the noise that broke upon their ears told them of the return of the waters that now were about to pour onward with resistless might into the empty channel, and send successive waves far along into the heart of the land. "What is that noise?" asked Bruce. "It grows louder and louder." "That," said bart, "is the Bore of the Petitcodiac." "Have you ever seen it?" "Never. I've heard of it often, but have never seen it." But their words were interrupted now by the deepening thunder of the approaching waters. Towards the quarter whence the sound arose they turned their heads involuntarily. At first they could see nothing through the gloom of night; but at length, as they strained their eyes looking down the river, they saw in the distance a faint, white, phosphorescent gleam, and as it appeared the roar grew louder, and rounder, and more all-pervading. On it came, carrying with it the hoarse cadence of some vast surf flung ashore from the workings of a distant storm, or the thunder of some mighty cataract tumbling over a rocky precipice. And now, as they looked, the white, phosphorescent glow grew brighter, and then whiter, like snow; every minute it approached nearer, until at last, full before them and beneath them, there rolled a giant wave, extending across the bed of the river, crescent-shaped, with its convex side advancing forwards, and its ends following after within short distance from the shore. The great wave rolled on, one mass of snow-white foam, behind which gleamed a broad line of phosphorescent lustre from the agitated waters, which, in the gloom of night, had a certain baleful radiance. As it passed on its path, the roar came up more majestically from the foremost wave; and behind that came the roar of other billows that followed in its wake. By daylight the scene would have been grand and impressive; but now, amid the gloom, the grandeur became indescribable. The force of those mighty waters seemed indeed resistless, and it was with a feeling of relief that the boys reflected that the schooner was out of the reach of its sweep. Its passage was swift, and soon it had passed beyond them; and afar up the river, long after it had passed from sight, they heard the distant thunder of its mighty march. By the time the wave had passed, the boys found themselves excessively weary with their long wakefulness. "Bart, my boy," said Bruce, "we must get some rest, or we won't be worth anything to-morrow. What do you say? Shall we go back to Mrs. Watson's?" "It's too late--isn't it?" "Well, it's pretty late, no doubt. I dare say it's half past two; but that's all the more reason why we should go to bed." "Well." "What do you say? Do you think we had better disturb Mrs. Watson, or not?" "O, no; let's go into the barn, and lie down in the hay." "Very well. Hay makes a capital bed. For my part, I could sleep on stones." "So could I." "I'm determined to hope for the best about Tom," said Bruce, rising and walking off, followed by Bart. "Mrs. Watson was right. There's no use letting ourselves be downcast by a lot of croakers--is there?" "No," said Bart. The boys then walked on, and in a few minutes reached the ship-yard. Here a man came up to them. "We've been looking for you everywhere," said the man. "Mrs. Watson is anxious about you." "Mrs. Watson?" "Yes. She won't go to bed till you get back to the house. There's another man out for you, up the river." "O, I'm sorry we have given you all so much trouble," said Bart; "but we didn't think that anybody would bother themselves about us." "Well, you don't know Mrs. Watson that's all," said the man, walking along with them. "She's been a worrytin herself to death about you; and the sooner she sees you, the better for her and for you." On reaching the house the boys were received by Mrs. Watson. One look at her was enough to show them that the man's account of her was true. Her face was pale, her manner was agitated, and her voice trembled as she spoke to them, and asked them where they had been. Bart expressed sorrow at having been the cause of so much trouble, and assured her he thought that she had gone to bed. "No," said she; "I've been too excited and agitated about your friend and about you. But I'm glad that you've been found; and as it's too late to talk now, you had better go to bed, and try to sleep." With these words she gently urged them to their bedroom; and the boys, utterly worn out, did not attempt to withstand her. They went to bed, and scarcely had their heads touched the pillows before they were fast asleep. Meanwhile the boys on board the Antelope had been no less anxious; and, unable to sleep, they had talked solemnly with each other over the possible fate of poor Tom. Chafing from their forced inaction, they looked impatiently upon the ebbing water, which was leaving them aground, when they were longing to be floating on its bosom after their friend, and could scarcely endure the thought of the suspense to which they would be condemned while waiting for the following morning. Captain Corbet also was no less anxious, though much less agitated. He acknowledged, with pain, that it was all his fault, but, appealed to all the boys, one by one, asking them how he should know that the rope was rotten. He informed them that the rope was an old favorite of his, and that he would have willingly risked his life on it. He blamed himself chiefly, however, for not staying in the boat himself, instead of leaving Tom in it. To all his remarks the boys said but little, and contented themselves with putting questions to him about the coast, the tides, the wind, the currents, and the fog. The boys on board went to sleep about one o'clock, and waked at sunrise. Then they watched the shore wistfully, and wondered why Bart and Bruce did not make their appearance. But Bart and Bruce, worn out by their long watch, did not wake till nearly eight o'clock. Then they hastily dressed themselves, and after a very hurried breakfast they bade good by to good Mrs. Watson. "I shall be dreadfully anxious about that poor boy," said she, sadly. "Promise me to telegraph as soon as you can about the result." Bart promised. Then they hurried down to the beach. The tide was yet a considerable distance out; but a half dozen stout fellows, whose sympathies were fully enlisted in their favor, shoved the boat down over the mud, and launched her. Then Bart and Bruce took the oars, and soon reached the schooner, where the boys awaited their arrival in mournful silence. VI. Tom adrift.--The receding Shores.--The Paddle.--The Roar of Surf--The Fog Horn.--The Thunder of the unseen Breakers.--A Horror of great Darkness.--Adrift in Fog and Night. When the boat in which Tom was darted down the stream, he at first felt paralyzed by utter terror; but at length rousing himself, he looked around. As the boat drifted on, his first impulse was to stop it; and in order to do this it was necessary to find an oar. The oar which Captain Corbet had used to scull the boat to the schooner had been thrown on board of the latter, so that the contents of the boat might be passed up the more conveniently. Tom knew this, but he thought that there might be another oar on board. A brief examination sufficed to show him that there was nothing of the kind. A few loose articles lay at the bottom; over these was the sail which Captain Corbet had bought in the ship-yard, and on this was the box of pilot-bread. That was all. There was not a sign of an oar, or a board, or anything of the kind. No sooner had he found out this than he tried to tear off one of the seats of the boat, in the hope of using this as a paddle. But the seats were too firmly fixed to be loosened by his hands, and, after a few frantic but ineffectual efforts, he gave up the attempt. But he could not so quickly give up his efforts to save himself. There was the box of biscuit yet. Taking his knife from his pocket, he succeeded in detaching the cover of the box, and then, using this as a paddle, he sought with frantic efforts to force the boat nearer to the shore. But the tide was running very swiftly, and the cover was only a small bit of board, so that his efforts seemed to have but little result. He did indeed succeed in turning the boat's head around; but this act, which was not accomplished without the severest labor, did not seem to bring her nearer to the shore to any perceptible extent. What he sought to do was to achieve some definite motion to the boat, which might drag her out of the grasp of the swift current; but that was the very thing which he could not do, for so strong was that grasp, and so swift was that current, that even an oar would have scarcely accomplished what he wished. The bit of board, small, and thin, and frail, and wielded with great difficulty and at a fearful disadvantage, was almost useless. But, though he saw that he was accomplishing little or nothing, he could not bring himself to give up this work. It seemed his only hope; and so he labored on, sometimes working with both hands at the board, sometimes plying his frail paddle with one hand, and using the other hand at a vain endeavor to paddle in the water. In his desperation he kept on, and thought that if he gained ever so little, still, by keeping hard at work, the little that he gained might finally tell upon the direction of the boat--at any rate, so long as it might be in the river. He knew that the river ran for some miles yet, and that some time still remained before he would reach the bay. Thus Tom toiled on, half despairing, and nearly fainting with his frenzied exertion, yet still refusing to give up, but plying his frail paddle until his nerveless arms seemed like weights of lead, and could scarce carry the board through the water. But the result, which at the outset, and in the very freshness of his strength, had been but trifling, grew less and less against the advance of his own weakness and the force of that tremendous tide, until at last his feeble exertions ceased to have any appreciable effect whatever. There was no moon, but it was light enough for him to see the shores--to see that he was in the very centre of that rapid current, and to perceive that he was being borne past those dim shores with fearful velocity. The sight filled him with despair, but his arms gained a fresh energy, from time to time, out of the very desperation of his soul. He was one of those natures which are too obstinate to give up even in the presence of despair itself; and which, even when hope is dead, still forces hope to linger, and struggles on while a particle of life or of strength remains. So, as he toiled on, and fought on, against this fate which had suddenly fixed itself upon him, he saw the shores on either side recede, and knew that every passing moment was bearing him on to a wide, a cruel, and a perilous sea. He took one hasty glance behind him, and saw what he knew to be the mouth of the river close at hand; and beyond this a waste of waters was hidden in the gloom of night. The sight lent new energy to his fainting limbs. He called aloud for help. Shriek after shriek burst from him, and rang wildly, piercingly, thrillingly upon the air of night. But those despairing shrieks came to no human ear, and met with no response. They died away upon the wind and the waters; and the fierce tide, with swifter flow, bore him onward. The last headland swept past him; the river and the river bank were now lost to him. Around him the expanse of water grew darker, and broader, and more terrible. Above him the stars glimmered more faintly from the sky. But the very habit of exertion still remained, and his faint plunges still dipped the little board into the water; and a vague idea of saving himself was still uppermost in his mind. Deep down in that stout heart of his was a desperate resolution never to give up while strength lasted; and well he sustained that determination. Over him the mist came floating, borne along by the wind which sighed around him; and that mist gradually overspread the scene upon which his straining eyes were fastened. It shut out the overhanging sky. It extinguished the glimmering stars. It threw a veil over the receding shores. It drew its folds around him closer and closer, until at last everything was hidden from view. Closer and still closer came the mist, and thicker and ever thicker grew its dense folds, until at last even the water, into which he still thrust his frail paddle, was invisible. At length his strength failed utterly. His hands refused any longer to perform their duty. The strong, indomitable will remained, but the power of performing the dictates of that will was gone. He fell back upon the sail that lay in the bottom of the boat, and the board fell from his hands. And now there gathered around the prostrate figure of the lost boy all the terrors of thickest darkness. The fog came, together with the night, shrouding all things from view, and he was floating over a wide sea, with an impenetrable wall of thickest darkness closing him in on all sides. As he thus lay there helpless, he had leisure to reflect for the first time upon the full bitterness of his situation. Adrift in the fog, and in the night, and borne onward swiftly down into the Bay of Fundy--that was his position. And what could he do? That was the one question which he could not answer. Giving way now to the rush of despair, he lay for some time motionless, feeling the rocking of the waves, and the breath of the wind, and the chill damp of the fog, yet unable to do anything against these enemies. For nearly an hour he lay thus inactive, and at the end of that time his lost energies began to return. He rose and looked around. The scene had not changed at all; in fact, there was no scene to change. There was nothing but black darkness all around. Suddenly something knocked against the boat. He reached out his hand, and touched a piece of wood, which the next instant slipped from his grasp. But the disappointment was not without its alleviation, for he thought that he might come across some bits of drift wood, with which he could do something, perhaps, for his escape. And so buoyant was his soul, and so obstinate his courage, that this little incident of itself served to revive his faculties. He went to the stern of the boat, and sitting there, he tried to think upon what might be best to be done. What could be done in such a situation? He could swim, but of what avail was that? In what direction could he swim, or what progress could he make, with such a tide? As to paddling, he thought of that no more; paddling was exhausted, and his board was useless. Nothing remained, apparently, but inaction. Inaction was indeed hard, and it was the worst condition in which he could be placed, for in such a state the mind always preys upon itself; in such a state trouble is always magnified, and the slow time passes more slowly. Yet to this inaction he found himself doomed. He floated on now for hours, motionless and filled with despair, listening to the dash of the waves, which were the only sounds that came to his ears. And so it came to pass, in process of time, that by incessant attention to these monotonous sounds, they ceased to be altogether monotonous, but seemed to assume various cadences and intonations. His sharpened ears learned at last to distinguish between the dash of large waves and the plash of small ones, the sighing of the wind, the pressure of the waters against the boat's bows, and the ripple of eddies under its stern. Worn out by excitement and fatigue, he lay motionless, listening to sounds like these, and taking in them a mournful interest, when suddenly, in the midst of them, his ears caught a different cadence. It was a long, measured sound, not an unfamiliar one, but one which he had often heard--the gathering sound which breaks out, rising and accumulating upon the ear, as the long line of surf falls upon some rocky shore. He knew at once what this was, and understood by it that he was near some shore; but what shore it might be he could not know. The sound came up from his right, and therefore might be the New Brunswick coast, if the boat had preserved its proper position. But the position of the boat had been constantly changing as she drifted along, so that it was impossible to tell whether he was drifting stern foremost or bow foremost. The water moved as the boat moved, and there was no means by which to judge. He listened to the surf, therefore, but made no attempt to draw nearer to it. He now knew perfectly well that with his present resources no efforts of his could avail anything, and that his only course would be to wait. Besides, this shore, whatever it was, must be very different, he thought, from the banks of the Petitcodiac. It was, as he thought, an iron-bound shore. And the surf which he heard broke in thunder a mile away, at the foot of giant precipices, which could only offer death to the hapless wretch who might be thrown among them. He lay, therefore, inactive, listening to this rolling surf for hours. At first it grew gradually louder, as though he was approaching it; but afterwards it grew fainter quite as gradually, until at length it could no longer be heard. During all these lonely hours, one thing afforded a certain consolation, and that was, the discovery that the sea did not grow rougher. The wind that blew was the sou-wester, the dreaded wind of fog and, storm; but on this occasion its strength was not put forth; it blew but moderately, and the water was not very greatly disturbed. The sea tossed the little boat, but was not high enough to dash over her, or to endanger her in any way. None of its spray ever came upon the recumbent form in the boat, nor did any moisture come near him, save that which was deposited by the fog. At first, in his terror, he had counted upon meeting a tempestuous sea; but, as the hours passed, he saw that thus far there had been nothing of the kind, and, if he were destined to be exposed to such a danger, it lay as yet in the future. As long as the wind continued moderate, so long would he toss over the little waves without being endangered in any way. And thus, with all these thoughts, sometimes depressing, at other times rather encouraging, he drifted on. Hours passed away. At length his fatigue overpowered him more and more, and as he sat there in the stern, his eyes closed, and his head fell heavily forward. He laid it upon the sail which was in front of him, so as to get an easier position, and was just closing his eyes again, when a sound came to his ears which in an instant drove every thought of sleep and of fatigue away, and made him start up and listen with intense eagerness. It was the sound of a fog horn, such as is used by coasting vessels, and blown during a fog, at intervals, to give warning of their presence. The sound was a familiar one to a boy who had been brought up on the fog-encircled and fish-haunted shores of Newfoundland; and Tom's hearing, which had been almost hushed in slumber, caught it at once. It was like the voice of a friend calling to him. But for a moment he thought it was only a fancy, or a dream, and he sat listening and quivering with excitement. He waited and listened for some time, and was just about to conclude that it was a dream, when suddenly it came again. There was no mistake this time. It was a fog horn. Some schooner was sailing these waters. O for day-light, and O for clear weather, so that he might see it, and make himself seen! The sound, though clear, was faint, and the schooner was evidently at a considerable distance; but Tom, in his eagerness, did not think of that. He shouted with all his strength. He waited for an answer, and then shouted again. Once more he waited, and listened, and then again and again his screams went forth over the water. But still no response came. At last, after some interval, the fog horn again sounded. Again Tom screamed, and yelled, and uttered every sound that could possibly convey to human ears an idea of his presence, and of his distress. The sounds of the fog horn, however, did not correspond with his cries. It was blown at regular intervals, which seemed painfully long to Tom, and did not seem to sound as if in answer to him. At first his hope was sustained by the discovery that the sounds were louder, and therefore nearer; but scarcely had he assured himself of this, when he perceived that they were growing fainter again, as though the schooner had approached him, and then sailed away. This discovery only stimulated him to more frantic exertions. He yelled more and more loudly, and was compelled, at last, to cease from pure exhaustion. But even then he did not cease till long after the last notes of the departing fog horn had faintly sounded in his ears. It was a disappointment bitter indeed, since it came after a reviving hope. What made it all the worse was a fixed idea which he had, that the schooner was no other than the Antelope. He felt confident that she had come at once after him, and was now traversing the waters in search of him, and sounding the horn so as to send it to his ears and get his response. And his response had been given with this result! This was the end of his hopes. He could bear it no longer. The stout heart and the resolute obstinacy which had so long struggled against fate now gave way utterly. He buried his face in his hands, and burst into a passion of tears. He wept for a long time, and roused himself, at last, with difficulty, to a dull despair. What was the use of hoping, or thinking, or listening? Hope was useless. It was better to let himself go wherever the waters might take him. He reached out his hand and drew the sail forward, and then settling himself down in the stern of the boat, he again shut his eyes and tried to sleep. But sleep, which a short time before had been so easy, was now difficult. His ears took in once more the different sounds of the sea, and soon became aware of a deeper, drearer sound than any which had hitherto come to him. It was the hoarse roar of a great surf, far more formidable than the one which he had heard before. The tumult and the din grew rapidly louder, and at length became so terrific that he sat upright, and strained his eyes in the direction from which it came. Peering thus through the darkness, he saw the glow of phosphorescent waves wrought out of the strife of many waters; and they threw towards him, amid the darkness, a baleful gleam which fascinated his eyes. A feeling came to him now that all was over. He felt, as though he were being sucked into some vortex, where Death lay in wait for him. He trembled. A prayer started to his lips, and burst from him. Suddenly his boat seemed caught by some resistless force, and jerked to one side; the next instant it rose on some swelling wave, and was shot swiftly forward. Tom closed his eyes, and a thrill of horror passed through every nerve. All at once a rude shock was felt, and the boat shook, and Tom thought he was going down. It seemed like the blow of a rock, and he could think only of the ingulfing waters. But the waters hesitated to claim their prey; the rushing motion ceased; and soon the boat was tossing lightly, as before, over the waves, while the hoarse and thunderous roar of those dread unseen breakers, from which he had been so wondrously saved, arose wrathfully behind, as though they were howling after their escaped victim. A cry of gratitude escaped Tom, and with trembling lips he offered a heart-felt prayer to that divine Power whose mighty hand had just rescued him from a terrible doom. Tom's agitation had been so great that it was long before he could regain his former calm. At last, however, his trembling subsided. He heard no longer the howling surf. All was calm and quiet. The wind ceased, the boat's motion was less violent, the long-resisted slumber came once more to his eyes. Still his terror kept off sleep, and as his eyes would close, they would every moment open again, and he would start in terror and look around. At length he saw that the darkness was less profound. Light was coming, and that light was increasing. He could see the dark waters, and the gloomy folds of the enclosing mist became apparent. He gave a heavy sigh, partly of terror at the thought of all that he had gone through, and partly of relief at the approach of light. Well might he sigh, for this light was the dawn of a new day, and showed him that he had been a whole night upon the waters. And now he could no longer struggle against sleep. His eyes closed for the last time. His head fell forward on the wet sail. He was sound asleep. VII. Lost in the Fog.--The Shoal and its Rocks.--Is it a Reef?--The Truth.--Hoisting Sail.--A forlorn Hope.--Wild Steering.--Where am I?--Land, ho! Tom slept for many hours; and when he at length awoke, he was stiffened in every limb, and wet to the skin. It was his constrained position and the heavy fog which had done this. He sat up and looked around with a bewildered air; but it did not take a long time for him to collect his wandering faculties, and arrive at the full recollection of his situation. Gradually it all came before him--the night of horror, the long drift, the frantic struggles, the boom of the surf, the shrill, penetrating tone of the fog horn, his own wild screams for help, the thunder of the breakers, and the grasp of the giant wave; all these, and many more, came back to his mind; and he was all too soon enabled to connect his present situation with the desperate position of the preceding night. In spite of all these gloomy thoughts, which thus rushed in one accumulated mass over his soul, his first impulse had nothing to do with these things, but was concerned with something very different from useless retrospect, and something far more essential. He found himself ravenously hungry; and his one idea was to satisfy the cravings of his appetite. He thought at once of the box of biscuit. The sail which he had pulled forward had very fortunately covered it up, else the contents might have been somewhat damaged. As it was, the upper edges of the biscuits, which had been exposed before being covered by the sail, were somewhat damp and soft, but otherwise they were not harmed; and Tom ate his frugal repast with extreme relish. Satisfying his appetite had the natural effect of cheering his spirits, and led him to reflect with thankfulness on the very fortunate presence of that box of biscuit in the boat. Had it not been for that, how terrible would his situation be! But with that he could afford to entertain hope, and might reasonably expect to endure the hardships of his situation. Strange to say, he was not at all thirsty; which probably arose from the fact that he was wet to the skin. Immersing one's self in water is often resorted to by shipwrecked mariners, when they cannot get a drink, and with successful results. As for Tom, his whole night had been one long bath, in which he had been exposed to the penetrating effects of the sea air and the fog. He had no idea whatever of the time. The sun could not be seen, and so thick was the fog that he could not even make out in what part of the sky it might be. He had a general impression, however, that it was midday; and this impression was not very much out of the way. His breakfast refreshed him, and he learned now to attach so much value to his box of biscuit, that his chief desire was to save it from further injury. So he hunted about for the cover, and finding it underneath the other end of the sail, he put it on the box, and then covered it all up. In this position the precious contents of the box were safe. The hour of the day was a subject of uncertainty, and so was the state of the tide. Whether he was drifting up or down the bay he could not tell for certain. His recollection of the state of the tide at Petitcodiac, was but vague. He reckoned, however, from the ship launch of the preceding day, and then, allowing sufficient time for the difference in the tide, he approximated to a correct conclusion. If it were midday, he thought that the tide would be about half way down on the ebb. These thoughts, and acts, and calculations took up some time, and he now began to look around him. Suddenly his eye caught sight of something not far away, dimly visible through the mist. It looked like a rock. A farther examination showed him that such was the case. It was a rock, and he was drifting towards it. No sooner had he ascertained this, than all his excitement once more awakened. Trembling from head to foot at this sudden prospect of escape, he started to his feet, and watched most eagerly the progress of the boat. It was drifting nearer to the rock. Soon another appeared, and then another. The rocks were black, and covered with masses of sea-weed, as though they were submerged at high tide. A little nearer, and he saw a gravelly strand lying just beyond the rocks. His excitement grew stronger and stronger, until at last it was quite uncontrollable. He began to fear that he would drift past this place, into the deep water again. He sprang into the bows, and grasping the rope in his hand, stood ready to leap ashore. He saw that he was drawing nearer, and so delayed for a while. Nearer he came and nearer. At length the boat seemed to pass along by the gravelly beach, and move by it as though it would go no nearer. This Tom could not endure. He determined to wait no longer. He sprang. He sank into the water up to his armpits, but he did not lose his hold of the rope. Clutching this in a convulsive grasp, he regained his foothold, which he had almost lost, and struggled forward. For a few moments he made no headway, for the boat, at the pressure of the current, pulled so hard that he could not drag it nearer. A terrible fear came to him that the rope might break. Fortunately it did not, and, after a short but violent struggle, Tom conquered the resistance of the tide, and pulled the boat slowly towards the shore. He then towed it near to the rocks, dragged its bows up as far as he could, and fastened it securely. Then he looked around. A few rocks were near him, about six feet high, jutting out of the gravel; and beyond these were others, which rose out of the water. Most of them were covered with sea-weed. A few sticks of timber were wedged in the interstices of the nearest rocks. As to the rest, he saw only a rocky ledge of small extent, which was surrounded by water. Beyond this nothing was visible but fog. At first he had thought that this was a beach, but now he began to doubt this. He walked all around, and went into the water on every side, but found no signs of any neighboring shore. The place seemed rather like some isolated ledge. But where was it, and how far away was the shore? If he could only tell that! He stopped, and listened intently; he walked all around, and listened more intently still, in hopes of hearing the sound of some neighboring surf. In vain. Nothing of the kind came to his ears. All was still. The water was not rough, nor was there very much wind. There was only a brisk breeze, which threw up light waves on the surface. After a time he noticed that the tide was going down, and the area of the ledge was evidently enlarging. This inspired hope, for he thought that perhaps some long shoal might be disclosed by the retreating tide, which might communicate with the main land. For this he now watched intently, and occupied himself with measuring the distance from the rock where his boat was tied. Doing this from time to time, he found that every little while the number of paces between the rock and the water's edge increased. This occupation made the time pass rapidly; and at last Tom found his stopping-place extending over an area of about a hundred yards in length, and half as many in breadth. The rocks at one end had increased in apparent size, and in number; but the ledge itself remained unchanged in its general character. This, he saw, was its extreme limit, beyond which it did not extend. There was no communication with any shore. There was no more indication now of land than when he had first arrived. This discovery was a gradual one. It had been heralded by many fears and suspicions, so that at last, when it forced itself on his convictions, he was not altogether unprepared. Still, the shock was terrible, and once more poor Tom had to struggle with his despair--a despair, too, that was all the more profound from the hopes that he had been entertaining. He found, at length, in addition to this, that the tide was rising, that it was advancing towards his resting-place, and that it would, no doubt, overflow it all before long. It had been half tide when he landed, and but a little was uncovered; at full tide he saw that it would all be covered up by the water,--sea weed, rocks, and all,--and concealed from human eye. In the midst of these painful discoveries there suddenly occurred to him the true name and nature of this place. Quaco Ledge! That was the place which Captain Corbet had described. He recalled now the full description. Here it lay before him; upon it he stood; and he found that it corresponded in every respect with the description that the captain had given. If this were indeed so, and the description were true,--and he could not doubt this,--how desperate his situation was, and how he had been deceived in his false hopes! Far, far away was he from any shore!--in the middle of the bay; on a place avoided by all--a place which he should shun above all other places if he hoped for final escape! And now he was as eager to quit this ill-omened place as he had once been to reach it. The tide was yet low. He tried to push the boat down, but could not. He saw that he would have to wait. So he got inside the boat, and, sitting down, he waited patiently. The time passed slowly, and Tom looked despairingly out over the water. Something attracted his attention. It was a long pole, which had struck against the edge of the shoal. He got out of the boat, and, securing it, he walked back again. It was some waif that had been drifting about till it was thus cast at his feet. He thought of taking it for a mast, and making use of the sail. The idea was an attractive one. He pulled the sail out, unfolded it, and found it to be the jib of some schooner. He cut off one end of this, and then with his knife began to make a hole in the seat for his mast. It was very slow work, but he succeeded at last in doing it, and inserted the pole. Then he fastened the sail to it. He was rather ignorant of navigation, but he had a general idea of the science, and thought he would learn by experience. By cutting off the rope from the edge of the sail he obtained a sheet, and taking off the cover of the biscuit box a second time, he put this aside to use as a rudder. But now, in what direction ought he to steer? This was an insoluble problem. He could tell now by the flow of the current the points of the compass, but could not tell in which direction he ought to go. The New Brunswick coast he thought was nearest, but he dreaded it. It seemed perilous and unapproachable. He did not think much better of the Nova Scotia coast. He thought rather of Cape d'Or, as a promising place of refuge, or the Petitcodiac. So, after long deliberation, he decided on steering back again, especially as the wind was blowing directly up the bay. By the time that he had finished these preparations and deliberations the boat was afloat. Eagerly Tom pushed it away from the shoal; eagerly, and with trembling hands, he let the sail unfold, and thrust the board into the water astern. The boat followed the impulse of the wind, and the young sailor saw with delight that his experiment was successful, and before long the dark rocks of Quaco Ledge were lost to view. Now, where there is a definite object to steer by, or a compass to guide one, and a decent rudder, even an inexperienced hand can manage to come somewhere near the point that he aims at. But take a boat like Tom's, and a rude and suddenly extemporized sail, with no other rudder than a bit of board, with no compass, and a surrounding of thick fog, and it would puzzle even an experienced sailor to guide himself aright. Tom soon suspected that his course was rather a wild one; his board in particular became quite unmanageable, and he was fatigued with trying to hold it in the water. So he threw it aside, and boldly trusted to his sail alone. The boat seemed to him to be making very respectable progress. The wind was fresh, and the sea only moderate. The little waves beat over the bows, and there was quite a commotion astern. Tom thought he was doing very well, and heading as near as possible towards the Petitcodiac. Besides, in his excitement at being thus saved from mere blind drifting, he did not much care where he went, for he felt assured that he was now on the way out of his difficulties. In an hour or two after leaving the ledge it grew quite dark, and Tom saw that it would be necessary to prepare for the night. His preparations were simple, consisting in eating a half dozen biscuit. He now began to feel a little thirsty, but manfully struggled against this feeling. Gradually the darkness grew deeper, until at last it assumed the intense character of the preceding night. But still Tom sat up, and the boat went on. The wind did not slacken, nor did the boat's progress cease. Hours passed by in this way. As to the tides, Tom could not tell now very well whether they were rising or falling, and, in fact, he was quite indifferent, being satisfied fully with his progress. As long as the wind distended his sail, and bore the boat onward, he cared not whether the tide favored or opposed. Hours passed, but such was Tom's excitement that he still bore up, and thought nothing of rest or of sleep. His attention was needed, too, and so he kept wide awake, and his ears were ever on the stretch to hear the slightest sound. But at last the intense excitement and the long fatigue began to overpower him. Still he struggled against his weakness, and still he watched and listened. Hours passed on, and the wind never ceased to fill the sail, and the boat never ceased to go onward in a course of which Tom could have no idea. It was a course totally different from the one which be intended--a course which depended on the chance of the wind; and one, too, which was varied by the sweep of the tide as it rose or fell; but the course, such as it was, continued on, and Tom watched and waited until, at last, from sheer exhaustion, he fell sound asleep. His dreams were much disturbed, but he slept on soundly, and when he awaked it was broad day. He looked around in deep disappointment. Fog was everywhere, as before, and nothing could be seen. Whether he was near any shore or not he could not tell. Suddenly he noticed that the wind was blowing from an opposite direction. How to account for this was at first a mystery, for the fog still prevailed, and the opposite wind could not bring fog. Was it possible that the boat had turned during his sleep? He knew that it was quite possible. Indeed, he believed that this was the case. With this impression he determined to act on the theory that the boat had turned, and not that the wind had changed. The latter idea seemed impossible. The wind was the chill, damp fog wind--the sou-wester. Convinced of this, Tom turned the boat, and felt satisfied that he had resumed his true course. After a time the wind went down, and the sail flapped idly against the mast. Tom was in a fever of impatience, but could do nothing. He felt himself to be once more at the mercy of the tides. The wind had failed him, and nothing was left but to drift. All that day he drifted, and night came on. Still it continued calm. Tom was weary and worn out, but so intense was his excitement that he could not think of sleep. At midnight the wind sprung up a little; and now Tom determined to keep awake, so that the boat might not again double on her track. He blamed himself for sleeping on the previous night, and losing so much progress. Now he was determined to keep awake. His resolution was carried out. His intense eagerness to reach some shore, no matter where, and his fear of again losing what he had gained, kept sleep from his eyes. All that night he watched his boat. The wind blew fitfully, sometimes carrying the boat on rapidly, again dying down. So the next morning came. It was Thursday. It was Monday night when he had drifted out, and all that time he had been on the deep, lost in the fog. And now, wearied, dejected, and utterly worn out, he looked around in despair, and wondered where this would end. Fog was everywhere, as before, and, as before, not a thing could be seen. Hours passed on; the wind had sprang up fresh, and the boat went on rapidly. Suddenly Tom sprang upright, and uttered a loud cry. There full before him he saw a giant cliff, towering far overhead, towards which the boat was sailing. At its base the waves were dashing. Over its brow trees were bending. In the air far above he heard the hoarse cries of sea-gulls. In his madness he let the boat drive straight on, and was close to it before he thought of his danger. He could not avoid it now, however, for he did not know how to turn the boat. On it went, and in a few moments struck the beach at the base of the cliff. The tide was high; the breeze was moderate, and there was but little sun. The boat was not injured by running ashore there. Tom jumped out, and, taking the rope in his hands, walked along the rough and stony beach for about a hundred yards, pulling the boat after him. There the cliff was succeeded by a steep slope, beyond which was a gentle, grass-grown declivity. Towards this he bent his now feeble steps, still tugging at the boat, and drawing it after him. At length he reached the grassy slope, and found here a rough beach. He fastened the boat securely to the trunk of a tree that grew near. Then he lifted out the box of biscuit, and over this he threw the sail. He stood for a few moments on the bank, and looked all around for signs of some human habitation; but no signs appeared. Tom was too exhausted to go in search of one. He had not slept for more than thirty hours. The country that he saw was cleared. Hills were at a little distance, but the fog which hung all around concealed everything from view. One look was enough. Overwhelmed with gratitude, he fell upon his knees, and offered up a fervent prayer of thankfulness for his astonishing escape. Then fatigue overpowered him, and, rolling himself up in the sail, he went to sleep. VIII. Off in Search.--Eager Outlook.--Nothing but Fog.--Speaking a Schooner.--Pleasant Anecdotes.--Cheer up.--The Heart of Corbet. After the arrival of Bruce and Bart, Captain Corbet did not delay his departure much longer. The vessel was already afloat, and though the tide was still rising, yet the wind was sufficiently favorable to enable her to go on her way. The sails were soon set, and, with the new boat in tow, the Antelope weighed anchor, and took her departure. For about two hours but little progress was made against the strong opposing current; yet they had the satisfaction of reaching the mouth of the river, and by ten o'clock, when the tide turned and began to fall, they were fairly in the bay. The wind here was ahead, but the strong tide was now in their favor, and they hoped for some hours to make respectable progress. During this time they had all kept an anxious lookout, but without any result. No floating craft of any kind appeared upon the surface of the water. Coming down the river, the sky was unclouded, and all the surrounding scene was fully visible; but on reaching the bay, they saw before them, a few miles down, a lofty wall of light-gray cloud. Captain Corbet waved his hand towards this. "We're in for it," said he, "or we precious soon will be." "What's that?" asked Phil. "Our old friend--a fog bank. You'd ought to know it by this time, sure." There it lay, a few miles off, and every minute brought them nearer. The appearance of the fog threw an additional gloom over the minds of all, for they saw the hopeless character of their search. Of what avail would it be to traverse the seas if they were all covered by such thick mists? Still nothing else was to be done, and they tried to hope for the best. "Any how," said Captain Corbet, "thar's one comfort. That thar fog may go as quick as it come. It ony needs a change of wind. Why, I've knowed it all vanish in half an hour, an the fog as thick as it is now." "But sometimes it lasts long--don't it?" "I should think it did. I've knowed it hang on for weeks." At this gloomy statement the boys said not a word. Soon after the schooner approached the fog bank, and in a little while it had plunged into the midst of its misty folds. The chill of the damp clouds, as they enveloped them, struck additional chill to their hearts. It was into the midst of this that poor Tom had drifted, they thought, and over these seas, amidst this impenetrable atmosphere, he might even now be drifting. In the midst of the deep dejection consequent upon such thoughts, it was difficult for them to find any solid ground for hope. The wind was moderate, yet adverse, and the schooner had to beat against it. As she went on each tack, they came in sight of the shores; but as time passed, the bay widened, and Captain Corbet kept away from the land as much as possible. All the time the boys never ceased to maintain their forlorn lookout, and watched over the sides, and peered anxiously through the mist, in the hope that the gloomy waters might suddenly disclose to their longing eyes the form of the drifting boat and their lost companion. "I tell you what it is, boys," said Captain Corbet, after a long and thoughtful silence; "the best plan of acting in a biz of this kind is to pluck up sperrit an go on. Why, look at me. You mind the time when that boat, that thar i-dentical, individdle boat, drifted away onst afore, with youns in it. You remember all about that,--course. Well, look at me. Did I mourn? Did I fret? Was I cast down? Nary down; not me. I cheered up. I cheered up Mr. Long. I kep everybody in good sperrits. An what was the result? Result was, you all turned up in prime order and condition, a enjyin of yourselves like all possessed, along with old O'Rafferty. "Again, my friends," he continued, as the boys made no remark, "consider this life air short an full of vycissitoods. Ups an downs air the lot of pore fallen hoomanity. But if at the fust blast of misforten we give up an throw up the game, what's the good of us? The question now, an the chief pint, is this--Who air we, an whar air we goin, an what air we purposin to do? Fust, we air hooman beins; secondly, we air a traversin the vast an briny main; and thirdly, we hope to find a certain friend of ourn, who was borne away from us by the swellin tide. Thar's a aim for us--a high an holy aim; an now I ask you, as feller-critters, how had we ought to go about it? Had we ought to peek, an pine, an fret, an whine? Had we ought to snivel, and give it up at the fust? Or had we ought, rayther, to be up an doin,--pluck up our sperrits like men, and go about our important work with energy? Which of these two, my friends? I pause for a reply." This was quite a speech for Captain Corbet, and the effort seemed quite an exhaustive one. He paused some time for a reply; but as no reply was forthcoming, he continued his remarks. "Now, see here," said he; "this here whole business reminds me of a story I once read in a noospaper, about a man up in this here identical river, the Petticoat Jack, who, like a fool, pulled up his boat on the bank, and wont off to sleep in her. Wal, as a matter of course, he floated off,--for the tide happened to be risin,--an when he woke up out of his cool an refreshin slumbers, he found himself afar on the briny deep, a boundin like 'a thing of life,' o'er the deep heavin sea. Besides, it was precious foggy,--jest as it is now,--an the man couldn't see any more'n we can. Wal, the story went on to say, how that thar man, in that thar boat, went a driftin in that thar fashion, in that thar fog; an he drifted, an drifted, an derifted, for days an days, up an down, on one side an t'other side, an round every way,--an, mind you, he hadn't a bit to eat, or to drink either, for that matter,--'t any rate, the paper didn't mention no such thing; an so, you know, he drifted, an d-e-e-e-rifted,--until at last he druv ashore. An now, whar d'ye think he druv?" The boys couldn't think. "Guess, now." The boys couldn't guess. "D'ye guv it up?" They did. "Wal, the paper said, he druv ashore at Grand Manan; but I've my doubts about it." The captain paused, looked all around through the fog, and stood for a moment as though listening to some sound. "I kine o' thought," said he, "that I detected the dash of water on the shore. I rayther think it's time to bring her round." The vessel was brought round on another tack, and the captain resumed his conversation. "What I was jest sayin," he continued, "reminds me of a story I onst heard, or read, I forget which (all the same, though), about two boys which went adrift on a raft. It took place up in Scott's Bay, I think, at a ship-yard in that thar locality. "These two unfortunate children, it seems, had made a raft in a playful mude, an embarkin on it they had been amoosin theirselves with paddlin about by pushin it with poles. At length they came to a pint where poles were useless; the tide got holt of the raft, an the ferrail structoor was speedily swept onward by the foorus current. Very well. Time rolled on, an that thar raft rolled on too,--far over the deep bellew sea,--beaten by the howlin storm, an acted upon by the remorseless tides. I leave you to pictoor to yourselves the sorrow of them thar two infant unfortunits, thus severed from their hum an parients, an borne afar, an scarce enough close on to keep 'em from the inclemency of the weather. So they drifted, an drifted, an de-e-rifted, until at last they druv ashore; an now, whar do you think it was that they druv?" The boys couldn't say. "Guess now." The boys declined. "Try." They couldn't. "Name some place." They couldn't think of any. "D'ye guv it up?" asked the captain, excitedly. They did. "Well, then," said he, in a triumphant tone, "they druv ashore on Brier Island; an ef that thar ain't pooty tall driftin, then I'm a Injine." To this the boys had no reply to make. "From all this," continued the captain, "you must perceive that this here driftin is very much more commoner than you hev ben inclined to bleeve it to be. You also must see that thar's every reason for hope. So up with your gizzards! Pluck up your sperrits! Rise and look fortin an the footoor squar in the face. Squar off at fortin, an hav it out with her on the spot. I don't want to hev you go mopin an whinin about this way. Hello!" Captain Corbet suddenly interrupted his remarks by an exclamation. The exclamation was caused by the sudden appearance of a sail immediately to windward. She was coming up the bay before the wind, and came swiftly through the fog towards them. In passing on her way, she came astern of the Antelope. "Schooner, ahoy!" cried Captain Corbet; and some conversation took place, in which they learned that the stranger was the schooner Wave, from St. John, and that she had not seen any signs whatever of any drifting boat. This news was received sadly by the boys, and Captain Corbet had to exert his utmost to rouse them from their depression, but without much effect. "I don't know how it is," said he, plaintively, "but somehow your blues air contiguous, an I feel as ef I was descendin into a depression as deep as yourn. I don't remember when I felt so depressed, cept last May--time I had to go off in the Antelope with taters, arter I thought I'd done with seafarin for the rest of my life. But that thar vessel war wonderously resussutated, an the speouse of my buzzum druv me away to traverse the sea. An I had to tar myself away from the clingin gerasp of my weepin infant,--the tender bud an bulossum of an old man's life--tar myself away, an feel myself a outcast. Over me hovered contennooly the image of the pinin infant, an my heart quivered with responsive sympathy. An I yearned--an I pined--an I groaned--an I felt that life would be intoll'ble till I got back to the babby. An so it was that I passed away, an had scace the heart to acknowledge your youthful cheers. Wal, time rolled on, an what's the result? Here I air. Do I pine now? Do I peek? Not a pine! Not a peek! As tender a heart as ever bet still beats in this aged frame; but I am no longer a purray to sich tender reminiscinsuz of the babby as onst used to consume my vitals." Thus it was that the venerable captain talked with the boys, and it was thus that he sought, by every possible means, to cheer them up. In this way the day passed on, and after five or six hours they began to look for a turn of tide. During this time the schooner had been beating; and as the fog was as thick as ever, it was impossible for the boys to tell where they were. Indeed, it did not seem as though they had been making any progress. "We'll have to anchor soon," said the captain, closing his eyes and turning his face meditatively to the quarter whence the wind came. "Anchor?" "Yes." "What for?" "Wal, you see it'll soon be dead low tide, an we can't go on any further when it turns. We'll have wind an tide both agin us." "How far have we come now?" "Wal, we've come a pooty considerable of a lick now--mind I tell you. 'Tain't, of course, as good as ef the wind had ben favorable, but arter all, that thar tide was a pooty considerable of a tide, now." "How long will you anchor?" "Why, till the next tarn of tide,--course." "When will that be?" "Wal, somewhar about eleven o'clock." "Eleven o'clock?" "Yes." "Why, that's almost midnight." "Course it is." "Wouldn't it be better to cruise off in the bay? It seems to me anything is better than keeping still." "No, young sir; it seems to me that jest now anythin is better than tryin to cruise in the bay, with a flood tide a comin up. Why, whar d'ye think we'd be? It would ony take an hour or two to put us on Cape Chignecto, or Cape d'Or, onto a place that we wouldn't git away from in a hurry,--mind I tell you." To this, of course, the boys had nothing to say. So, after a half hour's further sail, the anchor was dropped, and the Antelope stopped her wanderings for a time. Tedious as the day had been, it was now worse. The fog was as thick as ever, the scene was monotonous, and there was nothing to do. Even Solomon's repasts had, in a great measure, lost their attractions. He had spread a dinner for them, which at other times, and under happier circumstances, would have been greeted with uproarious enthusiasm; but at the present time it was viewed with comparative indifference. It was the fog that threw this gloom over them. Had the sky been clear, and the sun shining, they would have viewed the situation with comparative equanimity; but the fog threw terror all its own around Tom's position; and by shutting them in on every side, it forced them to think of him who was imprisoned in the same way--their lost companion, who now was drifting in the dark. Besides, as long as they were in motion, they had the consciousness that they were doing something, and that of itself was a comfort; but now, even that consolation was taken away from them, and in their forced inaction they fell back again into the same despondency which they had felt at Petitcodiac. "It's all this fog, I do believe," said Captain Corbet. "If it want for this you'd all cheer up, an be as merry as crickets." "Is there any prospect of its going away?" "Wal, not jest yet. You can't reckon on it. When it chooses to go away, it does so. It may hang on for weeks, an p'aps months. Thar's no tellin. I don't mind it, bein as I've passed my hull life in the middle of fog banks; but I dare say it's a leetle tryin to youns." The repast that Solomon spread for them on that evening was scarce tasted, and to all his coaxings and remonstrances the boys made no reply. After the tea was over, they went on deck, and stared silently into the surrounding gloom. The sight gave them no relief, and gave no hope. In that dense fog twilight came on soon, and with the twilight came the shadows of the night more rapidly. At last it grew quite dark, and finally there arose all around them the very blackness of darkness. "The best thing to do," said Captain Corbet, "is to go to sleep. In all kinds of darkness, whether intunnel or extunnel, I've allus found the best plan to be to sleep it off. An I've knowed great men who war of my opinion. Sleep, then, young sirs, while yet you may, while yer young blood is warm, an life is fresh an fair, an don't put it off to old age, like me, for you mayn't be able to do it. Look at me! How much d'ye think I've slep sence I left Mud Creek? Precious little. I don't know how it is, but bein alone with you, an havin the respons'bility of you all, I kine o' don't feel altogether able to sleep as I used to do; an sence our late loss--I--wal, I feel as though I'd never sleep agin. I'm talkin an talkin, boys, but it's a solemn time with me. On me, boys, rests the fate of that lad, an I'll scour these here seas till he turns up, ef I hev to do it till I die. Anxious? Yes, I am. I'm that anxious that the diskivery of the lost boy is now the one idee of my life, for which I forget all else; but allow me to say, at the same time, that I fully, furmly, an conshuentiously bleve an affum, that my conviction is, that that thar lad is bound to turn up all right in the end--right side up--with care--sound in every respect, in good order an condition, jest as when fust shipped on board the good schooner Antelope, Corbet master, for Petticoat Jack, as per bill ladin." The captain's tones were mournful. He heaved a deep sigh as he concluded, and relapsed into a profound and melancholy silence. The boys waited on deck for some time longer, and finally followed his advice, and sought refuge below. They were young and strong, and the fatigue which they felt brought on drowsiness, which, in spite of their anxiety, soon deepened into sleep. All slept, and at length Captain Corbet only was awake. It was true enough, as he had said, the fate of the lost boy rested upon him, and he felt it. His exhortations to the boys about keeping up their courage, and his stories about lost men who had drifted to a final rescue, were all spoken more with reference to himself than to them. He sought to keep up his own courage by these words. Yet, in spite of his efforts, a profound depression came over him, and well nigh subdued him. No one knew better than he the many perils which beset the drifting boat in these dangerous waters--the perils of storm, the perils of fog, the perils of thick darkness, the perils of furious tides, the perils of sunken rocks, of shoals, and of iron-bound coasts. The boys had gone to sleep, but there was no sleep for him. He wandered restlessly about, and heavy sighs escaped him. Thus the time passed with him until near midnight. Then he roused the mate, and they raised the anchor and hoisted the sails. It was now the turn of tide, and the waters were falling again, and the current once more ran down the bay. To this current he trusted the vessel again, beating, as before, against the head wind, which was still blowing; and thus the Antelope worked her way onward through all that dark and dismal night, until at last the faint streaks of light in the east proclaimed the dawn of another day. Through all that night the boys slept soundly. The wind blew, the waves dashed, but they did not awake. The anchor was hoisted, and the sails were set, but the noise failed to rouse them. Weariness of body and anxiety of mind both conspired to make their sleep profound. Yet in that profound sleep the anxiety of their minds made itself manifest; and in their dreams their thoughts turned to their lost companion. They saw him drifting over the stormy waters, enveloped in midnight darkness, chilled through with the damp night air, pierced to the bone by the cold night wind; drifting on amid a thousand dangers, now swept on by furious tides towards rocky shores, and again drawn back by refluent currents over vast sunken sea-ledges, white with foam. Thus through all the night they slept, and as they slept the Antelope dashed on through the waters, whose foaming waves, as they tumbled against her sides and over her bows, sent forth sounds that mingled with their dreams, and became intermingled with poor Tom's mournful cries. IX. Awake once more.--Where are we?--The giant cliff.--Out to Sea.--Anchoring and Drifting.--The Harbor.--The Search.--No Answer.--Where's Solomon? Scarce had the streaks of light greeted Captain Corbet's eyes, and given him the grateful prospect of another day, when the boys awaked and hurried up on deck. Their first act was to take a hurried look all around. The same gloomy and dismal prospect appeared--black water and thick, impenetrable fog. "Where are we now, Captain?" asked Bruce. "Wal, a con-siderable distance down the bay." "What are you going to do?" "Wal--I've about made up my mind whar to go." "Where?" "I'm thinkin of puttin into Quaco." "Quaco?" "Yes." "How far is it from here?" "Not very fur, 'cordin to my calc'lations. My idee is, that the boat may have drifted down along here and got ashore. Ef so, he may have made for Quaco, an its jest possible that we may hear about him." "Is this the most likely place for a boat to go ashore?" "Wal, all things considered, a boat is more likely to go ashore on the New Brunswick side, driftin from Petticoat Jack; but at the same time 'tain't at all certain. Thar's ony a ghost of a chance, mind. I don't feel over certain about it." "Will we get to Quaco this tide?" "Scacely." "Do you intend to anchor again?" "Wal, I rayther think I'll hev to do it. But we'd ought to get to Quaco by noon, I calc'late. I'm a thinkin--Hello! Good gracious!" The captain's sudden exclamation interrupted his words, and made all turn to look at the object that had called it forth. One glance showed an object which might well have elicited even a stronger expression of amazement and alarm. Immediately in front of them arose a vast cliff,--black, rocky, frowning,--that ascended straight up from the deep water, its summit lost in the thick fog, its base white with the foaming waves that thundered there. A hoarse roar came up from those breaking waves, which blended fearfully with the whistle of the wind through the rigging, and seemed like the warning sound of some dark, drear fate. The cliff was close by, and the schooner had been steering straight towards it. So near was it that it seemed as though one could have easily tossed a biscuit ashore. But though surprised, Captain Corbet was not in the least confused, and did not lose his presence of mind for a moment. Putting the helm hard up, he issued the necessary commands in a cool, quiet manner; the vessel went round, and in a few moments the danger was passed. Yet so close were they, that in wearing round it seemed as though one could almost have jumped from the stern upon the rocky shelves which appeared in the face of the lofty cliff. Captain Corbet drew a long breath. "That's about the nighest scratch I remember ever havin had," was his remark, as the Antelope went away from the land. "Cur'ous, too; I don't see how it happened. I lost my reckonin a little. I'm a mile further down than I calc'lated on bein." "Do you know that place?" asked Bart. "Course I know it." "It's lucky for us we didn't go there at night." "Yes, it is rayther lucky; but then there wan't any danger o' that, cos, you see, I kep the vessel off by night, an the danger couldn't hev riz. I thought we were a mile further up the bay; we've been a doin better than I thought for." "Shall we be able to get into Quaco any sooner?" "Wal, not much." "I thought from what you said that we were a mile nearer." "So we air, but that don't make any very great difference." "Why, we ought to get in all the sooner, I should think." "No; not much." "Why not? I don't understand that." "Wal, you see it's low tide now." "The tides again!" "Yes; it's allus the tides that you must consider here. Wal, it's low tide now, an the tide's already on the turn, an risin. We've got to anchor." "Anchor!" "Yes." "What, again?" "Yes, agin. Even so. Ef we didn't anchor we'd only be drifted up again, ever so far, an lose all that we've ben a gainin. We're not more'n a mile above Quaco Harbor, but we can't fetch it with wind an tide agin us; so we've got to put out some distance an anchor. It's my firm belief that we'll be in Quaco by noon. The next fallin tide will carry us thar as slick as a whistle, an then we can pursue our investigations." The schooner now held on her course for about a mile away from the shore, and then came to anchor. The boys had for a moment lost sight of this unpleasant necessity, and had forgotten that they had been using up the hours of the ebb tide while asleep. There was no help for it, however, and they found, to their disgust, another day of fog, and of inaction. Time passed, and breakfast came. Solomon now had the satisfaction of seeing them eat more, and gave manifest signs of that satisfaction by the twinkle of his eye and the lustre of his ebony brow. After this the time passed on slowly and heavily; but at length eleven o'clock came, and passed, and in a short time they were once more under way. "We're going to Quaco now--arn't we?" asked Phil. "Yes; right straight on into Quaco Harbor, fair an squar." "I don't see how it's possible for you to know so perfectly where you are." "Young sir, there ain't a nook, nor a corner, nor a hole, nor a stun, in all the outlinin an configoortion of this here bay but what's mapped out an laid down all c'rect in this here brain. I'd undertake to navigate these waters from year's end to year's end, ef I was never to see the sun at all, an even ef I was to be perpetooly surrounded by all the fogs that ever riz. Yea, verily, and moreover, not only this here bay, but the hull coast all along to Bosting. Why, I'm at home here on the rollin biller. I'm the man for Mount Desert, an Quoddy Head, an Grand Manan, an all other places that air ticklish to the ginrality of seafarin men. Why, young sir, you see before you, in the humble an unassumin person of the aged Corbet, a livin, muvin, and sea-goin edition of Blunt's Coast Pilot, revised and improved to a precious sight better condition than it's ever possible for them fellers in Bosting to get out. By Blunt's Coast Pilot, young sir, I allude to a celebrated book, as big as a pork bar'l, that every skipper has in his locker, to guide him on his wanderin way--ony me. I don't have no call to use sech, being myself a edition of useful information techin all coastin matters." The Antelope now proceeded quickly on her way. Several miles were traversed. "Now, boys, look sharp," said the captain; "you'll soon see the settlement." They looked sharp. For a few moments they went onward through the water, and at length there was visible just before them what seemed like a dark cloud extending all along. A few minutes further progress made the dark cloud still darker, and, advancing further, the dark cloud finally disclosed itself as a line of coast. It was close by them, and, even while they were recognizing it as land, they saw before them the outline of a wharf. "Good agin!" cried the captain. "I didn't come to the wharf I wanted, but this here'll do as well as any other, an I don't know but what it'll do better. Here we air, boys. Stand by thar, mate, to let fall the jib." On they went, and in a few minutes more the Antelope wore round, and her side just grazed the wharf. The mate jumped ashore, lines were secured, and the Antelope lay in safety. "An now, boys, we may all go ashore, an see if we can hear anything about the boat." With these words Captain Corbet stepped upon the wharf, followed by all the boys, and they all went up together, till they found themselves on a road. There they saw a shop, and into this they entered. No time was to be lost; the captain at once told his story, and asked his question. The answer was soon made. Nothing whatever was known there about any boat. Two or three schooners had arrived within two days, and the shopkeeper had seen the skippers, but they had not mentioned any boat. No boat had drifted ashore anywhere near, nor had any strange lad arrived at the settlement. This intelligence depressed them all. "Wal, wal," said the captain, "I didn't have much hopes; it's jest as I feared; but, at the same time, I'll ask further. An first and foremost I'll go an see them schooners." He then went off with the boys in search of the schooners just mentioned. These were found without difficulty. One had come from up the bay, another from St. John, and a third from Eastport. None of them had encountered anything like a drilling boat. The one from up the bay afforded them the greatest puzzle. She must have come down the very night of Tom's accident. If he did drift down the bay in his boat, he must have been not very far from the schooner. In clear weather he could not have escaped notice; but the skipper had seen nothing, and heard nothing. He had to beat down against the wind, and anchor when the tide was rising; but, though he thus traversed so great an extent of water, nothing whatever attracted his attention. "This sets me thinkin," said the captain, "that, perhaps, he mayn't have drifted down at all. He may have run ashore up thar. Thar's a chance of it, an we must all try to think of that, and cheer up, as long as we can." Leaving the schooners, the captain now went through the settlement, and made a few inquiries, with no further result. Nothing had been heard by any one about any drifting boat, and they were at last compelled to see that in Quaco there was no further hope of gaining any information whatever about Tom. After this, the captain informed the boys that he was going back to the schooner to sleep. "I haven't slep a wink," said he, "sence we left Grand Pre, and that's more'n human natur can ginrally stand; so now I'm bound to have my sleep out, an prepare for the next trip. You boys had better emply yourselves in inspectin this here village." "When shall we leave Quaco?" "Wal, I'll think that over. I haven't yet made up my mind as to what's best to be done next. One thing seems certain. There ain't no use goin out in this fog, an I've half a mind to wait here till to-morrow." "To-morrow!" "Yes,--an then go down to St. John." "But what'll poor Tom be doing?" "It's my firm belief that he's all right," said Captain Corbet, confidently. "At any rate, you'd better walk about now, an I'll try an git some sleep." As there was nothing better to be done, the boys did as he proposed, and wandered about the village. It was about two miles long, with houses scattered at intervals along the single street of which it was composed, with here, and there a ship-yard. At one end was a long, projecting ledge, with a light-house; at the other there was a romantic valley, through which a stream ran into the bay. On the other side of this stream were cliffs of sandstone rocks, in which were deep, cavernous hollows, worn by the waves; beyond this, again, was a long line of a precipitous shore, in whose sides were curious shelves, along which it was possible to walk for a great distance, with the sea thundering on the rocks beneath. At any other time they would have taken an intense enjoyment in a place like this, where there were so many varied scenes; but now their sense of enjoyment was blunted, for they carried in their minds a perpetual anxiety. None the less, however, did they wander about, penetrating up the valley, exploring the caverns, and traversing the cliffs. They did not return to the schooner till dusk. It would not be high tide till midnight, and so they prolonged their excursion purposely, so as to use up the time. On reaching the schooner they were welcomed by Captain Corbet. "I declar, boys," said he, "I'm getting to be a leetle the biggest old fool that ever lived. It's all this accident. It's onmanned me. I had a nap for two or three hours, but waked at six, an ever sence I've been a worretin an a frettin about youns. Sence that thar accident, I can't bar to have you out of my sight, for I fear all the time that you ar gettin into mischief. An now I've been skeart for two mortal hours, a fancyin you all tumblin down from the cliffs, or a strugglin in the waters." "O, we can take care of ourselves, captain," said Bart "No, you can't--not you. I wouldn't trust one of you. I'm getting to be a feeble creetur too,--so don't go away agin." "Well, I don't think we'll have a chance in Quaco. Arn't we going to leave to-night?" "Wal, that thar is jest the pint that I've been moosin on. You see it's thick; the fog's as bad as ever. What's the use of going out to-night? Now, ef we wait till to-morrow, it may be clear, an then we can decide what to do." At this proposal, the boys were silent for a time. The experience which they had formed of the bay and its fogs showed them how useless would be any search by night, and the prospect of a clear day, and, possibly, a more favorable wind on the morrow, was very attractive. The question was debated by all, and considered in all its bearings, and the discussion went on until late, when it was finally decided that it would be, on the whole, the wisest course to wait until the following day. Not the least influential of the many considerations that occurred was their regard for Captain Corbet. They saw that he was utterly worn out for want of sleep, and perceived how much he needed one night's rest. This finally decided them. Early on the following morning they were all up, and eager to see if there was any change in the weather. The first glance around elicited a cry of admiration from all of them. Above, all was clear and bright. The sun was shining with dazzling lustre; the sky was of a deep blue, and without a cloud on its whole expanse; while the wide extent of the bay spread out before them, blue like the sky above, which it mirrored, and throwing up its waves to catch the sunlight. A fresh north wind was blowing, and all the air and all the sea was full of light and joy. The scene around was in every respect magnificent. The tide was low, and the broad beach, which now was uncovered by the waters, spread afar to the right and left in a long crescent that extended for miles. On its lower extremity it was terminated by a ledge of black rocks, with the light-house before spoken of, while its upper end was bounded by cavernous cliffs of red sandstone, which were crowned with tufted trees. Behind them were the white houses of the village, straggling irregularly on the borders of the long road, with here and there the unfinished fabric of some huge ship; while in the background were wooded hills and green sloping fields. Out on the bay a grander scene appeared. Far down arose a white wall, which marked the place where the fog clouds were sullenly retreating; immediately opposite, and forty miles away over the water, arose the long line of the Nova Scotia coast, which bounded the horizon; while far up arose Cape Chignecto, and beside it towered up the dark form of a lonely island, which they knew, in spite of the evident distortion of its shape, to be no other than Ile Haute. The wondrous effects which can be produced by the atmosphere were never more visible to their eyes than now. The coast of Nova Scotia rose high in the air, dark in color, apparently only half its actual distance away, while the summit of that coast seemed as level as a table. It seemed like some vast structure which had been raised out of the water during the night by some magic power. Ile Haute arose to an extraordinary height, its summit perfectly level, its sides perfectly perpendicular, and its color a dark purple hue. Nor was Cape Chignecto less changed. The rugged cliff arose with magnified proportions to a majestic height, and took upon itself the same sombre color, which pervaded the whole of the opposite coast. Another discussion was now begun as to their best plan of action. After talking it all over, it was finally decided to go to St. John. There they would have a better opportunity of hearing about Tom; and there, too, if they did hear, they could send messages to him, or receive them from him. So it was decided to leave at about eleven o'clock, without waiting for high tide; for, as the wind was fair, they could go on without difficulty. After coming to this conclusion, and learning that the tide would not be high enough to float the schooner until eleven, they all took breakfast, and stimulated by the exhilarating atmosphere and the bright sunshine, they dispersed down the village towards the light-house. By ten o'clock they were back again. The tide was not yet up, and they waited patiently. "By the way, captain," asked Bart, "what's become of Solomon?" "Solomon? O, he took a basket an went off on a kine o' foragin tower." "Foraging?" "Yes. He said he'd go along the shore, and hunt for lobsters." "The shore? What shore?" "Why, away up thar," said the captain, pointing towards the headland at the upper end of the village. "How long since?" "Wal, jest arter breakfast. It must hev ben afore seven." "It's strange that he hasn't got back." "Yes; he'd ought to be back by this time." "He can't get any lobsters now; the tide is too high." "That's a fact." They waited half an hour. The rising tide already touched the Antelope's keel. "Solomon ought to be back," cried Bart, starting up. "That's so," said Captain Corbet. "I'm afraid something's happened. He's been gone too long. Two hours were enough." The boys all looked at one another with anxious faces. "If he went up that shore," said Bart, "he may have got caught by the tide. It's a very dangerous place for anybody--let alone an old man like him." "Wal, he did go up thar; he said partic'lar that he wanted to find somethin of a relish, an would hunt up thar. He said, too, he'd be back by nine." "I'm certain something's happened," cried Bart, more anxiously than before. "If he's gone up there, he's been caught by the tide." Captain Corbet stared, and looked uneasy. "Wal, I must say, that thar's not onlikely. It's a bad place, a dreadful bad place,--an him an old man,--a dreadful bad place. He'd be down here by this time, ef he was alive." "I won't wait any longer," cried Bart. "I must go and see. Come along, boys. Don't let's leave poor old Solomon in danger. Depend upon it, he's caught up there somewhere." "Wal, I think you're right," said Captain Corbet, "an I'll go too. But ef we do go, we'd better go with some preparations." "Preparations? What kind of preparations?" "O, ony a rope or two," said Captain Corbet; and taking a coil of rope over his arm, he stepped ashore, and all the boys hurried after him. "I feel kine o' safer with a kile o' rope,--bein a seafarin man," he remarked. "Give a seafarin man a rope, an he'll go anywhar an do anythin. He's like a spider onto a web." X. Tom ashore.--Storm at Night.--Up in the Morning.--The Cliffs and the Beach.--A startling Discovery.--A desert Island.--A desperate Effort.--Afloat again. Tom slept soundly for a long time in the spot where he had flung himself. The sense of security came to the assistance of his wearied limbs, and lulled him into profounder slumbers. There was nothing here that might rudely awaken him--no sudden boat shocks, no tossings and heavings of waves, no hoarse, menacing thunders of wrathful surges from rocky shores; nor were there distressing dreams to harass him, or any anxieties carried from his waking hours into the land of slumbers to annoy and to arouse. From Monday night until this time on Thursday, he had known but little sleep, and much fatigue and sorrow. Now the fatigue and the sorrow were all forgotten, and the sleep was all his own. Not a thought had he given to the land which he had reached so strangely. It was enough for him that he felt the solid ground beneath his feet. For hours he slept there, lying there like a log, wrapped in the old sail, moving not a limb, but given up altogether to his refreshing slumber. At length he waked, and, uncovering his head, looked around. At first he thought that he was in the boat, then he grew bewildered, and it was only after a persistent effort of memory that he could recollect his position. He looked all around, but nothing was visible. There was nothing around him but darkness, intense and utter. It was like the impenetrable veil that had enshrouded him during the night of his memorable voyage. He could not see where his boat was. A vague idea which he had of examining its fastening was dismissed. He felt hungry, and found the biscuit box lying under one corner of the sail. A few of these were sufficient to gratify his hunger. Nothing more could be done, and he saw plainly that it would be necessary for him to wait there patiently until morning. Once more, therefore, he rolled himself up in the sail, and tried to go to sleep. But at first his efforts were vain. The first fatigue had passed away, and now that he had been refreshed by sleep, his mind was too much occupied by thoughts of his past voyage to be readily lulled to sleep again. He could not help wondering what Captain Corbet and the boys were doing. That they were searching for him everywhere he well knew, but which direction they had chosen he could not tell. And what was the place whither he had drifted? He felt confident that it was the mouth of the Petitcodiac, and could not help wondering at the accuracy of his course; yet, while wondering, he modestly refrained from taking the credit of it to himself, and rather chose to attribute it to the wind and tide. It was by committing himself so completely to their guidance, he thought, that he had done so well. In the midst of such thoughts as these, Tom became aware of the howling of the wind and the dash of the waters. Putting forth his head, he found that there was quite a storm arising; and this only added to his contentment. No fear had he now, on this solid ground, of rising wind or swelling wave. Even the fog had lost its terrors. It was with feelings like these that he once more covered up his head from the night blast; and not long after he was once more asleep. When he next awaked, it was day. Starting to his feet, he looked around him, and shouted for joy. The sky was clear. The sun was rising, and its rays, coming from over the distant hills, were glittering over the surface of the water. The wind had changed. The fog had dispersed. No sooner had he seen this than he was filled with curiosity to know where he was. This did not look much like the mouth of the Petitcodiac. He stared around with a very strange sensation. Immediately beside him, where he was standing, the easy slope went back for a hundred yards or so, covered with short, wild grass, with here and there a stunted tree. Turning round, he saw the land rising by a steep acclivity towards the heights which bordered on the sea in such tremendous cliffs. Over the heights, and along the crest of those cliffs, were flying great flocks of sea-gulls, which kept up one incessant chorus of harsh, discordant screams. In front of him spread out a broad sheet of water, on the opposite side of which arose a lofty line of coast. Into this there penetrated a long strait, beyond which he could see broad waters and distant shores--a bay within a bay, approached by this strait. On each side of the strait were lofty, towering cliffs; and on one side, in particular, the cliffs were perpendicular, and ran on in a long and unbroken wall. The extremity of the cliff nearest him was marked by a gigantic mass of broken rock, detached from the main land, and standing alone in awful grandeur. What place was this? Was this the mouth of the Petitcodiac? Was that broad bay a river? Was he still dreaming, or what did it all mean? And that gigantic fragment severed from a cliff, which thus stood guard at the entrance of a long strait, what was that? Could it be possible? Was there indeed any other broken cape, or could it be possible that this was Cape Split? He hurried up the slope, and on reaching the top, saw that it descended on the other side towards the water. This water was a broad sheet, which extended for seven or eight miles, and was terminated by a lofty coast that extended down the bay as far as the eye could reach. One comprehensive glance was sufficient. He saw it all, and understood it all. It was not the mouth of the Petitcodiac River. It was the entrance to the Basin of Minas that lay before him. There lay the great landmarks, seen under new aspects, it is true, yet now sufficiently distinguishable. There was the Nova Scotia coast. In yonder hollow was Scott's Bay. That giant rock was Cape Split. The long channel was the Strait of Minas, and the cliffs opposite were Cape d'Or and Cape Chignecto. And now the recognition of all these places brought to him a great and sudden shock. For what was this place on which he stood? Was it any part of the main land? It was not. He looked around. It was an island. He saw its lofty cliffs, its wooded crest, its flocks of sea-gulls, its sloping east end, where he stood, running down to a low point. He had seen them all at a distance before; and now that he stood here, he recognized all. He was on Ile Haute! The moment that he recognized this startling fact, he thought of his boat. He hurried to the beach. The tide was very low. To his immense relief he found the fastening of the boat secure, and he turned away at once, without any further examination, to think over his situation, and consider the best plan for reaching the main land. Making a comfortable seat for himself on the sail, he sat down, and drawing out the box, he took some biscuit. Then feeling thirsty, he went off in search of fresh water. Before he had walked many paces he found a brook. The brook was a small one, which ran from the lofty west end of the island to the low land of the east, and thence into the bay. The water was good, and Tom satisfied his thirst by a long draught. Judging by the position of the sun, it was now about seven o'clock in the morning; and Tom seated himself once more, and began to try to think how it was that he should have come in a direction so entirely different from the one which he had believed himself to be taking. He had fully expected to land at Petitcodiac, and he found himself far away on the other side of the bay. Yet a little reflection showed him how useless it was to try to recall his past voyage, and how impossible it was for him to account for it, ignorant as he was of the true direction of the wind and of the tide. He contented himself with marking a rude outline of his course on his memorandum book, making allowance for the time when he turned on that course; and having summed it all up to his own satisfaction in a crooked line which looked like a slip-knot, he turned his attention to more important matters. There was one matter of first-rate importance which now pressed itself upon his thoughts, and that was, how to escape from his present situation. As far as he could see, there was no inhabitant on the island, no house, no cultivation, and no domestic animal. If there had been anything of that kind, they would be visible, he knew, from the point where he was standing. But all was deserted; and beyond the open ground in his neighborhood arose the east end, wooded all over its lofty summit. From Captain Corbet's words, and from his own observation, he knew that it was a desert island, and that if he wished to escape he would have to rely altogether upon his own resources. With this conclusion he once more turned his attention to his surroundings. Nearest to him was Cape d'Or, about four miles away, and Cape Split, which was some distance farther. Then there was the Nova Scotia shore, which appeared to be seven or eight miles distant. On the beach and within sight was the boat which offered a sure and easy mode of passing over to the main land. But no sooner did he recognize this fact than a difficulty arose. How was he to make the passage? The boat had come ashore at high tide, and was close up to the grassy bank. The tide was far down, and between the boat and the water was a broad beach, covered with cobblestones, and interspersed with granite boulders. It was too heavy a weight for him to move any distance, and to force it down to the water over such a beach was plainly impossible. On the other hand, he might wait until the boat floated at high tide, and then embark. But this, again, would be attended with serious difficulties. The tide, he saw, would turn as soon as he should get fairly afloat, and then he would have to contend with the downward current. True, he might use his sail, and in that case he might gain the Nova Scotia shore; but his experience of the tides had been so terrible a one, that he dreaded the tremendous drift which he would have to encounter, and had no confidence in his power of navigating under such circumstances. Besides, he knew well that although the wind was now from the north, it was liable to change at any moment; so that even if he should be able to guide his boat, he might yet be suddenly enveloped by a fog when but half way over, and exposed once more to all those perils from which he had just escaped. The more he thought of all these dangers, the more deterred he felt from making any such attempt. Rather would he wait, and hope for escape in some other way. But, as yet, he did not feel himself forced to anything so desperate as that. There was another alternative. At high tide the boat would be afloat, and then, as the tide fell, he could keep her afloat until it was at its lowest. He could then embark, and be carried by the returning water straight on to the Straits of Minas, and up into the basin. He now made a calculation, and concluded that it would be high tide about midday, and low tide about six in the evening. If he were to embark at that time, he would have two hours of daylight in which to run up with the tide. He saw now that his whole plan was perfectly feasible, and it only remained to make preparations for the voyage. As the whole afternoon would be taken up in floating the boat down to low-water mark, the morning would have to be employed in making whatever arrangements might be necessary. Certain things were needed which required all that time. His hastily extemporized mast and sail had done wonderfully well, but he needed something to steer with. If he could only procure something that would serve the purpose of a rudder, he would feel well prepared for his voyage. On the search for this he now started. He walked all about the open ground, looking around in all directions, to see if he could find anything, but without any success. Then he ascended the declivity towards the woods, but nothing appeared which was at all adapted to meet his wants. He saw a young tree, which he thought might do, and tried to cut it down with his pocket-knife. After about an hour's hard work he succeeded in bringing it down, and another hour was spent in trimming the branches. The result of all this labor at length lay at his feet in the shape of a rough pole, with jagged splinters sticking out all over it, which promised to be of about as much utility as a spruce bush. In utter disgust he turned away, leaving the pole on the ground, and making up his mind to sail, as he did before, without any rudder. In this mood he descended the declivity, and walked disconsolately towards the shore which was on the side of the island directly opposite to where the boat lay. He had not yet been near enough to see the beach; but now, as he came nearer, a cry of delight escaped him involuntarily; for there, all along the beach, and close up to the bank, lay an immense quantity of drift-wood, which had been brought here by the tide from all the upper waters of the bay. It was a most heterogeneous mixture that lay before him--chips from timber ponds, logs from ship-yards, boards from saw-mills, deals, battens, fence posts, telegraph poles, deal ends, edgings, laths, palings, railway sleepers, treenails, shingles, clapboards, and all the various forms which wood assumes in a country which makes use of it as the chief material of its manufactures. Along the countless streams that flow into the bay, and along its far-winding shores, and along the borders of all its subsidiary bays, and inlets, and basins, the manufacture of wood is carried on--in saw-mills, in ship-yards, and in timber ponds; and the currents that move to and fro are always loaded with the fragments that are snatched away from these places, most of which are borne afar out to sea, but many of which are thrown all along the shores for hundreds of miles. Ile Haute, being directly in the way of some of the swiftest currents, and close by the entrance to a basin which is surrounded by mills and ship-yards, naturally received upon its shores an immense quantity of these scattered and floating fragments. Such was the sight that now met the eyes of Tom, and presented him with a countless number of fragments of wood adapted to his wants, at the very time when he had worked fruitlessly for two hours at fashioning one for himself. Looking over the heaps of drift-wood, he found many pieces which suited him; and out of these he chose one which was shaped a little like an oar. Securing this prize, he walked over to where the sail was, and deposited it there. Then he ate some biscuit, and, after taking a draught from the cool brook, he rested, and waited, full of hope, for the rising of the tide. It was now rapidly approaching the boat. Tom watched it for some time, and felt new happiness as he viewed the roll of every little surf. There was not much wind, and nothing but a gentle ripple on the water. All this was in his favor; for, if he wished for anything now, it was a moderate breeze and a light sea. From time to time he turned his attention to the Straits of Minas, and arranged various plans in his mind. At one time he resolved to try and reach Pereau; again he thought that he would be content if he could only get to Parrsboro'; and yet again, he came to the wise conclusion that if he got to any settlement at all he would be content. At another time he half decided to take another course, and try to reach Scott's Bay, where he felt sure of a warm welcome and a plenteous repast. Aiming thus at so many different points, it mattered but little to him in what particular direction the tide might sweep him, so long as it carried him up the bay. The tide now came nearer, and Tom went down to the beach for a few moments. He paced the distance between the boat and the water. He noticed a few things lying in the boat. In the bow was a coil of rope which Captain Corbet had probably obtained when he was ashore at Petitcodiac. There was also a tin pan, used for baling. As the tide drew nearer, Tom began to feel more and more impatient. Again and again he paced the intervening space between the boat and the water, and chafed and fretted because it did not lessen more rapidly. If the boat were once fairly afloat, he felt that the time would pass much more rapidly; for then he would be working at some definite task, and not standing idly waiting. But everything has an end; and so, at length, the end came here. The water rose higher and higher, until, at length, it touched the keel. Tom gave a shout of joy. He now untied the rope, and tried to shorten his suspense by pushing the boat towards the water; but his strength was insufficient. He could not move it. He would have to wait longer. Thus far the things which he had taken out had been lying on the grass. It was now time to put them on board. So he carried down the sail, folded it up, and stowed it away neatly at the bottom of the boat. On this he stood the box of biscuit, taking care to put the cover over it, and to spread over that again one fold of the sail. This took up some time, and he had the gratification of seeing that the water had come up a few feet farther. He now tried once more to force the boat down, using his piece of board as a lever; but the board bent, and almost broke, without moving the boat. He stood for a moment waiting, and suddenly thought of the pole which he had left up in the woods. He determined to get this, and perhaps, with its help, he would be able to accomplish his wishes. So off he started at a run, and in a few minutes reached the place. Hurrying back again, he inserted one end of the pole under the bow, and exerted all his force to press the boat downward into the water. At first it did not move; but shortly after, when the water had risen still higher, he made a new effort. This time he succeeded; the boat moved slightly. Again. The boat moved farther. Once more. Still farther. And now he made a final trial. Thrusting the pole again underneath, he exerted all his force for the last time, and pushed the boat down for about a yard. It was at last afloat. The tide had not yet fully attained its height, but was close to it. The wind was blowing from the north, as before, and quite moderately. The sea sparkled and glittered in the rays of the sun. The little wavelets tossed their heads on high, and danced far away ever the sea. The air was bright, and stimulating, and exhilarating. All the scene filled Tom's heart with gladness; and the approach of his deliverance deepened and intensified this feeling. XI. Afloat again.--The rushing Water.--Down to the Bottom.--Desperate Circumstances.--Can they be remedied?--New Hopes and Plans. The boat was at last afloat before Tom's eyes. At first he had thought of holding it by the painter, and patiently standing on the beach, but the sight of it now changed his purposes. He thought that it would be a far more sensible plan to get on board, and keep the boat near the beach in that way. His bit of stick, which he had found among the drift-wood, could be used as an oar, and was good enough to enable him to move the boat as much as would be necessary. As he would have to wait for six hours at least, it was a matter of great importance that he should be as little fatigued as possible, especially as he had to look forward to a voyage, after the tide had fallen, attended with the possibility of increased labor and exertion. All these thoughts came rapidly to his mind, but passed in much less time than it takes to tell it, so that Tom had scarcely seen the boat afloat than he rushed through the water, and clambered into it. Then, taking his stick, he stood up and looked around. The scene around has already been described. Tom kept his stick in the water, so as to have it ready for use. He purposed keeping the boat at a convenient distance from the shore by pushing and paddling. By keeping it within a distance of from three to six yards, he thought he would, for the present at least, be able to keep afloat, and yet avoid the sweep of the tides. He did not expect to remain in this particular spot all the time, but expected to find some place which would be out of the way of the tide, where he could float comfortably without being forced to keep in too close to the land. But suddenly Tom's thoughts and speculations were rudely interrupted. It appeared to him that there was a very unusual feeling about the boat. She did not seem as high out of the water as she ought to have been, and her bows seemed to be lower than they had been. There was also a slight vibration in her, which he had never noticed before, and which struck him now as very peculiar. In the midst of this there came to his ears a low, faint, and scarcely perceptible sound, made up of peculiar bubbling and gurgling noises, which sounded from the boat. One brief examination showed him that the boat was certainly very much deeper in the water than she had been. Five seconds later her bows had sunk farther. Two seconds more, and Tom's feet were surrounded by water up to his ankles. The boat was filling! Scarce had he made this discovery than the water rose swiftly up, the boat sank quickly down, the sea rolled over her sides, and the boat went to the bottom. Very fortunate was it for Tom, at that moment, that he had not pushed out farther from the shore. When the boat went down he was not more than three or four yards off, and he did not sink lower than up to his neck. But the shock was a sudden one, and for a moment almost paralyzed him. The next instant, however, he recovered from it; and looking round, he saw the box of biscuit floating within his reach. Making a wild dash at this, he secured it, and waded ashore with it in safety. He then turned mournfully to look after the boat, and found that it was visible, floating on the surface. As he left it, it had floated up, his weight being the only thing that had sent it below. The tide was still coming in, so that it did not float away. Tom flung off his coat and waistcoat, and hurrying into the water, soon caught and dragged it as near as he could to the beach. Then he secured it once more, and waited. Standing there, he looked gloomily at the vessel, wherein such precious hopes had been freighted only to be lost. What had happened? Why could not the boat float? What was the matter with her? These were the wondering questions which occurred to him without his being able to give any answer. One thing he saw plainly, and that was, that he had lost this tide. The next high tide would be after midnight, and the next would be between one and two on the following day. If he could find out what was the matter with the boat, and fix it, he would have to wait till the next day, unless he chose to watch for his chance after midnight, and make the journey then. He was not a boy who could be long inactive; so now, after a brief period, in which he gave up to the natural despondency of his soul, he stirred himself up once more, and sought comfort in occupation. The box of biscuit did not seem much injured, it had not floated long enough for the sea-water to penetrate it. Assuring himself of this, he next turned to the boat and took out its contents. These were the old sail, the coil of rope, and the baling dipper. By this time the tide had reached its height, and after the usual time of delay, began to fall once more. The boat was secured to the shore, and after a time the water began to leave her. Tom sat at a little distance, wondering what could be the matter with her, and deferring his examination until the boat should be left aground. It was a mystery to him how this sudden change had occurred, and why the boat, which had floated so well during his long drift, should now, all of a sudden, begin to leak with such astonishing rapidity. Something must have happened--something serious, too; but what it was, or how it had happened, he could not, for the life of him, conjecture. As Tom sat there, the tide gradually left the boat; and as the tide left, the water ran out, keeping at just the same level inside as the water outside. This showed, even to his inexperienced eyes, that the leak must be a very large one, since it admitted of such a ready flow of water in and out. The water descended lower and lower as he sat, until, at last, the boat was left by the retreating waves. The water had all run out. Tom now advanced, and proceeded to examine her. When he was arranging her cargo before, the coil of rope had been in the bows. This had prevented him from detecting anything wrong in the boat. But now, since everything had been taken out, one glance only was quite sufficient to make known to him instantly the whole difficulty. There, in the bows, underneath the very place where the coil of rope had lain, was a huge aperture. The planks had been beaten in, and one side of the bow was destroyed beyond hope of remedy. The sight of such an irremediable calamity as this renewed for a time the despondency which he had felt at the first sinking of the boat. Full of depression, he turned away, and tried to account for it all. It was on the previous day that he had landed--about twenty-four hours ago. How had he passed the time since then, and what had happened? This he tried to remember. In the first place, up to the moment of landing the boat was perfectly sound, and far from all injury. It had not been hurt during the drift. It had struck at one place, but the long voyage that had followed showed that no damage had resulted. Finally, it had not been harmed by landing on Quaco Ledge. Since that time he had drifted in safety far across the bay, without meeting with any accident. All this proved clearly that the damage must have been done to the boat since his landing on the island. He found it very difficult to recall anything that had happened since then. On his first arrival he was worn out and exhausted. He remembered vaguely how he came in sight of the giant cliff, how he dragged the boat along, how he secured it to a tree, and then how he flung himself down on the grass and fell asleep. After that all was obscure to his memory; but he could recall his waking at midnight and listening to the roar of the wind and the dash of the surf. Evidently there must have been a heavier sea on the beach at that time than when he landed, and this was sufficient to account for the accident to the boat. She had been beating on the rough rocks at high tide, exposed to the full sweep of the surf, and her bows had been stove in. The melancholy spectacle of the ruined boat made Tom see that his stay on the island might be prolonged even beyond the following day. No sooner had this thought occurred to him than he went over to the articles which he had taken out of the boat, and passed them all in review before him, as though he were anxious to know the full extent of his resources. He spread out the wet sail in the sun. He spread out his coat and waistcoat. In the pocket of the latter he found a card of matches, which were a little damp. These he seized eagerly and laid on the top of a stone, exposed to the rays of the sun, so as to dry them. The clothes which he kept on were wet through, of course, but he allowed them to dry on him. He had been working now pretty industriously all the morning, first at searching after a piece of wood, then in cutting down the pole, then in searching among the drift-wood, and finally at the boat. He felt, at length, hungry; and as he could not yet decide upon what was to be done next, he determined to satisfy his desires, and kill the time by taking his dinner. The repast was a frugal one, consisting as before, of biscuit, which were washed down by cold water; but Tom did not complain. The presence of food of any sort was a cause for thankfulness to one in his position, and it was with a feeling of this sort, in spite of his general depression of spirits, that he ate his meal. After this he felt much more refreshed, and began to consider what he had better do next. Of course, the centre of interest to him was the boat, and he could not give up that hope of escape without a struggle. As long as there was a hope of making his way from the island by means of that, so long might he keep up his heart; but if the damage that had been done should prove irreparable, how would he be able to endure his situation? Whatever it was, it would be best to know the worst once for all. Perhaps he might stop the leak. He had material around which seemed to be the right sort of thing to stop a leak with. He had the piece of sail, which could be cut up into small pieces, and used to stop the leak. If he had possessed a hatchet and some nails, he would have made an effort to repair the fracture in the planks of the boat; but as he had nothing of that sort, he tried to devise some method by which the water might be kept out. As he thought, there gradually grew up in his mind the rude outline of a plan which promised something, and seemed to him to be certainly worth trying. At any rate, he thought, it will serve to give me an occupation; and any occupation, even if it proves to be of no practical value, is better than sitting here doing nothing at all. Having something to do once more quickened Tom's energies anew, and starting to his feet, he prepared to put his plan into execution. First of all, in order to carry out that plan, it was necessary for him to get a number of blocks and boards of different sizes. These, he knew, could easily be found among the driftwood on the beach. Over there he hurried, and after a moderate search he succeeded, at length, in finding bits of wood that seemed suited to the purpose which he had in view. With these he came back to the boat; but as there was a large number of them, he had to make several journeys before the whole collection was brought over. Then he took his pole, and, putting a block under it, used it as a lever to raise up the boat. By dexterous management he succeeded in doing this, and at the same time he ran a board underneath the bow of the boat as it was slightly raised. This manoeuvre he repeated several times, each time raising his lever higher, by means of a higher fulcrum, and thus constantly raising the bow of the boat; while after each elevation the bow was secured in its new position by running an additional board underneath it, over the other preceding boards. By carefully and perseveringly pursuing this course, he at length succeeded in raising the bow of the boat about a foot in the air. This gave him an opportunity to examine it thoroughly outside as well as inside, and to see the whole extent of the damage that had been done. It has already been said that the damage was serious. Tom's examination now convinced him that it was in every respect as serious as he had supposed, if not still more so. Even if he did possess a hatchet and nails, or a whole box full of tools, he doubted whether it would be in his power to do anything whatever in the way of repairing it. No less than three of the lower planks of the bows, down to the very keel, were beaten in and broken so badly that they seemed actually crushed and mangled. It must have been a fearful beating, and pounding, and grinding on the rocks which had caused this. The planks, though thus broken, still held together; but it seemed to Tom that with a blow of his fist he could easily beat it all in; and as he looked at it he could not help wondering how it had happened that the work which the rocks had thus so nearly effected had not been completely finished. However, the planks did hold together yet; and now the question was, Could any thing be done? In answer to this question, Tom thought of the old sail and the coil of rope. Already he had conceived the rude outline of a plan whereby the entrance of the water might be checked. The plan was worth trying, and he determined to set about it at once, and use up the hours before him as long as he could, without any further delay. If by any possibility he could stop that leak, he determined to start off at the next high tide, that very night, and run the risk. It was a daring, even a foolhardy thought; but Tom was desperate, and the only idea which he had was, to escape as soon as possible. He now made some measurements, after which he went to the old sail, and cut a piece from the end of it. This he divided into smaller pieces, each about a yard square. Each of these pieces he folded up in three folds, so as to make them about a foot wide and eighteen inches long. Others he folded into six folds, making them about half the size of the larger pieces. All this took up much time, for he measured and planned very carefully, and his calculations and measurements had to be done slowly and cautiously. Returning to the boat with these bits of folded canvas, he put one of the larger pieces on the inside, against the bow, right over the broken place. Another large piece was placed carefully over this, and then the smaller pieces were laid against these. In this way he adjusted all the pieces of canvas in such a way as to cover up the whole place where the leak was. Then he went over to the drift-wood, and spent a long time searching after some bits of wood. He at length found a half dozen pieces of board, about a foot long, and from six to eight inches in width. He also found some bits of scantling, and palings, which were only a foot or so in length. All these he brought back, and laid them down on the beach near the boat. He now proceeded to place these bits of wood in the bows, in such a way as to keep the canvas in a firm position. His idea was, that the canvas, by being pressed against the opening, might keep out the water, and the wood, by being properly arranged, might keep the canvas secure in its place. The arrangement of the wood required the greatest care. First of all, he took the smallest bits, and stood these up against the canvas, so that they might correspond as nearly as possible with the curve of the bows. A few more pieces were placed in the hollow part of this curve, and outside these the larger pieces were placed. Between the outside pieces and the inner ones he thrust some of the smallest pieces which he could find. After thus arranging all his boards, he found that there lay between the outside board and the first seat of the boat a space of about one foot. Selecting a piece of wood of about that length, he put one end against the board, and the other against the seat, and pressed it into a position where it served to keep the board tight in its place. Then he took other pieces of about the same length, and arranged them in the same way, so that, by being fixed between the board and the seat, they might keep the whole mass of boards and canvas pressed tight against the opening in the bows. After placing as many blocks in position as he conveniently could, his next work was to secure them all. In order to effect this, another journey to the drift-wood was necessary, and another search. This time he selected carefully a number of sticks, not more than half an inch in thickness, some of them being much thinner. He found pieces of paling, and laths, and shingles which suited his ideas. Returning with these to the boat, he proceeded to thrust them, one by one, into the interstices of the boards, using a stone to drive them into their places. At last the work was finished as far as he could accomplish it, and there remained nothing more to be done. As far as he could see, by shaking, and pulling, and pushing at the collection of sticks and canvas, it was very firm and secure. Every stick seemed to be tight, and the pressure which they maintained against the aperture was so strong that the wood-work now was forced out a little distance beyond the outline of the boat. He examined most carefully all about the bows on the outside, but saw no place which did not seem to be fully protected. It seemed to him now as though that piled-up canvas ought to resist the entrance of the water, or, if not, at least that it ought not to allow it to enter so rapidly but that he could easily keep the boat baled out. He was not altogether confident, yet he was hopeful, and as determined as ever to make a trial. XII. Waiting for high Water.--A Trial.--A new Discovery.--Total Failure.--Down again.--Overboard.--A Struggle for Life. Tom's work was thus, at length, accomplished, and it remained now to get the boat in readiness and wait. Slowly and carefully he raised the bow by means of the lever, and one by one he withdrew the boards which held it up. At last the boat lay on the beach, ready to receive the uplifting arms of the returning tide whenever it should make its appearance again. Tom saw with satisfaction that the boat was about three yards down below high-water mark, on the spot to which he had dragged it after the failure of his last experiment. This, of course, would be so much in his favor, for it would thus be able to float before the water should reach its height. He had worked hard all the afternoon, and it was already dark. The tide, which had been falling, had some time ago reached its lowest point, and was now returning. Between him and the lowest point was a great distance, for the tides here rise to a perpendicular height of over forty feet; but Tom knew that the time required to traverse the long space that here intervened between high and low-water mark was precisely the same as if it had only to rise a few feet. He was very hungry, but some things had yet to be done. He had to put on board the boat the articles that he had taken ashore. His matches were now quite dry, and he put them in his pocket with a deep sense of their value to him in his present position. His clothes also were dry, and these he put on. The sail, the coil of rope, and the box of biscuit were put on board the boat. Tom had still to make his frugal repast; but this was soon accomplished, and he felt again a sense of exceeding thankfulness at the possession of the box of biscuit. At length his evening meal was over, and by the time that he had finished it, it had grown quite dark. He now went to the boat, and tied up the sail around the mast. There was nothing to which he could fasten the boat; but it was not necessary, as he was on the watch. The water continued smooth, the wind was from the north, as before, and there was no sign of fog. Overhead the sky was free from clouds, and the stars twinkled pleasantly to his upturned eyes, as if to encourage him. There was no moon, however, and though it was not very dark, yet it was sufficiently so to veil the nearest shores in gloom, and finally to withdraw them altogether from his view. Still it was not a matter of necessity that he should see the opposite shores, for he knew that his chief, and indeed his only reliance must be upon the tide; and this would bear him in its upward course on the morrow. The night was only needed to float the boat down as far as low-water mark. The process of floating her would serve to test the security of the fastenings, and show whether he could venture to make the attempt. For hours Tom waited, sometimes seated in the boat, at other times walking along the beach down to the water. He found it difficult to keep himself awake, and therefore did not venture to sit down long. Wearied with his long work through the day, the necessity of constant exertion wearied him still more, until at length he could scarce draw his legs after him. But all things have an end, and so it was with Tom's dreary watch; for at length the waters came up, and touched the boat, and surrounded it, until at last, to his great joy, Tom found himself afloat. He seized his stick, and pushed the boat into deeper water, a few yards off, with the intention of keeping her at about that distance from the shore. The one thought that was now in his mind referred exclusively to his work in the boat. Was it firm? Would it hold? Did it leak? The boat was floating, certainly. How long would if continue to do so? For a few minutes he waited anxiously, as he floated there in deep water, with his eyes fixed on the work in the bow, and his ears listening intently to detect any sign of that warning, gurgling sound, which had struck terror to his heart on his last embarkation. But no sign came of any sound of that sort, and he heard nothing but the gentle dash of the water against the sides of the boat. Thus about five minutes passed. At the end of that time, he raised the sail, which he had laid along the bottom of the boat, and examined underneath it. The first touch of his fingers at the bottom lessened very largely the hope that was in him, and at once chased away the feeling of exultation that was rising. For there, in the bottom of the boat, he felt as much as an inch of water. After the first shock, he tried to believe that it was only the water that was in the boat before; and so, taking comfort in this thought, he waited for further developments, but at the same time took the dipper, so as to be ready to bale out the water, and have a struggle for it in case the worst should happen. Another minute assured him that this was not the water which had been in the boat before. A new supply was entering, and in the space of that short time of waiting it had risen to the height of another inch. Tom felt a sudden pang of dismay, but his stout heart did not quail, nor did his obstinate resolution falter. Since it was the sea water that was coming in, he determined to have a fight with it for the possession of the boat. So he set to work bravely, and began to bale. He pulled up the sail, so as to have plenty of elbow-room, and worked away, dipping out the water; but, as he dipped, he perceived that it was gradually getting deeper. He dipped faster, but without any visible improvement, indeed, his efforts seemed to have but very little effect in retarding the entrance of the water. It grew deeper and deeper. One inch of water soon deepened to two inches, and thence to three. Soon after four inches were felt. And now the water came in more rapidly. It seemed to Tom as though it had been delayed at first, for a little time, in finding an entrance, but that now, after the entrance was found, it came pouring in with ever-accelerated speed. Tom struggled on, hoping against hope, and keeping up his efforts long after they were proved to be useless. But the water came in faster and faster, until at length Tom began to see that he must seek his safety in another way. Flinging down his dipper, then, with a cry of vexation, he started up, and, seizing his bit of board, he looked around for the shore. He had been caught by some side current, and had been carried along in such a way that he was about a hundred yards from the island, and seemed to be drifting up the bay. The dark, shadowy shores were much farther away than he had suspected. While struggling to bale out the boat, he had forgotten how necessary it was to keep near to the shore. He now saw his mistake, and strove to paddle the boat back again. With such a clumsy oar it is not likely that he could have achieved his desire at all, had the flood tide been stronger; but now it was about at its height, and would soon turn, if it was not turning already. The current, therefore, was but a weak one, and Tom found himself able to move slowly back; but his progress was very slow, and working at such a disadvantage was excessively fatiguing. At last he saw that if he trusted to paddling he could never reach the shore. In a moment another idea suggested itself; there was no time to lose, and he at once acted on it. Darting forward, he loosed the sail. The wind was still blowing from the north; at once the sail was filled, and, yielding to this new power, the boat began to move more rapidly. Tom tied the sheet astern, and, seizing his paddle, tried to scull the boat. For some minutes he kept up this work, and the boat moved steadily forward, nearer and still nearer, until the land was at length not more than thirty or forty yards off. But by this time the danger had come nearer, and the boat was already half full of water. Tom began to see that it could not float as far as the shore. What was he to do? He waited a little longer. He looked around. The boat was drawing nearer, yet soon it must go down. To ease it, it would be necessary to relieve it of his own weight. He did not lose his presence of mind for a moment, but determined at once to jump overboard. In his perfect coolness he thought of one or two things which were of importance to him, and performed them swiftly and promptly. First he took the box of biscuit, and placed it on the heap of boards and canvas in the bows, so that it might remain as long as possible out of reach of the water. Then he took the card of matches out of his waistcoat pocket, and put them in his hat, which he replaced on his head. To secure thus from damage the two necessaries of food and fire was but the work of a few seconds. To throw off his coat, waistcoat, and trousers, and hang them over the top of the short mast, was the work of a few seconds more. By the time this had been done, the water was nearly up to the gunwales. In five seconds more the boat would have gone down; but, so well had Tom's work been done, and so promptly, that these five seconds were saved. Having done what he wished, he let himself down into the water; and, holding on by the stern of the boat, he allowed himself to float after it, kicking out at the same time, so as to assist, rather than retard, its progress. By this time the land was not more than twenty yards away. The boat did not sink so rapidly now, but kept afloat much better; still the water rose to a level with the gunwales, and Tom was too much rejoiced to find that it kept afloat at all to find fault with this. The wind still blew, and the sail was still up; so that the water-logged vessel went on at a very respectable rate, until at length half the distance which Tom had noticed on going overboard was traversed. The boat seemed to float now, though full of water, and Tom saw that his precious biscuit, at any rate, would not be very much harmed. Nearer and nearer now he came until at last, letting himself down, his feet touched bottom. A cry of delight escaped him; and now, bracing himself firmly against the solid land below, he urged the boat on faster, until at length her deep-sunk bows grated against the gravel of the beach. He hurried up to the box of biscuit, and put this ashore in a safe place; after which he secured the boat to a jagged rock on the bank. He found now that he had come to a different part of the beach altogether, for his boat was lying at the spot where the little brook ran into the sea. Well was it for him, in that rash and hazardous experiment, that he had floated off before the tide was high. It had led to his drifting up the bay, instead of down, and by a weak current, instead of a strong one. The wind had thus brought him back. Had it been full tide, he would have drifted out from the shore, and then have been carried down the bay by the falling water to swift and sure destruction. Tom now took off his wet shirt, and put on the dry clothes which he had so prudently hung on the top of the mast. He perceived that he had not a very pleasant lookout for the night, for the sail which he had formerly used to envelop himself with was now completely saturated. It was also too dark to go to the woods in search of ferns or mosses on which to sleep. However, the night was a pleasant one, and the grass around would not be so bad a resting-place as he had been forced to use while drifting in the boat. He had now become accustomed to hardship by bitter experience, and so he looked forward to the night without care. The day had been an eventful one, indeed, for him, and his last adventure had been full of peril, from which he had been most wonderfully rescued. These thoughts were in his mind, and he did not fail to offer up prayers of heartfelt gratitude to that good and merciful Being who had thus far so wonderfully preserved him. With such feelings in his heart, he sought out a sleeping-place, and after some search he found a mossy knoll. Seating himself here, he reclined his back against it, and in a few minutes the worn-out boy was buried in a deep sleep. He slept until late on the following day, and on waking looked around to see if there were any sails in view. None were visible. The tide was about half way up, and the wide waters spread before him without any vessel in sight. He then began his preparations for the day. He hung his shirt upon a bush, and spread out the wet sail on the grass. An examination of the biscuit showed him that they had scarcely been injured at all, the water having penetrated only the lower part of the box. He removed the lower layer of biscuit, and spread them out on a rock in the sun to dry. After this he breakfasted, and wandered about for a time. He then took a swim, and felt much refreshed. By the time that his swim was over, he found that the hot sun had dried his shirt, so that he could once more assume that very important article of clothing. The sun climbed high towards the zenith, and the tide came up higher, as Tom sat there alone on his desert island, looking out upon the sea. The boat from which he had hoped so much had proved false to those hopes, and all the labors of the previous day had proved useless. His attempt to escape had nearly resulted in his destruction. He had learned from that experiment that no efforts of his could now effect his rescue. He had done the very best he could, and it would not be possible for him, with his present resources, to contrive anything better than that which had so miserably failed. If he could only procure some tar, he might then stop up the interstices; but as it was, nothing of his construction would avail to keep back the treacherous entrance of the water. It seemed now to him that his stay on the island was destined to be prolonged to a much greater extent than he had first thought of, and there did not seem any longer a hope of saving himself by his own exertions. Alone on a desert island! It was a dreadful fact which now forced itself more and more upon Tom's mind, until at length he could think of nothing else. Hitherto he had fought off the idea whenever it presented itself, and so long as he had been able to indulge in any hope of freeing himself by his own exertions, he prevented himself from sinking into the gloom of utter despair. But now he could no longer save himself from that gloom, and the thought grew darker and drearier before him--the one fact of his present situation. Alone on a desert island! A very interesting thing to read about, no doubt; and Tom, like all boys, had revelled in the portrayals of such a situation which he had encountered in his reading. No one had entered with more zest than he into the pages of Robinson Crusoe, and no one had enjoyed more than he the talks which boys love to have about their possible doings under such circumstances. But now, to be here, and find himself in such a place,--to be brought face to face with the hard, stern, dismal fact,--was another thing altogether. What oppressed him most was not the hardships of his position. These he could have withstood if there had been nothing worse. The worst part of his present life was its solitude. If Bart had been here with him, or Bruce, or Arthur, or Phil, or Pat, how different it would have been! Even old Solomon would have enabled him to pass the time contentedly. But to be alone,--all alone,--without a soul to speak to,--that was terrible. Tom soon found that the very way to deepen his misery was to sit still and brood over it. He was not inclined to give way to trouble. It has already been seen that he was a boy of obstinate courage, resolute will, and invincible determination. He was capable of struggling to the last against any adversity; and even if he had to lose, he knew how to lose without sinking into complete despair. These moods of depression, or even of despair, which now and then did come, were not permanent. In time he shook them off, and looked about for some new way of carrying on the struggle with evil fortune. So now he shook off this fit of depression, and starting up he determined not to sit idle any longer. "I won't stand it," he muttered. "There's lots of things to be seen, and to be done. And first of all I've got to explore this island. Come, Tom, my boy; cheer up, old fellow. You've pretended to admire Robinson Crusoe; act up to your profession. And first of all, my boy, you've got to explore Juan Fernandez." The sound of his own voice had the effect of encouraging and inspiriting him, while the purpose which he thus assigned to himself was sufficient to awaken his prostrated energies. There was something in the plan which roused all his curiosity, and turned his thoughts and feelings into a totally new direction. No sooner, then, had this thought occurred to him, than he at once set out to put it into execution. First of all he took one parting look at the scene around him. The sun had now passed its meridian, and it seemed to be one o'clock or after. The tide was high. The boat, which had at first floated, was now nearly full of water. Tom threw a melancholy glance at this fresh proof of the utter futility of all his labor, and then examined the fastenings, so that it might not drift away during his absence. Then he searched among the drift-wood until he found a stout stick to assist him in climbing, and to serve as a companion in his walk, after which he started. The sun was bright, but over the sky some clouds were gathering, and the opposite shores seemed to have grown darker than they were a few hours ago, having assumed a hue like olive green. The wind had also died away, and the water was as smooth as glass. XIII. Where's Solomon?--An anxious Search.--The Beach.--The cavernous Cliffs.--Up the Precipice.--Along the Shore.--Back for Boats. The loss of Solomon had filled the boys with anxiety, and even Captain Corbet shared in the common feeling. He had preferred to set out, as he said, with a coil of rope; but the sight of this seemed to make Solomon's fate appear darker, and looked as though he might have fallen over a precipice, or into a deep pool of water. They all knew that a serious accident was not at all improbable. They had seen the lofty and rugged cliffs that lined the bay shore, and knew that the rising waters, as they dashed over them, might form the grave of a man far younger and more active than the aged Solomon. He was weak and rheumatic; he was also timid and easily confused. If the water had overtaken him anywhere, he might easily fall a prey. In his efforts to escape, he would soon become so terrified that his limbs would be paralyzed. He might then stumble over the rocks, and break some of his bones, or he might be intrapped in some recess of the cliffs, from which escape might be impossible without external help. Full of thoughts like these, the boys went on, with Captain Corbet, up through the village, looking carefully around as they went on, and making inquiries of every one whom they met. No one, however, could give them any information. At last they reached the end of the village. Here, on the left, there arose a high hill. The road wound round this, and descended into a valley, through which a stream ran to the bay. In this valley there was a ship-yard, where the half-finished fabric of a large ship stood before them, and from which the rattle of a hundred axes rose into the air. The valley itself was a beautiful place, running up among steep hills, till it was lost to view among a mass of evergreen trees and rich foliage. Below the shipyard was a cove of no very great depth, but of extreme beauty. Beyond this was a broad beach, which, at the farthest end, was bounded by the projecting headland before alluded to. The headland was a precipitous cliff of red sandstone, crowned at the summit with a fringe of forest trees, white at its base were two or three hollow caverns, worn into the solid rock by the action of the surf. One of these was about thirty feet in height at its mouth, and ran back for sixty or seventy feet, narrowing all the way, like a funnel, from its entrance to its farthest extremity. The tide was now nearly at its height, and progress down the beach and along the cliff was impossible. The caves were cut off also, and the water penetrated them for some distance. At low tide one could easily walk down to the extreme point of the headland, and rounding this, he would find it possible to go along in front of the cliffs for an immense distance, either by walking along the rough beach at their foot, or, if the water should rise again, by going along rocky shelves, which projected for miles from the surface of the cliff. Reaching the head of the beach, Captain Corbet paused, and looked around. "Before goin any further," said he, "we'd better ask the folks at this ship-yard. It ain't possible to tell whether he's gone by the beach or not. He may have gone up the valley." "O," said Bart, dolefully, "he must have gone by the beach." "I rayther think I'll ask, at any rate," said the captain. So saying, he walked up towards a house that was not far off, and accosted some men who were standing there. On hearing his question, they were silent for a few moments; and at last one of them recollected seeing an aged colored man passing by early in the morning. He had a basket on his arm, and in every way corresponded to the description of Solomon. He was on his way up the shore. "Did he go down to the pint," asked Captain Corbet, "or up to the top of the cliff?" The man couldn't say for certain; but as far as he could recollect, it seemed to him that he went down to the pint. "About what time?" "Between eight and nine o'clock--in fact, about eight--not much later." "Did he speak to any one here?" "No; he walked past without stoppin. An do you say he ain't got back?" "Not yet." "Wal," said the man, "for an old feller, an a feller what don't know the country hereabouts, he's gone on a dangerous journey; an ef he's tried to get back, he's found it a pooty hard road to travel." "Isn't there any chance of his gettin back by the cliff?" "Not with the water risin onto his path." "Is there any way of gettin up to the top of the cliff?" "Wal, fur a active young feller it wouldn't be hard, but for a pore old critter like that thar, it couldn't be done--no how." "Wal, boys," said Captain Corbet, sorrowfully, "I guess we'd better get on, an not lose any more time." They walked away in silence for some time, until at last they reached the foot of the cliff. A path here ran up in a winding direction so as to reach the top. "It seems too bad," said Captain Corbet, "not to be able to get to the beach. I wish I'd come in the boat. What a fool I was not to think of it!" "O, I dare say the top of the cliff will do," said Bruce. "Wal, it'll have to do. At any rate I've got the kile of rope." "We shall be able to see him from the top just as well, and perhaps better." "Wal, I hope so; but we'll be a leetle too far above him for my fancy,--ony we can use the rope, I s'pose. Can any of you youngsters climb?" "O, yes," said Bart, "all of us." "What kind of heads have you got--stiddy?" "Yes, good enough," said Bruce. "I'll engage to go anywhere that I can find a foothold; and here's Bart, that'll go certainly as far, and perhaps farther. And here's Phil, that can do his share. As for Pat, he can beat us all; he can travel like a fly, upside down, or in any direction." "Wal, I'm glad to hear that, boys, for it's likely you'll be wanted to do some climbin afore we get back. I used to do somethin in that way; but since I've growed old, an rheumatic, I've got kine o' out o' the way of it, an don't scacely feel sech confidence in myself as I used to onst. But come, we mustn't be waitin here all day." At this they started up the path, and soon reached the top of the cliff. Arriving here, they found themselves in a cultivated meadow, passing through which they reached a pasture field. After a walk of about a quarter of a mile, they came to the cliff that ran along the shore of the bay, and on reaching this, the whole bay burst upon their view. It was still a beautiful day; the sun was shining brilliantly, and his rays were reflected in a path of dazzling lustre from the face of the sea. The wind was fresh, and the little waves tossed up their heads across where the sunlight fell, flashing back the rays of the sun in perpetually changing light, and presenting to the eye the appearance of innumerable dazzling stars. Far away rose the Nova Scotia shore as they had seen it in the morning, while up the bay, in the distance, abrupt, dark, and precipitous, arose the solitary Ile Haute. Beneath them the waters of the bay foamed and splashed; and though there was not much surf, yet the waters came rolling among the rocks, seething and boiling, and extending as far as the eye could reach, up and down, in a long line of foam. Reaching the edge, they all looked down. At the bottom there were visible the heads of black rocks, which arose above the waves at times, but which, however, at intervals, were covered with the rolling waters that tossed around them in foam and spray. Nearer and higher up there were rocks which projected like shelves from the face of the cliff, and seemed capable of affording a foothold to any climber; but their projection served also to conceal from view what lay immediately beneath. Along the whole beach, however, up and down, there appeared no sign of human life. Anxiously they looked, hoping to see some human form, in some part of that long line of rock; but none was visible, and they looked at one another in silence. "Wal, he don't turn up yet; that's clar," said Captain Corbet. "We can see a great deal from here, too," said Bart, in a despondent tone. "Ay, an that's jest what makes the wust of it. I thought that one look from a commandin pint would reveal the wanderer to our eyes." "Perhaps he is crouching in among the rocks down there." "Wal, I rayther think he'd manage to git up a leetle further out of the reach of the surf than all that." "He may be farther on." "True; an I dare say he is, too." "There don't seem to be any place below these rocks, where he would be likely to be." "No; I think that jest here he could climb up, as fur as that thar shelf, certain. He may be old an rheumatic, but he's able enough to climb that fur." "I don't think anything could have happened to him here, or we should see some signs of him." "Course we would--we'd see his remains--we'd see his basket, or his hat, floatin and driftin about. But thar's not a basket or a hat anywhar to be seen." "The cliff is long here, and runs in so from that point, that if he went up any distance, it would be easy for him to be caught by the rising tide." "Course it would. O, yes, course. That's the very thing that struck me. It's very dangerous for an ole inexperienced man. But come, we mustn't stand talkin, we must hurry on, or we may as well go back agin, at onst." Starting forward, they walked on for some time in silence. For about a hundred yards they were able to keep close to the edge of the cliff, so as to look over; but after that they encountered a dense alder thicket. In order to traverse this, they had to go farther inland, where there was some sort of an opening. There they came to a wood where the underbrush was thick, and the walking difficult. This they traversed, and at length worked their way once more to the edge of the cliff. Looking down here, they found the scene very much like what it had been farther back. The waves were dashing beneath them among rocks whose black crests were at times visible among the foam, while from the cliffs there were the same projecting shelves which they had noticed before. "See there!" cried Bart, pointing to a place behind them. "Do you see how the cliff seems to go in there--just where the alder bushes grow? That looks like a place where a man might be caught. I wonder if he isn't there." "Can't we go and see?" "I don't think you can git thar." "O, it isn't far," said Bart. "I'll run back and look down. The rest of you had better go on; I'll join you soon." "I'll go with you," said Bruce. "Very well." Bruce and Bart then set out, and forced their way through the dense alder bushes, until at length they found themselves near the place. Here there was a chasm in the line of cliff, reaching from the top to the bottom. The sides were precipitous, and they could see perfectly well all the way down. At the bottom the water was rolling and tossing; and this, together with the precipitous cliffs, showed them plainly that no one could have found shelter here. Sadly and silently they returned, and rejoined the others, who had been walking along in advance. "Wal?" said Captain Corbet, interrogatively. Bart shook his head. They then walked on for some time in silence. "Come," said Captain Corbet; "we've been makin one mistake ever sence we started." "What's that?" "We've kep altogether too still. How do we know but we've passed him somewhar along down thar. We can't see behind all them corners." "Let's shout now--the rest of the way." "Yes; that's it; yell like all possessed." The cries of the boys now burst forth in shrill screams and yells, which were echoed among the woods and rocks around. "Now," cried Captain Corbet, "all together!" The boys shouted all together. "That'll fetch him," said the captain, "ef anythin doos. It's a pity we didn't think of this afore. What an ole fool I must ha ben to forgit that!" The boys now walked on shouting, and screaming, and yelling incessantly, and waiting, from time to time, to listen for an answer. But no answer came. At times Captain Corbet's voice sounded forth. His cry was a very peculiar one. It was high pitched, shrill, and penetrating, and seemed as though it ought to be heard for miles. But the united voices of the boys, and the far-piercing yell of the captain, all sounded equally in vain. No response came, and at last, after standing still and listening for a longer time than usual, they all looked despondingly at one another, as though each were waiting for the other to suggest some new plan of action. Captain Corbet stood and looked musingly out upon the sea, as though the sight of the rolling waters assisted his meditations. It was some time before he spoke. "I tell you what it is, boys," said he at last. "We've ben makin another mistake." "How so?" "We've gone to work wrong." "Well, what can we do now?" "Wal, fust an foremost, I muve we go back on our tracks." "Go back?" "Yas." "Why?" "Wal, you see, one thing,--Solomon can't hev come further than this by no possibility, onless he started straight off to walk all the way up the bay agin, back to Petticoat Jack by the shore route,--an as that's too rough a route for an ole man, why, I calc'late it's not to be thought of. Ef, on the contrairy, he only kem out to hunt for fish, 'tain't likely he come as fur as this, an in my pinion he didn't come nigh as fur. You see we're a good piece on, and Solomon wouldn't hev come so fur if he'd cal'lated to get back to the schewner. What d'ye say to that?" "I've thought of that already," said Bruce, sadly. "We've certainly gone as far as he could possibly have gone." "Terrew," said Captain Corbet, solemnly. "But what can we do now?" asked Bart. "Fust of all, go back." "What! give him up?" "I didn't say that. I said to go back, an keep a good lookout along the shore." "But we've done that already." "Yes, I know; but then we didn't begin to yell till quite lately, whereas we'd ought to hev yelled from the time of fust startin. Now, I think ef we went back yellin all the way, we'd have a chance of turnin him up somewhar back thar whar we fust came in sight of the cliff. Very likely, if he ain't already drownded, he's a twisted himself up in some holler in the cliff back thar. He couldn't hev got this fur, certain,--unless he'd ben a runnin away." All this seemed so certain to the boys that they had nothing to say in opposition to it. In fact, as Bruce said, they had already gone as far as Solomon could possibly have gone, and this thought had occurred to them all. Captain Corbet's proposition, therefore, seemed to them the only course to follow. So they all turned and went back again. "What I was a goin to say," remarked Captain Corbet, after walking a few paces,--"what I was a goin to say was this. The mistake I made was in not gettin a boat." "A boat? Why we've traced the coast from the cliff well enough--haven't we?" "No, not well enough. We'd ought to have planned this here expedition more kerfully. It wan't enough to go along the top of the cliff this here way. You see, we've not been able to take in the lower part of the cliff underneath. We'd ought to hev got a boat. Some of us could hev gone along the cliff, jest as we hev ben doin, and the others could have pulled along the shore an kep up a sharp lookout that way. We've lost any quantity o' time that way, but that's no reason why we should lose any more; so I muve that some of us go back, right straight off, an get a boat at the ship-yard, an come back. I'll go, unless some o' youns think yourselfes smarter, which ain't onlikely." "O, you can't run, captain," said Bart. "Bruce and I will go, and we'll run all the way." "Wal, that's the very best thing that you could do. You're both young, an actyve. As for me, my days of youth an actyvity air over, an I'm in the sere an yaller leaf, with spells o' rheumatics. So you start off as quick as your legs can carry you, an ef you run all the way, so much the better." The boys started off at this, and going on the full run, they hurried, as fast as possible, back over the path they had traversed, and through the woods, and over the fields, and down the cliff towards the ship-yard. Phil and Pat, however, remained with Captain Corbet; and these three walked back along the edge of the cliff; still looking down carefully for signs of Solomon, and keeping up constantly their loud, shrill cries. Thus they walked back, till, at length, they reached the place where the alders were growing. Here they were compelled to make a detour as before, after which they returned to the cliff, and walked along, shouting and yelling as when they came. XIV. Back again.--Calls and Cries.--Captain Corbet's Yell.--A significant Sign.--The old Hat.--The return Cry.--The Boat rounds the Point. Captain Corbet, with Phil and Pat, walked along the top of the cliff in this way, narrowly scrutinizing the rocks below, and calling and shouting, until, at length, they reached the place at which they had first come out upon the shore. "Now, boys," said the captain, "from here to the pint down thar is all new ground. We must go along here, an keep a good lookout. If we hev any chance left of findin anythin, it's thar. I'm ony sorry we didn't examine this here fust an foremost, before wanderin away off up thar, whar 'tain't at all likely that Solomon ever dreamed of goin. I hope the boys won't be long gettin off that thar boat." "Perhaps they can't get one." "O, yes, they can. I saw two or three down thar." They now walked on a little farther. At this place the cliff was as steep as it had been behind; but the rocky shelves were more numerous, and down near the shore they projected, one beyond another, so that they looked like natural steps. "If Solomon was caught by the tide anywhar hereabouts," said Captain Corbet, "thar's no uthly reason why he shouldn't save himself. He could walk up them rocks jest like goin up stairs, an git out of the way of the heaviest surf an the highest tide that these shores ever saw." "It all depends," said Phil, "on whether he staid about here, or went farther up." "Course--an it's my opinion that he did stay about here. He was never such an old fool as to go so far up as we did. Why, ef he'd a done so over them rocks, he'd never have got the use of his legs agin." "Strange we don't see any signs of him." "O, wal, thar's places yet we hevn't tried." "One thing is certain--we haven't found any signs of him. If anything had happened, we'd have seen his basket floating." "Yes, or his old hat." "I should think, if he were anywhere hereabouts, he'd hear the noise; we are shouting loud enough, I'm sure. As for your voice, why, he ought to hear it a mile away; and the point down there doesn't seem to be a quarter that distance." "O, it's further than that; besides, my voice can't penetrate so easily down thar. It gits kine o' lost among the rocks. It can go very easy in a straight line; but when it's got to turn corners an go kine o' round the edges o' sharp rocks, it don't get on so well by a long chalk. But I think I'll try an divarsify these here proceedins by yellin a leetle lower down." So saying, Captain Corbet knelt down, and putting his head over the cliff, he uttered the loudest, and sharpest, and shrillest yell that he could give. Then he listened in silence, and the boys also listened in breathless expectation for some time. But there was no response whatever. Captain Corbet arose with a sigh. "Wal, boys," said he, in a mournful tone, "we must git on to the pint. We'd ought to know the wust pooty soon. But, at any rate, I'm bound to hope for the best till hope air over." The little party now resumed their progress, and walked on towards the point, shouting at intervals, as before. From this place on as far as the point, the ground was clear, and there was nothing to bar their way. They could go along without being compelled to make any further detour, and could keep near enough to the edge to command a view of the rocks below. They walked on, and shouted without ceasing, and thus traversed a portion of the way. Suddenly Captain Corbet's eye caught sight of something in the water. It was round in shape, and was floating within a few feet of the shore, on the top of a wave. As Captain Corbet looked, the wave rolled from underneath it, and dashed itself upon the rocks, while the floating object seemed to be thrown farther out. The tide had turned already, and was now on the ebb, so that floating articles, such as this, were carried away from the shore, rather than towards it. Upon this Captain Corbet fastened his gaze, and stood in silence looking at it. At length he put his hand on Phil's shoulder, and directed the attention of the boys to the floating object. "Do you see that?" said he. "What?" "That thing." "What--that round thing?" "Yes, that round thing. Look sharp at it now. What doos it look like to your young eyes?" Phil and Pat looked at it very carefully, and in silence. Then Phil looked up into Captain Corbet's face without saying a word. "Wal?" "What is it, do you think?" asked Phil, in a low voice. "What do YOU think?" "Sure an it's a hat--a sthraw hat," said Pat. Captain Corbet exchanged a meaning glance with Phil. "Do you think it's HIS hat?" asked Phil. "Whose else can it be?" Phil was silent, and his gaze was once more directed to the floating object. As it rose and fell on the waves, it showed the unmistakable outline of a straw hat, and was quite near enough for them to recognize its general character and color. It was dark, with the edges rather ragged, a broad brim, and a roomy crown, not by any means of a fashionable or graceful shape, but coarse, and big, and roomy, and shabby--just such a hat as Solomon had put on his head when he left Grand Pre with them on this memorable and ill-fated voyage. They looked at it for a long time in silence, and none of them moved. Captain Corbet heaved a deep sigh. "This here," said he, "has been a eventfool vyge. I felt a derred persentment afore I started. Long ago I told you how the finger of destiny seemed to warn me away from the ocean main. I kem to the conclusion, you remember, that henceforth I was to dwell under my own vine an fig tree, engaged in the tender emplymint of nussin the infant. But from this I was forced agin my own inclynations. An what's the result? Why, this--that thar hat! See here, boys;" and the venerable seaman's tone grew deeper, and more solemn, and more impressive; "see here, boys," he repeated; "for mor'n forty year hev I follered the seas, an traversed the briny deep; but, though I've hed my share of storms an accydints, though I've ben shipwrecked onst or twiste, yet never has it ben my lot to experience any loss of human life. But now, but now, boys, call to mind the startlin events of this here vyge! Think of your companion an playmate a driftin off in that startlin manner from Petticoat Jack! An now look here--gaze upon that thar! Words air footil!" "Do you give him up, then?" cried Phil. "Poor, poor old Solomon!" Captain Corbet shook his head. "'Deed, thin, an I don't!" cried Pat. "What's a hat? 'Tain't a man, so it isn't. Many's the man that's lost his hat, an ain't lost his life. It's a windy place here, an ole Solomon's hat's a mile too big for him, so it is--'deed an it is." Captain Corbet shook his head more gloomily than ever. "Ow, sure an ye needn't be shakin yer head that way. Sure an haven't ye lost hats av yer own, over an over?" "Never," said the captain. "I never lost a hat." "Niver got one blowed off? 'Deed an ye must have." "I never got one blowed off. When the wind blowed hard I allus kep 'em tied on." "Well, Solomon hadn't any tie to his, an it cud tumble off his old pate asy enough, so it cud. Sure he's lost it jumpin over the rocks. Besides, where's his basket?" "At the bottom, no doubt." "Sure an it cud float." "No; I dar say it was full of lobsters." "Any how, I'll not believe he's gone till I see him," cried Pat, earnestly. "Seein's believin." "Ef he's gone," said Captain Corbet, more solemnly than ever, "ye'll never see him. These waters take too good care of a man for that." "Well, yer all givin up too soon," said Pat. "Come along now; there's lots of places yet to examin. Give one of yer loudest yells." Captain Corbet did so. In spite of his despondency as to poor old Solomon's fate, he was not at all unwilling to try any further chances. On this occasion he seemed to gain unusual energy out of his very despair; and the yell that burst from him was so high, so shrill, so piercing, and so far penetrating, that the former cries were nothing compared to it. "Well done!" cried Pat. "Sure an you bet yerself that time, out an out." "Stop!" cried Phil. "Listen. What's that?" Far away, as they listened, they heard a faint cry, that seemed like a response. "Is that the echo?" asked Phil, anxiously. "Niver an echo!" cried Pat, excitedly. "Shout agin, captain, darlin." Captain Corbet gave another shout as loud and as shrill as the preceding one. They listened anxiously. Again they heard the cry. It was faint and far off; yet it was unmistakably a human cry. Their excitement now grew intense. "Where did it come from?" cried Phil. "Wal, it kine o' seemed to me that it came back thar," said the captain, pointing to the woods. "'Deed an it didn't," cried Pat; "not a bit of it. It was from the shore, jest ahead; from the pint, so it was, or I'm a nagur." "I think it came from the shore, too," said Phil; "but it seemed to be behind us." "Niver a bit," cried Pat; "not back there. We've been there, an whoever it was wud have shouted afore, so he wud. No, it's ahead at the pint. He's jest heard us, an he's shoutin afther us. Hooray! Hurry up, an we'll be there in time to save him." Pat's confidence was not without its effect on the others. Without waiting any longer, they at once set off at a run, stopping at intervals to yell, and then listening for a response. To their delight, that response came over and over again; and to their still greater joy, the sound each time was evidently louder. Beyond a doubt, they were drawing nearer to the place from which the sounds came. This stimulated them all the more, so that they hurried on faster. The edge of the cliff was not covered by any trees, but the ground at its summit had been cleared, so that progress was not at all difficult. They therefore did not take much time in traversing the space that intervened between the spot where they had first heard the cry, and the point where the cliff terminated. The cry grew steadily louder, all the way, until at last, when they approached the point, it seemed to come directly from beneath. The cliff here was perpendicular for about forty feet down, and below this it seemed to retreat, so that nothing could be seen. The tide was on the ebb; but it was still so high that its waves beat below them, and seemed to strike the base of the rock. Beyond, on the right, there was a sloping ledge, which descended from the cliffs into the sea, over which the waves were now playing. It was from the hollow and unseen recess down at the foot of the cliff that the cry seemed to arise, which had come in response to the calls of those on the summit. On reaching the place above, they knelt down, and looked over, but were not able to distinguish any human being, or any sign of the presence of one. But as they looked anxiously over, the cry arose, not very loud, but quite distinct now, and assured them that this was the place which sheltered the one who had uttered that cry. Captain Corbet now thrust his head over as far as he could, and gave a call in his loudest voice. "Hal-lo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!" To which there came up in answer a cry that sounded like-- "Hi-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i!" "Solomo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-on!" "He-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ey!" "Is that yo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ou?" "It's me-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e!" "Where are y-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ou?" "He-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-re!" "Come u-u-u-u-u-u-u-up!" "Ca-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-n't!" "Why no-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ot?" "Too hi-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-gh!" "Go round the pi-i-i-i-i-i-nt!" "Too high ti-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-de!" "Wa-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-it!" "All ri-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ght!" Captain Corbet now sprang up as nimbly as a young lad, and looked at Phil and Pat with an expression of such exceeding triumph, that his face seemed fairly to shine. "It IS Solomon!" he cried. But it was of no use for him to convey that piece of information to the boys, who already knew that fact quite as well as he did. "It IS Solomon," he repeated; "an now the pint is, how air we to git him up?" "Let me go down," said Pat. "How?" "Sure an I can git down wid that bit o' rope you have." "Mebbe you can, an then agin mebbe you can't; but s'posin you was to git down, how upon airth would that help the matter?" "Sure an we cud give him a pull up." "I don't think we could manage that," said Captain Corbet, "and you couldn't, at any rate, if you were down thar with him. As far as I see, we'll hev to wait till the tide falls." "Wouldn't it be better," said Phil, "for us to go around, so as to come nearer?" "How? Whar?" "Why, down to the beach, and then we could walk around the point." "Walk? Why, it's high water." "So it is--I forgot that." "The fact is, we can't git any nearer than we air now. Then, agin, the boys'll be along in a boat soon. They ought to be here by this time; so let's sit down here, an wait till they heave in sight." With a call of encouragement to Solomon which elicited a reply of satisfaction, Captain Corbet sat down upon the grass, and the boys followed his example. In this position they waited quietly for the boat to come. Meanwhile, Bart and Bruce had hurried on as rapidly as their legs could carry them, and at length reached the path which went down to the beach. Down this they scrambled, and not long afterwards they reached the ship-yard. Here they obtained a boat without any difficulty, which the workmen launched for them; and then they pushed off, and pulled for the point, with the intention of rowing along opposite the shore, and narrowly inspecting it. Scarcely had they reached the point, however, when a loud and well-known voice sounded from on high. They both turned and looked up, still pulling. There they saw Captain Corbet, and Phil, and Pat, all of whom were shouting and making furious gestures at them. "We've found him! Come in closer!" cried Captain Corbet. "Whe-e-e-re?" cried Bruce. But before any answer could come, a loud, shrill scream, followed by a yell of delight, burst forth from some place still nearer. Burt and Bruce both started, and looked towards the place from which this last cry came. There a very singular and pleasing sight met their eyes. About six feet above the water was a shelf of rock, that ran down sloping to the beach, and over this there projected a great mass of the cliff. In this recess there crouched a familiar figure. He had no hat, but between his legs, as he sat there, he held a basket, to which he clung with his knees and his hands. As he sat there his eyes were fixed upon them, and their whites seemed enlarged to twice their ordinary dimensions, while yell after yell came from him. "Help, he-e-e-e-e-lp! Mas'r Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-art! O, Mas'r Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-art! He-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-lp! Sa-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ave me!" "Hurrah! hurrah!" cried Bart and Bruce, in a burst of heartfelt joy. "He-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-lp!" came forth once more from Solomon. "All right," cried Bart; and at once the boat pointed towards the place where Solomon was sitting. The water nearer the shore was somewhat rough, but fortunately there were no rocks just there, and they were able to bring the boat in close to the place where Solomon was confined. At their approach Solomon moved slowly down the incline of the rock, on his hands and knees, for there was not room for him to stand upright; and as he moved he pushed the basket before him, as though there was something inside of uncommon value. Reaching, at length, a spot where the rock was about the level of the boat, he waited for them to approach. Soon the boat touched the rock. "Come, old Sol," cried Bart, "jump in!" "Hyah, take hole ob dis yar," said Solomon, even in that moment of rescue refusing to move till his precious basket should be safe. Bart grasped it, and put it into the boat, noticing, as he did so, that it was full of lobsters. "Come, Solomon, hurry up. I don't like the boat to be knocking here this way." "All right, sah," said Solomon, crawling along rather stiffly; "ben tied up in a knot all day, an feel so stiff dat I don't know as I'll git untied agin fur ebber mo. Was jest makin my will, any way, as you came along." By this time Solomon had tumbled into the boat, and worked his way aft, though not without many groans. "It's de cold rocks, an de wet," he groaned. "Sech an attack o' rheumaticses as dis ole nigga's gwine to hab beats all! Any how, I ben an sabed de lobsta. Loss me ole hat, but didn't car a mite fer dat so long as I sabed de lobsta." "All right," cried Bart; and at this the two boys pulled away from the rocks and rounded the point. As they came into the sight of those who were waiting on the top of the cliff, a shout of joy arose. XV. Exploring Juan Fernandez.--The Cliffs.--The tangled Underbrush.--The Fog Bank.--Is it coming or going?--The Steamer.--Vain Appeals.--New Plans. Starting off, as we have seen, to explore the island, Tom first directed his steps towards the elevated land which has before been mentioned. At first his path was easy, and the descent very gradual; but at length it became more difficult, and he had to ascend a steep hill, which was over-strewn with stones and interspersed with trees and mounds. Up among these he worked his way, and at length the ascent ceased. He was on the summit of the island. Here he walked to the edge of the area on which he stood, and found himself on the edge of a precipice that went sheer down to a beach, which was apparently two hundred feet beneath him. The precipice seemed actually to lean forward out of the perpendicular, and so tremendous was the view beneath, that Tom, although not by any means inclined to be nervous, found his head grow giddy as he looked down. Looking forth thus from his dizzy elevation, he could see across the bay to the New Brunswick shore, and could mark the general course which his drifting boat must have taken over those deep, dark, and treacherous waters. The sea was broad, and blue, and tranquil, and desolate, for even from this commanding height not a sail was visible. There was nothing here which could attract Tom's attention for any long period; so he prepared to continue his progress. In front of him lay a wood, before plunging in which he turned to see if there were any vessels coming through the Straits of Minas. None were visible; so, turning back once more, he resumed his journey, and went forward among the trees. His path now became a difficult one. It was necessary to keep away from the edge of the cliff, but still not to go out of sight of it. The trees were principally spruce and fir, but there were also birch and maple. He also noticed mountain ash and willow. Beneath him all the ground was covered with soft moss, in which he sank to his ankles, while on every side were luxuriant ferns and evergreen trailers. Tom recognized all these with great satisfaction, for they showed him the means of furnishing for himself a soft couch, that might be envied by many a man in better circumstances. Progress soon grew more difficult, for there were numerous mounds, and dense underbrush, through which he could only force his way by extreme effort. Windfalls also lay around in all directions, and no sooner would he have fairly surmounted one of them, than another would appear. Thus his progress was exceedingly slow and laborious. After about a half an hour of strenuous exertion, Tom found himself in the midst of an almost impassable jungle of tangled, stunted fir trees. He tried to avoid these by making a detour, but found that they extended so far that he could only pass them by going along close to the edge of the cliff. This last path he chose, and clinging to the branches, he passed for more than a hundred yards along the crest of a frightful precipice, where far down there yawned an abyss, at whose bottom was the sea; while abreast of him in the air there floated great flocks of gulls, uttering their hoarse yells, and fluttering fiercely about, as though trying to drive back this intruder upon their domains. Once or twice Tom was compelled to stop, and turn away his face from the abyss, and thrust himself in among the trees; but each time he regained his courage, after a little rest, and went on as before. At length he passed the thick spruce underbrush, and found the woods less dense. He could now work his way among them without being compelled to go so close to the edge of the cliff; and the dizzy height and the shrieks of the gulls no longer disturbed his senses. The trees here were not so high as those at the other end of the island, but were of much smaller size, and seemed stunted. There were no maples or other forest trees, but only scraggy fir, that seemed too exposed to the winds from the sea to have much health or verdure. The underbrush was wanting to a great extent, but moss was here in large quantities, and thick clusters of alder bushes. Wild shrubs also--such as raspberries and blueberries--were frequently met with; while ledges of weather-beaten rock jutted out from amid thick coverings of moss. Walking here was not at all difficult, and he went on without any interruption, until, at last, he found any farther progress barred by a precipice. He was at the lower or western end of the island. He looked down, and found beneath him a great precipice, while rocks jutted out from the sea, and ledges projected beyond. The gulls were present here, as elsewhere, in great flocks, and still kept up their noisy screams. Tom looked out over the sea, and saw its waters spread far away till it was lost in the horizon. On the line of that horizon he saw a faint gray cloud, that looked like a fog bank. It had, to his eyes, a certain gloomy menace, and seemed to say to him that he had not seen the last of it yet. On the left of the broad sea, the Nova Scotia Coast ran along till it was lost in the distance; and on the right was the long line of the New Brunswick shore, both of which had now that dark hue of olive green which he had noticed on the land opposite before he had started. Suddenly, while he was looking, his eyes caught sight of something white that glistened brightly from the blue water. It was about midway between the two coasts, and he knew it at once to be some sailing vessel. He could not make out more than one sail, and that showed that the vessel was either coming up the bay or going down; for if it had been crossing, she would, of course, have lain broadside on to his present locality, and would have thus displayed two sails to his view. The sight of this vessel agitated him exceedingly; and the question about her probable course now entered his mind, and drove away all other thoughts. Whether that vessel were going up or down became of exclusive importance to him now, if she were coming up, she might approach him, and hear his hail, or catch sight of his signals. Suddenly he reflected that he had no way of attracting attention, and a wild desire of running back and setting up the longest pole or board that he could find came into his mind; but such was the intensity of his curiosity, and the weight of his suspense, that he could not move from the spot where he was until he had satisfied himself as to the vessel's course. He sat down not far from the edge of the precipice, and, leaning forward with his hands supporting his chin, he strained his eyes over the intervening distance, as he tried to make out in which way the vessel was going. It seemed fully ten miles away, and her hull was not visible. It was only the white of her sails that he saw; and as the sunlight played on these from time to time, or fell off from the angle of reflection, the vessel was alternately more or less visible, and thus seemed by turns to draw nearer and depart farther from his sight. Thus for a long time he sat, alternately hoping and desponding, at every play of those sails in the sunlight. The calm of the water showed him that, even if the vessel were coming up, he could not expect any very rapid progress. There was now no wind, and the surface of the water was perfectly unruffled. Besides, he knew that the tide was falling rapidly. How, then, could he expect that the vessel could come any nearer, even if she were trying to? Thoughts like these at last made him only anxious to keep the vessel in sight. If her destination lay up the bay, she would probably anchor; if it lay down the bay, she would drift with the tide. He thought, then, that if she only would remain in sight, it would be a sufficient proof of her course. Thus he sat, watching and waiting, with all his soul intent upon those flashing sails, and all his thoughts taken up with the question as to the course of that solitary bark. It seemed a long time to him, in his suspense; but suspense always makes time seem long. At last, however, even though he hoped so persistently for the best, his hope began to die within him. Fainter and fainter grew those sails; at intervals rarer and rarer did their flash come to his eyes, until at length the sight of them was lost altogether, and nothing met his eyes but the gloomy gray of the fog cloud on the far horizon. Even after he had lost hope, and become convinced that she was gone, Tom sat there for a long time, in a fixed attitude, looking at that one spot. He would have sat there longer, but suddenly there came to his ears a peculiar sound, which made him start to his feet in a moment, and filled him with a new excitement. He listened. The sound came again. A flush of joy spread over his face, his heart beat faster and faster, and he listened as though he could scarce believe his senses. As he listened, the sounds came again, and this time much louder. There was now no mistake about it. It was a regular boat, which Tom knew well to be the peculiar sound made by the floats of a steamer's paddles. He had often heard it. He had but recently heard it, when the revenue steamer was approaching the Antelope, and again during the foggy night, when the whistle roused them, and the same beat of the paddles came over the midnight waters. And now, too, he heard it. He gave a shout of joy, and started off to catch sight of her. For a few paces only he ran, and then stopped. He was puzzled. He did not know in which direction it was best to go. He was at the west end of the island, but could not make out very well the direction of the sounds. He tried to think whether the steamer would pass the island on the north side or the south. He did not know, but it seemed to him that she would certainly go to the north of it. There was no time to be lost, and standing there to listen did not seem to be of any use, even if his impatience had allowed him to do so. Accordingly he hurried back by the way that he had come along the north side of the island. For some time he ran along through the trees, and at length, in about fifteen or twenty minutes, he reached the place where the dense underbrush was, by the edge of the cliff. From this point a wide view was commanded. On reaching it he looked out, and then up the bay, towards the Straits of Minas. He could see almost up to the straits, but no steamer appeared. For a moment he stood bewildered, and then the thought came to him, that he had mistaken altogether the steamer's course. She could not be coming down on the north side of the island, but on the south side. With a cry of grief he started back again, mourning over his error, and the time that he had lost. On reaching the more open wood, he thought that it would be better to hurry across the island to the south side, and proceeded at once to do so. The way was rough and tedious. Once or twice he had to burst through thickets of alder, and several times he had to climb over windfalls. At length, in his confusion, he lost his way altogether; he had to stop and think. The shadows of the trees showed him where the south lay, and he resumed his journey. At length, after most exhaustive efforts, he reached a part of the cliff, where a fringe of alders grew so thick, that he was scarce aware that he was at his destination, until the precipice opened beneath him. Here he stood, and, pressing apart the dense branches, he looked out. There was the steamer, about two miles off, already below where he was standing, and going rapidly down the bay with the falling tide. Another cry of grief burst from Tom. Where he was standing he could see the vessel, but he himself was completely concealed by the clustering bushes. He now lamented that he had left his first position, and saw that his only chance was to have remained there. To stay where he was could not be thought of. There was scarce a chance now of doing anything, since the steamer was so far away; but what chance there was certainly depended on his being in some conspicuous position. He started off, therefore, to the west point, where he had watched the schooner for so long a time. He hurried on with undiminished energy, and bounded over windfalls, and burst through thickets, as before. But in spite of his efforts, his progress could not be more rapid than it had formerly been. His route was necessarily circuitous, and before he could find the desired point, many more minutes had elapsed. But he reached it at last, and there, on the bare rock, springing forward, he waved his hat in the air, and sent forth a piercing cry for help. But the steamer was now as much as four or five miles away--too far altogether for his loudest cry to go. His screams and his gestures did not appear to attract the slightest attention. She moved on her way right under the eyes of the frantic and despairing boy, nor did she change her course in the slightest degree, nor did her paddles cease to revolve, but went rolling round, tossing up the foam, and bearing far, far away that boat on which poor Tom had rested his last hope. As for Tom, he kept up his screams as long as he could utter a sound. He tore off his coat, and shook it up and down, and waved it backward and forward. But none of these things were heard or seen. The steamboat passed on, until, at length, even Tom became convinced that further efforts were useless. This last blow was too much. Tom sank under it, and, falling on his face, he burst into a flood of tears. Struggling up at length from this last affliction, Tom roused himself, and his buoyancy of soul began once more to assert itself. "Come now, Thomas, my son," said he, as he dried his eyes, "this sort of thing will never do, you know. You're not a baby, my boy; you've never been given to blubbering, I think. Cheer up, then, like a man, and don't make me feel ashamed of you." This little address to himself had, as before, the effect of restoring his equanimity, and he thought with calmness upon his recent disappointments. He saw, by the passage of these vessels, what he had for a time lost sight of, namely, that this island, though uninhabited, was still in the middle of a bay which was constantly traversed by sailing vessels and steamboats. The latter ran regularly up to the Basin of Minas from St. John. As to the former, they were constantly passing to and fro, from the large ship down to the small fishing vessel. Inhabited countries surrounded him on every side, between the coasts of which there was a constant communication. If he only kept patient, the time must come, and that, too, before very long, when he would be delivered. In order to secure this delivery, however, he saw that it would be necessary to arrange some way by which he might attract the notice of passing vessels. On this subject he meditated for a long time. It would be necessary, he thought, to have some sort of a signal in some conspicuous place. Among the drift-wood he might, perhaps, be able to find some sort of a pole or staff which he could set up. One might not be enough, but in that case he could put up two, or three, or half a dozen. The next thing to decide about was the choice of a place. There was the east end, and the west end--which was the better? The west end, where he was standing, was high; but then it was surrounded by trees, and unless he could set up a very tall staff, it could scarcely be noticed. The east end, on the contrary, was lower; but then it was bare, and any kind of a signal which might be set up there could hardly fail to attract attention. He could also pile up a heap of drift-wood, and set fire to it, and, by this means, if a vessel were passing by, he could be certain of securing attention. It did not make much difference which end the signals were placed upon, as far as referred to the passing of vessels; for all that passed by would go along the island, so that both ends would be visible to them. As to the signals, he felt confident that he could find a staff, or, if one would not be long enough, several could be fastened together. The coil of rope in the boat would enable him to do this. The sail would afford material for a flag. All these plans came to his mind as he stood there; and the prospect of once more doing something which was to help him to escape from his prison drove away the last vestige of his grief. His courage again arose, hope revived, and he burst forth into a light and joyous song. Very different was he now from the despairing lad who, but a short time before, had been pouring forth his tears of sorrow; and yet but a few minutes had passed since then. The steamer was yet in sight down the bay, but Tom, who had lately been so frantic in his efforts to attract her attention, now cast a glance after her of perfect indifference. And now it was necessary for him to return to the east end of the island, and look about for the means of putting into execution his plan for making a signal. He started off on his return without any further delay. The path back was as rough and toilsome as the way down had been; but Tom was now full of hope, and his elastic spirits had revived so thoroughly that he cared but little for the fatigue of the journey. It was traversed at last, and he descended the slope to the place from which he had started. His exploration of the island had been quite complete. It seemed to him to be about a mile and a half in length, and a half a mile or so in width. The east end, where he had first arrived, was the only place where it was at all desirable to stay. Immediately on his arrival he examined the boat, and found it secure. To his surprise it was now about sunset. He had forgotten the lapse of time. He was hungry; so he sat down, ate his biscuit, drank his water, and rested from the toils of the day. XVI. A Sign for the outer World.--A Shelter for the Outcast's Head.--Tom's Camp and Camp-bed.--A Search after Something to vary a too monotonous Diet.--Brilliant Success. Tom sat down after his eventful day, and took his evening meal, as has been said. He rested then for some time. His excessive labors had fatigued him less than the great excitement which he had undergone, and now he felt disinclined to exert himself. But the sun had set, and darkness was coming on rapidly; so he rose, at last, and went over to the drift-wood. Here, after a search of about half an hour, he found something which was very well suited to his purpose. It was a piece of scantling about twenty feet long, and not very thick; and to this he saw that he could fasten the pole that he had made up in the woods. These two pieces would make, when joined, a very good flag-staff. These he brought up to the bank. Then he collected an armful of dry chips and sticks, which he carried over to a spot near where the boat lay. A rock was there, and against one side of this he built a pile of the chips. He then tried a match, and found that it was quite dry, and lighted it without any difficulty. With this he kindled the fire, and soon saw, with great satisfaction, a bright and cheerful blaze. He was so delighted with the fire that he brought up a dozen more loads of wood, which he laid near. Then he drew up the bit of scantling, and bringing the coil of rope, he cut a piece off, and proceeded to fasten to the scantling the pole which he had procured in the woods. He did this by winding the rope around in a close and even wind; and, finally, on concluding his task, he found that it was bound firmly enough to stand any breeze. It took a long time to finish this; but Tom had slept late in the morning, and, though fatigued, he was not sleepy. After this he sat down in front of the fire, and enjoyed its friendly light and its genial glow. He kept heaping on the fuel, and the bright flames danced up, giving to him the first approach to anything like the feeling of comfort that he had known since he had drifted away from the Antelope. Nor was it comfort only that he was mindful of while he watched and fed the fire. He saw in this fire, as it shone out over the water, the best kind of a signal, and had some hope of being seen and hailed by some passing vessel. In this hope he sat up till midnight, looking out from time to time over the water, and expecting every instant to see the shadow of some approaching vessel. But midnight came, and Tom at length thought of sleep. The sail had dried thoroughly through the day; so now he used it once more as a coverlet, and, folding himself in it, he reclined, as before, against the mossy bank, and slept. On awaking the next day, he arose and looked around. To his deep disappointment, he could see nothing. There was a fog over all the scene. The wind had changed, and his old enemy was once more besieging him. It was not so thick, indeed, as it had been, being light and dry, so that the ground was not at all moistened; but still the view was obscured, so that no vessel could be seen unless it came within half a mile; and that was rather closer than most vessels would care to come to his island. This day was Sunday, and all Tom's plans had to be deferred until the following day. However, it was not at all disagreeable to him to get rid of the necessity of work; and, indeed, never before did he fully appreciate the nature of the Day of Rest. The rest was sweet indeed to his exhausted and overworn frame, and he did not go far away from his fire. He had found some embers still glowing in the morning, and had kindled the fire anew from these, without drawing any more upon his precious store of matches. He resolved now to keep the coals alive all the time, by feeding the fire during the day, and covering it up with ashes by night. It was Sunday,--the Day of Rest,--and Tom felt all the blessedness of rest. On the whole, it turned out to be the pleasantest day which he had known since he left the schooner. Left now to quiet reflection, he recalled the events of the last week, and had more leisure to feel thankful over the wonderful safety which he had met with. Even now on the island he was not without his comforts. He had food and warmth. So, on the whole, though he had his moments of sadness, yet the sadness was driven out by cheerfulness. It was not all dismal. The words of that poem which is familiar to every school-boy rang in his ears:-- "O, Solitude, where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms Than reign in this horrible place." Yet these words were accompanied and counterbalanced by the more pleasing and consoling sentiments of others, which on this day accorded better with Tom's mood:-- "There's mercy in every place; And mercy--encouraging thought!-- Gives even affliction a grace, And reconciles man to his lot." Nothing occurred during the day to disturb the quiet of the island, and Tom went to bed early that night, so as to have a long sleep, and fortify himself for the labors of the morrow. The ashes were raked carefully round the coals, which, when Tom waked in the morning, were easily kindled again. He was up early on that Monday morning. He saw, with deep disappointment, that the fog still covered every thing, and that the wind was blowing quite brisk from the south-west, and raising rather a heavy sea. But he had a great deal to do now, and to this he turned his attention. First of all, he had to finish his signal-staff and set it up. He was very much troubled about the proper material for a flag. The canvas was rather too heavy; but as he had nothing else, he had to take this. He fastened a bit of the rope to the head of the staff, so as to form a loop, and through this he ran a piece which was long enough to serve for halyards. Thus far he had not used up more than a quarter of the coil of rope; but he needed all that was left for other purposes. The next thing was to set up his staff. To do this required much labor. He had already selected the place which seemed most suitable. It was at the extreme point of a tongue of land which projected beside the brook, and only a little distance from his resting-place. Here the ground was soft; and choosing a sharp stone, he worked diligently for about a couple of hours, until at length he succeeded in digging a hole which was about eighteen inches in depth. Then he fastened ropes to the staff, where the pole joined it, so that four lines came down far enough to serve as stays. Having done this, he inserted the end of the staff in the hole, and thrust in the earth all around it, trampling it in, and beating it down as tight as he could with a stone. After this he procured some sticks from the drift-wood, and, sharpening the ends, he secured the stays by fastening them to these sticks, which he drove into the ground. The staff then seemed to be as secure as was necessary. It only remained now to hoist up his flag; and this he did without any difficulty, securing it at half mast, so that it might serve unmistakably as a signal of distress. Upon completing this, Tom rested on the mound, and from that distance he contemplated the signal with a great deal of calm and quiet satisfaction. It was his own device, and his own handiwork, and he was very proud of it. But he did not allow himself a long rest. There yet remained much to be done, and to this he now directed his attention. He had been thinking, during his last employment, upon the necessity which he had of some shelter. A plan had suggested itself which he felt confident that he could carry into execution without any very great trouble. The fog that now prevailed, and which was far different from the light mist of the previous day, accompanied also, as it was, by the damp south-west wind, made some sort of a shelter imperatively necessary, and that, too, before another night. To pass this night in the fog would be bad enough; but if it should happen to rain also, his situation would be miserable indeed. He now set out for the beach, and found, without much difficulty, some pieces of wood which were necessary to his purpose. Bringing these back, he next looked about for a good situation. There was a rock not far from the fire, and in front of this was a smooth spot, where the land was flat, and covered with short grass. On the left it sloped to the brook. This seemed to him to be the best place on the island. It was sufficiently sheltered. It was dry, and in case of rain the water would not be likely to flood it. With all these it also possessed the advantage of being sufficiently conspicuous to any passing vessel which might be attracted by the signal-staff. Here, then, Tom determined to erect his place of residence. His first work was to select two long and slender pieces of wood, and sharpen the ends of them. Then he drove each of them into the ground in such a way that their tops crossed one another. These he bound fast together. Two other stakes were driven into the ground, and secured in the same way, about six or seven feet off. Another long piece of scantling was then placed so as to pass from one to the other of the two crossed sticks, so that it rested upon them. This last was bound tight to the crossed sticks, and thus the whole structure formed a camp-shaped frame. Over this Tom now threw the sail, and brought it down to the ground on either side, securing it there with pegs. At the back of the camp a piece of the sail was folded over and secured so as to cover it in; while in front another piece of the sail hung down until it nearly reached the ground. This could hang down at night, and be folded over the top by day. Tom now tore up some sods, and laid them over the edge of the canvas on each side, where it touched the ground, and placed on these heavy stones, until at length it seemed sufficiently protected from the entrance of any rain that might flow down the roof. His last task consisted in collecting a large quantity of moss and ferns from the woods, which he strewed over the ground inside, and heaped up at one end, so as to form a soft and fragrant bed. When this was accomplished the camp was finished. It had taken a long time, and when at last the work was done, it began to grow dark. Tom noticed this with surprise. He had been working so incessantly that he was not mindful of the flight of time, and now the day was done, and the evening was upon him before he was aware. But there were other things still for him to do before he could rest from his labors. His fire was just flickering around its last embers, and if he wished to have a pleasant light to cheer the solitude and the darkness of his evening hours, it would be necessary to prepare a supply of fuel. To this he attended at once, and brought up several armfuls of drift-wood from the beach. Placing these near the fire, he kindled it up afresh, and flung upon the rising flames a generous supply of fuel. The fires caught at it, and crackled as they spread through the dry wood, and tossed up their forked tongues on high, till in the dusk of evening they illuminated the surrounding scene with a pleasant light. A few more armfuls were added, and then the work for the day was over. That work had been very extensive and very important. It had secured a means of communication with the outer world, and had also formed a shelter from the chill night air, the fog, and the storm. It was with a very natural pride that Tom cast his eyes around, and surveyed the results of his ingenuity and his industry. The camp opened towards the fire, from which it was not so far distant but that Tom could attend to it without any very great inconvenience. The fire shone pleasantly before him as he sat down at his evening repast. As the darkness increased, it threw a ruddier glow upon all the scene around, lighting up field and hill, and sending long streams of radiance into the fog that overhung the sea. Tom had prepared an unusually large supply of fuel, this evening, for the express purpose of burning it all up; partly for his own amusement, and partly in the hope that it might meet the eyes of some passing navigator. It was his only hope. To keep his signals going by night and day was the surest plan of effecting a speedy escape. Who could tell what might be out on the neighboring sea? How did he know but that the Antelope might be somewhere near at hand, with his companions on board, cruising anxiously about in search after the missing boat? He never ceased to think that they were following after him somewhere, and to believe that, in the course of their wanderings, they might come somewhere within sight of him. He knew that they would never give him up till they assuredly knew his fate, but would follow after him, and set other vessels on the search, till the whole bay, with all its shores and islands, should be thoroughly ransacked. Fortunate was it for him, he thought, that there was so large a supply of drift-wood at hand on the beach, dry, portable, and in every way convenient for use. Thanks to this, he might now disperse the gloom of dark and foggy nights, and keep up a better signal in the dark than he could do in the light. Thus the fuel was heaped on, and the fire flamed up, and Tom sat near, looking complacently upon the brilliant glow. Thus far, for nearly a week, he had fed on biscuit only; but now, as he ate his repast, he began to think that it was a very monotonous fare, and to wonder whether it might not be possible to find something which could give a zest to his repasts. The biscuit were holding out well, but still he felt a desire to husband his resources, and if any additional food could in any way be procured, it would not only be a relish, but would also lessen his demand upon his one sole source of supply. He thought earnestly upon the subject of fish. He turned his thoughts very seriously to the subject of fish-hooks, and tried to think of some way by which he could capture some of the fish with which these waters abounded. But this idea did not seem to promise much. In the first place, he could think of no possible way in which he could procure any serviceable hook; in the second place, even if he had a hook and line all ready and baited, he did not see how he would be able to cast it within reach of any fish. His boat would not float him even for the little distance that was required to get into the places where fish might be. He could only stand upon the beach out of their reach. But, in the course of his thoughts, he soon perceived that other sources of food were possible to him besides the fish that were caught by hook and line. His mind reverted to the populous realm of shell-fish. These were all before him. Round the rocks and amid the sea-weed there certainly must be mussels. At low tide, amid the ledges and the sand, there surely must be some lobsters. Before him there was an extensive mud flat, where there ought to be clams. Here was his fire, always ready, by night and by day. Why should he not be able to make use of that fire, not only for cheering his mind, and giving him warmth, and signaling to passers-by, but also for cooking his meals? This was the question that he asked himself as he ate his biscuit. He could not see why he should not be able to accomplish this. As far as he could see, there ought to be plenty of shell-fish of various kinds on these shores. The more he thought of it, the more probable it seemed. He determined to solve the difficulty as soon as possible. On former occasions he had arranged his work on the evening for the succeeding day. On this evening he marked out this work for the morrow, and arranged in his mind a comprehensive and most diligent search for shell-fish, which should embrace the whole circuit of the island. With this in his mind, he arranged the fire as usual, so as to keep it alive, and then retired to his camp for the night. The presence of a roof over his head was grateful in the extreme. He let down the canvas folds over the entrance, and felt a peculiar sense of security and comfort. The moss and ferns which he had heaped up were luxuriously soft and deliciously fragrant. Over these he stretched his wearied limbs with a sigh of relief, and soon was asleep. So comfortable was his bed, and so secure his shelter, that he slept longer than usual. It was late when he awaked. He hurried forth and looked around. The fog still rested over everything. If possible it was thicker and more dismal than even on the preceding day. To his surprise, he soon noticed that it had been raining quite heavily through the night. Around, in many places, he saw pools of water, and in the hollows of the rocks he saw the same. This could only have been done by the rain. Going back to his camp, he saw that the canvas was quite wet. And yet the rain had all rolled off. Not a drop had entered. The moss and the fern inside were perfectly dry, and he had not the slightest feeling of dampness about him. His camp was a complete success. He now went off to search for clams. The tide had been high at about six in the morning. It was now, as he judged, about ten or eleven, and the water was quite low. Selecting a piece of shingle from his wood-pile, he walked down over the mud flat that extended from the point, and, after going a little distance, he noticed the holes that give indications of the presence of clams beneath. Turning up the sand, he soon threw out some of them. He now dug in several different places, and obtained sufficient for the day. These he carried back to the bank in triumph. Then he stirred up his fire, heaped on plenty of wood, and arranged his clams in front so as to roast them. In spite of Mrs. Pratt's theories, the clams were found by Tom to be delicious, and gave such relish to the biscuit, that he began to think whether he could not make use of the baling dipper, and make a clam chowder. This breakfast was a great success, and Tom now confidently expected to find other shell-fish, by means of which his resources might be enlarged and improved. XVII. Solomon's solemn Tale.--A costly Lobster.--Off again.--Steam Whistles of all Sizes.--A noisy Harbor.--Arrival Home.--No News. The shout of joy uttered by those on the top of the cliff at seeing old Solomon safe was responded to by those in the boat; and then, as the latter went on her way, Captain Corbet set out to return to the beach, followed by Phil and Pat. Soon they were all reunited, and, the boat being landed, they returned in triumph to the Antelope. On their way back, Solomon told them the story of his adventures. "Went out," said he, "on a splorin scursion, cos I was termined to try an skewer somethin to make a dinnah to keep up de sperrit ob dis yah party. Ben trouble nuff, an dat's no reason why we should all starb. I tought by de looks ob tings dar was lobstas somewhar long dis yah sho, an if I got a chance, I knowed I could get 'em. Dar was lots ob time too, ef it hadn't ben fur dat ar pint; dat's what knocked me. Lots o' lobstas--could hab picked up a barl full, ony hadn't any barl to pick up." "Well, but how did you happen to get caught?" "Dat ar's jes what I'm a comin to. You see, I didn't tink ob dat ar pint when I went up de sho,--but knowed I had lots ob time; so I jes tought I'd make sure ob de best ob de lobstas. Wan't goin to take back any common lobstas,--bet you dat,--notin for me but de best,--de bery best ones dar. Dat ar's what kep me. It takes a heap ob time an car to get de best ones, when dar's a crowd lyin about ob all sizes, an de water comin in too." "But didn't you see that the tide was coming up to the point?" "Nebber see a see,--not a see; lookin ober de lobstas all de time, an mos stracted wid plexity cos I couldn't cide bout de best ones. Dar was lots an lots up dar at one place, dough I didn't go fur,--but ef I'd gone fur, I'd hab got better ones." "How far did you go?" "Not fur,--ony short distance,--didn't want to go too fur away for feah ob not gittin back in time. An so I started to come back pooty soon, an walked, an walked. Las, jes as I got to de pint, I rose my ole head, an looked straight afore me, an thar, clar ef I didn't fine myself shut in,--reglar prison,--mind I tell you,--an all round me a reglar cumferince ob water an rock, widout any way ob scape. Tell you what, if dar ebber was a ole rat in a trap, I was at dat ar casion." "Couldn't you have waded through it before it got too high?" "Waded? Not a wade; de water was rough an deep, an de bottom was stones dat I'd slipped oba an almost broke my ole head, sides bein drownded as dead as a herrin. Why, what you tink dis ole nigga's made ob? I'm not a steam injine, nor a mowin machine, nor a life boat. I'm ony a ole man, an shaky in de legs too,--mind I tell you." "Well, how did you manage it?" "Manage! Why, I didn't manage at all." "How did you find that place where you were sitting?" "Wasn't settin. I was tied up in a knot, or rolled up into a ball. Any way, I wasn't settin." "Well, how did you find the place?" "Wal, I jes got up dar. I stood on de sho till de water drobe me, an I kep out ob its way till at las I found myself tied up de way you saw me." "Why didn't you halloo?" "Hollar? Didn't I hollar like all possessed?" "We didn't hear you." "Wal, dat ar's dredful sterious. An me a hollarin an a yellin like mad. Tell you what, I felt as ef I'd bust my ole head open, I did yell that hard." "Couldn't you manage to climb up that cliff?" "Dat cliff? Climb up? Me? What! me climb up a cliff? an dat cliff? Why, I couldn't no more climb up dat ar cliff dan I could fly to de moon. No, sah. Much as I could do to keep whar I was, out ob de water. Dat was enough." "Don't you know that we walked two miles up the shore?" "Two miles! Two! De sakes, now, chil'en! did you, railly? Ef I'd a ony knowed you war a comin so near, wouldn't I a yelled? I bet I would." "Why, you didn't think we'd have left you." "Lef me? Nebber. But den I didn't tink you'd magine anyting was wrong till too late. What I wanted was help, den an dar. De trouble was, when you did come, you all made dat ar circumbendibus, an trabelled clean an clar away from me." "We thought at first you could not be so near the point." "But de pint was de whole difficulty. Dat's de pint." "Well, at any rate, you've saved the lobsters." "Yah! yah! yah! Yes. Bound to sabe dem dar. Loss my ole hat, an nearly loss my ole self; but still I hung on to dem dar lobstas. Tell you what it is now, dey come nigh onto bein de dearest lobstas you ebber eat. I'be done a good deal in de way ob puttin myself out to get a dinna at odd times for you, chil'en; but dis time I almost put myself out ob dis mortial life. So when you get your dinnas to-day, you may tink on what dat ar dinna come nigh to costin." "I wonder that you held on to them so tight, when they brought you into such danger." "Hole on? Why, dat ar's de berry reason why I did hole on. What, let go ob dem arter all my trouble on dat count? No. I was bound to hab somethin to show whenebber I got back, if I ebber did get back; and so here I am, all alibe, an a bringin my lobstas wid me." "Well, Solomon," said Bart, in a kindly tone, "old man, the lobsters have come near costing us pretty dear, and we felt bad enough, I can tell you, when we went up there along the shore calling for you and getting no answer." "What, you did car for de ole man, Mas'r Bart--did you?" said Solomon, in a tremulous voice. Tears started to his eyes as he said it, and all power of saying anything more seemed to depart from him. He fell back behind the others, and walked on for the rest of the way in silence, but at times casting upon Bart glances that spoke volumes, and talking to himself in inaudible tones. In this way they soon reached the wharf where the schooner was lying. The first thing that they noticed was, that the schooner was aground. The tide had gone out too far for her to float away, and consequently there was no hope of resuming their voyage for that day. "We're in for it, captain," said Bruce "Yes; I felt afeard of it," said the captain. "We've got to wait here till the next tide." "We'll leave to-night, of course." "O, yes. We must get off at the night's tide, and drop down the bay." "How far had we better go?" "Wal, I ben a thinkin it all over, an it's my opinion that we'd better go to St. John next. We may hear of him there, an ef he don't turn up we can send out some more vessels, an give warnin that he's astray on the briny biller." "At what time will we be able to leave?" "Wal, it'll not be high tide till near one o'clock, but we can git off ef thar's a wind a leetle before midnight." "Do you think the wind will hold on?" The captain raised his head, and looked at the sky; then he looked out to sea, and then he remained silent for a few minutes. "Wal," said he, at last, slowly and thoughtfully, "it'll take a man with a head as long as a hoss to answer that thar. It mought hold on, an then agin it moughtn't." "At any rate, I suppose we can drift." "O, yes; an of the wind doosn't come round too strong, we can git nigh down pooty close to St. John by mornin." "We'll run down with the tide." "Percisely." "Well, I suppose we'll have to put the time through the best way we can, and try to be patient. Only it seems hard to be delayed so much. First there was the fog, which made our search useless; and now, when there comes a bright day, when we can see where we're going, here we are tied up in Quaco all day and all night." "It doos seem hard," said Captain Corbet, gravely, "terrible hard; an ef I owned a balloon that could rise this here vessel off the ground, an convey her through the air to her nat'ral element, I'd hev it done in five minutes, an we'd all proceed to walk the waters like things of life. But I don't happen to own a balloon, an so thar you air. "But, boys," continued the captain, in a solemn voice, elevating his venerable chin, and regarding them with a patriarchal smile,--"boys, don't begin to go on in that thar old despondent strain. Methinks I hear some on you a repinin, an a frettin, cos we're stuck here hard an fast. Don't do it, boys; take my advice, an don't do it. Bear in mind the stirrin an memiorable events of this here mornin. See what a calamity was a threatenin us. Why, I declare to you all, thar was a time when I expected to see our aged friend Solomon no more in the flesh. You could not tell it by my manner, for I presarved a calm an collected dumeanour; but yet, I tell you, underneath all that icy calm an startlin good-natur of my attitood, I concealed a heart that bet with dark despair. At that moment, when we in our wanderins had reached the furthest extremity that we attained onto, I tell you my blood friz, an my har riz in horror! Methought it were all up with Solomon; and when I see his hat, it seemed to me jest as though I was a regardin with despairin eye his tumestun whereon war graven by no mortial hand the solemn an despairin epigram, 'Hic jacet!' "So now, my friends," continued the captain, as he brushed a tear-drop from his eye, "let us conterrol our feelins. Let us be calm, and hope for the best. When Solomon took his departoor, an was among the missin, I thought that an evil fortin was a berroodin over us, and about to consume us. But that derream air past. Solomon is onst more among the eatables. He cooks agin the mortial repast. He lives! So it will be with our young friend who has so mysteriously drifted away from our midst. Cheer up, I say! Them's my sentiment. He'll come to, an turn up, all alive--right side up--with care,--C. O. D.,--O. K.,--to be shaken before taken,--marked and numbered as per margin,--jest as when shipped, in good order an condition, on board the schooner Antelope, Corbet master, of Grand Pre." These words of Captain Corbet had a very good effect upon the boys. They had already felt very much cheered by the escape of Solomon, and it seemed to them to be a good omen. If Solomon had escaped, so also might Tom. And, as their anxiety on Solomon's account had all been dispelled by his restoration, so also might they hope that their anxiety about Tom would be dispelled. True, he had been lost to them for a much longer time, and his absence was certainly surrounded by a more terrible obscurity than any which had been connected with that of Solomon. Yet this one favorable circumstance served to show them that all might not be so dark as they had feared. Thus, therefore, they began to be more sanguine, and to hope that when they reached St. John, some tidings of the lost boy might be brought to them. Solomon's exertions towards giving them a dinner were on this day crowned with greater success than had been experienced for some days past. Their exertions had given them an appetite, and they were able to eat heartily for the first time since Tom's departure. The rest of the day passed very slowly with them. They retired early, and slept until midnight. At that time they waked, and went on deck, when they had the extreme satisfaction of seeing the vessel get under way. A moderate breeze was blowing, which was favorable, and though the tide was not yet in their favor, yet the wind was sufficient to bear them out into the bay. Then the boys all went below again, full of hope. The night passed away quietly, and without any incident whatever. They all slept soundly, and the dreams that came to them were pleasant rather than otherwise. Awaking in the morning by daylight, they all hurried up on deck, and encountered there a new disappointment; for all around them they saw again the hated presence of the fog. The wind also had died away, and the vessel's sails flapped idly against her masts. "Where are we now?" asked Bruce, in a despondent tone. "Wal," said Captain Corbet, "as nigh as I can reckon, we're two or three miles outside of St. John harbor." "How is the tide?" "Wal, it's kine o' agin us, jest now." "There doesn't seem to be any wind." "Not much." "Shall we get into St. John to-day?" "Wal, I kine o' think we'll manage it." "How soon?" "Wal, not much afore midday. You see we're driftin away jest now." "Don't you intend to anchor till the next rise of tide?" "O, yes; in about ten minutes we'd ought to be about whar I want to anchor." At this disheartening condition of affairs the boys sank once more into a state of gloom. In about ten minutes, as Captain Corbet said, the schooner was at anchor, and there was nothing to do but to wait. "We'll run in at turn o' tide," said he. Breakfast came, and passed. The meal was eaten in silence. Then they went on deck again, fretting and chafing at the long delay. Not much was said, but the boys stood in silence, trying to see through the thick fog. "It was so fine when we left," said Bart, "that I thought we'd have it all the way." "Wal, so we did--pooty much all; but then, you see, about four this mornin we run straight into a fog bank." "Has the wind changed?" "Wal, thar don't seem jest now to be any wind to speak of, but it kine o' strikes me that it's somethin like southerly weather. Hence this here fog." After a few hours the vessel began to get under way again; and now, too, there arose a light breeze, which favored them. As they went on they heard the long, regular blast of a steam whistle, which howled out a mournful note from time to time. Together with this, they heard, occasionally, the blasts of fog horns from unseen schooners in their neighborhood, and several times they could distinguish the rush of some steamer past them, whose whistle sounded sharply in their ears. As they drew nearer, these varied sounds became louder, and at length the yell of one giant whistle sounded close beside them. "We're a enterin o' the harbure," said Captain Corbet. Hours passed away from the time the Antelope raised anchor until she reached the wharf. In passing up the harbor, the shadowy forms of vessels at anchor became distinguishable amid the gloom, and in front of them, as they neared the wharf, there arose a forest of masts belonging to schooners. It was now midday. Suddenly there arose a fearful din all around. It was the shriek of a large number of steam whistles, and seemed to come up from every side. "Is that for the fog?" asked Bruce. "O, no," said Bart; "those are the saw-mills whistling for twelve o'clock." The boys had already completed their preparations for landing, and had changed their eccentric clothing for apparel which was more suited to making their appearance in society. Bart had insisted that they should go to his house, and wait until they might decide what to do; and the boys had accepted his hospitable invitation. They stepped on shore full of hope, not doubting that they would hear news of Tom. They had persuaded themselves that he had been picked up by some vessel which was coming down the bay, and had probably been put ashore here; in which case they knew that he would at once communicate with Bart's people. They even thought that Tom would be there to receive them. "Of course he will be," said Bart; "if he did turn up, they'd make him stay at the house, you know; and he'd know that we fellows would come down here in the hope of hearing about him. So we'll find him there all right, after all. Hurrah!" But, on reaching his home, Bart's joyous meeting with his family was very much marred by the deep, dark, and bitter disappointment that awaited him and his companions. They knew nothing whatever about Tom. Bart's father was shocked at the story. He knew that no boy had been picked up adrift in the bay during the past week. Such an event would have been known. He felt exceedingly anxious, and at once instituted a search among the coasting vessels. The search was a thorough one, but resulted in nothing. There was no one who had seen anything of a drifting boat. All reported thick fog in the bay. The result of this search plunged Bart and his friends into their former gloom. Other searches were made. Inquiries were sent by telegraph to different places, but without result. The fate of the missing boy now became a serious question As for Bart and his friends, they were inconsolable. XVIII. Down the Bay.--Drifting and Anchoring.--In the Dark, morally and physically.--Eastport, the jumping-off Place.--Grand Manan.--Wonderful Skill.--Navigating in the Fog.--A Plunge from Darkness into Light, and from Light into Darkness. It was Saturday when Bart reached home. As much was done on that day as possible. Bart was in the extreme of wretchedness, and so eager was he to resume the search for his friend, that his father gave his permission for him to start off again in the Antelope. The other boys also were to go with him. They determined to scour the seas till they found Tom, or had learned his fate. Mr. Damer also assured Bart that he would take the matter in hand himself, and would send out two schooners to go about the bay. In addition to this, he would telegraph to different places, so that the most extensive search possible might be instituted. Every part of the coast should be explored, and even the islands should be visited. All this gave as much consolation to Bart and his friends as it was possible for them to feel under the circumstances. As much as possible was done on Saturday, but the next day was an idle one, as far as the search was concerned. Bart and the boys waited with great impatience, and finally on Monday morning they left once more in the Antelope. It was about five o'clock in the morning, the tide was in their favor, and, though there was a head wind, yet be fore the turn of tide they were anchored a good distance down the bay. "My idee is this," said Captain Corbet. "I'll explore the hull bay in search of that driftin boy. I'll go down this side, cross over, and come up on t'other. We'll go down here first, an not cross over till we get as fur as Quoddy Head. I think, while we air down thar, I'll call at Eastport an ask a few questions. But I must say it seems a leetle too bad to have the fog go on this way. If this here had ony happened a fortnight ago, we'd have had clear weather an fair winds. It's too bad, I declar." They took advantage of the next tide to go down still farther, and by twelve o'clock on Monday night they were far down. Since leaving St. John they had seen nothing whatever, but they had heard occasionally the fog horns of wandering schooners, and once they had listened to the yell of a steamer's whistle. "I've allus said," remarked Captain Corbet, "that in navigatin this here bay, tides is more important than winds, and anchors is more important than sails. That's odd to seafarin men that ain't acquainted with these waters, but it air a oncontrovartible fact. Most of the distressin casooalties that happen hereabouts occur from a ignorance of this on the part of navigators. They WILL pile on sail. Now, in clar weather an open sea, pile it on, I say; but in waters like these, whar's the use? Why, it's flyin clar in the face of Providence. Now look at me--do I pile on sail? Not me. Catch me at it! When I can git along without, why, I git. At the same time, I don't think you'll find it altogether for the good of your precious health, boys, to be a movin about here in the fog at midnight. Better go below. You can't do no good a settin or a standin up here, squintin through a darkness that might be felt, an that's as thick as any felt I ever saw. So take my advice, an go below, and sleep it off." It was impossible to gainsay the truth of Captain Corbet's remarks, and as it was really midnight, and the darkness almost as thick as he said, the boys did go below, and managed to get to sleep in about a minute and a half after their heads touched the pillows. Before they were awake on the following day the anchor was hoisted, and the Antelope was on her way again. "Here we air, boys," said the captain, as they came on deck, "under way--the Antelope on her windin way over the mounting wave, a bereasting of the foamin biller like all possessed. I prophesy for this day a good time as long as the tide lasts." "Do you think we'll get to Eastport harbor with this tide?" "Do I think so?--I know it. I feel it down to my butes. Eastport harbure? Yea! An arter that we hev all plain-sailin." "Why, won't the fog last?" "I don't car for the fog. Arter we get to Eastport harbure we cease goin down the bay. We then cross over an steal up the other side. Then it's all our own. If the fog lasts, why, the wind'll last too, an we can go up flyin, all sails set; an I'll remuve from my mind, for the time bein, any prejudyce that I have agin wind at sails." "Do you intend to go ashore at Eastport?" "Yes, for a short time--jest to make inquiries. It will be a consolation, you know." "Of course." "Then I'll up sail, an away we'll go, irrewspective of tides, across the bay." By midday the captain informed them that they were in Eastport harbor. "See thar," said he, as he pointed to a headland with a light-house. "That thar is the entrance. They do call this a pootyish place; but as it's this thick, you won't hev much chance to see it. Don't you want to go ashore an walk about?" "Not if we can help it. Of course we'll have to ask after poor Tom, but we haven't any curiosity." "Wal, p'aps not--ony thar is people that find this a dreadful cur'ous place. It's got, as I said, a pootyish harbure; but that ain't the grand attraction. The grand attraction centres in a rock that's said to be the eastest place in the neighborin republic,--in short, as they call it, the 'jumpin-off place.' You'd better go an see it; ony you needn't jump off, unless you like." Sailing up the harbor, the fog grew light enough for them to see the shore. The town lay in rather an imposing situation, on the side of a hill, which was crowned by a fort. A large number of vessels lay about at the wharves and at anchor. Here they went ashore in a boat, but on making inquiries could gain no information about Tom; nor could they learn anything which gave them the slightest encouragement. "We've got to wait here a while so as to devarsefy the time. Suppose we go an jump off?" said the captain. The boys assented to this in a melancholy manner, and the captain led the way through the town, till at last he halted at the extreme east end. "Here," said he, "you behold the last extremity of a great an mighty nation, that spreads from the Atlantic to the Pacific, an from the Gulf of Mexiky to the very identical spot that you air now a occypyin of. It air a celebrated spot, an this here air a memorable momient in your youthful lives, if you did but know it!" There was nothing very striking about this place, except the fact which Captain Corbet had stated. Its appearance was not very imposing, yet, on the other hand, it was not without a certain wild beauty. Before them spread the waters of the bay, with islands half concealed in mist; while immediately in front, a steep, rocky bank went sheer down for some thirty or forty feet to the beach below. "I suppose," said the captain, "that bein Pilgrims, it air our dooty to jump; but as it looks a leetle rocky down thar, I think we'd best defer that to another opportoonity." Returning to the schooner, they weighed anchor, set sail, and left the harbor. On leaving it, they did not go back the way they had come, but passed through a narrow and very picturesque channel, which led them by a much shorter route into the bay. On their left were wooded hills, and on their right a little village on the slope of a hill, upon whose crest stood a church. Outside the fog lay as thick as ever, and into this they plunged. Soon the monotonous gray veil of mist closed all around them. But now their progress was more satisfactory, for they were crossing the bay, and the wind was abeam. "Are you going straight across to Nova Scotia now?" asked Bart. "Wal, yes; kine o' straight across," was the reply; "ony on our way we've got to call at a certain place, an contenoo our investergations." "What place is that?" "It's the Island of Grand Manan--a place that I allers feel the greatest respect for. On that thar island is that celebrated fog mill that I told you of, whar they keep grindin night an day, in southerly weather, so as to keep up the supply of fog for old Fundy. Whatever we'd do without Grand Manan is more'n I can say." "Is the island inhabited?" asked Bruce. "Inhabited? O, dear, yas. Thar's a heap o' people thar. It's jest possible that a driftin boat might git ashore thar, an ef so we'll know pooty soon." "How far is it?" "O, ony about seven or eight mile." "We'll be there in an hour or so, then?" "Wal, not so soon. You see, we've got to go round it." "Around it?" "Yes" "Why?" "Cos thar ain't any poppylation on this side, an we've got to land on t'other." "Why are there no people on this side?" "Cos thar ain't no harbures. The cliffs air six hundred feet high, and the hull shore runs straight on for ever so fur without a break, except two triflin coves." "How is it on the other side?" "Wal, the east side ain't a bad place. The shore is easier, an thar's harbures an anchorages. Thar's a place they call Whale Cove, whar I'm goin to land, an see if I can hear anythin. The people air ony fishers, an they ain't got much cultivation; but it's mor'en likely that a driftin boat might touch thar somewhar." The Antelope pursued her course, but it was as much as three hours before she reached her destination. They dropped anchor then, and landed. The boys had already learned not to indulge too readily in hope; but when they made their inquiries, and found the same answer meeting them here which they had received in other places, they could not avoid feeling a fresh pang of disappointment and discouragement. "Wal, we didn't git much good out of this place," said Captain Corbet. "I'm sorry that we have sech a arrand as ourn. Ef it warn't for that we could spend to-night here, an to-morry I'd take you all to see the fog mill; but, as it is, I rayther think I won't linger here, but perceed on our way." "Where do we go next--to Nova Scotia?" "Wal, not jest straight across, but kine o' slantin. We head now for Digby; that's about straight opposite to St. John, an it's as likely a place as any to make inquiries at." "How long will it be before we get there?" "Wal, some time to-morry mornin. To-night we've got nothin at all to do but to sweep through the deep while the stormy tempests blow in the shape of a mild sou-wester; so don't you begin your usual game of settin up. You ain't a mite of good to me, nor to yourselves, a stayin here. You'd ought all to be abed, and, ef you'll take my advice, you'll go to sleep as soon as you can, an stay asleep as long as you can. It'll be a foggy night, an we won't see a mite o' sunshine till we git into Digby harbure. See now, it's already dark; so take my advice, an go to bed, like civilized humane beings." It did not need much persuasion to send them off to their beds. Night was coming on, another night of fog and thick darkness. This time, however, they had the consolation of making some progress, if it were any consolation when they had no definite course before them; for, in such a cruise as this, when they were roaming about from one place to another, without any fixed course, or fixed time, the progress that they made was, after all, a secondary consideration. The matter of first importance was to hear news of Tom, and, until they did hear something, all other things were of little moment. The Antelope continued on her way all that night, and on the next morning the boys found the weather unchanged. Breakfast passed, and two or three hours went on. The boys were scattered about the decks, in a languid way, looking out over the water, when suddenly a cry from Pat, who was in the bows, aroused all of them. Immediately before them rose a lofty shore, covered in the distance with dark trees, but terminating at the water's edge in frowning rocks. A light-house stood here, upon which they had come so suddenly that, before they were over their first surprise, they were almost near enough to toss a biscuit ashore. "Wal, now, I call that thar pooty slick sailin," exclaimed Captain Corbet, glancing at the lighthouse with sparkling eyes. "I tell you what it is, boys, you don't find many men in this here day an age that can leave Manan at dusk, when the old fog mill is hard at work, and travel all night in the thickest fog ever seen, with tide agin him half the time, an steer through that thar fog, an agin that thar tide, so as to hit the light-house as slick as that. Talk about your scientific navigation--wouldn't I like to see what one of them thar scientific captings would do with his vessel last night on sech a track as I run over! Wouldn't I like to run a race with him? an ef I did, wouldn't I make a pile to leave and bequeath to the infant when his aged parient air buried beneath the cold ground?" While Captain Corbet was speaking, the schooner sailed past the light-house, and the thick fog closed around her once more. On one side, however, they could see the dim outline of the shore on their right. On they sailed for about a quarter of a mile, when suddenly the fog vanished, and, with scarce a moment's notice, there burst upon them a blaze of sunlight, while overhead appeared the glory of the blue sky. The suddenness of that transition forced a cry of astonishment from all. They had shot forth so quickly from the fog into the sunlight that it seemed like magic. They found themselves sailing along a strait about a mile in width, with shores on each side that were as high as Blomidon. On the right the heights sloped up steep, and were covered with trees of rich dark verdure, while on the other side the slope was bolder and wilder. Houses appeared upon the shore, and roads, and cultivated trees. This strait was several miles in length, and led into a broad and magnificent basin. Here, in this basin, appeared an enchanting view. A sheet of water extended before their eyes about sixteen miles in length and five in breadth. All around were lofty shores, fertile, well tilled, covered with verdurous trees and luxuriant vegetation. The green of the shores was dotted with white houses, while the blue of the water was flecked with snowy sails. Immediately on the right there appeared a circular sweep of shore, on which arose a village whose houses were intermingled with green trees. Into this beautiful basin came the old French navigators more than two centuries ago, and at its head they found a place which seemed to them the best spot in Acadie to become the capital of the new colony which they were going to found here. So they established their little town, and these placid waters became the scene of commercial activity and of warlike enterprise, till generations passed away, and the little French town of Port Royal, after many strange vicissitudes, with its wonderful basin, remained in the possession of the English conqueror. "Now," said Captain Corbet, "boys, look round on that thar, an tell me of you ever see a beautifuller place than this. Thar's ony one place that can be compared with this here, an that's Grand Pre. But for the life o' me, I never can tell which o' the two is the pootiest. It's strange, too, how them French fellers managed to pick out the best places in the hull province. But it shows their taste an judgment--it doos, railly." It was not long before the Antelope had dropped anchor in front of the town of Digby, and Captain Corbet landed with the boys as soon as possible. There was as good a chance of Tom being heard of here as anywhere; since this place lay down the bay, in one sense, and if by any chance Tom had drifted over to the Nova Scotia shore, as now seemed probable, he would be not unlikely to go to Digby, so as to resume his journey, so rudely interrupted, and make his way thence to his friends. Digby is a quiet little place, that was finished long ago. It was first settled by the Tory refugees, who came here after the revolutionary war, and received land grants from the British government. At first it had some activity, but its business soon languished. The first settlers had such bright hopes of its future that they regularly laid out a town, with streets and squares. But these have never been used to any extent, and now appear grown over with grass. Digby, however, has so much beauty of scenery around it, that it may yet attract a large population. On landing here, Captain Corbet pursued the same course as at other places. He went first to one of the principal shops, or the post office, and told his story, and afterwards went to the schooners at the wharves. But at Digby there was precisely the same result to their inquiries as there had been at other places. No news had come to the place of any one adrift, nor had any skipper of any schooner noticed anything of the kind during his last trip. "What had we better do next?" "Wal," said Captain Corbet, "we can ony finish our cruise." "Shall we go on?" "Yes." "Up the bay?" "Yes. I'll keep on past Ile Haute, an I'll cruise around Minas. You see these drifts may take him in a'most any direction. I don't see why he shouldn't hev drifted up thar as well as down here." It was Wednesday when they reached Digby. On the evening of that day the Antelope weighed anchor, and sailed out into the Bay of Fundy. It was bright sunshine, with a perfectly cloudless sky inside, but outside the Antelope plunged into the midst of a dense and heavy fog. XIX. Tom's Devices.--Rising superior to Circumstances.--Roast Clams.--Baked Lobster.--Boiled Mussels.--Boiled Shrimps.--Roast Eggs.--Dandelions.--Ditto, with Eggs.--Roast Dulse.--Strawberries.--Pilot-bread.--Strawberry Cordial. Meanwhile another day had passed away on Ile Haute. When we last saw Tom he had succeeded in finding some clams, which he roasted in front of his fire, and made thus a very acceptable relish. This not only gratified his palate for the time, but it also stimulated him to fresh exertions, since it showed him that his resources were much more extensive than he had supposed them to be. If he had ever dreaded getting out of all his provisions, he saw now that the fear was an unfounded one. Here, before his eyes, and close beside his dwelling-place, there extended a broad field full of food. In that mud flat there were clams enough to feed him for all the rest of his life, if that were necessary. But what was more, he saw by this the possibility that other articles of food might be reckoned on, by means of which he would be able to relieve his diet from that monotony which had thus far been its chief characteristic. If he could find something else besides clams and biscuit, the tedium of his existence here would be alleviated to a still greater degree. He spent some time in considering this subject, and in thinking over all the possible kinds of food which he might hope to obtain. Sea and land might both be relied on to furnish food for his table in the desert. The sea, he knew, ought to supply the following:-- 1. Clams, 2. Lobsters, 3. Mussels, in addition to other things which he had in his mind. The land, on the other hand, ought to furnish something. Now that his attention was fairly directed to this important subject, he could think of several things which would be likely to be found even on this island, and the search for which would afford an agreeable amusement. The more he thought of all this, the more astonished he was at the number of things which he could think of as being likely to exist here around him. It was not so much for the sake of gratifying his appetite, as to find some occupation, that he now entered eagerly upon putting this new project into execution. Fish, flesh, and fowl now offered themselves to his endeavors, and these were to be supplied by land, sea, and sky. This sudden enlargement of his resources, and also of his sphere of operations, caused him to feel additional satisfaction, together with a natural self-complacency. To the ordinary mind Ile Haute appeared utterly deserted and forlorn--a place where one might starve to death, if he had to remain for any length of time; but Tom now determined to test to the utmost the actual resources of the island, so as to prove, to himself what one unaided boy could do, when thus thrown upon his own intelligent efforts, with dire necessity to act as a stimulus to his ingenuity. First of all, then, there was his box of biscuit, which he had brought with him. To this must be added his first discovery on the island, namely, the clams. Nothing could be of greater importance than this, since it afforded not merely a relish, but also actual food. The next thing that he sought after was lobsters, and he went off in search of these as soon as he could on the following day. He waited till the tide was low, which was at about twelve o'clock, and then went down along the beach. At high tide, the water came close up to the foot of the lofty cliff; but at ebb, it descended for some distance, so that there was some sort of a beach even in places that did not promise any. The beach nearest to where Tom had taken up his abode was an expanse of mud and sand; but passing along beyond this, on the north side, it became gravelly. About a hundred yards to the west, on this side of the island, he came to the place where he had tied his boat, on that eventful time when he had drifted here. Below this, the beach extended down for a long distance, and at the lowest point there were rocks, and sharp stones, and pebbles of every size. Here Tom began his search, and before he had looked five minutes, he found several lobsters of good size. A little farther search showed him that there was a large supply of these, so that, in fact, sufficient support might have been obtained for a whole ship's company. By the time that he had found a half dozen of these, and had brought them back to his hearth-stone, it had grown too dark to search for any more. Tom's search, however, had been so successful, that he felt quite satisfied; and though the day had passed without any change in the weather or any lifting of the fog, though he had listened in vain for any sound over the waters which might tell of passers by, though his signal had not been seen, and his bright burning fire had not been noticed, yet the occupation of thought and of action which he had found for himself, had been sufficient to make the time pass not unpleasantly. His evening repast was now a decided improvement on that of the preceding day. First of all, he spread some clams in the hot ashes to roast; and then, taking the dipper which had been used for baling, he filled it with water, and placing this on the fire, it soon began to boil. Into this he thrust the smallest lobster, and watched it as the water bubbled around it, and its scaly covering turned slowly from its original dark hue to a bright red color. His success thus far stimulated him to make some attempts at actual cookery. Removing some of the lobster from its shell, he poured out most of the water from the pan, and into what remained he again put the lobster, cutting it up as fine as he could with his knife. Into this he crumbled some biscuit, and stirred it up all together. He then placed it over the fire till it was well baked. On removing it and tasting it, he found it most palatable. It was already sufficiently salt, and only needed a little pepper to make it quite equal to any scolloped lobster that he had ever tasted. His repast consisted of this, followed by the roast clams, which formed an agreeable variety. Tom now felt like a giant refreshed; and while sitting in front of the evening fire, he occupied his mind with plans for the morrow, which were all directed towards enlarging his supply of provisions. He awaked late on the next morning, and found the weather unchanged. He tried to quell his impatience and disappointment, and feeling that idleness would never do, he determined to go to work at once, and carry out the plans of the preceding day. It was now Thursday, the middle of the second week, and the fog had clung pertinaciously around him almost all that time. It was indeed disheartening, and idleness under such circumstances would have ended in misery and despair; but Tom's perseverance, and obstinate courage, and buoyant spirits enabled him still to rise above circumstances, and struggle with the gloom around him. "O, go on, go on," he muttered, looking around upon the fog. "Let's see who can stand it longest. And now for my foraging expedition." Making a hearty repast out of the remnants of the supper of the preceding evening, he went first to the shore, so as to complete his search there while the tide should be low. It was going down now, and the beach was all before him. He wandered on till he came to where there was an immense ledge of sharp rocks, that went from the foot of the precipice down into the bay. Over these he clambered, looking carefully around, until at last he reached the very lowest point. Here he soon found some articles of diet, which were quite as valuable in their way as the clams and lobsters. First of all, he found an immense quantity of large mussels. These were entangled among the thick masses of sea-weed. He knew that the flavor of mussels was much more delicate than that of clams or lobsters, and that by many connoisseurs these, when good and fresh, were ranked next to oysters. This discovery, therefore, gave him great joy, and he filled his pan, which he had carried down, and took them back to the shore. He also took an armful of sea-weed, and, reaching his camping-place, he threw the mussels in a hollow place in the sand, placing the sea-weed around them. In this way he knew that they would keep fresh and sweet for any reasonable length of time. Returning to the ledges of rock, he walked about among them, and found a number of pools, some of which were of considerable size. These had been left by the retreating water; and in these hollows he soon saw a number of small objects moving about. Some of them he caught without much difficulty, and saw that they were shrimps. He had hoped to find some of these, but the discovery came to him like some unexpected pleasure, and seemed more than he had any right to count on. Beside the shrimps his other discoveries seemed inferior. There was a large number, and they could be caught without much trouble. He soon filled his pan, and brought these also to his camping-place. These he deposited in a little pool, which was on the surface of some rocks that lay not far from the shore. Over these he also laid some sea-weed. The tide was now coming up, but Tom made a further journey to the beach, so as to secure something which he had noticed during his previous expedition. This was a marine plant called dulse, which, in these waters, grows very plentifully, and is gathered and dried by the people in large quantities. It was a substance of which Tom was very fond, and he determined to gather some, and dry it in the sun. Collecting an armful of this, he took it to the shore, and spread it out over the grass, though, in that damp and foggy atmosphere, there was not much prospect of its drying. It was now about three o'clock in the afternoon, and Tom's researches along the shore were successfully terminated. He had found all the different articles that he had thought of and his new acquisitions were now lying about him. These were,-- Clams, Lobsters, Mussels, Shrimps, Dulse. As he murmured to himself the list of things, he smiled triumphantly. But still there was work to be done. Tom intended to keep fashionable hours, and dine late, with only a lunch in the middle of the day. His explorations of the afternoon were to be important, and he hoped that they would be crowned with a portion of that success which had attended the work of the morning. He took, therefore, a hasty lunch of biscuit and cold lobster, washed down with water, and then set forth. This time he turned away from the shore, and went to the top of the island. He carried in his hand a bit of rope, about a dozen feet in length, and went along the edge of the cliff as far as he could, turning aside at times to avoid any clumps of trees or bushes that grew too thickly. In front of him the line of cliff extended for some distance, and he walked along, until, at last, he came to a place where the gulls flew about in larger flocks than usual, almost on a line with the top of the rock. He had not noticed them particularly on his former walk along here; but now he watched them very attentively, and finally stood still, so as to see their actions to better advantage. Tom, in fact, had made up his mind to procure some gulls' eggs, thinking that these would make an addition to his repast of great importance; and he now watched the motions of these birds, so as to detect the most accessible of their nests. He did not have to watch long. A little observation showed him a place, just under the cliff, not far away from him. Hastening forward, he bent over, and, looking down, he saw a large number of nests. They had been constructed on a shelf of rock immediately below the edge of the cliff, and the eggs were within easy reach. The gulls flew about wildly, as the intruder reached down his hands towards their nests, and screamed and shrieked, while some of them rushed towards him, within a few feet of his head, as though they would assail him and beat him off. But Tom's determination did not falter. He cared no more for the gulls than if they were so many pigeons, but secured as many eggs as he could carry. These he took with him back to his camp. But he was not yet satisfied. He was anxious to have some vegetables; and over the open ground, among the grass, he had seen plants which were very familiar to him. There were dandelions; and Tom saw in them something that seemed worth more than any of his other acquisitions. Going forth in search of these, he managed to get his pan full of them. These he washed, and after cutting off the roots, he put them in the pan with water, and then set them over the fire to boil. While they were boiling Tom went off once more, and found some wild strawberries. They were quite plentiful about here, and this was the season for them. He stripped a piece of bark from a birch tree, as the country people do, and formed from this a dish which would hold about a quart. This he filled after a moderate search. He took the strawberries to his camp, and then, going back to the woods, he procured some more birch bark, out of which he made a half dozen dishes. It was now about five o'clock, and Tom thought it was time for him to begin to cook his dinner. The dandelions were not quite cooked as yet; so Tom had to wait; but while doing so, he heated some stones in the fire. By the time they were heated, the dandelions were cooked; and Tom, removing the pan, put some shrimps and mussels in it, to boil over the fire. He then removed the stones, and placed one of the lobsters among them in such a way, that it was surrounded on every side in a hot oven. He then buried a few clams among the hot ashes, and did the same with three or four of the gulls' eggs. One of the hot stones was reserved for another purpose. It was the largest of them, and was red hot when he drew it from the fire, but soon cooled down enough to resume its natural color, although it retained an intense heat. Over this he spread some of the wet dulse, which soon crackled and shrivelled up, sending forth a rich and fragrant steam. In roasting this dulse, a large piece would shrink to very small proportions, so that half of Tom's armful, when thus roasted, was reduced to but a small handful. After finishing this, he drew the gulls' eggs from the fire, and taking off the shells, he cut them in slices, and put them with the dandelions. Then he took the shrimps and mussels from the fire, and removing them from the pan, he separated them, and put them into different bark dishes. The clams were next drawn forth, and though rather overdone, they were, nevertheless, of tempting appearance and appetizing odor. Finally, the lobster was removed, and Tom contented himself with one of the claws, which he placed on a dish, reserving the remainder for another time. And now the articles were all cooked, and Tom's repast was ready. He looked with a smile of gratification upon the various dishes which his ingenuity and industry had drawn forth from the rocks, and cliffs, and mud, and sand of a desert island, and wondered whether other islands, in tropical climates, could yield a more varied or more nutritious supply. He thought of other plants which might be found here, and determined to try some that seemed to be nutritious. Here is the repast which Tom, on that occasion, spread before himself:-- 1. Roast clams, 2. Baked lobster, 3. Boiled mussels, 4. Boiled shrimps, 5. Roast eggs, 6. Dandelions, 7. Dandelions with eggs, 8. Roast dulse, 9. Strawberries, 10. Pilot-bread. In one thing only did Tom fall short of his wishes, and that was in the way of drinks. But before that dinner was finished, even this was remedied; for necessity, the great mother of invention, instigated Tom to squeeze about half of his strawberries into a little water. Out of this he formed a drink with a flavor that seemed to him to be quite delicious. And that made what Tom called,-- 11. Strawberry cordial. XX. New Discoveries.--The Boat.--A great Swell.--Meditations and Plans.--A new, and wonderful, and before unheard-of Application of Spruce Gum.--I'm afloat! I'm afloat! Tom sat there over his banquet until late. He then went down to the beach, and brought up a vast collection of driftwood, and throwing a plenteous supply upon the fire, he lay down beside it, and looked out over the water, trying, as usual, to see something through the thick mist. The flames shot up with a crackle and a great blaze, and the bright light shone brilliantly upon the water. The tide was now up, and the boat was full before him. Tom fixed his eyes upon this boat, and was mournfully recalling his unsuccessful experiment at making her sea-worthy, and was waiting to see her sink down to her gunwales as she filled, when the thought occurred to him that she was not filling so rapidly as she might, but was floating much better than usual. A steady observation served to show him that this was no fancy, but an actual fact; and the confirmation of this first impression at once drove away all other thoughts, and brought back all the ideas of escape which he once had cherished. The boat was admitting the water, certainly, yet she certainly did not leak quite so badly as before, but was floating far better than she had done on the night of his trial. What was the meaning of this? Now, the fact is, he had not noticed the boat particularly during the last few days. He had given it up so completely, that it ceased to have any interest in his eyes. Raising his signal, building his house, and exploring the island had taken up all his thoughts. Latterly he had thought of nothing but his dinner. But now the change in the boat was unmistakable, and it seemed to him that the change might have been going on gradually all this time without his noticing it until it had become so marked. What was the cause of this change? That was the question which he now sought to answer. After some thought he found a satisfactory explanation. For a number of days the boat had been admitting the water till she was full. This water had remained in for an hour or more, and this process of filling and emptying had been repeated every tide. The atmosphere also had been wet, and the wood, thus saturated with water so frequently, had no chance of getting dry. Tom thought, therefore, that the wooden framework, which he had constructed so as to tighten the leak, had been gradually swelling from the action of the water; and the planks of the boat had been tightening their cracks from the same cause, so that now the opening was not nearly so bad as it had been. Thus the boat, which once had been able to float him for a quarter of an hour or more, ought now to be able to float him for at least double that time. Tom watched the boat very attentively while the tide was up; and, when at length it began to retreat, and leave it once more aground, he noticed that it was not more than half full of water. If any confirmation had been needed to the conclusions which he had drawn from seeing the improved buoyancy of the boat, it would have been afforded by this. Tom accepted this with delight, as an additional circumstance in his favor; and now, having become convinced of this much, he set his wits to work to see if some plan could not be hit upon by means of which the boat could once more be made sea-worthy. Tom's indefatigable perseverance must have been noticed by this time. To make the best of circumstances; to stand face to face with misfortune, and shrink not; to meet the worst with equanimity, and grasp eagerly at the slightest favorable change,--such was the character that Tom had shown during his experience of the past. Now, once more, he grasped at this slight circumstance that appeared to favor his hopes, and sought to find some way by which that half-floating boat could be made to float wholly, and bear him away to those shores that were so near by. Too long had he been submitting to this imprisonment; too long had he been waiting for schooners to pass and to bring him help; too long had he been shut in by a fog that seemed destined never to lift so long as he was here. If he could only form some kind of a boat that would float long enough to land him on the nearest coast, all that he wished would be gratified. As he thought over this subject, he saw plainly what he had felt very strongly before--that the boat could not be sea-worthy unless he had some tar with which to plaster over the broken bow, and fill in the gaping seams; but there was no tar. Still, did it follow that there was nothing else? Might not something be found upon the island which would serve the purpose of tar? There must be some such substance and perhaps it might be found here. Tom now thought over all the substances that he could bring before his mind. Would clay do? No; clay would not. Would putty? No, and besides, he could not get any. What, then, would serve this important purpose? Tar was produced from trees. Were there no trees here that produced some sticky and glutinous substance like tar? There was the resin of pine trees, but there were no pines on the island. What then? These fir trees had a sort of sticky, balsamic juice that exuded plentifully from them wherever they were cut. Might he not make some use of that? Suddenly, in the midst of reflections like these, he thought of the gum that is found on spruce trees--spruce gum! It was an idea that deserved to be followed up and carried out. Thus far he had never thought of spruce gum, except as something which he, like most boys, was fond of chewing; but now it appeared before his mind as affording a possible solution of his difficulty. The more he thought of it, the more did it seem that this would be adapted to his purpose. The only question was, whether he could obtain enough of it. He thought that he might easily obtain enough if he only took the proper time and care. With this new plan in his mind, Tom retired for the night, and awaked the next morning by the dawn of day. It was still foggy; but he was now so resigned, and was so full of his new plan, that it did not trouble him in the slightest degree. In fact, he was so anxious to try this, that the sight of a boat landing on the beach, all ready to take him off, would not have afforded him an unmixed satisfaction. He took his tin dipper, and went up at once into the woods. Here he looked around very carefully, and soon found what he wanted. He knew perfectly well, of course, how to distinguish spruce trees from fir, by the sharp, prickly spires of the former, and so he was never at a loss which trees to search. No sooner had he begun, than he was surprised at the quantities that he found. To an ordinary observer the trunk of the spruce tree seems like any other tree trunk--no rougher, and perhaps somewhat smoother than many; but Tom now found that on every tree almost there were little round excrescences, which, on being picked at with the knife, came off readily, and proved to be gum. Vast quantities of a substance which goes by the name of spruce gum are manufactured and sold; but the pure gum is a very different article, having a rich, balsamic odor, and a delicate yet delicious flavor; and Tom, as he filled his pan, and inhaled the fragrance that was emitted by its contents, lamented that his necessities compelled him to use it for such a purpose as that to which this was destined. After four or five hours' work, he found that he had gathered enough. He had filled his pan no less than six times, and had secured a supply which was amply sufficient to give a coating of thick gum over all the fractured place. The tide, which had already risen, was now falling, and, as soon as the boat was aground, and the water out of her, Tom proceeded to raise her bows, in precisely the same manner as he had raised the boat on a former occasion. The next thing was to bring the gum into a fit condition for use. This he did by kindling the fire, and melting it in his tin pan. This would rather interfere with the use of that article as a cooking utensil, but now that Tom's mind was full of this new purpose, cooking and things of that sort had lost all attractions for him. As for food, there was no fear about that. He had his biscuit, and the lobster and shell-fish which he had cooked on the preceding day were but partially consumed. Enough remained to supply many more meals. The gum soon melted, and then a brush was needed to apply it to the boat. This was procured by cutting off a little strip of canvas, about a yard long and six inches wide. By picking out some of the threads, and rolling it up, a very serviceable brush was formed. Taking the gum now in its melted state, Tom dipped his brush into it, and applied it all over the broken surface of the bow, pressing the hot liquid in close, and allowing it to harden in the cracks. His first coating of gum was very satisfactorily applied, and it seemed as though a few more coatings ought to secure the boat from the entrance of the water. The gum was tenacious, and its only bad quality was its brittleness; but, as it would not be exposed to the blows of any hard substances, it seemed quite able to serve Tom's wants. Tom now went down to the drift-wood and brought up a fresh supply of fuel, after which he melted a second panful of gum, and applied this to the boat. He endeavored to secure an entrance for it into all the cracks that did not seem to be sufficiently filled at the first application, and now had the satisfaction of seeing all of those deep marks filled up and effaced by the gum. One place still remained which had not yet been made secure against the entrance of the water, and that was where the planks gaped open from the blow that had crushed in the bows. Here the canvas that was inside protruded slightly. Torn ripped up some of the canvas that was on the tent, and taking the threads, stuffed them in the opening, mixing them with gum as he did so, until it was filled; and then over this he put a coating of the gum. After this another pan, and yet another, were melted, and the hot gum each time was applied. This gave the whole surface a smooth appearance, that promised to be impenetrable to the water. The gum which he had collected was enough to fill two more pans. This he melted as before, and applied to the bows. Each new application clung to the one that had preceded it, in a thick and quickly hardening layer, until at last, when the work was done, there appeared a coating of this gum formed from six successive layers, that was smooth, and hard, and without any crack whatever. It seemed absolutely water-tight; and Tom, as he looked at it now, could not imagine where the water could penetrate. Yet, in order to make assurance doubly sure, he collected two more panfuls, and melting this he applied it as before. After this was over, he made a torch of birch bark, and lighting this, he held the flame against the gum till the whole outer surface began to melt and run together. This served to secure any crevices that his brush might have passed by without properly filling. The work was now complete as far as Tom could do it; and on examining it, he regretted that he had not thought of this before. He felt an exultation that he had never known in his life. If he, by his own efforts, could thus rescue himself, what a cause it would be always after to struggle against misfortune, and rise superior to circumstances! As to the voyage, Tom's plan was the same that it had been on a former occasion. He would float the boat at high tide, and then push off, keeping her near the shore, yet afloat until ebb tide. Then, when the tide should turn, and the current run up the bay, he would put off, and float along with the stream until he reached land. According to his calculations it would be high tide about two hours after dark, which would be some time after ten. He would have to be up all night; for the tide would not turn until after four in the morning. But that did not trouble him. He would have too much on his mind to allow him to feel sleepy, and, besides, the hope which lay before him would prevent him from feeling fatigue. One thing more remained, and that was, to bring up a fresh supply of fuel. The night would be dark, and while floating in the boat, he would need the light of the fire. So he brought up from the beach an ample supply of drift-wood, and laid it with the rest. When Tom's work was ended, it was late in the day, and he determined to secure some sleep before he began his long night's work. He knew that he could waken at the right time; so he laid himself down in his tent, and soon slept the sleep of the weary. By ten o'clock he was awake. He found the water already up to the boat. There was no time to lose. He carried his box of biscuit on board, and filled his pan with water from the brook, so as to secure himself against thirst in case the boat should float away farther than he anticipated. Then he took his paddle, and got into the boat. The water came up higher. Most anxiously Tom watched it as it rose. The fire was burning low, and in order to make more light, Tom went ashore and heaped an immense quantity of wood upon it. The flames now blazed up bright, and on going back again to the boat, the water was plainly visible as it closed around the bows. Most anxiously he now awaited, with his eyes fastened upon the bottom of the boat. He had not brought the old sail this time, but left it over his tent, and he could see plainly. Higher came the water, and still higher, yet none came into the boat, and Tom could scarce believe in his good fortune. At last the boat floated! Yes, the crisis had come and passed, and the boat floated! There was now no longer any doubt. His work was successful; his deliverance was sure. The way over the waters was open. Farewell to his island prison! Welcome once more the great world! Welcome home, and friends, and happiness! In that moment of joy his heart seemed almost ready to burst. It was with difficulty that he calmed himself; and then, offering up a prayer of thanksgiving, he pushed off from the shore. The boat floated! The tide rose, and lingered, and fell. The boat floated still. There was not the slightest sign of a leak. Every hour, as it passed, served to give Tom a greater assurance that the boat was sea-worthy. He found no difficulty in keeping her afloat, even while retaining her near the shore, so that she might be out of the way of the currents. At length, when the tide was about half way down, he found the fire burning too low, and determined to go ashore and replenish it. A rock jutted above the water not far off. To this he secured the boat, and then landing, he walked up the beach. Reaching the fire, he threw upon it all the remaining wood. Returning then to the boat, he boarded her without difficulty. The tide fell lower and lower. And now Tom found it more and more difficult to keep the boat afloat, without allowing her to be caught by the current. He did not dare to keep her bows near the shore, but turned her about, so that her stem should rest from time to time on the gravel. At last the tide was so low that rocks appeared above the surface, and the boat occasionally struck them in a very unpleasant manner. To stay so near the shore any longer was not possible. A slight blow against a rock might rub off all the brittle gum, and then his chances would be destroyed. He determined to put out farther, and trust himself to Providence. Slowly and cautiously he let his boat move out into deeper water. But slowness and caution were of little avail. In the deeper water there was a strong current, which at once caught the boat and bore her along. Tom struggled bravely against it, but without avail. He thought for a moment of seeking the shore again, but the fear that the boat would be ruined deterred him. There was a little wind blowing from the southwest, and he determined to trust to the sail. He loosened this, and, sitting down, waited for further developments. The wind filled the sail, and the boat's progress was checked somewhat, yet still she drifted down the bay. She was drifting down past the north shore of the island. Tom could see, amid the gloom, the frowning cliffs as he drifted past. The firelight was lost to view; then he looked for some time upon the dark form of the island. At last even that was lost to view. He was drifting down the bay, and was already below Ile Haute. XXI. Scott's Bay and Old Bennie.--His two Theories.--Off to the desert Island.--Landing.--A Picnic Ground.--Gloom and Despair of the Explorers.--All over.--Sudden Summons. It was on Wednesday evening that the Antelope passed from the sunshine and beauty of Digby Basin out into the fog and darkness of the Bay of Fundy. The tide was falling, and, though the wind was in their favor, yet their progress was somewhat slow. But the fact that they were moving was of itself a consolation. In spite of Captain Corbet's declared preference for tides and anchors, and professed contempt for wind and sails, the boys looked upon these last as of chief importance, and preferred a slow progress with the wind to even a more rapid one by means of so unsatisfactory a method of travel as drifting. At about nine on the following morning, the Antelope reached a little place called Wilmot Landing, where they went on shore and made the usual inquiries with the usual result. Embarking again, they sailed on for the remainder of that day, and stopped at one or two places along the coast. On the next morning (Friday) they dropped anchor in front of Hall's Harbor--a little place whose name had become familiar to them during their memorable excursion to Blomidon. Here they met with the same discouraging answer to their question. "Wal," said Captain Corbet, "we don't seem to meet with much success to speak of--do we?" "No," said Bart, gloomily. "I suppose your pa'll be sendin schooners over this here same ground. 'Tain't no use, though." "Where shall we go next?" "Wal, we've ben over the hull bay mostly; but thar's one place, yet, an that we'll go to next." "What place is that?" "Scott's Bay. "My idee is this," continued Captain Corbet: "We'll finish our tower of inspection round the Bay of Fundy at Scott's Bay. Thar won't be nothin more to do; thar won't remain one single settlement but what we've called at, 'cept one or two triflin places of no 'count. So, after Scott's Bay, my idee is to go right straight off to old Minas. Who knows but what he's got on thar somewhar?" "I don't see much chance of that." "Why not?" "Because, if he had drifted into the Straits of Minas, he'd manage to get ashore." "I don't see that." "Why, it's so narrow." "Narrer? O, it's wider'n you think for; besides, ef he got stuck into the middle of that thar curn't, how's he to get to the shore? an him without any oars? Answer me that. No, sir; the boat that'll drift down Petticoat Jack into the bay, without gettin ashore, 'll drift up them straits into Minas jest the same." "Well, there does seem something in that. I didn't think of his drifting down the Petitcodiac." "Somethin? Bless your heart! ain't that everythin?" "But do you think there's really a chance yet?" "A chance? Course thar is. While thar's life thar's hope." "But how could he live so long?" "Why shouldn't he?" "He might starve." "Not he. Didn't he carry off my box o' biscuit?" "Think of this fog." "O, fog ain't much. It's snow an cold that tries a man. He's tough, too." "But he's been so exposed." "Exposed? What to? Not he. Didn't he go an carry off that ole sail?" "I cannot help thinking that it's all over with him?" "Don't give him up; keep up; cheer up. Think how we got hold of ole Solomon after givin him up. I tell you that thar was a good sign." "He's been gone too long. Why, it's going on a fortnight?" "Wal, what o' that ef he's goin to turn up all right in the end? I tell you he's somewhar. Ef he ain't in the Bay of Fundy, he may be driftin off the coast o' Maine, an picked up long ago, an on his way home now per steamer." Bart shook his head, and turned away in deep despondency, in which feeling all the other boys joined him. They had but little hope now. The time that had elapsed seemed to be too long, and their disappointments had been too many. The sadness which they had felt all along was now deeper than ever, and they looked forward without a ray of hope. On Friday evening they landed at Scott's Bay, and, as old Bennie Griggs's house was nearest, they went there. They found both the old people at home, and were received with an outburst of welcome. Captain Corbet was an old acquaintance, and made himself at home at once. Soon his errand was announced. Bennie had the usual answer, and that was, that nothing whatever had been heard of any drifting boat. But he listened with intense interest to Captain Corbet's story, and made him tell it over and over again, down to the smallest particular. He also questioned all the boys very closely. After the questioning was over, he sat in silence for a long time. At last he looked keenly at Captain Corbet. "He's not ben heard tell of for about twelve days?" "No." "An it's ben ony moderate weather?" "Ony moderate, but foggy." "O, of course. Wal, in my 'pinion, fust an foremust, he ain't likely to hev gone down." "That thar's jest what I say." "An he had them biscuit?" "Yes--a hull box." "An the sail for shelter?" "Yes." "Wal; it's queer. He can't hev got down by the State o' Maine; for, ef he'd got thar, he'd hev sent word home before this." "Course he would." Old Bennie thought over this for a long time again, and the boys watched him closely, as though some result of vital importance hung upon his final decision. "Wal," said Bennie at last, "s'posin that he's alive,--an it's very likely,--thar's ony two ways to account for his onnat'ral silence. Them air these:-- "Fust, he may hev got picked up by a timber ship, outward bound to the old country. In that case he may be carried the hull way acrost. I've knowed one or two sech cases, an hev heerd of severial more. "Second. He may hev drifted onto a oninhabited island." "An oninhabited island?" repeated Captain Corbet. "Yea." "Wal," said Captain Corbet; after a pause, "I've knowed things stranger than that." "So hev I." "Air thar any isle of the ocean in particular that you happen to hev in your mind's eye now?" "Thar air." "Which?" "Ile Haute." "Wal, now, railly, I declar--ef I wan't thinkin o' that very spot myself. An I war thinkin, as I war a comin up the bay, that that thar isle of the ocean was about the only spot belongin to this here bay that hadn't been heerd from. An it ain't onlikely that them shores could a tale onfold that mought astonish some on us. I shouldn't wonder a mite." "Nor me," said Bennie, gravely. "It's either a timber ship, or a desert island, as you say,--that's sartin," said Captain Corbet, after further thought, speaking with strong emphasis. "Thar ain't a mite o' doubt about it; an which o' them it is air a very even question. For my part, I'd as soon bet on one as t'other." "I've heerd tell o' several seafarin men that's got adrift, an lit on that thar isle," said Bennie, solemnly. "Wal, so hev I; an though our lad went all the way from Petticoat Jack, yet the currents in thar wandorins to an fro could effectooate that thar pooty mighty quick, an in the course of two or three days it could land him high an dry on them thar sequestrated shores." "Do you think there is any chance of it?" asked Bruce, eagerly, directing his question to Bennie. "Do I think? Why, sartin," said Bennie, regarding Bruce's anxious face with a calm smile. "Hain't I ben a expoundin to you the actool facts?" "Well, then," cried Bart, starting to his feet, "let's go at once." "Let's what?" asked Captain Corbet. "Why, hurry off at once, and get to him as soon as we can." "An pray, young sir, how could we get to him by leavin here jest now?" "Can't we go straight to Ile Haute?" "Scacely. The tide'll be agin us, an the wind too, till nigh eleven." Bart gave a deep sigh. "But don't be alarmed. We'll go thar next, an as soon as we can. You see we've got to go on into Minas Basin. Now we want to leave here so as to drop down with the tide, an then drop up with the flood tide into Minas Bay. I've about concluded to wait here till about three in the mornin. We'll drop down to the island in about a couple of hours, and'll hev time to run ashore, look round, and catch the flood tide." "Well, you know best," said Bart, sadly. "I think that's the only true an rational idee," said Bennie. "I do, railly; an meantime you can all get beds here with me, an you can hev a good bit o' sleep before startin." This conversation took place not long after their arrival. The company were sitting in the big old kitchen, and Mrs. Bennie was spreading her most generous repast on the table. After a bounteous supper the two old men talked over the situation until bedtime. They told many stories about drifting boats and rafts, compared notes about the direction of certain currents, and argued about the best course to pursue under certain very difficult circumstances, such, for example, as a thick snow-storm, midnight, a heavy sea, and a strong current setting upon a lee shore, the ship's anchor being broken also. It was generally considered that the situation was likely to be unpleasant. At ten o'clock Bennie hurried his guests to their beds, where they slept soundly in spite of their anxiety. Before three in the morning he awaked them, and they were soon ready to reembark. It was dim morning twilight as they bade adieu to their hospitable entertainers, and but little could be seen. Captain Corbet raised his head, and peered into the sky above, and sniffed the sea air. "Wal, railly," said he, "I do declar ef it don't railly seem as ef it railly is a change o' weather--it railly doos. Why, ain't this rich? We're ben favored at last. We're agoin to hev a clar day. Hooray!" The boys could not make out whether the captain's words were justified or not by the facts, but thought that they detected in the air rather the fragrance of the land than the savor of the salt sea. There was no wind, however, and they could not see far enough out on the water to know whether there was any fog or not. Bennie accompanied them to the boat, and urged them to come back if they found the boys and let him rest in Scott's Bay. But the fate of that boy was so uncertain, that they could not make any promise about it. It was a little after three when the Antelope weighed anchor, and dropped down the bay. There was no wind whatever. It was the tide only that carried them down to their destination. Soon it began to grow lighter, and by the time that they were half way, they saw before them the dark outline of the island, as it rose from the black water with its frowning cliffs. The boys looked at it in silence. It seemed, indeed, a hopeless place to search in for signs of poor Tom. How could he ever get ashore in such a place as this, so far out of the line of his drift; or if he had gone ashore there, how could he have lived till now? Such were the gloomy and despondent thoughts that filled the minds of all, as they saw the vessel drawing nearer and still nearer to those frowning cliffs. As they went on the wind grew stronger, and they found that it was their old friend--the sou-wester. The light increased, and they saw a fog cloud on the horizon, a little beyond Ile Haute. Captain Corbet would not acknowledge that he had been mistaken in his impressions about a change of weather, but assured the boys that this was only the last gasp of the sou-wester, and that a change was bound to take place before evening. But though the fog was visible below Ile Haute, it did not seem to come any nearer, and at length the schooner approached the island, and dropped anchor. It was about half past four in the morning, and the light of day was beginning to be diffused around, when they reached their destination. As it was low tide, they could not approach very near, but kept well off the precipitous shores on the south side of the island. In the course of her drift, while letting go the anchor, she went off to a point about half way down, opposite the shore. Scarce had her anchor touched bottom, than the impatient boys were all in the boat, calling on Captain Corbet to come along. The captain and Wade took the oars. It was a long pull to the shore, and, when they reached it, the tide was so low that there remained a long walk over the beach. They had landed about half way down the island, and, as they directed their steps to the open ground at the east end, they had a much greater distance to traverse than they had anticipated. As they walked on, they did not speak a word. But already they began to doubt whether there was any hope left. They had been bitterly disappointed as they came near and saw no sign of life. They had half expected to see some figure on the beach waiting to receive them. But there was no figure and no shout of joy. At length, as they drew nearer to the east end, and the light grew brighter, Bart, who was in advance, gave a shout. They all hurried forward. Bart was pointing towards something. It was a signal-staff, with something that looked like a flag hoisted half mast high. Every heart beat faster, and at once the wildest hopes arose. They hurried on over the rough beach as fast as possible. They clambered over rocks, and sea-weed, and drift-wood, and at length reached the bank. And still, as they drew nearer, the signal-staff rose before them, and the flag at half mast became more and more visible. Rushing up the bank towards this place, each trying to outstrip the others, they hurried forward, full of hope now that some signs of Tom might be here. At length they reached the place where Tom had been so long, and here their steps were arrested by the scene before them. On the point arose the signal-staff, with its heavy flag hanging down. The wind was now blowing, but it needed almost a gale to hold out that cumbrous canvas. Close by were the smouldering remains of what had been a huge fire, and all around this were chips and sticks. In the immediate neighborhood were some bark dishes, in some of which were shrimps and mussels. Clams and lobsters lay around, with shells of both. Not far off was a canvas tent, which looked singularly comfortable and cosy. Captain Corbet looked at all this, and shook his head. "Bad--bad--bad," he murmured, in a doleful tone. "My last hope, or, rayther, one of my last hopes, dies away inside of me. This is wuss than findin' a desert place." "Why? Hasn't he been here? He must have been here," cried Bart. "These are his marks. I dare say he's here now--perhaps asleep--in the camp. I'll go--" "Don't go--don't--you needn't," said Captain Corbet, with a groan. "You don't understand. It's ben no pore castaway that's come here--no pore driftin lad that fell upon these lone and desolate coasts. No--never did he set foot here. All this is not the work o' shipwracked people. It's some festive picnickers, engaged in whilin away a few pleasant summer days. All around you may perceive the signs of luxoorious feastin. Here you may see all the different kind o' shellfish that the sea produces. Yonder is a luxoorious camp. But don't mind what I say. Go an call the occoopant, an satisfy yourselves." Captain Corbet walked with the boys over to the tent. His words had thrown a fresh dejection over all. They felt the truth of what he said. These remains spoke not of shipwreck, but of pleasure, and of picnicking. It now only remained to rouse the slumbering owner of the tent, and put the usual questions. Bart was there first, and tapped at the post. No answer. He tapped again. Still there was no answer. He raised the canvas and looked in. He saw the mossy interior, but perceived that it was empty. All the others looked in. On learning this they turned away puzzled. "Wal, I thought so," said Captain Corbet. "They jest come an go as the fancy takes 'em. They're off on Cape d'Or to-day, an back here to-morrer." As he said this he seated himself near the tent, and the boys looked around with sad and sombre faces. It was now about half past five, and the day had dawned for some time. In the east the fog had lifted, and the sun was shining brightly. "I told you thar'd be a change, boys," said the captain. As he spoke there came a long succession of sharp, shrill blasts from the fog horn of the Antelope, which started every one, and made them run to the rising ground to find out the cause. XXII. Astounding Discovery.--The whole Party of Explorers overwhelmed.--Meeting with the Lost.--Captain Corbet improves the Occasion.--Conclusion. At the sound from the Antelope they had all started for the rising ground, to see what it might mean. None of them had any idea what might be the cause, but all of them felt startled and excited at hearing it under such peculiar circumstances. Nor was their excitement lessened by the sight that met their eyes as they reached the rising ground and looked towards the schooner. A change had taken place. When they had left, Solomon only had remained behind. But now there were two figures on the deck. One was amidships. The schooner was too far away for them to see distinctly, but this one was undoubtedly Solomon; yet his gestures were so extraordinary that it was difficult to identify him. He it was by whom the blasts on the fog horn were produced. Standing amidships, he held the fog horn in one hand, and in the other he held a battered old cap which supplied the place of the old straw hat lost at Quaco. After letting off a series of blasts from the horn, he brandished his cap wildly in the air, and then proceeded to dance a sort of complex double-shuffle, diversified by wild leaps in the air, and accompanied by brandishings of his hat and fresh blasts of the horn. But if Solomon's appearance was somewhat bewildering, still more so was that of the other one. This one stood astern. Suddenly as they looked they saw him hoist a flag, and, wonder of wonders, a black flag,--no other, in short, than the well-known flag of the "B. O. W. C." That flag had been mournfully lowered and put away on Tom's disappearance, but now it was hoisted once more; and as they looked, the new comer hoisted it and lowered it, causing it to rise and fall rapidly before their eyes. Nor did the wonder end here. They had taken away the only boat that the schooner possessed in order to come ashore, leaving Solomon alone. They had noticed no boat whatever as they rowed to land. But now they saw a boat floating astern of the Antelope, with a small and peculiarly shaped sail, that now was flapping in the breeze. Evidently this boat belonged to the new comer. But who was he? How had he come there? What was the meaning of those signals with that peculiar flag, and what could be the reason of Solomon's joy? They stood dumb with astonishment, confused, and almost afraid to think of the one cause that each one felt to be the real explanation of all this. Too long had they searched in vain for Tom,--too often had they sunk from hope to despair,--too confident and sanguine had they been; and now, at this unexpected sight, in spite of the assurance which it must have given them that this could be no other than Tom, they scarce dared to believe in such great happiness, and were afraid that even this might end in a disappointment like the others. But, though they stood motionless and mute, the two figures on board the Antelope were neither one nor the other. Solomon danced more and more madly, and brandished his arms more and more excitedly, and there came forth from his fog horn wilder and still wilder peals, and the flag rose and fell more and more quickly, until at last the spectators on the shore could resist no longer. "G-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-d ger-ra-a-a-cious!" This cry burst from Captain Corbet. It was enough. The spell was broken. A wild cry burst forth from the boys, and with loud, long shouts of joy they rushed down the bank, and over the beach, back to their boat. The captain was as quick as any of them. In his enthusiasm he forgot his rheumatism. There was a race, and though he was not even with Bruce and Bart, he kept ahead of Pat, and Arthur, and Phil, and old Wade. Hurrah! And hurrah again! Yes, and hurrah over and over; and many were the hurrahs that burst from them as they raced over the rocky beach. Then to tumble into the boat, one after another, to grasp the oars, to push her off, to head her for the schooner, and to dash through the water on their way back, was but the work of a few minutes. The row to the schooner was a tedious one to those impatient young hearts. But as they drew nearer, they feasted their eyes on the figure of the new comer, and the last particle of doubt and fear died away. First, they recognized the dress--the familiar red shirt. Tom had worn a coat and waistcoat ashore at Hillsborough on that eventful day; but on reaching the schooner, he had flung them off, and appeared now in the costume of the "B. O. W. C." This they recognized first, and then his face was revealed--a face that bore no particular indication of suffering or privation, which seemed certainly more sunburnt than formerly, but no thinner. Soon they reached the vessel, and clambered up; and then with what shouts and almost shrieks of joy they seized Tom! With what cries and cheers of delight they welcomed him back again, by turns overwhelming him with questions, and then pouring forth a torrent of description of their own long search! Captain Corbet stood a little aloof. His face was not so radiant as the faces of the boys. His features were twitching, and his hands were clasped tight behind his back. He stood leaning against the mainmast, his eyes fixed on Tom. It was thus that he stood when Tom caught sight of him, and rushed up to shake hands. Captain Corbet grasped Tom's hand in both of his. He trembled, and Tom felt that his hands were cold and clammy. "My dear boys," he faltered, "let us rejice--and--be glad--for this my son--that was dead--is alive agin--" A shudder passed through him, and he stopped, and pressed Tom's hand convulsively. Then he gave a great gasp, and, "Thar, thar," he murmured, "it's too much! I'm onmanned. I've suffered--an agonized--an this--air--too much!" And with these words he burst into tears. Then he dropped Tom's hand, and retreated into the cabin, where he remained for a long time, but at last reappeared, restored to calmness, and with a smile of sweet and inexpressible peace wreathing his venerable countenance. By this time the boys had told Tom all about their long search; and when Captain Corbet reappeared, Tom had completed the story of his adventures, and had just reached that part, in his wanderings, where he had left the island, and found himself drifting down the bay. As that was the point at which Tom was last lost sight of in these pages, his story may be given here in his own words. "Yes," said he, "you see I found myself drifting down. There was no help for it. The wind was slight, and the tide was strong. I was swept down into a fog bank, and lost sight of Ile Haute altogether. Well, it didn't matter very much, and I wasn't a bit anxious. I knew that the tide would turn soon, and then I'd come up, and fetch the land somewhere; so I waited patiently. At last, after about--well, nearly an hour, the tide must have turned, and I drifted back, and there was wind enough to give me quite a lift; and so all of a sudden I shot out of the fog, and saw Ile Haute before me. I was coming in such a way that my course lay on the south side of the island, and in a short time I came in sight of the schooner. I tell you what it is, I nearly went into fits--I knew her at once. A little farther on, and I saw you all cutting like mad over the beach to my camp. I was going to put after you at first; but the fact is, I hated the island so that I couldn't bear to touch it again, and so I concluded I'd go on board and signal. So I came up alongside, and got on board. Solomon was down below; so I just stepped forward, and put my head over the hatchway, and spoke to him. I declare I thought he'd explode. He didn't think I was a ghost at all. It wasn't fear, you know--it was nothing but delight, and all that sort of thing, you know. Well, you know, then we went to work signaling to you, and he took the fog horn, and I went to the flag, and so it was." "I don't know how we happened not to see your boat," said Bruce. "O, that's easy enough to account for," said Tom. "I was hid by the east point of the island. I didn't see the schooner till I got round, and you must have been just getting ashore at that time." During all this time Solomon had been wandering about in a mysterious manner; now diving below into the hold, and rattling the pots and pans; again emerging upon deck, and standing to listen to Tom and look at him. His face shone like a polished boot; there was a grin on his face that showed every tooth in his head, and his little twinkling black beads of eyes shone, and sparkled, and rolled about till the winking black pupils were eclipsed by the whites. At times he would stand still, and whisper solemnly and mysteriously to himself, and then, without a moment's warning, he would bring his hands down on his thighs, and burst into a loud, long, obstreperous, and deafening peal of uncontrollable laughter. "Solomon," said Tom, at last, "Solomon, my son, won't you burst if you go on so? I'm afraid you may." At this Solomon went off again, and dived into the hold. But in a minute or two he was back again, and giggling, and glancing, and whispering to himself, as before. Solomon and Captain Corbet thus had each a different way of exhibiting the same emotion, for the feeling that was thus variously displayed was nothing but the purest and most unfeigned joy. "See yah, Mas'r Tom--and chil'n all," said Solomon, at last. "Ise gwine to pose dat we all go an tend to sometin ob de fust portance. Hyah's Mas'r Tom habn't had notin to eat more'n a mont; an hyah's de res ob de blubbed breddern ob de Bee see double what been a fastin since dey riz at free clock dis shinin and spicious morn. Dis yah's great an shinin casium, an should be honnad by great and strorny stivities. Now, dar ain't no stivity dat can begin to hole a can'l to a good dinna, or suppa, or sometin in de eatin line. So Ise gwine to pose to honna de cobbery ob de Probable Son by a rale ole-fashioned, stunnin breakfuss. Don't be fraid dar'll be any ficiency hyah. I got tings aboard dat I ben a savin for dis spicious an lightful cobbery. Ben no eatin in dis vessel ebber sence de loss chile took his parter an drifted off. Couldn't get no pusson to tetch nuffin. Got 'em all now; an so, blubbed breddern, let's sem'l once more, an ole Solomon'll now ficiate in de pressive pacity ob Gran Pandledrum. An I pose dat we rect a tent on de sho oh dis yah island, and hab de banket come off in fust chop style." "The island!" cried Tom, in horror. "What! the island? Breakfast on the island? What a horrible proposal! Look here, captain. Can't we get away from this?" "Get away from this?" repeated the captain, in mild surprise. "Yes," said Tom. "You see, the fact is, when a fellow's gone through what I have, he isn't over fond of the place where he's had that to go through. And so this island is a horrible place to me, and I can't feel comfortable till I get away out of sight of it. Breakfast! Why, the very thought of eating is abominable as long as that island is in sight." "Wal, railly, now," said Captain Corbet, "I shouldn't wonder if thar was a good deal in that, though I didn't think of it afore. Course it's natral you shouldn't be over fond of sech, when you've had sech an oncommon tough time. An now, bein' as thar's no uthly occasion for the Antelope to be a lingerin' round this here isle of the ocean, I muve that we histe anchor an resume our vyge. It's nigh onto a fortnight sence we fust started for Petticoat Jack, and sence that time we've had rare and strikin vycissitoods. It may jest happen that some on ye may be tired of the briny deep, an may wish no more to see the billers bound and scatter their foamin spray; some on ye likewise may be out o' sperrits about the fog. In sech a case, all I got to say is, that this here schooner'll be very happy to land you at the nighest port, Scott's Bay, frincense, from which you may work your way by land to your desired haven. Sorry would I be to part with ye, specially in this here moment of jy; but ef ye've got tired of the Antelope, tain't no more'n's natral. Wal, now,--what d'ye say--shall we go up to Scott's Bay, or will ye contenoo on to Petticoat Jack, an accomplitch the riginal vyge as per charter party?" The boys said nothing, but looked at Tom as though referring the question to him. "As far as I am concerned," said Tom, who noticed this reference to him, "it's a matter of indifference where we go, so long as we go out of sight of this island. If the rest prefer landing at Scott's Bay, I'm agreed; at the same time, I'd just as soon go on to Petitcodiac." "An what do the rest o' ye say?" asked the captain, somewhat anxiously. "For my part," said Bruce, "I think it's about the best thing we can do." The others all expressed similar sentiments, and Captain Corbet listened to this with evident delight. "All right," said he, "and hooray! Solomon, my aged friend, we will have our breakfast on board, as we glide past them thar historic shores. Pile on what you have, and make haste." In a few minutes more the anchor was up, and the Antelope was under way. In about half an hour Solomon summoned them below, where he laid before them a breakfast that cast into the shade Tom's most elaborate meal on the island. With appetites that seemed to have been growing during the whole period of Tom's absence, the joyous company sat down to that repast, while Solomon moved around, his eyes glistening, his face shining, his teeth grinning, and his hips moving, as, after his fashion, he whispered little Solomonian pleasantries to his own affectionate heart. At this repast the boys began a fresh series of questions, and drew from Tom a full, complete, and exhaustive history of his island life, more particularly with regard to his experience in house-building, and housekeeping; and with each one, without exception, it was a matter of sincere regret that it had not been his lot to be Tom's companion in the boat and on the island. After breakfast they came up on deck. The wind had at length changed, as Captain Corbet had prophesied in the morning, and the sky overhead was clear. Down the bay still might be seen the fog banks, but near at hand all was bright. Behind them Ile Haute was already at a respectful distance, and Cape Chignecto was near. "My Christian friends," said Captain Corbet, solemnly,--"my Christian friends, an dear boys. Agin we resoom the thread of our eventfool vyge, that was brok of a suddent in so onparld a manner. Agin we gullide o'er the foamin biller like a arrer shot from a cross-bow, an culleave the briny main. We have lived, an we have suffered, but now our sufferins seem to be over. At last we have a fair wind, with a tide to favor us, an we'll be off Hillsborough before daybreak to-morrer. An now I ask you all, young sirs, do you feel any regretses over the eventfool past? I answer, no. An wan't I right? Didn't I say that that thar lad would onst more show his shinin face amongst us, right side up, with care, in good order an condition, as when shipped on board the Antelope, Corbet master, from Grand Pre, an bound for Petticoat Jack? Methinks I did. Hence the vally of a lofty sperrit in the face of difficulties. An now, young sirs, in after life take warnin by this here vyge. Never say die. Don't give up the ship. No surrender. England expects every man to do his dooty. For him that rises superior to succumstances is terewly great; an by presarvin a magnanumous mind you'll be able to hold up your heads and smile amid the kerrash of misfortin. Now look at me. I affum, solemn, that all the sufferins I've suffered have ben for my good; an so this here vyge has eventooated one of the luckiest vyges that you've ever had. An thus," he concluded, stretching out his venerable hands with the air of one giving a benediction,--"thus may it be with the vyge of life. May all its storms end in calms, an funnish matter in the footoor for balmy rettuspect. Amen!" It was a close approach to a sermon; and though the words were a little incoherent, yet the tone was solemn, and the intention good. After this the captain dropped the lofty part of a Mentor, and mingled with the boys as an equal. This time the voyage passed without any accident. Before daybreak on the following morning they reached Hillsborough, where Mrs. Watson received them with the utmost joy. In a few days more the boys had scattered, and Bart arrived home with the story of Tom's rescue. 
21239	----	The Cliff Climbers A Sequel to "The Plant Hunters" By Captain Mayne Reid ________________________________________________________________________ The book begins with two young brothers and an Indian guide, in a valley in the Himalayas, into which they had ascended with some difficulty in the preceding book - "The Plant Hunters". Unfortunately they find they cannot get out at the top of the valley, and they cannot go back the way they came. So they are stuck. They try various ingenious ideas for getting out, each of which appears as though it would work, but in the end does not, usually in a quite entertaining way. Eventually they do think of a way, which I will not divulge here, and they get out, but it had been a long nerve-racking period before their final release. The copy of the book I worked from looked at first sight as though it had been beautifully printed. But this turned out to be a delusion, for the type-setting had been truly awful. It does seem sad that an author, a well-known one at the time, could take the trouble to write a good book, that he should use a good publisher, and a good illustrator, a good book-binder, only to have the whole thing let down by very poor type-setting. And that goes on down to proof-reading, too, for the publisher should have checked all this as well. NH ________________________________________________________________________ THE CLIFF CLIMBERS A SEQUEL TO "THE PLANT HUNTERS" BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID CHAPTER ONE. THE HIMALAYAS. Who has not heard of the Himalayas--those Titanic masses of mountains that interpose themselves between the hot plains of India and the cold table-lands of Thibet--a worthy barrier between the two greatest empires in the world, the Mogul and the Celestial? The veriest tyro in geography can tell you that they are the tallest mountains on the surface of the earth; that their summits--a half-dozen of them at least--surmount the sea-level by more than five miles of perpendicular height; that more than thirty of them rise above twenty thousand feet, and carry upon their tops the eternal snow! The more skilled geographer, or _geognosist_, could communicate hundreds of other interesting facts in relation to these majestic mountains; vast volumes might be filled with most attractive details of them--their _fauna_, their _sylva_, and their _flora_. But here, my reader, we have only space to speak of a few of the more salient points, that may enable you to form some idea of the Titanic grandeur of these mighty masses of snow-crowned rock, which, towering aloft, frown or smile, as the case may be, on our grand empire of Ind. It is the language of writers to call the Himalayas a "chain of mountains." Spanish geographers would call them a "sierra" (saw)--a phrase which they have applied to the Andes of America. Either term is inappropriate, when speaking of the Himalayas: for the vast tract occupied by these mountains--over 200,000 square miles, or three times the size of Great Britain--in shape bears no resemblance to a chain. Its length is only six or seven times greater than its breadth--the former being about a thousand miles, while the latter in many places extends through two degrees of the earth's latitude. Moreover, from the western termination of the Himalayas, in the country of Cabul, to their eastern declension near the banks of the Burrampooter, there is no continuity that would entitle them to the appellation of a "chain of mountains." Between these two points they are cut transversely--and in many places--by stupendous valleys, that form the channels of great rivers, which, instead of running east and west, as the mountains themselves were supposed to trend, have their courses in the transverse direction--often flowing due north or south. It is true that, to a traveller approaching the Himalayas from any part of the great plain of India, these mountains present the appearance of a single range, stretching continuously along the horizon from east to west. This, however, is a mere optical illusion; and, instead of one range, the Himalayas may be regarded as a _congeries_ of mountain ridges, covering a superficies of 200,000 square miles, and running in as many different directions as there are points in the compass. Within the circumference of this vast mountain tract there is great variety of climate, soil, and productions. Among the lower hills--those contiguous to the plains of India--as well as in some of the more profound valleys of the interior--the flora is of a tropical or subtropical character. The palm, the tree fern, and bamboo here flourish in free luxuriance. Higher up appears the vegetation of the temperate zone, represented by forests of gigantic oaks of various species, by sycamores, pines, walnut, and chestnut trees. Still higher are the rhododendrons, the birches, and heaths; succeeded by a region of herbaceous vegetation--by slopes, and even table-plains, covered with rich grasses. Stretching onward and upward to the line of the eternal snow, there are encountered the _Cryptogamia_--the lichens and mosses of Alpine growth--just as they are found within the limits of the polar circle; so that the traveller, who passes from the plains of India towards the high ridges of the Himalayas, or who climbs out of one of the deeper valleys up to some snow-clad summit that surmounts it, may experience within a journey of a few hours' duration every degree of climate, and observe a representative of every species of vegetation known upon the face of the earth! The Himalayas are not uninhabited. On the contrary, one considerable kingdom (Nepaul), with many petty states and communities (as Bhotan, Sikhim, Gurwhal, Kumaon, and the famed Cashmere), are found within their boundaries--some enjoying a sort of political independence, but most of them living under the protection either of the Anglo-Indian empire, on the one side, or that of China upon the other. The inhabitants of these several states are of mixed races, and very different from the people of Hindostan. Towards the east--in Bhotan and Sikhim--they are chiefly of the Mongolian stock, in customs and manners resembling the people of Thibet, and, like them, practising the religion of the Lamas. In the western Himalayas there is an admixture of Ghoorka mountaineers, Hindoos from the south, Sikhs from Lahore, and Mahometans from the old empire of the Moguls; and here, also, are to be found, in full profession, the three great representative religions of Asia--Mahometan, Buddhist, and Brahmin. The population, however, is exceedingly small compared with the surface over which it is distributed; and there are many tracts in the Himalayan hills, thousands of square miles in extent, where no human being dwells--where no chimney sends up its smoke. Indeed, there are vast tracts, especially among the high snow-covered summits, that have either never been explored, or only very rarely, by the adventurous hunter. Others there are quite inaccessible; and it is needless to say, that the highest peaks--such as Chumulari, Kinchinjunga, Donkia, Dawalghisi, and the like--are far beyond the reach of even the most daring climber. Perhaps no one has ever ascended to the height of five miles above the level of the sea; and it is a question whether at that elevation a human being could exist. At such a height it is probable that animal life would become extinct, by reason either of the extreme cold or the rarity of the atmosphere. Though the Himalaya mountains have been known from the earliest historic times--for they are the _Imaus_ and _Emodus_ of the ancient writers--it is only within the present century that we in Europe have obtained any definite knowledge of them. The Portuguese and Dutch--the first European colonists of India--have told us very little about them; and even our own Anglo-Indian writers were long silent upon this interesting theme. Exaggerated accounts of the hostility and cruelty of the Himalayan highlanders--more especially the Ghoorkas--prevented private explorations; and with the exception of some half-dozen books, most of them referring to the western section of the Himalayas, and comparatively valueless, from the want of scientific knowledge on the part of their authors, this vast tract has remained almost a _terra incognita_ up to the present time. Of late, however, we have obtained a better acquaintance with this interesting portion of the earth's surface. The botanist, lured thither by its magnificent _flora_, has opened to us a new world of vegetation. Royle and Hooker have ably achieved this task. The zoologist, equally attracted by its varied _fauna_, has made us acquainted with new forms of animal life. Hodgson and Wallich are the historians in this department. Scarcely less are we indebted to the sportsman and hunter-- to Markham, Dunlop, and Wilson the "mountaineer." But in addition to these names, that have become famous through the published reports of their explorations, there are others that still remain unrecorded. The _plant-hunter_--the humble but useful commissioner of the enterprising nurseryman--has found his way into the Himalayas; has penetrated their most remote gorges; has climbed their steepest declivities; and wandered along the limit of their eternal snow. In search of new forms of leaf and flower, he has forded the turbid stream, braved the roaring torrent, dared the dangerous avalanche, and crossed the dread crevasse of the glistening glacier; and though no printed book may record his adventurous experience, not the less has he contributed to our knowledge of this great mountain world. His lessons may be read on the parterre, in the flowers of the purple magnolia, the deodar, the rhododendron. They may be found in the greenhouse, in the eccentric blossoms of the orchis, and curious form of the screw-pine--in the garden, in many a valuable root and fruit, destined ere long to become favourites of the dessert-table. It is ours to chronicle the story of an humble expedition of this kind--the adventures of a young plant-hunter, the _employe_ of an enterprising "seedsman" well-known in the world's metropolis. CHAPTER TWO. A VIEW FROM CHUMULARI. Our scene lies in the very heart of the Himalayas--in that district of them least explored by English travellers, though not the most distant from the Anglo-Indian capital, Calcutta. Almost due north of this city, and in that portion of the Himalayan ranges embraced by the great bend of the Burrampooter, may be found the spot upon which our interest is to be fixed. Literally may it be termed a spot, when compared in superficies with the vast extent of wilderness that surrounds it--a wilderness of bleak, barren ridges, of glistening glaciers, of snow-clad summits, soaring one above another, or piled incongruously together like cumuli in the sky. In the midst of this chaos of rock, ice, and snow, Chumulari raises his majestic summit, crowned and robed in white, as becomes his sacred character. Around are other forms, his acolytes and attendants, less in stature, but mighty mountains nevertheless, and, like him, wearing the vestment of everlasting purity. Could you stand upon the top of Chumulari, you would have under your eye, and thousands of feet below your feet, the scene of our narrative-- the arena in which its various incidents were enacted. Not so unlike an amphitheatre would that scene appear--only differing from one, in the small number of the _dramatis persona_, and the entire absence of spectators. From the top of Chumulari, looking down among the foot hills of this majestic mountain, you might behold a valley of a singular character--so singular as at once to fix your attention. You would note that it is of a regular oval shape; and that instead of being bounded by sloping declivities, it is girt by an almost vertical cliff that appears to be continuous all around it. This cliff of dark granitic rock you might guess with your eye to rise several hundred feet sheer from the bottom of the valley. If it were in the season of summer, you might further observe, that receding from its brow a dark-coloured declivity of the mountain rises still higher, terminating all around in peaks and ridges--which, being above the snow-line are continually covered with the pale white mantle that has fallen upon them from the heavens. These details would be taken in at the first glance; and then your eye would wander into the valley below, and rest there--fixed by the singularity of the scene, and charmed by its soft loveliness--so strongly contrasting with the rude surroundings on which you had been hitherto gazing. The form of the valley would suggest the existence of the grand elliptical crater of some extinct volcano. But instead of the black sulphuric _scoria_, that you might expect to see strewed over its base, you behold a verdant landscape of smiling loveliness, park-like plains interposed with groves and copses, here and there a mound of rock-work, as if piled artificially and for ornament. Around the cliffs appears a belt of forest of darker green; and occupying the centre a limpid lake, on whose silver surface at a certain hour of the day you might see reflected part of the snow-crowned summit on which you are standing--the cone of Chumulari itself. With a good glass you might distinguish quadrupeds of several _species_ straying over the verdant pastures; birds of many kinds upon the wing, and others disporting themselves upon the surface of the lake. You would be tempted to look for a grand mansion. You would send your glance in every direction, expecting to see chimneys and turrets overtopping the trees; but in this you would be disappointed. On one side of the valley, near to the base of its bounding cliff, you might see a white vapour ascending from the surface of the earth. It would be an error to believe it smoke. It is not that--only the _rime_ rising over a hot-spring bubbling out from the rocks and forming the little rivulet, that, like a silver string, connects it with the lake. Charmed with the view of this lovely valley, you would desire to visit it. You would descend the long slope of Chumulari, and straggling through the labyrinth of rugged foot hills that surround it, you would reach the brow of the bounding precipice; but there you must come to a halt. No path leads downward; and if you are still determined to set foot on the shores of that smiling lake, you will have to make the descent of the cliffs by means of a rope or rope-ladder several hundred feet in length. With comrades to help you, you may accomplish this; but once in the valley, you can only get out of it by remounting your rope-ladder: for you will find no other means of exit. At one end of the valley you may perceive a gap in the cliffs; and fancy that through this you may make your way out to the side of the mountain. The gap may be easily reached, by going up a gentle acclivity; but having passed through it, you will discover that it only guides you into a gorge, like the valley itself, bounded on both sides by precipitous cliff's. This gorge is half filled by a glacier; on the surface of which you may pass for a certain distance downward. At the end of that descent you will find the glacier cut by a deep crevasse, a hundred feet in depth and a hundred in width. Without bridging the crevasse, you can go no further; and if you did succeed in bridging it, further down you would find others deeper and wider, over which it would be impossible for you to pass. Return then, and examine the singular valley into which you have made your way. You will find there trees of many kinds, quadrupeds of many kinds, birds of many kinds, and insects of many kinds--you will find every form of animal life, except that of the human being. If you find not man, however, you may discover traces of him. Close to the hot-spring, and forming a sort of "lean-to" against the cliff, you may observe a rude hut built with blocks of stone, and plastered with mud from the bed of the rivulet. Enter it. You will find it empty, cold, untenanted by living thing. No furniture. Stone couches covered with sedge and grass, upon which men may have slept or lain; and two or three blocks of granite upon which they may have sat. That is all. Some pieces of skin hanging around the walls, and the bones of animals strewed over the ground outside, give a clue to the kind of food upon which the inhabitants of the hut may have subsisted. Hunters they must have been. That will be your natural conjecture. But how did they get into this valley, and how got they out of it? Of course, like yourself, they descended into it, and then ascended out again, by means of a rope-ladder. That would be the explanation at which you would arrive; and it would be a satisfactory one, but for a circumstance that just now comes under your observation. Scanning the _facade_ of the cliff, your eye is arrested by a singular appearance. You perceive a serried line, or rather a series of serried lines, running from the base in a vertical direction. On drawing nearer to these curious objects, you discover them to be ladders--the lowest set upon the earth, and reaching to a ledge, upon which the second is rested; this one extending to a second ledge, on which the third ladder finds support; and so on throughout a whole series of six. At first sight, it would appear to you as if the _ci-devant_ denizens of the hut had made their exodus from the valley by means of these ladders; and such would be the natural conviction, but for a circumstance that forbids belief in this mode of exit: _the ladders do not continue to the top of the cliff_! A long space, which would require two or three more such ladders to span it, still intervenes between the top of the highest and the brow of the precipice; and this could not have been scaled without additional ladders. Where are they? It is scarcely probable they had been drawn up; and had they fallen back into the valley, they would still be there. There are none upon the ground. But these conjectures do not require to be continued. A short examination of the cliff suffices to convince you that the design of scaling it by ladders could not have succeeded. The ledge against which rests the top of the highest must have been found too narrow to support another; or rather, the rocks above and projecting over would render it impossible to place a ladder upon this ledge. It is evident that the scheme had been tried and abandoned. The very character of the attempt proves that they who had made it must have been placed in a desperate situation--imprisoned within that cliff-girt valley, with no means of escaping from it, except such as they themselves might devise. Moreover, after a complete exploration of the place, you can find no evidence that they ever did escape from their strange prison; and your thoughts can only shape themselves into conjectures, as to who they were that had wandered into this out-of-the-way corner of the world; how they got into, and how out of it; and, finally, whether they ever succeeded in getting out at all. Your conjectures will come to an end, when you have read the history of the _Cliff-climbers_. CHAPTER THREE. THE PLANT-HUNTER AND HIS COMPANIONS. Karl Linden, a young German student, who had taken part in the revolutionary struggles of 1848, had by the act of banishment sought an asylum in London. Like most refugees, he was without means; but, instead of giving himself up to idle habits, he had sought and obtained employment in one of those magnificent "nurseries" which are to be met with in the suburbs of the world's metropolis. His botanical knowledge soon attracted the attention of his employer, the proprietor of the nursery--one of those enterprising and spirited men who, instead of contenting themselves with merely cultivating the trees and flowering-plants already introduced into our gardens and greenhouses, expend large sums of money in sending emissaries to all parts of the earth, to discover and bring home other rare and beautiful kinds. These emissaries--botanical collectors, or "plant-hunters," as they may be called--in the pursuit of their calling, have explored, and are still engaged in exploring, the wildest and most remote countries of the globe--such as the deep, dark forests upon the Amazon, the Orinoco, and the Oregon in America; the hot equatorial regions of Africa; the tropical jungles of India; the rich woods of the Oriental islands; and, in short, wherever there is a prospect of discovering and obtaining new floral or sylvan beauties. The exploration of the Sikhim Himalaya by the accomplished botanist, Hooker--recorded in a book of travels not inferior to that of the great Humboldt--had drawn attention to the rich and varied _flora_ of these mountains; and in consequence of this, the enterprising "seedsman" who had given Karl Linden temporary employment in his garden, promoted him to a higher and more agreeable field of labour, by sending him as a "plant-hunter" to the Thibetan Himalayas. Accompanied by his brother, Caspar, the young botanist proceeded to Calcutta; and, after a short residence there, he set out for the Himalayas--taking a direction almost due north from the city of the Ganges. He had provided himself with a guide, in the person of a celebrated Hindoo hunter or "shikaree," called Ossaroo; and this individual was the sole attendant and companion of the two brothers--with the exception of a large dog, of the boar-hound species, which had been brought with them from Europe, and that answered to the name of Fritz. The young botanist had come to India furnished with a letter of introduction to the manager of the Botanical Garden of Calcutta--an establishment of world-wide renown. There he had been hospitably received on his arrival in the Oriental city; and during his sojourn he had spent much of his time within its boundaries. Moreover, the authorities of the place, interested in his expedition, had given him all the information in their power as to the route he intended pursuing--though that was not much: for the portion of the Himalayas he was about to explore was at that time a _terra incognita_ to Englishmen--even in the city of Calcutta! It is not necessary here to detail the many adventures that befel our plant-hunter and his party, during the progress of their journey towards the Himalayas, and after they had entered within the grand gorges of these mountains. Suffice it to say, that in pursuit of a beautiful little animal--a "musk-deer"--they had gone up a gully filled by one of those grand glaciers so common in the higher Himalayas; that the pursuit had led them far up the ravine, and afterwards conducted them into a singular crater-like valley--the one already described; that once in this valley, they could find no way out of it, but by the ravine through which they had entered; and that on returning to make their exit, they discovered to their great consternation that a crevasse in the glacier, over which they had passed, had opened during their absence, and to such an extent as to render their exit impossible! They had endeavoured to span this crevasse; and had spent much time in making a bridge of pine-trees for the purpose. They had succeeded at length in getting across the chasm--but only to find others in the glacier below, which no ingenuity could enable them to get over. They were compelled to abandon the idea, and return again to the valley; which, though lovely to the eye, had now become hateful to their thoughts: since they knew it to be their _prison_. During their residence in the place, many adventures befel them with wild animals of various kinds. There chanced to be a small herd of "yaks," or grunting oxen, in the valley; and these formed for a time the staple article of their food. Caspar, who, though younger than Karl, was the more skilled hunter of the two, had a very narrow escape from the old yak bull; though he succeeded at length in killing the dangerous animal. Ossaroo was very near being eaten up by a pack of wild dogs-- every one of which he afterwards succeeded in killing; and Ossaroo was also in danger of being swallowed up by an enemy of a very different kind--that is by a _quicksand_, into which he had got his legs while engaged in taking fish out of a net! Karl was not without _his_ hair-breadth "'scape"--having been chased by a bear along a ledge of the cliff, from which he was compelled to make a most perilous descent. The bear itself took refuge in a cave, where it was afterwards pursued and killed, by all three acting in concert, materially assisted by the dog Fritz. They had incurred great risk in this chase of the bear: for although they had succeeded in destroying the formidable animal they lost themselves in the great labyrinthine cavern, and were only able to find their way out by making a fire with the stocks of their guns, and rendering the bear's-grease available for candles--which fortunately enabled them to extricate themselves. During the pursuit of the bear, and their subsequent endeavours to find their way out, our adventurers had been struck by the enormous dimensions of the cavern in which the animal had taken refuge; and in the hope that some of its great galleries might lead out through the mountain, and offer them a way of escape from the valley, they had made torches, and explored it from end to end. It was all to no purpose; and becoming satisfied that there was no exit by way of the cavern, they had at length desisted from the search. From this point shall we continue, in more circumstantial detail, the history of their attempts to escape from their mountain prison; which they were now convinced could only be done by _climbing the cliff_ that encircled it. The Cliff Climbers--by Captain Mayne Reid CHAPTER FOUR. HOME TO THE HUT. Emerging from the cave after their fruitless exploration, all three-- Karl, Caspar, and Ossaroo--sat down upon the rocks in front of the cliff, and for some time remained silent. The looks of all betokened a deep and hopeless despair. The same thought was passing in their minds. A painful thought it was--that they were completely cut off from all communication with the world, and might never again look on human faces, save their own! Caspar was the first to give expression to this gloomy foreboding. "Oh, brother!" groaned he, addressing himself to Karl, who sat nearest to him, "oh! it is an awful fate! Here must we live, here must we die, far away from home, far away from the world--alone--alone!" "No," replied Karl, deeply moved by the distress of his brother, "no, Caspar, not alone--God is with us. Let Him be our world." However Caspar in his conscience might have acknowledged the justice of the admonition, it failed to cheer him. Indeed, he could not help perceiving, that Karl had uttered the speech half doubtingly, and with the design of affording consolation. Moreover, the effort which Karl was making to look hopeful and cheerful was evidently constrained; and only the more convinced his companions that neither hope nor joy was in his breast. To Karl's consolatory words his brother made no rejoinder. Ossaroo, however, gave vent to his thoughts by an ambiguous shake of the head, and a brief speech characteristic of that belief in fatalism peculiar to his race. "Ah, sahibs," said he, addressing himself to both, "if the Great Sahib in the sky will we go out from here, we go--if He no will, we no go-- nivvamore." Ossaroo's speech, however compatible with a true faith, did not contribute much towards cheering the spirits of the party; and for another long interval all remained silent. Caspar and Ossaroo appeared completely prostrated by the new disappointment. Karl, on the other hand, seemed less disposed to view things despairingly; and as he sate, was evidently engaged in active thought. After awhile his companions observed this; though neither made any attempt to rouse him from his reverie. They guessed, that, whatever was passing in his mind would soon be communicated to them. They were right in this conjecture: for in a few minutes Karl terminated the silence by addressing them. "Come!" said he, speaking in a tone of encouragement, "we are wrong in so soon yielding to despair. Let us not give up, till we are beaten at all points. I have told you what my object was, when I first mounted upon that ledge, and discovered the cave and its surly occupant, the bear. I thought then, that, if we could find a series of ledges one above another, and sufficiently near each other, we might plant ladders upon them, and so reach the top. You see that there is such a succession of ledges--just before your faces there. Unfortunately there is one of the spaces high up yonder--where the cliff is darkest--that cannot be less than sixty or seventy feet in width. I have ascertained that by comparing it with the height from the ground to the cave--which I had just finished measuring when I met the bear. It would be impossible for us to make a ladder that length--or even to hoist it up there if made--so that all thought of scaling the cliff at this point must be given up." "Perhaps," interposed Caspar, catching at Karl's idea, "there may be some other part of the precipice where the ledges are nearer to each other? Did you examine it all around?" "No. I had got no further than this place, when I met Master Bruin; and, as you know, our adventures with him and our exploration of the cave have taken up our time ever since, and, indeed, driven the design of the ladders quite out of my head. Now, however, we may return to it; and our next move will be to go all round, and see whether a better place may not be discovered. To-night it is too late. It already begins to darken; and we must have clear daylight for such a purpose. Let us home to our hut, and have some supper and then go to rest--having first prayed to Him for success. We may rise in better spirits, and continue our examination in the morning." To this proposal there was no objection on the part of either Caspar or Ossaroo. On the contrary, the mention of supper--both being very hungry--had caused them to start to their feet with remarkable alacrity; and Karl, taking the lead, they followed him, Fritz in turn following them. On arriving at their hut, supper was cooked and eaten, with that zest which hunger always gives, even to the coarsest viands; and, having carried out the remaining part of the programme which Karl had suggested--that is, the offering up a prayer for success on the morrow-- the trio sought their grass-covered couches with a feeling of renewed hopefulness. CHAPTER FIVE. A MIDNIGHT INTRUDER. They had been asleep several hours, when all three were suddenly awakened by the barking of Fritz. During night hours the faithful creature stayed habitually within the hut--where he also had his bed of dry grass. On hearing any unusual noise without, he would rush forth and prowl about for awhile; and, after satisfying himself that there was no enemy in the neighbourhood, would return quietly to his lair. Fritz was far from being a noisy dog. He had seen too much service, and gathered too much wisdom, to waste his breath in idle barking; and it was only upon grand and important occasions that he condescended to give tongue. Then, however, his bark--or bay, it should rather be termed-- was terrific. On the occasion in question--which happened just about the hour of midnight--the three sleepers were suddenly awakened by his expansive "yowl," that filled the whole valley, and reverberating from the cliffs, appeared continuous. The dog, after uttering this warning note, had rushed out of the hut--which had no door to it--and it was from some place down near the lake that his barking appeared to proceed. "What can it be?" was the prompt and _very_ natural inquiry of the three individuals, whom Fritz had so abruptly awakened from their slumbers. "Something Fritz is frightened at," said Caspar, who knew the dog's nature better than either of the others. "He don't bark that way at any sort of game that he knows he can conquer. It's some animal that's a match for him, I warrant. If the old yak bull were still alive, I should say it was he." "There may be tigers in this valley; I never thought of that," rejoined Karl. "Now that I do think of it," continued he, drawing upon the reminiscences of his zoological reading, "it is quite probable. People believe the tiger to be exclusively an inhabitant of tropical or subtropical regions. That is an error. On this continent (the speaker was in Asia) the royal Bengal tiger ranges at least as far north as the latitude of London. I know he is found on the Amoor as high as the fiftieth degree." "Mercy on us!" broke in Caspar; "it may be a tiger, and we have never thought of having a door to our hut! If it should be one--" Here the hypothetic speech of Caspar was abruptly brought to a conclusion, by a singular noise from without--which was heard mingling in chorus with the baying of Fritz. The noise in question bore some resemblance to the sound of a trumpet, only sharper and more treble in its character. It was in effect more like the squeak of a _penny trumpet_ than the real article; and yet, withal, there was something terrifying in the sound. It must have terrified Fritz: for the moment after it was heard, the dog came rushing back into the hut, as if pursued by a legion of horned bulls; and, though he kept up his angry baying, he appeared altogether disinclined to venture out again. Just then, the singular noise was heard outside the door--something between a shriek and a whistle--and this time with a far more terrifying effect: since, whatever produced it--bird, beast, or man--was evidently near, and still approaching nearer. Of the three individuals within the hut, only one had ever before heard a sound exactly similar to that. Ossaroo was the one. The old shikaree recognised the noise the moment it reached his ears, and knew perfectly well the sort of instrument that must have been producing it; but he was hindered for a time from proclaiming his knowledge, by surprise, as well as a strong feeling of terror at hearing such a sound in such a place. "By de wheels ob Juggernaut car!" he gasped out. "Can't be--can't be; no possible him be here." "Who? What?" demanded Karl and Caspar, in a breath. "See, sahibs! it him--it him!" hurriedly rejoined the Hindoo, in a sort of shrieking whisper. "We all perish--it him--it him--de god--de mighty--de terrible--" There was no light within the hovel, except a faint glimmer from the moon shining brightly enough outside; but it did not require any light to tell that the shikaree was frightened pretty nearly out of his senses. His companions could discover by his voice that he had suddenly changed position, and was retreating backward to that corner of the hut furthest from the doorway. At the same time his words reached them in whispers, cautioning them to lie close and keep silent. Both, without knowing what the danger was, of course obeyed injunctions thus emphatically delivered; and remained sitting up on their couches without uttering a word. Ossaroo, after having delivered his cautioning speeches, kept equally silent. Once more the strange sound fell upon their ears--this time as if the instrument that produced it had been thrust into the doorway of the hovel. At the same instant the turf outside, hitherto glistening under a bright moonlight, became darkened by the shadow of an enormous creature--as if the queen of night had suddenly disappeared behind the blackest of clouds! Still the light could be seen beyond, and the moon was shining. It was no cloud that had obscured her; but some vast body moving over the earth, and which, having come up to the front of the hovel, was there halting. Karl and Caspar fancied they could see a gigantic living form, with huge thick limbs, standing outside; but, indeed, both were as much terrified by the apparition as Ossaroo himself, though perhaps for a different reason. Fritz must have been as much frightened as any of the four; and fear had produced upon him an effect exactly similar to that it had produced upon Ossaroo. It kept him silent. Cowering in a corner, Fritz was now as quiet as if he had been born a voiceless _dingo_. This speechless trance seemed to have its influence upon the awe-inspiring shadow outside the door: for, after giving utterance to another specimen of shrill piping, it withdrew with as much silence as if it had been but the shadow it appeared! Caspar's curiosity had become too strong to be kept any longer under the control of his fears. As soon as the strange intruder was seen moving away from the hut, he stole forward to the entrance, and looked out. Karl was not slow in following him; and Ossaroo also ventured from his hiding-place. A dark mass--in form like a quadruped, but one of gigantic size--could be seen going off in the direction of the lake. It moved in majestic silence; but it could have been no shadow, for on crossing the stream-- near the point where the latter debouched into the lake--the plashing of its feet could be heard as it waded through the water, and eddies could be seen upon the calm surface. A simple shadow would not have made such a commotion as that? "Sahibs!" said Ossaroo, in a tone of mysterious gravity, "he be one ob two ting. He eider be de god Brahma, or--" "Or what?" demanded Caspar. "An ole rogue." CHAPTER SIX. A TALK ABOUT ELEPHANTS. "An old rogue?" said Caspar, repeating the words of the shikaree. "What do you mean by that, Ossy?" "What you Feringhee, sahib, call _rogue_ elephant." "Oh! an elephant!" echoed Karl and Caspar--both considerably relieved at this natural explanation of what had appeared so like a supernatural apparition. "Certainly the thing looked like one," continued Caspar. "But how could an elephant enter this valley?" Ossaroo could not answer this question. He was himself equally puzzled by the appearance of the huge quadruped; and still rather inclined to the belief that it was some of his trinity of Brahminee gods, that had for the nonce assumed the elephantine form. For that reason he made no attempt to explain the presence of such an animal in the valley. "It is possible for one to have come up here from the lower country," remarked Karl, reflectively. "But how could he get into the valley?" again inquired Caspar. "In the same way as we got in ourselves," was Karl's reply; "up the glacier and through the gorge." "But the crevasse that hinders us from getting out? You forget that, brother? An elephant could no more cross it than he could fly; surely not?" "Surely not," rejoined Karl. "I did not say that he could have crossed the crevasse." "Oh! you mean that he may have come up here before we did?" "Exactly so. If it be an elephant we have seen--and what else can it be?" pursued Karl, no longer yielding to a belief in the supernatural character of their nocturnal visitant--"it must of course have got into the valley before us. The wonder is our having seen no signs of such an animal before. You, Caspar, have been about more than any of us. Did you never, in your rambles, observe anything like an elephant's track?" "Never. It never occurred to me to look for such a thing. Who would have thought of a great elephant having climbed up here? One would fancy such unwieldy creatures quite incapable of ascending a mountain." "Ah! there you would be in error: for, singular as it may appear, the elephant is a wonderful climber, and can make his way almost anywhere that a man can go. It is a fact, that in the island of Ceylon the wild elephants are often found upon the top of Adam's Peak--to scale which is trying to the nerves of the stoutest travellers. It would not be surprising to find one here. Rather, I may say, it _is_ not: for now I feel certain what we have just seen is an elephant, since it can be nothing else. He may have entered this valley before us--by straying up the glacier as we did, and crossing the chasm by the rock bridge--which I know he could have done as well as we. Or else," continued Karl, in his endeavour to account for the presence of the huge creature, "he may have come here long ago, even before there was any crevasse. What is there improbable in his having been here many years--perhaps all his life, and that may be a hundred years or more?" "I thought," said Caspar, "that elephants were only found on the plains, where the vegetation is tropical and luxuriant." "That is another popular error," replied Karl. "So far from affecting tropical plains, the elephant prefers to dwell high up on the mountains; and whenever he has the opportunity, he climbs thither. He likes a moderately cool atmosphere--where he may be less persecuted by flies and other troublesome insects: since, notwithstanding his great strength and the thickness of his hide, so small a creature as a fly can give him the greatest annoyance. Like the tiger, he is by no means exclusively a tropical animal; but can live, and thrive too, in a cool, elevated region, or in a high latitude of the temperate zone." Karl again expressed surprise that none of them had before that time observed any traces of this gigantic quadruped, that must have been their neighbour ever since the commencement of their involuntary residence in the valley. Of course this surprise was fully shared by Caspar. Ossaroo participated in it, but only to a very slight degree. The shikaree was still inclined towards indulging in his superstitious belief that the creature they had seen was not of the earth, but some apparition of Brahma or Vishnu. Without attempting to combat this absurd fancy, his companions continued to search for an explanation of the strange circumstance of their not having sooner encountered the elephant. "After all," suggested Caspar, "there is nothing so strange about it. There are many large tracts of the valley we have not explored; for instance, that wide stretch of black forest that lies at its upper end. Neither of us has ever been through there since the first two days, when we followed the deer all round, and went afterwards to examine the cliff. For myself, I never strayed that way while hunting--because I always found the game in the open grounds near the lake. Now the elephant may have his lair in that piece of forest, and only come out at night. As for tracks, no doubt there are plenty, but I never thought of looking for them. You know, brother, we have been too busy in making our tree-bridge, and afterwards exploring the cavern, to think of much else." Karl admitted the truth of these observations; for it was as Caspar had alleged. During the whole time of their residence in the valley, the minds of all three, filled with anxiety about the future, had been keenly bent upon devising some means of escape; and on this account they had given very little attention to anything that did not in some way contribute to that end. Even Caspar, in his hunting excursions, had not gone over one-half of the valley; nor had these excursions been very numerous. In three or four days he had procured as much _meat_ as was necessary. This had been carefully cured by Ossaroo, and formed the staple of their daily food. Only upon rare occasions were the guns afterwards used to procure a little fresh provision--such as a brace of wild duets from the lake, or one of the smaller game animals which could be found almost any morning within gunshot distance of the hut. For these reasons many parts of the valley had been left unvisited; and it was deemed possible enough for even a great elephant to have been all the time dwelling within its boundaries, unseen by any of the party. Indulging in these conjectures, all three remained awake for more than an hour; but as the subject of their speculations appeared to have gone altogether away, they gradually came to the conclusion that he was not going to return at least for that night--and their confidence being thus restored, they once more betook themselves to sleep--resolved in future to keep a sharp lookout for the dangerous neighbour that had so unexpectedly presented himself to their view. CHAPTER SEVEN. RE-STOCKING THE GUNS. Next morning all three were astir betimes, and out of the hut by the earliest light of day. Karl and Caspar were anxious to obtain more definite information about the elephant, whose existence Ossaroo was still inclined to doubt. Indeed, with the exception of the three or four shrieking whistles to which the animal had given utterance, so silently and mysteriously had he come and departed, that they might almost have fancied the whole thing a dream. But such an immense creature could not move about, without leaving some traces of his presence; and as he had crossed the stream, or rather a little embayment of the lake into which the stream emptied itself, no doubt his tracks would be found on the sandy shore. As soon, therefore, as the day broke, all three started for the spot where the creature had been seen to cross. On reaching it, they could no longer doubt that an elephant had paid them a visit. Huge footprints--nearly as big as the bottom of a bushel measure--were deeply indented in the soft sand; and looking across the "straits" (for so they were in the habit of calling the narrow mouth of the bay), they could see other similar tracks on the opposite shore, where the animal had waded out. Ossaroo was no longer doubtful as to the character of the creature that had made those tracks. He had hunted elephants in the jungles of Bengal, and knew all the peculiarities of the grand quadruped. Such footmarks as were now under his eyes could not have been made by a mere visionary animal, but only by a real elephant in the flesh. "And one of the biggest kind," asserted the shikaree, now speaking in full confidence, and declaring, at the same time, that he could tell its height to an inch. "How can you do that?" asked Caspar, in some surprise. "Me berra easy tell, young sahib," replied Ossaroo; "only need takee size ob de rogue's foot. Dis way, sahibs." Saying this, the shikaree drew forth from one of his pockets a piece of string; and, choosing one of the tracks which had made the clearest impression, he carefully applied the string around its outer edge. In this way the circumference of the elephant's foot was obtained. "Now, sahibs," said Ossaroo, holding the string between his fingers-- that portion of it which had been applied around the footprint--"_twice_ the length of dis reachee to the top of he shoulder; that how Ossaroo know he biggee elephant." The circumference of the foot thus measured being nearly six feet, it would follow, from the rule laid down by the shikaree, that the elephant in question was nearly twelve feet high; and this Karl knew to be one of the largest. Nor did Karl question the correctness of the deduction: for he had often heard, from hunters whose word was not to be doubted, that the height of an elephant is exactly twice the circumference of his foot. Ossaroo, having now yielded up his belief--that the elephant was one of his gods in disguise--declared with full confidence that the animal was a _rogue_. Karl needed no explanation of what was meant by this. He knew that the rogue elephant is an old male, who, for some reason or other--perhaps for bad behaviour--has had the cold shoulder given him by the rest of the herd, and from whose association he has been driven away. Thus _cut_ by his former acquaintances, he is compelled to lead a solitary life--the consequence of which is, that he becomes exceedingly spiteful and morose in his disposition, and will not only attack any other animal that may chance to cross his path, but will even seek them out, as if for the mere purpose of indulging in a spirit of revenge! There are many such in the jungles of India, as well as in Africa; and, since man himself is not excepted from this universal hostility, a rogue elephant is regarded as an exceedingly dangerous creature in the neighbourhood where he takes up his abode. There are many instances recorded--and well authenticated too--where human beings have been sacrificed to the fury of these gigantic monsters: and cases are known where a rogue elephant has purposely placed himself in waiting by the side of a frequented path, with the object of destroying the unwary traveller! In the valley of the Dheira Doon an elephant of this class-- one, too, that had once been tamed, but had escaped from his servitude-- is known to have taken the lives of nearly twenty unfortunate people before his destruction could be effected. Well knowing these proclivities on the part of the _rogue_, Ossaroo at once counselled caution in the future movements of all--a counsel which Karl was too prudent to reject; and even the bold, rash Caspar did not think it proper to dissent from. It was resolved, therefore, before continuing their projected exploration of the cliffs, to set their weapons once more in proper order--against any chance of an encounter with the elephant. Their guns had to be re-stocked, and a new handle put into the axe--as well as a shaft into the boar-spear of Ossaroo--for all the woodwork of these weapons had been broken up and burnt into ashes in the manufacture of the candles of bear's-grease that had lighted them out of the cave. The search after the ledges must necessarily be postponed; until they could go upon that errand properly armed and equipped, against any enemy that might oppose their progress. Having come to this wise determination, they returned to their hut; kindled a fire; cooked breakfast; and having despatched the meal, at once set about selecting pieces of wood for the various purposes for which they were required. They had no difficulty in procuring just what was wanted: for the valley contained many valuable sorts of timber; and several kinds that had been already cut for other purposes, now well seasoned and ready to hand, were found lying about the hut. Setting about their work in earnest, and labouring diligently from morning to night--and even into the night hours--they knew they would not be long in accomplishing a task so trifling as the stocking of a gun, or putting the handle to a boar-spear. CHAPTER EIGHT. INSPECTING THE CLIFFS. Working diligently with their knives two days sufficed to make guns, axe, and spear as good as ever. Ossaroo also made himself a new bow and a full quiver of arrows. On the third morning, after breakfasting, all three set out with the determination not to leave any portion of the cliff unexamined. The part which lay between their hut and the cave, Karl had already scrutinised with great care; so they went direct to the point where he had left off, and there commenced their new survey. It is true they had already examined the cliffs all around; but this was just after they arrived in the valley, and the purpose of that exploration was very different from that of the present one. Then they were only looking for a place by which they might climb out; and the idea of making ladders had not occurred to them. Now that this scheme had suggested itself, they entered upon their second survey with the view of ascertaining whether it was practicable or possible. Consequently, they went in search of facts of a different nature--viz., to see if there existed a series of ledges, one above another, that could be spanned by an equal number of such ladders as they might be able to construct. That they could make ladders of a prodigious length--allowing sufficient time for the execution of the work--all felt confident. They knew that the Thibet pine-trees--the same sort as they had used in making the bridge for the glacier crevasse--grew in great numbers not far from their hut; and by selecting some of the slenderest trunks of these, they would have the sides of as many ladders as they might want, almost ready made, and each forty or fifty feet in length. If there should only be discovered a series of ledges, with not more than forty feet space between each two, there would be a fair hope of their being able to escalade the cliff, and escape from a place which, although one of the pleasantest-looking spots in the world, had now become to them loathsome as the interior of a dungeon. Sure enough, and to the great joy of all, such a set of shelves was soon after presented to their eyes--having, at least in appearance, all the requirements of which they were in search. The spaces between no two of them appeared to be greater than thirty feet, some were much nearer to each other. The part of the cliff where these terraces were found was not quite so low, as that where Karl had made his measurement. It did not appear, however, to be more than three hundred and fifty feet--a fearful height, it is true--but nothing when compared with other sections of the same precipice. To reach to its top, more than a dozen ladders would be required--each between twenty and thirty feet in length. The labour of making these ladders, with such tools as they had, might be looked upon as something stupendous--sufficient, you might suppose, to deter them from the task. But you must endeavour to realise the situation in which they were placed--with no other hope of being delivered from their mountain prison--and with this idea in your mind, you will comprehend why they should have been willing to undertake even a far greater labour. Of course, they did not expect to complete it in a day, neither in a week, nor in a month: for they well knew that it would take several months to make the number of ladders that would be required. And then there would be the additional labour of getting each into its place: as all, after the first one, would have to be carried up the cliff to the ledge for which it should be constructed. Indeed, to raise ladders of thirty feet in the manner contemplated, would seem an impossibility-- that is, for such strength or mechanism as they could command. And so it might have proved, had they intended to make these ladders of the ordinary weight. But they foresaw this difficulty, and hoped to get over it by making them of the very lightest kind--something that would just carry the weight of a man. Becoming more than half satisfied that at this point the precipice might be scaled in the manner contemplated, they remained upon the ground in order to give it a thorough examination. That done, they intended to make the complete circuit of the valley, and ascertain whether there might not be some other place still easier of ascent. The point where they had halted was behind the tract of heavily-timbered forest--of which Caspar had spoken, and which up to this time none of them had entered. Between the trees and the cliff they were now contemplating, there was a narrow strip of ground destitute of timber; and covered with a shingle of loose stones which had fallen from the mountain above. Several boulders of large dimensions rested upon the ground, at short distances apart; and there was one of a pillar-shape that stood some twenty-feet high, while it was only about five or six in diameter. It bore a sort of rude resemblance to an obelisk; and one might easily have fancied that the hand of man had accomplished its erection. For all that, it was a mere freak of Nature, and had probably been set up by ancient glacier ice. Up one of its sides there was a series of projections, by which an active man might climb to the top; and Ossaroo _did_ climb it, partly out of playfulness, and partly, as he said, to get a better view of the cliff. The shikaree stayed only a few minutes on its top; and his curiosity having been satisfied, he had let himself down again. CHAPTER NINE. A RECONNOISSANCE INTERRUPTED. Though the three had set out that morning with a wholesome dread of the elephant, and a determination to go about their reconnoissance with caution, their joy at the discovery of the ledges, and the eagerness with which they were scanning them, had for the moment banished from their minds all thoughts of the great quadruped. They were thinking only of ledges and ladders, and talking loudly of how the latter might best be made and placed upon the former. Just then, and just at the moment Ossaroo descended from the obelisk rock, Fritz, who had been prowling about among the trees, set up a fearful baying--such another as that to which he had given utterance on the night when the elephant had paid its visit to the hut. There was a certain intonation of terror in the dog's voice--as if whatever called it forth was something that inspired him with fear. The apprehension that it was the elephant occurred to all three at once; and with a simultaneous impulse they faced towards the spot whence the baying of the dog appeared to proceed. Simultaneously, too, they clutched more firmly their respective weapons--Karl his rifle, Caspar his double-barrel, and Ossaroo his bow, with an arrow at the string. It is superfluous to say, that there was a certain amount of consternation visible in the countenances of all three; which was rather increased than diminished by the sight of Fritz dashing suddenly out of the underwood, and running towards them at full speed, with his tail considerably below the horizontal. Fritz, moreover, was giving utterance to something that very closely resembled a howl. The dog had evidently been attacked by some animal that had put him to flight; and his masters knew that it must be a formidable creature that was causing the variant Fritz to behave in such an ignominious manner. They were not kept long in doubt as to the character of Fritz's conqueror and pursuer: for close behind his hips, almost touching them, appeared a long, cylindrical, or trumpet-shaped object, of a bluish-grey colour, protruding between two yellowish crescents, like a pair of huge ivory horns. Behind those appeared a pair of large ears, like flaps of sole leather; and in the rear of these last appendages came the round, massive form of an enormous elephant! Crashing through the underwood, the monstrous creature soon cleared his body from the timber, and rushed straight across the open ground-- winding his terrible trumpet as he went. He was following Fritz as straight as he could go, and evidently enraged at the dog. The latter, on escaping from the tangle of the thicket, made direct for the spot occupied by his masters--thus directing the elephant upon them. It was no longer a question of protecting Fritz from his formidable pursuer; for the elephant, on seeing three adversaries more worthy of his tusks, seemed to forget all about the puny four-footed creature who had provoked him; and at once directed his attack upon the upright bipeds--as if resolved to punish them for the misbehaviour of their subordinate. The three, standing close together, saw at a glance that Fritz was no longer the object of the elephant's animosity: for the massive monster was now charging directly down upon them. There was no time for concerted counsel--neither to take nor to give it. Each had to act upon his own instinct; and following this each acted. Karl sent the bullet from his rifle right between the tusks of the advancing foe; while Caspar fired both barrels of his piece "bang" into the forehead of the monster. Ossaroo's arrow was seen sticking through the elephant's trunk; and the moment after Ossaroo's heels were presented to the enemy. Karl and Caspar also ran: for it would have been sheer madness to have remained a moment longer in that perilous proximity. Indeed, it is but justice to the shikaree to say, that Karl and Caspar ran first: for they had been the first to deliver their fire; and as soon as they had done so, each scampered as he best could. They ran together; and fortunately for both a large tree was near, with low horizontal limbs, which favoured a rapid ascent towards its top. There was only a second of time between the commencement of their flight and that of Ossaroo; but short as it was, it decided the preference of the pursuer, and Ossaroo became the sole object of pursuit. The shikaree would fain have made for the tree, to which the others were retreating; but the proboscis of the elephant was already so far advanced in that direction, that there was every probability it might get lapped upon him before he could climb beyond reach. For a moment he was in a dilemma, and his customary coolness seemed to have forsaken him. The elephant was advancing upon him, its little switch of a tail oscillating rapidly in the air, and its trunk stretched horizontally towards him, with Ossaroo's own arrow still sticking in it. It seemed to know that it was he who had sent that skewer through its gristly snout--perhaps giving it far more pain than the leaden missiles that had flattened against its thick skull; and for this reason it had chosen him as the first victim of its vengeance. In truth, Ossaroo's position was one of extreme peril--so much so that Karl and Caspar--now perceiving themselves comparatively safe from the pursuit--uttered a simultaneous cry: both believing that their faithful guide and follower was on the point of "coming to grief." Ossaroo seemed bewildered at the very imminence of the danger. But it was only for a moment--only while he hesitated as to whether he should try to reach the tree. On perceiving that he could not do this with a fair chance of safety, he turned and ran in an opposite direction. Whither? To the obelisk. Yes, by good fortune, the pillar from which he had just descended was only ten paces distant; and Ossaroo, in returning towards it, measured the ground with less than five. Flinging away his now useless weapons, he clutched hold of the prominent points of the rock, and "swarmed" up it like a squirrel. He had good occasion to employ all his powers of agility. A second-- half a second more--and he would have been too late: for ere he had reached the summit of the pillar, the digit point of the elephant's trunk was inserted under the skirt of his tunic; and had the garment been of tougher material; Ossaroo would have been jerked back to the ground more rapidly than he had ascended. As it was, the cotton fabric--frail from long wear and exposure--gave way with a loud "screed;" and although the shikaree was stripped of his coat-tail, and suffered a rather ignominious exposure, still he had the satisfaction of knowing that to this circumstance he was indebted for the safety of his skin. CHAPTER TEN. OSSAROO ON THE OBELISK. The moment after, Ossaroo stood upon the summit of the obelisk. But even there he was far from being confident of security: for the pursuer had not abandoned the hope of being able to reach him. On the contrary, the infuriated animal, on finding itself baulked by the worthlessness of the fabric composing the skirt of the shikaree, spitefully tossed the piece of cloth from its trunk; and, rearing itself on its hind-legs, threw its body into an erect attitude, with its fore-feet resting high up against the rock. One might have fancied that it was about to climb the obelisk; and this it would certainly have done had the thing been possible. As it was, however, Ossaroo was not out of danger: for as the elephant stood on its hind-legs, with its prehensile proboscis extended to the full length, the tip of the latter was not more than six inches from the soles of his feet. The shikaree stood upright like a statue on its pedestal--though unlike to a statue in his features, which were anything but unmoved. On the contrary, his countenance exhibited the utmost consternation. And no wonder: for he could plainly perceive that should the elephant succeed in lengthening its carcase only another twelve inches, he himself would be brushed from the summit like a fly. In fearful suspense, therefore, did he stand, contemplating the monster which was making every effort to reach him. These efforts were made with as much sagacity as energy. Not only did the quadruped erect itself to its greatest height--standing, as one might say, upon its toes--but on finding that it was not tall enough, it fell back upon all fours, and then reared up afresh in an endeavour to stretch still higher. Several times did it repeat the attempt--on each occasion trying a different side of the rock--as if in hopes that a greater elevation of the ground around the base might give it that advantage of twelve inches which it required for seizing its victim. Fortunately for Ossaroo, the elephant had reached its very highest on first rearing up; and though it kept going round and round the rock, from no side could it do more than just touch with the top of its trunk the edge of the little flat space, upon which the feet of the shikaree were resting. Ossaroo was beginning to be satisfied with this fact; and probably might have come to believe himself secure in his position, but for a circumstance that was making him uneasy. It was, that, standing upon such a limited surface--a pedestal whose diameter was but little over the length of his own feet--he found it exceedingly difficult to keep his balance. Had he been on the ground, there would have been no difficulty about it; but, perched as he was full twenty-feet aloft, the thing was quite different; and, with nerves unstrung by the fearful danger that threatened him below, it was just as much as he could do to keep his equilibrium. Though only a "mild Hindoo," Ossaroo was possessed of a high degree of courage; and, most of his life having been spent as a shikaree, he had become well inured to the risk of losing it. Had he been a coward, or unused to such perils as at that moment surrounded him, he would in all likelihood have succumbed through fear; and toppled helplessly over upon the shoulders of the merciless monster that was threatening to destroy him. With all his bravery, however, it was just as much as he could do to keep his balance. Unfortunately, in climbing up the rock, he had been compelled to abandon his boar-spear: else with that he might have supported himself. His long knife was still in his belt; and this he drew forth--not with the design of using it upon his antagonist, but only the better to balance himself. It is true he would have been fain to take a chop or two at the gristly proboscis of the elephant; but he dared not bend his body into a stooping attitude, lest his centre of gravity might get beyond the supporting base, and thus bring about the result he dreaded. No other course remained for him, than to preserve his body in an upright attitude; and, conscious of this fact, he braced his nerves to the utmost, and maintained himself erect and rigid as a statue of bronze. CHAPTER ELEVEN. A WHOLESALE TUMBLE. In this attitude he remained for several minutes--the elephant all the while continuing its efforts to reach him Karl and Caspar, seated upon the branches of the tree, to which they had retreated, were witnesses of the whole scene from beginning to end. The situation of Ossaroo would have bean sufficiently ludicrous for Caspar to have laughed at it, but for the danger in which the shikaree was placed. This was so evident, that instead of indulging in anything akin to levity, Caspar looked on with feelings of deep anxiety, Karl being equally apprehensive about the result. Neither could do anything to aid or rescue him, as they were unarmed--both having dropped their pieces when ascending the tree. I have said that Karl was as uneasy about the result as his brother. He was even more so. It was not that he liked Ossaroo better, or would have more bitterly lamented his fate, had the latter perished by the proboscis of the elephant. No, that was not the reason; but simply that Karl more clearly comprehended the danger in which the shikaree was placed. After watching the efforts of the elephant for a short time, Caspar had become convinced that the animal could not reach Ossaroo--so long as the latter preserved his balance upon the summit of the rock. Karl was equally satisfied of this; and both by their shouts kept encouraging the shikaree to stand firm. But Karl soon noted another circumstance, which was as yet unperceived by Caspar, and it was this that was inspiring him with keener apprehension than that felt by his brother. He had noticed that, each time as the elephant erected himself against the obelisk, the rock seemed slightly to shake. Ossaroo was himself well aware of the circumstance--and more troubled at it than any of them--for it rendered it more difficult for him to preserve his equilibrium. Caspar at length also observed the trembling of the rock, but it gave him no particular uneasiness: as, after what had passed, he felt confident that Ossaroo would be able to keep his place. Nor was it the fear of his falling in that way that was distressing the young botanist; but rather a deduction which he drew from the circumstance, not apparent to the less philosophic mind of his brother. The shaking of the rock had suggested to Karl a dangerous contingency. What was it? The speech addressed by him at that moment to Caspar will explain. "Oh, brother!" he exclaimed, on perceiving the danger, "if the rock should fall--" "No danger of that," said Caspar, interrupting him; "it stands firm enough. True, I see it shake a little, but only a very little; and that only when the brute springs up against it. No danger, I should think!" "But I fear there is clanger," rejoined Karl, in a tone of undiminished anxiety. "Not," added he, "so long as the elephant acts as he is doing; but he may not continue thus. These creatures are wonderfully sagacious; and if he only perceives that the pillar moves under his weight, a new idea may get into his brain, and then it will be all up with Ossaroo." "Ha! I begin to comprehend you," said Caspar, beginning to share the alarm of his brother. "There is danger in that. What is to be done? If we only had our guns up here, we might open fire on the brute. Whether we succeeded in killing him or not, we might at all events divert his attention from Ossaroo, and perhaps hinder him from thinking of the plan you speak of. We might go down and get our guns. What is to hinder us?--the elephant is too busy to notice us." "True--an excellent idea of yours, brother Caspar." "Well, then, to put it in execution. I shall slip down to the ground; you follow to the lowest branch, and I can hand the guns up to you. Keep steady, and don't you fear, Ossy!" added the young hunter in a louder voice, addressing himself to the shikaree. "We'll fetch him away from you directly--we'll tickle him with an ounce or two of lead through that thick hide of his." So saying, Caspar commenced letting himself rapidly down from branch to branch, Karl following more leisurely. Caspar had got upon the lowest limb of the tree, and Karl on that immediately above it, when a loud crash, accompanied by a piercing shriek, arrested the progress of both, causing them suddenly to turn their faces towards the obelisk. During the short time that their eyes had been averted from it, a complete change had taken place in that curious tableau. Instead of a tall column of stone, standing twenty-feet perpendicular, the same column was now seen lying along the earth in a nearly horizontal position, with a huge mass of broken boughs and branches of trees crushed under its top. Near its base, now upturned and standing almost vertically, was the elephant, no longer on its hind feet, nor yet on all fours, but down upon its back, kicking its huge hoofs in the air, and making the most stupendous efforts to recover its legs. Ossaroo was nowhere to be seen! The contingency dreaded by Karl had come to pass. The elephant, finding it impossible to reach the shikaree with its trunk--and no doubt judging by the "feel" that the rock was not immobile--had at length dropped down on all fours and, placing its broad shoulder against it, backed by the enormous weight of its bulky body, had sent the column crashing among the tops of a chestnut tree growing near--the trunk of which, yielding to the weight, gave way with a crash, and trunk, limbs, and branches were all borne downward to the earth! The elephant itself, not calculating that it should find the task so easy of performance, had fallen at the same time--its cumbrous body losing balance by the impetus which it had thrown into the effort. In short, of the four objects that formed the tableau--rock and tree, quadruped and man--not one was standing any longer in its place--for it is superfluous to say that Ossaroo had gone down with the obelisk. But where was Ossaroo? That was the question that occurred to both Karl and Caspar. "Oh! brother!" groaned Caspar, "I fear he is killed!" Karl made no reply; but for all that, Caspar's reflection, delivered in a loud tone, was not left without rejoinder. Directly after the phrase had issued from his lips, an answer was heard proceeding from among the branches of the fallen chestnut tree, in a voice and with words that caused the hearts of the brothers to beat with joy. "No, young sahibs," replied the unseen Ossaroo; "me no killee, me no bit damage. If I only can get pass de old rogue, I safe and sound as ibber. Here go for run!" At the same moment the shikaree was seen shooting out from among the branches under which he had been for the time buried; and, then running with all his might towards the tree upon which the brothers had found refuge. Long before the elephant could regain its feet, Ossaroo had reached a position of perfect security among the upper branches of the great tree; which Karl and Caspar, no longer thinking of their guns, had also re-ascended. CHAPTER TWELVE. A RING PERFORMANCE. As the tree into which they had retreated was a very large one, there was no longer any present fear of danger from the elephant, however furious the latter might be; and they could look down upon it and watch its movements with a feeling of perfect security. The only one of the party that was in dangerous proximity to that dreaded proboscis was Fritz; but Fritz had already been well warned of the wicked designs of the great brute, and was sufficiently swift-footed and sage enough to give the animal a wide berth. As for the elephant itself, having recovered its feet, it stood for some seconds flapping its huge ears, and apparently in a kind of quandary--as if taken aback by the unexpected accident that had befallen it. Not for long, however, did it continue in this tranquil attitude. The arrow still sticking in its trunk reminded it of its purposes of vengeance. Once more angrily elevating its tail, and sounding its shrill trumpet, it rushed towards the fallen tree, and buried its long proboscis among the branches. One by one it turned them over, as if in search of some object. It was searching for the shikaree. After a time it desisted from this manoeuvre, and looked around-- evidently with a puzzled air, and wondering what had become of the man. It had not seen him as he rushed towards the great tree: for his retreat had been made while the creature was sprawling upon its back. Just then Fritz chanced to show himself--crouching under the branches upon which his masters had taken refuge, and evidently envying them their secure situation. The sight of Fritz was enough. It was he who had first challenged the elephant on its approach through the woods, and had conducted it under that terrible battery of bullets and arrows. As soon, therefore, as the latter set eyes upon the dog, its fury not only became rekindled, but apparently redoubled; and, hoisting its tail on high, it charged full tilt upon its original adversary. Had the assailant been a boar, or even a bull, no doubt Fritz would have stood his ground, or only swerved to one side, the better to elude the onset, and make an attack in turn. But with a quadruped as big as a house--and of which Fritz, not being of Oriental origin, knew so little; and of that little nothing that was good--one, too, evidently provided with most formidable weapons, a tongue several feet long, and tusks in proportion--it is not to be wondered at, nor is it any great blot upon his escutcheon, that Fritz turned tail and fled. So fast fled he, that in less than a score of seconds he was out of sight--not only of his masters in the tree, but of his pursuer, the elephant. The latter only followed him for some half-dozen lengths of its own carcase; and seeing that the pursuit was likely to be a wild-goose chase, declined following Fritz any farther. They in the tree, as the elephant started after the dog, were in hopes that the pursuit might carry the dangerous animal to some distance, and thus give them time to get back to the ground, and make their escape from the spot. In this, however, they were doomed to disappointment; for having desisted from the chase of the dog, the great pachyderm returned to the point from whence it had started; and, after once more tossing the broken branches of the fallen chestnut tree upon the point of its proboscis, it commenced pacing round and round the fallen obelisk, keeping in regular circles, as if it were training itself for some performance in an amphitheatre. For more than an hour did the brute continue this circular promenade, at intervals stopping to give utterance to its shrieking note; but most of the time moving on in sullen silence. Now and then it directed its eyes, and once or twice its trunk, towards the branches of the prostrate tree as if it had still some suspicion that he who sent that stinging arrow was there concealed. Indeed, it appeared by its movements to be keeping guard over that particular spot, lest its enemy should escape. It had long since extracted the arrow, by placing its great foot upon the shaft, and drawing it forth. Fritz had stolen back to the edge of the thicket, but kept cowering so close that the elephant could not see him. The parties perched above were more than annoyed by their imprisonment thus procrastinated, and began to think of how they might set themselves free. They talked of making a rush to possess themselves of their guns; but to Karl this appeared too perilous to be attempted. It was not twenty yards from the tree to the spot where rested the dismounted monolith; and the elephant, whose eye was in a state of continual activity, could not fail to see them descending from the branches. The massive creature, though it moved about with apparently a gentle griding step, could go almost as fast as a galloping horse; and should it espy them in time, there would be but slight chance of eluding its prehensile trunk. Moreover, the sight of them--even should they succeed in regaining the tree--would rekindle its rage, and cause it to prolong its stay upon the ground. There was yet another consideration that influenced them to remain patiently on their perch. They knew that they had provided themselves with only a very limited quantity of ammunition. That article had become scarce with them; and they had prudently determined to economise it. Karl had only two bullets left, with just powder enough to make two charges; while Caspar's horn and pouch were not better filled. They might fire their whole stock of lead into the elephant, and still not succeed in killing a creature that sometimes walks off triumphantly with a score of bullets "under his belt." These shots might only have the effect of incensing it still more, and causing it to stay upon the ground to an indefinite period. It was a true _rogue_--Ossaroo had long since pronounced it one--and an "old tusker" at that. It was therefore a most dangerous creature; and though they knew they would never be safe in that valley until it should be destroyed, it was agreed by all that it would be more prudent to leave it undisturbed until some more favourable opportunity occurred for effecting its destruction. For these various reasons they resolved to remain quiet in the tree, and patiently await the termination of that curious "ring performance," which the old tusker still continued to keep up. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. AN ODD APPEARANCE. For the full length of another hour did the trio in the tree have their patience tested. During all that time the "rogue" remained upon the ground, continuing his perambulations around the rock--until he had trodden out a path that resembled the arena of a circus at the close of a night's performance. It is not necessary to say that the time hung heavily upon the hands of the spectators--to say nothing of Fritz, who would no doubt have been satisfied with a much shorter programme. As regards the former, the hour might have been spent less pleasantly than it was; for it so chanced that an _interlude_ was introduced, of so interesting a character to all, but more especially to the naturalist Karl, that for a while the proximity of their savage besieger was forgotten, and they scarcely remembered that they were besieged. Favoured by the accident of their situation, they became spectators of a scene--one of those scenes only to be viewed amid the wild solitudes of Nature. Not far from the tree on which they had found shelter, stood another of equal dimensions, but of an entirely different species. It was a sycamore, as even Caspar, without any botanical skill, could testify. Its smooth bark, piebald with white and green spots, its widely-straggling limbs and leaves, left no doubt about its being one. It was the sycamore, identical with its European congener, the _Platanus orientalis_. It is the habit of this fine tree to become hollow. Not only does the lower part of its trunk exhibit the phenomenon of great cavities, but holes are found high up in its main shaft or in the larger limbs. The tree in question stood within a few yards of that on which Karl, Caspar, and Ossaroo were perched. It was just before their eyes, whenever they looked in a horizontal direction; and occasionally, when tired with watching the monotonous movements of the elephant, one or other of them _did_ look horizontally. The scanty foliage upon the sycamore enabled them to see its trunk and most of its larger limbs, without any obstruction of leaves or branches. Caspar had not cast his eyes more than twice in the direction of this tree, when he saw there was something peculiar about it. Caspar was a youth of quick sight and equally quick perception. In the main stem of the tree, and about six feet above its first forking, he perceived an object that at once fixed his attention. It looked like a goat's horn, only that it was more like the curving tusk of a rhinoceros or a very young elephant. It was sticking out from the tree, with the curve directed downwards. Altogether, it looked quite different from a branch of the sycamore, or anything belonging to the tree. Once or twice, while Caspar had his eyes upon it, he thought or fancied that it moved; but not being sure of this, he said nothing, lest the others might laugh at him. It would not have been the first time that Karl, from his superior knowledge, had indulged in a laugh at his brother's expense. Caspar's attention being now engrossed by the peculiar appearance he had noted, he continued to scrutinise it; and soon perceived that around the curved excrescence there was a circular disc some eight or ten inches in diameter, and differing in colour from the bark of the sycamore--by being many shades darker. This disc appeared composed of some substance that was not ligneous: for it no more resembled wood than the curved ivory-like object that protruded from its centre. Had Caspar been asked what it did look like, he would have answered that it resembled the agglutinated mud used by swallows in building their nests--so like it, that it might have been the same substance. Caspar continued to scrutinise these two curious objects--the tusk-like excrescence, and the dark disc from which it protruded; and not until he became fully aware that the former had life in it, did he communicate his discovery to his companions. Of this fact he was convinced by seeing the crescent suddenly disappear--as if drawn within the tree, while in its place a dark round hole was alone visible. Presently the yellowish horn reappeared through the hole, and protruded outside, filling it up as before! Caspar was too much astonished by this exhibition to remain any longer the sole proprietor of such a mysterious secret, and without more delay he communicated his discovery to Karl, and indirectly to Ossaroo. Both at the same time turned their eyes towards the tree, and bent them upon the indicated spot. Karl was as much mystified by the strange appearance as had been Caspar himself. Not so Ossaroo. The moment he saw the carving ivory and the dark-coloured disc, he pronounced, in a tone of careless indifference, the simple phrase,-- "_Hornbill_--_de bird on him nest_." CHAPTER FOURTEEN. A CURIOUS NEST. Just then the curved projection was observed to recede within the tree; and in its place appeared a small dark hole, apparently the entrance to a larger cavity. Karl, as Caspar had done the moment before, saw this with surprise. "Nest?" repeated Caspar, astonished at the shikaree's statement. "A bird's nest? Is that what you mean, Ossy?" "That just it, sahib. Nest of great biggee bird. Feringhees him call _horneebill_." "Well," rejoined Caspar, not greatly enlightened by Ossaroo's explanation, "that's very curious. We have seen something like a horn sticking out of the tree, though it looks more like ivory than horn. It may be the bill of a bird; but as to a bird itself, or the nest of one, where is that, pray?" Ossaroo intimated that the nest was inside the tree; and that the bird was on the nest just behind its beak, where it ought to be. "What! the bird is in that hole where we saw the white thing sticking out? Why, it quite filled the hole, and if there's a bird there, and what we saw be its bill, I have only to say that its bill must be as big as its body--else how can it get out and in through so small an aperture? Certainly I see no hole but the one. Oh! perhaps the bird is a _toucan_. I have heard there are some of that sort that can go through any place where they can pass their beaks. Is it a toucan, Ossaroo?" Ossaroo could not tell what a toucan was, never having heard of such a bird. His ornithological knowledge went no further than to the birds of Bengal; and the toucan is found only in America. He stated that the bird in the tree was called by the Feringhees a "hornbill," but it was also known to some as the "rhinoceros bird." Ossaroo added that it was as large as a goose; and that its body was many times thicker than its bill, thick as the latter appeared to be. "And you say it has its nest inside that hole?" interrogated Caspar, pointing to the little round aperture, which did not appear to be over three inches in diameter. "Sure of it, young sahib," was Ossaroo's reply. "Well, certainly there is some living creature in there, since we have seen it move; and if it be a bird as large as a goose, will you explain to me how it got in, and how it means to get out? There must be a larger entrance on the other side of the tree." "No, sahib," confidently asserted Ossaroo; "that you see before your eye--that the only way to de horneebill nest." "Hurrah for you, Ossy! So you mean to say that a bird as large as a goose can go in and out by that hole? Why, a sparrow could scarcely squeeze itself through there!" "Horneebill he no goee in, he no goee out. He stay inside till him little chickees ready for leavee nest." "Come, Ossy!" said Caspar, in a bantering way; "that story is too good to be true. You don't expect us to believe all that? What, stay in the nest till the young are ready to leave it! And how then? How will the young ones help their mother out of the scrape? How will they get out themselves: for I suppose they don't leave the nest till they are pretty well grown? Come! good shikaree; let us have no more circumlocution about the matter, but explain all these apparently inexplicable circumstances." The shikaree, thus appealed to, proceeded to give the explanation demanded. The hornbill, he said, when about to bring forth its young, selects a hollow in some tree, just large enough conveniently to hold the nest which it builds, and also its own body. As soon as the nest is constructed and the eggs all laid, the female bird takes her seat upon them, and there remains; not only until the eggs are hatched, but for a long time afterwards--in fact, until the young are nearly fledged and able to take care of themselves. In order that she may be protected during the period of her incubation against weasels, polecats, ichneumons, and all such vermin, a design exhibiting either wonderful instinct or sagacity, is carried into execution by the male. As soon as his mate has squatted upon her eggs, he goes to work at the masonic art; and using his great horned mandibles, first as a hod, and afterwards as a trowel, he walls up the entrance to the nest--leaving an aperture just large enough to be filled up by the beak of the female. The material employed by him for this purpose is a kind of agglutinated mud, which he procures from the neighbouring watercourse or quagmire, and somewhat similar to that used by the common house-swallow for constructing _its_ peculiar nest. When dried, this mud becomes exceedingly hard--bidding defiance to the teeth and claws of all would-be intruders, whether bird or quadruped; and with the horny beak of the old hen projected outward, and quite filling up the aperture, even the slippery tree-snake cannot find room enough to squeeze his body through. The female, thus free from all fear of being molested, quietly continues her incubation! When Ossaroo had got thus far with his explanation, Caspar interrupted him with a query. "What!" said he, "sit all the time--for weeks, I suppose--without ever coming out--without taking an airing? And how does she get her food?" As Caspar put this question, and before Ossaroo had time to answer, a noise reached their ears which appeared to proceed from the sky above them. It was a noise well calculated to inspire terror in those who had never before heard it, or did not know what was causing it. It was a sort of fluttering, clattering sound, or rather a series of sounds, resembling the quickly repeated gusts of a violent storm. The moment Ossaroo heard it, he knew what it was; and instead of giving a direct answer to Caspar's question, he simply said-- "Wait a bit, sahib. Here come old cockee horneebill; he show you how de hen getee her food." The words had scarcely passed from the lips of the shikaree, when the cause of that singular noise became known to his companions. The maker of it appeared before them in the form of a great bird, that with a strong flapping of its wings flew past the tree in which they were seated, towards that which contained the nest. In an instant afterwards, it was seen resting on a spur-like projection of the trunk, just below the aperture; and it needed not Ossaroo to tell them that it was the cock hornbill that had there alighted. The large beak--the tip of it resembling that which they had already seen sticking out of the hole, and which was once more visible and in motion-- surmounted by an immense helmet-like protuberance, rising upon the crown, and running several inches along the top of the upper mandible, which might have been taken for a second beak--this singular appendage could belong to no other bird than the _hornbill_. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. THE HORNBILL. Karl, although he had never seen one of these birds alive, had yet examined stuffed specimens of them in museums, and he had no difficulty in recognising the bird. He was able even to identify the species, for there are many species of hornbill, known under the generic name, _Bucerus_. That before their eyes was the _Bucerus rhinoceros_, or "rhinoceros hornbill," called also the "topau," and sometimes the "horned Indian raven," from a sort of resemblance which it bears both in shape and habits to the well-known bird of this name. Ossaroo had not exaggerated the size of these birds when he compared it to that of a goose. On the contrary, he had rather moderated the dimensions: for the one in question looked much larger than either goose or gander. It was rather more than three feet in length--reckoning from the tip of its tail to the point of its curving beak, which of itself was nearly a foot long! Its colour was black above, and yellowish-white underneath, the tail feathers being a clear white, with a broad black band crossing them near the middle. Its bill, like that of its mate already observed, was of a yellowish-white, the upper mandible being reddish around the base, while the casque-like protuberance exhibited a mottled surface of white and black. Ossaroo had to tell them pretty nearly all he knew in relation to this curious bird; for although there are several species of hornbills natives of India, it is by no means a common creature, even at home in its own country. Karl could have told them much more about its species and habits, and no doubt he would have done so had they been otherwise engaged. But situated as they were, with an angry elephant besieging them in the tree, and now for a while interested in observing the movements of the bird itself, Karl was in no humour to deliver an ornithological lecture. He might have told them that ornithologists have differed much about the classification of the hornbill--some of them placing it among the toucans, while others assert that it belongs to the crow family. Its immense beak--out of all proportion to its body--is not the only point of resemblance it bears to the toucans. Like them, it flings its food into the air, catching and swallowing it as it comes down. Unlike the toucans, however, it cannot climb trees, and is therefore not of the Scansorial order. It is said to be omnivorous in its food; and in this it resembles the crows and ravens: but, indeed, as already stated, there are many species of hornbills, and the habits of the different kinds, by no means uniform or alike, have been confounded by most writers. There are species in Africa, others in India and the Indian islands, and New Guinea is known to have one or two distinct species of its own. All these differ not only in size, colour, shape of their beak, and the protuberance that surmounts it; but also in the kind of food which they live upon. For instance, the African hornbills, and one or more of the Asiatic species, are carnivorous, and some even carrion-eaters. These are filthy birds, their flesh and feathers smelling rank as those of vultures. On the other hand, there is a species in the Indian islands-- the Moluccas more particularly--whose sole food is the nutmeg, which gives to its flesh an exquisite aromatic flavour, causing it to be much relished at the tables of Oriental epicures. The bill of this species after a certain time appears with a number of grooves or furrows in it. As these furrows are observed only on the beaks of the old birds, the Dutch colonists established in the Moluccas believe them to indicate their age, each wrinkle standing for a year. Hence the hornbill has obtained among the colonists the name of _Yerrvogel_ (year bird). Karl, as I have said, was acquainted with all these facts in the natural history of the hornbill; but just then he did not think of making them known to his companions--all three being too much occupied in watching the movements of the male bird. It was evident that he was not one of the vegetable feeders: for on his alighting they could see hanging from his beak a long cylindrical object, which they were able to identify as a portion--the head and part of the body--of a dead snake. It was equally evident that his mate was not accustomed to a vegetable diet: for from the way in which he was manoeuvring, the spectators saw that the mutilated reptile was intended for her. No doubt it was her dinner, for it had now got to that hour of the day. She was not to be kept waiting any longer. Almost on the instant her provider alighted on the projecting spur, with a toss of his head he jerked the piece of snake up into the air, and then caught it as it came down again--not with the intention to swallow it, but only to get a better grip, in order that he might deliver it the more adroitly into the mandibles of his mate--now protruding through the aperture, and opened to receive it. In another instant the savoury morsel was transferred from the beak of the male to that of the female; and then the ivory forceps of the latter, with the snake held tightly between them, disappeared within the cavity. The old cock stayed not a moment longer upon the tree. He had served his mate with her dinner, and perhaps he had yet to bring on the dessert. Whether or not, he rose immediately afterwards into the air, with the same clangorous clapping of his wings; but this time the noise was accompanied by the clattering of his horny mandibles, like a pair of castanets, causing a sound not only singular, but, if heard by strangers, calculated to beget within them a considerable feeling of alarm. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. A FOUR-FOOTED BURGLAR. After the departure of the bird, that had taught our young adventurers so interesting a chapter of natural history, the elephant once more engrossed their attention. Not that there was anything new in the movements of the latter--for it was acting just as before--but simply because they knew that, so long as it remained upon the ground, they would have to stay in the tree; and they naturally bent their eyes upon it, to see if it was showing any signs of moving off. They could perceive none. Not the slightest appearance to indicate its intention of departing from the spot. While engaged in regarding the besieger, their eyes were of course removed from the sycamore; nor might they have been again turned towards that tree--at least, not for a good while--but for a sound that reached their ears, and which appeared to proceed from the direction of the hornbill's nest. It was a soft and rather plaintive sound--unlike any that had been made by the rhinoceros bird; nor was it at all like the voice of a bird, of any kind. It was more like the utterance of some four-footed creature; or it might even have been a human voice pronouncing the syllable "wha," several times repeated. That it was neither bird nor human being, Ossaroo could tell the moment he heard the first "wha." Almost as soon were the others convinced that it was neither: for on turning their eyes to the sycamore, they saw upon the projecting spur that had been so lately occupied by the hornbill, a creature of a very different kind--in short, a quadruped. Had it been in an American forest, they might have taken the creature for a racoon though a very large one. On closer scrutiny, many points of resemblance, and also of difference, would have become apparent. Like the racoon, it had plantigrade feet, a burly, rounded body, and a very thick hairy tail--ringed also like that of the American animal--but unlike the latter, its muzzle, instead of being long and slender, was short, round, and somewhat cat-like; while its hair, or more properly its fur, formed a thick even coat all over its body, limbs, and tail, and presented a smooth and shining surface. Its general colour was a very dark brown, streaked and mottled with golden yellow; and Caspar remarked, upon the moment of seeing it, that it was one of the handsomest creatures he had ever beheld. The naturalist Cuvier had made the same remark long before Caspar's time. So said Karl, on hearing the observation escape from the lips of his brother. Ossaroo knew that the animal was the "wha," a name derived from its ordinary call; and that it was sometimes known as the "chetwa," and also the "panda." Karl, on hearing Ossaroo's name for it, and indeed, on hearing it pronounced by the creature itself, was able to identify the animal, and to give it still another name--that which has been bestowed upon it by Frederick Cuvier--_ailurus_. This is the generic name, of which, up to the present time, it has been left in undisturbed possession. Since only one species has been discovered, it has the name all to itself; and therefore would not require any specific appellation. But for all that, one has been given to it. On account of its shining coat, it has been called the _ailurus fulgens_. Though the closet naturalists, in following out their pedantic propensities, have created a genus expressly for this animal, there is nothing either in its appearance or habits to separate it from the badgers, the racoons, the coatimondis, and such other predatory creatures. Like them it preys upon birds and their eggs, as also on the smaller kinds of quadrupeds, and like the racoon, it is a nimble tree-climber. The situation in which the particular panda, of which we are writing, first appeared to the eyes of Karl and Caspar, proved this capacity, and its actions the moment after testified to its fondness for birds'-eggs. It had not been a minute under the eyes of the spectators, when they saw that it was after the eggs of the hornbill; perhaps, too, it might have had a design of tasting the flesh of their owner. Resting its thick plantigrade hind feet upon the projection of the tree, it erected itself like a little bear; and with its fore-paws commenced scraping at the barrier wall which the male bird had spent so much time and taken so much pains in building. It is possible that if it had been left to itself, it might in time have succeeded in forcing an entrance into the nest, and highly probable too--or it would scarcely have entered upon the task. But it was not left to itself. Not that the sitter inside could have done much to hinder it: though it was evident from the way in which her beak was repeatedly projected and drawn back through the hole, and also from her angry hissing, that she knew there was danger without, and that an enemy was assailing her citadel. Most likely after a time, and by constant scraping, the clay wall would eventually have been pulled down; but before that event came to pass, a loud flapping and fluttering, and cracking and clattering, was heard among the tops of the trees; and in an instant afterwards the broad, shadowy wings of the old male hornbill were swashing about the ears of the four-footed robber, where the long cutlass-like beak, armed at its edges, at once interrupted the intent. The panda, taken by surprise, quailed at this first onset: for like any other _paterfamilias_ who on returning home finds a burglar breaking into his house, the cock bird charged in the full tide of impetuous fury. The robber, however, evidently used to this sort of thing, soon recovered his self-possession; and instead of retreating from the tree, he only planted himself more firmly upon the projection; and, facing towards his feathery assailant, prepared to show fight. And fight was instantly shown on both sides--the bird swooping repeatedly at its adversary, striking with its strong wings and thrusting with its ensiform beak; while the quadruped played back both with teeth and claws--several times plucking a mouthful of feathers from the breast of its winged adversary. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. FRITZ INTERFERES. How the affair might have ended had the panda and the hornbill been the only parties to the combat, can but be guessed at. In all likelihood the quadruped would have triumphed over the biped: the entrance would have been forced; the old hen dragged off her nest--perhaps killed and eaten--and the eggs after her. But it was not written in the book of destiny that this should be the _denouement_ of that little drama: for at that moment an incident occurred which changed the whole character of the contest--followed by a series of other incidents which brought the affair to a termination unexpected by all parties engaged, as well as by those who witnessed it. The first of these incidents--and that which formed the key to this change in the circumstances of the combat, was one of a very ludicrous character--so much so as to elicit laughter from the spectators in the tree. It chanced that the eyes of the panda, as the animal stood erect on its hind quarters, were directly opposite the little aperture that represented the entrance to the nest. Not dreaming of any danger in that direction, the robber only thought of guarding his "daylights" against the hornbill upon the wing. But the hen bird inside the nest-- who could see well enough what was passing outside--had no idea of remaining a passive spectator; and perceiving her opportunity--for she was within striking distance--she quietly drew back her long ivory beak, and, throwing all the strength of her neck into the effort--assisted by the weight of her heavy helmeted head--as if with the blow of a pick-axe, she struck the panda right in the eye--the sharp point penetrating almost to its skull. Terror-stricken, partly by surprise at this unexpected stroke, and partly by the pain caused by it, the quadruped uttered a shrill cry; and at once scrambling down from the tree, seemed only anxious to make his escape. In this design he, no doubt, would have succeeded, with only the loss of an eye; but the eye of still another enemy had been upon him--one whom he had yet to encounter. Fritz, from his position near the bottom of the tree, attracted by the noise of the strife, had drawn nearer; and looking up, had been watching the combat throughout. It is scarcely probable that the sympathies of honest Fritz could have been otherwise than in favour of the innocent bird, and against the guilty beast; but whatever way they may have been inclined, certain it is that as the panda came to "grass," the dog "jumped" it upon the instant, and commenced worrying it, as if the creature had been the oldest and bitterest of his enemies! Despite the suddenness of this new attack--equally unexpected as the peck in the eye--the fierce panda showed no signs of yielding without a struggle; and, although far overmatched by its canine antagonist, it was likely to give the latter a scratch or two, as souvenirs that he would carry to his grave. But at this moment a much greater danger was threatening Fritz than any harm he might suffer from the claws of the panda; and had chance not favoured him, as he jumped about in the struggle, by turning his eyes in a particular direction, he would have found himself in the clutches of an antagonist, that would have shown him as little mercy as he was himself extending to the poor panda. But he was favoured by chance: for it was nothing more that directed his glance towards his old pursuer, the elephant; and showed him the latter, at that moment advancing upon him at a charging pace, with eyes sparkling in silent vengeance, and trunk extended to seize him. Under the circumstances, it did not cost Fritz a moment's calculation as to what course he should pursue. Suddenly dropping the panda--as if he had discovered the quadruped to be a lump of poison--he bounded from the spot in a direction the very opposite to that by which the elephant was approaching; and in less than a score of seconds the only part of him to be seen was the tip of his tail just disappearing into the thicket. Of all the creatures that had borne part in this curious affray, the poor panda was perhaps the most to be pitied. At all events he was the most unfortunate: for with the drama ended also his life. In every one encountered by him he had found an enemy; and in the last he met with a dread foe that soon made a finish of him. This last was the elephant. The great animal, rushing forward upon Fritz, seeing that the latter had escaped, was determined this time not to be baulked of a victim. Instead of carrying out the design it had only partially resolved upon-- that of following Fritz into the forest--it suddenly altered its plan, and transferred its hostility to the panda. It saw that the latter was within reach: for half blinded by the beak of the bird, and half worried to death by the dog, the creature did not perceive, as Fritz had done, the approach of the elephant. It is possible it may have seen the danger, but not until the elephant had got in such dangerous proximity as left it no chance of escape. Before the panda could make the slightest effort to get away from the ground, the elephant had lapped its prehensile proboscis around it, and lifted it into the air as if its body had been no heavier than a feather. Holding it aloft, the merciless monster took several long strides in the direction of the fallen obelisk; and then, as if choosing a spot suitable for its design, it placed the still struggling body of the panda upon the ground, set its huge fore-feet upon it, and using them alternately, continued to trample it until the only vestige left of the crushed creature was a shapeless mass of fur and flesh! It was a painful spectacle to those in the tree; but it was succeeded by a sight that was pleasant to all three--the sight of the elephant's hind quarters as it walked off toward the woods, evidently with the intention of retiring from the ground. Whether its vengeance had been satisfied by the destruction of the panda, or whether it had gone off in search of Fritz, none of the three could conjecture; but whatever may have been the motive, certain it is that it guided the rogue from the spot, and raised a siege that was on the point of becoming exceedingly irksome. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. "DEATH TO THE ROGUE." As soon as the elephant was fairly out of sight, the besieged took counsel among themselves about descending to the earth. They were sorely tired of the positions which they had been so long constrained to keep; for, to tell the truth, sitting astride upon the hard branch of a tree, though easy enough for a short spell, becomes in time so painful as to be almost unendurable. Caspar especially had grown impatient of this irksome inaction; and highly exasperated at the _rogue_ who was forcing it upon them. Several times had he been on the point of forsaking his perch, and stealing down for his gun; but Karl, each time perceiving his design, very prudently persuaded him to forego it. All were anxious enough to get out of the tree; and they would have vacated their sents at once on the disappearance of their dreaded enemy, had they been certain that he was gone for good; but they were suspicious that it might be only a temporary absence--perhaps some _ruse_ of the rogue to decoy them down: for elephants of this character have been known to practise tricks with almost as much cunning as rogues among men. While holding counsel as to how they had best act, Ossaroo cut short their deliberations by volunteering to descend first; and by stealing a short way along the track which the elephant had taken, ascertain whether he was really gone from the ground, or only tying in ambush near the skirt of the forest. As the shikaree could creep through underwood as silently as a snake, there could be no great danger in his doing this, provided he did not go too far. He could not fail to see the elephant before approaching too near to it; and in the event of its turning and pursuing him, he could once more flee to their tree-fortress. He scarcely waited for the consent of his companions; but, immediately after conceiving the idea, he let himself down among the branches; and once on the ground, glided hurriedly, but cautiously, off in the direction taken by the elephant. Karl and Caspar stayed some five minutes longer upon their perch; but the shikaree not returning as soon as they had expected, they became impatient, and also dropped down from the tree. Their first act was to recover their guns, and reload them; and then, taking stand in a position from which, in case of being suddenly attacked, they could easily spring back among the branches, they awaited the return of Ossaroo. A considerable time elapsed, without their either seeing or hearing aught of the shikaree. Indeed they heard nothing: for a complete silence reigned around them, broken only now and then by the fluttering of the wings of the old male hornbill--who was still keeping in the neighbourhood of the nest, apparently puzzled to make out by what mysterious combination of circumstances he had been so abruptly disembarrassed of his adversary, the panda. The movements of the bird had no longer any interest for Karl and Caspar--who were beginning to grow uneasy at the prolonged absence of Ossaroo. Soon after, however, they were relieved from their suspense, by seeing the shikaree emerging from the underwood, and advancing at a quick pace to the open ground. They had the additional pleasure of beholding Fritz following at his heels. The dog had joined Ossaroo near the edge of the timber--where he had been quietly secreting himself from the eyes of the dreaded elephant. As Ossaroo drew near, both Karl and Caspar noticed an expression upon his countenance, which, combined with his hurried advance, told that he had something of an important nature to communicate. "Well, Ossy," asked Caspar, who was the first to speak, "what news? Have you seen anything more of the rogue?" "Ah, rogue indeed!" replied Ossaroo, in a tone expressive of some secret fear. "You speakee true, sahib; the rogue, if he no worse." "Why, what now? Have you seen anything since you left us?" "Seen, sahibs! Where you tinkee he now gone?" "Where?" "Hee go for de hut." "For the hut?" "Straight trackee. Ah, sahibs!" continued the shikaree, speaking in a low voice and with an air of superstitious terror; "dat animal too wise for dis world; he know too much. I fear him be no elephan' after all, but only de devil, who hab takee elephan' shape. Why he go back there?" "Ah! why, I wonder," inquired Caspar. "Do you think," added he, "it is in the hope of finding us there? If that's his purpose," he continued, without waiting for a reply, "we shall have no peace so long as he remains alive. We must either kill him, or he will do as much for us." "Sahibs," observed the Hindoo, with a significant shake of the head, "we no able killee him; that elephan' he nebba die." "Oh, nonsense, Ossy! If that's what you mean," rejoined Caspar, disdainfully repudiating the superstitious belief of the shikaree; "there is not much doubt of our being able to kill him, if we once get a fair shot; and by my word, the sooner we set about it the better. It's evident, from his having gone back to our hut, that he has some wicked design. Very likely he remembers being first attacked there by Fritz; and as he may be under the belief that the dog has retreated there, he is gone in search of him. Ho, Fritz, old fellow! you needn't be afraid. You can easily get out of his way, whenever you like. Your masters are in more danger than you, my boy." "You are sure, Ossaroo," said Karl, who had stood for some time silently reflecting, "you are sure he has gone to the hut?" In reply to this interrogation, Ossaroo would not state positively that he had seen the elephant arrive on the very spot where the hovel stood; but he had followed his track through the belt of heavy timber; and then, having climbed a tree, had descried the great quadruped moving in the direction of the hut. He had no doubt it was for that point he was making, though with what design Ossaroo could not guess--his superstitious dread having hindered him from venturing upon any conjecture. "One thing is clear," said Karl, after another interval spent in reflection: "it will be no list our attempting to continue the survey we have commenced, until the elephant be got out of the way. What you say, brother Caspar, is quite true. Now that he has become aware of our presence, and has, moreover, been roused to fury by the wounds we have given him, it is not likely he will forget what has passed; and we can hope for neither peace nor safety till we have succeeded in destroying him. There is no reason why we should not set about it at once, but every reason why we should. Our very lives depend upon his destruction; and they will not be safe till that has been accomplished." "Let us after him at once, then," cried Caspar; "and be our motto, `_Death to the rogue_'!" CHAPTER NINETEEN. A HOME IN RUINS. Without further delay, our adventurers took the back track towards the hut, which was exactly that which the elephant had taken--as they could tell by traces of the animal all along the route, which the experienced eye of the shikaree had already discovered, and which he now pointed out to his companions as they passed on. Here and there its great footprints were visible in the turf, in places where the ground was soft; and at other places where no tracks appeared, leaves and twigs freshly strewn upon the earth, and also branches of considerable size broken off from the trees, and borne for some distance before being dropped, clearly indicated to Ossaroo the route which the rogue had taken. The shikaree had often followed the spoor of wild elephants through the jungles of Bengal, and knew everything about their way of travelling. He was therefore able to tell the others that the rogue had not been browsing as he went--for the leaves and twigs showed no signs of his teeth--but on the contrary, he had moved forward rapidly, and as if with some special determination. The broken branches which they saw were more likely to have been torn off out of spite at the ill-usage he had received, and the disappointment at not having succeeded in his purposes of vengeance. It did not need for Ossaroo to caution his companions to circumspection. They knew as well as he that an elephant enraged as this one was, whether a _rogue_ elephant or an _honest_ one, was anything but a safe customer to come in contact with; and that this particular rogue was most particularly angry they had just had both ocular and auricular evidence. They went forward, therefore, with unusual caution, taking care to keep both their eyes and ears on the alert, and at the same time moving in perfect silence, or conversing only in whispers. The path upon which they were returning was not that by which they had gone forth. The reconnoissance of the cliffs had carried them a good distance around the edge of the valley; but now they were following the track taken by the elephant, which, as already ascertained by Ossaroo, led almost in a direct line to the hut. As they drew nearer to their rude habitation, they saw indications that the enemy was still before them. As they knew that in the immediate neighbourhood of the hot-spring, and consequently of the hut itself, there were no large trees or other place of safety to which they might retreat in case of being again attacked, they began to advance with increased caution. From the direction in which they were approaching, the hovel could not be seen until they should get within less than two hundred yards of it. There was a belt of rather tall jungle to be passed through, and then it would be in sight. Through this jungle they commenced advancing; and there, to their no slight uneasiness, they also observed fresh traces of the elephant. They were now certain that he had passed through it before them, still going direct for the hut. What on earth can he want there? was the query that once more suggested itself to the minds of all three. It certainly looked as if he had proceeded there in search of _them_! As if, missing them from the scene of the encounter, he believed they had returned home, and was following up their acquaintance. From what they had observed, they could not help attributing to the great quadruped the possession of an intelligence something more than natural; and this, though it may have been only an absurd fancy on their part, had the effect of begetting within their minds a very painful feeling of apprehension. What they saw on coming out on the other side of the jungle not only strengthened this feeling of apprehension, but increased it all at once to a positive terror. The hut, which should now have been before their eyes, and at a distance of not quite two hundred paces, _was no longer there_! The ruins of it alone were visible. The large boulders with which its walls had been built, the beams and thatch that had composed its roof, the grass couches upon which they had slept, the rude improvised utensils and other articles which had served them for furniture, were all strewed far and wide over the ground; and not the semblance of a house, or even hovel, remained to show that the spot had been occupied by a human habitation! Yes--in what had been their rude dwelling our adventurers beheld only a ruder ruin--scarce one stone standing upon, another! They beheld all this with feelings of fear--ay, something stronger--with awe. The Pagan worshipper of Brahma or Vishnu was no longer alone in his superstitious imaginings. His young Christian companions were almost equally victims to a belief in the supernatural. They comprehended well enough what had caused the destruction of the house. Though the author of that mischief was nowhere to be seen, they knew it was the elephant. There was no alternative but to accept that explanation; and it was not the act itself that was awing them, but the contemplation of the human-like, or rather demon-like, intelligence that had guided the animal thither, and instructed it to this act of retribution, perhaps only preliminary to a still greater one. Though the work of devastation could not have been completed many minutes before their arrival, the elephant appeared to have gone away from the ground. At east, it was not to be seen anywhere near the spot; and it is needless to say that it was carefully looked for. Dreading its dangerous proximity, they had kept under cover of the bushes while contemplating the ruin from a distance; and it was not until after a considerable interval had elapsed that they ventured forward over the open space to ascertain the full extent of the damage. This they at length did, and found that it was _total_ destruction. So far as the hut was concerned, not a vestige of construction remained-- walls and roof had been alike levelled with the ground. But what was a greater source of chagrin to the now homeless plant-hunters, was that their little store of ammunition--the gunpowder, which during all the period of their imprisonment they had been carefully hoarding--was spilled among the rubbish, and of course irrecoverable. It had been deposited in a large gourd-shell prepared for the purpose; and this, among other similar chattels, the enraged quadruped had crushed under its feet. Their cured provisions had also been turned out from their place of deposit, and trampled into the dust of the earth. But this, though also a chagrin, was one of less bitterness. Other provisions might be obtained--not now so easily, since the powder was destroyed-- but the latter they could not replace. CHAPTER TWENTY. UP A TREE AGAIN! They might have remained longer on the ground lamenting this irreparable loss, but that they were still apprehensive of the return of the elephant. Whither had it gone? That was the question which one was addressing to the other, while the eyes of all kept turning in different directions, and with glances that betrayed their uneasiness. The rogue could not have been off the ground more than a very few minutes: the grass that he had trampled down was still wet with its own sap, crushed out by his ponderous weight. And yet he might have been seen all around for nearly a quarter of a mile's distance. There was no timber within that distance that could have given concealment to an animal so bulky as an elephant? So thought Karl and Caspar; but Ossaroo was of a different opinion. The bit of jungle through which they had passed would suffice to screen the rogue, said he: adding at the same time a piece of intelligence derived from his shikaree experience: that an elephant, large as it is, can hide in a slight cover with wonderful cunning; that its sagacity enables it to select the best place for concealment; and that, although it neither crouches nor squats, it contrives, by keeping perfectly still--added to the circumstance of its being a shapeless sort of mass--ofttimes to elude the eye of the most vigilant hunter. Though Karl and Caspar could scarcely credit him, Ossaroo expressed his belief, not only that the elephant might be hid in the scant jungle they were talking about, but that it actually _was_ there. Unfortunately for them, Ossaroo's argument was too soon to be supported by facts which left no doubt of its accuracy. As they stood scanning the jungle with keen glances, and with ears acutely bent to catch every sound that might issue from it, a movement was perceptible among the tops of some tall saplings that grew near its centre. In the next moment a brace of the beautiful argus pheasants rose on whirring wing, at the same time giving forth their loud note of alarm. The birds, forsaking the jungle, in their flight passed over the heads of our adventurers, and by their cries caused such a clangour as to set Fritz off into a prolonged fit of baying. Whether it was that the enemy had been only lying in ambush, waiting for a good opportunity to charge, or whether the voice of the dog--already known and hated--had been just then heard by the elephant, stirring him to a fresh thirst for vengeance, certain it is, that before a sentence could be exchanged among the terrified trio, the long conical trunk and broad massive shoulders were visible through the scanty jungle; and it was plain to all that the monster was making towards them with that deceptive shamble which, though only a walk, carries the huge quadruped over the ground almost with the speed of a galloping horse. For a moment our adventurers stood their ground--not, however, with any idea of awaiting the attack or attempting to repel it; but simply because they knew not in what direction to retreat. So dismayed were they at the sight of the advancing enemy, that it was some seconds before any of the three could suggest a plan that offered a prospect of escape. Rather mechanically than otherwise did Karl and Caspar bring their pieces to the level, with the intention of firing in the face of the foe: for they had but little hope that the lead from their guns, both of light calibre, would stop his impetuous charge. Both fired at the same instant; and then Caspar delivered his second shot; but, just as they had expected, the elephant continued to charge onward. Fortunately for them, the shikaree had not condescended to draw the string of his bow. Experience had taught him that under such circumstances an arrow was an useless weapon. He might as well have attempted to kick the elephant, or stick a pin into its trunk; either of which proceedings would have damaged the animal nearly as much, and perhaps irritated it a little less, than would one of Ossaroo's arrows. Knowing this, the shikaree, instead of bothering himself with his bow, or wasting time by any thoughts of resistance, had occupied the few seconds left for consideration in a rapid reconnoissance of the neighbourhood--to see if it offered any chance of escape. To tell the truth, the vicinity appeared rather unpromising. The cliffs offered no ledge upon which they might have climbed out of reach of the rogue, the jungle might have afforded them a temporary shelter; but although it had concealed the elephant from their eyes, it could not long conceal them from the eyes of such a sagacious creature as their antagonist appeared to be. Besides, the elephant was between them and it, and to retreat in that direction would be to run point blank upon its proboscis! Fortunately in this moment of uncertainty and irresolution a point of safety appeared to the eye of the shikaree, in the shape of a tree--the only one near the spot. It was a tree that had already been instrumental in saving his life: for it was the same that stood by the little straits where Ossaroo had set his nets, and by means of which Caspar had been enabled to hoist him up out of the quicksand. This tree was a very large one; and standing alone, its branches, free to extend their growth, had spread far out in every direction, almost stretching across the straits. Ossaroo wasted not the precious moments in idle reflection, but shouting to the young sahibs, and signalling them to follow his example, he struck off towards the tree with all the speed that lay in his legs; and not till he had got up to the third or fourth tier of branches did he look behind him, to see whether his advice had been taken. The young sahibs had adopted his suggestion with alacrity, without staying a moment to question its propriety; and both were up the tree almost as soon as the shikaree himself. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. AN IMPLACABLE BESIEGER. Fritz had retreated with his masters as far as the bottom of the tree; but possessing only canine claws, he was not a climber; and of course could follow them no further. But if he could not ascend the tree, he had no intention of remaining under it--when he saw no chance of avoiding the vengeance of the elephant--and, without pausing for a moment, he plunged into the water, and swam across the straits. Then wading out on the the opposite bank, he scuttled off into a cover of reeds which grew along the shore of the lake, and there concealed himself. This time the elephant paid no attention to the dog. It was upon the hunters alone that its eyes were fixed; and towards them its vindictive designs were now specially directed. It had been close upon their heels, as they ran over the open ground, and distinctly saw them ascending into the tree. Indeed, so near was it, that both Karl and Caspar were once more obliged to let go their guns, in order that they might have both hands free for climbing. Otherwise they might have been too late to get out of reach, and the least delay on their part might have been fatal to one or both. Karl was the last to climb up; and just as he lifted his feet from a branch to set them on one higher up, the rogue twisted his trunk around the former, and snapped it in two, as if it had been only a slender reed. But Karl, with the others, was now beyond his reach; and all three congratulated themselves on once more having escaped from a danger that was nothing short of death itself. If possible, the elephant was now more enraged than ever. It had not only been a second time baulked in its vengeance, but had received three fresh bullet-wounds; which, though mere scratches upon the skin of its huge cranium, were sore enough to irritate it to an extreme degree. Uttering its shrill, trumpet-like screech, it flourished its proboscis high in the air; and seizing the branches that were within its reach, it snapped them off from the main stem as if they had been tiny twigs. In a short time the tree, which had been furnished with low-spreading limbs, was completely stripped of these to a height of nearly twenty-feet from the ground; while the space underneath had become strewn with twigs, leaves, and broken branches, crushed into a litter under the broad, ponderous hooves of the mammoth as he kept moving incessantly over them. Not content with stripping the tree of its branches, the old tusker seized hold of its trunk--lapping his own _trunk_ as far as he could around it--and commenced tugging at it, as if he had hopes of being able to drag it up by the roots. Perceiving after trial that this feat was beyond his power, he relaxed his hold, and then set about another experiment--that of pushing down the tree with his shoulder. Although he succeeded in causing the tree to tremble, he soon became satisfied that it stood firm enough to resist all his strength, great as it was: and under this conviction he at length desisted from the attempt. He showed no sign, however, of any intention to leave the ground; but, on the contrary, took his stand under the tree: since the very opposite was the determination which he had formed in his mind. Although confident that they were in security, our adventurers were anything but exultant. They saw that they were only safe for the time; and, that although their dreaded adversary might after a while withdraw and leave them free to descend, still there could be no security for the future. They had now less hope of being able to destroy this powerful enemy: as they had only one charge left for their guns, and that might not be sufficient to take away his life. The spilling of their powder by the elephant itself seemed like a piece of strategy on his part, leaving them in a sad dilemma. Inside any house they might build, they would be no better protected against him than on the open ground: for the rogue had proved himself capable of demolishing the strongest walls they might construct; and to be out of his reach, they would be obliged to keep eternally among the tops of the trees, and lead the life of monkeys or squirrels--which would be a very disagreeable kind of existence. Just then an idea occurred to Caspar that offered them an alternative to this unpleasant prospect of an arboreal life. He bethought him of the cave in which they had killed the bear. It could only be reached by a ladder, and would of course be inaccessible to the elephant. Once out of their present dilemma, they might seek refuge there. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. DRAWING THEIR DRINK. The idea about the cave was a good one, and gave them some little comfort in the midst of their tribulation. Still, it was not much; for although they would be safe enough while in the cavern, they could not accomplish anything there. The want of light would hinder them from working at the ladders; and while cutting the timber out of which to make them, and every hour that they might be engaged upon them, they would be exposed to the attacks of their implacable enemy. The prospect was sufficiently discouraging--even with the knowledge that the cave would offer them a safe asylum to which they could retreat whenever pursued. As the elephant remained comparatively tranquil for a length of time, these thoughts of future operations had engaged their attention. Confident in their present security, they were not troubled by the fear of any immediate danger. Very soon, however, this confidence began to forsake them. How long were they going to be kept in the tree? That was a question that now presented itself; and as the time passed, became a source of uneasiness. Though none of them could answer this question, yet all could understand that the siege promised to be a long one--perhaps much longer than that which had so lately been raised: for the rogue, inspired by a rage profound and implacable, exhibited in his sullen look a determination to stand his ground for an indefinite period of time. Seeing this, our adventurers once more became uneasy. Not only was their situation irksome--from the fact of their having to sit astride slender branches-- but should the siege be continued, they would be subjected to that danger peculiar to all people besieged--the danger of starvation. Even at the outset all three were as hungry as wolves. They had eaten but a very light breakfast, and nothing since: for they had not found time to cook dinner. It was now late in the afternoon; and should the enemy continue there all night, they would have to go to bed supperless. Ah! to bed indeed. Perhaps there would be neither bed nor sleep that night: for how could they slumber upon those hard branches? Should they lose consciousness for a moment, they would drop off, and tumble down upon their sleepless besieger! Even should they tie themselves in the tree, to go to sleep upon such narrow couches would be out of the question. Thus, then, they saw no prospect of either supper or sleep for that night. But there was another appetite now annoying them far worse than either hunger or longing for sleep. It was the desire to drink. The rough and varied exercise which they had been compelled to take since starting in the morning--climbing trees, and skulking through pathless jungles--combined with the varied emotions which their repeated perils had called up--all had a tendency to produce thirst; and thirst they now felt in an extreme degree. It was not lessened by the sight of the water shining beneath them. On the contrary, this only increased the craving to an extent that was almost unendurable. For a considerable time they bore the pain, without any hope of being able to get relieved of it; and with the lake glistening before their eyes under the clear sunlight, and the current gently gliding through the straits underneath, they could realise, in something more than fancy, what must have been the terrible sufferings of poor Tantalus. After submitting to this infliction for a considerable length of time, an exclamation escaping from Caspar drew upon him the attention of the others. "Dunder und blitzen!" cried he; "what have we been thinking about all this time? The three of us sitting here choking with thirst, and a river of water within our reach!" "Within our reach? I wish it were, Caspar," rejoined Karl, in rather a desponding tone. "Certainly it is within our reach. Look here!" As Caspar spoke, he held out his copper powder-flask, now nearly empty. Karl did not yet quite comprehend him. "What is to hinder us from letting this down," he inquired, "and drawing it up again full of water? Nothing. Have you a piece of string about you, Ossy?" "Yes, sahib, I have," briskly replied the shikaree, at the same time drawing a roll of hempen twist out of the breast of his cotton shirt, and holding it out towards the young hunter. "Long enough, it is," said Caspar, taking the cord; which the next moment he attached around the neck of the flask. After pouring the powder into his bullet-pouch, he permitted the flask to drop down till it became immersed under the current. Allowing it to remain there, till it had become filled with water, he drew it up again; and with a congratulatory exclamation presented it to Karl, telling him to drink to his heart's content. This injunction Karl obeyed without the slightest reluctance. The flask was soon emptied; and once more let down and re-filled, and again emptied; and this series of operations was continued, until all were satisfied, and there was no longer a thirsty individual in the top of that tree. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. A GIGANTIC SYRINGE. Having by Caspar's ingenious artifice obtained as much water as they wanted, the besieged felt better able to endure their irksome situation. They were resigning themselves with as much philosophy as they could command to bear it a little longer, when to their great astonishment they were treated to more water than they wanted, and from a source as curious as was unexpected. Whether the elephant had taken a hint from seeing the flask plunged down into the water, or whether the idea had occurred to it without being suggested by anything in particular, it would be difficult to say. Certain it is, that just after the last flask-full had been pulled up, and before the eddying ripples had subsided from the surface, the rogue was seen to make a rush into the water, at the same time deeply submerging his proboscis, as if about to take a drink. For some moments he remained in a stationary attitude, apparently filling his capacious stomach with the fluid. There was no reason why he should not be as thirsty as themselves; and the spectators in the tree had no other thought, than that the great quadruped had waded into the pool simply for the purpose of quenching his thirst. There was something about his movements, however, and the style in which he had set about sucking up the water, which betrayed a different determination; and it was not long before this was evinced by a performance which, under other circumstances, might have evoked laughter from those who witnessed it. In this instance, however, the spectators were themselves the victims of the joke--if joke it might be termed--and during its continuance, not one of the three felt the slightest inclination to indulge in mirth. It was thus that the elephant acted:-- Having filled its trunk with the water of the stream, it raised it aloft. Then pointing it towards the tree, and even directing it with as much coolness and precision as an astronomer would have used in adjusting his telescope, it sent the fluid in a drenching stream into the faces of the three individuals whom it was holding in siege. All three, who chanced to be sitting close together, were at the same instant, and alike, the victims of this unexpected deluge; and before any of them could have counted half a score, they were wet from head to foot, every rag upon their backs, and fronts too, becoming as thoroughly saturated as if they had been exposed for hours to a drenching rain storm! But the elephant was not satisfied with giving them a single shower-bath. As soon as its first supply was exhausted, it once more immersed its pliant sucker, re-filled the reservoir, took a good aim, and ejected the fluid into their faces. In this way the creature continued drawing up the water from the stream, and squirting it from its vast muscular syringe, until it had douched them nearly a dozen times. Their situation was anything but enviable; for the watery stream, propelled against them with as much force as from the hose-pipe of a fire-engine, almost washed them from their unstable seats; to say nothing of the great discomfort which the douche occasioned them. It would be difficult to guess what could be the object of the elephant in this curious performance. Perhaps it may have conceived a hope either of driving them out of the tree, or forcibly washing them from the branches; or perhaps it merely designed to make their situation as uncomfortable as possible, and thus to some extent satisfy its spite. It would be equally difficult to tell how long the performance might have lasted. Perhaps for hours longer--since the supply of water was inexhaustible; but it was brought to a conclusion which neither the great pachyderm himself foresaw, nor they who were the subjects of his aqueous dispensation. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. SWALLOWED WHOLESALE. Just while it was in the midst of its performance, keeping its _water-battery_ in full play, and apparently with malicious enjoyment, it was seen all at once to desist; and then its huge body commenced rocking from side to side, one shoulder now upheaving, then the other, while the long trunk was swept in circles through the air, at the same time emitting, instead of water, shrill sounds that proclaimed either pain or terror. What could it mean? The quadruped was evidently smitten with some sudden fear; but who and what was the enemy it dreaded? So mentally inquired Karl and Caspar; but before either had time to shape his thought into an interrogative speech, the shikaree had answered it. "He-ho!" he exclaimed. "Goot! vair goot!--praise to the God of the Great Gangee! See, sahibs, the rogue he go down, down--he sinkee in de quicksand that near swalley Ossaroo; he-ho; sinkee! he sinkee!" Karl and Caspar easily comprehended the meaning of Ossaroo's broken but exultant speeches. Bending their eyes on the brute below, and watching its movements, they at once perceived that the shikaree had spoken the truth. The elephant was evidently sinking in the quicksand! They had noticed that when it first entered the bed of the stream, the water had not reached far above its knees. Now it was up to its sides, and slowly but gradually rising higher. Its violent struggles, moreover--the partial and alternate raising of its shoulders, its excited shrieks--and the proboscis, rapidly extended now to this side, now to that, as if searching to grasp some support--all proved the truth of Ossaroo's assertion--the rogue was sinking in the quicksand. And rapidly was the creature going down. Before the spectators had been watching it five minutes, the water lapped up nearly to the level of its back, and then inch by inch, and foot by foot, it rose higher, until the round shoulders were submerged, and only the head and its long trumpet-like extension appeared above the surface. Soon the shoulders ceased to play; and the vast body exhibited no other motion, save that gentle descent by which it was being drawn down into the bowels of the earth! The trunk still kept up its vibratory movement, now violently beating the water into foam, and now feebly oscillating, all the while breathing forth its accents of agony. At length the upturned head and smooth protuberant jaws sank beneath the surface; and only the proboscis appeared, standing erect out of the water like a gigantic Bologna sausage. It had ceased to give out the shrill trumpet scream; but a loud breathing could still be heard, interrupted at intervals by a gurgling sound. Karl and Caspar kept their seats upon the tree, looking down upon the strange scene with feelings of awe depicted in their faces. Not so the shikaree, who was no longer aloft. As soon as he had seen the elephant fairly locked in the deadly embrace of that quicksand that had so nearly engulfed his own precious person, he lowered himself nimbly down from the branches. For some moments he stood upon the bank, watching the futile efforts which the animal was making to free itself, all the while talking to it, and taunting it with spiteful speeches--for Ossaroo had been particularly indignant at the loss of his skirt. When at length the last twelve inches of the elephant's trunk was all that remained above the surface, the shikaree could hold back no longer. Drawing his long knife, he rushed out into the water; and, with one clean cut, severed the muscular mass from its supporting stem, as a sickle would have levelled some soft succulent weed. The parted tube sank instantly to the bottom; a few red bubbles rose to the surface; and these were the last tokens that proclaimed the exit of that great elephant from the surface of the earth. It had gone down into the deep sands, there to become fossilised--perhaps after the lapse of many ages to be turned up again by the spade and pick-axe of some wondering quarry-man. Thus by a singular accident were our adventurers disembarrassed of a disagreeable neighbour--or rather, a dangerous enemy--so dangerous, indeed, that had not some chance of the kind turned up in their favour, it is difficult to conjecture how they would have got rid of it. It was no longer a question of pouring bullets into its body, and killing it in that way. The spilling of their powder had spoiled that project; and the three charges that still remained to them might not have been sufficient with guns of so small a calibre as theirs. No doubt in time such gallant hunters as Caspar and Ossaroo, and so ingenious a contriver as Karl, would have devised some way to circumvent the rogue, and make an end of him; but for all that they were very well pleased at the strange circumstance that had relieved them of the necessity, and they congratulated themselves on such a fortunate result. On hearing them talking together, and perceiving that they were no longer in the tree, Fritz, who had all this while been skulking only a few paces from the spot, now emerged from his hiding-place, and came running up. Little did Fritz suspect, while swimming across the straits to rejoin his masters, that the huge quadruped which had so frequently given him chase was at that moment so very near him; and that his own claws, while cutting the water, came within an inch of scratching that terrible trunk, now _truncated_ to a _frustrum_ of its former self! But although Fritz had no knowledge of strange incident that had occurred during his absence--and may have been wondering in what direction the enemy had gone off--while swimming across the straits, the red colour of the water at a particular place, or more likely the scent of blood upon it, admonished him that some sanguinary scene had transpired; and drew from him a series of excited yelps as he buoyantly breasted the wave. Fritz came in for a share of the congratulations. Although the faithful creature had retreated on each occasion of his being attacked, no one thought of casting a slur upon his canine courage. He had only exhibited a wise discretion: for what chance would he have stood against such a formidable adversary? He had done better, therefore, by taking to his heels; for had he foolishly stood his ground, and got killed in the first encounter by the obelisk, the elephant might still have been alive, and besieging them in the tree. Besides, it was Fritz who had sounded the first note of warning, and thus given time to prepare for the reception of the assailant. All of the party regarded Fritz as worthy of reward; and Ossaroo had made up his mind that he should have it, in the shape of a dinner upon elephant's trunk. But in wading back into the stream, the shikaree perceived to his chagrin that the brave dog must be disappointed: since the piece which he had so skilfully lopped off, had followed the fortunes of the part from which it had been severed, and was now far below the surface of the sand! Ossaroo made no attempt to dig it up again. He had a wholesome dread of that treacherous footing; and treading it gingerly, he lost no time in returning to the bank, and following the sahibs--who had already taken their departure from the water's edge, and were proceeding in the direction of the ruined hut. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. THE DEODAR. The idea that had occurred to them--of making the cave their home--was no longer deemed worthy of being entertained. The dangerous proximity of the elephant had alone suggested it; and this no longer existed. It was not likely that there was another _rogue_ in the valley. Indeed, Ossaroo was able to set their minds at rest on this point--assuring them that two animals of the kind are never found occupying the same district: since two creatures of such malignant dispositions would certainly enact the tragedy of the Kilkenny cats--though Ossaroo did not illustrate his meaning by quoting this celebrated expression. Possibly there might be other animals in the neighbourhood as much to be dreaded as the elephant had been. There might be panthers, or leopards, or tigers, or even another bear; but against any of these the cave would be no safe asylum--not safer than their old hut. They could reconstruct it more strongly than ever; and put a stout door upon it to keep out any midnight intruder; and to this work did they apply themselves as soon as they had eaten dinner, and dried their garments--so thoroughly saturated by the colossal syringe of the defunct elephant. Several days were spent in restoring the hovel--this time with considerable improvements. The winter weather had now fairly set in; and household warmth had become an important object: so that not only did they fill up the chinks with a thick coating of clay, but a fireplace and chimney were constructed, and a strong door was added. They knew that it would take them a long time to make the ladders--more than a dozen long ladders--each of which must be light as a reed and straight as an arrow. During the milder days of winter they might work in the open air; indeed, the greater part of their work they must needs do outside the hut. Still it would be necessary to have shelter not only during the nights, but in times of storm and severe weather. Prudence therefore counselled them to providence; and before proceeding farther with their design of scaling the cliff, they made all snug within doors. They had no fear of suffering from the winter's cold--either for want of clothing by day, or covering by night. Some of the yak-skins were still in good preservation--with the pelts of several other animals that had fallen before the double-barrel of Caspar--and these would suffice for warm clothing by day and bed-covering by night. About their winter's food they were a little more anxious. The elephant had succeeded not only in destroying their means of obtaining provisions, but had also damaged the stock which was on hand, by trampling it in the mud. Those portions of the dried venison and yak-beef that the brute had not succeeded in completely spoiling, were once more collected, and stored in a safe place; while it was resolved, in the event of their not being able to procure more, that they should go on rations proportioned to the time which they might have to continue in their rock-bound prison. Of course, though their ammunition was exhausted, they were not without hopes of being able to add to their store of provisions. The arrows of Ossaroo still existed, independent of either powder or lead. Snares and traps would enable them to capture many of the wild creatures that, like themselves, appeared to have found a prison in that secluded and singular valley. When all the arrangements regarding their winter residence were completed, they returned once more to the survey of the cliffs, which had been interrupted by the elephant. After a prolonged examination of the ledges, that had been discovered on that eventful day, they continued on until they had made the circuit of the valley. Not a foot of the precipice was passed without the most elaborate inspection being bestowed upon it; and of course the twin cliffs which hemmed in the gorge of the glacier were examined with the rest. There proved to be no place offering such advantages for an ascent by ladders as that already discovered; and although there was no positive certainty that they might be able to accomplish their formidable task, they determined to make a trial, and without further delay set about preparing the ladders. The preliminary step was to select and cut down a sufficient quantity of timber of the right length. They were about to have recourse to the beautiful Thibet pine--the sort which had served them for bridging the crevasse--when a new tree was discovered by them, equally beautiful, and more suitable for their purpose. It was the cedar (_Pinus deodara_). Ossaroo once more lamented the absence of his beloved bamboos--alleging that with a sufficient number of these he could have made ladders enough for scaling the cliff, in less than a quarter of the time it would take to construct them out of the pines. This was no exaggeration: for the culm of the great bamboo, just as it is cut out of the brake, serves for the side of a ladder, without any pains taken with it, further than to notch out the holes in which to insert the rounds. Moreover, the bamboo being light, would have served better than any other timber for such ladders as they required--enabling them with less trouble to get them hoisted up to the ledges--an operation in which they apprehended no little difficulty. But although there was a species of cane growing in the valley--that known to the hill people as the "ringall"--its culms were neither of sufficient length nor thickness for their purpose. It was the great bamboo of the tropical jungles that Ossaroo sighed for; and which on their way up through the lower ranges of the Himalayas they had seen growing in vast brakes, its tall stems often rising to the height of a hundred feet. The deodar, under favourable circumstances, attains to vast dimensions, trunks being often met with in the mountains upwards of ten feet in diameter, and rising to the height of one hundred feet. A few sticks of this description would have made their labour both short and easy. Failing the bamboo, therefore, they selected the second best material which the forest afforded them--the tall "deodar." This tree, which is known to the Anglo-Indian residents of the Himalayan countries as the "cedar," has long since been introduced into English parks and arboretums, under the name of _deodara_--its specific botanical appellation. It is a true pine and is found in most of the hills and valleys of the Himalayan chain, growing at almost any elevation and on any kind of ground--in the low warm valleys, as well as near the line of everlasting snow. Its favourite habitat, however, is on the lower hills, and though by no means a beautiful tree, it is valuable on account of the great quantity of tar which can be extracted from its sap. Where many deodar trees are growing together, they shoot up in long tapering shafts, with short branches, and present the acute conical form characteristic of the pines. When individual trees stand singly, or at some considerable distance apart, their habit is different. They then stretch out long massive arms in a horizontal direction; and as the separate twigs and leaves also extend horizontally, each branch thus presents a surface as level as a table. The deodar often reaches the height of one hundred feet. The wood of the deodar is everywhere esteemed throughout the countries where it is found. It is excellent for building purposes, easily worked, almost imperishable, and can be readily split into planks--an indispensable requisite in a country where saws are almost unknown. In Cashmere, bridges are built of it: and the long time that some of these have been standing, affords a proof of its great durability. A portion of these bridges are under water for more than half the year; and although there are some of them nearly a hundred years old, they are still in good preservation, and safe enough to be crossed. When the deodar is subjected to the process by which tar is extracted from other pines, it yields a much thinner liquid than tar--of a dark red colour, and very pungent smell. This liquid is known as "cedar oil;" and is used by the hill people as a remedy for skin diseases--as also for all scrofulous complaints in cattle. The deodar is of very slow growth; and this unfits it for being introduced into European countries--except as an ornamental timber for parks and pleasure grounds. It was chiefly on account of its property of being easily split into planks, or pieces of light scantling, that the deodar was selected for making the sides of the ladders. To have cut down the trunks of heavy trees to the proper thickness for light ladders--with such imperfect implements as they were possessed of--would have been an interminable work for our inexperienced carpenters. The little axe of Ossaroo and the knives were the only tools they possessed available for the work. As the deodar could be split with wedges, it was just the timber wanted under these circumstances. While engaged in "prospecting" among the deodar trees, a pine of another species came under the observation of our adventurers. It was that known as the "cheel." It might have been seen by them without attracting any particular notice, but for Karl; who, upon examining its leaves, and submitting them to a botanical test, discovered that within the body of the "cheel" there existed qualities that, in the circumstances in which they were placed, would be of great value to them. Karl knew that the "cheel" was one of those pines, the wood of which, being full of turpentine, make most excellent torches; and he had read, that for this very purpose it is used by all classes of people who dwell among the Himalaya mountains, and who find in these torches a very capital substitute for candles or lamps. Karl could also have told his companions, that the turpentine itself--which oozes out of the living tree--is used by the people as an ointment for sores--and that for chapped hands it is a speedy and effectual cure. The "cheel" pine is nearly always found side by side with the deodar--especially where the latter forms the chief growth of the forest. Karl could also have informed them that the deodar and the cheel are not, the only pines indigenous to the Himalayas. He could have mentioned several other species, as the "morenda," a large and handsome tree, with very dark foliage, and one of the tallest of the _coniferae_--often rising to the stupendous height of two hundred feet; the "rye" pine, of almost equal height with the morenda, and perhaps even more ornamental; and the "Kolin," or common pine, which forms extensive forests, upon the ridges that rise from six to nine thousand feet above sea-level. The last thrives best in a dry, rocky soil and it is surprising in what places it will take root and grow. In the perpendicular face of a smooth granite rock, large trees of this species may be seen. In the rock there exists a little crevice. Into this a seed in some manner finds its way, vegetates, and in time becomes a great tree--flourishing perhaps for centuries, where, to all appearance, there is not a particle of soil to nourish it, and probably deriving sustenance from the rock itself! It was with no slight gratification that Karl beheld the "cheel" growing so near. He knew that from it they would obtain brilliant torches--as many as they might stand in need of; so that during the dark nights, instead of sitting idle for the want of light, they could occupy themselves till a late hour within the hovel, in making the "rounds" of the ladders, and doing such other little "chores" as the occasion might require. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. THE SCALING LADDERS. The cutting down of the trees did not occupy them a very long time. They chose only those of slender girth--the more slender the better, so long as they answered the requirements as to length. Trees of about fifty feet in total height were the best: as these, when the weaker part of the tops was cut off, yielded lengths of thirty or more feet. Where they were only a few inches in diameter, there was very little trouble in reducing them to the proper size for the sides of the ladders--only to strip off the bark and split them in twain. Making the rounds was also an easy operation--except that it required considerable time, as there were so many of them. The most difficult part of the work--and this they had foreseen--would be the drilling of the holes to receive the rounds; and it was the task which proved the most dilatory--taking up more time in its accomplishment than both the cutting of the timber, and reducing it to its proper shapes and dimensions. Had they owned an auger or a mortising chisel, or even a good gimlet, the thing would have been easy enough. Easier still had they possessed a "breast bit." But of course not any of these tools could be obtained; nor any other by which a hole might be bored big enough to have admitted the points of their little fingers. Hundreds of holes would be needed; and how were they to be made? With the blades of their small knives it would have been possible to scoop out a cavity--that is, with much trouble and waste of time; but vast time and trouble would it take to scoop out four hundred; and at least that number would be needed. It would be a tedious task and almost interminable, even supposing that it could be accomplished; but this was doubtful enough. The blades of the knives might be worn or broken, long before the necessary number of holes could be made. Of course, had they been possessed of a sufficient number of nails, they might have done without holes. The steps of the ladders could have been nailed upon the sides, instead of being mortised into them. But nails were a commodity quite as scarce with them as tools. With the exception of those in the soles of their shoes, or the stocks of their guns, there was not a nail in the valley. It is not to be denied that they were in a dilemma. But Karl had foreseen this difficulty, and provided against it before a stick of timber had been cut. Indeed, close following on the first conception of the scaling ladders, this matter had passed through his mind, and had been settled to his satisfaction. Only theoretically, it is true; but his theory was afterwards reduced to practice; and, unlike many other theories, the practice proved in correspondence with it. Karl's theory was to make the holes by fire--in other words, to bore them with a red-hot iron. Where was this iron to be obtained? That appeared to offer a difficulty, as great as the absence of an auger or a mortise-chisel. But by Karl's ingenuity it was also got over. He chanced to have a small pocket pistol: it was single-barrelled, the barrel being about six inches in length, without any thimbles, beading, or ramrod attached to it. What Karl intended to do, then, was to heat this barrel red-hot, and make a boring-iron of it. And this was exactly what he _did_ do; and after heating it some hundreds of times, and applying it as often to the sides of the different ladders, he at last succeeded in burning out as many holes as there were rounds to go into them, multiplied exactly by two. It is needless to say that this wonderful boring operation was not accomplished at a single "spell," nor yet in a single day. On the contrary, it took Karl many an hour and many a day, and cost him many a wet skin--by perspiration, I mean--before he had completed the boring of those four hundred holes. Numerous were the tears drawn from the eyes of the plant-hunter--not by grief, but by the smoke of the seething cedar wood. When Karl had finished the peculiar task he had thus assigned to himself, but little more remained to be done--only to set each pair of sides together, stick in the rounds, bind fast at each end, and there was a ladder finished and ready to be scaled. One by one they were thus turned off; and one by one earned to the foot of the cliff, up which the ascent was to be _attempted_. Sad are we to say that it was still only an attempt; and sadder yet that that attempt proved a failure. One by one were the ladders raised to their respective ledges--until three-fourths of the cliff had been successfully scaled. Here, alas! was their climbing brought to a conclusion, by a circumstance up to this time unforeseen. On reaching one of the ledges--the fourth from the top of the cliff--they found, to their chagrin, that the rock above it, instead of receding a little, as with all the others, _hung over_-- projecting several inches beyond the outer line of the ledge. Against that rock no ladder could have been set; none would have rested there-- since it could not be placed even perpendicularly. There was no attempt made to take one up. Though the projection could not be discerned from below, Karl, standing on the topmost round of the last ladder that had been planted, saw at once, with the eye of an engineer, that the difficulty was insurmountable. It would be as easy for them to fly, is to stand a ladder upon that ill-starred ledge; and with this conviction fully impressed upon his mind, the young plant-hunter returned slowly and sorrowfully to the ground to communicate the disagreeable intelligence to his companions. It was no use for either Caspar or Ossaroo to go up again. They had been on the ledge already; and had arrived at the same conviction. Karl's report was final and conclusive. All their ingenuity defeated--all their toil gone for nothing--their time wasted--their hopes blighted--the bright sky of their future once more obscured with darkest clouds--all through that unforeseen circumstance. Just as when they returned out of the cavern--after that patient but fruitless search--just as then, sate they down upon the rocks--each staggering to that which was nearest him--sad, dispirited, forlorn. There sate they, with eyes now fixed upon the ground, now turning towards the cliff and gazing mechanically upon that serried line, like the stairway of some gigantic spider--those long ladders, planted with so much pains, climbed only once, and never to be climbed again! CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. AN EMPTY LARDER. Long sat they in this attitude, all three, observing a profound silence. The air was keenly cold, for it was now mid-winter, but none of them seemed to feel the cold. The deep disappointment, the bitter chagrin that filled their minds, hindered them from perceiving bodily pain; and at that moment had an avalanche threatened to slide down upon them from the snowy summit above, not one of the three would have much cared to escape out of its way. So tired had they become of their aerial prison--so terrified by the prospect of its continuing for ever--or at least as long as they might live--they could have contemplated even death without additional terror. The straw, to which they had so long and so fondly clung, was snatched from their grasp. Again were they drowning. For nearly an hour sat they thus, moody and desponding. The purple-coloured tints, that began to play over the surface of the eternal snows above, admonished them that the sun was far down in the heavens, and that night was approaching. Karl was the first to become conscious of this--the first to break silence. "Oh, brothers!" said he, under the impress of their common misfortune including Ossaroo in the fraternal appellation. "Come away! It is useless to stay longer here. Let us go home!" "Home!" repeated Caspar, with a melancholy smile. "Ah! Karl, I wish you had not spoken the word. So sweet at other times, it now rings in my ears like some unearthly echo. Home, indeed! Alas, dear brother! we shall ne'er go home." To this pathetic speech Karl made no reply. He could offer no word of hope or consolation; and therefore remained silent. He had already risen to his feet--the others following his example--and all three walked moodily away from the spot, taking the most direct route towards their rude dwelling, which now more than ever they had reason to regard as their _home_. On reaching the hut they found still another cause of inquietude. Their stock of provisions, which had survived the destructive onset of the elephant, had been economised with great care. But as they had been too busy in making the ladders to waste time on any other species of industry, nothing had been added to the larder--neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. On the contrary, it had dwindled down, until upon that clay when they issued forth to try their ladders against the cliff, they had left behind them only a single piece of dried yak-beef--about enough to have furnished them with a single meal. Hungry after the day's fruitless exertion, they were contemplating a supper upon it, and not without some degree of pleasant anticipation: for nature under all circumstances will assert her rights, and the cravings of appetite are not to be stifled even by the most anguished suffering of the spirit. As they drew nearer to the hut, but more especially when they came in sight of it, and perceived its rude but hospitable doorway open to receive them--as from the chill atmosphere through which they were passing they beheld its sheltering roof of thatch, and thought of its snug, cosy interior--as, keenly experiencing the pangs both of cold and hunger, they beheld in fancy a bright faggot fire crackling upon the hearth, and heard the yak-beef hissing and sputtering in the blaze, their spirits began to return to their natural condition, and if not actual joy, something that very much resembled cheerfulness might have been observed in the demeanour of all. It is ever thus with the mind of man, and perhaps fortunate that it is so. The human soul finds its type in the sky--cloud and sunshine, sunshine and cloud. With our adventurers the dark cloud had for the moment passed; and a gleam of light was once more shining upon their hearts. It was not destined to shine long. A light had been struck, and a fire kindled that soon blazed brightly. So far one desire had been satisfied. They could warm themselves. But when they came to think of gratifying an appetite of a far more craving character--when they essayed to search for that piece of yak flesh that was to furnish forth their supper--they found it not! During their absence, the burglar had also been abroad. Their larder had been assailed. The _hung_ beef was hanging there no longer. Some wild animal--wolf, panther, or other predatory creature--had entered by the open doorway,--left open in the excitement of that hopeful departure--found open upon their return--but, like the door of that oft-quoted stable, not worth shutting, since the steed had been stolen. Not a morsel, not a mouthful remained--either of yak-beef or food of any other kind--and all three, Fritz making the fourth, had to go supperless to sleep. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. GOING ABROAD FOR BREAKFAST. The exertions which they had made in carrying and erecting the ladders had so wearied them, that, despite their empty stomachs, all three were able to sleep. Their slumber, however, was neither profound nor prolonged; and one and another of them awoke at intervals during the night and lay awake, reflecting upon the miserable fate that had befallen them, and the poor prospects now before them. They were even without the ordinary consolation of knowing that they might find something to eat in the morning. Before they could have any breakfast, they knew they would first have to find it in the forest. They would have to search, find, and kill, before they could eat. But they had reason now not only to be in doubt about procuring their breakfast, but their dinner and supper--in short, their whole future subsistence. Circumstances had become changed. The larder, hitherto amply provided by Caspar's hunting skill, was now quite empty; and although he could soon have replenished it had their ammunition not been destroyed, it was now quite a different thing. Caspar's power was gone along with his powder; and the deer and other quadrupeds, which were known to be yet numerous in the valley--to say nothing of the winged creatures that frequented it, could now smile at any attempt on the part of Caspar to trouble them any longer with his double-barrelled detonator. The gun would hereafter be as useless as a bar of iron. Only one charge of powder for each barrel remained, and one more for Karl's rifle. When these three should be fired off, not another shot might ever again be heard ringing through that silent valley, and waking the echoes of the surrounding cliffs. But it had not yet entered their minds that they might be unable to kill any of the wild animals with which the place abounded. Had they thought so, they would have been unhappy indeed--perhaps so anxious as not to have slept another wink for that night. But they did not yet contemplate the future so despondingly. They hoped that, even without their guns, they would still be enabled to procure sufficient game for their support; and as they all lay awake, just before the breaking of the day, this became the subject of their conversation. Ossaroo still felt full confidence in his bow and arrows; and should these fail, there was his fishing-net; and if that also were to draw blank, the experienced shikaree knew a score of other schemes for circumventing the beasts of the earth, the birds of the air, and the finny denizens of the water. Karl expressed his determination, as soon as spring should return, to commence cultivating certain edible roots and plants, which grew rather sparsely around, but, by the careful propagation of which, a crop might be procured of sufficient abundance. Moreover, they resolved that in the following year they should store up such wild fruits and berries as were fit for food; and thus insure themselves against any chance of famine for months to come. The failure of their late attempt with the ladders had reproduced within them the firm though fearful conviction, that for the rest of their lives they were destined to dwell within the mountain valley--never more to go beyond the bounds of that stupendous prison-like wall that encircled them. With this impression now freshly stamped upon their minds, they returned to speculate on the means of present existence, as also on that of their more immediate future; and in this way did they pass the last hour of the night--that which was succeeded by the daybreak. As the first streaks of dawning day appeared upon the snowy summits-- several of which were visible from the door of the hut--all three might have been seen outside preparing themselves for the execution of some important design. Their purpose might easily be told from the character of their preparations. Caspar was charging his double-barrelled gun; and carefully too--for it was the "last shot in his locker." Karl was similarly employed with his rifle, while Ossaroo was arming himself in his peculiar fashion, looking to the string of his bow, and filling the little wicker bag, that constituted his quiver, with sharp-pointed arrows. From this it was evident that the chase was the occupation immediately intended, and that all three were about to engage in it. In truth, they were going out in search of something for their breakfast; and if a keen appetite could ensure success, they could scarce fail in procuring it: for they were all three as hungry as wolves. Fritz, too, was as hungry as any of them; and looked as if he meant to do his best in helping them to procure the material for a meal. Any creature, beast or bird, that should be so unfortunate as to come within clutching distance of his gaunt jaws, would have but little chance on that particular morning of escaping from them. It had been resolved upon that they should go in different directions: as by that means there would be three chances of finding game instead of one; and as something was wanted for breakfast, the sooner it could be procured the better. If Ossaroo should succeed in killing anything with his arrows, he was to give a shrill whistle to call the others back to the hut; while if either of them should fire, of course the shot would be heard, and that would be the signal for all to return. With this understanding, and after some little badinage about who would be the successful caterer, they all set forth, Caspar going to the right, Ossaroo to the left, and Karl, followed by Fritz, taking the centre. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. CASPAR ON A STALK. In a few minutes the three hunters had lost sight of one another, Karl and Caspar proceeding round the lake by opposite sides, but both keeping under cover of the bushes; while Ossaroo wended his way along the bottom of the cliff--thinking he might have a better chance in that direction. The game which Caspar expected first might fall in his way was the "kakur," or barking-deer. These little animals appeared to be more numerous in the valley than any other creatures. Caspar had scarcely ever been abroad upon a shooting excursion without seeing one; and on several occasions a kakur had constituted his whole "bag." He had learnt an ingenious way of bringing them within range of his gun--simply by placing himself in ambush and imitating their call; which, as may be deduced from one of their common names, is a sort of bark. It is a sound very much resembling the bark of a fox, only that it is much louder. This the kakur sends forth, whenever it suspects the presence of an enemy in its neighbourhood; and keeps repeating it at short intervals, until it believes either that the danger has been withdrawn, or withdraws itself from the danger. The simple little ruminant does not seem to be aware that this sound-- perhaps intended as a note of warning to its companions--too often becomes its own death-signal, by betraying its whereabouts to the sportsman or other deadly enemy. Not only the hunter, man, but the tiger, the leopard, the cheetah, and other predatory creatures, take advantage of this foolish habit of the barking-deer; and stealing upon it unawares, make it their victim. The bark is very easily imitated by the human voice; and after a single lesson, with Ossaroo as instructor, not only could Caspar do the decoy to a nicety, but even Karl, who only overheard the shikaree instructing his pupil, was able to produce a sound precisely similar. Present hunger prompted Caspar to go in search of the kakur, as that would be the game most likely to turn up first. There were other quadrupeds, and some birds too, whose flesh would have served better, as being of superior delicacy: for the venison of the barking-deer is none of the sweetest. In the autumn it is not bad--nor up to a late period in the winter--though it is never very delicious at any season. On that morning, however, Caspar was not at all fastidious; and he knew that neither were the others--hunger having robbed them of all delicacy of appetite. Even kakur venison would be palatable enough, could he procure it; and for this purpose was he going in a particular direction, and not wandering hither and thither, as sportsmen usually do when in search of game. He knew of a spot where kakur were almost sure of being found. It was a pretty glade, surrounded by thick evergreen shrubbery--not far from the edge of the lake, and on the side opposite to that where the hut was built. Caspar had never entered this glade--and he had gone through it several times--without seeing kakur browsing upon the grassy turf, or lying in the shade of the bushes that grew around its edge. It was but fair to presume, therefore, that on that morning, as upon others, the glade would furnish him with this species of game. Without making stop anywhere else, he walked on till he had got within a few rods of the spot where he expected to procure the materials of the breakfast; and then, entering among the underwood, he advanced more slowly and with greater caution. To ensure success, he even dropped upon his knees, and crawled cat-like, using his arms as forelegs and his hands as paws! After this fashion he worked his way forward to the edge of the opening--all the while keeping a thick leafy bush before his body to screen himself from the eyes of any creature--kakur or other animal-- that might be within the glade. On getting close up behind the bush, he came to a halt; and then, cautiously raising his shoulders, he peeped through between the leafy branches. It took him some seconds of time to survey the whole surface of the glade; but when he had finished his scrutiny, a shadow of disappointment might have been seen passing over his countenance. There was no game there--neither kakur nor animals of any other kind. Not without a certain feeling of chagrin did the young hunter perceive that the opening was empty: for, to say nothing of the annoyance he felt on not being able to procure a joint of venison for breakfast, he had been flattering himself that, from his superior knowledge of the ground, he would be the first to find the material for their matutinal meal-- about which he had some little feeling of hunter-pride and rivalry. He did not permit this preliminary disappointment to rob him of all hope. If there were no kakur within the glade, there might be some in the bushes near its edge; and perhaps, by adopting the decoy he had several times already practised--that of imitating their call--he might entice one out into the open ground. Acting upon this idea, he squatted close behind the bush, and commenced barking, as near as he could, _a la kakur_. CHAPTER THIRTY. THE DOUBLE DECOY. It was some considerable time before he heard any response to cheer him, or observed any sign that indicated the presence or proximity of an animal. He repeated his bark many times, with intervals of silence between--and was about yielding to the conviction, that not only the open ground, but the bushes around it, were going to draw blank. He had uttered his last bark, with all the alluring intonation that he could throw into the sound; and was about starting to his feet to proceed elsewhere, when just then the real cry of the kakur responded to his feigned one--apparently coming from out the thicket on the opposite side of the glade. The sound was heard only faintly, as if the animal was at a great distance off; but Caspar knew that if it was a response to his call-- which he believed it to be--it would soon draw nearer. He lost no time, therefore, in giving utterance to a fresh series of barks of the most seductive character; and then once more strained his ears to listen for the reply. Again the barks of the kakur came back upon the breeze--repeated serially, and so resembling his own, that had Caspar not known that they proceeded from the throat of a deer, he might have fancied them to be echoes. He did not allow many seconds to elapse before barking again, and again, with an equal straining at allurement. This time, to the surprise of the young hunter, there was no response. He listened, but not a sound came back--not even an echo. He barked again, and again listened. As before, silence profound, unbroken. No--it was not unbroken. Although it was not the call of the kakur, another sound interrupted the stillness--a sound equally welcome to the ear of the young hunter. It was a rustling among the leaves on the opposite side of the glade; just such as might indicate the passage of an animal through the bushes. Directing his eye towards the spot where the sound appeared to proceed, Caspar saw, or fancied he saw, some twigs in motion. But it was no fancy: for the moment after he not only saw the twigs move, but behind the bush to which they belonged he could just make out a darkish-coloured object. It could be nothing else than the body of the kakur. Although it was very near--for the glade was scarce twenty yards across, and the deer was directly behind the line of low shrubs which formed a sort of selvedge around it--Caspar could not get a good view of the animal. It was well screened by the foliage, and better perhaps by the absence of a bright light: for it was yet only the grey twilight of morning. There was light enough, however, to take aim; and as the intervening branches were only tiny twigs, Caspar had no fear that they would interfere with the direction of his ballet. There was no reason, therefore, why he should delay longer. He might not get a better chance; and if he waited longer, or barked again, the kakur might discover the decoy, and run back into the bushes. "Here goes, then!" muttered Caspar to himself; at the same time placing himself firmly on one knee, raising his gun and cocking it. It was a splendid lock--that upon the right-hand barrel of Caspar's gun--one in which the cock, on being drawn to the full, gives tongue to tell that the spring is in perfect order. In the profound stillness of the morning-air the "click" sounded clear enough to have been heard across the glade, and much further. Caspar even feared that it might be loud enough to affright the deer; and kept his eye fixed upon the latter as he drew back the cock. The animal stirred not; but instead--almost simultaneous with the click of his gun, and as if it had been its echo--another click fell upon the hunter's ear, apparently coming from the spot on which the kakur was standing! Fortunate was it for Caspar that his own spring had clicked so clear-- and fortunate also he had heard that apparent echo--else he might either have shot his brother, or his brother him, or each might have shot the other! As it was, the second click caused Caspar to start to his feet. Karl at the same instant was seen hurriedly rising erect upon the opposite side of the glade, while both with cocked guns in their hands stood eyeing each other, like two individuals about to engage in a deadly duel of rifles! Had any one seen them at that moment, and in that attitude, their wild looks would have given colour to the supposition that such was in reality their intent; and some time would have elapsed before any action on the part of either would have contradicted this fearful belief: for it was several seconds before either could find speech to express their mutual surprise. It was something more than surprise--it was awe--a deep tragical emotion of indefinable terror, gradually giving way to a feeling of heartfelt thankfulness, at the fortunate chance that had made them aware of each other's presence, and saved them from a mutual fratricide. For some seconds I have said not a word was spoken; and then only short exclamations of similar import came trembling from the lips of both. Both, as if acting under a common impulse, flung their guns to the ground. Then, rushing across the glade, they threw their arms around each other; and remained for some moments locked in a brotherly embrace. No explanation was needed by either. Karl, after passing round the lake by the other side, had strayed by chance in the direction of the glade. On nearing it, he had heard the barking of a kakur--not dreaming that it was Caspar acting as a decoy. He had answered the signal; and finding that the kakur still kept its place, he had advanced toward the opening with the intention of stalking it. On getting nearer he had ceased to utter the call, under the belief that he should find the deer out in the open ground. Just as he arrived by its edge, Caspar was mimicking the kakur in such an admirable manner, and so energetically, that Karl could neither fail to be deceived as to the character of the animal, nor remain ignorant of its position. The darkish disc visible behind the evergreen leaves could be no other than the body of the deer; and Karl was just about cocking his rifle, to bore it with a bullet, when the click of Caspar's double-barrel sounding ominously in his ear, fortunately conducted to a far different _denouement_ than that fatal _finale_ which was so near having occurred. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. The signal of the Shikaree. As if sent to cheer and distract their minds from the feeling of dread awe which still held possession of them, just then the shrill whistle of Ossaroo came pealing across the lake, reverberating in echoes from the cliff toward which he had gone. Shortly after the signal sounded again in a slightly different direction--showing that the shikaree had succeeded in bagging his game, and was returning towards the hut. On hearing the signal, Karl and Caspar regarded each other with glances of peculiar significance. "So, brother," said Caspar, smiling oddly as he spoke, "you see Ossaroo with his despised bow and arrows has beaten us both. What, if either of us had beaten him?" "Or," replied Karl, "what if we had both beaten him? Ah! brother Caspar," added he, shuddering as he spoke, "how near we were to making an end of each other! It's fearful to think of it!" "Let us think no more of it then," rejoined Caspar; "but go home at once and see what sort of a breakfast Ossy has procured for us. I wonder whether it be flesh or fowl." "One or the other, no doubt," he continued, after a short pause. "Fowl, I fancy: for as I came round the lake I heard some oddish screaming in the direction of the cliff yonder, which was that taken by Ossaroo. It appeared to proceed from the throat of some bird; yet such I think I have never heard before." "But I have," replied Karl; "I heard it also. I fancy I know the bird that made those wild notes: and if it be one of them the shikaree has shot, we shall have a breakfast fit for a prince, and of a kind Lucullus delighted to indulge in. But let us obey the signal of our shikaree, and see whether we're in such good luck." They had already regained possession of their guns. Shouldering them, they started forth from the glade--so near being the scene of a tragical event--and, turning the end of the lake, walked briskly back in the direction of the hut. On coming within view of it, they descried the shikaree sitting upon a stone, just by the doorway; and lying across his knee, a most beautiful bird--by far the most beautiful that either flies in the air, swims in the water, or walks upon the earth--the peacock. Not the half turkey-shaped creature that struts around the farmyard--though _he_ is even more beautiful than any other bird--but the wild peacock of the Ind--of shape slender and elegant--of plumage resplendent as the most priceless of gems--and, what was then of more consequence to our adventurers, of flesh delicate and savoury as the choicest of game. This last was evidently the quality of the peacock most admired by Ossaroo. The elegant shape he had already destroyed; the resplendent plumes he was plucking out and casting to the winds, as though they had been common feathers; and his whole action betokened that he had no more regard for those grand tail feathers and that gorgeous purple corselet, than if it had been a goose, or an old turkey-cock that lay stretched across his knee. Without saying a word, when the others came up, there was that in Ossaroo's look--as he glanced furtively towards the young sahibs, and saw that both were empty-handed--that betrayed a certain degree of pride--just enough to show that he was enjoying a triumph. To know that he was the only one who had made a _coup_, it was not necessary for him to look up. Had either succeeded in killing game, or even in finding it, he must have heard the report of a gun, and none such on that morning had awakened the echoes of the valley. Ossaroo, therefore, knew that a brace of empty game-bags were all that were brought back. Unlike the young sahibs, he had no particular adventure to relate. His "stalk" had been a very quiet one--ending, as most quiet stalks do, in the death of the animal stalked. He had heard the old peacock screeching on the top of a tall tree; he had stolen up within bow range, sent an arrow through his glittering gorget, and brought him tumbling to the ground. He had then laid his vulgar hands upon the beautiful bird, grasping it by the legs, and carrying it with draggling wings--just as if it had been a common dunghill fowl he was taking to the market of Calcutta. Karl and Caspar did not choose to waste time in telling the shikaree how near they had been to leaving him the sole and undisputed possessor of that detached dwelling and the grounds belonging to it. Hunger prompted them to defer the relation to a future time; and also to lend a hand in the culinary operations already initiated by Ossaroo. By their aid, therefore, a fire was set ablaze; and the peacock, not very cleanly plucked, was soon roasting in the flames--Fritz having already made short work with the giblets. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. THE IBEX. Big as was the body of the peacock, there was not much of it left after that _dejeuner aux doigts_! Only the bones; and so clean picked were they, that had Fritz not already been made welcome to the giblets, he would have had but a scanty meal of it. The savoury roast did a good deal towards restoring the spirits of the party; but they could not help dwelling upon the indifferent prospect they now had of procuring a fresh stock of provisions--so much changed were circumstances by their powder having been destroyed. The bow and arrows of Ossaroo were still left, and other bows could be made, if that one was to get broken. Indeed, Caspar now determined on having one of his own; and practising archery under the tutelage of the shikaree, until he should be able to use that old-fashioned and universal weapon with deadly effect. Old-fashioned we may well term it: since its existence dates far beyond the earliest times of historical record; and universal: for go where you will into the most remote corners of the earth, the bow is found in the hands of the savage, copied from no model, introduced from no external source, but evidently native to the country and the tribe, as if when man was first created the weapon had been put into his hands by the Creator himself! Indeed, the occurrence of the bow--with its necessary adjunct, the arrow--among tribes of savages living widely apart, and who, to all appearance, could never have communicated the idea to one another--is one of the most curious circumstances in the history of mankind; and there is no other way of explaining it, than by the supposition that the propelling power which exists in the recoil of a tightly-stretched string must be one of the earliest phenomena that presents itself to the human mind; and that, therefore, in many parts of the world this idea has been an indigenous and original conception. The bow and arrow is certainly one of the oldest weapons on the earth-- as well as one of the most universally distributed. It is a subject that, in the hands of the skilled ethnologist, might become one of the most interesting chapters in the history of the human race. I have said that after eating the peacock our adventurers were in better spirits; but for all that, they could not help feeling some little apprehension as to how their food was to be obtained for the future. Ossaroo's skill had provided their breakfast; but how about their dinner? And after that their supper? Even should something turn up for the next meal, they might not be so fortunate in obtaining the next after that; and this precarious way of subsistence--living, as it were, from hand to mouth--would be a constant exposure of their lives to the chances of starvation. As soon, therefore, as they had finished with the flesh of the peacock-- and while Ossaroo, who continued eating longer than any of them, was still engaged in polishing off the "drumsticks"--the point of replenishing the larder became the subject of their conversation; and all agreed that to get up a stock of provisions had now become a matter of primary importance. They resolved, therefore, to devote themselves entirely to this business--using such means as were in their power for capturing game, and devising other means should these prove insufficient. First and foremost, then, what were they to have for dinner? Was it to be fish, flesh, or fowl? They did not think of having all three: for in their situation they had no desire for a fashionable dinner. One course would be sufficient for them; and they would only be too thankful to have one course assured to them. Whether they would choose to go fishing with Ossaroo's net, and have fish for their dinner, or whether they would try for another peacock, or an argus pheasant, or a brace of Brahminy geese; or whether they would take to the woods and search for grander game, had not become a decided point; when an incident occurred that settled the question, as to what they were to have for dinner. Without any exertion on their part-- without the wasting of a single shot, or the spending of an arrow, they were provided with meat; and in quantity sufficient, not only for that day's dinner, but to ration them for a whole week, with odds and ends falling to the share of Fritz. They had gone out of the hut again; and were seated, as oft before, on some large stones that lay upon the ground in front. It was a fine bright morning; and, although cold in the shade, the sun shining down upon them, reflected from the white snow on the mountains above, made it warm enough to be pleasant. For that reason, and because there was some smoke inside the hut, where they had cooked their breakfast, they had preferred eating it in the open air; and here also they were holding council as to their future proceedings. While thus engaged, a sound fell upon their ears that bore some resemblance to the bleating of a goat. It appeared to come down from the sky above them; but they knew that it must be caused by some animal on the cliffs overhead. On looking upwards, they beheld the animal; and if its voice had already appeared to them to be like that of a goat, the creature itself in its _personal_ appearance, to a very great extent, carried out the resemblance. To speak the truth, it _was_ a goat; though not one of the common kind. It was an _ibex_. Once more Karl had the advantage of his companions. His knowledge of natural history enabled him to identify the animal. At the first glance he pronounced it an ibex; although he had never seen a living ibex before. But the goat-like shape of the animal, its shaggy coat, and above all, the immense ringed horns curving regularly backward over its shoulders, were all characteristic points, which Karl was able to identify by a comparison with pictures he had seen in books, and stuffed skins he had examined in a museum. Ossaroo said it was a goat--some kind of a wild goat, he supposed; but as Ossaroo had never before been so high up the mountains, and therefore never in the regions frequented by the ibex, he knew it not. His conjecture that it was a goat was founded on the general resemblance which it bore to a goat; and this Caspar had observed as well as Ossaroo. They could see the creature from head to foot, standing in a majestic attitude on a prominent point of the cliff; but although it was in reality much larger than the common domestic goat, it was so distant from them as not to appear bigger than a kid. It was _en profile_, however, to their eyes; and against the blue sky they could trace the outlines of the animal with perfect distinctness, and note the grand sweeping curvature of its horns. The first thought of Caspar was to lay hold of his gun with the idea of taking a shot at it; but both the others interposed to prevent this-- pointing out the impossibility of hitting at such a distance. Although seemingly much nearer, the ibex was considerably more than a hundred yards from where they were seated: for the point of the precipice upon which it stood was quite four hundred feet above the level. Caspar, reflecting upon this, was easily dissuaded from his design; and the next moment was wondering why he had been so near playing the fool as to throw away a shot--his penultimate one, too--at an animal placed full fifty yards beyond the carry of his gun! CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. GOATS AND SHEEP. As the ibex kept its ground, without showing any signs of retreating, or even moving a muscle of its body, they remained watching it. Not, however, in silence: for as the animal was standing as if to have its portrait painted, Karl, in words addressed to his two companions, but chiefly intended for the instruction of Caspar, proceeded to execute that very task. "The ibex," said he, "is an animal whose name has been long famous, and about which the closet naturalists have written a great deal of nonsense--as they have about almost every other animal on the earth. After all that has been said about it, it is simply a goat--a wild goat, it is true, but still only a goat--having all the habits, and very much of the appearance characteristic of the domestic animal of this name. "Every one knows that the common goat exists in as many varieties as the countries it inhabits. Indeed, there are more kinds of goats than countries: for it is not uncommon to meet with three or four sorts within the boundaries of a single kingdom--as in Great Britain itself. These varieties differ almost as much from each other as the `breeds' of dogs; and hence there has been much speculation among zoologists, as to what species of wild goat they have all originally sprung from. "Now, it is my opinion," continued the plant-hunter, "that the tame goats found among different nations of the earth have not all descended from the same stock; but are the progeny of more than one wild species-- just as the domesticated breeds of sheep have sprung from several species of wild sheep; though many zoologists deny this very plain fact." "There are different species of wild goats, then?" said Caspar, interrogatively. "There are," replied the plant-hunter, "though they are not very numerous--perhaps in all there may be about a dozen. As yet there are not so many known to zoologists--that is, not a dozen that have been identified and described as distinct species; but no doubt when the central countries, both of Asia and Africa--with their grand chains of mountains--have been explored by scientific naturalists, at least that number will be found to exist. "The speculating systematists--who decide about genera and species, by some slight protuberance upon a tooth--have already created a wonderful confusion in the family of the goats. Not contented with viewing them all as belonging to a single genus, they have divided them into five genera--though to most of the five they ascribe only _one species_!-- thus uselessly multiplying names, and rendering the study of the subject more complicated and difficult. "There can be no doubt that the goats, both wild and tame--including the ibex, which is a true wild goat--form of themselves a separate family in the animal kingdom, easily distinguishable from sheep, deer, antelopes, or oxen. The wild goats often bear a very close resemblance to certain species of wild sheep; and the two are not to be distinguished from each other, by the goats being covered with hair and the sheep with wool--as is generally the case with tame breeds. On the contrary, both sheep and goats in a wild state have _hairy_ coats--the sheep as much as the goats; and in many instances the hair of both is quite as short as that of antelopes or deer. Even where there are almost no external marks to distinguish wild goats from certain kinds of wild sheep, there are found _moral_ characteristics which serve as guides to the genus. The goat is bolder, and of a fiercer nature; and its other habits, even in the wild state, differ essentially from those of the wild sheep. "The ibex which we see above us," continued Karl, looking up to the quadruped upon the cliff, "is neither more nor less than a wild goat. It is not the only species of wild goat inhabiting the Himalayas; for there is the `tahir,' a stronger and larger animal than it; and it is believed that when these great mountains have been thoroughly _ransacked_ [Karl here smiled at the very unscientific word he had made use of], there will turn up one or two additional species. "It is not the only species of ibex neither," continued he, "for there is one found in the European Alps, known by the name of `steinboc;' another, in the Pyrenees, called the `tur;' a third, in the Caucasus, the `zac;' and one or two others in the mountains of Africa. "With regard to the animal now before, or rather above us," continued Karl, "it differs very little from others of the same family; and as both its appearance and habits have been very ably described by a noted sportsman, who was also an accomplished naturalist, I cannot do better than quote his description: since it gives almost every detail that is yet authentically known of the Himalayan ibex. "`The male,' writes this gentleman author, `is about the size of the _tahir_ [here he speaks of the other well-known species of Himalayan wild goat, and which is itself much larger than any of the domesticated kinds]. Except just after changing their coats, when they are of a greyish hue, the general colour of the ibex is a dirty yellowish brown. I have, however, killed the younger animals, both male and female, with their coats as red as that of a deer in his red coat; but never saw an old male of that colour, for the reason, I imagine, that he lives much higher, and sheds his hair much later in the season. The hair is short, something in texture like that of the _burrell_ and other wild sheep; and in the cold weather is mixed with a very soft downy wool, resembling the shawl-wool of Thibet. This and the old hair is shed in May and June; and in districts occupied by the flocks at that season the bushes and sharp corners of rocks are covered with their cast-off winter coats. The striking appearance of the ibex is chiefly owing to the noble horns: which nature has bestowed upon it. In full-grown animals the horns, which curve gracefully over the shoulders, are from three to four feet in length along the curve, and about eleven inches in circumference at the base. Very few attain a greater length than four feet; but I have heard of their being three inches longer. Their beards, six or eight inches in length, arc of shaggy black hair. The females, light greyish-brown in colour, are hardly a third the size of the males; and their horns are round and tapering, from ten inches to a foot in length. Their appearance upon the whole is clean-made, agile, and graceful. "`In the summer they everywhere resort to the highest accessible places where food can be found--often to a part of the country several marches distant from their winter haunts. This migration commences as soon as the snow begins to disappear; and is very gradually performed--the animals receding from hill to hill, and remaining a few days upon each. "`At this season the males keep in large flocks, apart from the females; and as many as a hundred may occasionally be seen together. During the heat of the day they rarely move about, but rest and sleep--either on the beds of snow in the ravines, or on the rocks and shingly slopes of the barren hill-sides, above the limits of vegetation. Sometimes, but very rarely, they will lie down on the grassy spots where they have been feeding. Towards evening they begin to move, and proceed to their grazing-grounds--which are often miles away. They set out walking slowly at first; but, if they have any considerable distance before them, soon break into a trot; and sometimes the whole flock will go as hard as they can lay legs to the ground. From what we could gather from the natives, we concluded that they remain in these high regions until the end of October; when they begin to mix with the females, and gradually descend to their winter resorts. The females do not wander so much or so far--many remaining on the same ground throughout the year-- and those that do visit the distant hills are generally found lower down than the males, seldom ascending above the limits of vegetation. They bring forth their young in July, having generally two at a birth; though, like other gregarious animals, many are frequently found barren. "`The ibex are wary animals, gifted with very sharp sight and an acute sense of smell. They are very easily alarmed, and so wild, that a single shot fired at a flock is often sufficient to drive them away from that particular range of hills they may be upon. Even if not fired at, the appearance of a human being near their haunt is not unfrequently attended with the same result. Of this we had many instances during our rambles after them, and the very first flock of old males we found gave us a proof. They were at the head of the Asrung valley, and we caught sight of them just as they were coming down the hill to feed--a noble flock of nearly a hundred old males. It was late in the day, and we had a long way to return to camp. Prudence whispered, "Let them alone till to-morrow," but excitement carried the day, and we tried the stalk. Having but little daylight remaining, we may have hurried, and consequently approached them with less caution than we should have done had we had time before us. However it might be, we failed; for long before we got within range, some of them discovered us, and the whole flock decamped without giving us the chance of a shot. Not having fired at, or otherwise disturbed them, more than by approaching the flock, we were in great hopes of finding them the next day; but that and several succeeding ones were passed in a fruitless search. They had entirely forsaken that range of hills. "`All readers of natural history are familiar with the wonderful climbing and saltatory powers of the ibex; and, although they cannot (as has been described in print) make a spring and hang on by their horns until they gain footing, yet in reality, for such heavy-looking animals, they get over the most inaccessible-looking places in an almost miraculous manner. Nothing seems to stop them, nor to impede in the least their progress. To see a flock, after being fired at, take a direct line across country, which they often do, over all sorts of seemingly impassable ground; now along the naked face of an almost perpendicular rock, then across a formidable landslip, or an inclined plane of loose stones or sand, which the slightest touch sets in motion both above and below; diving into chasms to which there seems no possible outlet, but instantly reappearing on the opposite side; never deviating in the slightest from their course; and at the same time getting over the ground at the rate of something like fifteen miles an hour, is a sight not easily to be forgotten. There are few animals, if any, that excel the ibex in endurance and agility.'" CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. A BATTLE OF BUCKS. Karl had scarcely finished speaking, when, as if to illustrate still further the habits of the ibex, a curious incident occurred to the animal upon, which their eyes were fixed. It ceased to be a solitary individual: for while they were gazing at it another ibex made its appearance upon the cliff, advancing towards the one first seen. The new comer was also a male, as its huge scimitar-shaped horns testified; while in size, as in other respects, it resembled the one already on the rock as much as if they had been brothers. It was not likely they were so. At all events the behaviour of the former evinced anything but a fraternal feeling. On the contrary, it was advancing with a hostile intent, as its attitudes clearly proved. Its muzzle was turned downward and inward, until the bearded chin almost touched its chest; while the tips of its horns, instead of being thrown back upon its shoulders--their usual position when the animal stands erect--were, elevated high in the air. Moreover, its short tail, held upright and jerking about with a quick nervous motion, told that the animal meditated mischief. Even at so great a distance the spectators could perceive this: for the forms of both the ibex were so clearly outlined against the sky, that the slightest motion on the part of either could be perceived with perfect distinctness. The new comer, when first observed, appeared to be approaching by stealth--as if he intended to play the cowardly assassin, and butt the other over the cliff! Indeed, this was his actual design, as was discovered in the sequel; and had the other only remained for six seconds longer in the attitude in which he had been first seen, his assailant would no doubt have at once succeeded in his treacherous intent. We are sorry to have to say that he _did_ succeed--though not without a struggle, and the risk of being himself compelled to take that desperate leap which he had designed for his antagonist. It was probably the voice of Caspar that hindered the immediate execution of this wicked intention; though, alas! it only stayed it for a short time. Caspar, on seeing the treacherous approach, had involuntarily uttered a cry of warning. Though it could not have been understood by the imperilled ibex, it had the effect of startling him from his dreamy attitude, and causing him to look around. In that look he perceived his danger, and quick as thought, took measures to avert it. Suddenly raising himself on his hind-legs, and using them as a pivot, he wheeled about, and then came to the ground on all fours, face to face with his adversary. He showed no sign of any desire to retreat, but seemed to accept the challenge as a matter of course. Indeed, from his position, it would have been impossible for him to have retreated with any chance of safety. The cliff upon which he had been standing, was a sort of promontory projecting beyond the general line of the precipice; and towards the mountain slope above his escape had been already cut off by his challenger. On all other sides of him was the beetling cliff. He had no alternative but fight, or be "knocked over." It was less a matter of choice than necessity that determined him upon standing his ground. This determination he had just time to take, and just time to put himself in an attitude of defence, when his antagonist charged towards him. Both animals, at the same instant, uttered a fierce, snorting sound, and rising upon their hind-legs, stood fronting each other like a brace of bipeds. In this movement the spectators recognised the exact mode of combat practised by common goats; for just in the same fashion does the ibex exhibit his prowess. Instead of rushing _horizontally_, head to head, and pressing each other backwards, as rams do in their contests, the ibex after rearing aloft, come down again, horns foremost, using the weight of their bodies as the propelling power, each endeavouring to crush the other between his massive crest and the earth. Several times in succession did the two combatants repeat their rearings aloft, and the downward strokes of their horns; but it soon became evident, that the one who had been the assailant was also to be the conqueror. He had an advantage in the ground: for the platform which his adversary occupied, and from which he could not escape, was not wide enough to afford room for any violent movements; and the imminent danger of getting a hoof over the cliff, evidently inspired him with fear and constraint. The assailant having plenty of space to move in, was able to "back and fill" at pleasure, now receding foot by foot, then rushing forward, rising erect, and striking down again. Each time he made his onslaught with renewed impetus, derived from the advantage of the ground, as well as the knowledge that if his blow failed, he should only have to repeat it; whereas, on the part of his opponent, the failure of a single stroke, or even of a guard, would almost to a certainty be the prelude to his destruction. Whether it was that the ibex attacked was the weaker animal of the two, or whether the disadvantage of the ground was against him, it soon became evident that he was no match for his assailant. From the very first, he appeared to act only on the defensive; and in all likelihood, had the road been open to him, he would have turned tail at once, and taken to his heels. But no opportunity for flight was permitted him at any moment from the beginning of the contest; and none was likely to be given him until it should end. The only chance of escape that appeared, even to him, was to make a grand leap, and clear his adversary, horns and all. This idea seemed at length to take possession of his brain: for all on a sudden he was keen to forsake his attitude of defence, and bound high into the air--as if to get over his adversary's horns, and hide himself among the safer snowdrifts of the mountains. If such was his intent it proved a sad failure. While soaring in the air--all his four feet raised high off the ground--the huge horns of his adversary were impelled with fearful force against his ribs, the stroke tossing him like a shuttlecock clear over the edge of the cliff! The blow had been delivered so as to project his body with a revolving impetus into the air; and turning round and round, it fell with a heavy concussion into the bottom of the valley; where, after rebounding full six feet from the ground, it fell back again dead as a stone. It was some seconds before the spectators could recover from surprise at an incident so curious, though it was one that may often be witnessed by those who wander among the wild crags of the Himalayas--where combats between the males of the ibex, the tahir, the burrell or Himalayan wild sheep, and also the rams of the gigantic _Ovis ammon_, are of common occurrence. These battles are often fought upon the edge of a beetling precipice-- for it is in such places that these four species of animals delight to dwell--and not unfrequently the issue of the contest is such as that witnessed by our adventurers--one of the combatants being "butted" or pushed right over the cliff. It does not follow that the animal thus put _hors de combat_ is always killed. On the contrary, unless the precipice be one of stupendous height, an ibex, or tahir, or burrell, will get up again after one of those fearful falls; and either run or limp away from the spot--perhaps to recover, and try his luck and strength in some future encounter with the same adversary. One of the most remarkable instances of this kind is related by the intelligent sportsman, Colonel Markham, and by him vouched for as a fact that came under his own observation. We copy his account verbatim:-- "I witnessed one of the most extraordinary feats performed by an old tahir, that I, or any other man, ever beheld. I shot him when about eighty yards overhead upon a ledge of rocks. He fell perpendicularly that distance, and, without touching the ground or the sides of the precipice, rebounded, and fell again about fifteen yards further down. I thought he was knocked to atoms, but he got up and went off; and although we tracked him by his blood to a considerable distance, we were after all unable to find him!" My young readers may remember that many similar feats have been witnessed in the Rocky Mountains of America, performed by the "bighorn"--a wild sheep that inhabits these mountains, so closely resembling the _Ovis ammon_ of the Himalayas, as to be regarded by some naturalists as belonging to the same species. The hunters of the American wilderness positively assert that the bighorn fearlessly flings himself from high cliffs, alighting on his horns; and, then rebounding into the air like an elastic ball, recovers his feet unhurt, and even unstunned by the tremendous "header!" No doubt there is a good deal of exaggeration in these "hunter stories;" but it is nevertheless true that most species of wild goats and sheep, as well as several of the rock-loving antelopes--the chamois and klipspringer, for instance--can do some prodigious feats in the leaping line, and such as it is difficult to believe in by any one not accustomed to the habits of these animals. It is not easy to comprehend how Colonel Markham's tahir could have fallen eighty yards--that is, 240 feet--to say nothing of the supplementary descent of forty-five feet further--without being smashed to "smithereens." But although we may hesitate to give credence to such an extraordinary statement, it would not be a proper thing to give it a flat contradiction. Who knows whether there may not be in the bones of these animals some elastic principle or quality enabling them to counteract the effects of such great falls? There are many mechanical contrivances of animal life as yet but very imperfectly understood; and it is well-known that Nature has wonderfully adapted her creatures to the haunts and habits for which she has designed them. It may be, then, that these wild goats and sheep--the Blondins and Leotards of the quadruped world--are gifted with certain saltatory powers, and furnished with structural contrivances which are altogether wanting to other animals not requiring them. It would not be right, therefore, without a better knowledge of the principles of animal mechanism, to contradict the statement of such a respectable authority as Colonel Markham--especially since it appears to be made in good faith, and without any motive for exaggeration. Our adventurers had entered into no discussion of this subject on observing the descent of the ibex. Indeed, there was nothing to suggest such speculations; for the creature had fallen from such an immense height, and come down with "such a thump" upon the hard turf, that it never occurred to any of them to fancy that there was a single gasp of breath left in its body. Nor was there; for on reaching the ground after its rebound, the animal lay with limbs loose and limp, and without sign of motion--evidently a carcass. CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. THE BEARCOOTS. Our adventurers were congratulating themselves on this unexpected accession to their larder; which, like the manna of old, had, as it were, rained down from the sky. "Our dinner!" shouted Caspar, gleefully, as the "thump" of the falling ibex sounded in their ears. "Our supper, too," he added. "Ay, more! In such a large carcass there must be provision to last us for a week!" All three rose to their feet, and were about starting forward to secure the prize; when a shrill scream twice repeated fell upon their ears-- coming down apparently from the top of the cliffs, or rather from the mountain that trended still higher above them. Could it be the cry of the conquering ibex--his slogan of triumph? No; it was not his voice, nor that of a quadruped of any kind. Neither did the spectators for an instant believe it to be so. On turning their eyes upward, they saw the creature, or the creatures--for there were two of them--from whose throats those screams had proceeded. The victorious ibex was still standing conspicuously upon the cliff. During the few seconds that the attention of the spectators had been occupied elsewhere, he appeared to have been contemplating the dire deed of destruction he had just accomplished, and perhaps indulging in the triumph he had obtained over his unfortunate rival. At all events he had stepped forward upon the projecting point of the rock--to the very spot so lately occupied by his adversary. The cry, however, which had been heard in the valley below had reached his ears at the same time, and perhaps a little sooner: for as the spectators looked up, they saw that he had been startled by it, and was looking around him with evident alarm. In the air above and not many yards distant from him, were two dark objects, easily recognisable as birds upon the wing. They were of large size, nearly black in colour, and with that peculiar sharpness of outline and sweep of wing that distinguish the true birds of prey. There was no mistaking their kind-- they were eagles--of a species known in the Himalayas and the steppes of Thibet as the "bearcoot." They were swooping in short, abrupt curves, at intervals repeating their shrill screams, both crying out together, and from their excited mien, and the character of their movements, no doubt could be entertained as to the object of their noisy demonstrations. They were about to assault an enemy, and that enemy was no other than the ibex. The animal appeared to be fully aware of their intent; and seemed for a moment to be irresolute as to how it should act. Instead of placing itself in a bold, defiant attitude--such as it had lately assumed towards an antagonist of its own kind--it stood cowering, and apparently paralysed with fear. It was this very effect which the eagles, by their screaming, had designed to produce; and certainly the fierce birds were succeeding to the utmost of their expectations. The spectators kept their eyes fixed upon the actors of this new drama-- watching every movement, both of the birds and the beast, with intense interest. All were desirous of seeing the latter punished for the cruel act he had just committed, and which they regarded as savouring very strongly of fratricide. It was written in the book of fate that their desire should be gratified, and that the destroyer should himself be destroyed. They were expecting to witness a somewhat prolonged combat; but in this expectation they were disappointed. The duration of the conflict was as brief as the preliminaries that led to it; and these were of the shortest kind: for scarce ten seconds had elapsed, after they had uttered their first scream, before the bearcoots swooped down to the level of the cliff, and commenced a joint attack upon the ibex, striking at him alternately with beak and claws. For a short time the quadruped was shrouded--almost hidden--under the broad, shadowy wings of the birds; but even when its figure could be traced, it appeared to be making no very energetic efforts at defending itself. The sudden attack made by such strange enemies seemed to have completely disconcerted the ibex; and it remained as if still under the paralysis of fear. After a moment or two had passed, the ibex appeared to recover self-possession; and then he, rearing up, struck out with his horns. But the bearcoots were on the alert; and each time that the animal attempted a forward movement, they easily avoided the blow by shying to one side or the other; and then quickly wheeling, they would swoop back upon it from behind. In this way was the conflict progressing, the ibex holding the ground upon which he had been first attacked, turning round and round, with his two fore hoofs held close together, or else rearing aloft on his hind-legs, and using them as a pivot. It would have been better for the ibex had he kept to his fore-feet altogether; as in that attitude he might have held his ground a little longer--perhaps until he had either beaten off his winged assailants, or wearied them out by a prolonged defence. But to fight on "all fours" did not chance to be his fashion. It was contrary to the traditions of his family and race--all of whose members, from time immemorial, had been accustomed, when battling with an enemy, to stand erect upon their hind-legs. Following this fashion, he had raised himself to his full perpendicular, and was about aiming a "butt" against the breast of one of the bearcoots that was tantalising him in front, when the other, that had made a short retrocession in order to gain impetus, came swooping back with the velocity of an arrow, and seizing the ibex under the chin, by a quick, strong jerk of its talons, it struck the head of the animal so far backward that it lost its balance, and went toppling over the cliff. In another instant the ibex was in mid-air--falling--falling--through that same fearful space that had just been traversed by his own victim. The spectators looked to see him strike the ground without receiving further molestation from his winged assailants. Not so, however, did it result. Just as the ibex had got about half-way down the face of the precipice, the second eagle was seen shooting after him with the velocity of a flash of lightning; and before he could reach the ground, the bearcoot was seen striking him once more, and causing him to diverge from his vertical descent. The body came to the ground at length--but at a considerable distance from where the other was lying--the eagle descending with it to the earth, and even remaining over it with wings and limbs extended, as if still clutching it in his talons! Why the bearcoot was thus retaining the ibex in his clutch was not quite so clear: for the animal was evidently dead; and apparently had been so long before reaching the earth. There was something strange about this proceeding on the part of the bird--as there had also been in its mode of descent through the last forty or fifty yards of space. From the manner in which it had extended its wings after striking its prey, and from the way in which it still kept exercising them, the spectators began to think that its singular descent, and its remaining over the carcass in that cowering attitude, were neither of them voluntary acts on its part. The truth was soon made clear--proving the contrary to be the case: for as the bearcoot continued to flap its wings, or rather, flutter them in a violent irregular motion, it became evident that instead of desiring to remain by the fallen body of its victim, it was doing its very best to get away from it! This was all the more easily believed, when it commenced uttering a series of wild screams; not as before indicating rage or menace, but in tones expressive of the greatest terror! The spectators, who had already risen from their seats, ran towards the spot--surmising that there was something amiss. On getting close up to the still screaming and fluttering bird, they were able to understand what had appeared so incomprehensible. They saw that the bearcoot was in a dilemma; that its talons were buried in the body of the ibex, and so firmly fixed, that with all the strength of its sinewy legs, backed by the power of its elastic pinions, it was unable to free itself! In striking the ibex in his descent, the bird had buried its crooked claws deeply into the soft abdomen of the animal, but in attempting to draw them out again, had found--no doubt to its great chagrin--that the thick coating of "poshm" which covered the skin of the ibex, had become entangled round its shanks; and the more it fluttered to free itself, turning round and round in the effort, the stronger and tighter became the rope which it was twisting out of that celebrated staple--the shawl-wool of Cashmere! Beyond a doubt the bearcoot was in a bad fix; and, although it was soon relieved from its tether of _poshm_, it was only to find itself more securely tied by a stronger string taken out of the pocket of Ossaroo. The other bearcoot having followed close after, seemed determined upon rescuing its mate out of the hands of its captors; and uttering loud screams, it flew, first at one, then at another of them--with its long pointed talons menacing each of them in turn. As all of them had weapons in their hands, they succeeded in keeping the angry bird at bay, but it might not have fared so well with Fritz--who in turn became the object of its furious attack, and who had no weapon but his teeth. These would scarce have been sufficient protection against the talons of an eagle; and Fritz would very likely have lost one of his eyes, or perhaps both of them, had it not been for an arrow springing from the bow of the shikaree; which, transfixing the great bird right through the gizzard, brought it down with a "flop" upon the surface of the earth. It was not killed outright by the arrow; and the dog, on seeing it bite the dust, would fain have "jumped" it. But perceiving the strong curving beak and the sharp talons extended towards him, Fritz was easily persuaded to remain at a prudent distance, and leave the shikaree to make a finish of the bearcoot with his long boar-spear. CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. A HOPE BUILT UPON THE BEARCOOT. In this unexpected supply of food--which might be said almost literally to have descended from heaven--Karl could not help recognising the hand of Providence, and pointing it out to his companions. Even the less reflecting mind of Caspar, and the half-heathen heart of the Hindoo, were impressed with a belief that some other agency than mere chance had befriended them; and they were only too willing to join with Karl in a prayerful expression of their gratitude to that Being who, although unseen, was with them even in that lone valley. For a time they stood contemplating with curiosity, not only the two ibex, but also the eagles--interesting on account of the knowledge that all four animals had but lately been roaming freely beyond the boundaries of that mountain prison--and had just arrived, as it were, from the outside world, with which they themselves so eagerly longed to hold communication. What would they not have given to have been each provided with a pair of wings like that bearcoot--the one that still lived? Furnished in that fashion, they would soon have sought escape from the valley--to them a valley of tears--and from the snowy mountains that surrounded it. While reflecting thus, a thought shaped itself in the mind of the philosophic Karl, which caused his face to brighten up a little. Only a little: for the idea which had occurred to him was not one of the brightest. There was something in it, however; and, as the drowning man will clutch even at straws, Karl caught at a singular conception, and after examining it a while, communicated it to the others. It was the bearcoot that had brought forth this conception. The bird was a true eagle, strong of wing and muscle like all of his tribe, and one of the strongest of the genus. Like an arrow, he could fly straight up towards the sky. In a few minutes--ay, in a few seconds--he could easily shoot up to the summits of the snowy mountains that towered above them. "What is to hinder him?" asked Karl, pointing to the bird, "to carry--" "To carry what?" said Caspar, interrupting the interrogation of his brother, who spoke in a hesitating and doubtful manner. "Not us, Karl?" continued he, with a slight touch of jocularity in his manner--"you don't mean that, I suppose?" "Not us," gravely repeated Karl, "but _a rope_ that may carry _us_." "Ha!" exclaimed Caspar, a gleam of joy overspreading his face as he spoke. "There's something in that." Ossaroo, equally interested in the dialogue, at the same moment gave utterance to a joyous ejaculation. "What do _you_ think of it, shikaree?" inquired Karl, speaking in a serious tone. The reply of Ossaroo did not bespeak any very sanguine hope on his part. Still he was ready to counsel a trial of the scheme. They could try it without any great trouble. It would only need to spin some more rope from the hemp--of which they had plenty--attach it to the leg of the bearcoot, and give the bird its freedom. There was no question as to the direction the eagle would take. He had already had enough of the valley; and would no doubt make to get out of it at the very first flight he should be permitted to make. The scheme superficially considered appeared plausible enough; but as its details were subjected to a more rigorous examination, two grand difficulties presented themselves--so grand that they almost obliterated the hope, so suddenly, and with too much facility, conceived. The first of these difficulties was, that the bearcoot, notwithstanding his great strength of wing, might not be able to carry up a rope, which would be strong enough to carry one of themselves. A cord he might easily take to the top of the cliff, or even far beyond; but a mere cord, or even a very slender rope, would be of no use. It would need one strong enough to support the body of a man--and that, too, while engaged in the violent exertion of climbing. The rope would require to be of great length--two hundred yards or more; and every yard would add to the weight the eagle would be required to carry up. It is not to be supposed that they intended to "swarm" up this rope hand by hand. For the height of a dozen yards or so, any of them could have accomplished that. But there would be a hundred and fifty yards of "swarming" to be done before they could set foot upon the top of the cliff; and the smartest sailor that ever crawled up a main-stay--even Sinbad himself--could not have done half the distance. They had foreseen this difficulty from the very first; and the ingenuity of Karl had at once provided a remedy for it--as will be seen in the sequel. The second question that presented itself was:--admitting that the bearcoot might bear up a rope stout enough for the purpose, whether there would be any possibility of getting this rope stayed at the top? Of course, they could do nothing of themselves; and that point would be a matter of mere chance. There was a chance--all acknowledged that. The bird, in fluttering over the mountain to make its escape, might entangle the rope around a rock, or some sharp angle of the frozen snow. There was a chance, which could be determined by trying, and only by trying; and there were certain probabilities in favour of success. The first difficulty--that relating to the strength and weight of the rope--admitted of rational discussion and calculation. There were _data_ to go upon, and others that might be decided conjecturally, yet sufficiently near the truth for all preliminary purposes. They could tell pretty nearly what stoutness of rope it would take to _hang_ any one of them; and this would be strong enough to carry them up the cliff. The strength of the eagle might also be presumed pretty nearly; and there was no doubt but that the bearcoot would do his very best to get out of the valley. After the rough handling he had already experienced, he would not require any further stimulus to call forth his very utmost exertions. On discussing the subject in its different bearings, it soon became evident to all, that the matter of supreme importance would be the making of the rope. Could this be manufactured of sufficient fineness not to overburden the bearcoot, and yet be strong enough to sustain the weight of a man, the first difficulty would be got over. The rope therefore should be made with the greatest care. Every fibre of it should be of the best quality of hemp--every strand twisted with a perfect uniformity of thickness--every plait manipulated with an exact accuracy. Ossaroo was the man to make such a cord. He could spin it with as much evenness as a Manchester mill. There would be no danger that in a rope of Ossaroo's making the most critical eye could detect either fault or flaw. It was finally determined on that the rope should be spun--Ossaroo acting as director, the others becoming his attendants rather than his assistants. Before proceeding to work, however, it was deemed prudent to secure against a hungry day by curing the flesh of the brace of ibex. The dead bearcoot was to be eaten while fresh, and needed no curing. And so indeed it was eaten--the bird of Jove furnishing them with a dinner, as that of Juno had given them a breakfast! CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. THE LOG ON THE LEG. As soon as they had hung the ibex-meat upon the curing strings, and pegged out the two skins for drying, they turned their attention to the making of the rope by which they were to be pulled out of their prison. By good fortune they had a large stock of hemp on hand all ready for twisting. It was a store that had been saved up by Ossaroo--at the time when he had fabricated his fish-net; and as it had been kept in a little dry grotto of the cliff, it was still in excellent preservation. They had also on hand a very long rope, though, unfortunately, not long enough for their present purpose. It was the same which they had used in projecting their tree-bridge across the crevasse; and which they had long ago unrove from its pulleys, and brought home to the hut. This rope was the exact thickness they would require: for anything of a more slender gauge would scarcely be sufficient to support the weight of a man's body; and considering the fearful risk they would have to run, while hanging by it against the face of such a cliff, it was necessary to keep on the safe side as regarded the strength of the rope. They could have made it of ample thickness and strength, so as to secure against the accident of its breaking. But then, on the opposite hand, arose the difficulty as to the strength of the eagle's wing. Should the rope prove too heavy for the bearcoot to carry over the top of the cliff, then all their labour would be in vain. "Why not ascertain this fact before making the rope?" This was a suggestion of Karl himself. "But how are we to do it?" was the rejoinder of Caspar. "I think we can manage the matter," said the botanist, apparently busying his brain with some profound calculation. "I can't think of a way myself," replied Caspar, looking inquiringly at his brother. "I fancy I can," said Karl. "What is to hinder us to ascertain the weight of the rope before making it, and also decide as to whether the bird can carry so much?" "But how are you to weigh the rope until it is made? You know it's the trouble of making it we wish to avoid--that is, should it prove useless afterwards." "Oh! as for that," rejoined Karl, "it is not necessary to have it finished to find out what weight it would be. We know pretty near the length that will be needed, and by weighing a piece of that already in our hands, we can calculate for any given length." "You forget, brother Karl, that we have no means of weighing, even the smallest piece. We have neither beam, scales, nor weights." "Pooh!" replied Karl, with that tone of confidence imparted by superior knowledge. "There's no difficulty in obtaining all these. Any piece of straight stick becomes a beam, when properly balanced; and as for scales, they can be had as readily as a beam." "But the weights?" interrupted Caspar. "What about them? Your beam and scales would be useless, I apprehend, without proper weights? I think we should be `stumped' for the want of the pounds and ounces." "I am surprised, Caspar, you should be so unreflecting, and allow your ingenuity to be so easily discouraged and thwarted. I believe I could make a set of weights under any circumstances in which you might place me--giving me only the raw material, such as a piece of timber and plenty of stones." "But how, brother? Pray, tell us!" "Why, in the first place, I know the weight of my own body." "Granted. But that is only one weight; how are you to get the denominations--the pounds and ounces?" "On the beam I should construct I would balance my body against a lot of stones. I should then divide the stones into two lots, and balance these against one another. I should thus get the half weight of my body--a known quantity, you will recollect. By again equally dividing one of the lots I should find a standard of smaller dimensions; and so on, till I had got a weight as small as might be needed. By this process I can find a pound, an ounce, or any amount required." "Very true, brother," replied Caspar, "and very ingenious of you. No doubt your plan would do--but for one little circumstance, which you seem to have overlooked." "What is that?" "Are your data quite correct?" naively inquired Caspar. "My data!" "Yes--the original standard from which you propose to start, and on which you would base your calculations. I mean the _weight of your body_. Do you know that?" "Certainly," said Karl; "I am just 140 pounds weight--to an ounce." "Ah, brother," replied Caspar, with a shake of the head, expressive of doubt, "you _were_ 140 pounds in London--I know that myself--and so was I nearly as much; but you forget that the fret and worry of this miserable existence has reduced both of us. Indeed, dear brother, I can see that you are much thinner since we set out from Calcutta; and no doubt you can perceive the like change in me. Is it not so?" Karl was forced to give an affirmative reply to the question, at the same time that he acknowledged the truth of his brother's statement. His data were not correct. The weight of his body--which, not being a constant quantity, is at all times an unsafe standard--would not serve in the present instance. The calculation they desired to make was of too important a character to be based upon such an untrustworthy foundation. Karl perceived this plainly enough; but it did not discourage him from prosecuting his purpose to make the attempt he had proposed. "Well, brother!" said he, looking smilingly towards the latter, and apparently rather pleased at Caspar's acuteness; "I acknowledge you have had the better of the argument this time; but that's no reason why I should give up my plan. There are many other ways of ascertaining the weight of an object; and no doubt if I were to reflect a little I could hit upon one; but as luck has it, we need not trouble ourselves further about that matter. If I mistake not, we have a standard of weight in our possession, that is just the thing itself." "What standard?" demanded Caspar. "One of the leaden bullets of your own gun. They are ounce bullets, I've heard you say?" "They are exactly sixteen to the pound, and therefore each of them an ounce. You are right, Karl, that is a standard. Certainly it will do." The subject required no further sifting; and without delay they proceeded to ascertain the weight of two hundred yards of rope. A balance was soon constructed and adjusted, as nicely as if they had meant to put gold in the scale. Twenty yards of the rope already in hand was set against stones--whose weight they had already determined by reduplicating a number of bullets--and its quantity ascertained in pounds and ounces. Eight times that gave one hundred and sixty yards-- the probable amount of cord they should require. This being determined upon, the next thing was to find out whether the eagle could carry such a burden into the sky. Of course, the bird would not have the whole of it to carry at first, as part would rest upon the ground; but should it succeed in reaching the top of the cliff--even at the lowest part--there would then be the weight of at least one hundred yards upon its leg; and if it ascended still higher, a greater amount in proportion. It was natural to suppose that the bearcoot in going out would choose the lowest part of the precipice--especially when feeling his flight impeded by the strange attachment upon his leg; and if this conjecture should prove correct, there would be all the less weight to be sustained. But, indeed, by the cord itself they could guide the bearcoot to the lowest part--since by holding it in their hands, they could hinder him taking flight in any other direction. Considering all these circumstances, and rather cheered by the many points that appeared to be in their favour, they proceeded to make trial of the eagle's strength. It would not take long to decide; but conscious of the great importance of the result, they set about it with due deliberation. A log of wood was procured, and chopped down, till it was exactly the weight of the rope to be used. To this the piece of twenty yards-- already employed for a different purpose--was attached at one end--the other being tightly knotted around the shank of the eagle. When all was ready, the bird was stripped of his other fastenings; and then all retired to a distance to give him space for the free use of his wings. Fancying himself no longer under restraint, the bearcoot sprang up from the rock on which he had been placed; and, spreading his broad wings, rose almost vertically into the air. For the first twenty yards he mounted with a vigorous velocity; and the hopes of the spectators found utterance in joyful ejaculations. Alas! these hopes were short-lived, ending almost on the instant of their conception. The rope, carried to its full length, became suddenly taut--jerking the eagle several feet back towards the earth. At the same time the log was lifted only a few inches from the ground. The bird fluttered a moment, taken aback by this unexpected interruption; and, after recovering its equilibrium, again essayed a second flight towards the sky. Once more the rope tightened--as before raising the log but very little from the ground--while the eagle, as if this time expecting the pluck, suffered less derangement of its flight than on the former occasion. For all that, it was borne back, until its anchor "touched bottom." Then after making another upward effort, with the like result, it appeared to become convinced of its inability to rise vertically, and directed its flight in a horizontal line along the cliffs. The log was jerked over the ground, bounding from point to point, occasionally swinging in the air, but only for a few seconds at a time. At length the conviction forced itself upon the minds of the spectators--as it seemed also to have done upon that of the performer-- that to reach the top of the cliff--with a cord upon its leg, equal in weight to that log--was more than a bearcoot could accomplish. In short, the plan had proved a failure; and, no longer hoping for success, our adventurers turned their disappointed looks upon each other--leaving the eagle free to drag his wooden anchor whithersoever he might wish. CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT. FURTHER EXPERIMENTS. The usual silence which succeeds a disappointment was for some time preserved by the three individuals who had been spectators of the unsuccessful attempt of the eagle. Caspar seemed less cast down than the others; but why it was so, neither of them thought of asking him. It was not a silence of very long duration, nor was the chagrin that had caused it of much longer continuance. Both were evanescent as the summer cloud that for a moment darkens the sky, and then glides off-- leaving it bright and serene as ever. It was to Caspar the party was indebted for this happy change of feeling. An idea had occurred to the young hunter--or rather a new scheme--which was at once communicated to his companions. Strictly speaking, Caspar's scheme could not be termed a _new_ one. It was only supplementary to that already set before them by Karl; and the bearcoot, as before, was to be the chief actor in it. While calculating the length of rope it would take to reach to the top of the cliff, Caspar had already bethought him of a way by which it might be shortened--in other words, how it might be arranged, that a shorter rope would suffice. He had for some time carried this idea in his mind; but had declined communicating it, to the others, until after witnessing the test of the eagle's strength. Now that the bearcoot had been "weighed and found wanting," you might suppose that the creature would be no longer cared for--excepting to furnish them with a meal. This was the reflection of Karl and Ossaroo; but Caspar thought differently. He was impressed with a belief, that the bird might still do them a service--the very one which he had undertaken so unsuccessfully. Caspar reflected, and very correctly: that it was the extra weight that had hindered the eagle from ascending. It was not so much beyond his strength neither. Perhaps had it been only half as heavy, or even a little more, he might have succeeded in carrying it over the cliff. What if the weight should be reduced? To make the rope more slender did not enter into Caspar's calculations. He knew this could not be done: since it was a point already discussed and decided upon. But how if the rope were to be _shorter_, than that which had been theoretically considered? How if it were to be only fifty yards, instead of one hundred and fifty? Of course, then the eagle might fly with it, to whatever height its length would allow. Caspar felt satisfied of this fact; nor did either of the others question its truth--but what then? "What," inquired Karl, "would be the use of a rope of fifty yards, though the eagle might carry it up to the moon? Even at the lowest part of the cliffs--should the bearcoot take one end over, the other would be fifty yards above our heads?" "Not a yard, brother--not a foot. The other end would be in our hands-- in our hands, I tell you." "Well, Caspar," calmly rejoined the philosopher, "you appear to be confident enough; though I can't guess what you are driving at. You know this hideous precipice is at no point less than a hundred yards in sheer height?" "I do," replied Caspar, still speaking in the same tone of confidence; "but a rope of only fifty--ay, of not more than half that length--may be held in our hands, while the other end is over the top of the cliff." Karl looked perplexed; but the shikaree, on this occasion quicker of perception than the philosopher, catching at Caspar's meaning, cried out:-- "Ha, ha! young sahib meanee from top ob da ladder! Dat meanee he." "Exactly so," said Caspar; "you've guessed right, Ossy. I mean just that very thing." "Oh! then, indeed," said Karl, in a drawling tone, at the same time lapsing into a reflective silence. "Perhaps you are right, brother," he added, after a pause. "At all events, it will be easy to try. If your scheme succeed, we shall not require to make any more cord. What we have will be sufficient. Let us make trial at once!" "Where is the bearcoot?" asked Caspar, looking around to discover the bird. "Yonner be he, young sahib," answered Ossaroo, pointing towards the precipice; "yonner sitee he--ober da rock." The eagle was perceived, perched, or rather crouching, on a low ledge of the cliff,--upon which it had dropped down after its unsuccessful attempt at flight. It looked crestfallen, and as if it would suffer itself to be caught by the hand. But as Ossaroo approached it with this intention, the bird seemed to fancy itself free, and once more rose, with a bold swoop, into the air. It was only to feel the check-string tighten afresh upon his leg. It came fluttering down again, first drawn back by the weight of the log, and afterwards by the strong arm of the shikaree. The log was now removed; and the whole rope they had on hand--a length of rather more than fifty yards--was knotted in its place. The bearcoot was again set free--Ossaroo taking care to keep the leash well in hand; and now the beautiful bird of Jove rose into the air, as if not the summit of the cliff, but the proud peak of Chumulari, was to be the limit of its flight. At the height of fifty yards its soaring ambition was suddenly curbed, by the check-string of Ossaroo, reminding it that it was still a captive. The experiment had proved successful. Caspar's plan promised well; and they at once proceeded to take the necessary steps for carrying it into practical effect. CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. THE EAGLE'S ESCAPE. The first thing to be done, was to look to the quality of the rope, and test its strength. The ladders were already in place, just as they had been left. The rope once _proved_, there would be nothing further to do, but make it secure to the shank of the bearcoot; ascend the cliff to the highest ledge, reached by the ladders; and then fly the bird. Should they succeed in getting the creature to go over the cliff--and by some means entangle the cord at the top--they might consider themselves free. The very thought of such a result--now apparently certain--once more raised their spirits to the highest pitch. They did not count on being able to "swarm" up a piece of slender cord of nearly fifty yards in length--a feat that would have baffled the most agile tar that ever "slung the monkey" from a topgallant stay. They had no thoughts of climbing the rope in that way; but in another, long before conceived and discussed. They intended--once they should be assured that the cord was secure above--to make steps upon it, by inserting little pieces of wood between the "strands;" and these, which they could fix at long distances, one after the other, would form supports, upon which they might rest their feet in the ascent. As we have said, all this had been settled beforehand; and no longer occupied their attention--now wholly absorbed in contriving some way to prove the reliability of the rope, upon which their lives were about to be imperilled. It was not deemed sufficient to tie the rope to a tree, and pull upon it with all their united strength. Karl and Caspar thought this would be a sufficient test; but Ossaroo was of a different opinion. A better plan--according to the shikaree's way of thinking--was one which had generated in his oriental brain; and which, without heeding the remonstrances of the others, he proceeded to make trial of. Taking one end of the rope with him, he climbed into a tall tree; and, after getting some way out on a horizontal branch--full fifty feet from the ground--he there fastened the cord securely. By his directions the young sahibs laid hold below; and, both together, raising their feet from the ground, remained for some seconds suspended in the air. As the rope showed no symptoms either of stretching or breaking under the weight of both, it was evident that it might, under any circumstances, be trusted to carry the weight of one; and in this confidence, the shikaree descended from the tree. With the eagle carried under his right arm, and the coil of rope swinging over his left, Ossaroo now proceeded towards the place where the ladders rested against the cliff. Karl and Caspar walked close after, with Fritz following in the rear--all four moving in silence, and with a certain solemnity of look and gesture--as befitted the important business upon which they were bent. The new experiment, like the trial of the eagle's strength, did not occupy any great length of time. Had it proved successful, our adventurers would have been longer occupied, and in the end would have been seen triumphantly standing upon the summit of the cliff--with Fritz frisking up the snowy slope beyond, as if he intended to chase the great _ovis ammon_ upon the heaven-kissing crest of Chumulari. Ah! how different was the spectacle presented on the evening of that eventful day! A little before sunset the three adventurers were seen slowly and sadly returning to their hut--that despised hovel, under whose homely roof they had hoped never to seek shelter again! Alas! in the now lengthened list of their unsuccessful struggles, they had once more to record a failure! Ossaroo, bearing the bearcoot under his arm, had climbed the ladders up to the highest ledge that could be attained. From it he had "flown" the eagle--freely dealing out all the cord in his possession. That was a perilous experiment for the shikaree to make; and came very near proving the last act in the drama of his life. Thinking that the bearcoot would rise upward into the air, he had not thought of anything else; and as he stood balancing himself on that narrow shelf, he was but ill prepared for what actually came to pass. Instead of soaring upwards, the eagle struck out in a horizontal direction, not changing its course till it had reached the end of its tether; and then not changing it, nor even pausing in its flight, but with the fifty yards of rope trailing behind it--which, fortunately for Ossaroo, he was himself no longer at the end of--it continued on across the valley towards the cliffs on the opposite side--the summit of which it would have no difficulty in attaining by following the diagonal line in which it was making that unexpected escape from the clutches of the shikaree. Not without chagrin did Karl and Caspar behold the spectacle of the bearcoot's departure; and for a while they were under the impression that Ossaroo had bungled the business with which he had been entrusted. Ossaroo's explanations, however, were soon after received; and proved satisfactory. It was evident from these, that had he not let go in the right time, he would have been compelled to make a leap, that would have left him no opportunity for explaining the nature of the eagle's escape. CHAPTER FORTY. FRITZ AND THE FALCONS. With feelings of sad and bitter disappointment did our adventurers turn their backs upon these ladders--that had once more deluded them--and make their way towards the hut. As upon the former occasion, they walked with slow steps and downcast mien. Fritz, by his slouching gait and drooped tail, showed that he shared the general despondency. They had arrived nearly at the hut, before any of the three thought of speaking; when the sight of that rude homestead, to which they had so often fancied themselves on the eve of bidding farewell--and to which as often had they been compelled to return--suggested a theme to Karl: causing him to break silence as they advanced towards the doorway. "Our true friend," said he, pointing to the hovel, "a friend, when all else fails us. Rough it is--like many a friend that is nevertheless worthy. I begin to like its honest look, and feel regard for it as one should for a home." Caspar said nothing in reply. He only sighed. The young chamois-hunter of the Bavarian Alps thought of another home--far away towards the setting sun; and, so long as that thought was in his mind, he could never reconcile himself to a forced residence in the Himalayas. The thoughts of Ossaroo were equally absent from that spot. He was thinking of a bamboo hut by the borders of some crystal stream, overshadowed by palms and other tropical trees. He was thinking still more of rice curry and chutnee; but above all, of his beloved "betel," for which the "bang" of the _cannabis sativa_ was but a poor substitute. But Caspar had another thought in his mind; one which proved that he had not yet abandoned all hope of returning to the home of his nativity; and, after they had finished eating their supper of broiled venison, he gave utterance to it. He had not volunteered to break the silence. It was done in obedience to a request of Karl who, having noticed the abstracted air of his brother, had asked for an explanation. "I've been thinking," said Caspar, "ever since the eagle has escaped us, of another bird I know something about--one that might perform the service we want quite as well, if not better, than a bearcoot." "Another bird!" inquired Karl; "of what bird are you speaking? Do you mean one of those Brahminy geese upon the lake? We might catch one alive, it is true; but let me tell you, brother, that their wings are constructed just strong enough to carry their own ponderous bodies; and if you added another pound or two, by tying a cord to their legs, they could no more mount out of this valley than we can. No--no. I fancy we may as well give up that idea. There's no bird but an eagle with wing strong enough to do what you wish." "The bird I was thinking of," rejoined Caspar, "is of the same _genus_ as the eagle. I believe that's correctly scientific language. Isn't it, my Buffon of a brother? Ha! ha! Well, shall I name it? Surely, you have already divined the sort of bird to which I allude?" "No, indeed," replied Karl. "There are no other birds in this valley of the same genus as the eagle--except hawks; and according to the closet naturalists, they are not of the same genus--only of the same _family_. If you mean a hawk, there are several species in this place; but the largest of them could not carry anything over the cliff heavier than a string of twine. See, there's a brace of them now!" continued Karl, pointing to two birds that were circling in the air, some twenty yards overhead. "`Churk' falcons they are called. They are the largest of the Himalayan hawks. Are these your birds, brother?" "A couple of kites, are they not?" interrogated Caspar, turning his eyes upward, and regarding the two winged creatures circling above, and quartering the air as if in search of prey. "Yes," answered the naturalist, "they are of that species; and, correctly described, of the same genus as the eagles. You don't mean them, I suppose?" "No--not exactly," replied Caspar, in a drawling tone, and smiling significantly as he spoke; "but if they be _kites_--Ho! what now?" exclaimed the speaker, his train of thought, as well as speech, suddenly interrupted by a movement on the part of the falcons. "What the mischief are the birds about? As I live, they seem to be making an attack upon Fritz! Surely they don't suppose they have the strength to do any damage to our brave old dog?" As Caspar spoke, the two falcons were seen suddenly to descend--from the elevation at which they had been soaring--and then sweep in quick short circles around the head of the Bavarian boar-hound--where he squatted on the ground, near a little copse, some twenty yards from the hut. "Perhaps their nest is there--in the copse?" suggested Karl; "That's why they are angry with the dog: for angry they certainly appear to be." So any one might have reasoned, from the behaviour of the birds, as they continued their attack upon the dog--now rising some feet above him, and then darting downward in a sort of parabolic curve--at each swoop drawing nearer and nearer, until the tips of their wings were almost flapped in his face. These movements were not made in silence: for the falcons, as they flew, kept uttering their shrill cries--that sounded like the voice of a pair of angry vixens. "Their young must be near?" suggested Karl. "No, sahib," said Ossaroo, "no nest--no chickee. Fritz he hab suppa--de piece ob meat ob da ibex. Churk wantee take de dog suppa away." "Oh! Fritz is eating something, is he?" said Caspar. "That explains it then. How very stupid of these birds, to fancy they could steal his supper from our valiant Fritz: more especially since he seems to relish it so much himself! Why he takes no notice of them!" It was quite true that Fritz, up to this time, had scarcely noticed the brace of winged assailants; and their hostile demonstrations had only drawn from him an occasional "yir." As they swooped nearer, however, and the tips of their wings were "wopped" into his very eyes, the thing was growing unbearable; and Fritz began to lose temper. His "yirs" became more frequent; and once or twice he rose from his squatting attitude, and made a snap at the feathers that were nearest. For more than five minutes this curious play was kept up between the boar-hound and the birds; and then the episode was brought to a somewhat singular--and in Fritz's estimation, no doubt--a very unpleasant termination. From the first commencement of their attack, the two falcons had followed a separate course of action. One appeared to make all its approaches from the front; while the other confined its attacks exclusively to Fritz's rear. In consequence of these tactics on the part of his assailants, the dog was compelled to defend himself both before and behind: and to do this, it became necessary for him to look "two ways at once." Now, he would snarl and snap at the assailant in front--anon, he must sieve himself round, and in like manner menace the more cowardly "churk" that was attacking him in the rear. Of the two, however, the latter was the more demonstrative and noisy; and at length, not content with giving Fritz an occasional "wop" with its wing, it had the daring audacity to strike its sharp talons into a part of his posteriors approximate to the seat of honour. This was something more than canine flesh and blood could bear; and Fritz determined not to submit to it any longer. Dropping the "quid" he had been chewing, he started up on all fours; wheeled suddenly towards the kite that had clawed him; and bounded aloft into the air with the design of clutching it. But the wary bird had foreseen this action on the part of the quadruped; and, ere the latter could lay a fang upon it, had soared off--far beyond the highest leap that any four-footed creature might accomplish. Fritz, with a disappointed growl, turned round again to betake himself to his piece of meat; but still more disappointed was his look, when he perceived that the latter was no longer within reach! Churk falcon number one had clawed him over the croup, but churk falcon number two had deprived him of his supper! The last look Fritz ever had of that piece of ibex venison, was seeing it in the beak of the bird, high up in air, growing smaller by degrees and beautifully less--until it disappeared altogether in the dim distance. CHAPTER FORTY ONE. FRITZ OFFENDED. This odd little episode, between the boar-hound and the churk falcons, had interrupted the conversation of the two brothers on the subject which Caspar had introduced. Nor was it resumed immediately, on the termination of the affair: for the look with which Fritz regarded the departure of the bird, that had so adroitly bilked him out of his bit of venison, was so supremely ludicrous, as to elicit long loud peals of laughter from the spectators. Fritz's "countenance" betrayed the presence of rare emotions. Profound surprise and chagrin--strongly blended with a feeling of concentrated rage--were visible not only in his eyes, but his attitude, and, for some time, he stood with head erect and muzzle high in air, his glances speaking unutterable vows of vengeance, as they followed the flight of the falcons. Never in all his life--not even when the trunk of the elephant was trumpeting at his tail--had Fritz so sensibly felt the want of wings. Never had he so regretted the deficiency in his structure that left him without those useful appendages; and had he been gifted with the "wand of a fairy," the use to which he would at that moment have applied it would have been to furnish himself with a pair, not of "beautiful wings"--for that was a secondary consideration--but of strong and long ones, such as would have enabled him to overhaul those churk falcons, and punish them for their unheard-of audacity. For more than a minute Fritz preserved the attitude to which we have alluded: the demeanour of a dog that had been regularly duped and "sold" by a brace of beings, for whose strength and capacity he had exhibited supreme contempt; and it was this mingling of surprise and rage that imparted to him that serio-comic appearance that had set them all a-laughing. Nor was his countenance less ludicrous under the expression with which, on turning round, he regarded his trio of human companions. He saw that they were making merry at his expense; and his look of half-reproach half-appeal had no other effect than to redouble their mirth. Glancing from one to the other, he appeared to seek sympathy from each in turn--from Karl, Caspar, and Ossaroo. It was an idle appeal. All three had equally surrendered themselves to hilarity--unsympathetic, as it was uncontrollable. Fritz had not a friend on the ground. Full ten minutes must have elapsed before any of them could check his loud cachinnations; but long before that time, the butt of their ridicule had betaken himself out of sight--having moved away from the spot, where he had been robbed of his supper, and retired, with an offended and sneaking air, to the more friendly concealment of the hovel. It was some time before our adventurers could recover their serious mood; but the subject of their mirth being now out of their sight, went gradually also out of their minds. It might be wondered that, circumstanced as they were, they had thus given way to a fit of jollity. But, indeed, there was nothing wonderful about it. On the contrary, it was perfectly natural--perfectly true to the instincts of the human soul--to be thus stirred: joy and sorrow following each other in periodic succession--as certainly as day follows night, or fair weather succeeds to the storm. Though we know not the why and the wherefore of this, we can easily believe that a wise Providence has ordered it so. A poet who has sung sweetly says, that:-- "Spring would be but gloomy weather, If we had nothing else but Spring;" and our own experience proclaims the truth conveyed in the distich. He who has lived in the tropical lands of ever-spring--where the leaves never fall, and the flowers never fade--can well confirm the fact: that even spring itself may in time become tiresome! We long for the winter--its frost and snow, and cold bitter winds. Though ever so enamoured of the gay green forest, we like at intervals to behold it in its russet garb, with the sky in its coat of grey, sombre but picturesque. Strange as it may appear, it is true: the moral, like the natural atmosphere, stands in need of the storm. CHAPTER FORTY TWO. A KITE! As soon as their mirth had fairly subsided, Karl and Caspar resumed the conversation, which had been broken off so abruptly. "And so, brother," said Karl, who was the first to return to the subject, "you say there is a bird of the eagle genus, that might carry a rope over the cliff for us. Of what bird are you speaking?" "Why, Karl, you are dull of comprehension this morning. Surely the presence of the two _kites_ should have suggested what I mean." "Ha! you mean a kite, then?" "Yes, one with a very broad breast, a very thin body, and a very long tail: such as you and I used to make not so many years ago." "A _paper kite_," said Karl, repeating the phrase mechanically, at the same time settling down, into a reflecting attitude. "True, brother," he added, after a pause; "there might be something in what you have suggested. If we had a paper kite--that is, a very large one--it is possible it would carry a rope over the summit of the cliff; but, alas!--" "You need not proceed further, Karl," said Caspar, interrupting him. "I know what you are going to say: that we have no paper out of which to make the kite; and that, of course, puts an end to the matter. It's no use our thinking any more about it: since we have not got the materials. The body and bones we could easily construct; and the tail too. But then the wings--ah, the wings. I only wish we had a file of old newspapers. But what's the use of wishing? We haven't." Karl, though silent, did not seem to hear, or at all events heed, what Caspar had been just saying. He appeared to be buried either in a reverie, or in some profound speculation. It was the latter: as was very soon after made manifest by his speech. "Perhaps," said he, with a hopeful glance towards the wood, "we may not be so deficient in the material of which you have spoken." "Of paper, do you mean?" "We are in the very region of the world where it grows," continued Karl, without heeding the interrogation. "What! where paper _grows_?" "No," replied Karl, "I do not mean that the paper itself grows here; but a `fabric' out of which that useful article may be made." "What is that, brother?" "It is a tree, or rather a shrub, belonging to the order of the _Thymelaceae_, or `Daphnads.' The plants of this order are found in many countries; but chiefly in the cooler regions of India and South America. There are even representatives of the order in England: for the beautiful `spurge laurel' of the woods and hedges--known as a remedy for the toothache--is a true daphnad. Perhaps the most curious of all the Thymelaceae is the celebrated Lagetta, or lace-bark tree of Jamaica; out of which the ladies of that island know how to manufacture cuffs, collars, and berthas, that, when cut into the proper shapes, and bleached to a perfect whiteness, have all the appearance of real lace! The Maroons, and other runaway negroes of Jamaica, before the abolition of slavery, used to make clothing out of the lagetta; which they found growing in plenty in the mountain forests of the island. Previous also to the same abolition of slavery, there was another, and less gentle, use made of the lace-bark, by the masters of these same negroes. The cruel tyrants used to spin its tough fibres into thongs for their slave-whips." "And you think that paper can be made out of these trees?" asked Caspar, impatient to know whether there might be any chance of procuring some for the covering of a kite. "There are several species of daphnads," replied the botanist, "whose bark can be converted into paper. Some are found at the Cape of Good Hope, and others in the island of Madagascar; but the best kinds for the purpose grow in these very mountains, and in China. There is the `Daphne Bholua,' in Nepaul; from which the Nepaulese make a strong, tough, packing-paper; and I have reason to believe that it also grows in the Bhotan Himalayas--at no very great distance from our position here. Besides, in China and Japan, on the other side of these mountains, there are two or three distinct kinds of the same plant--out of which the Chinese make the yellowish-coloured paper, you may have seen in their books, and pasted upon their tea-chests. So then," added the botanist, looking wistfully towards the woods, "since the paper-yielding daphne grows in China, to the east of us, and in Nepaul and Bhotan to the west, it is but reasonable to conclude that some species of it may be found in this valley--where the climate is just that which it affects. Its seed may have been transported hither by birds: since many species of birds are fond of its berries, and eat them without receiving any injury; though, strange to say, they are poisonous to all kinds of quadrupeds!" "Do you think you would know the shrub, if you saw it, brother?" "Well, to say the truth, I do not think I could recognise it by its general appearance; but if I had a flower of the _daphne_, I could no doubt tell it by its botanical characteristics. The leaves of the paper-yielding species are of a lanceolate form and purplish hue, glabrous and shining, like the leaves of laurels--to which genus the _daphne_ is closely allied. Unfortunately, the shrub would not be in flower at this season; but if we can find one of the berries, and a leaf or two, I fancy I shall be able to identify it. Besides, the bark, which is very tough, would help to guide us. Indeed, I have some reason to think that we shall find it not far off; and that is why I speak with such confidence, in saying, that we might not be so deficient in the materials for paper-making." "What reason, brother Karl? Perhaps you have seen something like it?" "I have. Some time ago, when I was strolling about, I passed through a thicket of low shrubs--the tops of which reached up to my breast. They were then in flower--the flowers being of a lilac colour, and growing at the tops of the branches in little cymes. They had no corolla--only a coloured calyx. Now these characters correspond with those of the daphne. Besides, the leaves were lanceolate, velvety on the surface, and of purplish colour; and the flowers were of an exceedingly sweet scent--as is the case with all the daphnads. I did not think of examining them at the time; but, now that I recall these characteristics, I feel almost certain that the shrubs were of this genus." "Do you think you can find the thicket again?" "Oh! yes, easily enough. It is not very distant from the place, where we were so near fighting that fearful duel." "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Caspar, in reply to the significant remark of the botanist. "But, brother!" continued he, "suppose it should prove to be the shrub you speak of, what good would there be in our finding it, so long as we don't understand the process of manufacturing it into paper?" "How do you know that we don't?" said Karl, challenging the too positive declaration of Caspar. "I am not so sure that we don't. I have read the whole account of the process, as given by one of the old writers upon China. It is very simple; and I think I remember enough to be able to follow it. Perhaps not to make fine paper, that one might write upon; but something that would serve our purpose just as well. We don't want the best `cream-laid.' Unfortunately, we have no post-office here. I wish we had. If we can fabricate anything as fine as the coarsest packing-paper, it will do well enough for a kite, I fancy." "True," replied Caspar. "It would be all the better to be coarse and strong. But, dear Karl, suppose we go at once, and see if we can discover the trees." "That is just what we shall do," replied Karl, rising as he spoke, and preparing to set out in search of the daphne. All, of course, went together: for Ossaroo was as much interested in the result of the exploration as any of them; and Fritz, from within the hut, perceiving that they were about to depart upon some new expedition, managed partially to coax himself out of his ill-humour; and, sallying forth from his hiding-place, trotted silently after them. CHAPTER FORTY THREE. THE PAPER-TREE. To the great delight of the party, it turned out just as Karl had conjectured. The thicket that he had spoken of was composed chiefly of daphne shrubs--judging by the appearance of the fallen leaves, and some berries that still remained on the branches, Karl believed them to be of this species. But the bark was also a characteristic: being exceedingly tenacious, and moreover of a strongly acrid taste--so much so as to cauterise he skin of Ossaroo's mouth, who had been foolish enough to chew it too freely. After duly examining the leaves, berries, and bark, the botanist came to the conclusion that the shrub must be a true daphne; and so in reality it was--that species known in Nepaul as the _Daphne Bholua_--from which, as already stated, the Nepaulese manufacture a coarse, but soft paper. As soon as this point was determined to their satisfaction, they resolved upon carrying Caspar's hint into execution--by trying the experiment of a paper kite. But for Karl's practical education--which had made him acquainted not only with the botanical characters of plants and trees, but also with their uses--and in some cases with the mode of using them--the mere discovery of the daphne would have availed them nothing. As it stood in the thicket, it was no more like paper than any of the trees that grew around it. Indeed, there were many others that would have yielded bark in broader flakes than it, and much more resembling paper: for that of the daphne, stripping off as it did in narrow pieces, looked like the last thing in the world of which to make a kite out of. But Karl knew the process by which it could be metamorphosed into paper; and without further delay, he entered upon the performance--the others placing their services at his disposal, and acting in obedience to his orders. The knife-blades of all three were called into requisition; and in an incredibly short space of time, some scores of the little trees were stripped of their bark--from their roots up to the lower branches. The trees themselves were not cut down; as that was not necessary. They could be peeled more readily, as they stood; and for this reason they were left standing. Up to the hour of sunset did these "cascarilleros" work--with only a few minutes of interruption, while they went back to the hut, and ate a hurried luncheon of ibex-meat--and just as the sun was sinking behind the summit of the great Chumulari, they might have been seen trudging homeward--each bearing a heavy bundle of bark, with Fritz following gleefully at their heels. The thicket from which they had taken their departure, gave evidence of the industry with which they had been working all day long. Over a space, of nearly half an acre in extent, the trees were seen standing, each with its tiny trunk completely divested of bark: as if a whole gang of goats had been browsing upon them! On reaching the hovel, our bark-gatherers did not desist from their labour. They only entered upon a new branch of industry: by becoming _paper manufacturers_. It was after night; and they had to work by the light of their torches of cheel-pine, already prepared. But as these burnt with a clear steady flame, they served quite as well as candles would have done. The first process in the paper-making did not require much nicety in its execution; and, moreover, it could be performed as well inside the hut as in the largest room of a paper-mill. All they had to do was to pick the bark to shreds. This occupied them the whole evening--during which there was much conversation of a cheerful kind, with a joke or two about oakum-picking in a prison; and of this, not only the task in which they were engaged, but the situation in which they were executing it, did not fail to remind them. When they had finished, they ate their frugal supper and retired to rest--full of the idea of continuing the paper manufacture in the morning. When morning came, they had not much to do: for the next process was one which required the exercise of patience rather than of labour. When the bark of the daphne has been thoroughly picked to pieces, it is put into a large pot or cauldron filled with water. A lixivium of wood-ashes is then thrown in along with it; and it is suffered to boil for several hours. As our manufacturers were without pot or cauldron of any kind, there would have been here an interruption of an insurmountable kind: had it not been that they had plenty of water already on the boil, and perpetually boiling--in the hot-spring near the hut. Apparently all they should have to do would be, to immerse the prepared bark in the spring, and there leave it for a proper length of time. But then the water, where it was hottest, was constantly in motion--bubbling up and running off; so that not only would the strings of bark be carried away, but the ashes would be separated from the mass, and consequently of no service in aiding to macerate it. How was this difficulty to be got over? Easily enough. They had not proceeded thus far without thinking of a plan; and this plan was, to place the bark along with the ashes in one of the large yak-skins still in good preservation, and after making it up into a sort of bundle--like clothes intended for the laundry--to plunge the skin and its contents into the spring, and there leave them--until the boiling water should perform its part. By this ingenious contrivance, did they get over the difficulty, of not being provided with a not. When Karl thought that the bark was sufficiently boiled, it was taken out of the water, and also out of its yak-skin wrapper. It was then placed, in mass, upon a flat rock near by--where it was left to drip and get dry. During the time that it was in the water--and also while it was dripping and drying on the rock--none of them were idle. Caspar was engaged in fashioning a stout wooden mallet--a tool which would be needed in some after operations--while Ossaroo was equally busy upon an article of a very different kind. This was a sort of sieve made of thin splints of cane, set in a frame of thicker pieces of the same cane--ringall bamboo. Ossaroo had undertaken this special task: as none of the others knew so well, how to fashion the bamboo into any required utensil; and although he was now making something altogether new to him, yet, working under the direction of Karl, he succeeded in making a sieve that was likely to serve the purpose for which plant-hunter designed it. That purpose will presently be spoken of. As soon as the fibre was nearly dry, the mallet was brought into requisition; and with this the mass was pounded upon the flat surface of the rock--until it became reduced to a complete state of "pulp." This pulp was once more put into the yak-skin--which had been gathered up around the edges so as to form a sort of concavity or rude vat--and again immersed under water--not of the boiling spring, but the cool water of the lake--until the bag became full. The pulp was next stirred with a stick--which brought the coarse dirty parts to the surface. These were skimmed off, and thrown away as refuse; and the process was repeated with fresh water--until the whole substance, which was of a mucilaginous character, was rendered pure, and soft to the touch. The next and last operation was in fact the making of the paper; and was performed by Karl himself. It was simple enough, though requiring a certain dexterity, or sleight of hand, to do it well. It consisted in placing a quantity of the pulp upon the sieve before mentioned; and cradling the frame about--all the time held under water--until the substance became equally and uniformly spread over the whole surface. The sieve was then taken out of the water--being raised gently and kept in a horizontal position--so as not to derange the even stratum of pulp that severed it. This done, nothing more remained but to place the frame across a pair of bars, and leave the pulp to get drained and eventually become dry. When dry, it would be _paper_! Of course, with one sieve, the whole quantity required could not be made at a single cast; but, as soon as one sheet became sufficiently dry to be taken off the frame, the sieve was again repulped; and so on, till the whole of the boiled bark was converted into paper; and they found themselves in possession of a sufficient number of broad sheets to make a kite as big as a coach-house-door. In consequence of their having to wait for the drying of each sheet, the process occupied them for several days; but during this time they had not been either idle or inactive. Karl and Caspar had been hard at work, in getting up the "bones" of the kite; while Ossaroo had undertaken to fabricate the tail. The rope with which it was to be "flyed," occupied more time, and required more care, than any other portion of their work. Every strand had to be twisted with the greatest exactness; and almost every fibre tested, as to its strength and fitness. Could they have used a rope of stouter build, it would not have been necessary to be so particular; but a thick rope would have been too heavy for the kite to carry--just as it had been too heavy for the strength of the eagle. A slender cord, therefore, like that they were obliged to make, required to be faultless--else the life of some one of them might be sacrificed while attempting the ascent. With a foreknowledge of this, it is hardly necessary to say that Ossaroo did his best in the manufacture of that rope--every strand of it being twisted between his index finger and his thumb, as smoothly and evenly as if he had been spinning it for a fishing-line. The framework of the kite was made out of split culms of the ringall bamboo; which, on account of its strength, elasticity, and lightness, was far superior for the purpose to any species of exogenous wood; while the glue for laying on the paper was procured from the root of an arum-- grated, and then boiled into a glutinous starch. In about a week after the notion of a kite had been "hatched" in the brain of Caspar, the bird itself might have been seen outside the door of the hut--full-fledged and ready for flight! CHAPTER FORTY FOUR. FLYING THE KITE. The kite having been thus prepared, they only waited for an opportunity of flying it--for a day when the wind should be sufficiently strong, and blowing from the right quarter--that is, towards that portion of the precipice over which it appeared best that the paper-bird should be dispatched. This was the same place, where the ladders had been set, and where they had unsuccessfully endeavoured to send up the bearcoot. They had already ascended one of the isolated cairns of rock, that stood within the valley nearly opposite this part of the cliff; and from its top they had been able to get a view--though not a very good one--of a portion of the sloping declivity of the mountain above. It appeared to be covered with snow--here and there supporting huge masses of something, either boulders of rock, or dark-coloured lumps of ice. The eyes of our adventurers rested on these with the greatest interest: as they had done upon a former occasion, when about to send the bearcoot among them. Now they had conceived higher hopes than ever--founded upon the presence of these masses. If they should succeed in flying the kite into their midst, and there dropping it, it was not only possible, but highly probable, that it might either get the rope warped around one of them, or itself become caught between two, so as to hold fast. To render this the more practicable, they had furnished its wings with spurs--in other words, they had left the cross-piece of bamboo to extend on each side about a foot beyond the edge of the paper; and near the end of each extension, they had placed other pieces transversely, and lashed them firmly--so that they might act as the flukes of an anchor. They had spared neither pains nor ingenuity to ensure success. They had done all, that man could do, to deserve it. Fortune was so far favourable, as not to keep them long in suspense. Only two or three days had passed, when one came, on which the wind blew in their favour--exactly as they wanted it. It was a stiff breeze, steady in the right direction, and strong enough to carry up the largest of paper kites. Proceeding to the place, where the ladders were set, with the huge bird carried in the arms of Ossaroo, they made ready for its flight. Karl was to start the kite, and guide its ascent from the ground; while Caspar and the shikaree were to run out with the rope: as it would require the united strength of both to hold such a broad-breasted bird against the wind. They had taken the precaution to cut away the bushes to a long distance backwards from the cliff, and so clear the track: there was therefore nothing to impede them while paying out the string. It was arranged that Karl should have direction of the movement, and give out the signal for them to start. It was a moment of vivid emotion, as each of he three placed himself in the position assigned to him--Karl by the kite, with its backbone in one hand, and its tail in the other--Ossaroo clutching the rope--and Caspar by his side, holding the great coil in readiness for delivery. Karl poised the creature upon the stump of its tail; and then, lifting with all his strength--so as to raise it several feet from the ground-- he gave forth the signal at the highest pitch of his voice. At the same instant, Caspar and the shikaree ran backward--tightening the rope as they went; and like a vast vulture with outspread wings, the bird soared silently upward into the air. It rose with a regular majestic motion, soon overtopping the trees that grew near, and still mounting on towards the summit of the cliff. Karl cheered as he saw it ascend. The others were too busy in the performance of their parts to find time for this expression of triumph; and not until the kite had soared high into the heavens, and appeared many yards above the brow of the beetling precipice, did Caspar and Ossaroo respond to the cheering of Karl. Then both together gave vent to their excited feelings in a long-continued hurrah! "Let go now, Ossaroo!" cried Karl, shouting so as to be heard above the wind. "You, Caspar, keep hold of the end of the cord." Ossaroo, obedient to the order, suddenly slackened his hold--at the same time springing towards Caspar, and prudently seizing the end along with him. The kite, thus released, like some huge bird that had received its death-wound, turned head downwards towards the earth; and, after making various sinuous evolutions through the air, flouting its long tail first in one direction then in another--it was seen darting down towards the acclivity of the mountain. At length, passing behind the summit of the cliffs, it was no longer visible to the eyes of those who had aided it in its lofty flight, and then left it helplessly to fall. So far they had succeeded to the utmost of their expectations. The kite had alighted, just where they wanted it. But now arose the question--would it stay there? In other words, would it be caught among the rocks, and hold fast? If not, they would have to fly it again and again, until it should get fastened above, or until the experiment should prove a failure. Karl stepped forward to decide the point--the others looking on with an eagerness of glance, that betrayed how deep was their interest in the result. Karl's hand trembled as he laid hold of the cord. At first he pulled upon it in a gentle way--hand over hand--so as merely to take in the slack. At length it began to tighten, requiring greater strength to take it in: as if the kite was still free, and dragging over the snow. This produced anything but a pleasant anticipation; and as the rope came to hand, foot after foot, and yard after yard, a shadow, that had stolen over the countenances of all three, became sensibly darker. Only for a short while did this shadow remain. It vanished, more suddenly than it had arisen: when they saw the running cord become abruptly checked, and then tighten as Karl continued to draw it in. He pulled upon it, at first exerting only a part of his strength, as if afraid that it might again come loose. After awhile, gaining confidence, he pulled with all his power. It still held fast! Ossaroo and Caspar now joined their strength to his; and all three pulled together. Hurrah! the kite would not come! The cord kept its place, stretching to the bottom of the cliff, as taut as the main-stay of a ship! Ejaculations of joy escaped from all three at the same instant of time: and for some moments they stood, tightly clutching the rope, and holding it firmly: as if in dread of its being dragged out of their grasp by some hostile and invisible hand. At length Karl suggested the propriety of making the cord secure, by fastening it to some object. A large upright stone, close by the bottom of the cliff, appeared to be the most proper thing; and to this they determined upon tying it. Still keeping it taut--lest by slackening it they might disturb the anchor aloft--they moved hand over hand along the rope, until they had got close to the bottom of the precipice. Then, while Karl and Caspar still held on, Ossaroo gathered up the slack; and, turning it several times round the stone, securely _belayed_ it. Nothing more remained but to make the steps--which had been already designed--adjust them in their places--climb up to the top of the cliff--and be free as the mountain breeze, which would there be blowing around them! The thought of such a lucky deliverance filled them once more with joyous imaginings; and they stood around the stone, to which the rope had been attached--congratulating themselves, as if they had already escaped. They knew there would still be some time required to make the steps, and fix them in their places; but, since they no longer doubted their ability to accomplish the ascent, the interval of time might be passed cheerfully enough; and, with this pleasant anticipation, they went back to their workshop in the best of spirits, and cooked themselves a more careful dinner than they had eaten since the discovery of the daphne trees. CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. THE ROPE-LADDER. It took them another day--with their blades all busy from morning till night--to prepare the pegs which were to constitute the "rounds" of their rope-ladder. More than a hundred were required: as the cliff where the rope passed up was over a hundred yards in height; and the steps were intended to be placed at equal distances of about two feet apart. It had been their design at first to insert the steps in the rope-- between the strands of which it was composed; but, on reflection, a better plan suggested itself. By opening the strands to let in the pieces of wood, the rope might be weakened, so much as to endanger its breaking; and this alone, above all things, was to be avoided. It was deemed more prudent to leave the cord untouched, and place the sticks crosswise outside of it. Whipped round with strong pieces of other cord, they could easily be made to keep their places--more especially as, with the hands of the climber grasping the rope above, no one stick would have to carry the full weight of his body; and, even should one of them slip a little out of place, there would be no great danger of an accident arising out of the circumstance. It occupied them a second day in twining the pieces of string, required for tying the sticks in their places; and, upon the morning of the third, they returned to the cliff, with the intention of transforming the cord, that the kite had carried up, into a rope-ladder. The mode by which they intended to effect this purpose will be easily understood--after what has been already said respecting it. The little sticks were to be laid transversely against the rope, and then so tightly tied in their places, as to prevent them from slipping down. The first was to be attached about the height of a man's waist from the ground; and the second on a level with his chin. Then with the feet resting upon the first, and the left hand grasping the rope above, it would be possible to fix another at the height of the chin, as it would then be. By climbing up to the second, a fourth could be placed at a little distance above; and thus in succession, till the top of the cliff should be attained. It was not supposed, that any one could continue the process of attaching the steps, till all were set in their places; nor did they contemplate being able to complete the work in a little time. On the contrary, they expected it to occupy them for days; and they knew, moreover, that long intervals of rest would be required by any one who should have to execute it. Standing upon such unstable footing, for any considerable length of time, would be both irksome and fatiguing; and they were about to enter upon the task with a full knowledge of its difficulties. On reaching the cord they at once set to work upon it. Rather should it be said, that one of them did so: for only one could work at a time in this, the last labour, as they supposed, they would have to perform in that lone valley. In attaching the steps to the rope, Ossaroo was allowed to act as sole operator: since neither of the others understood the handling of cordage so well as he. They could but act as spectators and the only purpose which their presence could serve, was to cheer the shikaree by their company and conversation. By good fortune it was not necessary for Ossaroo to fix any steps to the first thirty feet of the kite cord. One of the long ladders which they had made enabled him to ascend that far without using the sticks; and, indeed, all of the ladders might have served in this way, had the kite carried its cord up the cliff within reach of them. Unfortunately, this did not happen to be the case; and only the first ladder could be made available. Placing it nearly parallel with the rope, Ossaroo mounted up; and, when near its top, commenced attaching the steps. He had carried up along with him about a dozen of the little sticks, with cords to correspond-- in a sort of pouch, which he had formed with the skirts of his cotton tunic. Karl and Caspar below, seated upon stones, and Fritz squatted on the ground, watched the movements of the shikaree with deep and speechless interest. It was not a very long time, before he had adjusted the first two pegs in their proper places; and, then letting himself off the ladder, and placing both his feet upon the first cross-piece, in a way that they balanced one another and kept the stick in a horizontal position--he proceeded to attach the third about the height of his chin. To do this required, a good deal of adroitness; but Ossaroo was gifted with this quality to a high degree; and, so far as his footing was concerned, the Hindoo was as much at home upon a rope, as would have been one of those monkeys sacred to the believers in his Brahministic creed. Any other feet would soon have become tired--resting upon such a slender support; but Ossaroo had been accustomed to climbing the tall lofty palms, until his toes had acquired a certain degree of prehensile power; and the smallest branch or protuberance on the trunk of a tree, or even a knot on a rope, was footing enough to enable him to hold on for many minutes at a time. He had no difficulty, therefore, in balancing himself upon the sticks, which he had already attached; nor ascending from one to the other, as each was got into its place. In this way he proceeded, until the stock which he had taken up with him was exhausted, and his apron hung empty. Then, letting himself down from step to step, and cautiously returning to the wooden ladder, he descended to the bottom of the cliff. Karl or Caspar might have rendered his coming down unnecessary, as either could have carried so light a "hod" up the ladder; but there was good reason why Ossaroo should make the descent--that was, to rest and refresh himself. He did not remain very long below--just long enough to let the blood circulate along the soles of his naked feet--and then, with his apron distended--being once more full of sticks--he reclimbed the ladder, swung himself out upon the cord, and clambered up the steps he had already fixed in their places. His second stock of sticks becoming exhausted as the first, he again revisited the earth; again allowed himself an interval of rest; and then ascended as before. With Ossaroo proceeding in this fashion, the remainder of the day was spent--a long interval being allowed for dinner; which Karl and Caspar, having nothing else to do, had cooked with extra care. They did not go home to the hut to perform their culinary operations. There would have been no advantage in doing so: since the kitchen accommodation there was not a whit better than where they were at work; and the larder contained nothing more than what they had brought along with them--some dried ibex-meat. But Karl had not been idle for a portion of the time; and had collected various roots and fruits that, when roasted, not only helped out the meal, but rendered it sufficiently luxurious for stomachs like theirs, no longer fastidious. After dinner, Ossaroo indulged in a long smoke of his favourite "bang;" and, stimulated by this, returned to his task with renewed energy. So successful was he in its accomplishment, that, before sunset he had full fifty steps in place; which, along with the wooden ladder, enabled him to climb nearly a third of the way up the cliff. Of course darkness put an end to his operations for that day; and with the intention of continuing them on the morrow, both the operator and spectators wended their way back to the hut--Karl and Caspar showing as much respect to Ossaroo, as if he had been the master architect, and they only his assistants or labourers. Even Fritz appeared to be impressed with the belief that the shikaree was the most important personage in the party: for every time that the latter descended from the cliff the dog had paid his "devoirs" to him, frisking around, leaping up, and looking steadfastly in his face, as if congratulating him on being their deliverer! On the road home Fritz continued these demonstrations--springing against the legs of the shikaree so as occasionally to impede his progress, evidently convinced--either from his own observation or from the respect which he saw the others were paying him--that the Hindoo was the hero of the day! CHAPTER FORTY SIX. OSSAROO MAKES A QUICK DESCENT. Next morning, as soon as they had despatched an early meal, they returned to their work--that is, Ossaroo to work, the others to watch. Unfortunately on this day the weather was unfavourable for operations. There was a high wind, not continuous, but blowing in short, quick puffs--gusty and violent. As Ossaroo hung upon the rope half-way up the precipice, the wind acting upon his body, carried him at times several feet out from the face of the cliff--causing him also to oscillate violently from side to side, notwithstanding that the rope was fast at both ends. It was fearful to look at him thus suspended, and swinging in mid-air. At times the hearts of the spectators were filled with consternation, lest the brave shikaree should either have his brains dashed out against the beetling cliff; or, being forced to let go his hold, be flung far out, and falling upon the rocks below, get crushed to atoms. Often during the earlier part of the day were the alarms of Karl and Caspar raised to such a height, that they shouted to Ossaroo to come down; and when down, entreated him not to go up again until, by the lulling of the wind, the danger should become diminished. Their entreaties, however, were of no avail. The shikaree, accustomed all his life to braving the elements, felt no fear of them; but on the contrary, seemed to feel a pride, if not an actual pleasure, in thus daring danger. Even while swinging out from the cliff, and oscillating along its _facade_--like the pendulum of some gigantic clock--he was seen tying the strings and adjusting the pieces of stick, as coolly, as if he had been standing upon _terra firma_ at the bottom! Thus, nearly to the hour of noon, did Ossaroo continue his arduous undertaking--of course with the usual intervals of rest, during each of which Karl and Caspar reiterated their entreaties for him to desist and leave the work to be executed at a more favourable opportunity. Fritz, too, while lavishing his caresses on the daring climber, seemed to look persuadingly into his face--as if he knew there was danger in what the Hindoo was doing. It was all in vain. The shikaree, while resisting all their efforts to restrain him, seemed to scorn the danger which they dreaded; and, without hesitation, returned to his perilous task. And no doubt he would have succeeded in accomplishing it, allowing due time for its completion. It was not the wind that would have shaken him from that rope, to which he clung with the tenacity of a spider. Had the support proved true, he could have held on, even though it had been blowing a hurricane! It was not in this that his chief danger lay; nor from such source was it to come; but from one altogether unexpected and unthought-of. It was near the hour of noon, and Ossaroo had already succeeded in setting the steps up to about half the height of the cliff. He had descended for a fresh supply of sticks; and, having gone up the tree-ladder, and swung himself back upon the kite cord, was just commencing to clamber up it--as he had already done nearly a score of times. The eyes of Karl and Caspar were upon him, following his movements, as they had been doing all along; for, despite his frequent repetition of the ascent, it was always a perilous performance, and interesting to behold. Just as he had got free from the ladder, and fairly out upon the rope, a cry came from his lips that thrilled the hearts of the spectators with alarm: for they knew that the utterance was one of terror. They needed no explanation of that cry; for at the same moment that it reached their ears, they perceived the danger that had caused Ossaroo to utter it. He was descending along the facade of the cliff--not gliding down the rope of his own free will, but as if the kite had got loose at the top, and, yielding to the weight of his body, was being dragged over the surface of the snow! At first, he appeared to be descending only very slowly; and, but for the cries he was putting forth, and the slackening of the rope below, they upon the ground might not have been aware of what was going on. But they had not regarded his movements for many seconds, before perceiving the true state of the case, and the fearful peril in which their faithful shikaree was now placed. Beyond doubt the kite had become detached above; and, yielding to the strain upon the rope, caused by Ossaroo's weighty was being pulled towards the edge of the precipice! Would the resistance be equal to the weight of the man's body? Would it let him down easily? Or would the dragging anchor arrive at a place where the surface was smooth, and then gliding rapidly over it, increase the velocity of the descent? In other words, was the shikaree about to be projected through a fall of thirty feet to the bottom of the cliff? The spectators were left but little time to speculate on probabilities. Not a moment was allowed them to take measures for securing the safety of their companion. Before they could recover from the surprise, with which his first shout had inspired them, they saw that his descent was every moment becoming more accelerated: now in gradual declination, then in quick, short jerks--until he had got within about twenty-feet of the ground. They were in hopes that he might continue to descend in this fashion for a few yards further, and then the danger would be over; but, just at that moment, the broad breast of the kite was seen poising itself over the top of the cliff; and like a great living bird, it sprang off from the rocks, and soared out over the valley! Ossaroo, still clinging to the cord, was carried some distance from the cliff; but, fortunately for him, the weight of his body overbalanced the resistance which the atmosphere offered to the broad surface of the kite; else he might have been carried much higher into the air. Equally fortunate was it, that the amount of overbalance was exceedingly slight--otherwise he might have been dashed with violence to the earth! As it was, he came down as gently as a dove, alighting upon his legs, and remaining erect upon them, like Mercury upon the top of his "sky-kissing mountain." The moment that the shikaree felt his feet touching _terra firma_, he sprang nimbly to one side, at the same instant letting go the rope, as if it had been a rod of red-hot iron! The great kite, no longer held in poise against the wind, commenced darting hither and thither; at each turn descending lower and lower-- until by one last swoop, in which it seemed to concentrate all its failing strength, it came down towards Ossaroo like a gigantic bird of prey descending upon its victim! It was just as much as the shikaree could do to get out of the way; and, had he not ducked his head in the very nick of time, he would certainly have received a blow upon his skull, that would have endangered its entirety. CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN. THE ESCAPE OF THE KITE. The joy, which all felt at the miraculous escape of Ossaroo, more than compensated for their chagrin at the circumstance of the kite having returned to them: more especially, as they believed that the accident was not without remedy. It might be attributed to the wind: which no doubt had lifted the kite from where it lay, detaching it from the rock, or whatever other object that had for the time entangled it. They doubted not, but that they might again succeed in sending it up, and getting it fast as before; and this confidence hindered them from grieving over the unfortunate occurrence, as they might otherwise have done. As the wind on that day was in the wrong quarter for flying a kite towards the cliff, they determined to postpone the attempt, till a more favourable opportunity; and, in order that their kite should not be in danger of getting spoiled by the rain, they once more shouldered, and carried it back, rope and all, to the shelter of the hut. Nearly a week elapsed, before there was a breeze that blew in their favour; but during this interval, they had not been altogether unemployed. Still uncertain of the length of time they might be detained in the valley, they had passed almost every hour of the daylight in increasing their stock of provisions--so as not to encroach upon the cured venison of the ibex, of which a considerable quantity was still to the good. Their guns were no longer used for procuring food. The last loads still remained in the barrels; and were not to be fired off--until every other means of capturing game should fail them. Indeed, they were now so confident of being able to get out of their prison, that at times they almost fancied themselves already on their way down the mountains; and talked of keeping their guns loaded, against any danger from large animals they might encounter on their homeward journey. For procuring food they knew that firearms were not necessary. Ossaroo's bow was sufficient weapon for that. Often might it be heard twanging among the trees; and as often did the shikaree's arrow pierce the breast of some fine bird--a peacock, or argus pheasant, or one of the beautiful Brahminy geese that frequented the waters of the lake. Ossaroo's nets and lines, too, were not without their use. Fish were caught of various kinds, and excellent quality; and there was one sort in particular, should all else fail, that promised to furnish them with an inexhaustible supply. This was a large species of eel, in which the lake abounded, to such an extent, that it was only necessary to cast in a hook, with a worm upon it, and an eel of nearly six feet in length would be instantly landed. As they did not always relish to dine upon eels, but little of their time was spent in procuring them. For all that, they were gratified on discovering the abundance of these slippery creatures--knowing that, should other resources fail, they would find in them a staple article of wholesome food, that could never become scarce, no matter how much they should eat of it. A favourable wind at length came on to blow; and the kite was once more shouldered, and carried to the same place as before. Just in the same way did they proceed to fly it; and in the same style it again rose soaring above the cliff; and--the cord having been suddenly slacked-- sank to rest upon the slope of the mountain. So far were they once more successful; but alas! it proved to be just so far and no farther. Pulling upon the rope, to ascertain whether their anchor had "bit," they were chagrined to receive an answer in the negative. The cord came back to them with scarce any resistance; or only such, as was caused by friction over the edge of the cliff, and by the drag of the kite itself along the snowy surface. Hand over hand, they drew it back: foot by foot, and yard by yard, it came yieldingly towards them--until they saw the broad curving breast of the pseudo-bird projecting over the parapet edge of the precipice! Once more was it launched out into the air; once more was rope given it, till it had ascended to the full length of its tether; and once more was it allowed to alight. Again the pull downward and inward--again the cord came freely to hand-- and again was the rounded bow seen upon the brow of the precipice, and outlined against the blue sky above; not like the beautiful bow of the iris--a thing of promise--but one of disappointment and chagrin. Again the flight--again the failure--again and again; until the patience of the operators--to say nothing of their strength--was well nigh exhausted. But it was no mere play for the sake of pastime. They were not flying that kite for their amusement; nor yet for the purpose of making some scientific experiment. They were flying it as a means of obtaining their personal liberty; and they were all of them interested in the success or failure of the attempt--almost as much as if their lives rested on the issue. However tried their strength, or worn out their patience, it would not do to give up; and therefore--although at each unsuccessful effort, with hopes constantly becoming diminished--they continued their exertions. For more than a score of times they had sent up the kite, and as often dragged it back to the brow of the cliff; not always at the same point: for they had themselves changed their ground, and tried the flight in different places. In all cases, the result was the same. The bird refused to take hold with its claws--either on rocks, or blocks of ice, or banks of frozen snow--all of which lay scatter over the slope of the mountain. Considering that it had caught hold on the very first trial, so many failures were regarded by our adventurers with some surprise. Had it never held, there would have been no cause for this; and after so many attempts, they would have been the more inclined to yield up their plan, deeming it impracticable. But the fact of their first success sustained them in the hope that success might again be obtained; and, in this belief, they were encouraged to "keep on trying." Half a dozen additional flights were made, but fortune still declining to favour them, they desisted from their efforts, leaving the paper-bird with its breast protruding over the cliff: as if perched there in preparation for a further flight. By this time the kite had become sadly damaged--its _plumage_ having received rough usage by constant trailing over the rocks and sharp angles of ice. While up in the air, daylight could be seen shining through it in several places; and it no longer exhibited that majesty of flight that had originally characterised it. It was evident that repairs would soon be needed; and to discuss this question, as also to consider the propriety of proceeding to make trial at some other place, our adventurers, for a time, discontinued their efforts. All three were standing together, but at several paces distant from the end of the rope; which they had for the moment abandoned, and which lay negligently along the ground. They had not taken the slightest precaution to secure it: for it had not occurred to them that there was any risk in leaving it loose. It was only when too late, that they perceived the mistake they had committed--only when they saw the cord suddenly jerked up from the ground, as if some invisible hand was lifting it aloft into the sky! All three rushed towards it at the same instant. They were too late. Already the end of the rope was dangling at such a height above their heads, that even the tallest of them could not touch it with the tips of his fingers. Ossaroo leaped high into the air in an endeavour to clutch the string. Caspar ran to procure a pole which lay near, in hopes of retaining it in that way: while Karl ran up the ladder that was resting against the cliff, near which the rope was yet trailing. The efforts of all three were alike vain. For a second or two, the end of the cord hung oscillating above their heads--just sufficiently out of reach to tantalise them; and then, as if the invisible hand above had given it another gigantic jerk, it was drawn rapidly and vertically upward, till it finally disappeared over the crest of the cliff! CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT. NO MORE PAPER-TREES! There was nothing mysterious in the disappearance of the cord. The kite was no longer visible on the summit of the cliff. The wind had carried it away; and, of course, its rope along with it. When the first moment of surprise had passed, our adventurers turned towards each other with glances that spoke something more than disappointment. Notwithstanding the number of times that the kite had failed to fix itself, still it had once taken a fast hold, and it was but reasonable to suppose it would have done so again. Besides, there were other places where the precipice was as low, and even lower, than where they had made the trials; and at some of these they might have been more successful. Indeed, there was every probability that, had they not lost that kite, they would have been able in due time to have climbed out of their rock-bound prison by a ladder of rope; but now all chance of doing so was gone for ever--swept off by a single puff of wind. You may be fancying, that the misfortune was not irremediable. Another kite, you will be saying, might be constructed out of similar materials as those used in making the one carried away. But to say this, would be to speak without a full knowledge of the circumstances. The same thought had already passed through the minds of our adventurers, when they perceived that the kite they were flying was getting torn and otherwise damaged. "We can easily make another," suggested Caspar at that crisis. "No, brother," was the answer of Karl; "never another, I fear. We have paper enough left to patch this one; but not enough to make another." "But we can make more paper, can we not?" urged Caspar, interrogatively. "Ah!" again replied Karl, with a negative shake of the head, "no more-- not another sheet!" "But why? Do you think there are no more daphne trees?" "I think there are not. You remember we stripped all there were in the thicket; and since then, thinking we might need more bark, I have gone all through the valley, and explored it in every direction, without meeting with a single shrub of the daphne. I am almost certain there are none." This conversation between the brothers had occurred, long before the losing of the kite. When that event came to pass, it was not necessary for them to repeat it; and, both being thus acquainted with the fact that it was impossible for them to construct another, they felt that they had sustained an irreparable loss. In what direction had the kite been carried off? Might it not be blown along the line of cliffs, and tossed back again into the valley? As there appeared some probability that such a chance might arise, all three ran outward from the rocks--in order to command a better view of the precipice, on each side. For a long time they stood watching--in hopes that they might see the great paper-bird returning to the scene of its nativity. But it never came back; and they became at length convinced, that it never would. Indeed, the direction of the wind--when they paused to consider it-- rendered the thing not only improbable, but impossible. It was blowing _from_ the cliffs, and _towards_ the snowy ridge. No doubt the kite had been carried up the sloping acclivity; and had either passed clear over the mountains, or become lodged in some deep defile, where the wind could no longer reach it. At all events, it was certain, that both kite and cord were lost to them for ever. "Ach! how very unfortunate!" exclaimed Caspar, in a vexed tone, when they had finally arrived at this conviction. "What ill-starred luck we have, to be sure!" "Nay! brother," remarked Karl, in a tone of reproval; "do not chide Fortune for what has happened just now. I acknowledge it is a great misfortune; but it is one for which we may justly blame ourselves, and only ourselves. By sheer negligence we have lost the kite, and along with it, perhaps, the last chance of regaining our liberty." "Yes, you speak truly," rejoined Caspar, in a tone of mingled regret and resignation. "It _was_ our fault, and we must suffer for it." "But are you quite sure, brother Karl," resumed he, after a pause, and referring to the conversation that had already passed between them--"are you quite sure there are no more of these paper-bearing trees?" "Of course," replied the plant-hunter, "I am not positive--though I fear it is as I have said--that there are no more. It will be easy for us to determine the point, by making a complete exploration of the valley. It may be that something else might turn up which would answer the purpose equally as well. There is a birch-tree indigenous to the Himalaya mountains, found both in Nepaul and Thibet. Its bark can be stripped off in broad flakes and layers, to the number of eight or ten--each almost as thin as common paper, and suitable for many purposes to which paper is usually applied." "Do you think it would do for a kite?" inquired Caspar, without waiting for Karl to finish his explanation. "I am sure of it," replied the botanist. "It would serve even better than the daphne paper; and had I believed there was a chance of finding it here, I should have preferred it to that. But I do not think we shall find it. I have observed no species of birch; and I know that this one, like most of the _Betulaceae_, affects a much colder climate than there is in this valley. Likely enough, it grows on the mountains above; but there it is out of our reach. Could we reach it there, we should not need to be robbing it of its manifold envelope. But let us not despair," added Karl, endeavouring to appear cheerful; "perhaps it may be found growing down here; or, if not, we may still find another grove of the daphne trees. Let us proceed on and search!" Karl was far from being sanguine in either conjecture; and it was as well for him that he was not: for after a minute and careful exploration of the valley--which occupied nearly three whole days--neither the wished-for birch, nor the desired daphne trees--nor any other material out of which a kite might be manufactured--rewarded their search. It was of no use, therefore, to think any longer of a kite; and the subject was at length dismissed from their minds. CHAPTER FORTY NINE. AEROSTATICS. It is scarce possible to talk of a paper kite, without thinking of that other and greater aerostatic contrivance--a balloon. Karl had thought of it, long before this time; and so had Caspar, just as long: for the kite had suggested it simultaneously to the minds of both. It may be asked why they had not entertained the thought, and endeavoured to carry it into practical effect: since a balloon would have been far more likely to have delivered them out of their "mountain prison" than a paper kite? But they _had_ entertained the thought--at least, Karl had done so--and examined it in all its bearings. Caspar had permitted it to pass out of his mind, under the impression that _they could not make a balloon_; and Karl had arrived at the same conclusion; but only from a belief that they _had not the materials_ with which to make one. Given the materials, Karl felt quite equal to the construction of a balloon--a rude one, it is true; but one which might have served the purpose for which they required it. During the days when they had been occupied in making the paper-bird, he had given his thoughts a good deal to this subject; for, to say the truth, he had never been very sanguine about the success of the kite experiment. He had pondered long and patiently on the subject of balloons--endeavouring to recall to mind what little he had studied of aerostatics--and had mentally examined all the material objects within reach, in the hope of discovering some substance out of which one might be constructed. Unfortunately, he had not been able to think of anything that appeared to be suitable. The daphne paper--even had it been in abundance--would not do: for paper of itself, however close in texture, is not strong enough to withstand the pressure of the outside air--that is, in a balloon of sufficient size to carry any considerable weight. But it was of no use to talk of paper: since there was not enough; and Karl had given over thinking of a balloon: because there was nothing within reach likely to serve for its construction. He knew that that great sphere would require to be air-proof. He had thought of the skins of animals; but such of these as might have been obtained in sufficient quantity, were entirely too thick and heavy to make the covering of a balloon. The hemp, of which there _was_ an abundance, might be woven into a cloth, and then coated over by gum obtained from some tree; for in the valley were several species of gum-exuding trees. But the question was, could they manufacture a cloth out of hemp that would be light enough when thus coated over? It was very doubtful whether they could--at all events they would have to practise the weaving trade for a long time, before they should arrive at a sufficient expertness to accomplish such a feat. The plan was too unpromising to be seriously entertained; and Karl had dismissed it, along with the whole subject of the balloon. That had been previous to the experiment of the kite, and its unfortunate ending. But now that all hope from this quarter had been brought to an end, the balloon once more began to shape itself in his mind, as well as in that of Caspar; and for the first time they proceeded to talk over the subject together. "Cords we could have in plenty," remarked Caspar, "but they'd be of no use, without the stuff to cover the great globe. They make it of silk, don't they?" "Yes," replied Karl, "silk is the best material for the purpose." "And why?" inquired Caspar. "Because it combines the three properties of lightness, strength, and closeness of texture, in a greater degree than any other known substance." "Would nothing else do?" "Oh, yes; many things would answer to make a balloon, that might carry up a certain amount of weight. Even a paper balloon can be constructed to take up a few pounds--a cat, or a small dog; and people in many countries have been cruel enough to dispatch such creatures into the air, not caring what became of them." "Very cruel indeed!" assented Caspar, who, although a hunter, was far from having an unfeeling heart. "Such people should be sent up themselves in paper balloons." "Yes, if paper balloons would carry them; which, unfortunately for us, they wouldn't. Even if we had an unlimited supply of paper, it would be of no use to us. We require something stronger, and more tenacious." "Can we not think of something? Let us try, Karl!" "Ah! dear brother, I have been trying for days, and in vain. There is nothing within this valley at all suitable for the purpose." "Would canvas do? Have you thought of that?" "I have. It would be too coarse and heavy." "But, with great pains, could we not make it light enough? We might choose the finer fibres of the hemp; and spin and weave it with scrupulous care. Ossaroo here is a perfect Omphale in his way. I'll warrant he could beat Hercules with the distaff." "Ho! brother!" exclaimed Karl, a little astonished. "You are quite classical in your speech this morning. Where learnt you the history of Hercules--you who have never seen the inside of a university?" "You forget, brother Karl, that you yourself have been my instructor in these classical themes, as you call them. Though I must tell you that, with the exception of their occasionally lending a little ornament to my speech, I have derived not the slightest advantage from them; nor is it likely I ever shall." "Well, Caspar," answered the botanist, "I am not going to stand up for the classics, as you are well aware. Although I have taught you a little of their lore, it was when I had nothing to do, and you were equally idle; otherwise I should have considered that both of us were wasting time. You already know my opinions on that subject--which are: that a knowledge of what is usually termed `the classics' is of about as much use to a reasoning man as might be an equally profound knowledge of Chinese _mnemonics_. The time I have spent in the study of the _dead_ languages has been sheer waste; and all I have learnt wont raise us a foot higher here. My knowledge of Jupiter and Juno is not likely to gain us the means of getting out of our difficulty, no more than my acquaintance with Mercury will help me to a pair of wings. So a truce to classical ideas, and let us see whether scientific ones may not serve us better just now. You have a quick invention, brother Caspar; can you think of anything--I mean anything within our reach--that would make the air-bag of a balloon?" "But could you make the balloon, if you had the stuff?" inquired Caspar, still in doubt whether any other than an experienced aeronaut could construct so wonderful a machine. "Pooh!" replied the philosopher, "the making of a balloon is almost as easy as making a soap-bubble. Any air-tight bag, filled with heated atmosphere, becomes a balloon. The question is, what weight it can be made to carry--including the materials out of which it may be constructed." "But how are you to get the heated air into it?" "Simply by making a fire under an aperture left open below." "But would not this air soon become cold again?" "Yes; and then the balloon would sink back to the earth from the air inside getting cooled, and becoming as heavy as that without. Of course," continued the philosopher, "you are aware that heated air is much lighter than the ordinary atmosphere; and that is why a balloon filled with the former, rises, and will continue rising, till it has reached that elevation, where the rarefied atmosphere is as light as the heated air. Then it can go no further, and the weight of the balloon itself will bring it down again. A bladder of ordinary air sunk in water, or a corked bottle, will illustrate this point to your comprehension." "I comprehend it well enough," rejoined Karl, rather piqued at being treated too much _a l'enfant_ by his learned brother. "But I thought that, in a balloon, it was necessary to keep a fire constantly burning-- a sort of grate or fire-basket suspended below. Now, even if we had the silk to make the great spherical bag, how could we make a fire-basket without iron?" "We should not need the fire-basket you speak of. That is only required, when you design to keep your balloon some length of time in the air. If you only wish to make a short ascent, once filling the bag with hot air is sufficient; as it would be for us here. Even if we wanted a suspended grate, surely, brother, you have enough ingenuity to get over such a trifling difficulty as that?" "Well, I'm not so sure that I could. How would you get over it?" "Why, by making a common basket, and lining it with clay. That would carry fire, as well as a vessel of either cast or wrought iron--at least sufficient to serve for a short excursion such as we should care to make. Now-a-days, fire is not used for inflating balloons. Inflammable gas has been found to be far superior for this purpose; but as we have no such thing in stock, we should have to proceed on the old original plan--that employed by the brothers Montgolfier--the first inventors of the balloon." "You think, then, that the fire apparatus could be dispensed with, if we could only discover some material that would make the great globe-shaped bag to contain the heated air?" "Ay," replied Karl; "think of something to do that, and I promise to make you a balloon." Thus challenged, Caspar set his wits to work; and for a long while he sat in silence, as if buried in some very profound speculation. Probably, there was no material substance in that valley that did not pass in review before the retina of his mental vision; and all were considered in turn. "It must be light, air-tight, and strong?" asked he, at length, as if there was something in his thoughts possessing these three requisites. "Light, air-tight, and strong," answered Karl, simply repeating his words. "The two last I am sure of," rejoined Caspar. "Of the first only have I my doubts." "What is it?" asked Karl, in a tone that betrayed his interest in what Caspar had said. "Eel-skins!" was the laconic answer. CHAPTER FIFTY. THE SKIN BALLOON. "Eel-skins," said Caspar, repeating the phrase, as he saw that Karl hesitated before pronouncing an opinion. "Don't you think they would do?" Karl had it on the tip of his tongue to cry out--"The very thing!" but something withheld him from making this unqualified declaration. "They might--it is possible they might," said he, apparently debating the question within himself--"just possible; and yet I fear--" "What do you fear?" asked Caspar. "Do you think they would not be strong enough?" "Strong enough," replied Karl. "That's not what I fear." "The air can't pass through an eel-skin?" "No--not that." "At the seams, perhaps? We can stitch them neatly; and then gum them over at the joinings. I'll warrant Ossaroo can sew like a shoemaker." The shikaree could do all that. Karl knew it. It was not there the difficulty lay. "The weight, then?" pursued Caspar interrogatively. "Precisely that," answered Karl; "I fear they will be too heavy. Bring one, Ossaroo; and let us have a look at it." The shikaree rose from his seat; and going into the hovel, returned presently--bringing back with him a long shrivelled object, which any one could tell to be a dried eel-skin. There were many like it inside: for they had carefully preserved the skins of the eels they had caught, induced to do so by a sort of presentiment, that some day they might find a use for them. In this case their prudent providence was likely to prove of service to them. Karl took the skin; and, holding it out on the palm of his hand, appeared to make an estimate of its weight. Caspar watched his brother's countenance, and waited to hear what he would say; but Karl only expressed himself by a doubtful shake of the head, which seemed to show that his opinion was _against_ the eel-skins. "They might be made much lighter, I fancy," suggested Caspar: "scraping would do a deal for them; and by the way, why would not boiling make them light enough? It would take all the fatty, oily substance out of them." "There's something in what you say," rejoined Karl, apparently impressed by the last suggestion. "Boiling might render them a good deal lighter. We can easily try it." As Karl said this, he proceeded to the boiling spring, and plunged the eel-skin under the water. There it was permitted to remain for about half an hour, when it was taken out; and, after being scraped with the blade of a knife, was spread upon a rock, under the sun, where it would soon get thoroughly dry. They all waited patiently for the completion of this process. The result was of too interesting a character to allow of their occupying themselves with anything else. In due time the eel-skin had become sufficiently dry, to be submitted to examination; and Karl, once more taking it up, balanced it upon his palm. Tested, even in this inexact fashion, it was evidently much lighter than before; and, by the gratified look with which the philosopher regarded it, he appeared to be much better satisfied with its weight. Still, however, he was not sanguine: as his words testified. They were almost a repetition of what he had said before. "It may do--it is just possible. At all events, there can be no harm in trying. Let us try it, then." To say, "Let us try it," meant the same as to say, "Let us make the balloon." The others understood that; and of course acquiesced in the determination. As there was nothing to interfere with the immediate commencement of the work, they resolved to set about it at once; and in fact did set about it without farther delay. The number of eel-skins on hand, though very considerable, would not be near enough for covering a balloon; and therefore Ossaroo went to work with his hooks and lines to catch a few hundreds more. Karl was able to tell how many it would take; or he could at least make an estimate sufficiently exact for the purpose. He designed a balloon of twelve feet diameter: for he knew that one of less size would not have power enough to carry up the weight of a man. Of course, Karl knew how to calculate the surface of a sphere whose diameter should be twelve feet. He had only to multiply the diameter on the circumference; or the square of the diameter on the fixed number 3.1416; or find the convex surface of the circumscribing cylinder; or else find four times the area of a great circle of the said sphere. Any one of these methods would give him the correct result. On making the calculation, he found that a sphere of 12 feet diameter would have a surface of 452 square feet, within a trifling fraction. Therefore 452 square feet of eel-skins would be required to cover it. In other words, that quantity would be required to make the balloon. As the eels happened to be of large size--most of them being over a yard in length, and full four inches in average girth--the skin of one when spread out would yield about a square foot of surface. Taking large and small together--and allowing for waste, the heads and tails that would have to be chopped off--Karl calculated that he would get nearly a square foot each out of the eels; and that about five hundred skins would make the balloon bag. But as they would have to be cut occasionally with a slant, in order to get the globe shape, perhaps a few more would be needed; and therefore Ossaroo was to keep his baits in the water, until the requisite number of eels should be hooked out of it. Ossaroo had another department assigned to him besides catching the fish; and one that took up more of his time: since the baiting of the hooks, and looking after them, required only his occasional attention. Spinning the thread by which the skins were to be sewed together, was a much more delicate operation: since in these both strength and fineness were absolutely necessary. But as Caspar had said, Ossaroo was an adept with the distaff; and several large skeins of the finest twist were soon turned off from his nimble fingers. When enough thread had been thus produced, Ossaroo proceeded to making the cords and stronger ropes, that would be needed for attaching the "boat"--as well as to hold the balloon in its place, while being got ready for its ascent. Caspar's employment was--first, the skinning of the eels; and afterwards the scraping, boiling, and drying of the skins; while Karl, who acted as engineer-in-chief, besides giving a general superintendence to the work, occupied himself in imparting the final dressing to the material, and cutting it into such shapes, that it could be closely and conveniently stitched together. Karl had also made an excursion into the forest, and brought back with him large quantities of a gum, which he had extracted from a tree of the genus _ficus_--a sort of _caoutchouc_--which is yielded by many species of _ficus_ in the forests of the Lower Himalayas. Karl had gone in search of this substance, because he knew it would be required for paying the seams, and rendering them air-tight. When they had pursued their various avocations for about a week, it was thought that material enough of every kind was collected and made ready; and then Ossaroo was set to stitching. Fortunately, they were provided with needles: for these had formed a part of the _accoutrement_ of the plant-hunters--when originally starting upon their expedition. As neither Karl nor Caspar had any experience in handling such sharp tools, the sewing had all to be done by Ossaroo; and it took another full week to accomplish this Sartorean task. At the end of that time, it was fully accomplished and complete; and the huge bag was ready to receive its coat of gum varnish. A day sufficed for "paying;" and nothing more remained but to attach the "boat," or "car," that was to carry them aloft in their daring flight into the "azure fields of air." CHAPTER FIFTY ONE. MAKING READY FOR THE ASCENT. Karl was the only one of the three who knew anything about a balloon, or the mode of inflating it. Had it been their intention of navigating the air, an apparatus would have been required to carry up a fire. This Karl could easily have contrived. A basket of wicker-work, as he had said, well lined with clay, would have answered the purpose after a fashion; but as they did not intend to use the balloon for any purpose beyond making the single ascent to lift them over the cliffs, a continuous fire would not be required. The first inflation would answer that end well enough; and therefore a grate or fire-basket was not thought of. The car to carry the passengers--or boat, as it is sometimes styled: since, for reasons easily understood, it is usually a boat--was quite another affair; and had it been designed for more than a mere temporary use, would have taken a considerable time in the making; but for what they wanted almost anything would serve; and all that they intended employing was a sort of wicker basket, or deep hamper, suspended by stout ropes. This had been already prepared; and only needed to be attached to the bottom of the air-bag. In the present case, the "bottom of the bag" is quite a figure of speech--_lucus a non lucendo_. Strictly speaking, it had no bottom; but, where this should have been, there was a round aperture, formed by a stout hoop of ringall bamboo, to which the skin covering was lashed, and to which, also, the cords intended to sustain the afore-mentioned basket, as also the stay-ropes, were to be attached. The object of this aperture will be easily understood. It was by it that the hot air was to be admitted inside the balloon, for the purpose of inflating it. And how was this hot air to be obtained? That was a question which Karl alone could answer. Of course, fire was to be the agent for producing it: but how was it to be got into the bag? Karl could tell that, and Karl only; and, now that the time had arrived for trying the experiment, he condescended to explain to his coadjutors how he meant to proceed. The bag was to be propped up between tall stakes set in the ground; its bottomless bottom turned towards the earth, so that the aperture would be below. Under this a fire was to be kindled--not, however, until everything else should be ready; and the hot air rising up into the aperture would enter the balloon, and cause it to swell out to its full globular dimensions. More hot air being admitted, the cooler atmosphere within would be expelled, the balloon would become lighter than the surrounding air, and by the simple principle of atmospheric pressure it would ascend into the air. It was expected it would do so--it was hoped it would. To say the truth, the hopes of the engineer were far from being high-- his expectations anything but sanguine. He had observed all along, that, notwithstanding the process employed for lightening the eel-skins, they were still far heavier than silk; and perhaps, after all, the experiment might not succeed. There was another circumstance that had as much _weight_ on the mind of Karl as the eel-skins; and that was quite as likely to have a _bearing_ upon the balloon. He had not overlooked the fact, that the spot, from which they proposed making the ascent, was nearly ten thousand feet above the level of the sea. He knew that the atmosphere in such a situation would be extremely rarefied, and that a balloon, which might easily ascend many thousand feet into the air starting from the level of the sea, would not stir from the ground if carried to the top of a mountain ten thousand feet high. This was the circumstance which preyed upon the spirit of the young philosopher, and hindered him from entertaining any very sanguine hopes of success in the experiment they were making. The philosophical truth had been before his mind from the first, and at times had almost determined him to abandon the project. But as he was not sufficiently acquainted with the laws of aerostation as to be certain of failure, he had worked on with the determination to seek success, though it must be acknowledged with but faint hopes of finding it. Thus stood matters on the morning when it was finally arranged to launch their great aerial ship, and ascertain whether it would swim. All things were made ready at an early hour. The huge bag was set up between the supporting stakes the _car_ was attached to it, as also several ropes to keep the balloon from being carried away; and these were fastened at their other ends to stout pegs, driven firmly into the ground; while a little furnace of stones was built underneath to hold the fire, whose ascending caloric was to expand the balloon, and raise it into the air. The fuel out of which this fire was to be made had been already collected near the spot. It was not wood, nor faggots of any kind; for although these might have served after a fashion, Karl was acquainted with a better material. He remembered that the Montgolfiers, and other early aerostats--previous to the introduction of the inflammable gas-- had used chopped straw and wool, and regarded these materials to be the best substances for inflating their balloons. Karl had adopted their idea; and had provided chopped grass as a substitute for the chopped straw, and in lieu of sheep's wool he had procured a quantity of the _poshm_ of the ibex, and other animals, that had been killed--the rich shawl-wool of Cashmere! The car, which has already been described as a sort of deep hamper, was not over three feet in diameter. It was evidently not equal to the holding of three persons--to say nothing of a large dog--for it is hardly necessary to say that Fritz was not going to be left behind. The faithful creature had too long followed the fortunes of our adventurers to be abandoned by them now. But there was not the slightest danger of that. The dimensions of the car were large enough for what the "vehicle" was intended to carry, which was only _one_. Karl believed that there would be little chance of the balloon having sufficient power to take up all three of them, their united weight being over four hundred pounds. He would be but too contented if one should be carried aloft; and if that one should succeed in effecting a landing on the summit of the cliff, it was of no importance what afterwards became of the aerial ship. Having completed that one voyage, it might make another on its own account--either south to Calcutta or eastward to Hong Kong, if it liked China better. Of course, if any one of them should succeed in surmounting the cliff, it would be an easy matter to get over the mountain; and as they had passed native villages on their way upward, these could be reached in a day or two, and a party of men, with a proper rope-ladder, brought to the rescue of the others. Even had there been no prospect of assistance from any one outside, it would not matter very much. If only one of them could get to the top of the cliffs, they could construct a rope-ladder of themselves--by which the other two would be able to make the ascent. It is hardly necessary to say who was to make the attempt--Ossaroo was to be the aeronaut. Ossaroo had voluntarily offered himself for this perilous performance; and his offer had been accepted. Not that either of the others were at all afraid to have run the risk. It was from no desire to shirk the danger that they had appointed Ossaroo to undertake it; but simply because, once outside, the shikaree would be far better able to find his way down the mountains: and in his native language could readily communicate with the villagers, and give a correct account of their situation. CHAPTER FIFTY TWO. INFLATION AND FAILURE. At length arrived the hour for making that important experiment--as to whether their aerial ship would prove herself air-worthy. All three stood around the spot where the chopped grass and shawl-wool were to be set on fire. This fuel itself appeared underneath--in a little heap lightly laid, and ready for the touch of the tinder. Karl had a piece of blazing torch in his hand; Caspar held one of the stay-ropes, to prevent the balloon from rising too rapidly; while Ossaroo, equipped as if for a journey, stood by the hamper, in readiness, when the proper time should arrive, to "pack" himself into it. Alas! for the frailty of all human foresight! The most careful calculations often prove erroneous--not that in the present instance there was any unforeseen error: for from the very first, Karl had been distrustful of his data; and they were now to disappoint, rather than deceive him. It was not written in the book of destiny that Ossaroo should ever set foot in that wicker car or ever make an ascent by that balloon. The torch was applied to the chopped grass and shawl-wool. Both blazed and smoked, and smouldered; and, more being thrown on, the blaze was kept up continuously. The heated air ascended through the aperture, causing the great sphere of stitched skins to swell out to its full dimensions. It trembled and rocked from side to side, like some huge monster in pain. It rose to the height of a few inches from the ground, sank, and then rose again, sank once more, and so kept on rising and sinking and bobbing about, but alas! never exhibiting sufficient ascending power, to raise the hamper even as high as their heads! Karl continued to feed the furnace with the chopped grass and poshm, but all to no purpose. The air within was sufficiently heated to have raised it for miles--had they only been as low as the sea-level, and the balloon constructed of lighter materials. As it was, all their efforts were in vain. The gigantic globe could not be raised above six feet from the ground. It had not power enough to carry up a cat--much less a man. In short, it was a failure--one more added to the long list of their dark disappointments! For more than an hour Karl continued to keep his fire ablaze. He even tried faggots of the resinous pine: in hopes that by obtaining a greater strength of caloric he might still succeed in causing the balloon to soar upward; but there was no perceptible difference in the effect. It bobbed about as before, but still obstinately refused to ascend. At length, with patience exhausted and hopes completely crushed, the engineer turned away from the machine which he had taken so much pains in constructing. For a moment he stood irresolute. Then heaving a sigh at the recollection of his wasted labour, with sad, slow step he departed from the spot. Caspar soon followed him--fully participating in the feeling of grievous disappointment. Ossaroo took leave of the inflated monster in a different fashion. Drawing near to it, he stood for some seconds contemplating it in silence--as if reflecting on the vast amount of seam he had stitched to no purpose. Then uttering a native ejaculation, coupled with a phrase that meant to say, "No good either for the earth, the water, or the air," he raised his foot, kicked the balloon in the side--with such violence that the toe of his sandals burst a hole in the distended eel-skins; and, turning scornfully away, left the worthless machine to take care of itself. This task, however, it proved ill adapted to accomplish: for the disappointed aeronauts had not been gone many minutes from the ground, when the heated air inside, which had for some time been gradually growing cooler, reached at length so low a temperature, that the great sphere began to collapse and settle down upon the embers of the pine faggots still glowing red underneath. The consequence was that the inflammable skins, cords, and woodwork coming in contact with the fire, began to burn like so much tinder. The flames ran upward, licking the oily eel-skins like the tongues of fiery serpents; and when the _ci-devant_ aeronauts looked back from the door of their hut, they perceived that the balloon was ablaze! Had the accident occurred two hours before, they would have looked upon it as the saddest of calamities. Now, however, they stood regarding the burning of that abandoned balloon, with as much indifference as is said to have been exhibited by Nero, while contemplating the conflagration of the seven-hilled city! CHAPTER FIFTY THREE. ANOTHER SPELL OF DESPAIR. Never, during all the days of their sojourn in that "Valley of Despond," did our adventurers feel more despondence, than on the afternoon that succeeded the bursting of their great air-bubble--the balloon. They felt that in this effort, they had exhausted all their ingenuity; and so firmly were they convinced of its being the last, that no one thought about making another. The spirits of all three were prostrate in the dust, and seemed at length to have surrendered to despair. Of course, it was not that sort of despair which takes possession of one conscious of coming and certain death. It was far from being so dire as this; but for all it was a bitter feeling. They knew they could continue to live, perhaps as long there, as elsewhere upon the earth; but what would life be worth to them, cut off from all communication with the world?--for now, to the fulness of conviction, did they believe themselves thus isolated. In disposition not one of the three had the slightest particle of the hermit. Not one of them, but would have shuddered at the thought of becoming a Simon Stylites. You might suppose that, with books and Nature to study, Karl could have made shift. True, with such companions he might have lived a less irksome life than either of the others; but even with these to occupy him, it is doubtful whether Karl could have passed the time; for it is not very certain, that a man--knowing himself alone in the world, and for ever to be alone--would care either for the books of men or the book of Nature. As for Caspar, the thought that their lonely existence was to be perpetual, was enough at times to send the blood rushing coldly through his veins. The Hindoo felt the affliction as much as either of his companions in misfortune; and sighed as much for his bamboo hut on the hot plains of Hindostan, as they for their home in the far fatherland of Bavaria. It is true their situation was not so bad as if each had been left alone by himself. Many a poor castaway upon a desert island has been condemned to a far more unhappy fate. They knew and acknowledged this. Each had the other two for companions; but as they reflected thus, they could not hinder their thoughts from casting forward into the future-- perhaps not distant--when one of them might leave that valley without the aid of either rope-ladders or balloons; and then another--leaving the last of the three lonely and forlorn! With such sad reflections did they pass the evening of that day, and the morning and evening of that which followed. They took no heed of time; and could scarce summon sufficient energy to cook their frugal meals. The spirit to plan, and the energy to act, seemed both to have departed from them at once and for ever. This state of things could not long continue. As already said, the soul of man holds within itself a power of resuscitation. So long as it continues to live, it may hope to recover from the heaviest blow. Broken hearts are more apparent than real; and even those that are worst shattered have their intervals in which they are restored to a perfect soundness. The slave in his chains, the prisoner within his dark dungeon, the castaway on his desert isle, all have their hours of joy-- perhaps as vivid and lasting as those of the king upon his throne, or the conqueror in his car of triumph. On earth there is no happiness unmingled with alloy; and, perhaps, there is no sorrow that may not in time find solace. On the second clay succeeding their last great disappointment, the spirits of all three began to revive; and those natural wants--which, whether we will or not, force themselves upon our attention--commenced to claim their consideration. Karl was the first to recognise these necessities. If they were to live there for life, he reasoned,--and this seemed no longer a doubtful supposition,--it would be of no use, giving way to despondency--moping out their days like mutes at a funeral. Better far to lead an active life; and live well too--by providing plenty to eat and plenty to drink--which with industry they could easily do. All this might not make them cheerful; but they would certainly be less a prey to melancholy while engaged in some active industry, than if they remained brooding over their fate. These thoughts, as we have said, arose on the morning of the second day succeeding that on which the balloon had been abandoned. Karl gave words to them, in an attempt to cheer his brother Caspar--who had relapsed into a state of unusual despondency. Ossaroo equally required cheering; and therefore it devolved on the botanist to attempt enlivening the spirits of his companions. For a time, he met with very slight success; but gradually the necessity of action forced itself upon the attention of all--if only to provide the means to keep them from starving; and without further loss of time, they resumed the various branches of industry, by which they had hitherto been enabled to supply their larder. To Caspar, as before, the chase was entrusted; while Ossaroo attended to the fishing; as he, better than either of the others, understood the management of hooks, lines, and nets. The botanist busied himself in the old way, exploring the valley, in search of such seeds, plants, and roots, as might be found wholesome for food--not neglecting others of a medicinal character, that might serve in case of sickness. Many such had the young plant-hunter encountered during his early researches; and had made note of them against the possibility of their being required. Fortunately, up to that time there had been no real need for any of the party to make trial of the natural _Pharmacopoeia_ which the valley afforded: and it was to be hoped they should never have occasion to test the virtues of the specifics which the plant-hunter had discovered. Karl nevertheless collected several kinds; and, after submitting them to a process necessary for their preservation, had stored them away within the hut. Of those vegetable products adapted for food, the chief article obtained was the nutritive seed yielded by the edible pine (_Pinus Gerardiana_). The cones of this valuable tree were as large as artichokes; each yielding several seeds of the size and appearance of pistachio nuts. The wild cockscomb (_Amaranthus Cruentus_) also furnished a portion of their supply. Its seeds when parched, and crushed between two stones, produced a kind of meal, of which cakes of bread were manufactured by Ossaroo. These, although very far inferior to the real home-bake, or even to the most ordinary production of the bakehouse, were nevertheless sufficiently palatable to those who had no other bread. The lake, besides yielding fish to the nets of Ossaroo, also afforded a supply of vegetables. On searching it, the botanist discovered several edible kinds of plants; among others the curious _Trapa bicornis_, or horned water-nut--known among the natives of the Himalayan countries by the name _Singara_, and much used by them as an article of wholesome food. There was also a splendid water-lily--with very broad leaves and large flowers of pink and white colour--the seeds and the stalks of which Karl knew to be edible; as he had read of their being used for this purpose by the poorer people in the country of Cashmeer. The lily in question, viz. the _Nelumbium speciosum_, grows plentifully in the lakes of the far-famed valley so named. On first observing this beautiful plant growing luxuriantly, as it was, in their own little valley lake, Karl took occasion to inform his brother--Ossaroo at the same time listening attentively to his statement--of the various uses made of it by the inhabitants of Cashmeer. How the boys sailing about in their boats when the day chances to be very hot, are in the habit of plucking one of its large shining leaves out of the water, and spreading it over their crowns, to protect them from the fervid rays of the sun; and how the petiole of the leaf, being hollow inside, serves them as a tube for drinking out of. Many such interesting particulars, in regard to the economy of this fine aquatic plant, did the young botanist communicate to his companions; but none more interesting than the fact that both its seeds and stalks are edible: since this promised them additional security against the danger of running short in their supply of vegetable food. CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR. THE BEAN OF PYTHAGORAS. The discovery of the water-lily was not a thing of recent occurrence. They had known of its existence before; and more than once had visited the little embayment in the lake, where it chiefly grew. In fact, it had attracted their attention a few days after their first arrival in the valley--not by its own conspicuousness, for its broad round leaves, spread horizontally upon the surface, could scarce be seen from the shore. Only when its beautiful pink-white flowers were in bloom, could it be observed at any great distance. That which had first led them to approach the place where it grew, and examine the plant, was their having noticed a singular phenomenon connected with it; and which for awhile had puzzled all three of them to explain. The _bed_ of lilies, at that time in full bloom, was visible from the place where they had originally made their encampment; and every morning, just after daybreak, and sometimes also during the day, they were in the habit of seeing some birds disporting themselves near that place in a singular manner--very singular indeed: since these birds appeared to _walk upon the water_! They were tall, long-legged, slender-bodied creatures, and easily distinguished by both Karl and Caspar, as belonging to the family of _rallidae_ or water-hens. There could be no doubt that they were walking on the water--sometimes slowly, at other times in a quick run--and, what was even more unaccountable than this, they were seen at times to _stand still upon the water_! Ay, and, what might be considered more surprising still, they performed this aquatic feat _upon only one leg_! The thing might have been more mysterious, had not Karl from the first suspected the reason why the laws of specific gravity appeared to be thus contradicted. He suspected the existence of some plant, whose leaves, lying spread on the surface, perhaps offered a footing for the birds, sufficiently firm to support the weight of their bodies. The botanist was only reasoning from remembrance. He had lately read the account published but a few years before of the discovery of the gigantic water-lily of tropical America--the _Victoria Regia_--and remembered how its discoverers had spoken of large birds of the crane family making their perch upon its huge leaves, and thus supported, playing about over the surface of the water, as if the firm earth had been under their feet. With these facts fresh in his memory, Karl conjectured that the water-hens seen by him and his companions were supported on a similar pedestal, and playing themselves on a like platform. His conjecture proved correct: for on visiting the place shortly after, the broad orbicular leaves of the _Nelumbium speciosum_ were perceived--almost as large as those of their South American congener. Other interesting points relating to the great lily growing in the Himalayan lake, Karl had mentioned from time to time to his companions: for he knew that the _Nelumbium speciosum_ was the celebrated Pythagorean bean mentioned in the writings of the Greeks--more especially by Herodotus and Theophrastes. It is described by these writers as growing plentifully in Egypt; and no doubt was cultivated in that country in their day; though it is not known there at the present time. It is found represented on the Egyptian sculptures, and so accurately has it been described by the Greek writers, as to leave no doubt as to the identification of the species. It is one of the plants supposed to be the celebrated "lotus" of antiquity; and this supposition is probable enough: since not only its succulent stalk, but its seeds or "beans," have been eaten in all times by the people in whose country it grows. It is a food that produces a strengthening effect upon the system; and is also very refreshing in cases of thirst. The Chinese call it "Lienwha," and its seeds with thin slices of its root, mixed with the kernels of apricots and walnuts, and placed between alternate layers of ice, constituted one of the select dishes offered by the great mandarins to the British ambassadors on the visit of the latter to the Celestial Empire. These people store up the roots of the lienwha for winter use-- preserving them in a pickle of salt and vinegar. The Japanese also make use of the plant as an esculent; and it is, moreover, regarded by them as sacred to their divinities--the images of which are often represented seated upon its large leaves. The flowers of the _Nelumbium speciosum_ when in full bloom, give out a most fragrant odour--somewhat resembling that of anise; while the seeds, shaped like acorns, have a flavour equal in richness and delicacy to that of the finest almonds. CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE. AN AQUATIC HARVEST. It was not upon that occasion that Karl communicated to his companions all these interesting facts in relation to the great lily. Many of them he had made known long before--especially that the seeds of the plant were eatable; and both Caspar and Ossaroo had often proved to their own satisfaction that they were something more than eatable--in short, a great delicacy. It was from a knowledge of this fact that the thoughts of all three were now turned upon the lilies--whose huge roseate corollas, no longer seen glistening above the surface of the water, proclaimed that the "beans" were ripe, and ready for "shelling." The three were about starting from the hut to reap this aquatic harvest--which, judging from the quantity of seed-pods that appeared above the surface, promised to be abundant. Each had provided himself with a rush basket--which the shikaree had woven, during the long winter nights, for other purposes; but as they were of just the size and shape to hold the Pythagorean beans they were now to be employed in that capacity. Both Karl and Caspar had rolled up their trowsers to mid-thigh; so as not to wet them while wading among the lilies; but Ossaroo, not being provided with any nether garment entitled to the name of trowsers, had simply tucked up the skirt of his cotton tunic, making it fast under his girdle. In this guise all three proceeded round the shore of the lake, to that side where they would be nearest the bed of lilies. The water-hens, seeing them make their approach, rose from their perch upon the leaves, and fluttered off to seek a more secure shelter among the sedge. The aquatic gleaners at once waded in; and commenced picking off the pods, and shelling them into their rush baskets. They had been there before, and knew there was no danger in the depth of the water. They had nearly filled their respective sacks with the Pythagorean beans, and were meditating a return to dry land, when a dark shadow passing over the tranquil surface of the lake--closely followed by another of similar size and shape--attracted their attention. All three saw the shadows at the same instant of time; and all simultaneously looked up to ascertain what sort of creatures were casting them. In the sky above they beheld a spectacle, calculated to inspire them with feelings of a strange interest. Right above the lake, and also over their heads, a brace of large birds was circling in the air. Each was borne up by a pair of huge wings full five yards from tip to tip; while from the body, between, a neck of enormous length was extended horizontally--prolonged into a tapering-pointed beak, in shape like the seed-pistil of a pelargonium. Their beaks might well have been compared to the pistil of a pelargonium; or rather the latter should be assimilated to them; since it is from this species of birds, the flower has derived its botanical cognomen. The birds were _storks_. Not the ordinary _Ciconia_, that makes its home among the Hollanders--or finds a still more welcome hospitality on the roof-tree of the Hungarian by the plains of the _Puszta_--but a stork of far grander dimensions; in short, a stork that is the _tallest_ of his tribe--the _Adjutant_. On looking up, Karl recognised the species; so did Caspar, and at a glance. It required no lengthened scrutiny--no profound knowledge of natural history, to identify the noted _adjutant_. It only needed to have seen him before either in _propria persona_, or in a picture; but both brothers had seen specimens of the bird, in full flesh and feather, on the plains of India--in the environs of Calcutta itself. As to the shikaree, was it likely he should be mistaken about the character of those winged giants--those tall scavengers he had seen thousands of times stalking pompously along the sandy shores of the sacred Ganges? It was not possible for him, to have a doubt about the identity of the birds, who were now throwing their shadows over that lone lake of the Himalayas. He had no doubt. The very certainty that the birds above him were the gigantic cranes of the Ganges--the sacred birds of Brahma--caused him to utter a sort of frenzied shout, and at the same time, dropping his "sack of beans" into the water! He needed not to look at the colour of the birds, to note that they were brown black above, and white underneath. The naked vulture neck with its pouch-like appendage of brick-red hue; the silken feathers of bluish white under the tail--those precious plumes well-known and worn by the ladies of many lands under the appellation of _marabout feathers_--all were recognised at a glance. Even quicker than either of his youthful comrades had the Hindoo identified the birds. A single glance sufficed, and simultaneously with that glance had the cry fallen from his lips, and the sack of Pythagorean beans from his grasp. The birds were flying slowly, and to all appearance _laboriously_: as if wearied of wing. They appeared to be in search of some roost on which to repose themselves. That they had entered the valley with this intention was made evident a few moments after: for having made a circuit round the little lake, both at the same instant ceased to ply their long pinions, and drawing their wings suddenly in to their bodies, they settled down upon the shore. The spot upon which they had chosen to alight was the prominence terminating a little peninsula that protruded out almost to the bed of lilies, and from which the three waders had themselves descended into the water. As the latter now stood knee-deep among the aquatic plants, they were distant not more than twenty paces from the point of this peninsula. The storks, after alighting, stood upon the shore in erect attitudes-- apparently as unconcerned about the presence of our three adventurers, as if the latter were only overgrown stalks of the Pythagorean bean-- utterly incapable of doing them an injury. CHAPTER FIFTY SIX. THE ADJUTANTS. The brace of gigantic birds, that had thus alighted by the shore of the little lake, were, to say the least, uncouth creatures; for the whole ornithological world might be ransacked without finding a greater oddity than the _adjutant_. In the first place, it stands six feet upon its long, straight shanks; though its actual length, measuring from the tip of its bill to the termination of its claws, is full seven and a half. The beak, of itself, is over a foot in length, several inches in thickness, with a gibbous enlargement near the middle, and having both mandibles slightly curved downwards. The spread of a full-grown adjutant's wing is fifteen feet, or five yards, from tip to tip--quite equalling in extent either that of the Chilian condor or the "wandering" albatross. In colour the adjutant may be described as black above and white underneath, neither [that] being very pure. The upper plumage is a dirty brownish black; while the belly and under parts present a dull white appearance,--partly from an admixture of greyish feathers, but also from the circumstance that the bird is usually bedaubed with dirt-- as mud from the marshes, where it feeds, and other filth, in which it seems to take delight. But for this foulness, the legs of the adjutant would be of a dark colour; but in the living bird they are never seen of the natural hue--being always whitened by the dust shaken out of its plumage, and other excrement that attaches itself to the skin. The tail is black above and white underneath--more especially the under coverts, which are of a pure white. These last are the plumes so highly prized under the name of "marabout feathers," an erroneous title, arising through a mistake--made by the naturalist Temminck in comparing the Indian adjutant with another and very different species of the same genus--the marabout stork of Africa. One of the distinctive characteristics of the adjutant, or "argala," as it is better known to the Indians,--and one, too, of its ugliest "features,"--is a naked neck of a flesh-red colour the skin shrivelled, corrugated, and covered with brownish hairs. These "bristles" are more thickly set in young birds, but become thinner with age, until they almost totally disappear--leaving both head and neck quite naked. This peculiarity causes a resemblance between the adjutant bird and the vultures; but indeed there are many other points of similarity; and the stork may in all respects be regarded as a vulture--the vulture of the _grallatores_, or waders. In addition to the naked neck, the adjutant is furnished with an immense dew-lap, or pouch which hangs down upon its breast--often more than a foot in length, and changing from pale flesh colour to bright red, along with the skin of the throat. At the back of the neck is found still another singular apparatus--the use of which has not been determined by the naturalist. It is a sort of vesicular appendage, capable of being inflated with air; and supposed to serve as an atmospheric buoy to assist in sustaining the bird in its flight. The inflation has been observed to take place under exposure to a hot sun; and, therefore, it is natural to infer, that the rarefaction of the air has something to do in causing [the bird to use this organ]. As the adjutant often flies to a great height, it is possible that this balloon-like apparatus is necessary to sustaining it in the rarefied atmosphere found at such an elevation. The annual migration of the bird over the lofty chain of the Himalayas might not be possible, or if possible, more difficult, without this power of decreasing the specific gravity of its body. It is scarce necessary to say that the adjutant--like all birds of the family to which it belongs--is a filthy and voracious feeder; carnivorous in the highest degree; and preferring carrion and garbage to any other sort of food. It will kill and swallow live kind--such as frogs, snakes, small quadrupeds, and birds--the latter not so very small either: since it has been known to bolt a whole fowl at a single "swallow." Even a cat or a hare can be accommodated with a passage down its capacious gullet; but it will not attempt to kill either one or the other: since, notwithstanding its gigantic size, it is one of the veriest cowards in creation. A child, with a bit of a switch, can at any time chase the adjutant away; and an enraged hen will put it to flight whenever it strays into the neighbourhood of her young brood. It does not retreat, without first making a show of defiance--by placing itself in a threatening attitude--with reddened throat, and beak wide agape, from which latter proceeds a loud roaring, like that of a bear or tiger. All this, however, is mere braggadocio; for, on the enemy continuing the attack, it immediately cools down, and betakes itself to ignominious flight. Such are a few peculiarities of the gigantic stork, known as the _adjutant_ or _argala_. It only remains to be added, that there are at least two, perhaps three, other species of storks of very large dimensions--though not so large as this one--that for a long time have been confounded with it. One of these is the _marabou_; which inhabits the tropical regions of Africa, and which also produces the plumes so much prized in the world of fashion. The feathers of the African species, however, are far less beautiful and valuable than those from the tail of the adjutant; and it is these last that are really best known as _marabout feathers_, in consequence of the mistake made by Temminck, and propagated by the anatomist Cuvier. Another great stork--differing both from the _argala_ of Asia and the _marabou_ of Africa--inhabits the Island of Sumatra. It is known to the natives as the "Boorong Cambay;" while in the neighbouring Island of Java is found either a fourth species of these gigantic birds, or the same that belongs to Sumatra. It is somewhat singular that such creatures should have remained so long unknown to the scientific world. It is not much more than half a century since travellers began to describe them with any degree of exactness; and even at the present time their history and habits have received but very slight elucidation. This is the more surprising when we consider that on the banks of the Ganges--even in Calcutta itself-- the adjutant is one of the most common birds--constantly stalking about the houses, and entering the enclosures with as much familiarity, as if it was one of the regular _domestics_ of the establishment! Its services as a "scavenger" procure for it an immunity from persecution; and it is not only tolerated by the people, but encouraged, in its advances towards fellowship with them; notwithstanding that at times it becomes rather troublesome in its attentions to the young ducklings, chicklings, and other denizens of the farmyard. Sometimes they are not even contented with such fare as may be found outside; but have been known to enter the bungalow; snatch a smoking joint from the table; and swallow it, before either master or servant could rescue the dainty morsel from between their long and tenacious mandibles! When seen in flocks, wading through the water,--with wings outstretched, as is their custom,--they may be taken for a fleet of small boats. At other times, when stalking about over the sandy shores; and picking up the _debris_ strewed along the banks of the sacred river; they resemble a crowd of native women engaged in the like occupation. Ofttimes may they be seen feeding voraciously upon the filthiest carrion of animals; and not unfrequently upon a human body in a state of putrefaction--the corpse of some deluded victim to the superstition of Juggernaut--which has been thrown into the so-styled _sacred_ river, to be washed back on the beach, an object of contention between _pariah_ dogs, vultures, and these gigantic cranes of the Ganges! CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN. The standing sleepers. The advent of the adjutants produced a vivid impression on the minds of all three of our adventurers--more vivid, perhaps, upon Ossaroo than either of the others. To him they seemed like old friends who had come to visit him in his prison; and though it never occurred to the shikaree, that they could be in any way instrumental in obtaining his release, still the impression produced was one of a pleasant nature. He saw before him two creatures whose forms, however uncouth, were associated with the scenes of his earliest childhood; and he could not help a passing fancy, that the pair, that had thus unexpectedly made their appearance, might be the same old cock and hen he had so often seen roosted on the branches of a huge banyan tree, that overshadowed the bungalow in which he was born. Of course this could be only fancy on the part of Ossaroo. Out of the thousands of storks, that annually make their migration from the plains of Hindostan to the northward of the Himalaya Mountains, it would have been a rare coincidence if the two that for years had performed the office of scavengers in the shikaree's native village, should be identical with those now hovering above his head--for it was while they were yet upon the wing that Ossaroo had indulged in this pleasant speculation. Though scarce serious in his thought--and only entertaining it for an instant--he was nevertheless gratified by the sight of the two storks, for he knew they must have come from his native plains--from the banks of that glorious river in whose waters he longed once more to wet his feet. The sight of the huge birds suggested to Caspar a different train of thought. As he beheld their immense wings, extended in slow but easy flight, it occurred to him that one or other of the great creatures might have the power to perform that task which had proved too much for the bearcoot; and for which the "kite" had been "flyed" in vain. "Oh!" exclaimed he, as the idea came across his mind, "don't you think, Karl, that either of those great creatures would be strong enough to carry the line aloft? They look as if they could lift even one of ourselves to the top of the cliff." Karl made no reply; though his silence was only caused by Caspar's suggestion--which he was proceeding to ponder upon. The young hunter continued: "If we could only catch one of them alive! Do you suppose they are going to alight? They look as if they would. What do _you_ say, Ossaroo? You know more of these birds than we do." "Yees, youngee Sahib; ee speakee de true. Dey go for come down. You savey dey make long fly. Dey both weary on de wing--no able fly furder. 'Sides, ee see, here am de lake--water--dey want drinkee--want eat too. Dey sure come down." Ossaroo's prediction was fulfilled, almost as soon as it was uttered. The birds, first one and then the other, jerked in their spread wings; and dropped down upon the shore of the lake--as already stated, not over twenty paces from the spot where the three waders were occupied among the leaves of the lilies. The eyes of all three were now directed with a fixed gaze upon the new-comers,--in whose behaviour they observed something irresistibly ludicrous. Almost on the instant of their feet touching _terra firma_, instead of moving about over the ground in search of food, or striding down towards the water to drink--as the spectators were expecting them to do--the two long-legged bipeds acted in an entirely different manner. Neither of them seemed to care either for food or drink. If they did, both these appetites must have been secondary with them to the desire for rest; for scarce ten seconds had elapsed after their alighting, when each drew in its long neck, burying it between the shoulders as in a case, leaving visible only the upper half of the head, with its huge scythe-shaped beak--the mandibles resting against the prominence of the breast bone, and pointing diagonally downwards. Simultaneous with this movement, the spectators perceived another-- equally indicative of a desire on the part of the birds to betake themselves to repose. This was the drawing up of one of their long fleshless legs, until it was entirely concealed under the loose feathers of the belly--a movement made by both so exactly at the same instant, as to lead to the belief that they were actuated by like impulses, by some spiritual union that existed between them! In ten seconds more both birds appeared to be asleep. At all events, their eyes were closed; and not a movement could be detected in the limbs, wings, bodies, or beaks of either! It was certainly a ludicrous sight to see these huge creatures--each supporting itself on a single stalk, so straight and slender that nothing but the nicest balance could have ensured their equilibrium; and this, too, while neither seemed conscious of any danger of toppling over--of which, indeed, there was not the slightest reason to be afraid. The Hindoo had been too long accustomed to this sort of spectacle, to see anything in it worthy of being laughed at. Not so Caspar--whose mirth was at once excited to the point of risibility. The unconcerned manner in which the storks had come to a stand--along with the picturesque _pose_ in which they had composed themselves to sleep--was even too much for the stoical Karl; who at once echoed the laughter which his brother had inaugurated. Their united cachinnations rang loudly over the lake--reverberating in repeated peals from the adjacent cliffs. It might be supposed that the _fracas_ thus created would have alarmed the new arrivals: and caused them once more to make an appeal to their wings. Nothing of the sort. The only effect perceptible on either, was the opening of their eyes, a slight protrusion of the neck, a shake of the head, an upraising of the long beak, with a quick clattering of its mandibles--which soon becoming closed again, were permitted to drop into their original position of repose. This cool behaviour of the birds only increased the hilarity of the boys; and for several minutes they remained in their places, giving way to loud and uncontrollable laughter. CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT. FRITZ AMONG THE FEATHERS. Their hilarity could not be continued for ever. Even that of Caspar came to a termination; though not until his ribs ached with the agreeable exercise. As their bean-sacks had been already filled, it was determined that they should first take them to the hut, and then return to the storks with the design of capturing them. Ossaroo was of the opinion, that they would have no difficulty in effecting this; declaring the birds to be so tame, that he might walk straight up to them, and throw a noose over their necks. This, in all probability, he might have done, had he been provided with a piece of cord proper for the making of such a noose. But there was no cord at hand--not even a bit of string--nothing but the rush baskets filled with the lotus beans. To obtain a snare, it would be necessary to make a journey to the hut. In the minds of our adventurers there was no very clear conception of the object of capturing the storks: unless it might have been that the thought, to which Caspar had given speech, was still entertained by himself and his brother. That indeed would have justified them in their attempt to take the birds. Another idea may have suggested itself--more especially to Ossaroo. If nothing else should come of it, there would be some pleasure in holding the birds in captivity--as pets and companions. Ossaroo had been involuntarily contemplating the prospect of a long lonely life in the solitude of that mountain valley. With such a prospect even the solemn stork might be regarded as a cheerful companion. Stimulated by these thoughts--and some others of a more indefinite kind--our adventurers came to the determination to ensnare the _adjutants_! All three commenced wading out of the lake--in a direction so as not to disturb the sleepers. Karl and Caspar--now that they had become inspired with a design--lifted their feet out of the water, and set them down again, as though they ere treading upon egg. Ossaroo sneered at their over-caution--telling them, that there was not the slightest fear of frightening the storks; and indeed there was truth in what he affirmed. In most countries bordering upon the banks of the Ganges, these birds, protected alike by superstitious fears and edicts of law, have become so used to the proximity of man, that they will scarce stir out of their way to avoid him. It was possible that the brace in question might have belonged to some of the wilder flocks--inhabiting the swamps of the Sunderbunds--and therefore less accustomed to human society. In that case there might be some difficulty in approaching them; and it was for this reason that Ossaroo had consented to adopt the precautions for their capture which Karl had insisted should be taken. The truth is, that Karl had conceived a deeper design than either of his companions. It had occurred to him--while engaged with his brother in that laughing duetto--and somewhat to the surprise of Caspar, it had caused a sudden cessation of his mirth, or at least the noisy ebullition of it. The philosopher had become silent and serious; as if the thought had suddenly arisen, that hilarity under the circumstances was indecorous and out of place. From that moment Karl had preserved a mysterious silence--even refusing to explain it when interrogated by Caspar. He was only silent on this one theme. Otherwise his speech flowed freely enough--in counsel to his companions--charging both to adopt every precaution for ensuring the capture of the storks--and with an eagerness, which puzzled them to comprehend. A few minutes' walk brought them back to the hut. It was rather a run than a walk--Karl going in the lead, and arriving before either of the others. The bean-sacks were flung upon the floor--as if they had been empty and of no value--and then the strings and lines that had been spun by Ossaroo were pulled out of their hidden places, and submitted to inspection. It did not take long to make a running noose, which was accomplished by the nimble fingers of the shikaree. Easily also was it attached to the end of a long stem of the ringall bamboo; and thus provided, our adventurers once more sallied forth from the hut; and made their way towards the sleeping storks. As they drew near, they were gratified at perceiving the birds still in the enjoyment of their meridian slumber. No doubt they had made a long journey, and needed rest. Their wings hung drooping by their sides, proclaiming weariness. Perhaps they were dreaming--dreaming of a roost on some tall fig-tree, or the tower of an antique temple sacred to the worship of Buddha, Vishna, or Deva--dreaming of the great Ganges, and its odorous waifs--those savoury morsels of putrefying flesh, in which they delighted to dig their huge mattocks of mandibles. Ossaroo being entrusted with the noose, did not pause to think, about what they might be dreaming; or whether they were dreaming at all. Enough for him to perceive that they were sleeping; and, gliding forward in a bent attitude, silent as a tiger threading his native jungle, the shikaree succeeded in making approach--until he had got almost within _snaring distance_ of the unconscious adjutants. There is many a slip between the cup and the lip. The old saw was illustrated in the case of the shikaree while endeavouring to ensnare the storks; though it was not the snare, but the birds that now illustrated the adage. After the attempt had been made, the snare could be still seen in its place, stiffly projecting from the point of the long bamboo rod; while the adjutants were soaring in the air, mounting still higher upward, their slender necks outstretched, their beaks cracking like castanets, and their throats emitting an angry sound like the roaring of a brace of lions. The failure was not to be attributed to Ossaroo; but to the imprudence of one of his companions--an individual of the party close treading upon his heels. That individual was _Fritz_! Just as Ossaroo was about casting his loop over the shoulders of a sleeping adjutant, Fritz--who had followed the party from the hut--now for the first time perceiving the birds, rushed forward and seized the tail of one of them between his teeth. Then, as if determined on securing the beautiful _marabout feathers_, he pulled a large mouthful of them clean out by the roots. This was not exactly the motive that impelled Fritz to make such an unexpected attack--unexpected, because the well-trained animal would have known better than to fright the game which his masters were in the act of stalking; and such imprudence had never before been displayed by him. It was the particular kind of game that had provoked Fritz to act contrary to his usual habit of caution; for of all the creatures which he had encountered, since his arrival in the counted there, was none that had inspired him with a more profound feeling of hostility than these same adjutants. During Fritz's sojourn in the Botanic Gardens of Calcutta--where his masters, it will be remembered, were for some time entertained as guests--Fritz had often come in contact with a brace of these gigantic birds, that were also guests of that justly celebrated establishment: they habitually made their stay within the enclosure, where they were permitted to stalk about unmolested, and pick up such stray scraps as were cast out by the domestics of the _curator's_ mansion. These birds had grown so tame, as to take food freely out of the hand of anyone who offered it to them; and with like freedom, to take it where it was not offered, but found within reach of their long prehensile beaks. Often had they pilfered provisions to which they were anything but welcome; and, among other acts of their rapacity, there was one of which Fritz had been an interested spectator, and for which he was not likely ever to forgive them. That was, their robbing him of a dainty piece of meat, which one of the cooks had presented to Fritz himself; and upon which he had been going to make his dinner. One of the birds had the audacity to seize the meat in its mandibles, jerk it out of the dog's very teeth, and swallow it, before the latter had time to offer either interruption or remonstrance. The consequence was, that, from that time, Fritz had conceived a most rancorous antipathy towards all birds of the genus _Ciconia_--and the species _Argala_ in particular; and this it was that impelled him, on first perceiving the adjutant--for being by the hut on their arrival he had not seen them before,--to rush open-mouthed towards them, and seize the tail of one of them between his teeth. It is not necessary to add that the bird, thus indecorously assailed, took to instant flight, followed by its more fortunate though not less frightened mate--leaving Fritz in a temper to treat Marabout feathers as they had never been treated before--even when by the hands of some scorned and jealous vixen they may have been torn from the turban of some hated rival! CHAPTER FIFTY NINE. CAPTURING THE STORKS. Our adventurers witnessed the uprising of the birds with looks that betokened disappointment and displeasure; and Fritz was in danger of getting severely castigated. He merited chastisement; and would have received it on the instant--for Caspar already stood over him with an upraised rod--when an exclamation from Karl caused the young hunter to hold his hand, and saved Fritz from the "hiding" with which he was being threatened. It was not for this that Karl had called out. The exclamation that escaped him was of a different import--so peculiarly intoned as at once to draw Caspar's attention from the culprit, and fix it on his brother. Karl was standing with eyes upraised and gazing fixedly upon the retreating stork--that one with whose tail Fritz had taken such an unwarrantable liberty. It was not the ragged Marabout feathers, hanging half plucked from the posterior of the stork, upon which Karl was gazing; but its long legs, that, as the bird rose in its hurried flight, hung, slantingly downward, extending far beyond the tip of its tail. Not exactly these either was it that had called forth that strange cry; but something attached to them--or one of them at least--which, as it came under the shining rays of the sun, gleamed in the eyes of Karl with a metallic lustre. It had a yellowish sheen--like gold or burnished brass--but the scintillation of the sun's rays, as they glanced from its surface, hindered the spectators from making out its shape, or being able to say exactly what it was. It was only Caspar and Ossaroo who were thus perplexed. Karl knew that glittering meteor, that for a moment had flashed before his eyes like a beam of hope--now slowly but surely departing from him, and plunging him back into the old misery. "Oh! brother!" he exclaimed, as the stork flew upward, "what a misfortune has happened!" "Misfortune! what mean you, Karl?" "Ah! you know not how near we were to a chance of being delivered. Alas! alas! it is going to escape us!" "The birds have escaped us, you mean?" inquired Caspar. "What of that? I don't believe they could have carried up the rope anyhow; and what good would it be to catch them? They're not eatable; and we don't want their feathers valuable as they may be." "No, no!" hurriedly rejoined Karl; "it is not that--not that." "What then, brother?" inquired Caspar, somewhat astonished at the incoherent speeches of the plant-hunter. "What are you thinking of?" "Look yonder!" said Karl, now for the first time pointing up to the soaring storks. "You see something that shines?" "Ha! on the leg of one of the birds? Yes; I do see something--like a piece of yellow metal--what can it be?" "I know what it is!" rejoined Karl, in a regretful tone; "right well do I know. Ah! if we could only have caught that bird, there would have been a hope for us. It's no use grieving after it now. It's gone-- alas! it's gone; and you, Fritz, have this day done a thing that will cause us all regret--perhaps for the rest of our lives." "I don't comprehend you, brother!" said Caspar; "but if it's the escape of the storks that's to be so much regretted, perhaps it will never take place. They don't appear to be in such a hurry to leave us-- notwithstanding the inhospitable reception Fritz has given them. See! they are circling about, as if they intended to come down again. And see also Ossaroo--he's holding out a lure for them. I warrant the old shikaree will succeed in coaxing them back. He knows their habits perfectly." "Merciful Father!" exclaimed Karl, as he looked first at the flying storks and then at Ossaroo; "be it permitted that he succeed! You, Caspar, lay hold upon Fritz, and give Ossaroo every chance! For your life don't let the dog get away from you; for your life--for the lives of all of us!" Caspar, though still under surprise at the excited bearing of his brother, did not allow that to hinder him from obeying his command, and rushing upon Fritz, he caught hold of the dog. Then placing the hound between his legs, he held him with both hands and knees as tightly as if Fritz had been screwed in a vice. The eyes of all--the dog included--were now turned upon Ossaroo. Caspar contemplated his movements with an undefined interest; while Karl watched them with feelings of the keenest anxiety. The cunning shikaree had not come to the spot unprepared. Having anticipated some difficulty in getting hold of the storks, he had providentially provided a lure, which, in the event of their proving shy, might attract them within reach of his _ringall_. This lure was a large fish--which he had taken out of the larder before leaving the hut, and which he was now holding out--as conspicuously as possible, to attract their attention. He had gone some distance apart from the others, and especially from Fritz, whom he had scolded away from his side; and, having stationed himself on a slight eminence near the edge of the lake, he was using all his wiles to coax back the birds that had been so unwittingly compelled to take wing. It was evident to Ossaroo--as well as to the others--that the flight of the storks had been against their will; and that they had reluctantly ascended into the air. They were no doubt wearied, and wanted rest. Whether this desire would have brought them to the earth again, Ossaroo did not stay to determine. As soon as by their actions he became convinced that they saw the fish held out in his hand, he flung the tempting morsel to some distance from him, and then stood awaiting the result. It proved a success--and almost instantaneously. There was nothing in the appearance or attitude of Ossaroo to excite the suspicion of the adjutants. His dark skin and Hindoo costume were both well-known to them; and though now observed in an odd, out-of-the-way corner of the world, that was no reason for regarding him as an enemy. Fritz was alone the object of their fear, but Fritz was a good way off, and there appeared no longer any reason for dreading him. Reasoning thus--and perhaps with empty stomachs to guide them to a conclusion--the sight of the fish--lying unguarded upon the grass--put an end to their fears; and, without further hesitation, both dropped down beside it. Both at the same instant clutched at the coveted prize--each endeavouring to be the first in securing it. As one of the birds had got hold of the fish by the head and the other by its tail, a struggle now arose as to which should be the first to swallow its body. Each soon passed a portion of it down its capacious throat, until its mandibles met in the middle, and cracked against each other. As neither would yield to the other, so neither would consent to disgorge, and let go; and for some seconds this curious contention was kept up. How long it might have continued was not left to the determination of the parties themselves; but to Ossaroo, who, while they were thus occupied, rushed upon the spot; and, flinging wide his arms, enfolded both the birds in an embrace, from which they vainly struggled to get free. With the assistance of Karl and Caspar--who had in the meantime tied Fritz to a tree--the huge creatures were soon overpowered, and pinioned beyond the possibility of escaping. CHAPTER SIXTY. A LABELLED LEG. "It is! it is!" cried Karl, stooping suddenly down, and grasping the shank of one of the birds. "What?" inquired Caspar. "Look, brother! See what is there, round the stork's leg! Do you not remember having seen that bit of jewellery before?" "A brass ring! Oh yes!" replied Caspar; "now I do remember. In the Botanic Gardens there was an adjutant with a ring round its ankle; a brass ring, too--just like this one. How very odd!" "Like!" echoed Karl. "Not only like, but the very _same_! Stoop down, and examine it more closely. You see those letters?" "_R.B.G., Calcutta_," slowly pronounced Caspar, as he read the inscription graven upon the ring. "`_R.B.G_.' What do these initials stand for, I wonder?" "It is not difficult to tell that," knowingly answered Karl. "_Royal Botanical Garden_! What else could it be?" "Nothing else. For certain, these two birds must be the same we used to see there, and with which we so often amused ourselves!" "The same," asserted Karl. "No doubt of it." "And Fritz must have recognised them too--when he made that unprovoked attack upon them! You remember how he used to quarrel with them?" "I do. He must not be permitted to assail them any more. I have a use for them." "A use?" "Ah, a most important one; so important that these birds, ugly and unamiable as they are, must be cared for, as if they were the prettiest and most prized of pets. We must provide them with food and water; we must tend them by day, and watch over them by night--as though they were some sacred fire, which it was our duty to keep constantly burning." "All that, indeed!" "Verily, brother! The possession of these storks is not only important--it is essential to our safety. If they should die in our hands, or escape out of them--even if one of them should die or get away--we are lost. Our last hope lies in them. I am sure it is our last." "But what hope have you found in them?" interrogated Caspar--puzzled to make out the meaning of his brother's words, and not without wonder at their apparent wildness. "Hope? Every hope. Ay, something more than hope: for in this singular incident I cannot fail to recognise the finger of a merciful God. Surely He hath at length taken compassion upon us! Surely it is He who has sent these birds! They are messengers from Heaven!" Caspar remained silent, gazing earnestly in the eyes of his brother, that were now sparkling with mingled gratitude and joy. But although Caspar could perceive this expression, he was utterly unable to interpret it. Ossaroo was alike puzzled by the strange looks and speeches of the Sahib Karl; but the Hindoo gave less heed to them--his attention being almost wholly taken up by the adjutants, which he fondled in turns--talking to them and embracing them, as if they had been his brothers! As soon as the cord had been looped round their ankles, and there was no longer any danger of their getting away, Ossaroo cut up the fish into slices convenient for their gullets; and proceeded to feed them with as much fondness as he could have shown to a brace of human beings, who had arrived from a long journey in a state of starvation. The storks exhibited no signs of shyness--not the slightest. It was not in their nature to do so. They gobbled up the morsels flung before them, with as much avidity and unconcern, as if they were being fed by the side of the great tank in the Garden at Calcutta. The sight of Fritz alone had a disturbing influence upon them; but, by the command of Karl, the dog was kept out of view, until they had finished the meal with which Ossaroo had provided them. Caspar, still in a cloud, once more interrogated the plant-hunter as to his purpose. "Ho, brother!" answered Karl, "you are not wont to be so dull of comprehension. Can you not guess why I am so joyed by the presence of these birds?" "Indeed I cannot--unless--" "Unless what?" "You expect them to carry a rope up the cliff." "Carry a rope up the cliff! Nothing of the sort. Yes; perhaps it is something of the sort. But since you have made such a poor guess, I shall keep you in suspense a little longer." "O, brother!--" "Nay, I shall not tell you. It is news worth guessing at; and you and Ossaroo must make it out between you." The two hunters, thus challenged, were about entering upon a series of conjectures, when they were interrupted by Karl. "Come!" said he, "there is no time now. You can exercise your ingenuity after we have got home to the hut. We must make sure of the storks, before anything else be attended to. This cord is too slight. They may file it in two with their bills, and get free. The very strongest rope we have got will not be more than sufficient. Come, Ossaroo, you take one. Lift it up in your arms. I shall carry the other myself; while you, Caspar, see to Fritz. Lead the dog in a leash. From this time forward he must be kept tied up--lest any misfortune should happen to spoil the best plan that has yet offered for our deliverance." So saying, Karl flung his arms around one of the adjutants. Ossaroo at the same instant embraced the other; and, despite the roaring that proceeded from their throats, and the clattering made by their mandibles, the huge birds were borne home to the hut. On arriving there, they were carried inside, and fastened with strong ropes--carefully attached to their legs, and tied to the heavy beams forming the rafters of the roof. The door was to be kept shut upon them at all times when the eyes of the captors were not watching them: for Karl, knowing the importance of having such guests, was determined to make sure of his "game." CHAPTER SIXTY ONE. MAIL-CARRIERS ON WINGS. It was only after they had gone back for their baskets of beans, and once more returned to the hut, that Caspar and Ossaroo found time to indulge in their conjectures. Then both of them set to work in earnest--seated upon the great stones outside the door, where often before they had conjured up schemes for their deliverance. Neither communicated his thoughts to the other; each silently followed the thread of his own reflections--as if there was a rivalry between them, as to who should be the first to proclaim the design already conceived by Karl. Karl was standing close by, apparently as reflective as either of his companions. But his thoughts were only occupied in bringing to perfection the plan, which to them was still undiscovered. The storks had been brought out of the hut, and tied to a heavy log that lay near. This had been done, partly to accustom them to the sight of the place, and partly that they might be once more fed--the single fish they had swallowed between them not being deemed sufficient to satisfy their hunger. Caspar's eyes wandered to that one that had the ring upon its leg; and then to the ring itself--_R.B.G., Calcutta_. The inscription at length proved suggestive to Caspar, as the ring itself, on first seeing it, had to his brother. On that bit of brass there was information. It had been conveyed all the way from Calcutta by the bird that bore the shining circlet upon its shank. By the same means why might not information be carried back? Why-- "I have it! I have it!" shouted Caspar, without waiting to pursue the thread of conjecture that had occurred to him. "Yes, dear Karl, I know your scheme--I know it; and by Jupiter Olympus, it's a capital one!" "So you have guessed it at last," rejoined Karl, rather sarcastically. "Well, it is high time, I think! The sight of that brass ring, with its engraved letters, should have led you to it long ago. But come! let us hear what you have got to say, and judge whether you have guessed correctly." "Oh, certainly!" assented Caspar, taking up the tone of jocular badinage in which his brother had been addressing him. "You intend making a change in the character--or rather the calling--of these lately arrived guests of ours." Caspar pointed to the storks. "That is your intention, is it not?" "Well?" "They are now soldiers--_officers_, as their title imports--adjutants!" "Well?" "They will have no reason to thank you for your kind intentions. The appointment you are about to bestow on them can scarce be called a promotion. I don't know how it may be with birds, but I do know that there are not many men ambitious of exchanging from the military to the civil service." "What appointment, Caspar?" "If I'm not mistaken, you mean to make _mail-carriers_ of them--_postmen_, if you prefer the phrase." "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Karl, in a tone expressive of gratification at the clever manner in which Caspar had declared himself. "Right, brother! you've guessed my scheme to the very _letter_. That is exactly what I intend doing." "By de wheeles ob Juggannaut coachee," cried the shikaree, who had been listening, and understood the figurative dialogue; "dat be da goodee plan. Dese stork go back Calcutt--surely dey go back. Dey carry letter to Feringhee Sahibs--Sahibs dey know we here in prison--dey come d'liva we vey dey affer get de letter--ha! ha! ha!" Then _delivering_ himself of a series of shrill ejaculations, the Hindoo sprang up from the stone upon which he had been sitting, and danced around the hut, as if he had suddenly taken leave of his senses! However imperfectly spoken, the words of Ossaroo had disclosed the whole plan, as conceived by the plant-hunter himself. It had vaguely defined itself in Karl's mind, on first seeing the storks above him in the air; but when the lustre of metal flashed before his eyes, and he perceived that yellow band encircling the shank of the bird, the scheme became more definite and plausible. When at length the storks were taken captive, and Karl deciphered the inscription--by which they were identified as old acquaintances of the R.B.G.--he no longer doubted that Providence was in the plot; and that these winged messengers had been sent, as it were, from Heaven itself, to deliver him and his companions from that prison in which they had so long been pining. CHAPTER SIXTY TWO. CONCLUSION. The deliverance came at length; though it was not immediate. Several months more, of that lonely and monotonous life, were our adventurers called upon to endure. They had to wait for the return of the rainy season; when the rivers that traverse the great plains of Hindostan became brimful of flood-- bearing upon their turbid bosoms that luxuriance, not of life, but of death, which attracts the crane and the stork once more to seek subsistence upon their banks. Then the great adjutant returns from his summer tour to the north--winging his way southward over the lofty summits of Imaus. Then, too, did Karl and his comrades believe that _their adjutants_ would be guided by a like instinct, and go back to the R.B.G.--the Royal Botanic Garden of Calcutta. Karl felt confident of their doing so, as certain almost as if he had stood on the banks of the sacred stream in the R.B.G. itself, and saw them descending from their aerial flight and alighting within the enclosure. This confidence arose from the remembrance of his having heard--while sojourning with the Curator--that such had been their habit for many years; and that the time, both of their departure and arrival, was so periodically regular, that there was not an employe of the place who could not tell it to a day! Fortunately, Karl remembered the time, though not the exact day. He knew the week, however, in which his guests might be expected to take their departure; and this was enough for his purpose. During their stay in the valley the birds had been cared for, as if they had been sacred to some deity, adored by those who held them in charge. Fish and flesh had they a plenty--with Ossaroo as their provider. Food and drink, whenever they stood in need of either; freedom from annoyance, and protection from enemies of every kind--even from Fritz, who had long since ceased to be their enemy. Nothing had been wanting to their comfort; everything had been granted--everything but their liberty. This, too, was at length restored to them. On a fair morning--such as a bird might have chosen for its highest flight--both were set free to go whithersoever they listed. The only obstruction to their flight was a pair of small skin sacks, one attached to the neck of each, and prudently placed beyond the reach of its mandibles. Both were furnished with this curiously-contrived bag; for Karl--as the spare leaves of his memorandum-book enabled him to do-- had determined that each should be entrusted with a letter and lest one should go astray, he had sent his _despatch in duplicate_. For a time the birds seemed reluctant to leave those kind companions-- who had so long fed and cherished them; but the instinct that urged them to seek the sunny plains of the South at length prevailed; and, giving a _scream_ of adieu--reciprocated by the encouraging shouts of those they were leaving behind, and a prolonged baying from the throat of the boar-hound Fritz--they soared aloft into the air; and in slow, solemn flight ascended the cliff--soon to disappear behind the crest of the encircling ridge. Ten days after, on that same cliff stood a score of men--a glad sight to Karl, Caspar, and Ossaroo. Even Fritz barked with joy as he beheld them! Against the blue background of the sky, it could be perceived that these men carried coils of rope, pieces of wood, and other implements that might be required for scaling a cliff. Our adventurers now knew, that, one or other, or both copies of their duplicate despatch, must have reached the destination for which they had designed it. And the same destination was soon after reached by themselves. By the help of their rescuers, and the long rope-ladders which they let down, all three succeeded in _climbing the cliff_--Fritz making the ascent upon the shoulders of the shikaree! All three, amidst a company of delighted deliverers--with Fritz following at their heels--once more descended the southern slope of the Himalayas; once more stood upon the banks of the sacred Ganges; once more entered within the hospitable gates of the R.B.G.--there to renew their acquaintance, not only with hospitable friends, but with those winged messengers, by whose instrumentality they had been delivered from their living tomb, and once more restored to society and the world! THE END. 
23492	----	Fast in the Ice, Adventures in the Polar Regions, by R.M. Ballantyne. ________________________________________________________________________ This little book describes a visit up to the Arctic regions, that was supposed to have taken place long before the book was written, in other words in the early part of the nineteenth century. The purpose of the journey was to get near to the North Pole, which was considered to be surrounded by a large area of ice-free water. The vessel in which they sailed became beset by ice, and could not be moved. They met with Esquimaux, and saw how they survived, how they killed walrus, how they caught birds, and how they lived in their ice-houses, or igloos. They also had several encounters with polar bears, and musk-ox. Eventually they have been in the ice for a couple of years, and some of the men are suffering from scurvy. Europeans get scurvy from lack of fruit and vegetables, but this condition doesn't seem to affect the Esquimaux, whose meat and fat diet does not cause them to have heart disorders, either. The crew eventually abandon the vessel, which has been crushed suddenly and totally by a stream of ice-floes, and are obliged to walk out of where they had spent so much time. Luckily, when at their last gasp, they find an Esquimaux village, where they learn that there is a Danish settlement not too far away, and that from it they can take ship for Europe, and eventually make their way back to Britain. ________________________________________________________________________ FAST IN THE ICE, ADVENTURES IN THE POLAR REGIONS, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. CHAPTER ONE. One day, many years ago, a brig cast off from her moorings, and sailed from a British port for the Polar Seas. That brig never came back. Many a hearty cheer was given, many a kind wish was uttered, many a handkerchief was waved, and many a tearful eye gazed that day as the vessel left Old England, and steered her course into the unknown regions of the far north. But no cheer ever greeted her return; no bright eyes ever watched her homeward-bound sails rising on the far-off horizon. Battered by the storms of the Arctic seas, her sails and cordage stiffened by the frosts, and her hull rasped and shattered by the ice of those regions, she was forced on a shore where the green grass has little chance to grow, where winter reigns nearly all the year round, where man never sends his merchandise, and never drives his plough. There the brig was frozen in; there, for two long years, she lay unable to move, and her starving crew forsook her; there, year after year, she lay, unknown, unvisited by civilised man, and unless the wild Eskimos [see note 1] have torn her to pieces, and made spears of her timbers, or the ice has swept her out to sea and whirled her to destruction, there she lies still--hard and fast in the ice. The vessel was lost, but her crew were saved, and most of them returned to tell their kinsfolk of the wonders and the dangers of the frozen regions, where God has created some of the most beautiful and some of the most awful objects that were ever looked on by the eye of man. What was told by the fireside, long ago, is now recounted in this book. Imagine a tall, strong man, of about five-and-forty, with short, curly black hair, just beginning to turn grey; stern black eyes, that look as if they could pierce into your secret thoughts; a firm mouth, with lines of good-will and kindness lurking about it; a deeply-browned skin, and a short, thick beard and moustache. That is a portrait of the commander of the brig. His name was Harvey. He stood on the deck, close by the wheel, looking wistfully over the stern. As the vessel bent before the breeze, and cut swiftly through the water, a female hand was raised among the gazers on the pier, and a white scarf waved in the breeze. In the forefront of the throng, and lower down, another hand was raised; it was a little one, but very vigorous; it whirled a cap round a small head of curly black hair, and a shrill "hurrah!" came floating out to sea. The captain kissed his hand and waved his hat in reply; then, wheeling suddenly round, he shouted, in a voice of thunder: "Mind your helm, there; let her away a point. Take a pull on these foretopsail halyards; look alive, lads!" "Aye, aye, sir!" replied the men. There was no occasion whatever for these orders. The captain knew that well enough, but he had his own reasons for giving them. The men knew that, too, and they understood his reasons when they observed the increased sternness of his eyes, and the compression of his lips. Inclination and duty! What wars go on in the hearts of men--high and low, rich and poor--between these two. What varied fortune follows man, according as the one or the other carries the day. "Please, sir," said a gruff, broad-shouldered, and extremely short man, with little or no forehead, a hard, vacant face, and a pair of enormous red whispers; "please, sir, Sam Baker's took very bad; I think it would be as well if you could give him a little physic, sir; a tumbler of Epsom, or some-think of that sort." "Why, Mr Dicey, there can't be anything very far wrong with Baker," said the captain, looking down at his second mate; "he seems to me one of the healthiest men in the ship. What's the matter with him?" "Well, I can't say, sir," replied Mr Dicey, "but he looks 'orrible bad, all yellow and green about the gills, and fearful red round the eyes. But what frightens me most is that I heard him groanin' very heavy about a quarter of an hour ago, and then I saw him suddenly fling himself into his 'ammock and begin blubberin' like a child. Now, sir, I say, when a grow'd-up man gives way like that, there must be some-think far wrong with his inside. And it's a serious thing, sir, to take a sick man on such a voyage as this." "Does he not say what's wrong with him?" asked the captain. "No, sir; he don't. He says it's nothin', and he'll be all right if he's only let alone. I did hear him once or twice muttering some-think about his wife and child; you know, sir, he's got a young wife, and she had a baby about two months 'fore we came away, but I can't think that's got much to do with it, for _I've_ got a wife myself, sir, and six children, two of 'em bein' babies, and that don't upset _me_, and Baker's a much stronger man." "You are right, Mr Dicey, he is a much stronger man than you," replied the captain, "and I doubt not that his strength will enable him to get over this without the aid of physic." "Very well, sir," said Mr Dicey. The second mate was a man whose countenance never showed any signs of emotion, no matter what he felt. He seldom laughed, or, if he did, his mouth remained almost motionless, and the sounds that came out were anything but cheerful. He had light grey eyes which always wore an expression of astonishment; but the expression was accidental; it indicated no feeling. He would have said, "Very well, sir," if the captain had refused to give poor Baker food instead of physic. "And hark'ee, Mr Dicey," said the captain, "don't let him be disturbed till he feels inclined to move." "Very well, sir," replied the second mate, touching his cap as he turned away. "So," murmured the captain, as he gazed earnestly at the now distant shore, "I'm not the only one who carries a heavy heart to sea this day and leaves sorrowing hearts behind him." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. This word is here spelled as pronounced. It is usually spelled Esquimaux. CHAPTER TWO. AT SEA--THE FIRST STORM. It is now hundreds of years since the North polar regions began to attract general attention. Men have long felt very inquisitive about that part of the earth, and many good ships, many noble lives have been lost in trying to force a passage through the ice that encumbers the Arctic seas, summer and winter. Britain has done more than other nations in the cause of discovery within the Arctic circle. The last and greatest of her Arctic heroes perished there--the famous Sir John Franklin. Were I writing a history of those regions I would have much to say of other countries as well as of our own. But such is not my object in this book. I mean simply to follow in the wake of one of Britain's adventurous discoverers, and thus give the reader an idea of the fortunes of those gallant men who risk life and limb for the sake of obtaining knowledge of distant lands. There have always been restless spirits in this country. There have ever been men who, when boys, were full of mischief, and who could "settle to nothing" when they grew up. Lucky for us, lucky for the world, that such is the case! Many of our "restless spirits," as we call them, have turned out to be our heroes, our discoverers, our greatest men. No doubt many of them have become our drones, our sharpers, our blacklegs. But that is just saying that some men are good, while others are bad--no blame is due to what is called the restlessness of spirit. Our restless men, if good, find rest in action; in bold energetic toil; if bad, they find rest, alas! in untimely graves. Captain Harvey was one of our restless spirits. He had a deeply learned friend who said to him one day that he felt sure "_there was a sea of open water round the North Pole_!" Hundreds of ships had tried to reach that pole without success, because they always found a barrier of thick ice raised against them. This friend said that if a ship could only cut or force its way through the ice to a certain latitude north, open water would be found. Captain Harvey was much interested in this. He could not rest until he had proved it. He had plenty of money, so had his friend. They resolved to buy a vessel and send it to the seas lying within the Arctic circle. Other rich friends helped them; a brig was bought, it was named the _Hope_, and, as we have seen in the last chapter, it finally set sail under command of Captain Harvey. Many days and nights passed, and the _Hope_ kept her course steadily toward the coast of North America. Greenland was the first land they hoped to see. Baffin's Bay was the strait through which they hoped to reach the open polar sea. The _Hope_ left England as a whaler, with all the boats, lances, harpoons, lines, and other apparatus used in the whale fishery. It was intended that she should do a little business in that way if Captain Harvey thought it advisable, but the discovery of new lands and seas was their chief end and aim. At first the weather was fine, the wind fair, and the voyage prosperous. But one night there came a deep calm. Not a breath of air moved over the sea, which was as clear and polished as a looking-glass. The captain walked the deck with the surgeon of the ship, a nephew of his own, named Gregory. Tom Gregory was a youth of about nineteen, who had not passed through the whole course of a doctor's education, but who was a clever fellow, and better able to cut and carve and physic poor suffering humanity than many an older man who wrote M.D. after his name. He was a fine, handsome, strapping fellow, with a determined manner and a kind heart. He was able to pull an oar with the best man aboard, and could even steer the brig in fine weather, if need be. He was hearty and romantic, and a great favourite with the men. He, too, was a restless spirit. He had grown tired of college life, and had made up his mind to take a year's run into the Polar regions, by way of improving his knowledge of the "outlandish" parts of the world. "I don't like the look of the sky to-day, Tom," said the captain, glancing at the horizon and then at the sails. "Indeed!" said Tom, in surprise. "It seems to me the most beautiful afternoon we have had since the voyage began. But I suppose you seamen are learned in signs which we landsmen do not understand." "Perhaps we are," replied the captain; "but it does not require much knowledge of the weather to say that such a dead calm as this, and such unusual heat, is not likely to end in a gentle breeze." "You don't object to a stiff breeze, uncle?" said the youth. "No, Tom; but I don't like a storm, because it does us no good, and may do us harm." "Storms do you no good, uncle!" cried Tom; "how can you say so? Why, what is it that makes our sailors such trumps? The British tar would not be able to face danger as he does if there were no storms." "True, Tom, but the British tar would not require to face danger at all if there were no storms. What says the barometer, Mr Mansell?" said the captain, looking down the skylight into the cabin, where the first mate--a middle-sized man of thirty-five, or thereabouts--was seated at the table writing up the ship's log-book. "The glass has gone down an inch, sir, and is still falling," answered the mate. "Reef the topsail, Mr Dicey," cried the captain, on hearing this. "Why such haste?" inquired Gregory. "Because such a sudden fall in the barometer is a sure sign of approaching bad weather," answered the captain. The first man on the shrouds and out upon the main-topsail yard was Sam Baker, whose active movements and hearty manner showed that he had quite recovered his health without the use of physic. He was quickly followed by some of his shipmates, all of whom were picked men--able in body and ready for anything. In a few minutes sail was reduced. Soon after that clouds began to rise on the horizon and spread over the sky. Before half an hour had passed the breeze came--came far stronger than had been expected--and the order to take in sail had to be repeated. Baker was first again. He was closely followed by Joe Davis and Jim Croft, both of them sturdy fellows--good specimens of the British seaman. Davy Butts, who came next, was not so good a specimen. He was nearly six feet high, very thin and loosely put together, like a piece of bad furniture. But his bones were big, and he was stronger than he looked. He would not have formed one of such a crew had he not been a good man. The rest of the crew, of whom there were eighteen, not including the officers, were of all shapes, sizes, and complexions. The sails had scarcely been taken in when the storm burst on the brig in all its fury. The waves rose like mountains and followed after her, as if they were eager to swallow her up. The sky grew dark overhead as the night closed in, the wind shrieked through the rigging, and the rag of canvas that they ventured to hoist seemed about to burst away from the yard. It was an awful night. Such a night as causes even reckless men to feel how helpless they are--how dependent on the arm of God. The gale steadily increased until near midnight, when it blew a perfect hurricane. "It's a dirty night," observed the captain, to the second mate, as the latter came on deck to relieve the watch. "It is, sir," replied Mr Dicey, as coolly as if he were about to sit down to a good dinner on shore. Mr Dicey was a remarkably matter-of-fact man. He looked upon a storm as he looked upon a fit of the toothache--a thing that had to be endured, and was not worth making a fuss about. "It won't last long," said the captain. "No, sir; it won't," answered Mr Dicey. As Mr Dicey did not seem inclined to say more, the captain went below and flung himself on a locker, having given orders that he should be called if any change for the worse took place in the weather. Soon afterward a tremendous sea rose high over the stern, and part of it fell on the deck with a terrible crash, washing Mr Dicey into the lee-scuppers, and almost sweeping him overboard. On regaining his feet, and his position beside the wheel, the second mate shook himself and considered whether he ought to call the captain. Having meditated some time, he concluded that the weather was no worse, although it had treated him very roughly, so he did not disturb the captain's repose. Thus the storm raged all that night. It tossed the _Hope_ about like a cork; it well-nigh blew the sails off the masts, and almost blew Mr Dicey's head off his shoulders! then it stopped as it had begun-- suddenly. CHAPTER THREE. IN THE ICE--DANGERS OF ARCTIC VOYAGING. Next morning the _Hope_ was becalmed in the midst of a scene more beautiful than the tongue or the pen of man can describe. When the sun rose that day, it shone upon what appeared to be a field of glass and a city of crystal. Every trace of the recent storm was gone except a long swell, which caused the brig to roll considerably, but which did not break the surface of the sea. Ice was to be seen all round as far as the eye could reach. Ice in every form and size imaginable. And the wonderful thing about it was that many of the masses resembled the buildings of a city. There were houses, and churches, and monuments, and spires, and ruins. There were also islands and mountains! Some of the pieces were low and flat, no bigger than a boat; others were tall, with jagged tops; some of the fields, as they are called, were a mile and more in extent, and there were a number of bergs, or ice-mountains, higher than the brig's topmasts. These last were almost white, but they had, in many places, a greenish-blue colour that was soft and beautiful. The whole scene shone and sparkled so brilliantly in the morning sun, that one could almost fancy it was one of the regions of fairyland! When young Gregory came on the quarter-deck, no one was there except Jim Croft, a short, thick-set man, with the legs of a dwarf and the shoulders of a giant. He stood at the helm, and although no steering was required, as there was no wind, he kept his hands on the spokes of the wheel, and glanced occasionally at the compass. The first mate, who had the watch on deck, was up at the masthead, observing the state of the ice. "How glorious!" exclaimed the youth, as he swept his sparkling eye round the horizon. "Ah, Croft! is not this splendid?" "So it is, sir," said the seaman, turning the large quid of tobacco that bulged out his left cheek. "It's very beautiful, no doubt, but it's comin' rather thick for my taste." "How so?" inquired Gregory. "There seems to me plenty of open water to enable us to steer clear of these masses. Besides, as we have no wind, it matters little, I should think, whether we have room to sail or not." "You've not seed much o' the ice yet, that's plain," said Croft, "else you'd know that the floes are closin' round us, an' we'll soon be fast in the pack, if a breeze don't spring up to help us." As the reader may not, perhaps, understand the terms used by Arctic voyagers in regard to the ice in its various forms, it may be as well here to explain the meaning of those most commonly used. When ice is seen floating in small detached pieces and scattered masses, it is called "floe" ice, and men speak of getting among the floes. When these floes close up, so that the whole sea seems to be covered with them, and little water can be seen, it is called "pack" ice. When the pack is squeezed together, so that lumps of it are forced up in the form of rugged mounds, these mounds are called "hummocks." A large mass of flat ice, varying from one mile to many miles in extent, is called a "field," and a mountain of ice is called a "berg." All the ice here spoken of, except the berg, is sea-ice; formed by the freezing of the ocean in winter. The berg is formed in a very different manner. Of this more shall be said in a future chapter. "Well, my lad," said Gregory, in reply to Jim Croft's last observation, "I have not seen much of the ice yet, as you truly remark, so I hope that the wind will not come to help us out of it for some time. You don't think it dangerous to get into the pack, do you?" "Well, not exactly dangerous, sir," replied Croft, "but I must say that it aint safe, 'specially when there's a swell on like this. But that'll go down soon. D'ye know what a nip is, Dr Gregory?" "I think I do; at least I have read of such a thing. But I should be very glad to hear what you have to say about it. No doubt you have felt one." "Felt one!" cried Jim, screwing up his face and drawing his limbs together, as if he were suffering horrible pain, "no, I've never felt one. The man what _feels_ a nip aint likely to live to tell what his feelin's was. But I've _seed_ one." "You've seen one, have you? That must have been interesting. Where was it?" "Not very far from the Greenland coast," said Croft, giving his quid another turn. "This was the way of it. You must know that there was two ships of us in company at the time. Whalers we was. We got into the heart of the pack somehow, and we thought we'd never get out of it again. There was nothin' but ice all round us as far as the eye could see. The name of our ship was the _Nancy_. Our comrade was the _Bullfinch_. One mornin' early we heard a loud noise of ice rubbin' agin the sides o' the ship, so we all jumped up, an' on deck as fast as we could, for there's short time given to save ourselves in them seas sometimes. The whole pack, we found, was in motion, and a wide lead of water opened up before us, for all the world like a smooth river or canal windin' through the pack. Into this we warped the ship, and hoistin' sail, steered away cheerily. We passed close to the _Bullfinch_, which was still hard and fast in the pack, and we saw that her crew were sawin' and cuttin' away at the ice, tryin' to get into the lead that we'd got into. So we hailed them, and said we would wait for 'em outside the pack, if we got through. But the words were no sooner spoken, when the wind it died away, and we were becalmed about half a mile from the _Bullfinch_. "`You'd better go down to breakfast, boys,' says our captain, says he, `the breeze won't be long o' comin' again.' "So down the men went, and soon after that the steward comes on deck, and, says he to the captain, `Breakfast, sir.' `Very good,' says the captain, and down he went too, leavin' me at the wheel and the mate in charge of the deck. He'd not been gone three minutes when I noticed that the great field of ice on our right was closin' in on the field on our left, and the channel we was floatin' in was closin' up. The mate noticed it, too, but he wouldn't call the captain 'cause the ice came so slowly and quietly on that for a few minutes we could hardly believe it was movin' and everything around us looked so calm and peaceful like that it was difficult to believe our danger was so great. But this was only a momentary feelin', d'ye see. A minute after that the mate he cries down to the captain:-- "`Ice closin' up, sir!' "And the captain he runs on deck. By this time there was no mistake about it; the ice was close upon us. It was clear that we were to have a nip. So the captain roars down the hatchway, `Tumble up there! tumble up! every man alive! for your lives!' And sure enough they did tumble up, as I never seed 'em do it before--two or three of 'em was sick; they came up with their clothes in their hands. The ice was now almost touchin' our sides, and I tell _you_, sir, I never did feel so queerish in all my life before as when I looked over the side at the edge of that great field of ice which rose three foot out o' the water, and was, I suppose, six foot more below the surface. It came on so slow that we could hardly see the motion. Inch by inch the water narrowed between it and our sides. At last it touched on the left side, and that shoved us quicker on to the field on our right. Every eye was fixed on it--every man held his breath. You might have heard a pin fall on the deck. It touched gently at first, then there was a low grindin' and crunchin' sound. The ship trembled as if it had been a livin' creetur, and the beams began to crack. Now, you must know, sir, that when a nip o' this sort takes a ship the ice usually eases off, after giving her a good squeeze, or when the pressure is too much for her, the ice slips under her bottom and lifts her right out o' the water. But our _Nancy_ was what we call wall-sided. She was never fit to sail in them seas. The consequence was that the ice crushed her sides in. The moment the captain heard the beams begin to go he knew it was all up with the ship; so he roared to take to the ice for our lives! You may be sure we took his advice. Over the side we went, every man Jack of us, and got on the ice. We did not take time to save an article belongin' to us; and it was as well we did not, for the ice closed up with a crash, and we heard the beams and timbers rending like a fire of musketry in the hold. Her bottom must have been cut clean away, for she stood on the ice just as she had floated on the sea. Then the noise stopped, the ice eased off, and the ship began to settle. The lead of water opened up again; in ten minutes after that the _Nancy_ went to the bottom and left us standing there on the ice. "It was the mercy of God that let it happen so near the _Bullfinch_. We might have been out o' sight o' that ship at the time, and then every man of us would have bin lost. As it was, we had a hard scramble over a good deal of loose ice, jumpin' from lump to lump, and some of us fallin' into the water several times, before we got aboard. Now that was a bad nip, sir, warn't it?" "It certainly was," replied Gregory; "and although I delight in being among the ice, I sincerely hope that our tight little brig may not be tried in the same way. But she is better able to stand it, I should think." "That she is, sir," replied Croft, with much confidence. "I seed her in dock, sir, when they was a-puttin' of extra timbers on the bow, and I do believe she would stand twice as much bad usage as the _Nancy_ got, though she is only half the size." Jim Croft's opinion on this point was well founded, for the _Hope_ had indeed been strengthened and prepared for her ice battles with the greatest care, by men of experience and ability. As some readers may be interested in this subject, I shall give a brief account of the additions that were made to her hull. The vessel was nearly two hundred tons burden. She had originally been built very strongly, and might even have ventured on a voyage to the Polar seas just as she was. But Captain Harvey resolved to take every precaution to insure the success of his voyage, and the safety and comfort of his men. He, therefore, had the whole of the ship's bottom sheathed with thick hardwood planking, which was carried up above her water-line, as high as the ordinary floe-ice would be likely to reach. The hull inside was strengthened with stout cross-beams, as well as with beams running along the length of the vessel, and in every part that was likely to be subjected to pressure iron stanchions were fastened. But the bow of the vessel was the point where the utmost strength was aimed at. Inside, just behind the cutwater, the whole space was so traversed by cross-beams of oak that it almost became a solid mass, and outside the sharp stem was cased in iron so as to resemble a giant's chisel. The false keel was taken off, the whole vessel, in short, was rendered as strong, outside and in, as wood and iron and skill could make her. It need scarcely be said that all the other arrangements about her were made with the greatest care and without regard to expense, for although the owners of the brig did not wish to waste their money, they set too high a value on human life to risk it for the sake of saving a few pounds. She was provisioned for a cruise of two years and a half. But this was in case of accidents, for Captain Harvey did not intend to be absent much longer than one year. But, to return to our story: Jim Croft's fear that they would be set fast was realised sooner than he expected. The floes began to close in, from no cause that could be seen, for the wind was quite still, and in a short time the loose ice pressed against the _Hope_ on all sides. It seemed to young Gregory as if the story that the seaman had just related was about to be enacted over again; and, being a stranger to ice, he could not help feeling a little uneasy for some time. But there was in reality little or no danger, for the pressure was light, and the brig had got into a small bay in the edge of an ice-field, which lay in the midst of the smaller masses. Seeing that there was little prospect of the pack opening up just then, the captain ordered the ice-anchors to be got out and fixed. The appearance of the sea from the brig's deck was now extremely wintry, but very bright and cheerful. Not a spot of blue water was to be seen in any direction. The whole ocean appeared as if it had been frozen over. It was now past noon, and the sun's rays were warm, although the quantity of ice around rendered the air cold. As the men were returning from fixing the anchors, the captain looked over the side, and said: "It's not likely that we shall move out of this for some hours. What say you, lads, to a game of football?" The proposal was received with a loud cheer. The ball had been prepared by the sail-maker, in expectation of some such opportunity as this. It was at once tossed over the side; those men who were not already on the field scrambled out of the brig, and the entire crew went leaping and yelling over the ice with the wild delight of schoolboys let loose for an unexpected holiday. They were in the middle of the game when a loud shout came from the brig, and the captain's voice was heard singing out: "All hands ahoy! come aboard. Look alive!" Instantly the men turned, and there was a general race toward the brig, which lay nearly a quarter of a mile distant from them. In summer, changes in the motions of the ice take place in the most unexpected manner. Currents in the ocean are, no doubt, the chief cause of these; the action of winds has also something to do with them. One of these changes was now taking place. Almost before the men got on board the ice had separated, and long canals of water were seen opening up here and there. Soon after that a light breeze sprang up, the ice-anchors were taken aboard, the sails trimmed, and soon the _Hope_ was again making her way slowly but steadily to the north. CHAPTER FOUR. DIFFICULTIES, TROUBLES, AND DANGERS. For some hours the brig proceeded onward with a freshening breeze, winding and turning in order to avoid the lumps of ice. Many of the smaller pieces were not worth turning out of the way of, the mere weight of the vessel being sufficient to push them aside. Up to this time they had succeeded in steering clear of everything without getting a thump; but they got one at last, which astonished those among the crew who had not been in the ice before. The captain, Gregory, and Dicey were seated in the cabin at the time taking tea. Ned Dawkins, the steward, an active little man, was bringing in a tea-pot with a second supply of tea. In his left hand he carried a tray of biscuit. The captain sat at the head of the table, Dicey at the foot, and the doctor at the side. Suddenly a tremendous shock was felt! The captain's cup of tea leaped away from him and flooded the centre of the table. The doctor's cup was empty; he seized the table with both hands and remained steady; but Dicey's cup happened to be at his lips at the moment, and was quite full. The effect on him was unfortunate. He was thrown violently on his back, and the tea poured over his face and drenched his hair as he lay sprawling on the floor. The steward saved himself by dropping the bread-tray and grasping the handle of the cabin door. So violent was the shock that the ship's bell was set a-ringing. "Beg pardon, gentlemen," cried the first mate, looking down the skylight. "I forgot to warn you. The ice is getting rather thick around us, and I had to charge a lump of it." "It's all very well to beg pardon," said the captain, "but that won't mend my crockery!" "Or dry my head," growled Mr Dicey; "it's as bad as if I'd been dipped overboard, it is." Before Mr Dicey's grumbling remarks were finished all three of them had reached the deck. The wind had freshened considerably, and the brig was rushing in a somewhat alarming manner among the floes. It required the most careful attention to prevent her striking heavily. "If it goes on like this, we shall have to reduce sail," observed the captain. "See, there is a neck of ice ahead that will stop us." This seemed to be probable, for the lane of water along which they were steering was, just ahead of them, stopped by a neck of ice that connected two floe-pieces. The water beyond was pretty free from ice, but this neck or mass seemed so thick that it became a question whether they should venture to charge it or shorten sail. "Stand by the fore- and main-topsail braces!" shouted the captain. "Aye, aye, sir!" "Now, Mr Mansell," said he, with a smile, "we have come to our first real difficulty. What do you advise; shall we back the topsails, or try what our little _Hope_ is made of, and charge the enemy?" "Charge!" answered the mate. "Just so," said the captain, hastening to the bow to direct the steersman. "Port your helm." "Steady." The brig was now about fifty yards from the neck of ice, tearing through the water like a race-horse. In another moment she was up to it and struck it fair in the middle. The stout little vessel quivered to her keel under the shock, but she did not recoil. She split the mass into fragments, and, bearing down all before her, sailed like a conqueror into the clear water beyond. "Well done the _Hope_!" said the captain, as he walked aft, while a cheer burst from the men. "I think she ought to be called the _Good Hope_ ever after this," said Tom Gregory. "If she cuts her way through everything as easily as she has cut through that neck of ice, we shall reach the North Pole itself before winter." "If we reach the North Pole _at all_," observed Mr Dicey, "I'll climb up to the top of it and stand on my head, I will!" The second mate evidently had no expectation of reaching that mysterious pole, which men have so long and so often tried to find, in vain. "Heavy ice ahead, sir," shouted Mr Mansell, who was at the masthead with a telescope. "Where away?" "On the weather bow, sir, the pack seems open enough to push through, but the large bergs are numerous." The _Hope_ was now indeed getting into the heart of those icy regions where ships are in constant danger from the floating masses that come down with the ocean-currents from the far north. In sailing along she was often obliged to run with great violence against lumps so large that they caused her whole frame to tremble, stout though it was. "Shall we smash the lump, or will it stave in our bows?" was a question that frequently ran in the captain's mind. Sometimes ice closed round her and squeezed the sides so that her beams cracked. At other times, when a large field was holding her fast, the smaller pieces would grind and rasp against her as they went past, until the crew fancied the whole of the outer sheathing of planks had been scraped off. Often she had to press close to ice-bergs of great size, and more than once a lump as large as a good-sized house fell off the ice-fields and plunged into the sea close to her side, causing her to rock violently on the waves that were raised by it. Indeed the bergs are dangerous neighbours, not only from this cause, but also on account of their turning upside down at times, and even falling to pieces, so that Captain Harvey always kept well out of their way when he could; but this was not always possible. The little brig had a narrow escape one day from the falling of a berg. It was a short time after that day on which they had the game of football. They passed in safety through the floes and bergs that had been seen that evening, and got into open water beyond, where they made made good progress before falling in with ice; but at last they came to a part of Baffin's Bay where a great deal of ice is always found. Here the pack surrounded them, and compelled them to pass close to a berg which was the largest they had fallen in with up to that time. It was jagged in form, and high rather than broad. Great peaks rose up from it like the mountain tops of some wild highland region. It was several hundred yards off the weather-beam when the brig passed, but it towered so high over the masts that it seemed to be much nearer than it was. There was no apparent motion in this berg, and the waves beat and rolled upon its base just as they do on the shore of an island. In fact it was as like an island as possible, or, rather, like a mountain planted in the sea, only it was white instead of green. There were cracks and rents and caverns in it, just as there are on a rugged mountain side, all of which were of a beautiful blue colour. There were also slopes and crags and precipices, down which the water of the melted ice constantly flowed in wild torrents. Many of these were equal to small rivulets, and some of the waterfalls were beautiful. The berg could not have measured less than a mile round the base, and it was probably two hundred feet high. It is well known that floating ice sinks deep, and that there is about eight or ten times as much of it below as there is above water. The reader may therefore form some idea of what an enormous mass of ice this berg was. The crew of the _Hope_ observed, in passing, that lumps were continually falling from the cliffs into the sea. The berg was evidently in a very rotten and dangerous state, and the captain ran the brig as close to the pack on the other side as possible, in order to keep out of its way. Just as this was done, some great rents occurred, and suddenly a mass of ice larger than the brig fell from the top of a cliff into the sea. No danger flowed from this, but the mass thus thrown off was so large as to destroy the balance of the berg, and, to the horror of the sailors, the huge mountain began to roll over. Fortunately it fell in a direction away from the brig. Had it rolled toward her, no human power could have saved our voyagers. The mighty mass went over with a wild hollow roar, and new peaks and cliffs rose out of the sea, as the old ones disappeared, with great cataracts of uplifted brine pouring furiously down their sides. Apart from its danger, this was an awful sight. Those who witnessed it could only gaze in solemn silence. Even the most careless among them must have been forced to recognise the might and majesty of God in the event, as well as His mercy in having led them to the _right_ side of the berg at such a dangerous moment. But the scene had not yet closed. For some time the ice mountain rocked grandly to and fro, raising a considerable swell on the sea, which, all round, was covered with the foam caused by this tremendous commotion. In a few minutes several rents took place, sounding like the reports of great guns. Rotten as it was, the berg could not stand the shock of its change of position, for it had turned fairly upside down. Crack after crack took place, with deafening reports. Lumps of all sizes fell from its sides. Then there was a roar, long continued like thunder; a moment after, the whole berg sank down in ruins, and, with a mighty crash, fell flat upon the sea! The _Hope_ was beyond the reach of danger, but she rose and sank on the swell, caused by the ruin of this berg, for some time after. It was on the afternoon of the same day that the brig received her first really severe "nip" from the ice. She had got deep into the pack, and was surrounded on all sides by large bergs, some of these being high, like the one that has just been described, others low and flat but of great extent. One, not far off, was two miles long, and its glittering walls rose about fifteen feet above the sea. The sky was brighter than usual at the time. This was owing to one of those strange appearances which one sees more of in the Arctic regions than in any other part of the world. The sun shone with unclouded splendour, and around it there were three mock suns almost as bright as the sun itself, one on each side and one directly above it. Learned men call these bright spots _parhelia_. Sailors call them sun-dogs. They were connected together with a ring of light which entirely encircled the sun, but the lower edge of it was partly lost on the horizon. Although this was the first time that these mock suns had been seen by Gregory and some others of the crew of the _Hope_, little attention was paid to them at the time, because of the dangerous position into which the brig had been forced. The pack had again closed all around her, obliging her to take shelter in the lee of a small berg, which, from its shape, did not seem likely to be a dangerous protector. There was a small bay in the berg. Into this the brig was warped, and for some time she lay safely here. It was just large enough to hold her, and a long tongue of ice, projecting from the foot of it, kept off the pressure of the sea-ice. Nevertheless a look of anxiety rested on the captain's face after the ice-anchors had been made fast. "You don't seem to like our position, captain," said young Gregory, who had been watching the doings of the men and now and then lent them a hand. "I don't, Tom. The pack is closing tight up, and this berg may prove an enemy instead of a friend, if it forces into our harbour here. Let us hear what our mate thinks of it. What say you, Mr Mansell, shall we hold on here, or warp out and take our chance in the pack?" "Better hold on, sir," answered the mate gravely. "The pack is beginning to grind; we should get a tight embrace, I fear, if we went out. Here we may do well enough; but everything depends on that tongue." He looked as he spoke toward the point of ice which extended in front of the brig's stern, and guarded the harbour from the outer ice in that direction. The tongue was not a large one, and it was doubtful whether it could stand the pressure that was increasing every minute. The pack was indeed beginning to "grind," as the mate had said, for, while they were looking at it, the edges of two floes came together with a crash about fifty yards from the berg. They ground together for a moment with a harsh growling sound, and then the two edges were suddenly forced up to a height of about fifteen or twenty feet. Next moment they fell on the closed-up ice, and lay there in a mound, or _hummock_, of broken masses. "That's how a 'ummuck is formed, Dr Gregory," said Mr Dicey, looking uncommonly wise. "You'll see more things here in five minutes, by means of your own eyes, than ye could learn from books in a year. There's nothin' like seein'. Seein' is believin', you know. I wouldn't give an ounce of experience for a ton of hearsay." "Come, Mr Dicey, don't run down book-learning," said Gregory. "If a man only knew about things that he had seen, he would know very little." Before the second mate could reply the captain shouted to the men to "Bear a hand with the ice-poles." The whole crew answered to the call, and each man, seizing a long pole, stood ready for action. The tongue to which I have referred more than once had broken off, and the ice was rushing in. The bay was full in a minute, and although the men used their ice-poles actively, and worked with a will, they could not shove the pieces past them. The _Hope_ was driven bow on to the berg. Then there was a strain, a terrible creaking and groaning of the timbers, as if the good little vessel were complaining of the pressure. All at once there was a loud crack, the bow of the brig lifted a little, and she was forced violently up the sloping side of the berg. Twice this happened, and then she remained stationary--high and dry out of the water! CHAPTER FIVE. A GALE--NARROW ESCAPES--SIGNS OF WINTER--SET FAST. During the rest of that day and the whole of that night did the brig remain fixed on the berg. Early next morning the ice began to move. It eased off, and the vessel slid gently down the slope on which she had been forced, and was re-launched safely into the water. The satisfaction of the crew, on being thus delivered from a position of much danger, was very great; but they had no sooner escaped from one peril than they were overtaken by another. A sharp breeze sprang up from the eastward, and drove them out into the pack, which began to heave about in a terrible manner under the influence of the wind. Soon this increased to a gale, and the ice was driven along at great speed by a strong northerly current. While this was going on, land was discovered bearing to the northeast. Here was new danger, for although it was not a lee-shore, still there was some risk of the vessel being caught among grounded ice-bergs--of which a few were seen. The gale increased to such a degree before night that Captain Harvey began to think of taking shelter under the lee of one of these bergs. He therefore stood toward one, but before reaching it the vessel received one or two severe shocks from passing floes. A large berg lay within half a mile of them. They reached it in safety, and getting under its lee, lowered a boat and fixed their ice-anchors. Just after they were fixed, a mass of ice, the size of a ship's long-boat and many tons in weight, came suddenly up out of the sea with great violence, the top of it rising above the bulwarks. One corner of it struck the hull just behind the mainmast, and nearly stove in the bottom of the brig. This lump was what Arctic voyagers term a "calf." When masses of ice break off from the bergs far below the surface of the water, they rise with extreme violence, and ships run great risk of being destroyed by these calves when they anchor too near to the bergs. Had this calf struck the _Hope_ a fair blow she must certainly have gone down with all on board. They were not yet freed from their troubles, however. In half an hour the wind shifted a few points, but the stream of the loose ice did not change. The brig was, therefore, blown right in among the rushing masses. The three cables that held her were snapped as if they had been pieces of packthread, and she was whirled out into the pack, where she drove helplessly, exposed to the fury of the howling storm and the dangers of the grinding ice. Captain Harvey now felt that he could do nothing to save his vessel. He believed that if God did not mercifully put forth His hand to deliver them by a miracle, he and his companions would certainly perish. In this the captain was wrong. Nothing is impossible to the Almighty. He can always accomplish his purposes without the aid of a miracle. There did, indeed, seem no way of escape; for the driving masses of ice were grinding each other to powder in nearly every direction, and the brig only escaped instant destruction by being wedged between two pieces that held together from some unknown cause. Presently they were carried down toward a large berg that seemed to be aground, for the loose ice was passing it swiftly. This was not the case, however. An undercurrent, far down in the depths of the sea, was acting on this berg, and preventing it from travelling with the ice that floated with the stream at the surface. In its passing, the mass of ice that held them struck one of the projecting tongues beneath the surface, and was split in two. The brig was at once set free. As they passed they might almost have leaped upon the berg. Captain Harvey saw and seized his opportunity. "Stand by to heave an anchor," he shouted. Sam Baker, being the strongest man in the ship, sprang to one of the small ice-anchors that lay on the deck with a line attached to it, and, lifting it with both hands, stood ready. The brig passed close to the end of the berg, where the lee-side formed a long tail of sheltered water. She was almost thrust into this by the piece of ice from which she had just escaped. She grazed the edge of the berg as she drove past. "Heave!" shouted the captain. Sam Baker swung the anchor round his head as if it had been a feather, and hurled it far upon the ice. For a few yards it rattled over the slippery surface; then it caught a lump, but the first strain broke it off. Just after that it fell into a crack and held on. The brig was checked, and swung round into the smooth water; but they had to ease off the line lest it should snap. At last she was brought up, and lay safely under the shelter of that berg until the storm was over. Some weeks flew by after this without anything occurring worthy of particular notice. During this time the _Hope_ made good progress into the Polar regions, without again suffering severely either from ice or storm, although much retarded by the thick fogs that prevail in the Arctic regions. She was indeed almost always surrounded by ice, but it was sufficiently open to allow of a free passage through it. Many whales and seals had been seen, also one or two bears, but not in circumstances in which they could be attacked without occasioning much delay. The brief summer had now passed away, and the days began to shorten as winter approached. Still Captain Harvey hoped to get farther north before being obliged to search for winter quarters. One morning early in September, however, he found to his sorrow that pancake-ice was forming on the sea. When the sea begins to freeze it does so in small needle-like spikes, which cross and recross each other until they form thin ice, which the motion of the waves breaks up into flat cakes about a foot or so across. These, by constantly rubbing against each other, get worn into a rounded shape. Sailors call this "pancake-ice." It is the first sign of coming winter. The cakes soon become joined together as the frost increases. The place where this occurred was near to those wild cliffs that rise out of the sea in the channels or straits that lie at the head of Baffin's Bay. The vessel was now beyond the farthest point of land that had been discovered at the time of which I am writing, and already one or two of the headlands had been named by Captain Harvey and marked on his chart. "I don't like to see pancake-ice so early in the season," remarked the captain to Mr Mansell. "No more do I, sir," answered the mate. "This would be a bad place to winter in, I fear." "Land ahead!" was shouted at that moment by the look-out at the masthead. "Keep her away two points," said the captain to the man at the helm. "How does it lie?" "Right ahead, sir." "Any ice near it?" "No; all clear." The brig was kept a little more out to sea. Soon she came to more open water, and in the course of four hours was close to the land, which proved to be a low, barren island, not more than a mile across. Here the wind died away altogether, and a sharp frost set in. The pancakes became joined together, and on the following morning, when our friend Gregory came on deck, he found that the whole ocean was covered with ice! It did not, indeed, look very like ice, because, being so thin, it did not prevent the usual swell from rolling over the sea. A light breeze was blowing, and the brig cut her way through it for some time; but the breeze soon died away, leaving her becalmed within a quarter of a mile of the island. For some time the voyagers hoped that a thaw would take place, or that wind would break up the ice. But they were disappointed. This was the first touch of the cold hand of winter, and the last day of the _Hope's_ advance northward. Seeing this, Captain Harvey set energetically to work to cut his way into winter quarters, for it would not do to remain all winter in the exposed position in which his vessel then lay. On his right was the island, already referred to, about a quarter of a mile off. Beyond this, about five miles distant, were the high steep cliffs of the western coast of Greenland. Everywhere else lay the open sea, covered here and there with floes and bergs, and coated with new ice. This ice became so thick in the course of another night that the men could walk on it without danger. By means of saws and chisels made for the purpose, they cut a passage toward the island, and finally moored the brig in a small bay which was sheltered on all sides except the east. This, being the land side, required no protection. They named the place "Refuge Harbour." Everyone was now full of activity. The voyagers had reached the spot where they knew they were destined to spend the winter and much had to be done before they could consider themselves in a fit state to face that terrible season. Winter in the Polar regions extends over eight months of the year--from September to May. But so much of ice and snow remains there all the summer that winter can scarcely be said to quit those regions at all. It is difficult to imagine what the Arctic winter is. We cannot properly understand the tremendous difficulties and sufferings that men who go to the Polar seas have to fight against. Let the reader think of the following facts, and see if he does not draw his chair closer to the fire and feel thankful that he has not been born an Eskimo, and is not an Arctic seaman! Winter within the Arctic circle, as I have said, is fully eight months long. During that time the land is covered with snow many feet deep, and the sea with ice of all degrees of thickness--from vast fields of ten or fifteen feet thick to bergs the size of islands and mountains-- all frozen into one solid mass. There is no sunlight there, night or day, for three out of these eight winter months, and there is not much during the remaining five. In summer there is perpetual sunlight, all night as well as all day, for about two months--for many weeks the sun never descends below the horizon. It is seen every day and every night sweeping a complete circle in the bright blue sky. Having been so free of his light in summer, the sun seems to think he has a right to absent himself in winter, for the three months of darkness that I have spoken of are not months of _partial_ but of _total_ darkness--as far, at least, as the sun is concerned. The moon and stars and the "Northern Lights" do, indeed, give their light when the fogs and clouds will allow them; but no one will say that these make up for the absence of the sun. Then the frost is so intense that everything freezes solid except pure spirits of wine. Unless you have studied the thermometer you cannot understand the intensity of this frost; but for the sake of those who do know something about extreme cold, I give here a few facts that were noted down during the winter that my story tells of. On the 10th of September these ice-bound voyagers had eighteen degrees of frost, and the darkness had advanced on them so rapidly that it was dark about ten at night. By the 1st of October the ice round the brig was a foot and a half thick. Up to this time they had shot white hares on the island, and the hunting parties that crossed the ice to the mainland shot deer and musk oxen, and caught white foxes in traps. Gulls and other birds, too, had continued to fly around them; but most of these went away to seek warmer regions farther south. Walrus and seals did not leave so soon. They remained as long as there was any open water out at sea. The last birds that left them, (and the first that returned in spring) were the "snow-birds"--little creatures about the size of a sparrow, almost white, with a few brown feathers here and there. The last of these fled from the darkening winter on the 7th of November, and did not return until the 1st of the following May. When they left it was dark almost all day. The thermometer could scarcely be read at noon, and the stars were visible during the day. From this time forward thick darkness set in, and the cold became intense. The thermometer fell _below_ zero, and after that they never saw it _above_ that point for months together--20 degrees, 30 degrees, and 40 degrees below were common temperatures. The ice around them was ten feet thick. On the 1st of December noon was so dark that they could not see fifty yards ahead, and on the 15th the fingers could not be counted a foot from the eyes. The thermometer stood at 40 degrees below zero. The darkness could not now become greater, but the cold still continued to grow more intense. It almost doubled in severity. In January it fell to 67 degrees below zero! So great was this cold that the men felt impelled to breathe gradually. The breath issued from their mouths in white clouds of steam and instantly settled on their beards and whiskers in hoar-frost. In the cabin of the _Hope_ they had the utmost difficulty in keeping themselves moderately warm at this time. Things had now reached their worst, and by slow degrees matters began to mend. On the 22nd of January the first faint sign of returning day appeared--just a blue glimmer on the horizon. By the middle of February the light tipped the tops of the mountains on shore, and the highest peaks of the ice-bergs on the sea, and on the 1st of March it bathed the deck of the _Hope_. Then the long-imprisoned crew began to feel that spring was really coming. But there was little heat in the sun's rays at first, and it was not till the month of May that the ice out at sea broke up and summer could be said to have begun. During all this long winter--during all these wonderful changes, our Arctic voyagers had a hard fight in order to keep themselves alive. Their life was a constant struggle. They had to fight the bears and the walrus; to resist the cold and the darkness; to guard against treachery from the natives; and to suffer pains, sickness, and trials, such as seldom fall to the lot of men in ordinary climates. How they did and suffered all this I shall try to show in the following pages. In attempting this I shall make occasional extracts from the journal of our friend Tom Gregory, for Tom kept his journal regularly, and was careful to note down only what he heard and saw. CHAPTER SIX. PREPARATIONS FOR WINTERING--REMARKABLE ADVENTURES WITH A BEAR. The first care of Captain Harvey, after getting his brig securely laid up in her icy cradle for the winter was to remove some of the stores to the island, where he had them carefully secured in a little hut which the crew built of loose stones. This relieved the strain on the vessel, and permitted the free circulation of air. The fitting up of the interior of the brig was then begun. The wooden partition between the cabin and the hold was taken down, and the whole space thrown into one apartment. The stove was put up in the centre of it, and moss was piled round the walls inside about a foot thick. Moss was also spread on the deck, and above it the snow was allowed to gather, for snow, although so cold itself, keeps things that it covers warm, by not permitting the heat to escape. The brig was banked up all round with snow, and a regular snowy staircase was built from the ice to her bulwarks. They changed their time, now, from what is called sea-time to that which we follow on land. That is to say, they reckoned the day to commence just after twelve, midnight, instead of dividing it into watches, as they were wont to do at sea. Journals were begun, and careful notes made of everything that occurred, or that might in any way further the object for which they had gone there. Every man in the ship had his appointed duty and his post. If the native Eskimos should arrive in a warlike temper, each man had his cutlass and pistols in readiness. If a bear should pay them a visit, each could lay hands on his musket in an instant; and if a fire should break out on board, every man had his bucket ready and his particular post fixed. Some were to run to the water-hole, which it was the duty of one man to keep open. Others were to station themselves from the hole to the ship to pass the buckets, while the rest were to remain on board to convey them to the point of danger. Captain Harvey fixed all the arrangements, and superintended the carrying out of his orders in a general way, making his two officers and the young doctor responsible for the overseeing of details. Each of these foremen furnished him with a report every night of what had been done during the day, and the result was noted down by himself in a journal. Thus everything went smoothly and pleasantly along during the first weeks of their sojourn in their frozen home. In regard to fresh provisions they were fortunate at first, for they obtained sufficient supplies of deer and other game. This was in the early part of winter, while there was still plenty of daylight. In Tom Gregory's journal I find it thus written: "_September 10th_.--The days are beginning to shorten now, and we are all busily occupied in preparing for the long, dark winter that is before us. Sam Baker, who is the best shot among us, brought in a deer to-day. This is fortunate, for we stand in need of fresh meat. Our greatest enemy this winter, I fear, will be scurvy. Unless we obtain a large supply of fresh provisions we cannot hope to escape it. Crofts brought in two Arctic hares. They are beautiful creatures--pure white-- and each weighs about seven pounds. These, with the four deer shot by myself last week and the ten hares got by Baker, will keep us going for some time. "_September 12th_.--I had an adventure with a polar bear last night, which has amused the men very much, and given them food for jocularity for a few days. Some days back Davy Butts set a trap on the island, in which he has caught a few foxes. Last night his long legs were so tired that he did not care to visit his trap, so I offered to go instead of him. It was while I was out on this errand that I happened to meet with bruin. Our meeting was sudden and unexpected on both sides, I believe. It was midnight when I set off to the trap, which was not more than half a mile from the ship, and it was quite dark when I reached it. "Davy is an ingenious fellow. His trap is made of four blocks of hard snow, with a sort of wooden trigger that goes off the moment the bait is touched, and allows a heavy log to fall down on the poor fox's back. There was no fox there, however, when I reached it. I went down on my knees and was examining the bait, when I heard a low growl. I leaped up, and felt for the knife which I usually carried in my belt. It was not there! In the haste of my departure from the ship I had forgotten to buckle it on. I had no gun, of course. It was too dark to shoot, and I had not counted on meeting with any dangerous enemy. I could only crouch down behind a lump of ice and hope that the bear would go away, but another growl, much louder than the first, and close at hand, showed that I had been seen. It was so dark that I could hardly see fifty yards ahead. There was a great chasm or hole just in front of me. This was the place where the main body of the sea-ice had been separated from the shore-ice that was aground. Here every rise and fall of the tide had broken it afresh, so that the rent was twenty yards wide, and full of large blocks that had been tossed about in confusion. Across this I gazed into the gloom, and thought I saw an object that looked like a large block of rounded ice. Before I could make up my mind how to act, the block of ice rose up with a furious roar and charged me. The chasm checked him for a moment. But for this I should have been caught immediately. While he was scrambling over it I took to my heels, and ran along the edge of the ice at the top of my speed. "There was a narrow part of the chasm which I had looked at in daylight, and wondered whether I might venture to leap across it. I had made up my mind that it was too wide and dangerous to be attempted. But it is wonderful how quickly a man changes his mind on such a point when a polar bear is roaring at his heels. I came to the gap in the ice. It was ten feet deep and thirteen or fourteen feet across. The jagged lumps of ice at the bottom lay there in horrible confusion. There was barely light enough to see where the hole was when I came within ten yards of it, but I did not hesitate. A rush! a bound! and I went over like a cat. Not so the bear. He had not measured the place with his eye in daylight, as I had done. He made a gallant leap, it is true, but fell short, as I knew from the bursting sound and the growl of rage with which he came against the edge of the ice, and fell back among the broken blocks. I did not wait to see how he got out, you may be sure, but ran as I never ran before in all my life! I reached the brig quite out of breath. The bear had not followed me up, for I did not see him that night again. Long Davy laughed at me a good deal, and said he was sure I had been frightened at a shadow. It gave a wonderfully loud roar for a shadow! I hope that Davy himself may get a chase before the winter is over, just to convince him of his error in not believing me!" The kind wish thus expressed in the young doctor's journal was gratified sooner than might have been expected. Only two days after the incident above described, poor Davy Butts met with the same bear, face to face, and had a run for his life, that turned the laugh from Tom Gregory to himself. It was on the afternoon of a clear, cold day, just about sunset. The men had finished dinner and were smoking their pipes on deck, stamping their feet and slapping their hands and arms, to keep them warm. "Hallo, Davy! where are you bound for?" inquired the captain, on observing that Butts was wrapping himself carefully in his fur-coat, tightening his belt, and putting on his mittens as if bent on a long journey. "I'm only goin' to take a look at my fox-trap, sir, if you'll allow me." "Certainly, my lad. If you get a fox it's well worth the trouble. And hark'ee, Davy, take your axe and make one or two more of these snow-traps of yours. It will be a well-spent hour." "Why, Butts," exclaimed Gregory, "what do you mean to do with that big horse-pistol? Surely you are not afraid of bears after laughing so much at the one that chased me?" "Oh, no, not _afraid_, you know," replied Davy. "But there's no harm in being armed." "Mind you shoot him straight in the eye, or send a bullet up his nose. Them's the vulnerable parts of him," cried Joe Davis, with a laugh, as Butts went down the snow-steps and got upon the ice. "I say," cried Pepper, as he was moving away. "Well?" "Bring his tongue aboard with you, and I'll cook it for supper." "Ah, and a bit of fat to fry it in," added the steward. "There's nothin' like tongue fried in bear's grease." "No, no, Dawkins," said Mr Dicey. "Hallo! Davy; bring the 'ams. Bear's 'ams are considered fustrate heatin'." "No, _don't_ bring the hams," shouted Jim Croft, "fetch the tongue; that's the thing for supper of a cold night--fetch the tongue, lad." "Hold your own tongue," shouted Davy, in reply, as he went off amid the laughter of his comrades. The sun sank soon after, and before the ingenious seaman had finished two new traps the short twilight had gradually deepened into night. Still there was plenty of light, for the sky was clear, and studded with a host of stars. In addition to this the Aurora Borealis was sending its beautiful flashes of pale-green light all across the western sky. The Aurora--which also goes by the names of "Northern Lights," and "Streamers," and "Merry-dancers," is seen in great splendour in these northern skies. When the seaman had finished his traps, and looked up for a minute or two at the sky, before starting on his return to the ship, he beheld the Aurora extending over the heavens in the form of an irregular arch. It was extremely bright, but the brightness was not the same in all parts. It moved and waved gently about like a band of thin green fire. Every now and then long tongues or streamers darted up from it, and these were brighter than the rest. They were yellowish white, and sometimes became pale pink in colour. The light from this beautiful object was equal to that of the moon in her quarter, and the stars that were behind it shone dimly through, as if they were covered with a thin gauze veil. While Davy was gazing in wonder at the splendid lights above him, a deep growl fell upon his ear. If the man had been a Jack-in-the-box he could not have leaped more quickly round. His pistol was out and cocked in a moment! The growl was followed by a roar, which drove all the blood back into Davy's heart, and seemed to freeze it there--solid. The man was no coward, as was quite clear, for at first he boldly stood his ground. But he would have been more than mortal if he had not felt some strange qualms about his heart when he saw a large white bear rushing furiously toward him. The animal came this time from the interior of the small island. The seaman knew well the place over which young Gregory had jumped when he had been chased. After wavering for a moment or two he turned and fled. Another tremendous roar helped him over the ice like a deer, and he took the chasm with a bound like an India-rubber ball. It must certainly have been the same animal that chased Gregory, for, instead of trying to leap the chasm, it went to another part of the rent and scrambled across. This gave Butts time to increase the distance between them, but a man is no match for a polar bear in a race. The monster was soon close up with him, and the ship still far off. The man knew his danger; he turned, took a quick aim, and fired. He missed, of course; flung the pistol in desperation in the bear's face, and ran on. The pistol happened to stick in the snow, with the butt in the air, and when the bear came up to it he stopped to smell it! It it well known, nowadays, that polar bears are full of curiosity, and will stop for a few minutes to examine anything that comes in their way, even when they are in full chase of a man. Davy Butts knew nothing of this at the time; but he was a quick-witted fellow. He observed this stopping of the bear, and determined to give him something more to stop at. When bruin was close at his heels he threw down his cap. The bear at once pulled up, smelt it all round, tossed it into the air with his snout, pawed it once or twice, then tore it to pieces with one wrench, and continued the chase. Very little time was lost in this operation. He was soon up with the man again; then a mitten was thrown down for his inspection. After that the other mitten went, the cravat followed, and the axe went next. All that I have just related happened in a very few minutes. Davy was still a good quarter of a mile from the brig; everything that he could tear off his person in haste and throw down was gone, and the bear was once more coming up behind. As a last hope he pulled off his heavy fur-coat and dropped it. This seemed to be a subject of great interest to the bear, for it was longer in inspecting it than the other things. And now poor Butts went tearing along like a maniac, in his flannel shirt and trousers. He was a miserable and curious object, for his body, besides being very long, was uncommonly lanky, and his legs and arms seemed to go like the wings of a windmill. Never, since the day of his birth, had Davy Butts run at such a pace, in such light clothing, and in such severe frost! A long line of low hummocks hid him from the brig. The moment he passed these he came in sight of her and began to yell. "Wot on airth is yon?" exclaimed Joe Davis, who chanced to be looking over the gangway when this remarkable object appeared. "The wild man o' the North himself, or my name aint Jim," said Crofts, turning pale. "Why, it's Davy Butts, I do believe," cried Sam Baker, who came on deck at that moment. Just then the bear came tearing round the end of the hummocks in full chase. "Hurrah! hallo! ho!" roared the men, who had crowded on deck at the first note of alarm. Sam Baker seized a heavy ash handspike about five feet long, and was on his way to meet his comrade before the others had gained the ice. They were not slow, however. Some with muskets, some with pistols and cutlasses, and some with nothing but their fists--all followed Sam, who was now far ahead. Baker passed Davy without a remark, and ran straight at the bear, which stopped on seeing such a big, powerful man running so furiously at him, and flourishing a bludgeon that would almost have suited the hand of a giant. But polar bears are not timid. He rose on his hind legs at once, and paid no attention whatever to the tremendous crack that Sam dealt him over the skull. The blow broke the handspike in two, and the fool-hardy seaman would soon have paid for his rashness with his life had not friendly and steady hands been near. Nothing daunted, he was about to repeat the blow with the piece of the handspike that was still in his grasp, and the bear was about to seize him with its claws, each of which were full two inches long, when the first mate and Gregory came running toward him, side by side, the first armed with a rifle, the doctor with pistols. "Too late," gasped Gregory. "We must fire," said Mansell, "and risk hitting Sam. Here, doctor, you are a good shot; take the rifle." The young man obeyed, dropped on one knee, and took aim, but did not fire. Sam was between him and the bear. A sudden movement changed their positions. The side of the monster came into view, and in another instant it was stretched on the ice with a bullet in his brain. CHAPTER SEVEN. A GREAT BATTLE WITH THE WALRUS. It need scarcely be said that there was a jovial feast that night at supper. The bear's tongue was cooked after all, but the impudent tongues of the party were not silenced, for they almost worried the life out of poor Davy for having run away from a bear. Soon after this event the preparations for spending the winter were completed; at least as far as the fitting up of the vessel was concerned. "This morning," writes Gregory, in his journal, "we finished housing over our Arctic home. The _Hope_ is very snug, lined with moss, and almost covered with snow. A sail has been spread over the quarter-deck like an awning; it is also covered with moss and snow. This, we hope, will give much additional warmth to our house below. We all live together now, men and officers. It will require our united strength to fight successfully against that terrible enemy, John Frost. John is king of the Arctic regions, undoubtedly! "Dawkins got a cold-bath yesterday that amused the men much and did him no harm. For some time past we have been carrying moss from the island in large bundles. Dawkins got leave to help, as he said he was sick-tired of always working among stores. He was passing close to the fire-hole with a great bundle of moss on his back, when his foot slipped, and down he went. This hole is kept constantly open. It is Baker's duty night and morning to break the ice and have it ready in case of fire. The ice on the surface was therefore thin; in a moment nothing was to be seen of poor Dawkins but his bundle! Fortunately he held tight on to it, and we hauled him out, soaked to the skin. The thermometer stood at 35 degrees below zero, the coldest day we have had up to this time; and in two minutes the unfortunate man's clothes were frozen so stiff that he could scarcely walk! We had to break the ice on his legs and arms at the joints, and even then he had to be half hoisted on board and carried below. We all dress in seal-skin and fox-skin garments now. Dawkins had on a rough coat, made of white and grey foxes; trousers of the same; boots of seal-skin, and mittens ditto. When all this was soaked and frozen he was truly a humbling sight! "The undressing of him was a labour of difficulty as well as of love. However, when he was rubbed dry, and re-clothed, he was none the worse. Indeed, I am inclined to think he was much the better of his ducking. "To-morrow we are to make some curious experiments with boats, sledges, and kites. The captain is anxious to take our largest boat over the ice as far to the south as possible, and leave her there with a quantity of provisions, so that we may have her to fall back upon if any misfortune should befall the brig, which I earnestly pray that God may forbid. "Davy Butts, who is an ingenious fellow in his way, says that we can sail a boat on the ice almost as well as on the water, and that we may drag sledges by means of kites, if we choose. The captain means to attempt a journey to the north with sledges in spring, so, if the kites answer, Butts will have done us good service. But I have my doubts. "The nights are closing in fast; very soon we shall be without the sun altogether. But the moon is cheering us. Last night, (28th October) she swept in a complete circle round the sky _all day_ as well as all night. She only touched the horizon, and then, instead of setting, she rose again, as if the frozen sea had frightened her. "_October 30th_.--Baker came in to-day and reported open water about six miles off, and walrus sporting in it. I shall set out to-morrow on a hunt." The hunt which the young doctor here wrote of came off the following day, but it was a very different one from what any of the men had expected. Early in the morning, Baker, Davy Butts, and Gregory set off on foot, armed with a rifle and two muskets, besides a couple of harpoons, a whale-lance, and a long line. They also took a small sledge, which was intended to be used in hauling home the meat if they should be successful. Three hours' hard walking brought the party to the edge of the solid ice, after which they travelled on the floes that were being constantly broken by the tides, and were only joined together by ice of a night or two old. This was little more than an inch thick, so they had to advance with caution. Presently the loud mooing of a bull walrus was heard. Its roar was something between the lowing of a bull and the bark of a large dog, but much louder, for the walrus resembles an elephant in size more than any other animal. Soon after they came in sight of their game. Five walrus were snorting and barking in a hole which they had broken in the ice. The way in which this huge monster opens a hole when he wants to get out of the sea is to come up from below with considerable violence and send his head crashing through the ice. The three men now became very wary. They crept on their hands and knees behind the ice-hummocks until within about a hundred yards of the brutes. Then they ascended a small hummock to take a look round and decide on their plan of operations. While lying there, flat on their faces, they took particular care to keep their heads well concealed, just raising them high enough to observe the position of the walrus. There was a sheet of flat ice between them and the hole, so that it was impossible to advance nearer without being seen. This perplexed them much, for although their bullets might hit at that distance, they would not be able to run in quick enough to use their lances, and the harpoons would be of no use at all. While thus undecided what to do, they were unexpectedly taught a lesson in walrus-hunting that surprised them not a little. "Hallo! there's a bear!" whispered Davy Butts, as a hairy object crawled out from behind an ice-hummock about two hundred yards from the place where they lay, and made toward the walrus in a sly, cat-like manner. "More like a seal," observed Baker. "A seal! why, it's a _man_!" said Gregory, in a low, excited whisper. "So it is, sure enough," said Baker; "it must be an Eskimo, though his hairy garments make him look more like a bear than a man, and as the fellow has got here before us, I suppose we must give up our claim to the brutes." "Time enough to talk of that when the brutes are killed," said Gregory with a smile. "But lie still, lads. We will take a lesson from this fellow, who has been so earnestly staring at the walrus that he has not noticed us." The three men lay perfectly motionless watching the native, who crept as near to the hole as he could without being seen, and then waited for a few minutes until the creatures should dive. This they were constantly doing; staying down a few moments at a time, and then coming up to breathe--for the walrus cannot live without air. He is not a fish, and although he can stay down a long time, he _must_ come to the surface occasionally to breathe. In this he resembles the seal and the whale. Presently, down they all went with a tremendous splash. Now was the moment! the Eskimo rose, ran at full speed for a few yards, then fell flat on his face, and lay quite still as if he had been shot dead. The reason of this was soon apparent. He understood the habits of the walrus, and knew that they would rise again. This they did almost the moment after, and began their snorting, bellowing, and rolling again. Once more they dived. Up got the Eskimo, ran a few yards further forward, and then fell flat down as before. In this way he got near to the hole without being seen. The watchers observed that he carried a harpoon and a coil of thick line. The next time the walrus dived he ran to the edge of the hole, but now, instead of falling down, he stood quite still with the harpoon raised above his head ready to be thrown. In a few moments the monsters reappeared. Two rose close at the edge of the hole; one was a male, the other a female. They were frightfully ugly to look at. Shaking the water from his head and shoulders, the bull at once caught sight of the man who had thus suddenly appeared. At that instant the Eskimo threw up his left arm. This action, instead of frightening the brutes away, caused them to raise themselves high out of the water, in order to have a good look at the strange creature who had thus dared to disturb them in their watery home. This was just what the native wanted. It gave him a chance of driving the harpoon under the flipper of the male. The instant this was done he caught up the end of his coil and ran quickly back to the full length of the line. The battle that now begun was perhaps one of the fiercest that was ever fought in the Arctic regions. The walrus lashed the water furiously for a second or two and dived. This checked the native, who at once stopped running, drove the sharp point of a little piece of wood into the ice, and put the loop at the end of his line over it. He pressed the loop close down to the ice with his feet, so that he could hold on when it tightened, which it did with great force. But the line was a stout one. It had been cut from the hide of a walrus, and prepared in a peculiar way for the purpose of standing a heavy strain. The Eskimo now played the monster as an angler plays a trout. At one moment he held on, the next he eased off. The line was sometimes like a bar of iron, then it was slackened off as the animal rose and darted about. After this had happened once or twice the bull came to the surface, blowing tremendously, and began to bark and roar in great fury. The female came up at the same time. She evidently meant to stick by her partner and share his danger. The others had dived and made off at the first sign of war. The wounded walrus was a little flurried and very angry; the female was not at all frightened, she was passionately furious! Both of them tore up the ice tables with their great ivory tusks, and glared at their enemy with an expression that there was no mistaking. The walrus is well known to be one of the fiercest animals in the world. Woe to the poor native if he had been caught by these monsters at that time. After some minutes spent in uselessly smashing the ice and trying to get at the native, they both dived. Now came into play the Eskimo's knowledge of the animal's habits and his skill in this curious kind of warfare. Before diving they looked steadily at the man for a second, and then swam under the ice straight for the spot where he stood. The Eskimo of course could not see this, but he knew it from past experience. He therefore changed his position instantly; ran a few yards to one side, and planted his stick and loop again. This had hardly been done when the ice burst up with a loud crash; a hole of more than fifteen feet wide was made on the exact spot which the man had quitted, and the walrus appeared with a puff like that of a steam-engine, and a roar that would have done credit to a lion. The great lumpish-looking heads and square-cut faces of the creatures looked frightful at this point in the fight. There was something like human intelligence in their malicious and brutal faces, as the water poured down their cheeks and over their bristling beards, mingled with blood and foam. At this moment there was a shout close at hand, and two other Eskimos ran out from behind the ice-hummocks and joined their comrade. They were armed with long lances, the handles of which were made of bone, and the points of beautiful white ivory tipped with steel. It was afterwards discovered that these natives obtained small pieces of iron and steel from the Eskimos further south, who were in the habit of trading at the settlements on the coast of Greenland. The strangers at once ran to the edge of the pool and gave the bull walrus two deep wounds with their lances. They also wounded the female. This seemed to render them more furious than ever. They dived again. The first Eskimo again shifted his position, and the others ran back a short distance. They were not a moment too soon in these changes, for the ice was again burst upward at the spot they had just quitted, and the enraged beasts once more came bellowing to the surface and vented their fury on the ice. It may seem almost incredible to the reader, _but it is a fact_, that this battle lasted fully four hours. At the end of the third hour it seemed to the sailors who were watching it, that the result was still doubtful, for the Eskimos were evidently becoming tired, while the monsters of the Polar seas were still furious. "I think we might help them with a butlet," whispered Baker. "It might frighten them, perhaps, but it would save them a good deal of trouble." "Wait a little longer," replied Gregory. "I have it in my mind to astonish them. You see they have wounded the female very badly, but when the male dies, which he cannot now be long of doing, she will dive and make off, and so they'll lose her, for they don't seem to have another harpoon and line." "Perhaps they have one behind the hummocks," suggested Davy Butts, whose teeth were chattering in his head with cold. "If they had they would have used it long ago," said Gregory. "At any rate I mean to carry out my plan--which is this. When the bull is about dead I will fire at the female and try to hit her in a deadly part, so as to kill her at once. Then, Sam, you will run out with our harpoon and dart into her to prevent her sinking, or diving if she should not be killed. And you, Davy, will follow me and be ready with a musket." This plan had just been settled when the bull walrus began to show signs of approaching death. Gregory therefore took a deliberate aim with the rifle and fired. The result was startling! The female walrus began to roll and lash about furiously, smashing the ice and covering the sea around with bloody foam. At first the Eskimos stood motionless--rooted to the spot, as if they had been thunderstruck. But when they saw Sam Baker dart from behind the hummock, flourishing his harpoon, followed by Gregory and Butts, their courage deserted them; they turned in terror and fled. On getting behind the hummocks, however, they halted and peeped over the ledges of ice to see what the seamen did. Sam Baker, being an old whaleman, darted his harpoon cleverly, and held fast the struggling animal. At the same time Davy Butts seized the end of the line which the natives had thrown down in terror, and held on to the bull. It was almost dead, and quite unable to show any more fight. Seeing that all was right, Gregory now laid down his rifle and advanced slowly to the hummock, behind which the Eskimos had taken refuge. He knew, from the reports of previous travellers, that holding up both arms is a sign of peace with the Eskimos. He therefore stopped when within a short distance of the hummocks and held up his arms. The signal was understood at once. The natives leaped upon the top of the hummock and held up their arms in reply. Again Gregory tossed up his, and made signs to them to draw near. This they did without hesitation, and the doctor shook them by the hand and patted their hairy shoulders. They were all of them stout, well-made fellows, about five feet seven or eight inches high, and very broad across the shoulders. They were fat, too, and oily-faced, jolly-looking men. They smiled and talked to each other for a few moments and then spoke to Gregory, but when he shook his head, as much as to say, "I don't understand you," they burst into a loud laugh. Then they suddenly became grave, and ran at full speed toward the hole where the walrus floated. Davy Butts made the usual sign of friendship and handed them the end of their line, which they seized, and set about securing their prize without taking any farther notice of their new friends. The manner in which these wild yet good-natured fellows hauled the enormous carcass out of the water was simple and ingenious. They made four cuts in the neck, about two inches apart from each other, and raised the skin between these cuts, thus making two bands. Through one of these bands they passed a line, and carried it to a stick made fast in the ice, where they passed it through a loop of well-greased hide. It was then carried back to the animal, made to pass under the second band, and the end was hauled in by the Eskimos. This formed a sort of double purchase, that enabled them to pull out of the hole a carcass which double their numbers could not have hauled up. Some idea of the bull's weight may be formed when I say that the carcass was eighteen feet long and eleven feet in circumference at the thickest part. There were no fewer than sixty deep lance-wounds in various parts of its body. When seen close at hand the walrus is a very ugly monster. It is something like a gigantic seal, having two large flippers, or fins, near its shoulders, and two others behind, that look like its tail. It uses these in swimming, but can also use them on land, so as to crawl, or rather to bounce forward in a clumsy fashion. By means of its fore-flippers it can raise itself high out of the water, and get upon the ice and rocks. It is fond of doing this, and is often found sleeping in the sunshine on the ice and on rocks. It has even been known to scramble up the side of an island to a height of a hundred feet, and there lie basking in the sun. Nevertheless, the water is the proper element of the walrus. All its motions are clumsy and slow until it gets into the sea; there it is "at home." Its upper face has a square, bluff look, and its broad muzzle and cheeks are covered by a coarse beard of bristles, like quills. The two white tusks point downward. In this they are unlike to those of the elephant. The tusks of the bull killed on this occasion were thirty inches long. The hide of the walrus is nearly an inch thick, and is covered with close, short hair. Beneath the skin he has a thick layer of fat, and this enables him to resist the extreme cold in the midst of which he dwells. The walrus is of great value to the Eskimos. But for it and the seal these poor members of the human family could not exist at all in those frozen regions. As it is, it costs them a severe struggle to keep the life in their bodies. But they do not complain of what seems to us a hard lot. They have been born to it. They know no happier condition of life. They wish for no better home, and the All-wise Creator has fitted them admirably, both in mind and body, to live and even to enjoy life in a region where most other men could live only in great discomfort, if they could exist at all. The Eskimos cut the walrus' thick hide into long lines with which they hunt--as we have seen. They do not cut these lines in strips and join them in many places; but, beginning at one end of the skin, they cut round and round without break to the centre, and thus secure a line of many fathoms in length. It is truly said that "necessity is the mother of invention." These natives have no wood. Not a single tree grows in the whole land of which I am writing. There are plenty of plants, grasses, mosses, and beautiful flowers in summer--growing, too, close beside ice-fields that remain unmelted all the year round. But there is not a tree large enough to make a harpoon of. Consequently the Eskimos are obliged to make sledges of bones; and as the bones and tusks of the walrus are not big enough for this purpose, they tie and piece them together in a remarkably neat and ingenious manner. Sometimes, indeed, they find pieces of drift-wood in the sea. Wrecks of whale-ships, too, are occasionally found by the natives in the south of Greenland. A few pieces of the precious wood obtained in this way are exchanged from one tribe to another, and so find their way north. But the further north we go the fewer pieces of this kind of wood do we find; and in the far north, where our adventurous voyagers were now ice-bound, the Eskimos have very little wood, indeed. Food is the chief object which the Eskimo has in view when he goes out to do battle with the walrus. Its flesh is somewhat coarse, no doubt, but it is excellent, nourishing food notwithstanding, and although a well-fed Englishman might turn up his nose at it, many starving Englishmen have smacked their lips over walrus-beef in days gone by-- aye, and have eaten it raw, too, with much delight! Let not my reader doubt the truth of this. Well-known and truth-loving men have dwelt for a time in those regions, and some of these have said that they actually came to _prefer_ the walrus flesh raw, because it was more strengthening, and fitted them better for undertaking long and trying journeys in extremely cold weather. One of the most gallant men who ever went to the Polar seas, (Dr Kane, of the American navy), tells us, in his delightful book, "Arctic Explorations", that he frequently ate raw flesh and liked it, and that the Eskimos often eat it raw. In fact, they are not particular. They will eat it cooked or raw--just as happens to be most convenient for them. When the animals, whose killing I have described, were secured, the Eskimos proceeded to skin and cut them up. The sailors, of course, assisted, and learned a lesson. While this was going on one of their number went away for a short time, and soon returned with a sledge drawn by about a dozen dogs. This they loaded with the meat and hide of the bull, intending evidently to leave the cow to their new friends, as being their property. But Gregory thought they were entitled to a share of it, so, after loading his sledge with a considerable portion of the meat, he gave them the remainder along with the hide. This pleased them mightily, and caused them to talk much, though to little purpose. However, Gregory made good use of the language of signs. He also delighted them with the gift of a brass ring, an old knife, and a broken pencil-case, and made them understand that his abode was not far distant, by drawing the figure of a walrus in a hole in the snow, and then a thing like a bee-hive at some distance from it, pointing northward at the same time. He struck a harpoon into the outline of the walrus, to show that it was the animal that had just been killed, and then went and lay down in the picture of the bee-hive, to show that he dwelt there. The natives understood this quite well. They immediately drew another bee-hive, pointed to the south and to the sun, and held up five fingers. From this it was understood that their village was five days distant from the spot where they then were. He next endeavored to purchase three of their dogs, but they objected to this, and refused to accept of three knives as a price for them. They were tempted, however, by the offer of a whale harpoon and a hemp line, and at last agreed to let him have three of their best dogs. This the young doctor considered a piece of great good fortune, and being afraid that they would repent, he prepared to leave the place at once. The dogs were fastened by lines to the sledge of their new masters. A whip was made out of a strip of walrus hide, a bone served for a handle, and away they went for the brig at a rattling pace, after bidding the natives farewell, and making them understand that they hoped to meet again in the course of the winter. Thus happily ended their first meeting with the Eskimos. It may well be believed that there were both astonishment and satisfaction on board the _Hope_ that night, when the hunting party returned, much sooner than had been expected, with the whip cracking, the men cheering, the dogs howling, and the sledge well laden with fresh meat. CHAPTER EIGHT. THE CAUSE OF ICE-BERGS--FOX-CHASE--A BEAR. One day, long after the walrus-hunt just described, Joe Davis stood on the deck of the _Hope_, leaning over the side and looking out to sea--at least in the direction of the sea, for, although mid-day, it was so dark that he could not see very far in any direction. Joe was conversing with Mr Dicey on the appearance of things around him. "Do you know, Mr Dicey," said he, "wot it is as causes them there ice-bergs?" Mr Dicey looked very grave and wise for a few seconds without answering. Then he said, in rather a solemn tone, "Well, Davis, to tell you the real truth, I _don't_ know!" Now, as this question is one of considerable interest, I shall endeavour to answer it for the benefit of the reader. The whole of the interior of Greenland is covered with ice and snow. This snowy covering does not resemble that soft snow which falls on our own hills. It is hard, and _never_ melts entirely away. The snow there is in some places a thousand feet thick! It covers all the hill-tops and fills up all the valleys, so that the country may be said to be a buried land. Since the world began, perhaps, snow has been falling on it every winter; but the summers there have been so short that they could not melt away the snow of one winter before that of another came and covered it up and pressed it down. Thus, for ages, the snow of one year has been added to that which was left of the preceding, and the pressure has been so great that the mass has been squeezed nearly as hard as pure ice. The ice that has been formed in this way is called _glacier_; and the glaciers of Greenland cover, as I have said, the whole country, so that it can never be cultivated or inhabited by man unless the climate change. There are glaciers of this kind in many other parts of the world. We have them in Switzerland and in Norway, but not on nearly so large a scale as in Greenland. Now, although this glacier-ice is clear and hard, it is not quite so solid as pure ice, and when it is pushed down into the valleys by the increasing masses above it, actually _flows_. But this flowing motion cannot be seen. It is like the motion of the hour hand of a watch, which cannot be perceived however closely it may be looked at. You might go to one of the valleys of Greenland and gaze at a glacier for days together, but you would see no motion whatever. All would appear solid, frozen up, and still. But notice a block of stone lying on the surface of the glacier, and go back many months after and you will find the stone lying a little further down the valley than when you first saw it. Thus glaciers are formed and thus they slowly move. But what has all this to do with ice-bergs? We shall see. As the great glaciers of the north, then, are continually moving down the valleys, of course their ends are pushed into the sea. These ends, or tongues, are often hundreds of feet thick. In some places they present a clear glittering wall to the sea of several hundreds of feet in height, with perhaps as much again lost to view down in the deep water. As the extremities of these tongues are shoved farther and farther out they chip off and float away. _These chips are ice-bergs_! I have already said that ice-bergs are sometimes miles in extent--like islands; that they sink seven or eight hundred feet below the surface, while their tops rise more than a hundred feet above it--like mountains. If these, then, are the "chips" of the Greenland glaciers, what must the "old blocks" be? Many a long and animated discussion the sailors had that winter in the cabin of the _Hope_ on the subject of ice and ice-bergs! When the dark nights drew on, little or nothing could be done outside by our voyagers, and when the ice everywhere closed up, all the animals forsook them except polar bears, so that they ran short of fresh provisions. As months of dreary darkness passed away, the scurvy, that terrible disease, began to show itself among the men, their bodies became less able to withstand the cold, and it was difficult for them at last to keep up their spirits. But they fought against their troubles bravely. Captain Harvey knew well that when a man's spirits go he is not worth much. He therefore did his utmost to cheer and enliven those around him. One day, for instance, he went on deck to breathe a mouthful of fresh air. It was about eleven in the forenoon, and the moon was shining brightly in the clear sky. The stars, too, and the aurora borealis, helped to make up for the total absence of the sun. The cold air cut like a knife against his face when he issued from the hatchway, and the cold nose of one of the dogs immediately touched his hand, as the animal gambolled round him with delight; for the extreme severity of the weather began to tell on the poor dogs, and made them draw more lovingly to their human companions. "Ho! hallo!" shouted the captain down the hatchway. "A fox-chase! a fox-chase! Tumble up, all hands!" The men were sitting at the time in a very dull and silent mood. They were much cast down, for as it had been cloudy weather for some weeks past, thick darkness had covered them night and day, so that they could not tell the one from the other, except by the help of their watches, which were kept carefully going. Their journals, also, were written up daily, otherwise they must certainly have got confused in their time altogether! In consequence of this darkness the men were confined almost entirely to the cabin for a time. Those who had scurvy, got worse; those who were well, became gloomy. Even Pepper, who was a tremendous joker, held his tongue, and Joe Davis, who was a great singer, became silent. Jim Crofts was in his bunk "down" with the scurvy, and stout Sam Baker, who was a capital teller of stories, could not pluck up spirit enough to open his mouth. "In fact," as Mr Dicey said, "they all had a most 'orrible fit o' the blues!" The captain and officers were in better health and spirits than the men, though they all fared alike at the same table, and did the same kind of work, whatever that might chance to be. The officers, however, were constantly exerting themselves to cheer the men, and I have no doubt that this very effort of theirs was the means of doing good to themselves. "He that watereth others shall be watered," says the Word of God. I take this to mean--he that does good to others shall get good to himself. So it certainly was with the officers of the _Hope_. When the captain's shout reached the cabin Jim Crofts had just said: "I'll tell 'ee what it is, messmates, if this here state of things goes on much longer, I'll go out on the floes, walk up to the first polar bear I meet, and ask him to take his supper off me!" There was no laugh at this, but Pepper remarked, in a quiet way, that "he needn't put himself to so much trouble, for he was such a pale-faced, disagreeable looking object that no bear would eat him unless it was starving." "Well, then, I'll offer myself to a starvin' bear--to one that's a'most dead with hunger," retorted Jim gloomily. "What's that the cap'en is singin' out?" said Davy Butts, who was mending a pair of canvas shoes. The men roused themselves at once; for the hope of anything new turning up excited them. "Hallo! ho!" roared the captain again, in a voice that might have started a dead walrus. "Tumble up, there!--a fox-chase! I'll give my second-best fur-coat to the man that catches foxey!" In one instant the whole crew were scrambling up the ladder. Even Jim Crofts, who was really ill, rolled out of his bunk and staggered on deck, saying he would have a "go after foxey if he should die for it!" The game of fox is simple. One man is chosen to be the fox. He runs off and the rest follow. They are bound to go wherever the fox leads. In this case it was arranged that the fox should run round the deck until he should be caught; then the man who caught him should become fox, and continue running on with all the rest following, until he, in turn, should be caught, and so on until the one who could run longest and fastest should break down all the rest. The warm fur-coat was a prize worth running for in such a cold climate, so the game began with spirit. Young Gregory offered to be fox first, and away they went with a yell. Mr Mansell was a little lame, and soon gave in. Mr Dicey fell at the second round, and was unable to recover distance. Gregory would certainly have gained the coat, for he was strong, and had been a crack racer at school; but he did not want the coat, so allowed Sam Baker to catch him. Sam held on like a deer for a few minutes, and one after another the men dropped off as they were blown. Jim Crofts, poor fellow, made a gallant burst, but his limbs refused to help his spirit. He fell, and was assisted below by the captain and replaced in his bunk, where, however, he felt the benefit of his efforts. The race was now kept up by Sam Baker, Joe Davis, and Butts. These three were struggling on and panting loudly, while their comrades danced about, clapped their mittened hands, and shouted, "Now then, Sam!--go in and win, Joe!--Butts, forever!" and such-like encouraging cries. To the surprise of everyone Davy Butts came off the winner, and for many a day after that enjoyed the warm coat which he said his long legs had gained for him. This effort of the captain to cheer the men was very successful, so he resolved to follow it up with an attempt at private theatricals. Accordingly this thing was proposed and heartily agreed to. Next day everyone was busy making preparations. Tom Gregory agreed to write a short play. Sam Baker, being the healthiest man on board, was willing to act the part of an invalid old lady, and Jim Crofts consented to become a gay young doctor for that occasion. Meanwhile the captain arranged a piece of real work, for he felt that the attempt to keep up the spirits alone would not do. They had been for a long time living on salt provisions. Nothing could restore the crew but fresh meat--yet fresh meat was not to be had. The walrus and deer were gone, and although foxes and bears were still around them, they had failed in all their attempts to shoot or trap any of these animals. A visit to the Eskimo camp, therefore, (if such a camp really existed), became necessary; so, while the theatricals were in preparation, a small sledge was rigged up, Gregory and Sam Baker were chosen to go with him; the dogs were harnessed, and, on a fine, starry forenoon, away they went to the south at full gallop, with three hearty cheers from the crew of the brig, who were left in charge of the first mate. The journey thus undertaken was one full of risk. It was not known how far distant the natives might be, or where they were likely to be found. The weather was intensely cold. Only a small quantity of preserved meat could be taken--for the rest, they trusted in some measure to their guns. But the captain's great hope was to reach the Eskimo village in a day or two at the farthest. If he should fail to do so, the prospect of himself and his crew surviving the remainder of the long winter was, he felt, very gloomy indeed. Success attended this expedition at the very beginning. They had only been eight hours out when they met a bear sitting on its haunches behind a hummock. "Hallo! look out!" cried Gregory, on catching sight of him. "Fire, lads," said the captain, "I'm not quite ready." Gregory fired and the bear staggered. Baker then fired and it fell! This was a blessing which filled their hearts so full of thankfulness that they actually shook hands with each other, and then gave vent to three hearty cheers. Their next thoughts were given to their comrades in the _Hope_. "You and Baker will camp here, Tom," said the captain, "and I will return to the brig with a sledge-load of the meat. When I've put it aboard I'll come straight back to you. We'll keep a ham for ourselves, of course. Now then, to work." To work the three men went. A hind leg of the bear was cut off, the rest was lashed firmly on the sledge, and the dogs enjoyed a feed while this was being done. Then the captain cracked his whip. "Good-bye, lads", "Good-bye, captain," and away he and the dogs and sledge went, and were soon lost to view among the hummocks of the frozen sea. CHAPTER NINE. A VISIT TO THE ESKIMOS--WONDERFUL DOINGS--A MYSTERY. The proceedings of this sledge party were so interesting that I give them in the words of Tom Gregory's journal: "_Sunday_.--We have indeed cause to rejoice and to thank God for His mercies this morning. Last night we shot a bear, and the captain is away with the carcass of it to our poor scurvy-smitten friends in the _Hope_. This Sunday will be a real day of rest for me and Sam Baker, though our resting-place is a very queer one. After the captain left us, we looked about for a convenient place to encamp, and only a few yards from the spot where we killed the bear we found the ruins of an old Eskimo hut made partly of stones, partly of ice. We set to work to patch it up with snow, and made it perfectly air-tight in about two hours. "Into this we carried our bear-skins and things, spread them on the snowy floor, put a lump of bear's fat into our tin travelling lamp, and prepared supper. We were not particular about the cookery. We cut a couple of huge slices off our bear's ham, half roasted them over the lamp, and began. It was cut, roast, and come again, for the next hour and a half. I positively never knew what hunger was until I came to this savage country! And I certainly never before had any idea of how much I could eat at one sitting! "This hearty supper was washed down with a swig of melted snow-water. We had some coffee with us, but were too tired to infuse it. Then we blocked up the door with snow, rolled our bear-skins round us, and were sound asleep in five minutes. "Lucky for us that we were so careful to stop up every hole with snow, for, during the night the wind rose and it became so intensely cold that Baker and I could scarcely keep each other warm enough to sleep, tired though we were. At this moment my fingers are so stiff that they will hardly hold the pencil with which I write, and the gale is blowing so furiously outside that we dare not open the door. This door, by the way, is only a hole big enough to creep through. The captain cannot travel to-day. He knows we are safe, so I will not expect him. I have brought my small Testament with me. It has hitherto been my constant travelling companion. I am thus provided with mental food. But, in truth, I shall not want much of that for the next twelve hours. Rest! rest! rest! is what we require. No one can imagine how a man can enjoy rest, after he has been for many months exposed to constant, exhausting, heart-breaking toil, with the thermometer _always_ below zero, and with nothing but salt food to keep him alive. "_Tuesday night_.--Here we are at last--among the Eskimos! and what a queer set they are, to be sure. All fat and fur! They look as broad as they are long. They wear short fox and seal-skin coats, or shirts, with hoods to then; no trousers, but long boots, that come up and meet the coats. Women, men, and babies, all dressed alike, or nearly so. The only difference is that the women's boots are longer and wider than those of the men. But I forgot--yes, there is one other difference; the women have _tails_ to their coats; the men have none! Real tails--not like the broad skirts of our dress-coats, but long, narrow tails, something like the tail of a cow, with a broadish flap at the end of it. This they evidently look upon as a handsome ornament, for I observe that when they go off on a journey, each woman buttons her tail up to her waist, to keep it out of the way, and when she returns she unbuttons it, and comes into camp with her tail flowing gracefully behind her! "We had a terrible journey of it down here. The captain returned to us on Monday morning early, and the next two days we spent struggling over the hummocks and out upon the floes. It was so cold that the wind cut into our very marrow. We have all had our faces frozen, more or less, but not badly. Baker will have an ugly spot on the end of his nose for some weeks to come. It is getting black now, and as the nose itself is bright red and much swelled, his appearance is not improved. I foolishly tried to eat a little snow yesterday morning, and the consequence is that my lips are sore and bloody. On Monday afternoon the dogs and sledge went head over heels into a deep rut in the ice, and it cost us two hours to get them out again. Luckily no damage was done, although the captain was on the sledge at the time. "We had almost despaired of finding the village when we came upon a sledge track that led us straight up to it. I shall never forget the beauty of the scene on our arrival. The sky was lighted up with the most beautiful aurora I have yet seen in these regions. Stars spangled the sky in millions. Great ice-bergs rose in wild confusion in the distance, and all along the shore for a few hundred yards were clusters of snow-huts. They looked exactly like bee-hives. I have seen many a strange house, but the strangest of all is certainly a house of snow! To-day I was fortunate enough to see one built. It was done very neatly. The hard snow was cut into slabs with a wooden knife. These were piled one above another in regular order, and cemented with snow-- as bricks are with lime. The form of the wall was circular, and the slabs were so shaped that they sloped inwards, thus forming a dome, or large bee-hive, with a key-stone slab in the top to keep all firm. A hole was then cut in the side for a door--just large enough to admit of a man creeping through. In front of this door a porch or passage of snow was built. The only way of getting into the hut is by creeping on hands and knees along the passage. A hole was also cut in the roof, into which was inserted a piece of clear ice, to serve for a window. "The natives received us with wild surprise, and I found my old friends, the walrus-hunters, among them. They were remarkably friendly. One stout, middle-aged fellow invited us to his hut. I am now seated in it beside the Eskimo's wife, who would be a good-looking woman if she were not so fat, dirty, and oily! But we cannot expect people living in this fashion, and in such a country, to be very clean. Although the hut is white outside, it is by no means white inside. They cook all their food over an oil-lamp, which also serves to heat the place; and it is wonderful how warm a house of snow becomes. The cold outside is so great as to prevent the walls melting inside. Besides Myouk, our host, and his wife, there are two of the man's sisters, two lads, two girls, and a baby in the hut. Also six dogs. The whole of them--men, women, children, and dogs, are as fat as they can be, for they have been successful in walrus-hunting of late. No wonder that the perspiration is running down my face! The natives feel the heat, too, for they are all half-naked--the baby entirely so; but they seem to like it! "What a chattering, to be sure! I am trying to take notes, and Myouk's wife is staring at me with her mouth wide open. It is a wonder she can open her eyes at all, her cheeks are so fat. The captain is trying, by the language of signs, to get our host to understand that we are much in want of fresh meat. Sam Baker is making himself agreeable to the young people, and the plan he has hit upon to amuse them is to show them his watch, and let them hear it tick. Truly, I have seldom seen a happier family group than this Eskimo household, under their snowy roof! "There is to be a grand walrus-hunt to-morrow. We shall accompany them, and see whether our endurance on a long march, and our powers with the rifle, cannot impress them with some respect for us. At present they have not much. They seem to think us a pale-faced set of helpless creatures. "_Wednesday night_.--We have just returned from the hunt; and a tremendous hunt it was! Six walrus and two bears have been killed, and the whole village is wild with delight. Cooking is going on in every hut. But they have no patience. Nearly everyone is munching away at a lump of raw walrus flesh. All their faces are more or less greasy and bloody. Even Myouk's baby--though not able to speak--is choking itself with a long, stringy piece of blubber. The dogs, too, have got their share. An Eskimo's chief happiness seems to be in eating, and I cannot wonder at it, for the poor creatures have hard work to get food, and they are often on the verge of starvation. "What a dirty set they are! I shall never forget the appearance of Myouk's hut when we entered it this evening after returning from the hunt. The man's wife had made the wick of her stone lamp as long as possible in order to cook a large supper. There were fifteen people crowded together in this hive of snow, and the heat had induced them to throw off the greater part of their clothing. Every hand had a greasy lump of bear or walrus meat in it; every mouth was in full occupation, and every fat face, of man, woman, and child, was beaming with delight and covered with dirt and oil! "The captain and I looked at each other and smiled as we entered, and Sam Baker laughed outright. This set all the natives laughing, too. We did not much relish the idea of supping and sleeping in such a place-- but necessity has no law. We were hungry as hawks, desperately tired, and the temperature outside is 35 degrees below zero. The first duty of the night is now over. We have supped. The natives will continue to eat the greater part of the night. They eat till they fall asleep; if they chance to awake they eat again. Half of them are asleep now, and snoring. The other half are eating slowly, for they are nearly full. The heat and smell are awful! I am perspiring at every pore. We have taken off as much of our clothes as decency will permit. Sam has on a pair of trousers--nothing more. I am in the same state! There is little room, as may be supposed. We have to lie huddled up as we best can, and a strange sight we are as the red light of the flaring lamp falls on us. At this moment Myouk's wife is cutting a fresh steak. The youngest boy is sound asleep with a lump of fat between his teeth. The captain is also sound, with his legs sprawling over the limbs of half a dozen slumbering natives. He is using the baby as a pillow. It is curious to think that these poor creatures always live in this way. Sometimes feasting, sometimes starving. Freezing out on the floes; stewing under their roofs of snow. Usually fat; for the most part jolly; always dirty! "It is sad, too, to think of this; for it is a low condition for human beings to live in. They seem to have no religion at all. Certainly none that is worthy of the name. I am much puzzled when I think of the difficulties in the way of introducing Christianity among these northern Eskimos. No missionary could exist in such a climate and in such circumstances. It is with the utmost difficulty that hardy seamen can hold out for a year, even with a ship-load of comforts. But this is too deep a subject to write about to-night! I can't keep my eyes open. I will, therefore, close my note-book and lie down to sleep--perhaps to be suffocated! I hope not!" Accordingly, our young friend the doctor did lie down to sleep, and got through the night without being suffocated. Indeed, he slept so soundly that Captain Harvey could scarcely rouse him next morning. "Hallo! Tom! Tom!" cried he loudly, at the same time shaking his nephew's arm violently. "Aye, eh!" and a tremendous yawn from Tom. "What now, uncle? Time to rise, is it? Where am I?" "Time to rise!" replied the captain, laughing. "I should think it is. Why, it's past eleven in the forenoon. The stars are bright and the sky clear. The aurora, too, is shining. Come, get up! The natives are all outside watching Sam while he packs our sledge. The ladies are going about the camp whisking their tails and whacking their babies in great glee, for it is not every day they enjoy such a feed as they had last night." In half an hour they were ready. The whole village turned out to see them start. Myouk, with his wife Oomia, and the baby, and his son Meetek, accompanied them to Refuge Harbour. Oomia's baby was part of herself. She could not move without it! It was always naked, but being stuffed into the hood of its mother's fur-coat, it seemed always warm. "I say, Tom, what's that up in the sky?" said Captain Harvey suddenly, after they had been driving for a couple of hours. "It's the strangest looking thing I ever did see." "So it is," replied Gregory, gazing intently at the object in question, which seemed high up in the air. "It can't be a comet, because it gives no light." "Perhaps not, but it has got a tail, that's a fact," said Baker, in a voice of surprise. "Who ever heard of a dark, four-cornered star with a tail? If I had seen it in daylight, and in Merry England, I would have said it was a kite!" "A kite! nonsense," cried the captain; "what in the world _can_ it be?" Reader, you shall find that out in the next chapter. CHAPTER TEN. THE TALE OF A KITE--A GREAT BEAR-FIGHT. When Mr Mansell was left in charge of the brig a heavy weight lay on his heart, and he could by no means take part in the preparations for the theatricals which occupied the rest of the crew. He felt that life or death depended on the success of the captain in his search for fresh meat. Already most of the men were ill with scurvy, and some of them were alarmingly low. Nothing could save them but fresh meat, and when the first mate thought of the difficulties and dangers of a journey on the floes in such weather, and the uncertainty of the Eskimos being discovered, his heart misgave him. About an hour after the departure of Captain Harvey on the Monday morning he took Davy Butts aside. "Davy," said he, "you've been at work on these kites a long time. Are they nearly finished?" "Quite finished, sir," answered Butts. "Then get them up, for there is a good breeze. I shall try them on our small sledges. It will at least stir up and amuse the men." Ten minutes after this the crew were summoned on deck to witness an experiment. A small dog sledge lay on the hard snow beside the vessel, and near to this Davy Butts and Mr Dicey were holding on to a stout line, at the end of which an enormous kite was pulling. This kite was square in shape, made of the thickest brown paper, and nearly six feet across. That its power was great was evident from the difficulty with which the two men held it. The end of the line was fastened to the sledge. "Now, boys, ease off line till it is taut, and then wait for the word," said Davy Butts, jumping on to the sledge. "Now! Let go!" Away went the sledge over the hard snow at the rate of three miles an hour, which soon increased to double that rate. Davy cheered and waved his arms. The men gave one loud "hurrah" of surprise and delight, and set off in mad pursuit. They were soon left behind. "Hold on, Davy!" "Good-bye, Butts." "Look out, mind the ridge!" The last warning was needful. The sledge was rushing furiously toward a long ridge of ice which rose in a sharp slope to a height of three feet, and descended on the other side to an equal depth, but without any slope. Davy saw his danger, but he did not dare to put out foot or hand to check his progress. Even if he had it would have been of no use. Up the slope he went as a sea-gull skims over a wave; for one moment he was in the air--the next, he came down with a crash that nearly dislocated all his joints, and his teeth came together with a loud snap. (By good fortune his tongue was not between them!) The sledge was a strong one, and the thing was done so quickly and neatly that it did not upset. But now a large and rugged hummock lay right before him. To go against that would have been certain death, so Davy made up his mind at once, and jumped off at the smoothest part of the floe he could find. The lightened sledge sprang away like a rocket, and was brought up with a sudden jerk by the hummock. Of course the line broke, and the kite commenced to descend. It twirled and circled violently round, and at last went crash into an ice-berg, where it was broken to pieces! "Not so bad for a beginning," said Mansell, as poor Davy came back, looking very crest-fallen. "Now, Butts, come below. You have proved that the thing will do. Mr Dicey, get yourself ready for a trip over the ice. Let three men prepare to accompany you. I shall send you off to-morrow." Dicey, much surprised, went off to obey these orders; and Mansell, with the assistance of Butts, fitted the second kite for the intended journey. He made a rough guess at the strength of its pull, and loaded the sledge accordingly. Two tail ropes were fastened to the last bar of the sledge for the men to hold on by and check its speed. A sort of anchor was made by which it could be stopped at any moment, and two stout poles, with iron claws at the end of them, were prepared for scraping over the snow and checking the pace. Next day all was ready. A trial was made and the thing found to work admirably. The trial trip over, they bade their comrades farewell, and away they went due south, in the direction where the native village was supposed to be. It was this remarkable tow-horse that had filled Captain Harvey and his companions with so much surprise. The appearance of the sledge immediately after, with a shout and a cheer from Dicey and the men, explained the mystery. Being so near the Eskimo camp they at once returned to it, in order to allow the newly arrived party to rest, as well as to load their sledge with as much fresh meat as it could carry; for which supplies the captain took care to pay the natives with a few knives and a large quantity of hoop-iron--articles that were much more valuable to them than gold. As the wind could not be made to turn about to suit their convenience, the kite was brought down and given to Davy to carry, and a team of native dogs were harnessed to the sledge instead. On the following day the united party set out on their return to the brig, which they reached in safety. Tom Gregory's account of the Eskimos who accompanied them to their wooden home is amusing. His journal runs thus: "The amazement of our visitors is very great. Myouk, his wife and baby, and his son Meetek, are now our guests. When they first came in sight of the brig they uttered a wild shout--the men did so, at least--and tossed their arms and opened their eyes and mouths. They have never shut them since. They go all round the vessel, staring and gaping with amazement. We have given them a number of useful presents, and intend to send them home loaded with gifts for their friends. It is necessary to make a good impression on them. Our lives depend very much on the friendship of these poor people. We find that they are terrible thieves. A number of knives and a hatchet were missed--they were found hidden in Myouk's sledge. We tried to prevail on Oomia to sell her long boots. To our surprise she was quite willing to part with _one_, but nothing would induce her to give up the _other_. One of the men observed her steal a knife out of the cabin and hide it in the leg of her boot. The reason was now plain. We pulled off the boot without asking leave, and found there a large assortment of articles stolen from us. Two or three knives, a spoon, a bit of hoop-iron, and a marline spike. I have tried to make them understand, by signs, that this is very wicked conduct, but they only laugh at me. They are not in the least ashamed, and evidently regard stealing as no sin. "We have shot a musk ox. There are many of these creatures in other parts of the Arctic regions, but this is the first we have seen here. He fell to my rifle, and is now being devoured by ourselves and our dogs with great relish. He is about the size of a very small cow; has a large head and enormously thick horns, which cover the whole top of his head, bend down toward his cheeks, and then curve up and outward at the point. He is covered with long, brown hair, which almost reaches the ground, and has no tail worthy of the name. He seems to be an active and an angry creature. When I wounded him he came at me furiously, but had not pluck to charge home. As he turned away I gave him the shot that killed him. The meat is not bad, but it smells strongly of musk. Walrus is better. "Myouk and his son Meetek and I have had a most exciting bear-hunt since we returned. I followed these men one day, as I thought them bold, active-looking fellows, who would be likely to show me good Eskimo sport. And I was not disappointed. "About two miles from the brig we came on fresh bear tracks. A glow of the aurora gave us plenty of light. `What is yon round white lump?' thought I. `A bear? No, it must be a snow-wreath!' Myouk did not think so, for he ran behind a lump of ice, and became excited. He made signs to me to remain there while he and his son should go and attack the bear. They were armed each with a long lance. I must say, when I remembered the size and strength of the polar bear, that I was surprised to find these men bold enough to attack him with such arms. I had my rifle, but determined not to use it except in case of necessity. I wished to see how the natives were accustomed to act. "They were soon ready. Gliding swiftly from one lump of ice to another, they got near enough to make a rush. I was disobedient! I followed, and when the rush was made I was not far behind them. The bear was a very large one. It uttered an angry growl on seeing the men running toward it, and rose on its hind legs to receive them. It stood nearly eight feet high when in this position, and looked really a terrible monster. I stood still behind a hummock at a distance of about fifty yards, with my rifle ready. "On coming close up the father and son separated, and approached the bear one on each side. This divided his attention, and puzzled him very much; for, when he made a motion as if he were going to rush at Myouk, Meetek flourished his spear, and obliged him to turn--then Myouk made a demonstration, and turned him back again. Thus they were enabled to get close to its side before it could make up its mind which to attack. But the natives soon settled the question for it. Myouk was on the bear's right side, Meetek on its left. The father pricked it with the point of his lance. A tremendous roar followed, and the enraged animal turned towards him. This was just what he wanted, because it gave the son an opportunity of making a deadly thrust. Meetek was not slow to do it. He plunged his lance deep into the bear's heart, and it fell at once at full length, while a crimson stream poured out of the wound upon the snow. "While this fight was going on I might have shot the animal through the heart with great ease, for it was quite near to me, and when it got up on its hind legs its broad chest presented a fine target. It was difficult to resist the temptation to fire, but I wished to see the native manner of doing the thing from beginning to end, so did not interfere. I was rewarded for my self-denial. "Half an hour later, while we were dragging the carcass toward the brig, we came unexpectedly upon another bear. Myouk and Meetek at once grasped their lances and ran forward to attack him. I now resolved to play them a trick. Besides my rifle I carried a large horse-pistol in my belt. This I examined, and, finding it all right, I followed close at the heels of the Eskimos. Bruin got up on his hind legs as before, and the two men advanced close to him. I stopped when within thirty yards, cocked my rifle, and stood ready. Myouk was just going to thrust with his lance when--_bang_! went my rifle. The bear fell. It was shot right through the heart, but it struggled for some time after that. The natives seemed inclined to run away when they heard the shot, but I laughed and made signs of friendship. Then I went close up and shot the bear through the head with my pistol. This affair has filled my savage companions with deep respect for me!" These two bears were the last they obtained that winter; but as a good supply of meat had been obtained from the Eskimos, they were relieved from anxiety for the time, and the health of the men began to improve a little. But this happy state of things did not last till spring. These sorely tried men were destined to endure much suffering before the light of the sun came back to cheer their drooping spirits. CHAPTER ELEVEN. CHRISTMAS TIME--DEATH--RETURN OF LIGHT AND HOPE--DISASTERS AND FINAL DELIVERANCE. Christmas came at last, but with it came no bright sun to remind those ice-bound men of our Saviour--the "Sun of Righteousness"--whose birth the day commemorated. It was even darker than usual in Refuge Harbour on that Christmas-day. It was so dark at noon that one could not see any object more than a few yards distant from the eyes. A gale of wind from the nor'-west blew the snow-drift in whirling ghost-like clouds round the _Hope_, so that it was impossible to face it for a moment. So intense was the cold that it felt like sheets of fire being driven against the face! Truly it was a day well fitted to have depressed the heartiest of men. But man is a wonderful creature, not easy to comprehend! The very things that ought to have cast down the spirits of the men of the _Hope_ were the things that helped to cheer them. About this time, as I have said, the health of the crew had improved a little, so they were prepared to make the most of everything. Those feelings of kindliness and good-will which warm the breasts of all right-minded men at this season of the year, filled our Arctic voyagers to overflowing. Thoughts of "home" came crowding on them with a power that they had not felt at other times. Each man knew that on this day, more than any other day of that long, dark winter, the talk round a well-known hearth in Merry England would be of one who was far, far away in the dark regions of ice and snow. A tear or two that could not be forced back tumbled over rough cheeks which were not used to _that_ kind of salt water; and many a silent prayer went up to call down a blessing on the heads of dear ones at home. It blew "great guns outside," as Baker said, but what of that? it was a dead calm in the cabin! It was dark as a coal-hole on the floes. What then? it was bright as noon-day in the _Hope_! No sun blazed through the skylight, to be sure, but a lamp, filled with fat, glared on the table, and a great fire of coal glowed in the stove. Both of these together did not make the place too warm, but there were fur-coats and trousers and boots to help defy the cold. The men were few in number and not likely to see many friends on that Christmas-day. All the more reason why they should make the most of each other! Besides, they were wrong in their last idea about friends, for it chanced, on that very day, that Myouk the Eskimo paid them a visit--quite ignorant of its being Christmas, of course. Meetek was with him, and so was Oomia, and so was the baby--that remarkably fat, oily, naked baby, that seemed rather to enjoy the cold than otherwise! They had a plum-pudding that day. Butts said it was almost as big as the head of a walrus. They had also a roast of beef--walrus-beef, of course--and first-rate it was. But before dinner the captain made them go through their usual morning work of cleaning, airing, making beds, posting journals, noting temperatures, opening the fire-hole, and redding up. For the captain was a great believer in the value of discipline. He knew that no man enjoys himself so much as he who has got through his work early--who has done his duty. It did not take them long, and when it was done the captain said, "Now, boys, we must be jolly to-day. As we can't get out we must take some exercise indoors. We shall need extra appetite to make away with that plum-pudding." So, at it they went! Every sort of game or feat of strength known to sailors was played, or attempted. It was in the middle of all this that Myouk and his family arrived, so they were compelled to join. Even the fat baby was put into a blanket and swung round the cabin by Jim Croft, to the horror of its mother, who seemed to think it would be killed, and to the delight of its father, who didn't seem to care whether it was killed or not. Then came the dinner. What a scene that was, to be sure! It would take a whole book to describe all that was said and done that day. The Eskimos ate till they could hardly stand--that was their usual custom. Then they lay down and went to sleep--that was their usual custom, too. The rest ate as heartily, poor fellows, as was possible for men not yet quite recovered from scurvy. They had no wine, but they had excellent coffee, and with this they drank to absent friends, sweethearts, and wives, and many other toasts, the mere mention of which raised such strong home-feelings in their breasts that some of them almost choked in the attempt to cheer. Then came songs and stories--all of them old, very old indeed--but they came out on this occasion as good as new. The great event of the evening, however, was a fancy ball, in which our friends Butts, Baker, Gregory, and Pepper distinguished themselves. They had a fiddle, and Dawkins the steward could play it. He knew nothing but Scotch reels; but what could have been better? They could all dance, or, if they could not, they all tried. Myouk and Meetek were made to join and they capered as gracefully as polar bears, which animals they strongly resembled in their hairy garments. Late in the evening came supper. It was just a repetition of dinner, with the remains of the pudding fried in bear's grease. Thus passed Christmas-Day; much in the same way passed New Year's Day. Then the men settled down to their old style of life; but the time hung so heavy on their hands that their spirits began to sink again. The long darkness became intolerable and the fresh meat began to fail. Everything with life seemed to have forsaken the place. The captain made another trip to the Eskimo village and found the huts empty--the whole race had flown, he knew not whither! The private theatricals were at first very successful; but by degrees they lost their interest and were given up. Then a school was started and Gregory became head master. Writing and arithmetic were the only branches taught. Some of the men were much in need of instruction, and all of them took to the school with energy and much delight. It lasted longer than the theatricals did. As time wore on the fresh meat was finished, scurvy became worse; and it was as much as the men who were not quite knocked down could do to attend to those who were. Day after day Tom and Gregory and Sam Baker went out to hunt, and each day returned empty-handed. Sometimes an Arctic hare or a fox was got; but not often. At last rats were eaten as food. These creatures swarmed in the hold of the brig. They were caught in traps and shot with a bow and a blunt-headed arrow. But few of the men would eat them. The captain urged them to do so in vain. Those who did eat kept in better health than those who did not. At last death came. Mr Mansell sank beneath the terrible disease and was buried on the island. No grave could be dug in that hard frozen soil. The burial service was read by his sorrowing comrades over his body, which was frozen quite hard before they reached the grave, and then they laid it in a tomb of ice. Time hung heavier than ever after that. Death is at all time a terrible visitant, but in such a place and under such circumstances it was tenfold more awful than usual. The blank in so small a band was a great one. It would perhaps have depressed them more than it did had their own situation been less desperate. But they had too fierce a battle to fight with disease, and the midnight gloom, and the bitter frost, to give way to much feeling about him who was gone. Thus the long winter passed heavily away. The sun came back at last, and when he came his beams shone upon a pale, shattered, and heart-weary band of men. But with his cheering light came also _hope_, and health soon followed in his train. Let young Gregory's journal tell the rest of our story, little of which now remains to be told. "_February 21st_.--I have to record, with joy and gratitude, that the sun shone on the peaks of the ice-bergs to-day. The first time it has done so since October last. By the end of this month we shall have his rays on deck. I climbed to the top of a berg and actually bathed in sunshine this forenoon! We are all quite excited by the event, some of us even look jolly. Ah! what miserable faces my comrades have! so pale, so thin! We are all as weak as water. The captain and I are the strongest. Baker is also pretty well. Crofts and Davis are almost useless, the rest being quite helpless. The captain cooks, Baker and I hunt, Crofts and Davis attend to the sick. Another month of darkness would have killed the half of us. "_March 10th_.--I shot a bear to-day. It did my heart good to see the faces of the men when I brought them the news and a piece of the flesh! The cold is not quite so intense now. Our coldest day this year has been the 17th of January. The glass stood at 67 degrees below zero on that morning. What a winter we have had! I shudder when I think of it. But there is more cause to be anxious about what yet lies before us. A single bear will not last long. Many weeks must pass before we are free. In June we hope to be released from our ice-prison. Fresh meat we shall then have in abundance. With it strength will return, and then, if God permits, we shall attempt to continue our voyage northward. The captain is confident on the point of open water round the Pole. The men are game for anything in spite of their sad condition." Thus wrote Gregory at that date. Many weeks later we find him writing as follows: "_June 15th_.--Free at last! The ice has been breaking up out at sea for some time past. It gave way in Refuge Harbour yesterday, and we warped out in the night. Everything is ready to push north again. We have been feeding heartily for many weeks on walrus, seals, wild-fowl, and last, but not least, on some grasses which make bad greens, but they have put scurvy to flight. All the men are well and strong and fit for hard work--though nothing like what they were when we first came here. Could it be otherwise? There are some of us who will carry the marks of this winter to our graves. The bright beautiful sunshine shines now, all day and all night, cheering our hearts and inspiring hope. "_June 16th_.--All is lost! How little we know what a day may bring forth! Our good little brig is gone, and we are here on the ice without a thing in the world except the clothes on our backs. I have saved my note-book, which chanced to be in my breast-pocket when the nip took place. How awfully sudden it was! We now appreciate the wise forethought of Captain Harvey in sending the large boat to Forlorn-Hope Bay. This boat is our last and only hope. We shall have to walk forty miles before we reach it. "Our brig went down at three o'clock this afternoon. We had warped out into the floes to catch a light breeze that was blowing outside. For some time we held on steadily to the northward, but had not got out of sight of our winter quarters when a stream of ice set down upon us and closed in all around. At first we thought nothing of this, having escaped so many dangers of the kind last autumn, but by degrees the pressure increased alarmingly. We were jammed against a great ice-field which was still fast to the shore. In a few moments the sides of our little vessel began to creak and groan loudly. The men laboured like tigers at the ice-poles, but in vain. We heard a loud report in the cabin. No one knows what it was, but I suppose it must have been the breaking of a large bolt. At any rate it was followed by a series of crashes and reports that left no doubt in our minds as to what was going on. The ice was cracking the brig as if she had been a nut-shell. `Save yourselves, lads!' cried the captain. One or two of the men made a rush to the hatchway, intending to run below and save some of their things. I ran to the cabin-ladder in the hope of saving our log-book and journals, but we all started back in horror, for the deck at that moment burst open almost under our feet. I cast one glance down through the opening into the hold. That glance was sufficient. The massive timbers and beams were being crushed together, doubled up, split, and shivered, as if they had been rotten straws! In another moment I was on the ice, where the whole crew were assembled, looking on at the work of destruction in solemn silence. "After bursting in the vessel's sides the ice eased off, and she at once began to settle down. We could hear the water rushing furiously into the hold. Ten minutes later she was gone! Thus end our hopes of farther discovery, and we are now left to fight our way in an open boat to the settlements on the south coast of Greenland. We have little time to think. Prompt action must be our watchword now, if we would escape from this world of ice. "_July 20th_.--I have not entered a line in this journal since our vessel was lost. Our work has been so severe, and our sufferings so great, that I have had no heart for writing. Our walk to the place where we left the boat was a hard one, but we were cheered by finding the boat all safe, and the provisions and stores just as we left them. There was not enough to last out the voyage, but we had guns and powder. It is in vain to attempt to describe the events of the last few weeks. Constant, and hard, and cold work--at the oars, with the ice-poles-- warping, hauling, and shoving. Beset by ice; driving before storms; detained by thick fogs; often wet to the skin; always tired, almost starving--such has been our fate since that sad day when our brig went down. And yet I don't think there is one of our party who would not turn about on the spot and renew our voyage of discovery, if he only got a chance of going in a well-appointed vessel. As it is, we must push on. Home! home! is our cry now. "_August 1st_.--We are now in clover, after having been reduced to think of roasting our shoes for breakfast. For three days last week we ate nothing at all. Our powder has been expended for some weeks past. On Monday we finished our last morsel of the gull that Pepper managed to bring down with a stone. Tuesday was a terrible day. The agony of hunger was worse than I had expected it to be. Nevertheless, we tried hard to cheer each other as we laboured at the oars. Our only hope was to fall in with natives. Signs of them were seen everywhere, and we expected to hear their shouts at every point of land we doubled. The captain suggested that we should try _shoe-soup_ on Wednesday morning! He was more than half in earnest, but spoke as if he were jesting. Pepper cocked his ears as if there was some hope still of work for him to do in his own line. Jim Crofts pulled off his shoe, and, looking at it earnestly, wondered if the sole would make a very tough chop. We all laughed, but I cannot say that the laugh sounded hearty. On the Thursday I began to feel weak, but the pangs of hunger were not so bad. Our eyes seemed very large and wolfish. I could not help shuddering when I thought of the terrible things that men have done when reduced to this state. "That evening, as we rounded a point, we saw an Eskimo boy high on a cliff, with a net in his hand. He did not see us for some time, and we were so excited that we stopped rowing to watch him in breathless silence. Thousands of birds were flying round his head among the cliffs. How often we had tried to kill some of these with sticks and stones, in vain! The net he held was a round one, with a long handle. Suddenly he made a dashing sweep with it and caught two of the birds as they passed! We now saw that a number of dead birds lay at his feet. In one moment our boat was ashore and we scrambled up the cliffs in eager haste. The boy fled in terror, but before he was well out of sight every man was seated on a ledge of rock with a bird at his mouth, sucking the blood! Hunger like ours despises cookery! It was fortunate that there were not many birds, else we should have done ourselves harm by eating too much. I have eaten many a good meal in my life, but never one so sweet, or for which I was so thankful, as that meal of raw birds, devoured on the cliffs of Greenland! "That night we reached the Eskimo village, where we now lie. We find that it is only two days' journey from this place to the Danish settlements. There we mean to get on board the first ship that is bound for Europe--no matter what port she sails for. Meanwhile we rest our weary limbs in peace, for our dangers are past, and--thanks be to God-- we are saved." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Reader, my tale is told. A little book cannot be made to contain a long story, else would I have narrated many more of the strange and interesting events that befell our adventurers during that voyage. But enough has been written to give some idea of what is done and suffered by those daring men who attempt to navigate the Polar seas. THE END. 
21478	----	Snow Shoes and Canoes; The Early Days of a Fur-Trader in the Hudson Bay Territory, by William H G Kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ The basic story-line is that there is a fort in the Hudson Bay Territory that needs some stores and materials to be sent to it from another fort about 150 miles away. The journey could be done by canoe, but there are none available at this time. So a party of people are sent overland to fetch what is required. There are encounters with bears and other dangerous animals; there are times when they are very hungry and very tired. They encounter both friendly and unfriendly Indians. They borrow canoes at one stage, and have wrecks in the mighty rapids. There are strong overtones indicating that Kingston has read the authentic books by Ballantyne, who had worked in the Hudson Bay Company, and whose letters home had set off his literary career. But Kingston has a unique style of his own, and he was good at research, so he can be forgiven for using valuable authentic material to help him get his facts right, and make his story credible. About 10.5 hours to read aloud. ________________________________________________________________________ SNOW SHOES AND CANOES, THE EARLY DAYS OF A FUR-TRADER IN THE HUDSON BAY TERRITORY, BY WILLIAM H G KINGSTON. CHAPTER ONE. BLACK FORT--THE PACK-HORSE TRAIN SETS OUT--SANDY MCTAVISH'S SAGACITY-- THE NIGHT-WATCH--THE TWO REDSKIN HORSE-THIEVES--A SNOWSTORM--AN UNCOMFORTABLE BED AND A TERRIBLE NIGHT--MY DELIGHT AT FINDING MY HORSE ALIVE--WE OBTAIN SHELTER IN A WOOD--DESPERATE ENCOUNTER BETWEEN A LYNX AND AN EAGLE FOR THE POSSESSION OF A HARE--THE HARE BECOMES MY PRIZE-- THE UNTIMELY APPEARANCE OF A WOLF. The short summer of the North-West Territory of British America, the region in which the events I am about to describe took place, was rapidly drawing to a close. I had been sent from Black Fort, of which my elder brother Alick had charge, with Sandy McTavish, an old follower of our father's, and two other men, to bring up ammunition and other stores as a winter supply from Fort Ross, about 150 miles off--a distance, however, of which we did not think much. The stores ought to have been brought up the greater part of the way by the Saskatchewan, but a canoe had been lost in ascending the rapids, and no other was at that time to be procured to replace her. It became necessary, therefore, at all costs to transport the required stores by land. We had eight pack-horses, besides the four animals my companions and I rode. We were all well armed, for though the Crees and other Indian tribes in the northern part of the territory were generally friendly, we might possibly encounter a party of Blackfeet on the war-trail who, should they find us unprepared, would to a certainty attack us, and endeavour to steal our horses and goods. We were but few in number for such an undertaking, but no more men could be spared. Sandy, however, was a host in himself. He thoroughly knew all the Indian ways, and from his long experience was well able to counteract them. Many an evening, while seated at our camp-fire or at the stove in the fort, during winter, has he beguiled the time with accounts of his hairbreadth escapes and desperate encounters with the redskins. He had no enmity towards them, notwithstanding the attempts they had made on his life. "They were but following the instincts of their savage natures," he used to observe; "and they were not ower weel pleased with the white men for hunting in the country which they call theirs, though it must be allowed they dinna make gude use of it." Sandy was as humane as he was brave, and I am very sure he never took the life of an Indian if he could avoid doing so with due regard to his own safety. He had come out from Scotland when a mere boy with our father, who was at that time a clerk in the Hudson's Bay Company, but who had ultimately risen to be a chief factor, and was the leader in many of the adventurous expeditions which were made in those days. He was noted for being a dead shot, and a first-rate hunter whether of buffalo, elk, or grizzly bear. Sandy had followed him in all his expeditions, and took the greatest delight in describing them to us. Having remained at Fort Ross a couple of days, to rest our beasts and prepare the packages for transport, we set out, Sandy and I leading, and the two men, Pat Casey and Pierre Lacrosse, following in the rear with the baggage animals. We travelled at the rate of about twenty-five miles each day. That distance being accomplished, we encamped at night under shelter of a grove of poplars or willows, we being glad of the protection they afforded; for although the weather was fine, the wind had begun to blow somewhat cold. Our beasts having been unloaded were hobbled near at hand, the goods being piled up so as to form a breastwork in case of an attack. Fuel to last the night had then to be collected, when the fire was lighted, and the pot put on to boil. Supper being ready, we sat round our fire to discuss it, with good appetites. We then, after a chat for half an hour or so, drawing our buffalo-robes over us, with our saddles for pillows, lay down to rest, our feet turned towards the fire. One of us, however, always remained on guard, to watch the horses, and to give warning should any Blackfeet Indians or prowling wolves draw near our encampment. We did not believe that we had much to fear from either one or the other. The Blackfeet seldom ventured so far north into the territory of their hereditary enemies the Crees; and should any wolves approach, the horses would be sure to make their way up to the camp for protection. The two hours watch which each of us took in turn made us sleep the sounder for the remainder of the time. We were all too well inured to the sort of life to think it any hardship. Just before dawn the last man on watch roused up the rest of us. The ashes were raked together, fresh sticks put on, the water boiled for the tea, and a breakfast of slices of bacon or dried buffalo meat, with flour cakes, prepared us for the toils of the day. The country over which we travelled was seldom traversed by white men. The grass-covered prairie extended often as far as the eye could reach, here and there hills rising in the distance, or long lines of trees marking the course of some stream falling into the main river. We had to cross several of these streams, but at that time of the year were able to ford them without difficulty, the drought of summer having greatly diminished their depth. Sandy and I were jogging along at the head of our party when, as we reached the summit of a slight hill from which we could obtain an extensive view over the surrounding country, he stopped and gazed, I thought somewhat anxiously, around the horizon. "We must push on faster than we have been going, if we are to reach Black Fort before bad weather comes on," he observed. "I see no change in the appearance of the sky," I answered. "There's not a cloud in any direction, and the wind is as moderate as it was when we started." "The sky is blue and cloudless, I'll allow, but it's whiter away in the nor'ard than I like to see it. There will be wind from that quarter before long, and the wind won't come alone," said Sandy. "It may not reach us to-morrow or the next day, and we may be safe within the fort before it is down upon us." Though I had a high opinion of Sandy's sagacity, I thought that in this instance he might be mistaken. It was very important for us to reach the fort before the snow should cover the ground to any depth. The stores we were bringing were much required, and the heavily-laden animals would have great difficulty in making their way through it. Of course I agreed, as Sandy advised it, that we should push on that day as long as the light would allow, and that we should make a forced march on the following day, so that we might reach the fort on the next before nightfall, which we calculated we should thus be able to do. Waiting till the two men with the loaded beasts came up, we told them of our intentions, and ordered them to push on as fast as they could. We had not gone far, however, when Sandy's horse stumbled, a very unusual thing for the animal to do. It continued to walk lame, evidently in pain. We dismounted and examined its feet, when we found that a sharp stone had wounded its hoof. We extricated it with considerable difficulty, and when we again moved on the animal walked with as much pain as before. Nothing could make it move on. We were therefore compelled to encamp at the first suitable spot we reached. The weather remained fine, and we hoped in the morning that Sandy's horse would have recovered, and that we should be able to make a long day's journey. According to our intention, our camp was formed as usual under shelter of a wood, but there was scarcely any good grass in the immediate neighbourhood, and we were compelled to let the animals roam much further than we liked in search of it. We agreed that, in order to keep a proper lookout, two of us should remain on the watch at a time, one in the camp, and the other in the direction the animals had taken. Sandy had Pierre for his mate; I, Pat. Sandy and Pierre took the first watch. The latter went off with his rifle and a brace of pistols in his belt, to walk backwards and forwards near where the horses were feeding. Pat and I then lay down with our feet to the fire. "We'll sleep as fast as we can, Mister David, to make up for the shortness of time we've got to do it in," observed Pat, as he rolled himself up in his buffalo-robe. I endeavoured to follow his advice, but somehow or other the presentiment that danger threatened us kept me awake longer than was usual. It seemed that I had scarcely closed my eyes when Sandy aroused me, and springing to my feet I examined the priming of my rifle and pistols, and prepared to relieve Pierre, who was to wait near the horses till I arrived. I had to walk nearly a quarter of a mile before I found him in a grassy valley, between two slight hills running in the direction of the river. Had there been any trees thereabouts it would have been a better place than the one we had chosen for our encampment. Pierre reported all right, and went back to camp. By walking to the top of one of the hills I could get a view all round, and watch the horses feeding below me. I counted them and found that all were there, and then went down again to find some shelter from the wind behind a small clump of low bushes. I could watch from this most of the horses, but some of them would wander up the valley out of my sight. At last I saw by the movements of those near me that they were becoming somewhat uneasy, and presently two which had got to a distance came up as fast as their hobbles would allow them, the whole heading towards the camp. I rushed forward to cut the hobbles as fast as I could get up to the animals, when they all set off in the direction they had before been going. I had just set the last free when, looking up, I saw two dark figures which I knew were those of Indians, who had been endeavouring to get up to the horses before I could set them at liberty. The moment they found that they were discovered they stopped short. I pointed my gun, they hesitated, and then once more began to move towards me, their scalping knives gleaming in the moonlight. Anxious not to shed blood, I again shouted to them to stop; but perhaps seeing, by my voice and slight figure, that I was but a youth, they fancied that they could intimidate me, and uttering terrific shrieks they continued to approach. My life depended, I knew, on the steadiness of my aim, and pulling the trigger I sent a bullet into the body of one of the strangers. He staggered and fell, when drawing a pistol I prepared to receive his companion, who, however, stopped, and lifting the wounded man to his feet, the two made off faster than I should have supposed possible. I thought it prudent not to follow, as I felt sure that other Indians were in the neighbourhood. The sound of my shot would have aroused my friends, and from the appearance of the horses they would understand what had happened. As the Indians made off in one direction, I ran as fast as my legs could carry me towards the camp. Before I reached it, I met Sandy and the other men coming out to my assistance. They expressed their satisfaction at finding me safe. Pierre and Pat wanted to set off in pursuit of the enemy, but Sandy would not allow them. "Na! na! laddies; we'll gain nothing even if we were to shoot a score of redskins. We shall want our ammunition to defend ourselves when we are attacked. Let's count the horses, and see if all have come in," he said. On doing so, we discovered that one was missing. The animal had evidently been carried off by some Blackfeet. The loss was a serious one, as we should have either to add to the weight of the loads of the others, or place the packages on one of the saddle-horses, taking it by turns to walk. One thing was certain, that even if not attacked, our journey, which we were anxious to finish as soon as possible, would be prolonged. As may be supposed, we got no more sleep that night. We had to hobble the horses, and keep a bright lookout on every side, lest the treacherous Indians might steal upon us and catch us unprepared. They must have guessed from the number of horses that our party consisted of several men, well armed, and from the experience they had had of my rifle they knew that they could not come openly upon us without the certainty of some of their number being laid low. As the sky remained clear, and the moon was bright, we could see objects at a considerable distance; our enemies could not therefore get near without being discovered. Our chief fear was that they might, if they were resolved on our destruction, make a wide circuit, and getting into the wood attack us in the rear. To prevent the risk of this, Pierre made his way among the trees and watched on that side; on hands and knees he crept cautiously from place to place, as the panther does watching for its prey. Wary as the Indians were, it was not likely that they would surprise him. There is an excitement in an adventure of the sort we were engaged in which affords actual pleasure, and for my part I enjoyed it greatly, caring neither for being deprived of sleep, nor for the danger to be apprehended. We let our fire remain in, though we kept it low, with plenty of sticks at hand which we could throw on and make it blaze up, should we find it necessary. At last dawn appeared in the eastern sky, and we believed that, as the Indians had not attacked us at night, they would not molest us during our journey. Having collected our horses and distributed the load of the animal which had been stolen among them, after a hasty breakfast we set off. We were much disappointed at finding that Sandy's animal was as lame as on the previous day, and as it could not move out of a walk, he dismounted and proceeded on foot. Our progress was therefore slower even than usual. The country as we advanced became much rougher than that which we had hitherto passed over. When the greater part of the day had been spent, we reached the foot of an excessively steep hill, on the top of which was a wide extending plain. We all here dismounted, and allowed our horses to scramble on as best they could. To climb up with more ease I disencumbered myself of my cloak, which together with my gun I fastened on to one of the pack-horses. We had provided ourselves with thick sticks, which helped us along. Sandy's poor horse had great difficulty in making its way, and dropped behind the rest. There was no fear of its straying; the animals being accustomed to keep together, it was sure to follow. "I wish that we had been able to make our way as fast as we had intended," said Sandy. "We shall have more difficulties on this journey than we looked for; however, there's no use sighing about what cannot be helped. Just do you go on, David, to the top of the hill, and take a look round to see if you can catch sight of any Indians. You are more active than I am, and will be at the top before I can reach it; I'll wait and bring up the rest of the horses. If the Indians were to come upon us at this moment they might take us at a disadvantage." From the way Sandy spoke I saw that he was not like himself. It struck me that he was ill; or, had he expected that we should have been attacked by the Indians during our ascent of the hill, he would have made preparations beforehand. I, however, did not hesitate to do as he wished, and springing forward soon climbed up among the rocks and shrubs to the top. Before me, stretching to the westward, was a perfectly level plain, on the edge of which I looked down on the other side over the lower country, across which we had passed. I could see our horses toiling upwards among the rocks and shrubs to the top, followed by Sandy and the two other men, he having stopped to speak to them. The sky overhead and on three sides was clear, but on looking to the northward I observed a dense black mass which came sweeping along at a tremendous rate towards me. Though the air had just before been perfectly serene, on a sudden a keen cutting wind struck me with a force which almost took me off my feet. The next instant I was in the midst of a fearful snowstorm. The sun in a moment became obscured, and the wind increasing rose to a perfect hurricane. I could dimly discern two of the horses which just then had reached the plateau. I ran towards one of them to secure it, hoping that it was my own, but I found that it was one of the loaded animals, and unfortunately not the one on which I had laid my coat and gun. In a few seconds of time, so fearful had become the darkness that I could not see three feet ahead of my nose. I shouted at the top of my voice to the rest of the men who were, I knew, not far from me to mount their horses and come on, allowing the others to shift for themselves. We should all be frozen to death if we were to remain where we were. Our only hope of safety was to reach a thick grove of trees at the farther end, and I hoped that we might get to it before the snow became too deep to allow the animals to move rapidly over the ground. In vain I looked for my own horse. I could faintly hear Sandy and the other men shouting in return to my cries, but whereabouts they were I could not tell. I fully believed that they would all follow the course I proposed, and as I could not discover my own animal I cut the tyings and threw off the load from the pack-horse I had caught, then mounting on the pack-saddle I rode off at full speed through the deep snow, in the hope of reaching the wood. So rapidly did the snow come down that in a few moments it was several inches deep. Every instant it was increasing and rendering my progress more difficult. I urged on the poor animal, which seemed to know its danger and did its utmost, but thicker and thicker fell the snow, and in a short time, night coming on, it became so dark that I was literally unable to see my hand held close to my face; except judging by the wind, I could not tell in what direction we were going. I could only hope that the instinct of the animal might guide it towards the wood in which shelter could be obtained. As to seeking my companions, that was out of the question. I shouted to them every now and then, but no voice answered my calls. I knew, however, that they all, being well acquainted with the country, would endeavour to reach the shelter for which I was aiming, and I hoped at length to meet them there. The cold was intense; even had I possessed my overcoat it would have been bad enough to bear, but with only moderately thick clothing on, I felt the wind pierce to my very bones. I rode on, however, as long as I was able to sit my horse, but at length my limbs became so benumbed by the cold that I could ride no further. The poor beast also was almost exhausted with his exertions in plunging on through the deep snow. Hoping to keep somewhat warm by walking I dismounted, and leading him by the bridle tried to get along. At every step I made I sank halfway up to my knees, and could scarcely lift my feet high enough to make another step forward; still, it would be death to stay where I was. I went on, hoping that I was approaching the wood. Now and then I stopped and shouted; still there was no reply. I became at length convinced that I must have either passed the wood or been going in another direction. No sound reached my ears but that of the thick-falling snow, which seemed to come down in a mass upon the earth, so rapidly did it accumulate. Sandy, I knew, would be very anxious about me, and would take every means to discover where I had gone; but even in daylight he could not have followed my track, as the snow must instantly have obliterated it. I resolved as long as I had strength to push on, though I had missed the wood for which I was aiming. I might, I hoped, in time reach another which would afford me protection. The storm instead of abating only seemed to increase in violence. As the night wore on I found my poor horse advancing at a slower and slower pace, showing how fatigued it had become, while I had scarcely strength left to move forward; still I was afraid to halt. At last it stopped altogether, and I myself felt utterly exhausted. Further it was impossible to go, but how to endure the cold and keep the blood circulating in my veins was the question. It seemed to me that I must inevitably perish; still I resolved to make an effort to preserve my life. My horse was standing stock-still, with its back to the wind. I bethought me that the only chance I had of retaining existence was to dig a hole in the snow, in which I might crouch down, and wait till the storm was over. I set desperately to work. While so employed, the drift eddying around my head nearly suffocated me; still I persevered. Having dug down to the ground, I took off the pack-saddle from the horse's back, which I placed as a cushion below me, and then putting the saddle-cloth over my shoulders I crouched down in the hole I had made, which I could not help dreading was more likely to prove my grave than to afford any efficient shelter. I knew for certain that, should I fall asleep, death would ensue, and that I must exert all my energies to keep awake. I had not been long seated, doubled up in my burrow like a mummy, before I felt the cold begin to steal over me. My feet were the first to suffer. I tried to keep them warm by moving them about, but it was of no use. At last I took off my frozen shoes, and tucked my feet under me on the pack-saddle; then I rubbed them as hard as I could. I was tempted at last to take the horsecloth off my shoulders, and to wrap my feet up in it, but all was of no use. They appeared to me to be frozen, while my whole body seemed changing into ice. At last I had scarcely strength to move either my hands or feet. During this time the inclination to sleep almost overcame me. I struggled against it with all the resolution I possessed. I was perfectly well aware that, should I give way to it, death would be the consequence. I took every means I could think of to keep awake. I shouted; I even sang, or rather I tried to sing; but the most melancholy strains were the only results of my efforts, my voice sounding as hollow as that from a skull--if voices ever do come out of skulls, on which subject I venture to be sceptical. I kept moving from side to side, and up and down, filled with the dread that, should I stop, I should fall asleep. The snow all the time was gathering round my head, forming an arch over me, and I had frequently to make a hole in front, so as to obtain sufficient air for breathing. How I lived through that dreadful night I cannot tell. Morning came at last; the snow had ceased to fall as thickly as before, allowing the light to penetrate through the veil drawn over the earth. Faint as was the light, it gave me a glimpse of hope. I might still reach the wood, and by obtaining a fire thaw my benumbed limbs. My first efforts were directed towards breaking out of my icy prison; but the hole in front of me was so small that it was not till I had made several attempts that I could force my body through it. I at length managed to get up on my feet, when I took a look round. There stood my poor horse, where I had left it, rigid as a statue, and, as I believed, frozen to death. On every side I could see nothing but one vast expanse of snow. I could not, however, remain where I was. Either on horseback or on foot I must try to reach a place of shelter and to find my companions. I now remembered that I had taken my shoes off. How to get them on again was the difficulty, for when I felt them, I found that they were frozen as hard as iron. I made several attempts to thrust in my feet, for I knew that they would be dreadfully cut should I attempt to walk without shoes. The exertion contributed somewhat, perhaps, to restore the circulation in my veins, and at last, after many efforts, I got on my shoes. Having accomplished this I broke entirely out of my burrow, and staggered towards my poor steed. To my great relief the animal moved its head and looked at me, giving evidence that it was still alive. I accordingly returned to the hole and dug out my saddle, when, after great exertion, I managed to reach the horse and put it on. Then, digging round the poor beast's front feet, and patting it on the neck, I induced it to move forward a few paces. It seemed surprising that, after the fearful night it had endured, it should still be alive and could move its legs apparently without much difficulty. I now tried to mount, but could not bend my frozen limbs sufficiently to get into the saddle. I therefore, taking the bridle in my hand, led forward my horse, stumbling at every step. I hoped, however, that the exercise would restore circulation, and that I should be able at last to get on horseback. I looked round, but could nowhere see the wood of which I was in search; though the snow was not falling as thickly as it had done during the night, the weather still looked very threatening. Dark masses of snow-clouds obscured the sky like a canopy but a few feet, it seemed, above my head. The wind was still piercingly cold, and at any moment the snow might again come down and overwhelm me. The rough training I had gone through, however, had taught me never to despair, but to struggle on to the last. I had no thoughts of doing otherwise, though every limb ached, and I had scarcely strength to draw one leg after the other. At last, finding that I could walk no longer, I made another effort to mount, and succeeded, though not without great pain, in climbing into the saddle; when I was there, however, my poor horse showed his utter inability to carry me, and refused to lift a leg; indeed, his strength was insufficient for the task. In vain I patted his neck and tried to make him go forward. The only movement he made was to sink down on his knees. To prevent him from falling altogether, when I might not have been able to get him up again, I threw myself off his back. At the same moment the storm burst forth with greater fury than before. I began to believe that I should perish; but still I had some strength left in me, and resolved to exert it to the utmost. As to facing the storm, that was impossible, so all I could do was to turn my back to it and move forward. I might be going further and further from the wood, but I trusted that Providence, which had hitherto preserved me, would direct my steps towards some other shelter. Still I in vain looked out for any object rising above the apparently interminable plain of snow. The saddle-cloth drawn tightly over my shoulders somewhat protected my back, but the wind whistled past my ears, which had now lost all sensation. On and on I went, I knew not for how long. I could scarcely think, indeed I could scarcely feel, except that I was suffering all over from pain. The storm sent me along, in what direction I could not tell, though I supposed that it was towards the south. The thick-falling snow hid all objects, if any there were, from sight. My companions might be in the neighbourhood, but I was not likely to see them, nor they me. I tried occasionally to shout out, but I had not power to send my voice to any distance. Still I went on, like a hawker crying his wares in a town, but I had lost all hopes of hearing an answer to my calls. At last so great became my exhaustion that I thought of killing my horse, opening him, and getting into his body, fancying that I might thus save my life. I drew my hunting-knife, and was about to plunge it into the poor brute's chest, though even then I felt a great repugnance to kill the faithful creature; when it occurred to me, should I get inside, that, after the heat had left the body, it would freeze, and I might be unable to extricate myself. I should thus be immured in a tomb of my own making. The idea was too dreadful to contemplate for an instant. I sheathed my knife, and again walked on. Shortly after this the storm sensibly abated. The snow ceased, the wind fell; and as the atmosphere became clear I found that I was on the edge of the plateau, and I saw before me in the far distance a thick wood extending away to the south. It bordered a stream flowing, I concluded, into the Saskatchewan. I could find shelter within the wood should the storm again come on, and I might be able to kill some creature or other to satisfy the cravings of my appetite. The hope that I might still preserve my life raised my spirits. My horse, too, appeared to be somewhat recovered; so I again climbed up on the saddle, and this time the animal consented to move forward, its instinct telling it that food was to be found in the direction we were going. Had I possessed my gun I should have been better satisfied, as I could thus, without difficulty, be able to obtain provisions and defend myself against any wild beasts or Indians I might encounter. My impatience made me fancy that my horse was moving at a very slow pace. He seemed to gather strength as he advanced, or rather his muscles became more pliable, and he moved with less pain. I was still, I calculated, at least two days' journey from the fort. It would be impossible for either my steed or me to perform the distance in our present condition. About the animal I had no fear, as it would be able to pick up grass from under the snow, even should that not disappear; but my chance of obtaining food was far more problematical. At last the sun shone forth and warmed my well-nigh frozen body. Its bright rays cheered my spirits, and I could look more hopefully to the prospect of getting back to the fort. I had not given up all expectation of falling in with some of my companions. It occurred to me that they might at once have put before the wind, as sailors say, and steered for the wood towards which I was directing my course. I looked out, almost expecting to see a wreath of white smoke curling up from amidst the trees. No signs of human beings, however, could I discover. As we advanced my horse increased its pace, and at last the wood was reached, but on the weather side the snow was piled up more thickly than even in the open ground. I had, therefore, to make a circuit, till I could get to the lee side. In course of time, however, I reached it, and found a deep bay or hollow formed by the trees. Here the snow was comparatively shallow. As I threw myself from my horse and took off the bridle, the sagacious animal immediately began to grub away with its nose in the snow, and soon got down to the green grass which grew there abundantly. I was very sure that my steed would not stray away, so that there was no necessity for hobbling it. Fastening the bridle over my shoulder, I hurried into the wood to collect sticks to light a fire, at which I might thaw my shoes and warm myself thoroughly. I was satisfied that, in spite of the cold I had endured, I was nowhere severely frostbitten. As I came along I had rubbed my ears with snow, which had restored circulation. Even my feet and fingers, though bitterly cold, had escaped. Having collected a number of sticks, I scraped away the snow at a short distance from the trees, and piled them up. I then felt in my pocket for my flint and steel and tinder box. I at once found the latter, but to my dismay I could not discover the flint and steel. I remembered giving it, the last time we encamped, to Pat Casey, but I could not recollect whether he had returned it. I was almost in despair. I feared that, should I attempt to pass another night without fire, I must perish, even were the cold less intense than it had been previously. Pat Casey was bound to give them back to me. He must have done so. I remembered that I had pockets in my waistcoat. I unbuttoned my coat, and there at the bottom in the left-hand pocket of my waistcoat I found my flint and steel. They were of more value to me just then than a purse of gold. I quickly struck a light, and going down on my knees, by the aid of some dried moss and leaves, and by dint of careful blowing, I soon had a fire started, as we say in the Far West. Eagerly I bent over it. Its genial warmth imparted new life to my chilled limbs and body. Then, sitting down with my feet so close that I almost singed my stockings, I gradually thawed my shoes. How comfortable they felt when I again put them on! I now began to feel the pangs of hunger, for I had taken nothing since the previous morning. Food I must have at all costs. I even glanced at my poor horse with wolfish eyes. "I must eat it, if I can get nothing else," I said to myself; but then again I thought, "By what means shall I reach the fort? I cannot trudge on foot all the distance through the deep snow. I must let my horse live. It would sorely grieve me to have to kill him." Thoroughly warmed, I got up with the intention of pushing into the wood and trying to knock over some bird or small beast. There were few young birds at that season not well able to fly out of my way, and the animals of the forest were likely to have been driven under shelter by the snowstorm. I still had the stick which had served me to mount the hill and make my way over the snow. I had left my pistols in my holsters. I mention this to account for my not now having them. My only weapons, therefore, were my long hunting-knife and this stout stick. I was, I knew, more likely to find some animals deep in the wood than on the borders, as they would have gone there for shelter. As I went along I anxiously examined every tree I passed in search of birds or the traces of squirrels or any other of the smaller inhabitants of the woods. Now and then a squirrel would look out of its hole, and on seeing me would be off to the tree-top. Birds were rare, and being perfectly silent at this season, their notes did not betray their whereabouts. The evening was drawing on. I considered whether I could manage to set any traps. It would take time to construct them, and I was starving. As I wandered along, I found myself again near the borders of the wood with a thick bush near me. At that moment I caught sight of an animal of nearly three feet in length, which I at once recognised as a "peeshoo," as the French Canadians call it, though properly denominated the Canadian lynx. Its fur was of a dark grey, freckled with black. It had powerful limbs, and thick, heavily-made feet. It was still when I first caught sight of it, but presently it commenced a succession of bounds with its back slightly arched, all the feet coming to the ground at the same moment. Instead of moving forward in a direct line, I observed that it was making a large circle, which it gradually decreased. I concealed myself behind the bush, hoping that it would come near enough to give me a chance of rushing out and striking it a blow on the back, when I could at once have killed it. With intense interest, therefore, I watched its proceedings. I now observed a small animal which I saw was a hare in the centre of the circle it was forming. The little creature, terror-stricken, seemed unable to run off, though, being a fleeter animal than the lynx, it might easily have escaped. The lynx approached nearer and nearer the hare, keeping one of its sharp eyes fixed on it all the time, when, having got sufficiently near to reach its prey, it made two bounds, and the hare the next moment was dead. I was on the point of rushing out to secure, as I hoped, both the lynx and the hare, when I saw a dark shadow cast on the ground, and, looking up, I caught sight of a golden eagle, which must have come from the far-off Rocky Mountains, in the act of pouncing down on the lynx; the latter, seeing its enemy, dropped the hare and prepared to defend itself and prevent its prey being carried off. In spite of the large size of the lynx, the eagle swooped downwards to the attack, striking with its powerful beak the quick-sighted animal on the back, into which it fixed its sharp talons. The eagle had, however, not so firm a hold as to prevent the lynx from freeing itself; then with its formidable claws it sprang at the bird, tearing some of the feathers from its breast. On this the eagle rose into the air, and circling several times round, a short distance above the earth, prepared undauntedly again to descend and renew the combat. The lynx, watching every movement, as it saw the bird coming made a tremendous leap, trying to seize it by the neck; but the eagle, striking its antagonist's body with its talons, threw it on its back, and again attempted to plunge its beak into the throat of the lynx. So furiously did the two creatures struggle, and so thickly was the snow sent flying round them, while the air was so filled with the eagle's feathers, that I could scarcely distinguish what was taking place. I should have rushed forward to destroy both the combatants, had I not feared that seeing me coming the eagle might fly off, and the lynx scamper away out of my reach, and I was too weak to follow it to any distance. I therefore let the fight proceed, hoping that I might benefit by the utter exhaustion of the two parties, as is often the case when nations go to war, and a third interferes to reap an advantage from the folly of the others. I had to restrain my impatience for some minutes while the furious struggle continued. The bird now made an attempt to rise, but it seemed to me that the lynx held it fast. I could restrain myself no longer, and, grasping my stick, I rushed forward. Both creatures saw me coming. The lynx got on its feet, but before it could make a single bound a well-directed blow on its back laid it dead on the snow. The eagle, to my surprise, did not fly off, and I now saw that one of its wings was broken. It still presented too formidable a front to be approached unless with due caution, for its beak might inflict a serious wound. Holding my stick ready, I swung it with all my force against its head, and the bird rolled over stunned. As it might quickly come to, I immediately drew my knife and severed the head from the body. I was too hungry, however, to stop and examine either the eagle or the lynx, except to ascertain that the latter was perfectly dead. A few cuts of my knife soon settled that point, and then eagerly taking up the hare, I hurried with it back to the fire. I did not stop to skin it very artistically, but running a spit through the body, I at once placed it to roast--camp fashion--on two forked sticks. I watched it eagerly for a few minutes, when, unable longer to resist the cravings of hunger, I cut off one of the legs, which I devoured nearly raw. The keenness of my appetite being satisfied, I felt that I could wait till the rest was more properly cooked. I now bethought me that it would be wise, while the hare was roasting, to bring in the lynx, at all events; for though not dainty food, I had seen Indians eat the flesh of the animal, and it was very possible that wolves might be attracted to the spot and deprive me of it. I might have to wait a long time before my larder was supplied in so curious a manner as it had been on this occasion. I therefore hastened back to where I had left the lynx. As I got up to it, I saw in the distance an animal which I felt nearly sure was a wolf. I must get back to the fire with my game, or the wolf might deprive me of it. Shouldering the lynx, the weight of which was as much as I could carry, I struggled along with it towards my camp. Every moment I expected to hear the wolf behind me, but as I at once struck into the wood I kept out of the creature's sight. I was thankful when I saw the bright blaze of my fire between the trunks of the trees. Hurrying forward, to my infinite satisfaction I found the hare safe on the spit and almost done. I threw down my burden close to the fire, having made up my mind to fight for my prize should the wolf attempt to take it from me. I might have to do battle also, I knew, not only for myself, but for my horse, which, should the wolf discover, it would very probably attack. The hare, which was now sufficiently cooked to be eaten, wonderfully restored my strength and spirits. A portion remained for my breakfast next morning, and I must then commence on the flesh of the lynx. I had been so far preserved, and I was under no apprehension as to what might happen. I reflected, however, that it would be necessary to prepare some defence both for myself and my horse during the night against the attack of wolves, and I considered how that might best be done. As I had still a few minutes of daylight, I employed them in cutting some stout sticks, which I fixed in the snow at a short distance from the fire; others I fastened with withes to the top as rafters, on which I laid some branches, covering the whole with snow. I also formed the walls of my hut with snow. There was fortunately a moon in the sky, which enabled me to continue my labours long after sunset. Having completed my hut, I collected a further supply of sticks, and made up my fire to last, as I hoped, for two or three hours. I then went out, intending to bring my horse close to the hut. I found him still at his supper, and he seemed very unwilling to leave the spot where he had cleared away the snow. On my speaking to him, with a little coaxing he, however, followed me, and I led him to the side of the hut, where I secured him to a stake which I managed to drive into the ground, for though covered with snow, it was soft below it. I then cleared away the snow sufficiently to enable him to get at the grass. This seemed to content him, and I hoped that he would remain quiet and get rested for the journey which I expected to commence the next morning. On examining my pile of sticks, I thought it would be prudent to get a further supply, so that I might keep the fire blazing till daylight, and be able to cook some of the lynx for breakfast, as also a sufficient quantity to take with me. For this object I was going along the edge of the wood, when suddenly a large animal rushed out from a thick copse a short distance before me, planting itself in a threatening attitude as if determined to dispute my progress. It was scarcely twenty feet off, and I knew that in a moment its fangs might be fixed in my throat. My situation appeared desperate, for I felt sure that should I show the least symptom of fear the creature would attack me. I prayed for the courage and firmness I so much needed. Should I retreat, the monster would to a certainty follow. Holding the bundle of sticks I had already collected in front of me as a shield, I flourished my stick, shouting as loud as my weak voice would permit. The wolf appeared somewhat startled and retreated a few steps, still keeping its piercing eyes fixed firmly on me. The creature's retreat, though it was but for a short distance, encouraged me. I advanced. On seeing this it set up a most fearful howl, which I concluded it did for the purpose of collecting some of its fellows to assist it in its meditated attack on me. I redoubled my cries, shouting out, "Sandy! Pat! Pierre! Come along!" with the idea that the wolf would suppose I had companions at hand, who would come at my call. As I advanced it kept retreating, but still continued its appalling howls. It occurred to me that it was the wolf I had before seen, and that it must have its lair in the neighbourhood. This was not a pleasant thought, but still I hoped that if I could frighten it off I should not be further molested. The wolf continued howling and I shouting for nearly a quarter of an hour. At length finding that no other wolves came to join it, and that I was determined not to flinch, it turned round, and in a few seconds was lost to view in the surrounding gloom. I learnt an important lesson from the adventure. It showed me that by an exhibition of courage and determination even enemies of far superior force may be deterred from making an attack, and be put ignominiously to flight. Having satisfied myself that the wolf had really gone off, I returned to my hut, looking back, however, every instant to ascertain whether or not it was following me. I found my horse still cropping the grass. He welcomed me with a neigh as I approached, to show his gratitude. It was a sign also that he was regaining his strength. I felt very thankful that I had not killed him, as I had contemplated doing. Having deposited my bundle of wood on the pile previously formed, I crept into my hut. I then placed some sticks across the entrance as a protection against any sudden attack, and lay down on the pack-saddle, covering my feet with the horse-rug. Though the cold was sufficiently severe under other circumstances to have kept me awake, before many minutes were over I was fast asleep. CHAPTER TWO. FIRST NIGHT IN MY SOLITARY CAMP--PAT CASEY RESCUED--LYNX BROTH--THE WOLF'S SECOND APPEARANCE--PAT'S "DHRAMEING"--THE WOLF AGAIN APPEARS--PAT RECOVERS AND SHOOTS THE "BASTE"--PAT'S NOVEL METHOD OF MAKING A FIRE BURN--LOSS OF OUR POWDER--WE CONSTRUCT HUNTING-SPEARS, AND COMMENCE OUR JOURNEY--OUR HORSES MYSTERIOUSLY DISAPPEAR--MARCHING WITHOUT FOOD--THE INFURIATED ELK--HAVING TAKEN REFUGE IN A TREE, MY SPEAR PROVES USEFUL-- DEER'S FLESH A GOOD PREVENTIVE AGAINST STARVATION--SMOKED VENISON-- MISKWANDIB IS STARVING, AND SO ARE HIS SQUAW AND CHILDREN--OUR NARROW ESCAPE FROM BEING POISONED BY ROOTS. I had remembered before closing my eyes the importance of awaking in a couple of hours. It was the last thought that had occupied my mind. I recollect starting up and seeing the fire blazing brightly, which showed me that I could not have slept half the time I had intended. The next time, however, I awoke but a few embers were still burning. I sprang to my feet, and rushing out threw on some sticks. I was compelled to blow pretty hard to make them blaze up. I was afraid that before they would do so the wolf might pay me a visit. Perhaps he might appear with several companions. I was greatly relieved when the flames once more blazed up, and on looking round beyond them I could see no animal in the neighbourhood. I therefore again retired within my hut, hoping that I might now rest securely till daylight. The appalling howls of the wolf still rung in my ears; and though I slept on, it was under the impression that the monster was about to attack me. I believe that the howlings were only in my own fancy, for when I once more awoke and looked out it was broad daylight. My horse was standing quietly cropping the remainder of the grass, though there was little enough he could manage to reach. Having moved the stake to a little distance, and cleared away the snow, so that he might get at the grass without difficulty, I made up the fire, and put some of the lynx flesh to roast before it. It would not, I expected, prove very palatable, but it would enable me to support existence. While the flesh was cooking I sat down inside my hut and devoured the remainder of the hare. It was but a small animal, and what I had left from the previous evening was not sufficient to satisfy my hunger, which was somewhat ravenous after the many hours I had gone without food. I found in the morning, when attempting to move about, that my limbs were very stiff, while my strength had greatly diminished, and I began to doubt whether I should be able to accomplish the journey I proposed without taking longer time to recruit. I was, however very unwilling to delay longer than I could help, Alick would be anxiously looking for me. I hoped that Sandy and the other men had escaped, for I knew that they also, if they had strength sufficient, would not return home without endeavouring to discover what had become of me. I, however, still suffered a good deal of pain, and when I walked about my legs felt stiff, and scarcely able to support my body; still, I hoped that after I had breakfasted I should be sufficiently recovered to commence my journey. The lynx flesh being cooked, I ate a portion, but it was tough and unsavoury, and I was not sorry to finish my meal. I then got up, with the intention, before starting, of watering my horse at the stream, which I knew would not yet be frozen over, in spite of the cold. Putting on the saddle and bridle, I led him along the edge of the wood in search of some narrow part through which we could make our way, for the wood, as far as I could see, bordered the stream for its whole length. I went on for some distance in the direction from which I had come, when I caught sight afar off of a dark object rising out of the plain of snow. On examining it carefully between my hands, placed on either side of my head, I saw that it was a horse standing stock-still, and it appeared to me that there was another small body at its feet. It naturally occurred to me that the horse must be that of one of my companions, and immediately throwing myself into the saddle I rode towards it. In a short time I was convinced that I had not been mistaken--that the object I saw was a horse, and that at its feet lay the body of a man. Every moment was precious, for if he was still alive he must be in an almost dying state, and would require instant attention. As I got near I saw that the horse was held by the bridle, which the man on the ground was still grasping in his hand. This gave me some hope that the person was still alive. I urged on my poor steed, who could scarcely move through the thick snow. At length, on reaching the man and horse, a glance showed me that the man was Pat Casey! Throwing myself out of my saddle, and kneeling down by his side, I had the satisfaction of discovering that he still breathed, though he was apparently perfectly unconscious. His horse was almost as far gone, and I saw was unable to carry him. My first thought was to get poor Pat to the fire and give him some food. Exerting all my strength, I accordingly lifted him on to my saddle, and, holding him there as well as I could, I set off to return to my camp. His horse followed mine, so that there was no necessity to lead it. Though the distance was not great, it took me a long time to perform it, and I was greatly afraid that he would expire before I could give him some food, and restore the circulation in his veins. Hurrying on as fast as I could make my horse move, we at last reached the hut, before which the fire was still burning. I brought my horse close to the entrance, when, lowering Pat down off the saddle, I dragged him inside, for I had not sufficient strength to carry him; indeed, I had found it a hard matter to get him into the saddle. The first thing I did was to examine his brandy flask, but found it empty. I would have given much for a small portion just then. I next took some of the roasted lynx meat, which I applied to his mouth, and squeezed all the juice out of it down his throat. The slight quantity of nourishment he thus swallowed, with the warmth of the hut, had a beneficial effect, and he, opening his eyes, seemed to recognise me, though he could not speak. This encouraged me to persevere in my efforts to restore him. I got off his shoes and stockings and rubbed his feet; then warming the stockings at the fire, I again put them on. I applied friction also to the palms of his hands and to his chest. While I was thus employed, I saw his horse, which had followed us, approach the hut. It struck me that there was something very like a pot hanging from the saddle. I rushed out and caught the animal, when, to my delight, I discovered our saucepan, with a tin mug, which Pat at our last encampment had probably forgotten to fasten to the baggage-mule, and had consequently secured to his own saddle. Making up the fire, I instantly put on some of the lynx meat to concoct some broth, which would, I knew, prove more efficacious than anything else I could give to my suffering companion, while I myself should be very glad of it. Fortunately his gun was fastened to his saddle, and he had on his thick coat. A brace of pistols were also in his holsters. Whatever might befall him, I should thus have the means of defending myself and of procuring game, for he had on his ammunition-belt, which was well supplied with powder and shot. The coat, with the aid of the horse-cloths, would contribute greatly to our warmth at night, though I could dispense with it during the daytime. While the broth was boiling, I continued to feed him with as much juice as I could press from the meat, for he was not in a fit state to eat solid food. While I was attending to Pat, I allowed the horses to remain loose, as I was sure that they would not wander far. I had given up all idea of travelling that day, for Pat was utterly unable to move, and I felt myself scarcely in a fit state to ride any distance. As soon as the soup was ready I took some in the cup, and having cooled it in the snow, poured it slowly down Pat's throat. His eyes seemed to be regaining their usual brightness, but yet he did not speak. Waiting a little I gave him some more, when I heard him say in a low voice, "Arrah! now, but that's foine! Blessings on you, Masther David." "I am glad to hear you speak, Pat," I said; "you'll get all to rights in time." I next took some of the soup myself, but I cannot say that I admired its flavour, though it warmed up my inside, and contributed much to restore my strength. I kept the pot on boiling, that I might give Pat more soup. Thus the day wore on, Pat gradually recovering, though as yet he was unable to give any account of himself. The expenditure of the lynx flesh was considerable in making the soup, but I hoped to be able with Pat's gun to shoot some birds, or some other animal, and did not begrudge it. Leaving Pat asleep, I took his gun and went out to see how the horses were getting on, and to gather more sticks for our fire. I brought in several bundles, and was returning for some more when, almost at the spot where I had encountered the wolf on the previous evening, it again made its appearance, snarling savagely at me. I should have shouted to frighten it away, but I did not wish to awake Pat, as he could not have come to my help; so holding the gun ready to fire, I advanced slowly, with the same success as before. When I stood still, so did the wolf. When I moved forward, it retreated. I was unwilling to fire lest I should miss it, and I thought it best to refrain from doing so till it should come nearer to me. At last, to my great satisfaction, it turned round and bolted off. So rapidly did it retreat that I had no time to take a steady aim at its shoulder, though I lifted my gun for the purpose of doing so. "I will not let you go another time, my fine fellow," I said to myself. "If you show your ugly face here again, look out for the consequences." The wolf could not have been very hungry, or it would, I suspected, have attacked the horses; though I have since heard that a single wolf will seldom attempt to kill a horse, a pair of heels proving more formidable weapons than its fangs. Having collected enough wood, I returned to the hut. Pat was in the same semi-conscious state as before, still he appeared to me to be getting better, and I hoped that by the next day he would be sufficiently recovered to set off with me towards the fort. I watched him anxiously for some time, wishing, should he awake, to give him some more broth. Finding that he slept on, I was compelled by sheer drowsiness and fatigue to lie down, when I myself was soon fast asleep. When I awoke, I found him sitting up and scratching his head. "Arrah! now, what's it all about?" he muttered. "Shure I've been dhrameing. I thought I was out riding along in the snow." "I hope you feel better, Pat," I said. "For the matter of that, I'm mighty ager after some mate, for I do not know when I last put some between my grinders," he answered. "If you wait a bit, you shall soon have some broth," I said, seeing that he was still weak and scarcely himself. "Lie down, and I'll get it ready for you." I quickly warmed some broth, as I had promised, and brought it to him. He eagerly swallowed it, and asked for more. This I had not to give him, but I promised if he would go to sleep again that I would get some ready for the morning. I accordingly cut off some more meat, and putting it into the pot, filled it up with snow. I then put the pot on the fire, and sat inside the hut watching it while it was boiling. The occupation kept me awake. As I was looking out into the darkness beyond the fire, I fancied that I saw a shadowy form gliding by. It was, I suspected, that of the wolf, which had been attracted by the scent of the boiling meat. The creature was afraid of approaching the fire, or I should soon have had the contents of my pot carried off. I got Pat's gun, and having withdrawn the charge and carefully reloaded it, I placed it by my side, to be ready for use. Now and then the wolf got near enough to show me its glaring eyeballs, and several times I was greatly tempted to fire, to try to kill it, but I did not wish to throw a shot away; and, should I miss, the bullet might find its way towards one of our horses, which were feeding at some distance beyond. At last, on my throwing some more sticks on the fire, which made it blaze up brightly, the wolf scampered off. My cooking kept me awake the remainder of the night, and I had some strong broth ready for Pat in the morning. It had a flavour of its own which would have been much better for some salt and pepper, not to speak of a few vegetables; but as they were not to be procured, we had to take it as it was. Pat, as before, pronounced it "mighty foine." Though it evidently did him good, he showed no inclination to get up and exert himself. To my regret, indeed, I found that he was still very weak, and had not entirely recovered his senses. I had, therefore, to make up my mind to stay in the hut another day. To leave him in that state was impossible, and I was scarcely in a fit condition to set out alone, though I should have done so had I not found him. The weather was tolerably warm, and the snow was diminishing in depth, though where it went to it was difficult to say. Pat, evidently getting better as the day drew on, I took his gun and went out in the hopes of finding some game to replenish our larder. The constant attack I made on the lynx to supply our broth-pot had greatly diminished the flesh on the body. The first night I had kept it inside the hut; but it becoming not over pleasant, I afterwards fastened it to a cross-piece between two high poles, out of the reach of wolves. I was not afraid of meeting my old enemy in the daytime, as by slipping a bullet into my gun I could quickly have disposed of him. I went sometimes into the wood, and at others kept along just outside it; but no animals of any description could I meet with, though I fancied I saw some deer in the distance. They did not, however, come near enough to enable me to be quite certain. It was possible that I might fall in with a buffalo--some solitary bull, perhaps--driven from the herd, but no traces of one could I see on the snow. At last, as I was becoming fatigued and the evening was drawing on, I unwillingly returned to the hut. Pat was sitting up, almost himself again. I fully expected that the next day we should be able to start. Having had some supper, I advised him to lie down; but he insisted on sitting up and watching while I took some sleep, which I confess I greatly required. On awaking, I saw that he was at the entrance of our hut, kneeling down with his gun at his shoulder. "Hist!" he said. "There's a baste looking in upon us, and I'm just going to make him wish that he hadn't come this way." Before I could advise him not to fire he pulled the trigger, and rushing out I saw my old enemy, the wolf, struggling in the agonies of death on the ground. "It will give us some mate, at all events, if not the pleasantest food in the world," exclaimed Pat; "but don't get near his jaws till you are sure he's dead intirely." Pat had taken good aim, and the animal's struggles were soon over. I went round, and dragged the carcass close to the fire, so that it was not likely to be carried off by any of its comrades during the night. It was a huge, savage-looking beast, and I thought that I must be very hard pressed before I could eat its flesh. No other adventure occurred during the night. Pat, whom I advised to lie down again, slept on soundly till the morning, when he appeared to have almost recovered. On looking out, I found that our fire had been extinguished. The weather was very much warmer, and a slight shower of rain had fallen, which had tended gradually to decrease the depth of the snow. We could not expect a more comfortable time for travelling, and I proposed that we should at once set out. Pat got up and tried to walk about. "Shure! it's mighty quare I feel," he said, "but if I can but climb on to the back of my baste, well be able to get along somehow." On observing Pat's weakness I felt rather doubtful about this, and saw that it was necessary at all events that he should have a good meal first, and that we should have enough to eat on our journey. The first thing to be done was to get the fire lighted. I set to work with some dried leaves and bark which I had kept inside; but the sticks, being wet and somewhat green, would not burn up. "Here, Pat! give me a little powder from your powder-horn," I cried out. It is customary, I should say, to use it in such cases. Pat crawled forward, while I stepped aside to look out for some drier sticks. What was my dismay to see him, instead of handing me the powder, or taking a little out in his hand, uncorking his horn and pouring out the contents on the burning leaves! Before I could cry out it exploded, blowing all before it, and sending Pat himself sprawling, six feet from where he had stood, and myself nearly as far. I lay stunned and senseless for some minutes. When I came to my senses, I was seized with the dread that Pat was killed. The fire, I saw, was completely extinguished, and at a distance lay Pat. I got up, and to my surprise ascertained that I had suffered no material injury, beyond having my clothes somewhat singed. On reaching Pat, I found that the horn, which he had held in his hand when the powder exploded, was blown to atoms; but, on examining him, I could not discover that he had received any wound, nor were his face and hands even blackened. While I was looking at him, he opened his eyes. "Arrah! now, what's become of the powder?" he exclaimed, lifting up his hand, which had held the horn, and gazing at it; "shure! it's blown to smithereens." "Indeed it is, and it's a mercy that you were not killed," I said. "What could make you do such a thing?" "Shure! just from not thinking of what I was about," he answered, endeavouring to get on his legs. I helping him, he was able to walk back into the hut. He soon completely recovered, and I sat by his side feeling anything but comfortable or happy. As it had turned out, the most serious result of his thoughtlessness was the loss of our powder, for not a grain more did we possess. Though we had a gun and shot, they were useless. "It's of no use mourning over our loss," I said at length. "I'll try again to light the fire, and after breakfast we will consider what is best to be done. There is a greater necessity than ever for pushing on." Pat agreed with me in this, and after several efforts I got the fire to blaze up, boiled some water, and cooked the remainder of our lynx flesh. Unpalatable as was our food we made a hearty meal, washing it down with warm water. We would have given much for a pinch of salt, and an ounce of tea, not to speak of sugar and milk. "As we cannot use the gun we must be afther making a weapon instead," observed Pat. "The best thing we can do is to fasten our hunting-knives to the end of long poles. They will serve as spears, and enable us with some chance of success to defend ourselves against either Indians or bears or wolves. We can at any time, if we want to use our knives, take them off the poles again." As Pat's idea was a good one, we immediately carried it out. While we were shaping the poles, I saw him eyeing the wolf. "We may get some more tasty mate than that baste will give us, but it's just possible that we may not, and shure it will be wise in us to take as much as we can carry," he said. I agreed with him, and before we bound our knives on to the poles we skinned and cut up the wolf, hanging the hide on to the cross-piece to which the skin of the lynx was suspended. Pat then chose what he considered the best portions of the animal, leaving the remainder of the carcass on the ground. It was time to take another meal before we were ready to start, so we cooked a piece of the wolf's flesh. It was tough and unsavoury, but our teeth being in good condition we managed to masticate a larger portion than I should have conceived possible. I then got the two horses, and, having saddled them, assisted Pat to get on to the back of his. "Forward!" I cried, and we moved on; but I saw that Pat sat his saddle as a sick man does, bending down, and occasionally swaying from side to side. I was afraid that he would fall off. "Never fear, Masther David," he said, "I'll catch hold of the mane before it comes to that, and shure I can stick on as well as Dan O'Rourke when he had got a skinful of the crayther." We both of us knew more or less the direction we were to take, but having got out of the route between the forts, the country immediately around was strange to us. We went on and on, keeping on the lower ground, and hoping in time to strike the right trail. Our horses making no objection, we concluded that we could not be far wrong. We had lost so much time before starting, however, that evening overtook us before we expected, and we were compelled to camp at the first suitable spot we reached. It was under shelter of a wood with a stream running near it, at which we at once watered our horses. We then, as customary, took off their saddles and bridles and turned them loose to feed. The weather being somewhat threatening, I thought it prudent to build a hut, both for Pat's sake and my own; and while he, having collected some sticks, prepared a fire, I set to work to cut the necessary stakes. It was very similar to the one I had before constructed, and as there was plenty of snow on the ground, I formed the walls of it. The hut would be thus much warmer than if formed merely of branches, which, though affording sufficient protection in summer weather, are not calculated to keep out the cold. The only difference between our present and former hut was that the one we had last built was somewhat larger, so as to afford accommodation to both of us. We had nothing but the wolf's flesh for supper, and though we tried it roasted and boiled, in neither state could I manage to eat more that a very small quantity. Pat munched away far more to his satisfaction, if not greedily. It was, perhaps, in consequence of this that he awoke in the night complaining of great pain. The only remedy I could think of was hot water. It somewhat alleviated his sufferings, but in the morning he was too ill to proceed. He urged me to go on to the fort, but this I refused to do. I might be three or four days reaching it, or longer, should any untoward circumstance occur, and he might be dead before I returned. This event made me feel very much out of spirits. I was anxious if possible to procure better food than the wolf's flesh afforded, so taking my spear I went out to try to kill some animal or other. In vain I searched in every direction. I was tantalised by the sight of birds. I caught glimpses of a racoon and a couple of squirrels, but I could not get at them. Had I possessed a charge of powder I might have killed something. At last hunger compelled me to return, and I set to work to cook more of the wolf's flesh. Detestable as I had thought it, I was thankful that we possessed even that on which to sustain life. I was too tired to go out again; indeed Pat was so ill that I did not like to leave him. Having led the two horses to the stream to drink, I returned with our pot full of water to the hut; then making up the fire, I lay down to sleep. On awaking at night I heard the sound of falling snow. Our fire was out, and as it would be a hard matter to relight it, and to keep it in when alight, I did not make the attempt. Next morning, when I looked out, the whole country was a foot or more deep in snow. I turned my eyes in the direction I expected to see the horses. They were nowhere visible. Still, I hoped that they had only gone round to the other side of the wood, and would soon return. Pat was rather better. When I told him that the horses were missing, he looked much aghast, and acknowledged that having awakened in the night, he had seen several figures like shadowy forms passing in the distance before the hut; but fancying he was dreaming, he had again dropped off to sleep. "I hope you were dreaming," I observed, "but I shall be more satisfied when I see the horses again." Immediately after breakfast, taking my trusty spear, I sallied out in search of our steeds, with very little doubt that I should soon find them. Great was my disappointment, therefore, on reaching the place to which I supposed they had gone, not to see them. I went completely round the wood and looked up the stream, but not a trace of them could I discover. Our condition had been bad before; it was now much worse. I was convinced that Pat had really seen some Indians, who had carried them off. We had cause to be thankful that they had not attacked us; perhaps they were deterred from the belief that we possessed firearms. They knew also that they would not be pursued, as the snow would have completely obliterated their trail? Here we then were, several days' journey distant from the fort, without firearms, and my companion too ill to walk. I looked at our store of wolf flesh, and calculated how many days that would last us. It would soon come to an end, and then what could we do? Our friends might, indeed, come in search of us, but the snow almost hid our low hut; and, unless we had a fire burning, they might pass by without discovering us. I pass over the next three days. Pat got better, but our store of meat came to an end. We had a few bones, which we pounded, and with some roots which I dug up in the wood I made a kind of broth. It was more palatable and nutritious than I could have supposed. I proposed going back to our former camp, to fetch the skins of the wolf and lynx, as they would cut into strips, and boiled, give us sufficient food to sustain life. Pat advised me not to make the attempt. In the first place he thought that the skins would probably have been carried off by the Indians, who were sure to have visited our camp; and they might be in the neighbourhood, and seeing me alone, might take my scalp as a trophy of their prowess. Notwithstanding the limited amount of unsavoury food we had eaten, I retained my strength, and Pat regained his. At last every particle we possessed was consumed. Notwithstanding the danger of marching without food, it was better than remaining where we were; and early one morning, with our spears in our hands, Pat carrying the saucepan and mug, we started forth. We had no great fear of Indians, for should those who stole our horses have wished to kill us, they would have done so at once. They could now track us easily in the snow; but this they were not likely to do. We had got to some little distance along the bank of the stream when Pat, who was rather in advance, stopped, and made a sign to me not to move, while he pointed ahead. There I saw several magnificent deer, which had come down to the water to drink. It would have been a sight to cheer our hearts had we possessed powder; but in spite of our want of it, I at once resolved at all hazards to try to kill one of the animals. There were several young ones with them. We were near a bush, behind which we slipped; then in low voices we arranged our plan of operation. It was important to keep to leeward of the deer, or they might have scented us. We at once crept forward, crouching down and keeping ourselves concealed by the brushwood. As we got nearer, we perceived that the animals were moose or elk, the largest of the deer tribe, with magnificent thick antlers. We well knew the danger of attacking such animals, which defend themselves both with these antlers and with their fore feet; with the latter they can strike the most terrific blows, sufficient to kill any assailant. Still, hunger made us daring. Besides the wood through which we were making our way, poplars and several other trees grew in the open ground. We would, if we could have approached them, have attacked one of the smaller animals, but they were feeding farther away from our cover, and their mothers would quickly have led them out of our reach. Close to the wood, however, stood a magnificent stag, feeding leisurely, as if unconscious of the approach of a foe. Our plan was to rush out and attack him; and we hoped mortally to wound him before he had time to take to flight. The attempt was a desperate one, but it was worth making. We crept on noiselessly in Indian fashion, stopping every now and then to be sure that the elk did not see us till we had got within eight or ten yards of him. "Now!" I whispered to Pat, and we both sprang up and dashed forward with our spears aimed at the elk's breast. So completely surprised was he that he did not even attempt to fly, but stood staring at us with his large lustrous eyes, till Pat's spear entered his chest, and I, who was more on the outside, had wounded him in the shoulder. Pat, instead of pressing home his spear, withdrew it with the intention of making another lunge, when the animal started back, and reared on its hind legs, as if about to strike Pat, who, seeing his danger, leaped back under cover, calling to me to follow him. I had no time to do this; but hoping that the wound which Pat had inflicted would prove mortal, ran off to a distance. The elk missed Pat but saw me, and immediately came bounding towards me. I had barely time to slip behind a thick poplar, when the elk's horns came crashing against it. The animal, apparently, in its fury had not seen the tree. Finding itself stopped, it retreated, when it again caught sight of me, and made another rush; but, as before, I avoided it by slipping round the tree. Now it rushed with its antlers against the trunk; now it reared, pawing with its feet, one blow from either of which would have laid me low. My life depended on my quickness of sight and agility. Each time long strips of bark were torn off the tree, showing how it would have treated my body. Again it retired, to charge in the same way as before. I hoped that it would soon get tired of these performances, but it seemed resolved on my destruction. To mount the tree was impossible, and I dared not turn round to ascertain what trees were behind me with branches sufficiently low to enable me to climb out of the way of the enraged animal. Pat did not come to my assistance. I hoped indeed that he would not, for the elk would probably have seen him, and would have pierced him with its antlers before he would have had a chance of retreating. I was, however, getting very weary of the fearful game I was playing. I wanted to ascertain what had become of Pat, but I dared not withdraw my eye for a moment from the movements of the elk. All my energies, all my senses were required to escape the dreadful charges it was making. Now it would rush to one side of the tree, now to the other, while I had to slip round and round to escape its blows. Not having my usual strength to begin with, I was becoming very tired. There seemed to be no likelihood that my antagonist would give in. At last, I determined at all hazards to carry out the plan I had formed, and to escape to some tree up which I could climb. I knew that should my foot slip, and I fall to the ground, the elk would in a moment be upon me. I shouted to Pat, telling him what I intended to do, and hoping that he might appear and attract, if even but for a few moments, the attention of the elk. Some time elapsed before I could get to the side from which I intended to take my flight. I waited for the moment that the deer should make his charge against the tree, when, as it would be some seconds before he discovered that he had not caught me, I might have the start of him. With a crash his antlers struck the trunk, and as I heard the sound I darted off. I did not dare to look round to see whether he was following. Almost breathless I reached a tree, but it was not one I could climb. As I ran round it, a glance I cast over my shoulder showed me the savage brute tearing across the open ground in the direction I had taken. On I went; another and another tree was passed. He was nearly up to me, when I saw one a short distance ahead with a branch projecting at a height which I could reach. The elk was close upon my heels when, grasping hold of the bough by an effort of which I scarcely supposed myself capable, I drew myself up beyond the reach of his antlers, which the next instant came crashing against the trunk just below my feet. I had no wish, however, to let my antagonist go, and having saved my spear I resolved to make effectual use of it; so, getting into a position between the branches where I could sit securely, I got my weapon ready for use. The elk having lost me retreated for a few paces, when again catching sight of me he dashed forward, rearing up on his hind feet. With all the strength I possessed, I darted down my sharp-pointed spear towards the top of its head. I knew that the skull was thick, but that if my knife would penetrate it, I should certainly kill the elk. The blow was more effectual than I had dared to hope for. The moment the moose was struck, down it sank to the ground, without giving a single struggle. I could then for the first time look out to ascertain what had become of Pat, shouting as I did so, and presently I saw him rushing out of the larger wood towards me. As he caught sight of the dead elk, he threw up his hat, exclaiming, "Hurrah! good luck to you, Masther David! Erin go bragh! We'll not be afther starving at any rate." On seeing him coming I descended from my perch. We greeted each other with a hearty shake of the hands, as if we had been long absent. We lost no time in skinning our game, cutting out the tongue, and as large a portion of the haunch as we could carry. Having prepared our loads, I was about to set off, when Pat exclaimed, "Stay, Masther David; before we are back, the wolves or vultures will have got hould of our mate. It's more than they desarve, the varmints." Saying this, he carefully cut away the inside of the animal, and drew forth a large bladder, which he emptied of its contents, and then blew into it till it was inflated to the full. He then secured it by a thin line drawn from the intestines, which he fastened to a branch overhead, so that it hung vibrating in the breeze over the carcass, glittering brightly as it slowly moved to and fro. "That will keep the bastes away till we come back," he observed. I rather doubted, however, the success of the experiment. We at once returned to our camp, where we left our pot and Pat's useless gun, and the few other articles we had brought with us. We soon got a fire lighted, and our venison cooked, and a very hearty meal we made. Having secured the meat inside the hut, before which we left the fire blazing, we returned for a further supply, as we intended to dry enough to last us for the time we should take to reach the fort. As we approached the spot we saw numerous birds seated on the branches of the surrounding trees, and at a short distance a dozen at least of the smaller prairie-wolves. Both one and the other were evidently scared by the glittering balloon. Our shouts prevented the wolves from approaching, and allowed us plenty of time to obtain a further supply of venison. More we could not have carried with us even when dried, so we left the remainder of the carcass to the birds and beasts of prey, who would certainly, after sunset, pounce upon it. Our first care on arriving at our camp was to cut the venison which we did not require for immediate use into thin strips. These we proposed drying in the sun and smoke, and then packing in as small a space as possible to carry on our backs. Thankful for our preservation, we lay down that night to sleep, hoping that nothing would prevent us from continuing our journey on the following morning. Eager as we were to proceed, we agreed that it would be wiser to spend another day in preparing our meat and recruiting our strength, for though both of us were much recovered, we were not fit for a long tramp, with the fatigue at the end of the day's journey of building a hut and collecting wood for our fire. We were very busy all day smoking the venison and drying it in the sun, the heat of which was still sufficient for our object. We could hear the wolves during the night wrangling over the carcass of the deer, but they did not pay us a visit. As they would have had sufficient food, we did not fear that they would attack us; should they do so, we were prepared to receive them with our sharp spears. The morning of our departure arrived. Breakfasting on the remainder of our fresh venison, we did up our provisions in two packs, including our other articles; and with our spear-handles as staffs, we set forward on our journey in good spirits. We had met with many dangers, and surmounted them all; and we hoped that, should we have more to encounter, we might be preserved by the same merciful Providence which had hitherto watched over us. My chief anxiety now was about what had happened to Sandy and Pierre; still, thoroughly well acquainted with the country as they were, and accustomed to emergencies of all sorts, I hoped that long before this they would have made their way home. Pat could give no account of them. He had been separated from them as I was in the snowstorm, and had ridden on, not knowing where he was going. Had I not found him, he would undoubtedly have perished. We trudged on manfully all day, stopping only for a short time about noon to eat a portion of the cold venison which we had cooked, so that there was no necessity for lighting a fire till we reached our camping-ground at night. Had we possessed more clothing we should have been saved the trouble of building a hut; but as we had only our horse-cloths to put over our shoulders, we were afraid of suffering from the cold should we sleep in the open air. We marched straight forward without even looking for game, as we had food enough, and were unwilling to lose any time. Our belief was that we were directing our course exactly for the fort, but, after marching on for four days, I began to have some uncomfortable misgivings on the subject. We might have kept too much to the south and passed it, for the snow covered up the slight trail which existed, and we had only the general appearance of the country to go by. I had never led a party, having trusted to Sandy or others, and therefore had not sufficiently noted the landmarks. I now bitterly regretted my carelessness, and resolved in future to note for myself, on every journey, the most remarkable points, so that I might, when alone, be able to find my way. "Shure! the fort's a mighty dale furder off than I thought for," observed Pat, as we were forming our camp on the evening of the fifth day. I then told him my own apprehensions. He looked somewhat uncomfortable. "But we have still got some venison in our packs, and must try back, I suppose," he said. "I can think of no other course to take." After we had fixed up our hut, we had a serious talk as to what was best to be done. I proposed going northward, and endeavouring to reach a branch of the Upper Saskatchewan, on the bank of which our fort was situated, as by following the stream up or down we must eventually come upon it. This was, indeed, our only safe plan, and we determined next morning to pursue it. Darkness had come on. We were engaged in cooking our supper--roasting a portion and boiling some of the dried venison to serve as a beverage. We had had no time to dig for roots during our journey, but as soon as we halted, while I was preparing the fire, Pat went into the wood to search for some. He brought in a large handkerchief full, but, as we were very hungry, we agreed that we would wait until the next morning to cook them for breakfast, as they would require a good deal of boiling. We therefore piled them up on one side, that we might peel and prepare them after supper. I was stirring the pot, when, looking beyond the flames, I caught sight of the figure of a man slowly approaching. The light falling on him showed me that he was an Indian. He held a bow in his hand, and a quiver of arrows was at his back. "Hillo! some one is coming," I exclaimed to Pat, who was lying down, and did not therefore see the Indian, and was probably not seen himself. Pat started up, and mechanically placed his hand on his gun, which was lying near him, forgetting that it was unloaded. The Indian must have observed the action, but without taking notice of it, he quickly came up and stood opposite to us on the other side of the fire. "Whaugh!" exclaimed the stranger, in a tone of surprise, looking at Pat and me. "I did not expect to find white men here, at this time of the year." "Who are you?" I asked. "I am Miskwandib, and wish to be your friend," answered the Indian. "At present I am hungry, and should be glad of food. Had I been an enemy I could have killed you both with my arrows at a distance, and taken what I require." "Much obliged to you, friend Miskwandib, for your kindness," said Pat. "Sit down, and make yourself at home, and you shall have some of our supper." Pat spoke partly in English and partly in the Cree language. The Indian understood him, and coming round to our side of the fire sat down next to Pat. We immediately handed him some of the venison, which he ate ravenously, while I put on a fresh piece to roast. It greatly diminished our stock of provisions, but we could not withhold it from the starving Indian. "Have you any friends in the neighbourhood, Misther Miskwandib?" asked Pat. "I have my squaw and children encamped at the farther end of the wood," he answered. "They, too, are starving and want food. They nearly perished in the snowstorm which occurred some time back, and since then I have been unable to kill any game for their support. You with your firearms will be able to obtain what you may require." We, of course, did not wish to say that we had no powder, or that I had not even a gun. Pat and I, after a short consultation, agreed that humanity demanded we should share our provisions with the starving Indians. While we were talking, the Indian's eye fell upon the roots by Pat's side. "What are these for?" he asked. "Shure! to cook and ate," answered Pat. "If you eat these roots, before many hours are over you will be dead men," exclaimed the Indian, taking them up one after another, and throwing them to a distance, reserving only four or five of a different species from the rest. "These are wholesome, if you boil them sufficiently; they are such as my family and I have lived on for many days past." Being assured that the Indian spoke the truth, we thanked him for the timely warning he had given us. We now did up the larger portion of what remained of our meat, reserving only enough for the following day, and giving it to him, asked if he knew Fort Black, and would agree to guide us to it. He seemed somewhat surprised at our liberality, and replied that if we would wait a day or two, till his family were fit to travel, he would show us the direct way to it. We understood from him that it was some distance off. I replied that, as our friends were expecting us, we wished to set off at once, and that if he would point out the direction of the fort we could find our way alone. "As such is your resolution, may the Good Spirit guide you! I cannot leave my family, and they will be unable to travel for two days at least." Saying this, he got up and drew a line on the ground pointing to the north-east. "That is the direction you must follow," he said. "In three days you will reach the fort." We knew by this that we had gone too far to the westward, and not sufficiently to the north. We hoped that now we should be able to make our way. We were thankful to think that we had only two nights more to stop out, and unless the weather changed very much for the worse we were not likely to suffer. The Indian having done up the meat we had given him, without expressing any gratitude took his departure, and was soon lost to sight in the gloom. "Miskwandib! that's the name of the `red head' or `copper-snake'," I observed. "What do you think of our friend, Pat?" "I don't altogether trust him," he answered. "He may be an honest man and have told us the truth; but he may be a rogue and mean us harm, notwithstanding all he said." "He might have shot us with his arrows had he been so inclined," I answered, "and at all events he did us a great service in warning us of the poisonous character of the roots you dug up. I feel pretty sure, too, that he pointed out the right direction to the fort." Still Pat was not convinced of the honesty of Miskwandib. He was never very friendly to the Indians, and certainly begrudged parting with so much of our venison, though ready to do as I wished. We sat up for some time, half expecting another visit from the Indian; but we did not see him, and at length lay down to sleep, Pat promising to keep one eye open, in case he should steal into our camp and help himself to the remainder of our venison. CHAPTER THREE. OUR LAST FRAGMENTS OF MEAT ARE CONSUMED--FORTUNATE DISCOVERY OF A FLASK OF POWDER--PAT'S LASSO--THE MADDENED BUFFALO BULL--PAT'S LASSO IS TURNED TO USEFUL ACCOUNT--BUFFALO TONGUES ROASTED--PAT'S "IRISH"--OUR BUFFALO MEAT BECOMING EXHAUSTED, WE ARE SADLY IN WANT OF FOOD--PAT'S STRANGE BEHAVIOUR--HIS MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE WITH THE GUN--I GO IN SEARCH OF HIM--FAILING TO FIND HIM, I AM OVERJOYED AT MEETING BOUNCER--THE "BULL BOAT," OR PARCHMENT CANOE--SHOOTING RAPIDS--BLACK FORT ONCE MORE--SANDY AND PIERRE'S ADVENTURES--OUR YOUNG-LADY VISITORS, ROSE AND LETTY--THE MEAT PIT. "Copper-Snake" did not return during the night, nor did we the next morning see anything of him; we therefore packed up, and began our tramp in the direction he had pointed out. The sky had hitherto been clear, but the clouds now began to spread over it, though there was scarcely a breath of air. In a short time the sun was so obscured that it no longer enabled us to steer our course. We had marked a hill, however, in the distance, and marched on guided by it. The hill was of less height and not so far off as we supposed, and when we had crossed it, we could fix on no object to serve as a mark. Notwithstanding this, we kept straight on till we came to a stream. We then had to make our way for some distance down it till we could find a ford. Though the water was very cold, by taking off our shoes and trousers we waded across without wetting our clothes. We were unable to decide in what direction the stream ran, and crossing it somewhat confused us. It might, Pat argued, be running north, or north-west, and still fall into the Saskatchewan, or be running east. Neither the appearance of the sky nor the wind served in any way to guide us. At last we were obliged to camp, as neither of us had strength to go farther. By the next evening we had exhausted, with the exception of a few mouthfuls, the whole of our stock of dried venison, but as we hoped during the next day to reach the fort, we agreed that we could manage to keep body and soul together with the little which remained; still, I did not feel very comfortable. The idea would intrude, that "Copper-Snake" might have misled us, or that we had wandered out of our course. If so, we should be very hard pressed for food, or death by starvation might after all be our fate. I remembered too the anxiety my brother Alick would be enduring about me. There were in the neighbourhood others who, should they hear that we were missing, would be greatly concerned about us. Some way off, farther to the westward, at the foot of the hills, was a missionary station, of which a Mr Crisp had charge. His two children, Martin and Rose, were great friends of ours. In the winter, when we could travel over the country on sleighs, we frequently paid them a visit at the missionary station, which, in the summer, when the river was full, we could reach in a canoe, by making three or four portages past the rapids. Martin was rather younger than I was, and Rose was somewhat older. She was a sensible, clever girl, and we were all much attached to her and her brother. Mr Meredith, who had charge of Fort Ross, had a daughter, Letty. I admired her very much. She was a fair, blue-eyed little girl, just a couple of years younger than me, and I would have gone through fire and water to serve her. I was much disappointed at not finding her at Fort Ross, for she had been spending the summer with Mr and Mrs Crisp, for the purpose of receiving instruction with Rose from Mrs Crisp, who was a highly educated lady. Mr Meredith looked a little more careworn than usual. Reports had been brought him that a large party of Sioux had made an incursion into our territory, and it was not known in what direction they had gone. He had advised us to keep constant watch, and to push forward as fast as our horses could move. Should Sandy and Pierre not have returned to Fort Black, I felt confident that Alick would send to Fort Ross to ascertain when we had set out, and to obtain assistance in searching for us. Remembering, however, that it was wrong to indulge in anticipations of evil when we had already been so mercifully taken care of, I succeeded in putting away my anxious thoughts. The next day was like the past. The sky was clouded; there was not a breath of air, and we had no certain means of knowing in what direction we were proceeding. We ate the last fragments of meat we possessed, before starting, to give us strength for the journey. On we went, but still I was unable to recognise any of the features of the country. Noon approached, and we were getting desperately hungry. After the danger we had run of being poisoned by the roots Pat had dug up, we were afraid of trying others, for neither of us was certain which were wholesome and which poisonous, they both looked so much alike. We were passing the border of a small wood, when Pat gave a shout. "It's my belafe there's the remains of a camp-fire," he exclaimed, pointing to a spot a little distance off. We hurried towards it. There was a black spot round which the snow had been scraped away, and near it was a pile of sticks, but none of the embers remained, the ashes having apparently been blown away by the wind. There were marks of several feet around, in all directions, which made us suppose that the party had been a numerous one. I was looking about when my eye fell on a small object, almost covered by the snow. I ran towards it. It was a powder-flask! Eagerly I pulled out the cork. It was almost full. "Here's a prize, Pat!" I exclaimed, holding it up. "Thank Heaven for it," cried Pat. "We shall now be able to shoot any bird or baste we catch sight of, but it is a bad lookout for whoever left it behind." "I think it tells a tale," I answered. "The party, whoever they were, must have hurried away--perhaps from the appearance of a body of Indians, or they might have gone off in chase of some deer or buffaloes." "If that was so, no one would have left his powder-horn behind," observed Pat. "It's my belafe they took to flight to escape from Indians. It must have been in the daytime, for there are no pieces of bark about, or any signs of a night encampment; but how the Indians came to miss the powder-flask is more than I can say. Let me look at it." He examined the flask carefully, as I had been doing. "It's my belafe," he said, "that it does not belong to any of the people of the fort. My idea is that a party of white men have come over the Rocky Mountains by Jasper House, and have stopped here on their way eastward, intending to reach Fort a la Corne, or Fort Pelly, farther south, though I doubt, unless they can procure sleighs, if they will get there this winter." "Be that as it may, the powder-flask is a God-send to us," I said; "and I hope that the owner will not be the worse without it. At all events, let us load your rifle to be ready for any animal which may come across our path." We searched about for any other treasure which might have been left behind, but could discover nothing in the immediate neighbourhood of the fire. It would be useless to stop where we were, so taking it for granted that the fugitives had gone eastward, we continued on at right-angles to their trail. We had not gone far when, crossing a piece of meadow, where from its exposure the snow had almost disappeared, Pat cried out, "There is something else worth having;" and, darting forward, he lifted up a long lasso composed of buffalo hide. One end had been cut, the other was fixed into the ground by an iron stake with a ring. "The owner of this must have mounted his horse in a desperate hurry, and cut him free," he observed. "If the Indians had taken him, they would have carried off the lasso and stake. We shall hear more about this some day; but I only hope the whites got safe off." Coiling up the lasso with the stake, Pat hung it over his shoulders. "If any buffalo are in the neighbourhood, they are likely to visit this meadow," he observed; "and if we see any, won't we--" And he made signs of biting away with his teeth so furiously that I could not help laughing at his grimaces. "Come! that's right, Masther David. It's a great thing to keep up one's spirits, especially on an empty stomach." We were proceeding along the edge of a wood which bordered the meadow, when we caught sight of several dark spots. By keeping close under the trees we got still nearer to them, when to our infinite satisfaction we discovered that they were buffaloes. So busily were they feeding that they did not see us, but they were still too far out from the cover to allow us to get a shot at one of them; starving as we were, it was a matter of the greatest importance not to allow them to escape. In summer, with proper precautions, when the grass was long, we might have managed to creep over the ground without being discovered by the animals, but with the white mantle which now lay on the ground we should be certain to be seen. We remained hid behind some bushes, Pat's mouth watering with the thoughts of the buffalo meat he hoped to obtain, and my hand trembling with anxiety. Though we could not approach the animals, they might draw nearer to us. We were still waiting in the expectation of their doing this, when another buffalo appeared on the scene, and bellowing loudly approached the herd. They retreated towards the wood, but still at a distance from where we were, when a bull advanced from among them to meet the newcomer. The latter bellowed still more loudly, and was answered by his antagonist. In another minute the horns of the two animals were crashing furiously together. "Now is our time," I cried, and rushing forward with Pat's gun in my hand, I approached the combatants. Pat followed, keeping somewhat to the right of me. I had got to within about thirty yards of the two animals, who were moving about now on one side and now on the other with the greatest rapidity, so that it would not be very easy, I knew, to hit a vital part. Dropping on my knee, that I might take a steadier aim, I raised my rifle and fired at one of the buffaloes, which at that moment presented its side to me. It was in the act of making a rush at its opponent, but fell before their horns met, when the other immediately rushed at it, leaping over the prostrate body of its foe. I was about to reload my rifle, when the victorious buffalo caught sight of Pat and me, and throwing up the snow with its hoofs, and bellowing with rage, it dashed towards us. "Run for a tree! run for a tree!" cried Pat, "or the baste will be upon us;" and suiting the action to the word, he made towards one at no great distance off. I, following his example, ran in the direction of one which appeared somewhat nearer to me. As I began to move, I felt something slip from my fingers. It was my powder-flask! Fortunately I had not yet withdrawn the cork. I had to run as fast as I had been compelled to do when escaping from the elk, with the bellowing buffalo close to my heels. I had barely time to swing myself into the tree, when the enraged animal was up to me. The buffalo dashed forward for some paces, when, not seeing me in front, it turned up its eyes and espied me a few feet only above its head; on this it made a furious charge at the tree, which shook so that I feared it would be uprooted or broken off by the force of its blows. I shouted to Pat to make a diversion in my favour. "I'll do it if I have the chance," he answered; "but why don't you shoot the baste?" I told him that I had lost my powder-horn, and that my rifle was unloaded. All this time the buffalo was going round and round the tree, charging at it, now on one side, now on the other. This it continued doing for what appeared to me a very long time. Sometimes it retired to a short distance, but it was to return again with its rage seemingly increased. The tree, which was but a large sapling, trembled to the very roots, and I had to hold on tightly to escape being shaken off. I entreated Pat to shout, and try to attract the attention of the savage brute. At last I saw him descending from his tree, and approaching cautiously, in an attitude which showed that he was ready at any moment to beat a rapid retreat. As he got nearer, he began to shout at the top of his voice, clapping his hands. Then he took out a red handkerchief and waved it. The buffalo did not at first observe him, but as soon as it caught sight of the red handkerchief, with a loud bellow it went charging my companion at headlong speed, with its horns close to the ground. Pat lost not a moment in scampering off, but he had only just time to reach the tree, and to climb up onto the bough from which he had descended, when the buffalo's horns struck the trunk just below his feet. "It will be all right now, Masther David," shouted Pat; "don't be afther throubling yourself more about the matter." As he said this I saw that he was uncoiling his lasso, and forming a noose at the end. He then took his seat on the bough in an attitude which would enable him to throw it with certainty. The buffalo, however, was not to be so easily caught. Again and again it retreated, charging up to the tree, and rushing round it, without affording Pat an opportunity of letting the noose drop over its head. At last the animal came close under where Pat was sitting. He dropped the noose, and giving the lasso a jerk, brought it over the animal's horns and completely round its neck. No sooner did the buffalo find itself adorned with this somewhat tight cravat--an article of dress to which it was not accustomed--than it began to pull away with all its might; but of course the harder it hauled the tighter became the noose, till, almost strangled, it rushed towards the tree with the idea, apparently, that it would thus be able to liberate itself. "Now's your time, Masther David," cried Pat; "you can pick up your powder-horn and soon settle with the baste." Slipping from the tree, I hurried towards where I had dropped the powder-horn, guided by the traces of my feet; and recovering it, immediately reloaded my rifle. Pat shouted to me to make haste, as he was afraid that the buffalo would break loose. I, of course, was not likely to delay longer than I could help. Stopping within a dozen paces of the buffalo, which eyed me as I approached, I lifted my rifle to my shoulder, and fired. The buffalo, a moment before bellowing with rage and exhibiting its mighty strength, at that instant sank down to the ground; and before Pat, who had slipped from the tree, had time to plunge his hunting-knife into its throat, the monster was dead. The remainder of the buffaloes had taken to flight, leaving us masters of the field and in possession of two fine animals. We had, therefore, only to cut off the humps and extract the tongues, which are considered the most delicate morsels, intending, however, to secure a larger portion as soon as we had satisfied our hunger. Choosing a spot close to the trees where we were completely sheltered from the wind, we speedily lighted a fire, and had one of the tongues roasting before it. The effect of a hearty meal was very satisfactory. Both of us found our strength restored and our spirits rise, as we now felt sure that we should have food enough to last us till we could reach the fort, even should it be farther off than we had supposed. Having cut off and packed up as much buffalo meat as we could carry, we proceeded on our journey, intending not to stop till nightfall. Though we had a good load on our backs we trudged along merrily. The air was pure, and though the cold was considerable we did not feel it while in exercise. At night, though we had not much to cover us, we were able to keep ourselves warm before a blazing fire. Had we enjoyed sufficient time, we might have skinned the buffaloes and made two robes which would have formed sufficient bed-covering, even during the hardest frost; but of course we could not delay for this purpose--besides which, we should have been unwilling to add them to our loads. From every height we reached we looked out eagerly, hoping to see the fort or a portion of the river which flowed by it. Twice we caught sight of Indian wigwams in the far distance, but we avoided them, not knowing whether the inhabitants might prove friends or foes. In either case they would be sure to deprive us of our buffalo meat and perhaps of our lives. Could we have been certain that they would prove friendly, it might have been worthwhile to sacrifice our provisions for the sake of being guided to the fort, with the road to which they would be well acquainted. We took care not to encamp till we had got to a good distance from the wigwams we had last seen, as the smoke of our fire might betray us. "Shure! before the sun sets this day we shall reach the fort," observed Pat, as we were preparing to start after our breakfast; but the sun did not appear in the sky, or rather the clouds obscured it, and we had no certain means of directing our course. As I said before, an Indian or an experienced white hunter would have been quite independent of the sun, being able to tell to a certainty the points of the compass by the appearance of the bark on the trees, or moss on rocks, or many other signs of which both Pat and I were ignorant. I had only lately returned from school in Canada, and Pat, though a capital follower, was not born to be a leader. He did not possess the gift of observation, and like many another Irishman was always making the most curious mistakes. I should never have been surprised when he was loading his gun had he put in the shot first and the powder afterwards; and a story was told of him that, having forgotten to put any powder in the pan of his lock, each time that his gun missed fire he added a fresh charge; and when at length he did prime his piece, and firing, it went off knocking him down, he jumped up exclaiming, "Hurrah! shure, that's only one charge! There's five more to come presently." Still Pat was a faithful fellow, and did his best; which must be allowed was much in his favour, so that he was a favourite with every one-- French voyageurs, English trappers, and half-breeds. "I do hope we shall reach the fort before to-night," I answered to his last remark. "Shure! if we do not, we've got mate enough to last us for a week. If our shoes don't give out, we will have no raison to complain at all at all," he exclaimed. I little thought at the time he spoke that a whole week would pass by, and that even then we should be as far as ever, for what we could tell, from the fort. Had the sky been clear we could have proceeded in a straight line, but obscured as it remained, we, I felt sure, made many a circuit, though we did not exactly hit on our former camp-fires. The snow at this period of the year, just before the early winter set in, rapidly disappeared, so that the marks of our footsteps were obliterated. Sometimes, as we trudged on, I felt as if I was in a troubled dream, aiming at a point and never able to reach it. The end of the week came; our buffalo meat was nearly exhausted, and we saw neither deer nor any other animals. Though for the past two days we had husbanded our store, it came to an end at last, and we were as badly off as we had been before. Our shoes were worn out, our clothes torn, though we still, with a sufficiency of food, should have had strength to go on. Even Pat lost his spirits, and he neither sang nor talked as before. I felt ashamed of myself at having been unable to find my way, when I thought that I should have no difficulty in doing so. Night was approaching, and we must encamp without a particle of food to restore our strength. Frost had set in that day, and the cold before morning might become very severe. Tired though we were, to prevent ourselves from perishing we must light a good fire. At last we reached a wood, and immediately setting to work, collected all the sticks we could find. We had no time to build a hut, and all we could do was to put up a few slabs of birch-bark close to the fire, creep in under them, and go supperless to bed. I could not sleep for thinking of our dreary prospects. Pat's manner too during the day had been very unusual, and caused me much anxiety: the hardships we were enduring were evidently beginning to tell on him. Strange to say, though I was so much younger, I bore them better than he did. Pat, I must confess, at times had been too fond of "the crayther," which had, I concluded, somewhat weakened his constitution. He frequently did not appear to know what we were doing or where we were going, and spoke as if we were out only on a day's shooting excursion. I had generally kept the gun in my own possession, as I was a better shot than he was, and had more chance of killing any game we might come across. Frequently he had declared that he saw buffalo and deer in the distance, and wanted the gun to go in chase of them; but as I was very sure that none were in sight, I had kept it till the idea wore off. Twice I rose to make up the fire, the flames of which I kept watching till they sank low. It was very important to keep it blazing, lest any wolves, or a still more terrible grizzly bear, should find us out. Finding myself at last dropping to sleep, I called Pat, and told him to keep an eye on the fire. "Of course," he answered; "don't be throubling yourself, Masther David." And I saw him sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Trusting that he would do as he promised, I lay back and quickly dropped off to sleep. It was bright daylight when I awoke. On looking round I found that Pat was not where I had last seen him. Supposing that he had awoke early, and, unwilling to arouse me, had gone to collect some sticks to make up the fire, I did not feel anxious. When, however, I got up and looked round on every side, I could nowhere see him. Still fancying that he could not have gone to any great distance, and would soon return, I occupied myself in scraping the embers of the fire together. At last, after waiting for some time, I became still more anxious. He had, I found, taken the gun with him, but, strange to say, had left the ammunition behind. This circumstance made me fear that he had lost his senses, and had gone off, not knowing what he was about. He might, however, have gone out, I thought, in search of game. "Well, if he has gone, I trust that he will bring back something for breakfast," I said to myself, "if he manages to hit with his first shot." Taking my spear in my hand, I at last set out, intending to track him. The snow, as I have before said, had nearly all disappeared; but still here and there I could trace his footsteps without much difficulty. I went on for some distance till I arrived at a wood. I entered it, and was soon utterly unable to discover in what direction he had gone. Again I felt my inferiority to an Indian under similar circumstances. I had left our pot and tin cup at the camp, and I feared that should I push on in the attempt to discover him, I might lose myself altogether, and not be able to make my way back. I accordingly returned to the camp, having still some hopes that Pat, making a circuit, might rejoin me. I waited, but waited in vain. At last I became ravenously hungry. I had the skin in which our meat had been packed, and singeing off the hair, I cut a portion of it into thin strips. After the skin had boiled for some time, I attempted to eat it, by cutting it up into very small pieces. I managed to chew them, and to drink the water in which they had been boiled. The food, such as it was, somewhat allayed the gnawings of hunger. I still kept a portion for Pat, should he appear without any game; but the day wore on, and he did not come. Though I frequently before during our disastrous expedition had been very miserable, I now felt more wretched than ever, beginning seriously to fear that I should perish with hunger. While I thought of myself, I at the same time thought of poor Pat, greatly dreading that some accident must have befallen him--either that he had met a grizzly bear, and had been squeezed to death, or been carried off and killed by Indians. If such had been his fate, the same might be mine. Still, I determined to struggle on, so long as I had life to do so. The day was already so far advanced that I thought it wiser to remain where I was, and not to start off till next morning, when I intended to push northward, in hopes of at last getting to the fort. I passed the night in attending to my fire, and taking short snatches of sleep. In the morning I boiled some more skin, and having eaten it, slung the pot over my back and commenced my solitary march. I walked on till nearly noon, when, utterly exhausted from want of sleep and food, I sank down under shelter of a copse which I had just reached. How long I had remained in a state of unconsciousness I could not tell, when I felt something licking my hand. I opened my eyes with the idea that a wolf or a grizzly bear was about to seize me. What was my astonishment to behold our dog Bouncer, a general favourite at the fort, but especially attached to me. "Bouncer, old fellow, where have you come from?" I exclaimed. As soon as he heard me speak, he began leaping round me, and barking for joy at finding me alive. "Where are the rest, Bouncer? Are they near at hand?" I asked; but the only reply Bouncer could make was to wag his tail and bark and attempt to lick me all over. The sight of the faithful dog greatly restored my spirits and even my strength, for I was able to get up and walk more steadily than I had been doing during the whole morning. I looked about in every direction, expecting to see some of my friends who had come in search of me; but no one appeared, nor did Bouncer show any intention of leaving my side. That he would know the way to the fort I felt very sure, and I now hoped that I should have no difficulty in reaching it. He looked in pretty good condition, so I judged that he could not have been very long on the search. I walked on as I had been going when I sank down, and as he did not attempt to lead me in any other direction, I concluded that I was taking the right course. Before long we came to a wood. As I suspected that I should be led a considerable distance out of the direct line of march should I attempt to go round the wood, I made my way through it, and found that it bordered a broad stream, too deep apparently in that place to ford. I therefore continued down the stream. Before I had gone far, what was my surprise to see lying on the bank a small canoe, known among us as a bull boat or parchment canoe. It was formed of buffalo hide with the hair scraped off, stretched over a framework. It contained a single paddle, but there was nothing else whatever in it. The canoe appeared to be in very good condition, and to require nothing whatever done to it to make it fit for a voyage down the stream. From its construction, I came to the conclusion that it was not a canoe belonging to our fort, though at first I supposed that it must have been left by some of the party who had come out in search of me. Of one thing I felt sure, that the stream would conduct me into the river Saskatchewan, and that I should now be able, without further fatigue, to arrive at the fort. Hunger made me anxious to get off as soon as possible. As I launched the canoe, Bouncer stood watching my proceedings with evident satisfaction, and convinced me that he knew I was right. Being well acquainted with the management of a canoe, I had no fears about making the voyage in safety. I stepped in, and Bouncer followed, sitting in front of me; then taking the paddle, I shoved off, and commenced my voyage down the stream. The current ran gently, and I paddled on, expecting to have an easy voyage. As I was not acquainted with the appearance of the banks, I did not know how far off the fort was; but I knew that I must have some distance to go. I could not possibly tell when I might reach my destination. Had poor Pat been with me, I should have been very happy, but his disappearance caused me much anxiety. I knew, of course, however, that as soon as I got to the fort a party would be sent out to look for him. I paddled eagerly on, expecting every moment to come to some part of the river with which I was acquainted. The stream became more rapid, and the banks were higher than at the spot at which I embarked. Occasionally there were low cliffs, and here and there rocks projected some way from the shore, compelling me to keep in the centre of the stream. Now and then wild-fowl rose up, and in their flight passed but a short distance from the sight of my longing eyes. Had I possessed a rifle, I would have stopped and shot one of them to satisfy my hunger. Now I proceeded a mile or two with scarcely any perceptible current; now I reached a part of the river with trees of considerable height growing on both banks, the wind, which was pretty strong, blowing amid their branches, and causing a loud murmuring sound. It contributed somewhat to drown another sound which now reached my ears. The sound I heard was that of rushing water, and I guessed that some rapids were near, but their exact distance off I could not tell. Eager to get to the end of my voyage, I paddled on. I fancied that I should without difficulty, should I find myself near the rapids, paddle to one bank or the other and land, so that I might examine them before attempting their descent. If I found them too dangerous, I could carry my canoe overland and launch it again below them. Suddenly, however, a loud roar burst on my ears, and I found the canoe drawn rapidly forward. Bouncer looked up and barked, gazing towards the shore. I attempted to turn the canoe and paddle in that direction, but the current was too strong to enable me to succeed. I at once saw that my only chance of safety was boldly to descend the rapids. I grasped my paddle tightly. In another moment the bow of my canoe was on the very edge of the cataract, and the next instant gliding downwards like an arrow, the water boiling and hissing on either side. I looked anxiously ahead, to ascertain if there were any rocks in the way. Should my frail canoe strike on one, she must in a moment be knocked to pieces; and in so rapid a current I might find it very difficult to reach the shore, though I knew that Bouncer would give me all the assistance in his power. I held my paddle in the water, my only aim being to keep the canoe with her head straight down the rapid. She floated buoyantly, though it seemed a wonder that she should not be overwhelmed by the tumultuous waters raging around her. Much depended on my retaining my presence of mind, and avoiding any rocks which might appear. On and on I went; now a dark rock rose on one side, now on the other, the spray as the water struck them from above being scattered far round, and often completely deluging me. Now the canoe seemed to be hurrying on to a rock, when by exerting all my strength I directed her course so as to avoid it, and the next moment was shooting by, almost touching as I passed. Thus the canoe rushed forward in its rapid descent. I had no time to think or to consider what I should do, if it were to strike. I could not tell how long a time was spent in shooting the rapid; I only know that at length I found myself at its foot, floating on the comparatively tranquil water. Striking now on one side, now on the other, I made the canoe dart forward and continued my course, thankful that I had escaped the danger, and earnestly hoping that I should not have to encounter another of a similar character; still I knew that very possibly there might be more rapids before the stream emptied itself into the broad Saskatchewan. Should I find myself much above the fort, I might have others to shoot in that river; but I was well acquainted with them, and had no fear about being able to guide my canoe in safety amid the rocks which rose up here and there across the stream. I was becoming almost faint with hunger when, to my great satisfaction, I recognised several spots along the banks I was passing, and I knew that I was not more than a couple of miles above the mouth of the stream. As the current was pretty strong, the distance was soon accomplished, and I found myself in the Saskatchewan, which even thus far, in the very heart of America, and only ten days' journey or so from the base of the Rocky Mountains, is a river of considerable width. Had I not known that there was a hearty welcome and abundance of food at the end of my journey, I could not have borne the hunger I was enduring, but hope cheered me on. At length my eyes were gladdened by the sight of the flag waving above the fort, and I could see the palisades which extended to the edge of the bank above the river. I renewed my efforts, and Bouncer set up a bark of delight to announce my coming, feeling, I have no doubt, very proud in the belief that he had brought me back. So he had; and he would, I am sure, had I not found the canoe, have led me overland, but his instinct had told him that the most speedy way of reaching the fort would be by water. Not till I was close to the bank was I discovered, when my brother Alick, followed closely by several other persons, hurried out of the gate to welcome me. "Why, David, you appear as one from the dead," he exclaimed, wringing my hand. "We had almost given you up as lost. We have sent out party after party to look for you, and Bouncer alone has the honour of bringing you back. Martin and Rose and Letty have been as unhappy as I have felt. They are all eager to know what has happened to you." "I cannot tell you until I have had something to eat," I answered. Just then looking up I saw the friends he mentioned, who I had no idea were at the fort. They all warmly shook hands, but forbore to put any further questions, for they saw how weak I was; indeed, had not Alick and Martin assisted me, short as was the distance, I could not have reached the fort. We were soon inside, and Rose and Letty hurried to the kitchen, to get some buffalo steaks and white-fish, which were fortunately cooking for supper. A good meal greatly restored me. My first inquiries were for Sandy and Pierre, whom I had not seen. I was greatly relieved to hear that they had found their way to the fort two days after the snowstorm, with all the baggage animals and my horse, and had since gone out on the expeditions to search for Pat and me. Sandy would not believe that I was lost, but had again set out only two days before. From the direction he had taken, I was in great hopes that he would fall in with poor Pat and bring him back safe. How Bouncer had come to find me, or to whom the canoe belonged, no one could tell. When the previous expeditions had set out, Bouncer had been chained up, as he had a peculiar antipathy for Indians; and it was feared that, should any be met, he would fly at them, and do mischief, or get killed himself. He had observed the several parties setting out, and had sagaciously surmised that they were going in search of me, without being able to understand why he should not have been allowed to accompany them. Soon after Sandy had last started from the fort he had managed to make his escape, and had either followed Sandy's trail or had taken an independent course by himself. Which he had done it would be impossible to ascertain, nor did it matter. I, at all events, felt deeply indebted to him, and we became more attached friends than ever. On the canoe being examined, Alick and the other people in the fort were decidedly of the opinion that it was built by Indians, and must have come down from the upper part of the stream, which rose a considerable way to the southward; they also believed from its appearance that it had not long been hauled up on the bank. It had very evidently belonged to a Plain Cree, as those people are hunters of buffalo, and when living in the neighbourhood of streams or lakes, construct these parchment canoes for the purpose of fishing. This they are compelled to do, as there are but few birch trees of any size in the part of the country they inhabit. Except in shape, it was very similar to the coracles still in use, as I have read, on the Wye and other rivers in England. The canoe was carried into the fort; Alick intending, should the owner appear at any time, to return it, and to pay him for its use. I now inquired how Martin and his sister Letty came to be at the fort. They had, I found, arrived a few days after we left it for Fort Ross. "My father and mother," said Martin, when Rose and Letty were out of the room, "wished us to come, as I am sorry to say that the Indians in our neighbourhood have lately been showing a bad disposition; and though the converts who live round us are faithful, and would defend us with their lives, they are but few in number compared with the heathen Indians. The latter have, during the summer, suffered greatly from smallpox, and their cunning medicine-men have persuaded them it is owing to the circumstance that some of their people have deserted their ancient customs, and that the complaint has been introduced by the pale-faces. They are not very clear about the matter, but regard my father with an evil eye, instead of treating him as before with respect, even when they declined listening to him. He is not alarmed about himself, but he thought it prudent to send Rose and Letty to a safer place, and directed me to take charge of them. Though very unwilling to leave him and my mother, I was, of course, obliged to obey his commands. We came down the river in a small canoe. It was so severely battered on the voyage that, though we escaped actual shipwreck, your brother Alick considered it would be highly imprudent to continue the voyage in it to Fort Ross. We therefore dispatched a messenger to Mr Meredith, requesting him to send us up an escort; but we greatly fear, as we have received no answer, that the man must have perished in the snowstorm which overtook you." Alick had the same fears about the messenger Jacques Allon, the only man who could be spared from the fort. Jacques wished himself to go, declaring that he could make his way without difficulty, even though a whole tribe of hostile Indians were on the watch for him. Whether he had been cut off by Indians or had perished in the snow remained doubtful. Though very sorry to lose poor Jacques, we were thankful that our friends were safe with us, and we promised to take very good care of them till Mr Meredith should hear of their being at Fort Black, and should come, as he probably would, to fetch them away. Alick and I would, at all events, in the meantime enjoy their society. Martin was a great friend of ours, and the young ladies added a brightness to the routine of our ordinary life at the fort; not that we were ever idle or found the time hang heavily on our hands. Each season had its various occupations. We were either out hunting buffalo, or deer, or smaller animals, or were fishing in some of the neighbouring lakes for white-fish, or were preparing them or pemmican for our winter stores or for travelling; or packing the skins we had obtained, or trading with the Indians. The buffaloes which we killed when ice could be obtained, either at the end of the winter or after the frost had set in, were preserved in a very easy though somewhat rough manner. We had a deep circular pit, like a well, dug in the fort. The sides were lined with ice, and a layer of ice was placed at the bottom. The carcass was then cut up, and a layer of meat pressed tightly down on the ice; another layer of ice was then thrown in and another layer of buffalo meat; and thus layer after layer of ice and meat was placed in the pit till it was full. It was then covered over with ice and boards and earth, so that we had always an ample supply of fresh buffalo meat at our command, even during the hottest time of the year. Fish we preserved in the same manner. Of course, during the winter there was no necessity for putting them into the pit. We had only to let them freeze, and they remained hard frozen till the return of spring. We had lately obtained a good supply of both meat and fish, so that we were well able to entertain our guests. On speaking to Alick privately, I found that he was not very well satisfied with the temper of some of the Indians in the neighbourhood who had hitherto professed to be our friends; while reports had reached him that the Blackfeet and other tribes of Sioux were threatening to drive the pale-faces out of the country. He, of course, laughed at the idea of their making the attempt. "Though they might attack small parties of travellers," he said, "or such forts as ours in advanced positions. However, if they do come, we shall be able to defend ourselves, and teach them that they would have been wiser to keep to their hunting-grounds. On the chance of their coming I have made every preparation for defence, and they will not capture Fort Black with as much ease as they may suppose." CHAPTER FOUR. HURRAH! PAT IS FOUND--SANDY MCTAVISH'S YARN--HIS DISCOVERY OF ROBIN GREY--TOBOGGANING--THE DOG-TRAIN--OUR SORROW AT THE DEPARTURE OF ROSE AND LETTY--WE START ON SNOW-SHOES--WOLVES OUT FORAGING--A RACE FOR LIFE--THE FORT IN SIGHT--SAFE AT LAST--ROBIN'S STORY--HIS CAPTURE BY THE INDIANS--WAMEGON--HIS POOR FEET--HIS IMPRISONMENT IN THE LOG--"NETNOKWA," HIS INDIAN MOTHER--THE INDIAN DANCE--WAMEGON PERSECUTES HIM--ROBIN'S NOVEL METHOD OF KILLING A DEER--WAMEGON PERSEVERES IN HIS CRUELTY. I had been two whole days at the fort, and no news had been received of Sandy and his party, who had gone in search of poor Pat and me. I was rapidly recovering my strength, and Rose and Letty by their kind attentions greatly contributed to raise my spirits. They had not been told of the danger Mr Crisp apprehended, and Rose only supposed that she was going to Fort Ross for the sake of being a companion to Letty. They were therefore perfectly happy, and laughed and joked as their natural tempers inclined them to do. We were, of course, rather anxious about Sandy and poor Pat. The latter I scarcely expected to see again, for ill as he was when he went away from me, I feared that if not at once found he would have been starved to death. I have not yet described our fort. It consisted of strong palisades, surrounding nearly half an acre of ground, with wooden towers at the four corners, projecting so as to enfilade each of the sides. The whole was surrounded by a trench, which would make it difficult for an enemy to approach the walls, if they were well defended with musketry. The interior was occupied by dwelling-houses and stores, and huts and wigwams for the accommodation of the hunters and canoe-men who might be detained during the winter. Though small, our fort was thus of considerable strength, and we had no fear, should it be attacked, of being able to defeat any number of Indians who might come against it. Evening was approaching when the lookout, who was always stationed at the top of the highest tower which faced the open country, gave notice that he saw several persons on horseback approaching. We hurried up the tower with our spy-glasses, and before long, greatly to our satisfaction, we distinguished Sandy at the head of the party. "Hurrah!" I exclaimed, "and there's Pat. I'm sure it must be him, and Pierre is riding alongside him, and supporting him on his horse." "I see a boy too," exclaimed Martin. "He looks to me very like an Indian, and yet I fancy he's got a white face. Who can he be?" As the party drew nearer, we were satisfied that we were right in our conjectures. We all hurried out to meet them. Sandy, as soon as he saw me, jumped off his horse, and nearly shook my hand off in his delight at finding I was safe. "I thought it was all right," he exclaimed, "as I'll tell you by-and-by. We found your last resting-place, and traced you to the canoe; and as I discovered that Bouncer had made his way to you, I felt sure that you had gone down the stream, though I was not so sure how you would have shot the rapids." "How do you know that I came down in a canoe?" I asked. "I have not been so long in the country, and accustomed to Indian ways, not to have seen that you had launched a canoe from the bank; besides which I had another proof, if any had been wanting, but I'll tell you all about it presently," he answered. "And how did you find Pat?" asked Alick. "And who is that boy in the Indian dress?" inquired Martin. "If you put one question at a time, young gentlemen, I'll tell you how it all happened," said Sandy. "But if you have no objection, we'll go into the fort and have some supper first; for as we have pushed on to get here before nightfall, we have had no opportunity of satisfying our hunger since noon." The horses of the party being taken by the other men, we entered the fort together, Martin regarding the young stranger with a look of curiosity. He appeared to be somewhat abashed at finding himself among so many white people, though it was very evident from his features and complexion that he was himself a white. Martin, who was always kind-hearted, seeing the unwillingness of the boy to advance, went towards him, and taking his hand said, "Come along; we want to hear all about you." The boy opened his large blue eyes, but made no answer, though he understood Martin's signs, and accompanied him willingly. Martin then led him up to Rose and Letty. "Perhaps he can understand you, but he makes no reply to anything I say to him," said Martin. Rose spoke to him first, and then Letty exclaimed, "Surely you can speak English?" The boy shook his head, though he tried to say something, but was unable to pronounce the words. "You understand what we say, though," remarked Letty; "I am sure you do by your looks!" The boy nodded, and a smile for a moment irradiated his features, though they quickly again assumed their former startled look. "He has spoken English, and I am very sure will be able to speak it again," said Martin. "He has evidently been living a long time among Indians, and it's my belief he has made his escape from them.--Is that the case, boy?" The young stranger considered for a moment, endeavouring to understand what Martin had said, and then he again nodded. "I knew it was so," exclaimed Martin. "We shall soon find out all about him, and in a few days he will be able to speak English as well as any of us.--Come along, boy; you are hungry, I'm sure, after your long ride, and we are all going in to supper." Martin taking possession of the young stranger, I did not interfere, but followed Pat, who had been led into the house. Though the poor fellow had apparently lost his senses, he certainly had not lost his appetite, and as soon as the food was placed before him he began to devour it eagerly. "Let him take his meat," observed Sandy. "It'll do the chiel gude. He hasna had muckle to put intil his inside, though we spared him all we could from our store." We asked Sandy no further questions till supper was over, when he gave us an account of his adventures. Pushing directly southward, he had come across the trail Pat and I had made in our wanderings several days before; when, following this up, he had reached our last camp a short time after I had quitted it. At first, misled by the trail I had formed when going in search of Pat, he had continued to follow that; but convinced at last that I had returned, he was on the point of coming back, when one of the men saw an object, which he was sure was a human being, lying on the ground under a tree. They soon discovered it to be Pat, who had fallen to the ground exhausted, and would very soon have died. By pouring some spirits-and-water down his throat he revived, and still further recovered when he had taken some food. Though able to speak, he could give no account of himself or me. Sandy, who had come across the trail I had formed when returning to the camp, now pursued it, and discovered that I had passed through the wood, towards the river. He had gone about half way, when he caught sight of a person endeavouring to conceal himself among the bushes. He at first supposed that an Indian was lying in ambush for some sinister object, and keeping his gun ready to fire he made his way towards the spot. His surprise was great when he discovered the young white stranger whom he had brought with him. The lad was much alarmed at first, but his confidence returned when he found that he had fallen into the hands of people of his own colour. He could speak but a few words of the dialect of the Plain Crees, though sufficient briefly to explain that he was making his escape from a tribe who had kept him in slavery, and that his intention was to descend the river, which he fancied fell into the ocean; and he said that he there hoped to meet with friends who would be glad to have him back. Sandy, on hearing this, accompanied him to the bank of the river, where, not finding his canoe, he expressed the most bitter disappointment. Sandy at length comforted him with the assurance that he would take him by a safer route to some white people, who would endeavour to discover the friends of whom he was in search. "More than this I was unable to learn," observed Sandy; "but it's vera clear that the boy was kidnapped by the redskins sometime or other, though not long enough ago to make him forget his relatives and friends. At the same time, not having spoken a word of English for three or four years, or perhaps more, he finds it almost impossible to express what he wishes to say." We all agreed that it would be better to let the young stranger become accustomed to us before we questioned him about his history. If then he had ever, as Sandy suspected, spoken English, he would probably recollect it. At present we had great difficulty in communicating with him, as he was chiefly accustomed to speak the language of the Sioux, with which we were unacquainted. Rose and Letty volunteered to take him in hand. "We shall soon find out all about him, if he has got a tongue in his head," said Rose, laughing; "he will trust us more readily than he will you boys, and I am very sure that we shall soon become friends." No event of importance occurred for some time at the fort. Our hunters went out, and were successful in killing several buffalo, which gave us an ample supply of meat for the winter. The frost had now set in, not to break up for several months, and snow covered the face of nature. When not engaged in our duties, we boys and girls amused ourselves by tobogganing, the sloping bank of the river affording us a capital place for sliding down. We each of us had manufactured a toboggan, which is a small sleigh composed of a long thin slip of willow wood turned up in front. Several of ours were large enough to carry two, and we each of us were eager to obtain the company of one of the young ladies, I especially that of Letty. I sat at the extreme after-end of the toboggan to steer it with my feet, while Letty sat just in front of me. The snow, which lay thickly on the sloping bank, was soon hardened. Placing the toboggan on the top, we took our seats, when a very slight shove was sufficient to send it off, and down we slid at a rapid rate, increasing our speed every instant, till we had gained sufficient impetus to glide right across the frozen surface of the river to the opposite bank, which also sloped at a convenient angle. Steps were cut upon one side of the slides, by which we ascended to the summit. Thus we were able to pass backwards and forwards, the rapidity of the motion and the risk of upsetting giving excitement to the amusement. Alick generally took charge of Rose, who was not at all unwilling to have him as her charioteer. The other boys had smaller toboggans, each having one to himself. Up and down the icy hills we went, and across the bright glassy river, laughing and shouting for hours together; indeed, I confess that we were never tired of the sport. Sometimes I must own that we were upset, and rolled down to the bottom; though we were never much the worse for the catastrophe, for of course we were all well wrapped up in warm clothing. The young stranger entered into this amusement with as much zest as any of us. He quickly recovered his spirits, and, under the tuition of Letty and Rose, soon found English words in which to express himself. His English name, he told us, was Robin, though he had been called Kishkanko by the Indians. "It is a very ugly name, and we don't intend to call you by it," said Letty. "Pray don't; I would rather be called Robin, as I used to be when I was a little boy by my father, and mother, and sister." "Then you had a father, and mother, and sister," said Rose. "Oh yes! and I love them so much, and they love me; and I wanted to go back to them, and thought I should have died when the cruel Indians would not let me," answered Robin. "We want very much to hear how it was that the Indians took you away from your family," said Rose; "you must tell Letty and me all about it." Robin passed his hand across his brow, as if trying to collect his thoughts. It was very evident that the circumstances were of a painful description. He was about to begin, when it was announced that several dog-sleighs were approaching the fort from the eastward. There was no doubt that they were coming from Fort Ross. We all hurried out to meet them, and in a short time we saw that Mr Meredith himself was leading the party, which consisted of two clerks and several hunters. He was on his road, he said, to Mr Crisp's missionary station, to bring away his daughter Letty, and Rose, if her parents would allow her to accompany him; and he was very happy to find that they were already with us. He had heard rumours of the disaffected state of the Indians in the neighbourhood of the station, and was unwilling to allow his daughter to remain longer there. He intended, indeed, to try to persuade Mr and Mrs Crisp to quit the place, at all events till the return of spring, when, even if they went there again, they might at any time make their escape down the river, should they be threatened with danger. Martin, however, assured Mr Meredith that his parents would not on any account be induced to quit their station; and that, though they were not blind to the danger, they were resolved to await whatever events might occur. On hearing this, Mr Meredith, who was anxious as soon as possible to return to Fort Ross, determined not to go farther, but said that he would spend two days with us to recruit his men and dogs, and then go back to his own fort. We were very sorry to part with Rose and Letty, though it was, of course, but right that they should be under the care of Mr Meredith. I was afraid that I should also lose Martin; but he had been so happy with us that he begged hard to be allowed to remain on, and Mr Meredith consented to let him spend the rest of the winter with us. Alick could give him some work to do, while at Fort Ross there were already as many clerks as could find employment. We were afraid also, that Robin would be taken away; but Alick, having discovered that his great wish was to be sent to the eastward, where he affirmed that he had friends living, it was determined to allow him to remain at Fort Black, as any travellers who might be coming from across the Rocky Mountains were more likely to visit us than they were Fort Ross, which was out of the road. It was settled that, should no one appear, Robin should be sent by water when the navigation was again opened in spring. Robin himself would gladly have accompanied Rose and Letty; but when he understood the object of our keeping him, he seemed perfectly reconciled to the arrangement. All matters having been settled, our friends prepared to set out. There were three sleighs drawn by dogs. Mr Meredith took charge of his daughter Letty, and Rose was driven by Mr Macmillan, the eldest of the two clerks, of whom I suspect Alick felt rather jealous. The third sleigh carried a small bell-tent, intended for the use of the young ladies, as they would have to encamp several nights on the journey. The rest of the men were to travel on snow-shoes by the side of the sleighs, with which they could very easily keep up. They were all well armed, for though Indians were not likely to be moving about at that season of the year, it was still possible that, should they have heard of Mr Meredith's journey, they might make an attempt to cut him off; at all events, it was wise to be on the safe side. We were very sorry indeed to part with them, but we kept up our spirits; and as they issued early one morning from the gate of the fort, we all sallied forth, cheering them on their way. We little thought at the time what events were to occur before we should again meet. Martin and I accompanied them for some distance on our snow-shoes. "Now, lads, you have gone far enough," said Mr Meredith. "It is not wise to make too long a journey at the commencement of winter, before your ankles are well accustomed to the straps of your snow-shoes. You will be getting the racquettes, and may knock up before you reach the fort." We were compelled to obey him, and wish him and our fair young friends good-bye. We stood watching them till the sleighs appeared like so many black ants in the far distance, while we could not even distinguish the men who ran by their sides. "Come," said Martin, "we must put our best feet foremost, and get back as soon as we can. There's no chance of losing the trail so long as we have daylight." It is extraordinary at what speed a person wearing snow-shoes can run over the hard snow. A snow-shoe consists of an elongated oblong framework of wood, with cross-pieces; the interior filled up with a strong network, on which the foot rests, with a hole for the play of the heel. This is secured to the feet and ankles by leathern thongs. It necessitates keeping the feet somewhat wide apart, to prevent the shoes being entangled with each other. A person not accustomed to their use is very apt to topple down and find some difficulty in getting up again. Martin and I, however, had had plenty of practice during the two previous winters, though we had not gone very far on our return before we felt our ankles pain us considerably. We stopped to rest, but could not venture to remain long, as the cold was already intense; and expecting to be constantly in exercise, we had not put on our warmest clothing. A short rest, however, greatly restored us, and we had made good half the distance back to the fort when Martin, who happened to look round to the southward, exclaimed that he saw some dark objects in the snow. "Whether they are wolves or Indians crouching down to try and get on us unawares is more than I can tell," he observed; "but whichever they are, we had better push forward, and endeavour to keep ahead of them." I of course agreed with him, and as we went along we looked to the primings of our rifles, so that we might be prepared to defend ourselves. "For my part, I would rather they should follow us than attack our friends," I observed. "Perhaps they are some of the tribe Mr Meredith heard of, and did not come up in time to see him pass; if so, we shall render him good service by leading them up to the fort." "You take it for granted that they are Indians," said Martin; "I am not quite so certain of the fact. I rather believe that they are a small pack of wolves; and if they were not so far off, we should hear them howling to their friends in the neighbourhood to join in the chase. However, we need not be afraid of them; for if they get within shot we can kill a couple, and the rest are sure to stop and devour their companions, and allow us to increase our distance." He made these remarks as we were running on over the snow at a rate which would cost even Indians or wolves a considerable amount of exertion to overtake us. Before, however, we had made good another mile, the objects we had seen were sufficiently near to assure us that they were wolves out on a foraging expedition. That they would, on seeing us run, pursue us there could be no doubt, and we occasionally looked back to determine when was the best time to stop, in order to take a steady aim at the leaders. "Now we must give it them," at length cried Martin, who had just looked round. We suddenly halted, and swinging our right feet round, confronted the pack; then, both of us taking deliberate aim, we fired. The two leading wolves fell, and, as we expected, the rest of the hungry pack immediately set on them, and tore their carcasses to pieces. Having reloaded, we again continued our course. We had got some distance when the pain in my ankles again came on. I asked Martin how he felt. He confessed that he was suffering in the same manner. "It won't do to stop, however," he observed; "for these brutes, when they have eaten up their friends, will again give chase, and we shall not be safe till we are inside the walls of the fort." We were still several miles from it, and I feared that I should be utterly unable before long to get over the ground. Martin encouraged me, and I persevered, though feeling inclined to drop at every step. We had almost lost sight of the wolves, and I proposed resting for a few minutes. "We shall be able to make better play afterwards," I said. "I think it would be wiser to go on," he answered; "but if you wish it, we'll sit down and loosen the thongs of our snow-shoes." We sat down, and I was induced to take mine off altogether and to rub my ankles, hoping thereby to relieve the pain. We had not been seated many minutes when the yelping of the wolves again reached our ears. Martin, fastening the thongs, rose to his feet. "They are coming on; I was afraid so," he exclaimed. "Quick! David, quick! or they'll overtake us." He assisted me in getting on my shoes--an operation which took some time. I again stood on my feet, but the pain appeared only slightly lessened. "No time to lose," cried Martin, looking back. "Now, away we go," and we ran on as before. Fast as we went, the brutes came on faster at our heels, and their horrible howls sounded louder in our ears. I felt as I have sometimes done in a fearful dream. I was scarcely able to move over the snow, the pain I was suffering making me fancy that I could not lift my feet; still we were really going at a good pace. Once more the wolves got within reach of our rifles. We acted precisely as we had done before, and each of us killed a wolf. Again we ran on, reloading our guns ready for another shot. We resolved, great as was the pain we were suffering, not again, on any account, to stop. The snarling, yelping sounds emitted by the brutes showed us that, as before, they were tearing to pieces the wolves we had shot. We knew that we could not hope for safety till we were inside the fort, for, from the experience we had had on other occasions, we were certain that the animals would follow us up to the very walls. Twice in the previous winter they had pursued our hunters till up to the fort itself. Again we had to stop and fire. On this occasion we only killed one wolf, which, of course, would take the brutes less time than two to devour. To our great relief we at length came in sight of the fort, by which time the wolves were again on our trail. We ran on faster than ever, though we were both so fatigued that we were afraid, should we again have to fire, that we might miss altogether. We shouted as we approached to call the attention of our friends. Fortunately the lookout on one of the towers saw us, and several of the men came hurrying out with firearms in their hands. Seeing the wolves they advanced shouting. The animals were, however, so directly behind us that not till we were up to them could they venture to fire. They then let fly a volley which killed several, and the rest, frightened by the shouts more than by the reports of the guns and the death of their companions, turned tail and scampered off. Once in safety, both of us sank down on the snow, and had to be carried into the fort. Even after our snow-shoes were taken off we suffered intense pain, and it was not for some days that either of us was able to walk. The experience we had had made us both resolved to practise with snow-shoes before we again attempted to make so long an excursion as we had just performed. The winter wore on. That season occupies, as most of my readers must be aware, a large portion of the year in that region. For months together--that is to say, from the middle of October till late in May--during the whole period, the ground is covered with snow; the rivers are frozen over; the trees are leafless; every drop of water exposed to the air congeals. The atmosphere is very clear, the air pure and exhilarating, the sun shines brightly from the unclouded sky, and when no wind is blowing existence out of doors is far from unpleasant. Parties from the fort were constantly out hunting, and buffalo frequently came up close to the very walls. We have often shot them from the towers. Robin was rapidly picking up his recollection of English, and could now speak quite fluently. He was also, from being well fed and clothed, gradually improving in appearance and strength. His manners and his tone of voice were also good. I had little doubt from the first that he was of gentle birth. He was not very communicative about his early life, some of his recollections, indeed, being painful. I picked up his history, however, by bits and scraps. He was born in the old country, and had come over when very young with his father and mother, Captain and Mrs Grey. He spoke of a sister Ella, somewhat older than himself; and a little brother Oliver, to whom he appeared to be greatly attached. His parents had removed from either Boston or New York to one of the western cities, where they lived, I suspect, with somewhat straitened means. Mrs Grey must have been an energetic woman, and had endeavoured, from what I could learn, to support her family by teaching music and other accomplishments. Captain Grey, who had been an officer in the army, did not appear to have conformed willingly to his changed circumstances, or to have sought for any employment. His great delight was shooting and fishing, and he frequently took out Robin on his excursions, for the sake, notwithstanding his youth, of his companionship. Mrs Grey appears to have expostulated with her husband, wishing to keep Robin at home for the purpose of educating him. Captain Grey on one occasion, however, insisted on carrying off his boy, promising to bring him back safe. He had bought a small fowling-piece for him, and wished to teach him how to use it. It was natural that Robin should have no objection to go, though he was sorry to leave his mother, and brother, and sister. "Now, my boy, that we are away, we'll make a long trip, and I hope to come back with skins enough to pay all our expenses and have a good many dollars over," said the captain, as they started from home. They pushed away westward, crossing several rivers, till they reached the very outskirts of the settled districts. The captain then bought horses for Robin and himself, and for their two guides, as also a couple of baggage animals to carry the skins he expected to obtain. They reached the region frequented by buffalo, and succeeded in killing several, as also some deer and other animals. Robin said he liked the life well enough, though they had to go through a good deal of hard work. He became a good horseman, and expert in the use of his fowling-piece, so that his father expressed himself highly proud of him. Robin could not now remember the names of the places they visited; indeed, as he had no map of the country, his geographical knowledge was, as may be supposed, very imperfect. His idea was that all the rivers he saw ran into the ocean. After hunting for some time, the captain sent his horses with the produce of the chase back to a certain place to wait for him, while he took it into his head to descend a river in a canoe, manned by three half-breeds, for the sake of shooting wild-fowl. They had gone some distance down, and were steering north or south, Robin could not recollect which, when they went on shore in the afternoon to form a camp, where Captain Grey intended to spend the night. Having landed all their stores and put up a wigwam, the captain, observing that there was time to shoot some birds, left Robin, who was not very well, at the camp with one of the men, while he proceeded some way farther down the river. Robin, having a great wish to obtain some raspberries or bilberries, which were ripe at the time, or some other fruit, while his companion was engaged in cooking the supper, wandered away from the camp in search of them. It will be better to give Robin's narrative in his own words. "I had filled my hat with fruit of various sorts, thinking how pleased my father would be to have some for supper. The priming had fallen out of the pan of my gun, which I had taken with me to shoot any birds I might see, as also to protect myself from bears or wolves, and I was in the act of refilling it when I heard a rustling behind me, and presently three Indians sprang out of the bushes, and snatching away my weapon before I had finished the operation, two of them seized me by the hands. "I felt dreadfully alarmed, for they were to my eyes ferocious-looking fellows, dressed in skins and feathers, with their faces painted all over in different colours. I was about to cry out for help, hoping that my father might have returned to the camp and would hear me, when the third Indian, who had possession of my gun, raising his tomahawk, threatened to cut me down if I made any noise. Without more ado they dragged me along, but finding that I no longer resisted, did not offer me any further violence. "These Indians were, I afterwards found, unacquainted with the use of firearms. They allowed me to retain my powder-flask and shot-belt, looking upon my weapon, however, with evident respect. They therefore did not injure it, though they took good care not to let me again get it into my possession, which, as may be supposed, I was constantly attempting to do. One of them carried my hat with the fruit in it for some distance, when he emptied the contents out on the ground and replaced it on my head. What their object was in carrying me away I could not tell, and it was not till long afterwards that I discovered it. Had I known it at the time I should not have been so much frightened, for I fully believed that their intention was to kill me. "It appeared that one of them, who was an old man, had a wife with several children by a former husband. The youngest of these had recently died, and she had told her husband that unless he would bring her back another son to replace the one she had lost, she could not live, intimating that she should prefer a white son to a red one. "The old man, whose name was Wamegon--at least that was the first part of his name, for it was really much longer--had associated with himself several younger men, who had promised to assist him in carrying out the strange commands of his wife. "They were on their way eastward for this purpose when they caught sight of our canoe descending the river, and observing that I was in her, resolved to take me prisoner. They had followed the canoe down the bank till they saw us land, when they formed the resolution of attacking our camp during the night, killing all who opposed them, and carrying me off. Fortunately for my father and his companions, I had given the Indians an opportunity of capturing me without executing the former part of their intentions. "They dragged me along in no very gentle way, threatening me with instant death if I did not keep moving as fast as they wished to go. It was getting rapidly dark, and I hoped that they would be compelled to stop, for I was sure that my father would come after me. "Had my hands been at liberty, I would have dropped all the articles I had in my pocket to assist him in tracing me. As it was, all I could do was to jerk off my hat; but one of the Indians immediately picked it up, and replaced it on my head. Whenever we passed any soft ground I stamped with my feet to leave a deeper impression; but my captors on perceiving this took off my shoes, perhaps supposing that I could move faster without them, and hurried on. "Frightened as I was, I did not altogether lose heart, and resolved to make every effort to escape. We must have gone several miles when two of the Indians, without taking any supper, lay down, placing me between them, with a blanket thrown over all three of us, while the other walked about on the watch, to give timely notice should we be pursued. "I was so tired that I soon fell asleep, and did not awaken till dawn next morning, when the Indians, holding me tight as before, proceeded on their journey. They stopped at last and gave me a little dried venison, mixed with bear's fat, but I could scarcely eat it. "Thus for four days we hurried on due west. Every night I hoped that I might have an opportunity of escaping, but was night after night completely overpowered by sleep. My bare feet were so wounded and swollen that at length I could not walk. Old Wamegon on perceiving this examined my feet, and took out a number of thorns and splinters. He then gave me a pair of moccasins, which afforded me some relief. "I now thought that I might perhaps escape. One night when my companions were asleep I got up, and, snatching my gun, ran off with noiseless steps in the direction from which we had come. I stopped to prime my piece, intending to fight for my life, as I heard them all scampering after me; but before I could pour the powder into the pan I was overtaken and brought back. They did not in consequence, however, offer me any violence, though I expected at least to be well beaten. "The next day we reached a broad river which was too deep to wade across. The old man took me on his shoulders and carried me over, the water being high above his waist. As I knew that I should be unable to recross it by myself, I almost gave up all hope of immediately escaping. "It was not till now that I burst into tears; for, thinking that I should never again see my father and mother or Ella, or my dear brother Oliver, I felt very sad at heart. "We still continued our journey westward. One afternoon the Indians stopped at an earlier hour than usual in a wood. I saw them looking about, when presently they found a large hollow log open at one end. Into this they put their blankets and bottle and other articles. They then made me crawl in, and closed up the end with logs so firmly that I could not possibly break out. A few minutes only had passed after I had been thus unpleasantly imprisoned, when from the perfect silence which reigned around I was convinced that they had all gone away. Had it not been that they had deposited their valuables with me in the log, I should have supposed that they intended leaving me to die of starvation. Though I first entertained this idea, I soon banished it, and after a time fell asleep. "When I awoke I was in perfect darkness, and no sounds reached my ears. At last I heard the tramp of horses' hoofs. Immediately the idea occurred to me that my father had set out on horseback and had traced me thus far. I shouted out at the top of my voice, fearing that he might pass the log, ignorant that I was shut up within it. "Presently the pieces of wood which closed the entrance were removed, and bitter was my disappointment to hear my captors' voices. Dawn was already breaking when they dragged me out. "I found that they had brought a horse a-piece, with another for me to ride on. Old Wamegon making signs to me to mount, which I did, we set off at a rapid rate in the same direction as before. "We went on for several days, till we reached an Indian village consisting of buffalo-skin wigwams. Out of one of these an oldish woman appeared, who, after a short consultation with Wamegon, bade me get off my horse, and then, taking me in her arms, covered me with kisses, which I would very thankfully have avoided. She was, I found, Netnokwa, my new mother. "I felt--and looked, I dare say--very melancholy, and though she intended to be kind, nothing she said or did raised my spirits. She then took me to her hut and gave me some food, of which I stood greatly in need. I slept in the hut during the night. Next morning after breakfast she led me forth to a spot at some distance from the village. Here all her own people and several strangers from other tribes had assembled. "It was, I found, the grave of her son, which was enclosed with stakes, and on each side of it there was a smooth open space. Here all the people took their seats, the family and friends of Netnokwa on one side and the strangers on the other. "The friends had come provided with presents--pots of sugar, sacks of corn, beads, tobacco, and bottles of fire-water. "Some speeches having been made, Netnokwa's friends began to dance round the grave, when one of them came up, and taking my hand insisted that I should join them. "The dance was very like the usual scalp-dance. From time to time one of them came up and presented me with some of the articles they had brought; but as I neared the party on the opposite side they were all snatched from me, and I was left in the end without anything. Thus they continued to dance till near nightfall, when, almost dead with fatigue, I returned with my new mother to the village. "After this we moved further west, the tents and other property of the tribe being carried partly on horseback and partly by the women, while the men rode on ahead without troubling themselves about the fatigue their squaws were suffering. I was compelled to walk by the side of Netnokwa. She was generally very kind, as were her daughters; but the men treated me with great harshness, often beating me because I did not understand what they wanted me to do. I had all sorts of tasks--cutting wood and bringing water to the camp. "Old Wamegon one day put a bridle into my hand, and pointing in a certain direction motioned me to go. I guessed that he desired me to bring him a horse, so I caught the first I could find, and to my satisfaction discovered that I had done what he intended. "I remembered the words he had used, as I tried to do whenever I was spoken to, and thus by degrees picked up the language of the people. "Sometimes I accompanied the men out hunting, and had to return to the camp with as heavy a load of meat as I could carry. Though I was almost starved, I dared not touch a morsel. "My Indian mother, who showed some compassion for me, would lay by a little food, and give it when the old man was not in the way. Another day I felt a blow on the head from behind, and immediately fell senseless to the ground. It was not till many hours afterwards that I returned to consciousness, when I saw Netnokwa bathing my head with cold water. "The old man coming in exclaimed, `What! is he there? I thought that I had killed him. He'll not come to life again the next time!' "This remark made me in future carefully avoid the old tyrant. "On reaching a place where deer abounded, the Indians built up a long screen of bushes, behind which they concealed themselves, and when any deer came near they shot the animals with their arrows. This was, however, an uncertain mode of obtaining venison. "Some of their more active hunters would go out into the plain, and creep up to leeward of any deer they might see, till they could get near enough to shoot them. Sometimes when the grass was short they were unable to conceal themselves. On such occasions they would lie down flat on their backs, lifting their legs up in the air so as to resemble the branches of a tree. "The deer, who had much curiosity in their nature, would then frequently approach, now stopping, now drawing nearer, till the hunter would suddenly lift his bow, drawing his arrow to let it fly at the nearest animal, which would in most instances suffer the penalty of its inquisitiveness. Still they often missed. "At one time, when the camp was in great want of venison, I offered to go out and shoot some deer. The young men laughed at me; but I persuaded the old man to let me have my gun. At first he refused; but induced by Netnokwa, he at last consented, threatening me with severe punishment if I did not bring back some meat. It was the first time that I had experienced anything like pleasure after being captured by the Indians. When I once more got my weapon into my hand, I resolved to make good use of it, and hoped that the time would come when it would assist me in making my escape. "My Indian mother charged me to be very careful when she saw me setting out, telling me that she was sure that old Wamegon would carry out his threats should I fail to kill a deer. "Withdrawing the charge, I carefully reloaded my gun, and started off. I had been some hours in the prairie when I caught sight of a herd of branch-horned antelopes, which I knew were likely to be attracted by the device I intended to practise. "Creeping on as I had seen the Indians do as far as I could venture, I lay down on my back, and then slowly lifted my legs in a perpendicular position, stretching them out so that I could watch the deer between them, while I held my gun ready for instant use." Robin made us all laugh by going down on his back as he spoke, and putting himself in the curious attitude he described. He remained in it while he continued his description:-- "The antelopes drew nearer and nearer. Every moment I was afraid that they would grow suspicious and bound away, for they were far more difficult to kill, on account of their speed, than other descriptions of deer or the buffalo. They were evidently attracted, however, by the unusual object they saw on the ground, and advanced towards me. "They were soon within shot, and selecting a fine-looking buck which led the way, I fired, and the animal rolled over. The instant I had pulled the trigger I jumped up and began reloading my piece, being thus able to send another shot after the herd, which at the report immediately took to flight. Fortunately for me the shot took effect on another antelope, and the animal dropped after going a few paces. "I rushed forward, and with my hunting--knife quickly dispatched both of them. I then took out their tongues, and having partially flayed them, cut off a haunch from each, and loaded with meat I returned to the camp in triumph. "The Indians on seeing it could not doubt of my success, and a large party instantly set out to bring in the remainder. After this I was treated with much respect by the young men; but old Wamegon seemed still to have a spite against me, and one morning he even went so far as to drag me out by the hair of the head, and, beating me cruelly, threw me into some bushes, shouting as he went away that he had finished me at last. I had not, however, lost my senses, and returning to the tent told my Indian mother how I had been treated. I cannot, indeed, describe half the cruelties which that terrible man inflicted on me. "Ofttimes, after the snow had fallen, I was compelled to follow the hunters, and to drag home to the lodge a whole deer, though they might have employed their dogs for the purpose, and it was with the greatest difficulty that I could move along. I had some relief when old Wamegon was away. He was only preparing, however, to cause me greater grief than before. "When he came back he exhibited a hat which I recognised as that worn by my father. "`We have killed him,' he said, with a horrible laugh. `You will have no one now to whom to go should you run away.' "I fully believed that my father was dead, and shed bitter tears at his loss. I discovered, however, that what the old man said was false. My father had, as I suspected, pursued me; but while riding on ahead of his party, he had been surprised in the wood by Wamegon and the warriors who had accompanied him. They had secured my father to his horse, and brought him to their camp. Here they bound him to a tree, intending to kill him the next morning. "Though his hands and arms were tied behind him, and there were cords round his breast and neck, he managed to bite off some of the latter, when he was able to get at a penknife which was in his pocket. With this he cut himself loose, and finding his horse, which was feeding near at hand, he mounted, and though pursued by the Indians, rode off. "They saw him no more, and he, probably thinking that I was killed, abandoned the pursuit. This, however, as I said, I did not learn till long afterwards. Two years passed away, and I still remained in captivity, though never abandoning my intention to try and escape, however little hope I had of succeeding." CHAPTER FIVE. "ARRAH! NOW, MR. INJUN"--COPPER-SNAKE BRINGS VALUABLE INFORMATION-- DANGER AHEAD--ROBIN CONTINUES HIS NARRATIVE--SHEGAW'S OFFER--HIS NEW MOTHER KEZHA--INDIAN GAMBLING--ROBIN KILLS A BEAR--MUSKGO--SAD PLIGHT OF ROBIN AND MUSKGO--PESHAUBA SUCCEEDS IN PURCHASING ROBIN WITH FIRE-WATER--ROBIN SHOOTS AN ELK--HE IS CHASED BY A GRIZZLY, WHICH TURNED OUT TO BE OLD PESHAUBA--ROBIN ESCAPES FROM THE INDIANS--HE FINDS A CANOE--HIS DESPAIR ON MISSING THE CANOE--HE IS DISCOVERED BY SANDY--JACK PIPE--OUR MEETING WITH OPOIHGUN--SANDY STARTS AFTER MR. JACK PIPE--THE FUGITIVE PARTY--BLACKFEET ON THE WAR-PATH--THE FORT IS BESIEGED--ROBIN'S COURAGEOUS PROPOSAL--HE STARTS TO WARN SANDY. Some time after Robin had arrived, one evening an Indian was seen approaching the fort. The gate, as was our custom at that time of day, had just been closed, to prevent the risk of surprise, as there was sufficient cover in the neighbourhood to conceal a body of enemies, who might have taken it into their heads to try to possess themselves of our property. As the stranger, however, came boldly up to the gate, it was supposed by Pat Casey, who was on watch, that he could have no sinister intentions; still, Pat, wishing to be on the safe side, shouted out, "Arrah! now, Mr Injun, whoever you may be, halt now, and tell us your name and business." Though the Indian could not have understood a word Pat said, he guessed the meaning of the hail. I, hearing Pat shout, joined him, when the stranger replied in his own language, "I am Miskwandib. I received a kindness from a young pale-face some time back, and come to return it." On hearing what the stranger said, I recognised him as "Copper-Snake," to whom I had given a portion of food when Pat and I had lost ourselves. I immediately went down with Pat to admit him. He knew me at once, and entering the gate without hesitation, took my hand. "I am glad to find that you have got safe back to your friends," he said. "I knew that you had, for I tracked your footsteps, that I might be able to guard you from danger. My people never forget a kindness received, and wishing to show my gratitude, I now come to warn you that there are those on the war-path who will before long attempt to take your fort, and possess themselves of the arms and powder and shot, and the rest of your property in it. They are cunning as the foxes, and it may be soon or it may be some moons hence before they appear, and they'll take good care not to give you warning. Miskwandib has spoken the truth." "I feel very sure that you have, my friend," I observed; "and I'll get you to repeat your account to my brother." Copper-Snake willingly accompanied me, and I introduced him to Alick, who, after he had offered him some food and a pipe, requested him to repeat all he had said to me. He gave also further particulars which induced us fully to believe that he spoke the truth. Alick invited him to remain during the night, as he looked thin and fatigued. He gladly accepted the invitation, and was greatly delighted when Alick presented him with a musket and some ammunition. "I shall have no more fear of starving," he exclaimed, as he eyed the weapon. "I can now kill buffalo and deer, and defend myself too against all my enemies." Altogether, Alick was satisfied that the Copper-Snake, though his name was not significant of good qualities, was an honest man, and he consequently advised him to come with his family and settle near the fort. The Indian replied "that he would think about the matter, but that though some of the pale-faces he had met with were good men, there were among them many bad ones, and that he had hitherto preferred keeping at a distance from them." He showed, however, no suspicion of us, and lay down to sleep in a corner of the hall, making himself perfectly at home. The next morning at daybreak, after he had received as much as he could carry, with his newly-acquired gun in his hand he took his departure. Alick and I considered that Copper-Snake's warning should be attended too, and that every necessary precaution should be taken to avoid surprise. Sandy, however, was of opinion that he had come with a cock-and-bull story for the sake of gaining credit for the information, and thus getting something out of us, as he had succeeded in doing. Some days passed by, and as no enemy appeared, nor did we hear of one being in the neighbourhood, we began to think that Sandy was right, and gradually our vigilance decreased, till we no longer took any unusual precautions against a sudden attack. I must continue Robin's narrative, though, as I said, I only picked it up piecemeal, as he was in the humour to talk about past events. He had not been so long among the Indians without acquiring somewhat of their manner and reticence. I had, indeed, to pump him to draw out what I wanted to know. He was more communicative generally to Martin, to whom he had taken a great liking from the first. "Did you ever expect to become like an Indian, and to be contented with your lot?" I asked. "No," he answered, "I did not. I always remembered that I was an Englishman, and resolved to make my escape if I could. I had won the confidence of Netnokwa, and the young men respected me for my skill in hunting. At length my powder and shot came to an end, and I could no longer use my gun. I tried to shoot with a bow and arrows, but it was long before I attained anything like the skill possessed by the Indians, who are accustomed to practise with a bow from their earliest days. I sank, consequently, in the estimation of the tribe. My great wish was to obtain some more ammunition; but the Indians always prevented me from communicating with any white men, from whom alone I could have got it. "We continued moving farther and farther west, till we met a tribe of Indians with whom we had never before come in contact. They were far better mounted than our people, and looked much more savage. They were Sioux, and from several articles I saw among them I knew that they must have been in communication with the fur-traders. "They appeared to be on friendly terms, however, with Netnokwa's people. I had soon cause to be sorry for this, as I found that one of their chiefs, Shegaw by name, was bargaining to purchase me for his wife, who had lost a son, as Netnokwa had done. He offered some blankets, tobacco, beads, and knives; but Netnokwa would not accept them. "`No,' I heard her say; `I have lost one son, but I will not willingly lose another.' "Shegaw, however, persevered, and at length appeared at our wigwam followed by several men carrying a ten-gallon keg of whisky, besides the blankets and other things he had offered. This was more than Netnokwa could withstand, especially when old Wamegon came in and declared that he would kill me if she refused it. "The exchange was at once made. I was handed over to Shegaw, and the whole of Wamegon's tribe set to work to drink up the spirits. They were not long in doing that. When last I saw my Indian mother and tyrannical old father, they both lay on the ground helplessly tipsy. It was not a very edifying spectacle, but I was very well aware that my new owners would, should an opportunity occur, reduce themselves to the same condition. "I made all the inquiries I could respecting the country and the rivers running through it, that I might know in what direction to go should I effect my escape. "How my new mother would treat me it was impossible to say, but I thought from Shegaw's appearance that I should not be much better off under him than I had been while living with old Wamegon. "The tribes now separated, my new owners moving westward, while the others returned towards the east. It was considered a wonderful thing that they should have met without coming to blows. The farther west they went, the less hope I had of making my escape, because, even should I get away from my present masters, I should in all probability fall into the hands of those who had sold me. "After travelling several days we reached Shegaw's lodges. Making me dismount, he led me by the hand to his own dwelling, where he presented me in due form to his wife, Kezha. She was much younger and better-looking than my former mother, and, I thought, had a more amiable expression of countenance. Thus far I had changed for the better. "I soon found, however, that I was not to eat the bread of idleness; for I was employed in cutting wood, attending to the fires, and bringing water to the camp. Though Kezha herself did not beat me, she could not prevent others from doing so. "The tribe with whom I was now living were great hunters; as they were constantly engaged in the sport, food was plentiful among us, and we did not suffer from the extremes of famine which many others are doomed to bear, in consequence of their neglecting to cultivate the ground. They also preserved and laid by a store of provisions for the time when deer or buffalo might become scarce. "The abundance in which they lived made them despise other people and indulge in many vices. Whenever liquor could be procured, they took it to excess, and I had good reason to be afraid that in some of their drunken fits they would take it into their heads to kill me. They were also greatly addicted to gambling. They had a variety of games; one was that of the moccasin. It is played by a number of persons, divided into two parties. In one of four moccasins a little stick or small piece of cloth is concealed. The moccasins are then laid down by the side of each other in a row, and one of the adverse party touches two of the moccasins. "If the one he first touches has the thing hidden in it, the player loses eight to the opposite party; if it is not in the second, but in one of the two passed over, he loses two; if it is not in the one he touches first, and is in the last, he wins eight. The articles staked are valued by agreement. A beaver-skin or a blanket is valued at ten; sometimes a horse at one hundred. "There is another game played with circular counters, one side of them being plain, while the other is painted black. Generally nine are used, but never fewer. They are put together on a large wooden bowl, which is placed upon a blanket, when the two parties playing, numbering perhaps thirty people, sit down in a circle. The game consists in striking the edge of the bowl so as to throw all the counters into the air, and on the manner in which they fall upon the blanket or into the bowl depends the player's gain or loss. If the player is fortunate in the first instance, he strikes again and again until he misses, when it is passed on to the next. So excited do the Indians become that they often quarrel desperately. They will play on at this game for hours together, till they have staked everything they possess. "On one occasion Shegaw, who considered me as one of his goods and chattels, staked me, and I was lost to a Cree chief. "My Indian mother, on hearing that I had been staked and lost with other property, cried very much, and declared that she would not agree to my being given up. On this Shegaw, who was afraid of offending her, agreed to challenge the other Indians to a fresh game, and to stake several packs of peltries, the whole of our remaining property. "I stood by, watching the game with some anxiety; not that it signified very much to me who became my master. Our party won, and I was restored to Kezha. It was only for a short time, however. She was as fond of the fire-water as are many other Indian women, and when once she began to drink she would give everything she possessed to obtain more liquor. For a short time she made more of me than she had hitherto done. "I managed to regain, too, my credit with the young men of the tribe. I had obtained a bow and arrows, and by constantly practising, became tolerably expert. During the winter I was allowed to go out by myself, for the Indians could always trace me, and they knew well that I could not travel far should I attempt to make my escape. "I was one day crossing a small meadow, an open space encircled by trees, when I unexpectedly fell up to the middle into the snow. I easily extricated myself and walked on; but remembering that I had heard the Indians speak of killing bears in their holes, it occurred to me that it might be a bear's hole into which I had fallen. I accordingly returned, and looking down into it, I saw the head of a bear lying close to the bottom of the hole. Had I gone down farther I should have fallen into his very jaws. "He did not appear to be inclined to move, so fixing an arrow in my bow, I shot it with all my force into the animal's head between the eyes. Immediately I had done so I got another arrow ready, but on looking down I saw that the bear did not move. I ran to the wood and cut a long stick, and returning with it thrust it into the bear's eyes. As the creature still remained perfectly quiet, I was convinced that it was dead, and stooping down, endeavoured to lift it out of the hole. "Being unable to do this, I returned home, following the track I had made in coming out. As I neared the tent I saw a fire burning and a pot boiling on it. "`Here, my son, is some beaver meat which we have obtained since you went out in the morning,' said my mother. "Having eaten some, for I was very hungry, I whispered to Kezha, `I have killed a bear.' "`What do you say, my son?' she asked. "`I have killed a bear,' I replied. "`Are you sure that it is dead?' "`Yes,' I answered, `it is quite dead.' "On this my so-called mother seized me in her arms, and began hugging and kissing me. "The bear was sent for, and as it was the first I had killed, it was cooked, and the hunters of the whole band invited to feast with us, according to Indian custom. "The next day another bear and a moose were killed, and for some time we had an abundance of food. Old Kezha had another adopted son, Muskgo. He and I used to go out hunting together. I suspect that he was set to watch over me, though we were on very friendly terms. "We frequently hunted two or three days' distance from the camp, but were very often unsuccessful, when we were almost starved. On one of our hunting-paths we had formed a hut of cedar boughs, in which we had kindled fire so often that at length it became very dry. We were lying down at night, after an unsuccessful day's hunt, when we lighted a fire to keep ourselves warm, for the weather was intensely cold. We had just dropped off to sleep when some of the sparks blown by the wind caught the cedar, which immediately flew up like powder. Happily we scampered out without suffering much, but we were left till daylight without any protection. "At dawn we set off towards the camp, hoping that some of the other hunters would have been more successful than we were. So intense was the cold that the trees as we passed were constantly cracking with frost. We had soon to cross a river which appeared to be frozen over hard, but when we had got a little distance from the shore the ice gave way, and I fell in. At the same moment Muskgo broke through in the same manner. "I kept upright, and only wetted my feet and legs; but he threw himself down, and was wetted nearly all over. Our hands being benumbed with the cold, it was some time before we could get off our snow-shoes, and we were no sooner out of the water than our moccasins and leggings were frozen stiff. Our spunk wood got wetted by the water, and when we at last reached the shore we were unable to light a fire. Our clothes also were so completely frozen that we could scarcely move. "Muskgo was in such pain that he at once gave in and declared that he should die. I held out, for though I had no enjoyment in the existence I was enduring, I still hoped some day to make my escape. I therefore kept moving about as well as I was able, and at length reaching the forest, found some rotten wood which I used as a substitute for spunk, and was able, greatly to my satisfaction, to raise a fire. "We immediately set to work to thaw and dry our moccasins, and having put them on, we had strength to collect more fuel for a larger fire. Lying close to this, we completely dried our clothes; and though we had nothing to eat we did not complain, since we had the enjoyment of warmth. "Next morning again setting out we proceeded towards the lodges. We were still some way from them when we met old Kezha bringing us some food and dry clothes. She said that `knowing we should have the river to cross, as we did not appear she was convinced that we had fallen through the ice.' It will thus be seen that the old woman had a kind heart, though her temper was very uncertain. "Sometimes we had an abundance of food in the camp; at others for many days together we were almost starved, and had only nuts or berries to feed on. I cannot describe one-tenth part of the incidents of my life at this period. "We had again accumulated several packages of peltries, which it was intended to exchange with the fur-traders for blankets and numerous other articles of which the tribe were in want. "One day, however, another party of Indians, under a chief called `Peshauba,' or the `Crooked Lightning,' came and encamped near us. He had been trading successfully with the white men, and had a large supply of blankets, beads, knives, and several casks of fire-water. "He came into our camp bringing with him a bottle full of the fire-water. He offered some to Kezha. She at first refused, but at length was induced to take a cupful. I watched her as she swallowed it, when her eyes began to roll, and, stretching out her hand with the cup, she begged to have it refilled. This Peshauba willingly did, and cup after cup was swallowed till not a drop remained. She begged to have some more; but Peshauba replied that he could not give it without payment, and that he would only sell a whole cask. She at once offered him all the beaver-skins and a large quantity of buffalo-robes. "Still he was not content, and insisted on having me and several other articles. She cried with vexation, but at last, finding she could not obtain the fire-water, she exclaimed, `Take them all, but only bring me the rum.' "Peshauba got up and, without saying a word, returned to his own camp. He was not long absent, and came back with a party of his young men, who carried the cask of rum. On depositing it they lifted up the bales and other property which they had taken in exchange, and walked off with them, Peshauba leading me by the hand. I knew that there was no use in making any resistance, though I felt very indignant at being thus bought and sold. "I was sorry, too, at leaving old Kezha, who, although now presenting a very melancholy spectacle as she lay rolling helplessly on the ground, had yet been kind to me on many occasions, and I was not likely to be better treated by any one else. "It is not the custom of the Indians, however, to trade in slaves; indeed, I was not looked upon as one exactly, but rather as a new member of the family. The idea of making slaves of their fellow-creatures is entirely contrary to the nature of the Indians. They will either kill their enemies or let them go, or, if they wish it, receive them into their tribe on equal terms. I had to obey Peshauba as a son obeys his father. He and his wife treated me with considerable kindness. "We moved away westward when my former friends turned back towards the Red River. I was allowed as much freedom as before, and as I had become a tolerably good hunter, was sent out by myself. On one occasion Peshauba sent me out to bring in the meat of an elk which he had killed, accompanied by two girls. Finding the animal large and fat, they determined on remaining to dry the meat, that they might have the less weight to carry. I, knowing it would be wiser to obey the order I had received, took up my load and started for home. "Observing several elk as I went along, I resolved to try and kill one of them. Hiding myself in a bush, therefore, I imitated the call of the female elk. Presently a large buck came bounding so furiously towards the spot where I was concealed that, seeing he would break through the bush, I dropped my load and took to flight. No sooner did he observe me, however, than he turned round and fled in the opposite direction. "As I should have been laughed at for my fright, I returned, wishing to kill an elk. I again imitated the cry, and after some time another animal came towards me, so cautiously that I was able to shoot him dead. As I could now make my appearance at the camp with some credit, I took up my load and proceeded homewards, intending to return with others for the flesh of the elk I had killed. "I had gone some distance when I saw what I took to be a bear. At first I believed it to be a common black bear, and prepared to try and shoot it. When, however, the creature continued to advance, I supposed that it must be a grizzly, as a common bear would have fled. I therefore turned, and began to run from the beast; but the more swiftly I ran, the more closely it followed. "Though much frightened, I remembered the advice Peshauba had given me-- never to attempt shooting one of these animals unless trees were near into which I could climb; also, in case of being pursued, never to shoot until the creature was close to me. "Three times I turned and prepared to let fly an arrow, but each time the bear was still too far off, so I again turned and ran on. Thus I continued till I got close to the lodges, when what was my surprise, on looking back, to see old Peshauba himself! He had on a bearskin cloak, the hood of which he had thrown over his head, thus making himself, aided by the dusk and my fright, resemble a real bear. He laughed heartily at my alarm, but commended me for having obeyed his instructions. My conduct, though I had not exhibited any great amount of bravery, greatly raised me in his estimation. Supposing that I had become reconciled to my lot, he allowed me even greater liberty than at first, and many months passed by spent in hunting, and sometimes by the young warriors in going on the war-path against their enemies. We had moved a long way to the westward, when, being encamped on the plain, I went out with several companions on a hunting expedition towards the north. At the extreme limit of our excursion we found a stream which I learned ran down into a larger river, and I was told that that river flowed on for hundreds of miles towards the ocean. "On hearing this, the thought seized me that I might possibly by its means make my escape. We had several times been encamped in the neighbourhood of rivers and lakes, on which I had learned how to manage a canoe. "A long time elapsed, however, before I could carry my plan into execution. Though I several times visited the river on my hunting excursions, I could not find a canoe; though I might have built one, I should to a certainty have been overtaken before I could finish it. I cannot describe all the events which occurred in the meantime. I was often ill-treated, both by Peshauba and other members of the tribe, and often, when game was scarce, almost starved. "At last I managed to get away from the camp with a small supply of meat which I had secreted, and making a wide circuit, proceeded towards the river. I hoped that I was not pursued, and that it would be supposed I had only gone out with the intention of hunting. Reaching the stream, I continued down it, examining both banks in the hopes of finding a canoe of some description. "I cannot express the delight I felt when I discovered a small one hauled up on the shore. It belonged, I concluded, to some Crees we had met with. As I could find no traces of the owners, I at once launched it, and seizing the paddle, shoved off from the bank. The current carried me swiftly along. I had got to some distance when I heard a voice calling to me; but I could not have returned against the current, even had I wished it. I continued my course, therefore, till darkness came on, when I landed, and, hauling up my canoe, slipped under it. "The next morning, as soon as there was a gleam of light, I started off again, stopping only to eat some of the small supply of food I had brought with me. I had my bow and arrows, and I hoped to replenish the stock on my way. "Not wishing to exhaust all the food I possessed before I had obtained some to supply its place, I one day landed, with the intention of trying to shoot some birds or animals. Seeing no signs of any one having visited the spot, I hauled up the canoe on the bank, and went off into the wood. "What was my dismay, on returning, to find my canoe gone! I saw tracks on the ground which puzzled me exceedingly, as I was nearly certain that they were not those of an Indian, though I could not surmise who had formed them. I was almost in despair, believing that I should have perhaps hundreds of miles to travel on foot, and might be unable to kill sufficient game to support existence; still, plucking up courage, I resolved to persevere, and was making my way, as far as I could calculate, to the north-east, when I saw a person approaching the spot in which I was hiding myself. "I could see through the bushes, and great was my joy to discover that he was a white man. On this I immediately showed myself. Though I had great difficulty in understanding what he said, so long a time had passed since I had heard English spoken, yet I quickly made out that he wished to conduct me to a place where I should find my own countrymen. "As you may have guessed, my new friend was Sandy McTavish." Such is a brief outline of Robin's narrative. He told us several other events of his life, and observed that there were many more which he had not mentioned, and which we only heard at intervals afterwards. He became very much attached to us all, and he himself was a great favourite with every one in the fort; indeed Alick and I looked upon Martin and him as brothers, and few brothers could have regarded each other with greater affection than we did. Still Robin was anxious to set out, in the hopes of rejoining his parents and assuring them of his existence. They might have supposed that he had been killed, or perhaps, as was the case, that he had merely been kept in captivity. His great fear was that his father might have lost his life in attempting his recovery, and should such have happened, he thought of all the sorrow his poor mother must have endured for their sakes. Still some time went by, but no opportunity occurred of sending him on to Fort Garry, the nearest place from which he would be able to make his way in safety to the States. As he did not remember the name of the town in which his mother was living, he would still have great difficulty in finding her. "I must beg my way through the country till I can do so, but while I live I will not abandon the search," he exclaimed. "You shall not have to do that," observed Alick. "All the means I possess shall be at your disposal, and I feel sure that others when they hear your history will gladly subscribe to assist you." "But I may never be able to repay you," said Robin. "I shall not expect repayment," answered Alick. "What I have shall be freely yours, and if you ever have the power of returning the money, and I happen to want it, I will trust to you to do so." The spring was advancing; the snow disappeared as the sun got hotter and hotter, and the ice broke up in the river and went rushing downwards, huge masses tumbling over each other, grinding together till they became small pieces and quickly melted away. The grass grew up, the wild flowers bloomed--no others are to be seen in that region--the leaves burst forth, and the forests once more assumed their mantle of green. We were all actively engaged--some in cultivating a field of Indian corn, another of potatoes, and a kitchen garden in a sheltered spot near the fort. Our chief business, however, was hunting; for though some animals are killed in the winter, many more are shot in the spring and summer. We have a spring, though vegetation proceeds so rapidly, when once the winter has taken its departure, that it is a very short one, and rushes, as it were, rapidly into summer. The trappers were away with their traps to catch beaver. Nearly all other animals are of value--bears, badgers, squirrels, foxes, hares, rabbits, opossums, otters, minks, martens, raccoons, skunks, musk rats, and weasels--but the beaver is one of the most valuable. We one evening had returned after a shooting excursion to the fort, when an Indian, followed by two squaws carrying a couple of packs of skins, was seen approaching. Alick went out to meet him, and invited him in, with the intention of purchasing the peltries, supposing that his object in coming was to sell them. He declined allowing the squaws to enter the fort, but when invited came willingly himself. Though he spoke the Cree language, he had more the appearance of a Sioux. Sandy, who was within at the time, warned Alick not to trust him. He set a high price on his peltries, and said that he would only sell them for arms and ammunition, as he had blankets and cloth enough in his lodge for all his wants; he required six muskets and a large stock of powder and shot. We were not absolutely prohibited from selling muskets to the Indians, but our instructions were to try to induce them to take blankets, cloth, tobacco, beads, and cutlery. "But you are alone, my friend, and can require but one gun for yourself," said Alick. On this the Indian got up and made a long speech. I should have said that he had announced himself as Opoihgun, "a pipe;" on hearing which Sandy at once dubbed him "Jack Pipe." "Opoihgun is not alone," he began; "he has many young men who follow him, who desire guns to supply themselves and their squaws and children with buffalo meat and venison. They know how to clothe themselves with the skins of the animals they kill, and despise those people who wear blankets and cloth garments. What Opoihgun has said he intends to keep to. If his pale-face friends have no guns or ammunition, they cannot hope to obtain his peltries. He has spoken, and is like those mountains in the far west, not to be moved. Lift them up and bring them here, and he will part with his skins for nothing." He went on talking for some time in the same strain. "Well, Mr Pipe, but suppose you take three guns and the remainder of the price either in blankets or in tobacco, will that not content you?" asked Alick. Opoihgun, who was smoking, puffed a cloud from his mouth, and pointing to the west said, "Bring those mountains here." We knew by this that he did not intend to change his mind. Had Alick consented to do what is done too often--produce some bottles of whisky-- he would very probably have obtained the peltries on his own terms. To do this was entirely contrary to his principles. We had some whisky in the fort, but it was dealt out in small quantities only to those who required it. Though the company instructed their factors not on any account to sell whisky to the Indians, it somehow or other found its way into the forts, and by the same unaccountable means the Indians very frequently got drunk, and parted with the produce of their long days and nights of hunting, receiving very small value in return. Mr Meredith and Alick had never fallen into the abominable practice of making those with whom they were about to trade drunk, but always gave fair value for the peltries they received; consequently the more soberly disposed Indians resorted to our fort in preference to others which they might in many cases have more easily reached. Mr Pipe, though he first only asked for the guns and ammunition, now increased his demands, and begged to have some tobacco, and ornaments for his squaws. Alick promised the latter, and advised him to trust to his generosity about other things. At length the bargain was concluded, and the packs being brought in and found to contain the skins the Indian had stated, the guns, powder, and shot were handed to him. Doing them up into two packages, he placed them on the backs of the two women, and ordered them to march, promising soon to overtake them. Alick suggested that it was imprudent to send them without protection. On this Mr Pipe laughed, grimly observing "that they knew how to take care of themselves, and that no one would venture to molest them." He then returned into the fort, and after smoking another pipe, got up and went round the place, carefully examining every portion, looking into the stores and the huts and round the walls. We had at the time no suspicion of his object, but thought that he was only prompted by curiosity. At length, as evening was approaching, he bade us farewell, saying that he should overtake his squaws by the time they had encamped for the night. The next morning Martin, Robin, and I had agreed to go out on a shooting expedition! in order to obtain some wild-fowl, which had assembled in great numbers on a lagoon, a short distance from the fort, near the river. We had concealed ourselves in some bushes, hoping that the wild-fowl would come in the course of their flight sufficiently near to enable us to shoot them. We had remained in ambush for some time, and were feeling somewhat disappointed at our want of success, when who should we see but Opoihgun stealing by out of a wood. He had taken off most of his clothes, and his black hair was streaming over his back. He looked about cautiously, as if he expected some one to meet him. Just at that moment up flew a covey of wild-fowl, when Martin, forgetting that it might be of importance to ascertain what Mr Pipe was about, fired at one of the birds, which, however, flew off uninjured. The Indian looked round with a startled expression of countenance, supposing apparently that the shot was fired at him, and ran off fleet as a deer towards the narrow part of the lagoon, across which it was evident he intended to make his way. We started up from our ambush; but though he again looked round, and saw us, he only fled the faster. "I say, David, I believe that fellow came here with no good intentions," observed Martin. "I vote we give chase and make him tell us what he was about." "You know more about the Indian customs than I do, Robin. What do you say?" I asked. "He was here for some bad purpose," answered Robin; "but I would advise you not to follow him. He has friends in the neighbourhood. We may depend on that, and they may set upon us if we go far from the fort. As I was watching his countenance yesterday, it struck me that I had seen him before, and I am nearly certain that he's a friend of Peshauba's from whom I made my escape. As I saw him again to-day I felt more certain than ever, and I suspect that one of his objects was to get me back, though, as I do not think he recognised me yesterday, perhaps he fancied that I was not at the fort." Robin was so positive on the matter that we thought it advisable not to follow the Indian. We accordingly retreated towards the fort, though very unwilling to return without some ducks for dinner. When we told Alick what had occurred, he approved of our conduct. "There was something not altogether canny about Mr Pipe," observed Sandy, "and I am very glad no harm happened to you boys." "I didn't like the man's countenance, and suspected his intentions from the first," said Alick; "however, I could not refuse to trade with him, though it's more than probable that he stole the peltries he brought us. We'll send out and try to find out more about him." Besides the old Scotchman there were fortunately six hunters at the fort, who were immediately dispatched, well armed, under Sandy's command, to follow the trail of Opoihgun, and to ascertain where he had gone and what he was about. Alick would not let any of us accompany the party, considering that it would be useless to expose us to the danger we might have to encounter. While they were away we caught sight of a small band of men in the distance coming towards the fort from the south-west. As they got nearer we saw that there were six persons. "They are Indians, and seem in a great hurry from the way they come along," observed Martin, who was with Robin and me on the top of the tower. "They do not appear to me to be Indians from the way they run," said Robin. "I should say that most of them are half-breeds, though there is one of them who looks like an Indian." I thought that they were all Indians, though they had no war-plumes, and I saw no ornaments glittering in the sun. "Whatever they are, they seem very anxious to reach the fort," said Martin. "We'll soon know the truth of the matter, for they must be here before long." As the strangers approached, we caught sight in the far distance of another party far more numerous, who appeared to be coming on as fast as the others were; still the latter were certain to reach the fort some time before them. Upon informing Alick, who was in his room, he said at once that the smaller party were flying from the others, evidently hoping to obtain refuge within the fort. "We must give it them, whoever they are, whether Indians or half-breeds," he added; and immediately calling the few men who remained in the fort under arms, he and I, with four or five others, went to the gate to receive the fugitives. They soon got up to us, and we found that Robin was right--five of them being half-breeds, with one Chippewa Indian. They were all panting for breath, having evidently had a long run. As soon as they could speak, they told us that they had been out hunting buffalo, and had already collected a large quantity of meat, with which they intended to load their horses, when they were surprised by a body of Sioux, far outnumbering them, who had carried off their horses. Believing that to attempt the recovery of their animals would be hopeless, they had been compelled to leave their property behind them, and make their escape from their camp, which they expected would be attacked the next morning. It was not till daylight, they supposed, that the Sioux had discovered their flight. They had already made good a considerable distance before, from the top of a hill they were crossing, they saw their enemies in the far distance coming after them. They now discovered, from the number of those who were following, that if they wished to save their lives they must increase their speed, and not stop till they had got safe into the fort. Alick bade them banish their fears, and promised to protect them. Though our garrison was greatly reduced by the absence of Sandy and the men who had accompanied him, we lost no time in making preparations for the expected attack. Unless the wily Indians were very numerous, they would scarcely venture, we concluded, to assault the fort in the daytime, and would probably, on discovering that those they were chasing had got safe within the walls, halt at a distance till they could form their plans. Our first care was to send out Pat with the other men to bring in the horses and cattle feeding in the neighbourhood, which the Indians to a certainty would otherwise have taken the liberty of lifting, as would be said in Scotland. There was time to do this--at all events to save the greater number. Those at a distance would have to take care of themselves, and their sagacity would induce them to scamper off on perceiving the approach of the Indians. We had a well to supply us with water, and abundance of provisions, with arms sufficient for six times the number of our present garrison. These we had loaded, and placed some in each of the four towers, and others at different spots near the walls, so that one man might fire several in succession. A lookout was also stationed at the top of each of the towers, to give due notice of the approach of the enemy, as we could not tell on which side they might attack us. We were well aware of the cunning they would exercise, and that they would employ every trick and stratagem to take us by surprise. Possibly they would creep along the bank of the river during the hours of darkness and try to scale the walls on that side, or one party might come boldly to the fort to attract our attention, while another might be stealthily approaching from an opposite direction. We had at all events, we knew, to keep very wide awake. The hunters who had been pursued, overcome with fatigue, were not likely to be of much use in keeping guard, so Alick told them to lie down and rest till they were wanted for the protection of the fort. We anxiously looked out for the return of Sandy and his party, and our fear was that they might be discovered before they could reach us, and be attacked by the Sioux. The enemy were now seen drawing nearer and nearer, coming over the hill in the distance. We could distinguish even the war-plumes of the chiefs waving in the wind, and the glitter of their arms and ornaments. They formed a large band; indeed, we knew that no Sioux, except in considerable numbers, would venture to cross the Cree country--feeling themselves strong enough to fight their way back, should they be attacked, as they might expect to be, by their hereditary enemies. There is no peace between the Sioux and the Crees. These we knew from their plumes and war-paint to be Blackfeet, the most savage and warlike of the northern tribes. They approached till they reached a spot just beyond musket range. They there began forming a camp, so that we knew they intended regularly to besiege the fort. None of our little garrison, however, were in the slightest degree daunted. We had all the requisites for standing a siege--water, provisions, and an abundance of arms and ammunition. A few small field-pieces in our towers would have been of use, but it had not been thought fit to provide the fort with them, and we had our muskets alone to depend on, with some pikes and swords. Night now came on, and hid the enemy from view, and a short time afterwards their camp-fires blazed up, and we could see dark figures moving about in considerable numbers. Still, Alick suspected that they might have dispatched a party to come round and try to surprise us on the opposite side. When Robin heard this he offered to go out and watch the camp, so that he might track any body of men who might have set out with this purpose in view. "I cannot let you do that," answered Alick. "You may know the Indian ways very well, but were you to be caught they would to a certainty kill you, and we can spare no one from the fort at present." "But I will, if you'll allow me, try to find Sandy, and warn him that the Sioux are in the neighbourhood," said Robin. "I want to prove to you how grateful I am for all the kindness you have shown me. I might be the means of saving Sandy from falling into the hands of the enemy." Alick did not answer immediately. "Your proposal to warn Sandy is an important one," he said at length; "still I am very unwilling to accede to it. You would run a very great risk of being tracked and discovered by the Sioux, and I should never forgive myself if any harm were to happen to you." "Let me go then," I said; "I would rather run the risk than expose Robin to it. As I am older and stronger, and know the country better than he does, there will be less danger of my being caught." "I cannot agree that you know the country better than I do," said Robin. "During the different excursions we have made I noted every leading object we passed, in the mode I learned to do while I was with the Indians; and though I do not wish to disparage your knowledge, I suspect that I could with more certainty find my way on a dark night than you could." I could not help acknowledging that Robin was right, for I had often remarked how perfectly he knew every spot he had but once passed, and that often he could find his way when the rest of us were in doubts about the matter. Alick was so convinced of the importance of warning Sandy that an enemy was near at hand, that he at last consented to allow Robin to set out on his proposed hazardous expedition. No one in the fort was so likely to succeed as he was. Martin did not know the country as well, and Pat would probably have made some mistake, and been caught by the enemy. The rest of the men were more accustomed to the river, or to conduct the sleighs or beasts of burden between the different posts. Robin having taken a good supper, and examined his gun and ammunition, declared himself ready to start. The night was dark, and unless any of the Sioux should have crept up to the fort for the purpose of watching us, he was not likely to be discovered on leaving it. Alick, Martin, and I accompanied him to the gate, and each of us warmly wrung his hand. "May Heaven protect you," said Alick. "Be cautious, my boy, and don't run any unnecessary risk." We concealed our lanterns, lest the enemy might perceive the light as the gate was opened, and suspect that some one was leaving the fort. We stood for some moments watching our young friend till he disappeared in the darkness, when the gate was again carefully closed. I believed that Alick half repented allowing him to go now he had set out, for he had endeared himself to us all, and we felt how deeply we should grieve should any harm happen to him. CHAPTER SIX. EXTREME VIGILANCE IN THE FORT--FIRE!--THE CHARGE OF THE BLACKFEET--THEIR TERRIFIC WAR-WHOOP--THE BLACKFEET RETIRE--THE SECOND ATTACK--"DOWN WITH THE SPALPEENS"--A FRIENDLY WAR-WHOOP HEARD JUST AS AFFAIRS HAVE BECOME DESPERATE--THE BLACKFEET RETREAT--OUR INDIAN ALLIES ENJOY A SCALP-DANCE--HAVING EATEN ALL OUR PROVISIONS, THEY INVITE US TO ACCOMPANY THEM ON A HUNTING EXPEDITION--ROBIN'S BADGER--THE BUFFALO HUNT--THE HERD OF MOOSE--WATCHFULNESS OF THE MOOSE--THE "SUNJEGWUN"--THE CREE CHIEF'S WARNING--WE START FOR THE FORT. There was to be no sleep for us that night. Alick and I were continually going our rounds, to see that all the men were on the alert. As soon as Robin had set out I went to the tower nearest to the gate, and watched anxiously for any sign which would show that he had been discovered by the Sioux. I stayed as long as I could venture to do, but all remained perfectly quiet in the direction I supposed he had taken. So far this was satisfactory; I knew how well acquainted he was with the ways of the Indians, and that he was not likely to be surprised. His ear would be quick to detect the sound of their approach; his keen eye would be able to pierce far through the gloom of night. Should any parties, therefore, be moving about, I trusted that he would manage to avoid them. Midnight came at last, and so tranquil did all remain around that, had we not seen the Indian camp-fires blazing up in the distance, we should not have supposed that the enemy was near us. Our guests were still asleep with their arms by their sides, ready for instant use. For one thing I was glad that Rose and Letty were safe at Fort Ross, though I had no doubt that they would have behaved as courageously as any girls under the circumstances could have done, and if they had not fired the muskets, would have helped to load them, and would have tended any who were wounded. We showed no lights from the fort, which might have let the Indians know that we were on the watch. We spoke also in low voices, that, should any of them be skulking round the fort, they might not hear us. It was about two hours past midnight; though I confess that I was beginning to get somewhat tired, neither Alick nor I had relaxed in our vigilance. Martin was also doing his part in watching from the tower at the south-west angle. It was agreed that even should we see the Indians approaching we should give no sign that we were awake, so that our fire, when once we opened it, might have greater effect. If one side only was attacked, the whole garrison was to go over to defend it, leaving only a single man at the other angles to watch lest another party might assault it on that side. I had just gone into the tower where Martin was keeping watch, when, turning round as he heard me enter, he whispered, "They are coming!" and he drew me to a loophole. I looked through, and could distinguish a mass of dark forms just issuing from the gloom, crouching low down, and trailing their arms so as to escape observation. Having satisfied myself that they were really our enemies coming on to attack the fort, I hurried down to tell Alick, and to summon the men for the defence of the side on which I supposed the assault would be made. "Remember, lads," said Alick, "don't fire a shot till I tell you, and the moment you have fired get another musket ready for a second discharge." The men sprang to their posts at the loopholes, some going to the upper part of the tower, and some to the lower story. We were all at our posts, when suddenly a most terrific war-whoop burst upon our ears. I never heard so awful a noise, though I had fancied I knew what it was like. So fearful is the sound of the Indian war-whoop that even the most savage beasts have often been frightened out of their wits. Buffaloes have, it is said, been known to fall down on their knees, unable either to run or make any resistance; and the bear has been so terror-stricken as to quit his hold, and fall from the tree in utter amazement and helplessness. Again that fearful war-whoop arose, piercing our very brains; though neither Martin nor I had ever heard it before it did not intimidate us, nor did it the rest of the garrison. We waited, as ordered, till we heard Alick shout "Fire!" when each man discharged his musket, and immediately, as directed, grasped another. The Indians, supposing that some time would elapse before we had reloaded; sprang forward; but ere they could reach the walls another volley laid many of them low, and we were prepared to pour in a third upon them before they had again moved forward. The shrieks and cries of the wounded rang through the air, for they were so completely taken by surprise that for the time they forgot their usual stoicism, and gave way to the impulse of human nature to cry out with pain. "Reload!" cried Alick, who had watched all their movements. "Fire the moment one of them advances." Instead of approaching nearer, however, the whole band drew back, when several muskets were discharged from among them--the bullets being accompanied by a cloud of arrows; but striking the palisades or flying over our heads, they did no harm. "Those are the very arms we sold to the Indian the other day, I suspect," observed Martin. "Sandy at the time said he was sure Mr Pipe had some sinister object in view. He has managed to hand them over to these rascals." As soon as the Indians began to fire, Alick ordered us to fire in return, he himself setting the example. As we had managed to reload all the pieces we had already fired, and had several others still unused, our bullets produced a fearful effect among the Indians, who retreated farther and farther from the fort, till darkness hid them from view. We sent another volley after them, when Alick ordered us to cease firing, hoping that the enemy would not again venture to approach. Immediately silence reigned throughout the fort. Not a shout was raised, not a word above a whisper uttered, except when Alick in a stern voice exclaimed, "Fire!" The Indians had discovered that they could have no hope of taking us by surprise; but, at the same time, we knew that they might again venture to attack the fort, and that we must keep as much on the alert as before. We felt confident that as long as they should assault the fort in the same manner as at first we could drive them back, but should they change their tactics the case might be different. If the chiefs could restore the courage of their followers, they might completely surround the fort; and should they venture to climb over the palisades on all sides at once, we might have great difficulty in driving them back. Suspecting that they might make an attempt to get in in the way I have last mentioned, Alick sent men to each of the other angles to be ready should the Indians appear. The remainder of the night went by. It was one of the most anxious times I ever passed in my life. When morning dawned the Indians could be seen in the far distance in as great numbers as before, but none of their bands were visible near the fort. We had little fear of their renewing the attack during the daytime, and Alick gave orders to all the garrison, except a few men at a time required to keep watch, to lie down and get some sleep. He directed me to do the same, promising to summon me when he required to be relieved. After I had rested about three hours he called me up, and I was very glad to get some breakfast before going on watch. I spent all the morning in one of the towers, keeping a constant lookout on the enemy, who seemed in no way inclined to move, while I frequently turned an anxious eye in other directions, hoping to see Robin with Sandy and his companions returning to the fort. In vain, however, I looked. No human being could I distinguish, either on the more open prairie or among the trees in the distance. The day drew on; perhaps, if our friends had discovered the vicinity of the Indians, they might wait under cover till dark, but if they had not seen them they would make at once for the fort. Still they did not come, and darkness closed in upon us. We had another night before us of anxiety and watchfulness. The same arrangements were made as on the previous night, and Alick and I, assisted by Martin, were continually making the round of the fort. At any moment we might have the whole horde of savages upon us; yet, in the meantime, we could do nothing to defend ourselves, except to keep our muskets loaded and ready for action. Even though we could tell the direction in which the Indians had retreated, there was no use in firing into the empty air. The silence we maintained would, however, we knew, have greater effect on our enemies than the loudest shouts we could have raised. "I wish they would come on," exclaimed Martin; "the fellows, after all, are but arrant cowards. They make noise enough when they fancy that they are going to have things all their own way. I suspect they are far enough off by this time." "We must not depend too much upon that," I observed. "If they think that they can surprise us they will try again. Perhaps they fancy that we suppose we have driven them away, and will turn in and go to sleep, and they are waiting till our eyes are fast closed." "I wonder what o'clock it is," said Martin. "Not many minutes to dawn," I answered. "We shall ere long see the light breaking in the eastern sky." Scarcely had I uttered the words when Martin, who had gone back to his loophole, whispered, "There they are again, but coming on very differently to the first time." I looked out, and could see a dark line extending round the whole front and side of the fort. I hurried down to Alick, warning the men in a low voice to be on the alert. We went over to the opposite side. From this also we saw the same dark line slowly approaching nearer and nearer. It was very evident that the Indians had surrounded the fort, and intended to attack us simultaneously on every side. Alick immediately distributed the men in equal parties round the stockade, and directed them as before to await his order to fire. The war-whoop the enemy had before uttered was terrific enough. Suddenly the air was rent by the loudest and most fearful shrieks rising from every side of us, and the next instant showers of arrows, and a few bullets, came whistling above our heads, and directly afterwards the Indians appeared emerging from the gloom. Alick waited till they were near enough for every bullet to take effect. Most of our men were tolerable shots, but the Indians, instead of rushing straight forward, kept leaping from side to side, and thus many escaped. Though we had our second muskets in readiness, urged on by their former failure, they sprang forward at so rapid a rate that before we could fire a large number had reached the walls, against which they placed long pieces of light timber, with notches in them to serve as ladders. The most active of our people were engaged in throwing these down as fast as they were placed against the palisades, while the rest by Alick's orders kept firing rapidly away, taking up musket after musket. Active as we were, several of the enemy climbed to the top of the palisades, but were hurled backwards, or, being shot as they appeared, fell down into the fort. In spite of the fate which had overtaken their comrades, others made most daring attempts to get in. Should two or three succeed, they, with their tomahawks, might keep a space clear for a sufficient time to enable others to follow them, and the fort might be taken. Now they made a desperate assault on one side, now on another, but were each time repulsed. We had the advantage of possessing a platform on which we could run rapidly from place to place as we were required, while the enemy had the ditch to pass and the high palisade to climb before they could reach the top. This enabled us to defend ourselves in a way we could not otherwise have done; still the Indians vastly outnumbered us, and seemed determined not to abandon their enterprise. Several of our men had been wounded, but not severely, while numbers of the enemy had fallen. Pat Casey was among the most active of the garrison--now firing his musket, now pronging at an Indian who had climbed to the top of the palisade, now using a broadsword which he had secured to his side, all the time shouting out, "Erin go bragh! Down with the spalpeens. Arrah! now you're coming in, are you? Just take that thin, and find out that you've made a mistake." The last sentence he uttered as he ran an Indian through the shoulder and hurled him back into the ditch. Each man of our party knew that he was fighting for his life. No mercy could be expected should the fort be taken; still, in spite of the courage and activity displayed by our people, there seemed too much probability that the enemy would succeed. It was not thought likely that they would attack the towers, but Alick considered it necessary to keep a man in each, who was ordered to fire away, while he watched to give notice should the enemy attempt to attack that part of the fort. The darkness prevented us from observing the movements of the Indians, but I fancied as I was looking out that I saw a considerable number retreating, and I could hear no voices coming from that side; still the rest continued the attack, though perhaps with less energy than before. Some time elapsed without any effort being made to climb up the palisades. Flights of arrows were continually shot at us, and our ears were assailed with the most fearful shouts and shrieks. Presently, as I was looking out on the west side, I saw a dense mass appear out of the gloom, and to my dismay I discovered that it was composed of men carrying large fagots. I told Alick what I had seen, and he immediately summoned six of our best men to that side of the fort, for its defence. It was clearly the intention of our enemies to throw the fagots down against the walls, so as to fill up the ditch and form a path up which they could climb, or to set them on fire and burn down the stockades. Alick, supported by Pat with half a dozen men, stood ready to receive them; while others in the towers, which enfiladed the walls, kept up a hot fire which struck down several of the Indians as they rushed up to place their fagots. It being necessary, of course, to defend the walls on the other side, Martin and I were hurrying here and there as we saw the enemy approaching. "Here they come," I heard Alick shout out. At the same moment a terrific war-whoop sounded in our ears. "Fire steadily at them, my lads," cried Alick; "and if they get within reach of our bayonets, let them feel the points." "Shure! that's what we'll be afther doing," cried Pat.--"Won't we, boys? Erin go bragh!" and a well-directed volley drove back the first body of Indians who were attempting to mount. They had been sent apparently as a forlorn hope, for the next instant another party still more numerous appeared, while, as I hurried over to the other side, I saw a third band, advancing evidently with the intention of making a separate attack. At the same instant the entire body of our enemies, uniting their voices, uttered another of those dreadful war-whoops. Though we had hitherto kept up our courage, but few among us believed that we should be able to offer an effectual resistance. The next instant, however, ere the shrieks of our enemies had died away, they were answered by other cries which came from the forest. Could a fresh body of Indians be about to attack us? Should such be the case our doom was sealed. Such were the thoughts that passed through my mind. Again that war-whoop sounded through the night air. "Hurrah!" cried Pat, "those are friendly Indians. I know it by the sound." Pat's assertion was corroborated by several of the other men. Our well-nigh exhausted strength and courage were restored. The Indians had heard these cries, and the formidable party which had been mounting the fagots hurried back, while the last who had been seen approaching retreated. We plied them more rapidly than ever with our musketry. We could hear their chiefs issuing their orders, and in another minute the whole line scampered off and disappeared in the darkness. Not many minutes afterwards we heard Sandy's voice shouting out, "We have brought some Indian friends to your assistance." We now, without hesitation, threw open the gate, and the next instant Robin sprang forward and shook our hands, while Sandy with his six men appeared directly afterwards. "No time to stop," exclaimed Sandy. "The youngster found us, and we fell in with some friends in time of need, who agreed to come along with us. There they are; but they're afraid to come near, lest you should mistake them for the foe, and pepper them. They and we must be after the rascals who have been attacking you. Can't stop to ask questions; only hope you are all safe. Keep Robin fast, or he'll be running after us, and there is no need to let the lad run his nose into unnecessary danger. I hope you are all right, though?" "Yes, thank you; none of us hurt badly," answered Alick. "That's well," exclaimed Sandy; and without more ado he and his men hurried after the Indians, who were already cautiously moving on in the direction our late assailants had taken. "Don't pursue them too far, or you may fall in with fresh bands, and may have a hard matter to fight your way back," shouted Alick. "Ay, ay!" answered Sandy; "trust me and the Indians for that," and he and his men were soon lost to sight in the gloom. Several of our men eagerly begged for leave to go out and join Sandy's party. Alick would, however, only allow six of them, including three of the hunters to whom we had given refuge, to go. All being well armed, we had no doubt that they would drive back the Sioux, and probably kill or capture a number of them. Robin, as Sandy had supposed he would, wanted to go also; but Martin and I held him fast till the gate was closed. "Now go and lie down, my boy," said Alick. "You have been on your legs a good many hours, and have done us service enough for one day, or for many days for that matter." Robin somewhat unwillingly obeyed, having first taken some food, of which he stood in need; and as he dropped off to sleep immediately, it was evident that he was pretty well worn out. We had now to wait for the return of our friends. In the meantime we did our best to dress the hurts of the men who had been wounded. In many cases they could help each other, in their own rough fashion, for they were generally in so healthy a state that injuries which might have proved fatal to people living what is called a civilised life, compelled them scarcely to lay up for more than a day or two. Three of our guests had been wounded, but they made light of the matter, and declared that they should at once be able to proceed on their journey. Martin and I amused ourselves by collecting all the arrows which had been shot into the fort, and a fine number we had of them. We agreed to ornament the walls of one of the rooms with the arrows, and to send others to our friends. We could not find the bullets which had been fired, and concluded that they had all been shot over the fort, and often into the ground on the opposite side, perhaps killing our foes instead of us. Considering the vast number of the enemy, and the desperate courage they had displayed in attacking the fort, we had great reason to be thankful that we had been preserved. I believe, indeed, that we ought to be thankful every day of our existence, for we know not how many unseen dangers we escape in our walk through life. I know that I did not think so seriously of such matters as I do now; but I am sure that the earlier we begin to think of God's protecting providence, the more anxious we shall be to serve Him, and to refrain from offending One so kind and merciful. Another day broke, but still neither Sandy's party nor his Indian allies had reappeared, and Alick began to fear that they had followed the enemy further than was prudent. Should the Sioux have turned upon them with the same bravery they had displayed when attacking the fort, our friends would have run a fearful risk of being cut off, while we should probably be again attacked with less prospect than before of success. Though pretty well tired with our long watching and our desperate exertions in defence of the fort, we were in good spirits. Alick however who was prudent, had the arms reloaded, and made as much preparation for defence as he considered necessary. The Sioux, I should have said, when retreating, had carried off their dead and wounded, to save them from the ignominy of being scalped, which would to a certainty have been their fate had our Indian allies found them on the ground. We were thus saved the horror of witnessing the spectacle, as also the trouble of burying the dead. The Indians would probably also have killed all the wounded, in spite of the efforts we should have made to save them. At length, about noon the watchman in the tower shouted out that he saw a party approaching from the south-west--the direction the Sioux had probably taken. We were for some time in doubt whether they were friends or foes. At length Martin, who was on the lookout with me, exclaimed: "Hurrah! I'm sure that's old Sandy marching ahead, with an Indian chief by his side; and there come the men. They have thrashed the Sioux--no doubt about that--and it will be a long time before the rascals venture to pay us another visit." I was not quite certain that Martin was right, and feared that his imagination had deceived him. While we were discussing the matter, we were joined by Robin, whose eyes were sharper than either of ours. He had at once declared that Martin was not mistaken. We accordingly announced the fact to Alick and the few men who were awake. The sleepers were quickly roused by the shout of satisfaction which was uttered, and there being no longer any apprehension of danger, we hurried out to meet our friends, accompanied by Bouncer and a whole tribe of smaller dogs, which lived under his rule. "We've given the Sioux a lesson they'll not forget in a hurry," exclaimed Sandy, as we met. "We came upon them while they were encamped, not dreaming that we were near, and before they could stand to their arms we had shot down a dozen or more, including all the fellows who had muskets, which the others in their fright, as they jumped up to fly, left behind them. We took possession of the muskets, and followed up the enemy for an hour or more. How many were killed it would have been hard to say, as we did not stop to count those we shot down; but our redskin friends have got thirty scalps, which would be about the tally, as they looked out for all who fell. I don't approve of the custom, for they are not very particular in seeing whether a man's alive or dead before they lift the hair from the crown of his head." Alick would gladly have prevented the slaughter which had occurred. It struck us that probably the Sioux in their flight had thrown down the men who had been killed or wounded in the attack on the fort, and that these were included in the number Sandy spoke of. Our Indian allies, after enjoying a scalp-dance outside the fort--not a very edifying spectacle, but an amusement in which they seemed to take an especial delight--were invited to partake of a feast which had been in the meantime preparing. All our cooks had been engaged on it, and though not of a very refined description, it suited the taste of our guests. We had buffalo meat and venison, boiled, roasted, and stewed, with flour cakes, and potatoes the produce of our garden. A small amount of whisky was served out; but Alick was careful not to give the Indians enough to make them lose their wits. The chiefs, however, who asked for more, got sufficient to make them loquacious, and some wonderfully long speeches were uttered, expressing the affection they felt for us, their pale-face brothers. When night came on they encamped outside, as it was a rule never to allow any large body of Indians, whoever they were, to sleep inside the fort. As they were aware of this, they were not offended. The weather being warm they had no great hardship to endure, though unable to put up wigwams for their protection. Before lying down they had another scalp-dance, which they kept up to a late hour. We were in hopes that they would go the next day, but they showed no inclination to move as long as they could obtain an abundant supply of food. We, of course, were obliged to serve it out from our stores, and should have been considered very ungrateful had we given them a hint to take their departure. They thus consumed nearly the whole of the substantial provisions we had in the fort, including flour and potatoes; and not till Alick told them that we had but little more to offer did they express an intention of going away. Before doing so they invited us to accompany them on a hunting expedition, which they proposed making in a few days, after they had returned to their own lodges and obtained horses for the purpose. Martin and I were eager to go, as was Robin; and we persuaded Alick to accompany us, as he required a change after the arduous work he had gone through. At first he was very doubtful about the matter; but he consented at length to leave Sandy in charge, which he often had done when compelled to be absent from the fort. We started from home with our guns, intending to shoot on the way, directing our horses to be brought after us. We were accompanied by Bouncer, who was always our attendant on such occasions; and very useful he often made himself, being expert in attacking all animals, but especially cautious when he met with those with whose prowess he was well acquainted. We had bagged two or three small animals and a few birds, when, forgetting our usual custom of keeping together, we each took a different path, which led us to some distance apart. Martin was nearest to me; I could still see him between the trees, when I heard a shot. I looked towards him; but as I saw no smoke, I concluded that he had not fired. Directly afterwards he shouted, "Come on, David! I heard Robin cry out; something must have happened." I ran as fast as I could, shouting to Alick, who I hoped might hear me. The ground being tolerably open in the direction I had taken, I quickly overtook Martin. "It was there I heard his voice," he exclaimed. "Yes; he's still crying out. I can't understand it, but I hope nothing terrible has happened to him." Guided by Robin's voice, we at last got near him. At the same moment Alick appeared in another direction between the trees. Instead of being alarmed, we burst into a fit of laughter, for there was Robin holding on to the bushy tail of an animal which with might and main was making towards a hole near at hand. "Help me! help me!" cried Robin, "or the beast will get away." Robin pulled in one direction, and the beast, which I saw was an unusually large badger, was endeavouring to scramble off in another, dragging Robin after it. Before Bouncer, who had followed Alick, could spring forward to Robin's assistance the badger had reached its hole, down which it was struggling with might and main to descend; but Robin, who had now no fears of being bitten, held on stoutly, while Bouncer flew at the hinder quarters of the beast, of which he took a firm grip. "Pull away, Robin, pull away," I shouted. "You can have the honour of killing him yourself, with the help of Bouncer." Robin hauled away, and so did the dog; but for some time it seemed doubtful which party would gain the victory. At last Robin, by a desperate effort, hauled the unfortunate badger out of the hole; and as he did so he fell backwards, still holding on, and drawing the creature almost over him. On this Bouncer seized it by the neck, and Martin, taking up a thick stick which lay at hand, stunned it with a blow, when it was quickly dispatched. We took off the skin, as we had those of the other animals we had shot, and did them up to be sent back by the men who brought our horses. I mention the circumstance as it afforded us much amusement; and though it will not appear a very important one, it showed Robin's determination not to be defeated in anything he undertook. After that we used frequently to observe, "Stick to it as Robin did to the badger's tail, and you'll get it out of the hole at last." It is what I would advise others to do when they have difficulties to contend with, whether great or small. The horses overtook us in the afternoon, when we rode on and camped by ourselves for the night, intending to join our Indian friends the next day. We had brought with us a small supply of provisions, in addition to the game which we had shot on our way, expecting that the Indians would be able to furnish us with buffalo meat, on which we had no objection to live for a few days. Next morning, having breakfasted and caught our horses, we rode on; but it was not till nearly evening that we reached the Cree camp. We slept in a skin-covered wigwam which they appropriated to our use, and the following morning started for the southward in search of buffalo, which were supposed to be in considerable numbers in that direction. We rode on all day, stopping only to take a meal about noon, but not a buffalo did we see. We had exhausted all our provisions, and regretted that we had not brought more with us for our own private use. Small fires only were formed, around which we lay down to sleep. It was nearly dawn when the Cree chief, touching my arm, awoke me. "Listen!" he said, putting his head close down to the ground. I did so, and could hear a low, dull sound, as if numberless feet were beating the soil. "That is the tramp of buffaloes," he observed. When, however, I sat up I could hear nothing. The chief told me to call my brother and other friends, and proposed, as soon as we had had something to eat, that we should set off in the direction from whence the sounds we had heard proceeded. I roused up my companions, and when they put their ears down to the ground and listened, they also could hear the same tramping sound. I was not yet perfectly convinced that the chief was right, but he asserted that there was no mistake about the matter. When we told the chief that we had no food, he looked rather blank, and shortly returned with some dried venison, which we were fain to cook as best we could before the fire. We had a small supply of biscuit, and a stream at hand furnished us with water. Thus fortified, we mounted our horses and rode to the top of a hill near at hand, from which we could command an extensive view of the prairie. Not a sign, however, of a buffalo could be seen; still the chief was confident that he was not mistaken, and we pushed our horses in the direction of the sounds we had heard for at least ten miles. When we had gone about another ten miles we could just distinguish a black line crossing the prairie. "I told you so," said the chief; "there they are, and we shall in less than another hour be up to them." All we could as yet see was the mere margin of the herd, looking, as I have said, like a black line thrown along the edge of the sky, or a low shore just visible across a lake. We calculated that the place where we first heard the sounds of the animals' feet could not have been less than twenty miles off. As we drew near we observed that the herd was in the wildest state of commotion. The bulls every now and then rushing at each other and fighting desperately, the sounds produced by the knocking together of their hoofs as they raised their feet from the ground, their incessant tramping and loud and furious roars as they engaged in their terrific conflicts, created an uproar which it seemed surprising our horses took so quietly; but we had chosen animals well accustomed to hunting the buffalo, and they were as eager as we were for the chase. Under other circumstances it would have required great caution to approach the herd; but engaged as they now were they were not easily alarmed, and the Cree chief giving the word we rode directly at them. "Let the bulls alone," cried the chief, as we galloped forward. "Single out the cows; they alone are worth eating. Don't stop to ram down your charges after you have fired, but pour in the powder, and drop down the bullet upon it. 'Twill serve your purpose, for you must not draw trigger till you're close to the animal, or you will fail to bring it to the ground." We, of course, promised to follow his instructions, and dashed forward. As we got nearer we saw that the herd was so densely packed that we should have the greatest difficulty in making our way into their midst without having our horses injured by their horns; not that the buffaloes would have run at them, but in consequence of the rapid way in which they moved them about, in their frantic rage, in all directions. We therefore galloped along in front of the herd with the intention of getting on their flanks, or finding some opening through which we might reach the cows. At last the chief proposed that we should dismount, and, leaving the horses under the care of some of the men, try to make our way in on foot. I thought this a very hazardous experiment, and made some remark to that effect. "Not so hazardous as you may suppose," answered the chief. "The animals will not see you, and you have only to leap out of their way should any come rushing in the direction where you are standing." "I have often shot buffalo in that way," exclaimed Robin. "Keep with me, David, and we'll see what we can do." I preferred trusting him to the chief, whom Alick and Martin followed. Robin and I were soon in the midst of the surging sea of horns. His boldness gave me courage; but it was necessary to keep our eyes round us on all sides, and to be ready to leap here and there, to get out of the way of the animals, which were constantly on the move. The part we had entered was of course far more open than that where we first made the attempt. Robin's coolness was wonderful. He was the first to shoot a cow. "Let it alone," he said; "I see some more out there." As we made our way onwards and were trying to get at the cows, a whole mass of the bulls came surging around us, and presently several, putting their heads to the ground, dashed forward, directly towards the place where we were standing. "Here! here!" cried Robin; "we shall be safe," and he pointed to a deep hollow which in the rainy season had held water, but was now perfectly dry. We both leaped in; when the bulls came rushing by us but again stopped, and others joining them, the whole began to fight with the greatest desperation. The only chance we had of getting out of our disagreeable position was to kill the bulls and make our way through them. We fired and loaded as fast as we could, and seven lay stretched on the ground. "Now," cried Robin, "is our time to escape." We sprang up and dashed through the herd; but greatly to our disappointment, when we looked out for the cows, we found that our firing had alarmed them, and that they had all run off. Not quite liking this sort of work, we regained our horses and galloped on to where we saw a party of our Indian friends, who had just killed a cow. Most of the herd had moved away from the spot; but one enormous bull on seeing what had happened, bellowing furiously, came dashing towards us, ploughing up the ground with his horns. The Indians, unwilling to stand his charge, turned and fled; when the animal seeing me rushed forward, determined, it seemed, to wreak his vengeance on my steed. My well-trained animal, however, bounded out of the way, when I, having my gun loaded, fired at the bull, which was not three yards from me. The ball penetrating his chest, he fell dead. The Indians now returned, and began cutting up the cow. While they were so engaged, another cow, which they supposed to be the mother of the one they had killed, galloped towards us, bellowing loudly. They, not having their arms in their hands, took to flight, declaring that the cow was resolved on revenging herself for the slaughter of her daughter. I was much inclined to follow them; but Robin asking me to hold the horse, slipped from the saddle, and throwing himself by the body of the dead cow, rested his rifle so that he could take steady aim, and as the raging cow came near he fired. She turned, gave one or two jumps, and fell dead. We had now an ample supply of meat. Several other cows had been killed, and the Indians employed themselves in cutting them up into pieces fit for transporting to their lodges. We had crossed no rivers on our way, and when we came to encamp at night it was found that no water had been brought, nor were we likely to get any till we reached the encampment. We all suffered much from thirst. I do not recollect, indeed, having ever endured so much torture as I did during the next day's ride back. The Indians, perhaps, bore the want of water better than we did. It seemed as if we should drink the stream dry which bubbled up out of the hillside near the camp. It took us a whole day to recover. We had intended returning to the fort; but as we required a large supply of buffalo meat, Alick engaged the chief to hunt for us, and consented to accompany him on another excursion. Martin, Robin, and I were of course perfectly ready, and set out again with as much glee as at first. The buffaloes had, however, by this time retired a long way to the south, and it took us three days to come up with them. I need not describe another hunt. On this occasion the herd was more scattered. We galloped in among them, firing right and left. Each man, when he shot an animal, dropped some article upon the carcass to show by whose prowess it had been killed. Full thirty fat animals were killed, and as the meat in its present condition could not be carried so far, we formed a camp, and the Indians cut the flesh up in long strips, which were dried in the sun; a considerable portion also being beaten up into almost a paste, was mixed with the fat to form pemmican. This was then pressed into bags of skin, and done up into packages ready for transport. The process is a simple one, but much labour must be expended on it. All this time we had scouts out, not to look after the buffalo, but to watch lest any enemies might be in the neighbourhood. Several horses having been sent for, the pemmican and fresh meat were packed on them, and we set off on our return to the Cree camp. On our arrival there the chief informed us that he had notice of a large herd of moose being in the neighbourhood; and Alick was very anxious to obtain some, as the flesh is excellent. From their wary nature the moose are, however, very difficult to kill. We accordingly, having dispatched the laden animals with some of our own men, accompanied the chief with another party in the direction where we expected to fall in with the moose. The moose is also called the elk. It is the largest of all the deer tribe, sometimes attaining the height of seven feet at the shoulders, being thus as tall as many ordinary elephants; the horns are enormous, their extremities widely palmated, and so heavy are they that it seems a wonder how the animal can carry them. It has a large muzzle, extremely elongated, which gives it a curious expression of countenance which is far from attractive. When it moves it goes at a long, swinging trot, which enables it to get over the ground at great speed, and it is surprising how the creature with its enormous horns can manage to pass through the woods in the way it does. It then throws back its horns on its shoulders, and calculates the measurement exactly, as it rarely if ever is caught by them in the branches. It can swim capitally, and often takes to the water in the summer months for its own amusement. Over hard ground it is difficult to keep up with it. When the snow is deep the heavy feet of the moose sink into it at every step, so that it is easily captured during the winter. Its colour is a dark brown, with a yellowish hue thrown over parts of it. As it is as wary as most of the deer tribe, it is difficult to stalk. At the same time, if the hunter knows what he is about, and keeps well to leeward and under cover, he can frequently get near enough for a shot; but his powder must be strong and his gun true, or his bullet will not penetrate the animal's thick skin. We killed three elk in as many different ways: one by stalking up to it, another by lying hid behind some bushes till it came near enough to receive the fatal shot, and a third by following it up on horseback. The last chase was the most exciting, and had we not got on to some swampy ground, I believe that after all the elk would have escaped us; but heading it we got a fair shot at its chest, which brought it to the ground. The next day Robin and I again accompanied the Indian chief on foot, in chase of moose. We caught sight of a large animal feeding in the open, but could not for a long time get near it. At last it moved off, and we followed till it approached a small pond with a reedy island towards one end of it. The moose plunged into the pond and swam towards the reeds, among which it disappeared. There was apparently no firm footing for it, and it must have remained almost if not entirely under water. The chief declared that it was hiding itself beneath the surface, and that if we would wait patiently we should see it again come up, when we should to a certainty kill it. We, accordingly, moving cautiously round the pond, hid ourselves among the reeds in a spot from whence we could see the place where the moose disappeared. We must have remained upwards of an hour, when at length the moose rose to the surface, and, swimming a short distance, began to wade towards where we were concealed. We were afraid of moving, even to get our guns pointed at it, lest we should startle it--as these animals are very sharp of hearing--and it should swim off in the opposite direction. Nearer and nearer it came, till it was well within shot, when the chief made a sign with his head, and Robin and I fired. The moose made one desperate plunge, then fell over dead. The chief had reserved his fire, lest we should have missed. He now, giving us his gun, rushed into the water, and dragged the dead moose to shore. He was highly pleased at our success; for the Indians consider the moose more difficult to take than any other animal. It is more vigilant than either the buffalo or the caribou, more prudent and crafty than the antelope. In the most violent storm, when the wind and the thunder and the falling timber are making the loudest and the most incessant roar, if the hunter even with his foot or his hand breaks the smallest dry twig in the forest, the moose will hear it; and though it does not always run, it ceases eating, and bends its attention to all sounds. If in the course of an hour the hunter neither moves nor makes the least noise, the moose may possibly again begin to feed, but does not forget what he has heard, and for many hours afterwards is more vigilant even than before. Our friend told us that the moose is never found among the caribou, nor the latter among the former. The moose frequents the prairie where the buffalo feeds, while the caribou generally inhabits low and swampy regions. The chief begged us to remain by the animal we had killed, while he returned to the lodges, that he might send the horses to bring home the meat, with two others for us to ride. With the supplies our own hunters were likely to obtain, we calculated that we should have enough food for ourselves. We had now been much longer from the fort than we intended, so we at last bade our friends good-bye, and rode forward northward alone. We should have, we calculated, a couple of nights to pass in the open air; but we were all well accustomed to this sort of life, and thought it no hardship. Our Cree friends purposed moving southward, and told us that we should not be likely to see them again for some time. As it was impossible for us to carry our share of the moose flesh with us, we had arranged with the chief that he should build what is called a "sunjegwun," a high scaffold, on the top of which it was to be deposited and then securely covered over, so that no birds of prey could reach it, while, from its height, even bears would not be able to climb up to the top. This is an ordinary method employed by the Indians for preserving their provisions, when they have obtained more than they can transport at a time. Of course, it may possibly be stolen by their enemies, but they select such spots as are not likely to be discovered. Another risk they run is from those arrant thieves the wolverines, which, if they discover what is on the top of the scaffold, though they cannot climb up it, will set to work with their sharp teeth, and try to gnaw away the posts. As, however, they are likely to find the operation a long one, the owners may return before they have accomplished it, and shoot them for their pains. Our friends agreed not to place the meat "en cache" till they were on the point of starting, and we hoped to be able before that time to send our people to bring it into the fort. We should have taken some with us, but it required more smoking, and we could not wait till it was thoroughly cured. Alick had consulted the Cree chief as to what had become of the Sioux who had attacked us. "I am glad you have asked me," he answered: "though they may possibly have returned to their own country, they are very likely to come back, and endeavour to take the fort by surprise. They are cunning as they are daring, and if they can obtain the opportunity, they are very sure to take advantage of it. Perhaps they will wait till they can get reinforced, so that they may make sure another time of gaining the victory." "They may think that they are sure," answered Alick; "but they may find that they have made as great a mistake as before." "Well, my friend," answered the chief, "be ever on the watch, and don't trust them." Such were nearly the last words the chief had spoken to us. The heat was now considerable, and hardy as we were, we were glad to rest in the shade during the hotter hours of the day, notwithstanding we had a large fire burning during the night, to scare away the wolves and bears; while one of us invariably kept watch, both for our own sakes and that of our animals, which even many of the Crees would not scruple to steal if they could do so without fear of discovery. We had got within a few miles of the fort, when Alick, alongside whom I was riding, said to me, "I wish that I had not come on this expedition. I ought not to have left the fort so long, with only Sandy as commandant. He is cautious and cunning enough in the field, but I am afraid that inside the walls he may become less careful, and allow himself to be taken by surprise." I laughed at Alick's anxieties, for I had never seen him in such a humour before. "I hope you are not exercising the gift of second-sight," I said; "I didn't know you possessed it." "I trust that I do not," he answered. "Let us push forward, and we shall soon reach the fort, and know what has happened." CHAPTER SEVEN. RETURN TO THE FORT--FIND IT DESTROYED--POOR SANDY AND HONEST PAT MISSING--A WATCHFUL NIGHT--THE FISH-HAWKS--ROBIN'S SUSPICIONS--NO HORSES--"UP, BOYS, UP!"--WE BEGIN OUR TRAMP--TURKEY EGGS VERY NICE FOR HUNGRY MEN--THE SUNJEGWUN IS REACHED--BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT--THE BEAR AND ITS CUB--I KILL THEM--ROBIN'S SOUP-POT--CREES OF THE PLAIN--OUR NEW COMPANIONS--PICHETO--THE YOUNG CREE KILLS A BUFFALO--THE "POUND"--THE HUNTING PARTY--THE CHIEF IS WILLING TO TRADE--OFFERS US HORSES FOR OUR GUNS--THE FEAST. As we approached the fort towards the end of the day we looked out for the flag, which we expected to see floating over it, but it was not visible. "Can Sandy have forgotten to hoist it?" observed Alick. "It is yet too early for him to have hauled it down. Expecting us, he would certainly have kept it flying till dark." "Perhaps your prognostications of evil may have come true," I said, laughing, not at all thinking that such was the case. "I trust not," answered Alick, in a grave tone. "I shall never forgive myself if any misfortune has happened during my absence from the fort. I ought to have remained at my post; though Sandy is so cautious and vigilant that I considered he would take as good care of it as I could." Martin and Robin now trotted up to us. "What has become of the flag?" exclaimed Martin. "Robin says that he has seen suspicious signs of Indians having been in the neighbourhood, and see! I've picked up this arrow-head. It looks as if it had been only lately dropped." Robin confirmed what Martin had said, and expressed his fears that the fort had been again attacked. "We shall soon know the worst, at all events," said Alick; and putting our horses into a gallop, we dashed forward. We all uttered exclamations of dismay when, coming near where the fort had stood, we beheld only a blackened ruin. The towers had been burned to the ground, the palisades pulled down and destroyed, as was every wooden building inside the enclosure. "This has not happened by accident," observed Alick. "My worst apprehensions are fulfilled. The Indians must have attacked the fort, and having succeeded in capturing it, put the whole garrison to death." "Perhaps some may have escaped, and are hidden in the neighbourhood," said Martin; and before Alick could stop him, he shouted out at the top of his voice, "Hillo! any one hereabouts? Answer, friends." "Stay!" cried Alick; "our voices may be heard by foes as well as friends. Keep a look round; in case the former should appear, we may have to fly for our lives." We followed his injunctions. "Alas! alas! poor Sandy and honest Pat and the rest. What has been their fate?" I said to myself. We kept tight rein on our horses, ready to turn round and gallop off in the direction Alick might select; but not a human being appeared. We first made a circuit of the fort, and examined the only shelter near at hand in which an enemy might be concealed; but no one was discovered. We then rode into it, expecting to find some signs which might inform us what had become of the garrison. That the fort had been attacked by Indians was now clear, for several of our men lay dead among the ruins, their bodies fearfully charred, while they had all been scalped. We searched everywhere for Sandy and Pat, but could not discover the corpses of either of them. They might have escaped, or too probably, perhaps, fallen into the hands of the enemy, and been carried off to meet with a worse fate. It made us feel very sad indeed. Further examination showed us that the fort had been plundered of the stores, provisions, and ammunition; not a particle of food had been left behind. We had too much reason also to fear that the buffalo meat obtained in our late hunting expedition had been captured by the enemy, either before or after it had been brought into the fort. Darkness found us still occupied in the melancholy task of searching among the ruins. "What are we to do now?" I asked. "We must make the best of our way to Fort Ross, with the tidings of what has happened," answered Alick. "But our horses are knocked up, and we can go no distance to-night," I said. "That is indeed too true! We shall have to camp out in the most sheltered spot near at hand, and allow our horses time to feed, though we shall have to go without our suppers," said Alick. With heavy hearts we rode out of the fort towards the nearest spot which would afford a shelter during the night. We might have remained in the fort itself; but the dead bodies of the garrison emitted an odour which would have rendered that disagreeable in the extreme. Having turned our horses loose, we managed to collect some sticks for a fire, which soon burned up. We then lay down supperless, with our saddles as pillows, and endeavoured to recruit our strength by sleep. One of us in succession tried to remain awake to keep watch, but I am afraid that both Martin and I dozed considerably when we ought to have had our eyes open. We were unmolested during the night, but when daylight returned and we looked about for our horses, they were nowhere to be seen. They had, perhaps, found their way to their favourite pastures, where they were likely to meet with their former companions. "We shall have a long tramp in search of them, but I make no doubt shall find them at last," said Alick. Though my brother tried thus to reassure us, the disappearance of our horses was a serious matter. It was not pleasant to have to carry our saddles in addition to the knapsacks we each of us had at our backs. "The first thing we have to do is to try and get something for breakfast," observed Martin. "If we had but some fishing-lines or nets, we might easily get some fish which could quickly be cooked." "As we have neither one nor the other, we must be content with whatever we can obtain," I observed. Robin proposed that we should at once go down to the river, on the banks of which we might possibly obtain some wild-fowl; and as we were too hungry to discuss the pros and cons for any length of time, we immediately set out. Not far off a stream ran into the river, and we hoped that near its mouth we might meet with some wild ducks. We had not gone far when Martin exclaimed, "I see some birds; we shall have one of them before long." Great was our disappointment on going a little farther to discover that the birds whose wings had attracted Martin's attention were fish-hawks, whose flesh is anything but savoury; still, hungry as we were, we would gladly have shot one of them and breakfasted off it till better food could be procured. There were several of these birds congregated on a tree overhanging the stream. Presently one of them which had been perched on a branch pounced downwards into the water, and quickly returned with a large fish, with which it rose above the surface. It seemed wonderful that the bird could lift so heavy a weight. The fish struggled in the claws of its captor. "We must manage to have that fish," exclaimed Alick. And we ran on, intending to shoot the bird and rob it of its prey; but as it reached the branches, in its desperate efforts to lift so heavy a weight its wings struck them, and letting go its hold, the fish fell to the ground. "Shout! shout!" cried Alick, and shouting together we frightened the bird at the moment it was about to pounce down to recover its prey. We could see the fish leaping about, and just as it had almost succeeded in regaining the water, Robin caught it, and carried it again up the bank. "Here we've an ample breakfast," he exclaimed, as he held it up. "Providence has indeed been kind to us!" "I propose that we light a fire where we are and cook it at once," said Martin. "I suggest that we move farther from the tree, as the scent is anything but pleasant. These hawks have made nests here, and see! the ground is covered with the remains of their feasts," I observed. My advice was followed, and we quickly had a fire kindled, and the fish we had so unexpectedly obtained roasting before it. It was none the worse for having been in the claws of the hawk. We saw the birds return, and hoped that they would again act as fishermen for us; but after this they only caught small fish, which they swallowed or tore to pieces as soon as they brought them out of the water, and as it was important for us to husband our supply of ammunition, which was not too plentiful, we did not wish to throw a shot away. The ample breakfast which the fish afforded us greatly restored our strength and spirits, and enabled us to consider calmly what course it would be best to pursue. "The first thing we have to do is to find our horses," said Alick. "We will then return to obtain the meat which our Cree friends were to leave `en cache' for us. Having obtained as much provision as we can carry, we will then push on to Fort Ross, for it is obvious that we can do no good by remaining in this neighbourhood. When there, I hope that Mr Meredith will send notice to headquarters, and that a body of men may be collected to rebuild the fort before the fall, or, if not, early in the spring. It will not do to let the Indians suppose that they can drive us out of the country." Notwithstanding the weight we had to carry, consisting of our guns and ammunition, and a change of clothing with the few other articles in our knapsacks, and our saddles and bridles, we walked quickly on. About midday we reached the valley where we expected to find the horses, but not an animal was to be seen. Robin, on examining the ground, declared that Indians had been there lately, and we discovered before long indubitable signs that such was the case. It was too clear, therefore, that after the attack on the fort they had lifted all our cattle. What, however, could have become of our own horses was the question. They possibly might have followed the tracks of their companions. Alick thought not. "I am afraid," he said, "that our enemies may still be hovering about, and that they, either last night or early this morning, having fallen in with our steeds, have carried them off." As he was not very confident of this, we continued searching about in every direction, following the tracks which we supposed they might have made. We had also to be cautious, lest our enemies should really be near at hand; in which case they might suddenly attack us. Worn out with fatigue, we were at last obliged to sit down near a wood, in a very disconsolate condition. Had there been any wild fruits ripe, we might have satisfied our hunger, but there was nothing eatable we could obtain. "Are we to continue our search for the horses, or must we give it up?" I asked. "It's useless, I fear, to hunt for them further," said Alick. "I feel very sure that the Sioux have carried them off; and we too shall probably fall into their hands, unless we beat a rapid retreat from this part of the country." Having duly discussed the matter, it was at last agreed that we should at once make our way to the "cache"--that is to say, the high platform I have described--and supply ourselves with food. We might there, if the Indians had not left the neighbourhood, obtain horses and get some of them to escort us. "But if the Indians have left the neighbourhood, what are we to do?" asked Martin. "We must tramp it on foot," said Alick. "A couple of hundred miles is nothing; we can accomplish it in ten days, even though we may be pretty heavily-laden. I wish that we could get there sooner, and make more sure of having the fort rebuilt before the winter. I am thinking not only of ourselves, but of the poor Indians who are accustomed to obtain assistance from us when hard pressed for food, as also of the many white trappers who may come to the fort expecting to find shelter." "But how shall we ever reach the `cache' without provisions?" I asked. "We are sure to shoot something or other on the way, and we must not be particular what it is or how we obtain it," answered Alick. We had nothing to do but to get up and go on, with our saddles on our backs. Had we not hoped to obtain horses from our Cree friends, we should have left them behind us, fastened to the bough of a tree out of the way of bears. Still we sat on for some minutes, lost in our own reflections. "Up, boys, up! we'll begin our tramp," said Alick, setting the example and springing to his feet. We followed him, and he having laid the course, we pushed forward rapidly. We were fain to endure the pangs of hunger all that day, for nothing did we see to kill. We talked of the fate of our late companions. Martin thought it possible that some might have escaped. He could scarcely believe that Sandy had allowed himself to be taken, and he suggested that, when everything was lost, he might have slipped down to the side of the river and perhaps got off in a canoe. When he said this I regretted that we had not examined the river more narrowly. The canoes belonging to the fort were kept in a cave with a shed built in front of it which was not visible from the ground above, and any people escaping from the fort might have got down during the night, and, having launched a canoe, might have shoved off before being discovered by their enemies. Alick differed from us. He was sure that the Indians, when once they had obtained an entrance into the fort, would have kept too vigilant a watch to allow any one to get out without being perceived. It was now too late to go back to decide this point, but he agreed, should our Cree friends have already gone to the southward, to return, and instead of proceeding overland to Fort Ross, to try to make our way down the river in a canoe. This seemed altogether the most feasible plan. When once embarked, we should run less risk of meeting with hostile Indians; though, on the other hand, we should be unable to kill any buffalo or other wild animals except deer, which we might possibly meet when they came down to drink at the margin of the stream. I felt much happier when this plan was arranged. I knew what it was to trudge day after day over the prairie, and though we might be able to find our way in fine weather, should the sky become cloudy or rain come on we might have a difficulty in doing so. We marched on till near dark, in vain looking out for game, and at last were compelled to encamp. We chose the spot on account of a small stream from which we could obtain water. I suppose the cold draught assisted to keep away the pangs of hunger, though substantial food would have been more acceptable. We of course lighted a fire, and lay down to sleep by it. In the morning we all found that we had been dreaming of buffalo humps and deers' tongues, and only wished that we had the reality before us. Having no breakfast to cook, we were able to start immediately it was daylight. We, of course, kept our guns in readiness to shoot anything we might see, but we could not catch a glimpse of any of the inhabitants of the forest or the prairie. Martin was nearly sinking with fatigue, for he was less accustomed to the sort of life than we were; and even Robin, though much younger, from having been long habituated to it bore it better than he did. We were going through a wood when a bird flew out from a thick bush. It was a wild turkey; but before either of us could fire the bird had escaped. Bouncer ran off in the direction the wild turkey had taken, and Alick and I followed him, but were unable to catch sight of it again. On our return we heard Robin and Martin shouting. When we were near them we saw them each holding up an egg. "There are eight of them," cried out Robin--"two a-piece. We shan't starve to-day." They were indeed welcome, and we all expected a delicious meal off them. "Don't be too sure," observed Alick. "Till we have broken one of them, we don't know how long they may have been sat on." This remark somewhat abated our delight. However, we quickly settled the point by breaking one of the eggs, when, to our infinite satisfaction, it was found to be perfectly sweet. Probably the turkey had only just begun to sit. We, of course, therefore knew that the rest would be equally good. Without stopping to light a fire, we each of us ate an egg. Though they were somewhat strong-tasted, we agreed that we had never had a more delicious meal. We carried the others, intending to dine off them, should we not obtain more substantial fare. We walked on with the same want of success as before; and about noon, feeling the gnawings of hunger, we lighted a fire, and cooked the remainder of our eggs. We found them far more satisfactory than those we had eaten raw. The next day Alick shot a squirrel. That, besides the eggs, was the only food we obtained during the journey. We found our want of botanical knowledge a great disadvantage; for had we been acquainted with the various products of the soil, we might not only have stayed our hunger, but obtained wholesome vegetable diet. We were now approaching the "cache," where we expected to find an abundance of venison and buffalo flesh, on which we indulged ourselves in the thoughts of banqueting and soon restoring our somewhat reduced strength. "There it is," exclaimed Martin, who had run on ahead. "We must get a fire lighted, and we shall soon have a fine ham roasting. I feel as if my teeth were in it already." We reached the platform, and Alick and I climbed to the top. What was our dismay to find that not a particle of food remained on it. How thankful we should have been to find a single ham or a few buffalo steaks! but neither one nor the other gladdened our eyes. We had to descend with the sad intelligence. We looked blankly at each other. "What is to be done?" asked Martin. "We must try and kill a moose where we killed them before," said Robin. "We shall lose three days if we do, and perhaps not get one after all," observed Alick. "We cannot afford the time. We ought to get back at the river, and try to make our way down it as soon as possible." "But how are we to get along without food?" urged Martin. "We must do our best to obtain it, and trust to Providence," said Alick. "Though I managed to kill but one squirrel, we may possibly meet with more animals on our return." Notwithstanding what Alick said, I saw that he was very much disappointed, as we all were, at not finding the meat, as we had expected. We hunted about in every direction to ascertain whether the robbers had left any small portions behind them, but none could we discover. We came to the conclusion that the thieves, whoever they were, had been watching us and the Crees, and directly we had all left the cache, had hurried up and rifled it. Robin was of opinion that our friends had quitted their camp directly after we set off, and that, as they must be now at a considerable distance, it would be hopeless to try to overtake them. "All we can do is to turn our faces once more to the north," said Alick. "Come, boys, there is no use mourning over our disappointment. Let us push ahead and keep our eyes about us. Perhaps we shall even now get something for supper." We followed his advice, and without another murmur we commenced our march. We got over five or six miles before it grew dusk, when we camped near a pool of fresh water, numbers of which are found in that well-irrigated region. While Martin and Robin were engaged in cutting wood for a fire, Alick and I went out in different directions, in the hope, before it became perfectly dark, of obtaining something to eat. I had gone some distance, and as it was rapidly getting dusk, believing that it would be useless to continue out longer, I was on my return, when I saw a small animal, the character of which I could not make out, rapidly running between the trees. Before I could get a shot at it, it had disappeared. I went on in the direction in which I had last seen it, when it again appeared; but before I could fire, a large animal, which I knew at once must be a bear, seized it in its fore paws, and carried it, I felt sure, down a hole which was close at hand. I now knew that the small animal was a bear's cub, and that the large one must be its mother. I searched about in every direction, when I at last discovered the mouth of the hole. The darkness prevented me from seeing the bear clearly, but I was sure that it was at the bottom of the hole. I accordingly fired right into it, when, on the smoke clearing away, looking down I made out the bear lying, as I supposed, dead. I shouted to Alick to come to my assistance, but he was too far off to hear me. Hunger made me forget the danger I might be running. Having reloaded my gun--which Sandy had inculcated on me as the first duty of a sportsman shooting in the forest--I placed it on the ground, and stooping down, endeavoured to get hold of the bear to draw her out. The moment I put my hand on one of her paws I heard her jaws snap. I drew back as quickly as I could. It was providential that I did so, for the bear at the same moment turned and sprang upon me, and as I retreated she kept snapping her teeth so near me that I could feel her warm breath on my face. How it was that she failed to seize me I cannot tell. As I leaped out of the hole, I caught up my gun and took to flight, hoping to get behind a tree, from whence I could again take aim. Looking round, I saw the bear, followed by the cub, pursuing me. Should I fail to kill her, she might quickly tear me to pieces. I remembered the caution I had received--never to fire at a she-bear with a cub until the shot is sure to prove effectual. The bear was close upon me, when I slipped behind a tree. She stopped for a moment to ascertain what had become of me, thus giving me time to raise my piece, and the next instant firing, I shot her through the head. A blow from the butt end of my rifle stunned the cub, which I afterwards killed with my knife. Taking the small animal on my shoulder, I made the best of my way to the camp, cutting a notch every now and then with my knife in the trees, that we might return to the spot where I had left the big bear. Alick arrived at the camp just before me. Loud shouts welcomed me as I was seen coming in with the young bear. The little creature was skinned in a very few seconds; and having cut it up, we placed it to roast on forked sticks before the fire. As may be supposed, we did not wait till it was overdone, but as soon as the smaller pieces were tolerably cooked we set to upon them. It was remarkably fat and tender, and with the aid of Bouncer, who had the head as his share with other portions, the whole of it was speedily devoured. As we could not have found our way through the wood in the dark, we were compelled to let the carcass of the bear remain, hoping that the wolves would not find it out during the night. Next morning, accompanied by Bouncer, Alick, Martin, and I set off to cut up the bear and bring in as much of the meat as we could carry. Robin was left to make up the fire. "I will see what I can do besides," he said. "I think I can manufacture a pot in which we can boil some of the bear's flesh. It will be more satisfactory than having so much roast meat." We thought he was joking, as we did not see of what materials he could possibly form his proposed pot. The notches I had made in the trees enabled us without difficulty to find our way to the bear. The wolves had not discovered it, though we put to flight a couple of eagles which had scented it from afar and were about to plunge down and feast on the carcass. As we could not carry away the skin, we ripped it roughly away, and were not long in cutting off the best portions of the meat, including the paws, which would make, we knew, excellent soup, should Robin really have been able to manufacture a pot, as he had proposed. Martin and I carried the larger pieces between us on a long stick, while Alick followed with the rest on his shoulders. We were longer absent than we had expected. When we got back we found that Robin had actually formed a pot of birch-bark, the outside of which he had covered over with thick clay. It stood half full of water, by the side of a hole in which a fire was burning. Round the edge of our former fire was ranged a quantity of clean smooth stones. "I told you that I should have a pot ready. We shall soon have some soup if you will cut up the bear's paws," he said. "See, I have already put in those of the cub." "How will you make it boil?" asked Martin, lifting up the pot, and finding that the water was cold. "All you have to do," said Robin, who was sitting down close to the spot, "is to fill it with the hot stones. We will then rake the fire out of the hole, put the pot in and cover it up, and in a short time we shall have as good soup as you ever tasted." Bouncer, who seemed to take great interest in what was going on, drew near to examine the pot, and would have poked his nose in had not Martin given him a tap on the tip of it and sent him off somewhat ashamed of himself. While Robin's directions were being carried out, Alick and I prepared some of the bear's meat for roasting, and cut up the remainder into slices to dry in the sun, intending also to smoke them well before we commenced our journey. Though the flesh of the old bear was not so tender as that of her cub, we ate it with no little relish. "Leave some room for the soup," exclaimed Robin; "that will be ready in a few minutes, and will do us more good than the roast meat. It's a pity we cannot carry some with us." We accordingly stopped, and in a short time he produced the pot from the hole. In spite of the want of salt and vegetables, the soup was pronounced excellent. We fortunately had a couple of tin cups with which to ladle it out. We were on the point of starting, when Robin asserted that he heard the tramp of horses. Putting our ears to the ground, we were convinced that he was right, and that the sound came from the north-west, the direction from which the wind was blowing. To attempt to hide would be useless, as the fire which was still burning would have betrayed us, even had the sharp eyes of the Indians not discovered our tracks. We could only hope, therefore, that they would prove friends, who would allow us to proceed on our way, even should they refuse to supply us with horses. We therefore, having seen to our firearms, remained where we were, with our backs to the wood, so that we might present as formidable an appearance as possible should the newcomers venture to attack us. All hope of offering any effectual resistance, however, was dissipated when we saw coming round the edge of the wood a large band of half-naked warriors, armed with bows and arrows, their hair streaming over their backs--perfect savages in appearance. "They are Crees of the plain," exclaimed Robin, "and are, I think, on a hunting expedition. If we make friends with them they will not harm us, as they are generally well disposed towards the white men." The Crees saw us, and came galloping up, most of them flourishing their lances, while a chief who rode at their head held out his hand as a sign that he wished to be friends with us. The next minute we were almost surrounded by the wild-looking horsemen. The chief dismounted, and Alick advanced to shake hands. We all performed the same ceremony, and the chief then asked who we were and where we were going. Alick replied that our fort had been surprised and destroyed by the Blackfeet, and that we were on our way to Fort Ross to obtain a force for punishing the marauders. "They are far away ere this, and you will not overtake them," answered the chief. "It is a long journey too to perform on foot, and many days must pass before you can get there. Come with us. We will entertain you, and in the meantime will send out a band of warriors to learn the direction your foes and ours have taken." I remarked that while the chief was speaking he had been eyeing our packs of provisions. "We are somewhat hungry," he continued, "for we killed nothing yesterday; and if you will share your food with us, we will amply repay you." We knew by this that the chiefs offer was not altogether disinterested, and Alick saw that he must make a virtue of necessity. "You are welcome to our meat, though it will go no great way among so many warriors," he answered; "but we will show you where the carcass of the bear is to be found, and if the eagles have left any of the meat on the bones, there will be enough for you all." This answer seemed to please the chief greatly, and I at once volunteered to conduct some of the band through the wood to the spot where we had left the remains of the bear. Eight of the Crees immediately leaping from their horses, which they gave in charge to their companions, set off with me. We found two white-headed eagles banqueting on the bear; but as they had kept all other birds of prey at a distance, a considerable portion still remained. I shot one of the eagles, and the other flew off; and the Indians having cut up the bear and formed it into packages for carrying--one of them taking possession of the eagle, and another of the bear's hide--they returned with me to the camp. The flesh thus obtained was quickly roasted, or rather burned, in our fire, when it was rapidly consumed by the hungry horsemen; Bouncer, who at first showed his anger at the intrusion of the strangers, standing by and catching the scraps thrown to him. The chief condescended to eat some of our store, which was certainly more tempting than the meat just obtained. The eagle, which had been skinned and cut up, formed part of the feast. The Indians, who were put into good humour by the ample supply of food they had obtained so unexpectedly after their long fast, laughed and joked, and assured us of their friendship. Alick on this observed that we should prefer carrying out our previous intentions, for we had still food enough left for our journey; but the Cree chief had evidently made up his mind that we should accompany him. "I cannot permit you to encounter the risk you would run by making the journey on foot," he answered. "If you will come with us, you shall have horses, and perhaps some of our people will escort you." All the arguments Alick could use were of no avail. We found that, notwithstanding the fair speaking of the chief, we were in reality prisoners. As the band had no spare horses, we each of us had to mount behind a Cree; far from a pleasant position, as we had to hold on with one hand, while we carried our guns in the other, and had also our packs on our backs. Bouncer followed, keeping at a respectful distance from the heels of the horses, which showed a very unfriendly disposition to kick him when he came near. We rode on for some distance to the south-east, when we came in sight of the skin-covered tents forming a large Cree encampment. The women rushed out to welcome their husbands and brothers, staring at us and inquiring who we were. The chief, who by-the-bye was called Picheto, having informed them, they invited us into their tents. They had been busy collecting a quantity of the mesaskatomina berry, which they were drying for a winter store. They offered us some of the juicy fruit, which we found most refreshing, after having gone so long without any vegetable diet. They then placed before us pounded buffalo meat, with marrow fat, served up in birch-bark dishes. We followed the plan of the Indians, which was to dip a piece of the pounded meat into the soft marrow fat at each mouthful. At night we were invited to lie down to rest around the fire which was in the centre of the tent; but the heat and smoke, with the close air of so many human beings crowded together, snoring loudly, after the fresh atmosphere to which we had been accustomed, prevented us from sleeping till near morning. At dawn, after a hasty breakfast of more buffalo meat and marrow fat, washed down with a drink formed of the mesaskatomina berries, we each mounted a horse provided for us by the chief Picheto. Just before starting we witnessed the prowess of a young Cree, the son or nephew of the chief. A valley was in front of us, on the opposite side of which a buffalo bull appeared. Urging on his horse the young Cree dashed forward, armed with his bow from the "bois-d'arc," his arrows from the mesaskatomina tree, feathered with the plumes of the wild duck, and headed with a barb fashioned from a bit of iron hoop. He dismounted at the foot of the steep sides of the valley, which he quickly ascended; leaving his horse at liberty, and approaching a huge boulder, he crouched down behind it. The buffalo was at the time not forty yards from him. While slowly approaching, the animal leisurely cropped the tufts of the parched herbage. When about twenty yards nearer, the bull raised his head, sniffed the air, and began to paw the ground. Lying at full length, the Cree sent an arrow into the side of his huge antagonist. The bull shook his head and mane, planted his fore feet firmly in front of him, and looked from side to side in search of his unseen foe, who, after letting fly his arrow, had again crouched down behind the rock. The Indian, now observing the fixed attitude of the animal--a sure sign of its being severely wounded--stepped on one side and showed himself. The bull instantly charged, but when within five yards of his nimble enemy, the Cree sprang behind the rock, and the animal plunged headlong down the hill, receiving as he went a second arrow in his flanks. On reaching the bottom he fell on his knees, looking over his shoulder at the Indian, who was close behind him, and now observing the bull's helpless condition, sat down a short distance off, waiting for the death-gasp. After one or two efforts to rise, the huge beast dropped his head and fell over dead. Without a moment's pause, the Cree, knife in hand, springing forward, cut out the animal's tongue, caught his horse, which had been eagerly watching the conflict, and came galloping across the valley towards us, being received with loud shouts by his companions. "He's a fine youth," observed the chief Picheto; "before many years are over he will be able to count the scalps of the Blackfeet he has killed by hundreds." Towards evening we reached another Cree encampment, from which we could see some distance off, in a dale between low hills, a large pound formed for the purpose of capturing buffalo. We were hospitably entertained by the Crees, and the night was spent as our former one had been. The next morning we rode forward to visit the pound which I will briefly describe. It consisted of a large circle of stout stakes, driven into the ground perpendicularly, close together. There was one opening, at the entrance of which a strong tree trunk was placed about a foot from the ground, and at the inner side an excavation was made sufficiently deep to prevent the buffalo from leaping back when once in the pound. From this entrance, on either side, gradually widening, extended two rows of bushy posts, stuck into the ground about fifty feet apart. The extreme distance between the outer end of the rows, which stretched to about four miles into the prairie, was about a mile and a half. These bushy posts are called dead-men. Between each of them an Indian was stationed, their business being, should the buffalo attempt to break through the lines, to show themselves, furiously waving their robes and immediately again hiding. This effectually prevents the buffalo, when rushing on at full speed, from going out of the direct course. The chief invited us to take part in the sport; which of course we readily consented to do. All arrangements having been made, a part of the band, numbering some fifty or sixty men, armed with bows and arrows, with no other garments than their breech-clouts, set off on horseback in two divisions, followed by a number of men on foot, who concealed themselves as we went along in any holes or behind any hillocks they could find. The two parties gradually separated--the one keeping on one side, the other on the opposite side of a large herd of buffaloes, which we saw before us. They both galloped on till they reached the rear of the herd, leaving a few horsemen behind on the flanks. Having gained this position, the Indians set up a shout which was almost as terrific as the war-whoop we had lately heard, and then dashed forward, shouting as they went. The startled buffaloes looked round, and seeing no opening free of their enemies by which they could escape, except that in the direction of the pound, throwing up their tails and bending down their heads dashed madly forward towards it. The Indians renewed their shouts, closing in on the affrighted buffaloes, and every now and then, as a horseman got near the animals, he shot one of his arrows, which, though it failed to bring the creature to the ground, made it gallop on still more furiously than before, plunging its horns into the rear of its companions in front. Thus the herd was rapidly driven between the rows of dead-men I have described. When once here there was but little chance of their breaking through; for immediately they turned to one side or the other, up started several Indians, who had been concealed, shouting and shaking their robes. In this way the terror-stricken animals were kept within the narrowing limits of the two converging lines. Several had fallen, pierced by the arrows of the hunters. Now and then one would turn upon its pursuers, only to meet with certain death from their weapons. Thus on they went till they reached the trunk at the entrance of the pound, over which they madly sprang, and were now completely hemmed in by the stout palisades. We pursued them till the whole herd was inside. In vain the animals galloped round and round the pound, endeavouring to find an exit. The instant one of them appeared likely to charge the palisades, the Indians--men, women, and children--who were placed round it started up, shrieking lustily and shaking their robes or any cloths they had in their hands. The places of the women and children were soon taken by the huntsmen, who shot down with their arrows the bewildered animals, which were rapidly becoming frantic with rage and terror. Utterly unable to make their escape, conscious only that they were imprisoned, and not seeing their foes, they now rushed madly at each other, the strongest animals crushing and tossing the weaker. Dreadful indeed was the scene of confusion and slaughter--the noise almost appalling created by the shouts and screams of the excited Indians, the roaring of the bulls, the bellowing of the cows, and the piteous moaning of the calves. It was painful to watch the dying struggles of those powerful animals as they found themselves thus caged, and we would fain have avoided witnessing them. It was sad, too, to think that this waste of life was to benefit but slightly its authors, who would take only the tongues and the better portions of the meat, and leave the rest of the carcass to rot. "What do you think of it?" asked the chief. "That you would be wiser to kill only a few of the buffaloes at a time, sufficient to supply your immediate wants," said Alick. "The time may come when you will repent having slaughtered so many valuable animals." The chief laughed. "It is the way of our people," he answered, and Alick could get no other reply from him. A considerable portion of the meat, however, was taken off from the carcasses and carried to the tents, where the women were employed in cutting it up into slices, afterwards drying it in the sun or pounding it into pemmican, which was preserved in the fat of the animals. We now thanked the Cree chief for his hospitality, hoping that he would without demur now allow us to go. "I cannot let you take your departure yet," he said, smiling grimly. "We have plenty of good food now, and we will treat you hospitably. My young men will not like to leave the camp while the fresh meat lasts." "We should have been happy to have their company, but we are quite ready to set out alone," answered Alick. "If you will sell us horses, we will give you an order in payment on Fort Ross for blankets, or anything else you may desire." "You may purchase horses even now with your guns," answered the chief. "We will sell you four horses for your three guns, and leave you one with which to kill the game you will require for your support." Hearing what the chief said, we now guessed the object he had in capturing us. We were determined, of course, not to part with our guns, as without them we could neither kill game nor defend ourselves. Alick told the chief that he would think about the matter, but that at present we were not disposed to agree to his proposal. We all looked as little annoyed as we could, and let the matter drop. The Indians were preparing to make a great feast on the meat of the buffaloes they had so ruthlessly slain, and we hoped that when gorged with food they might be off their guard and give us an opportunity of escaping. The feast took place that night. The squaws had been busy for some hours in cooking the flesh in a variety of ways. We, of course, were invited, and sat down with the chief and some of his principal men. Though generally abstemious, it is extraordinary what an amount of food they consumed, washed down with whisky, of which they had shortly before obtained a supply from the traders. We took but little, pretending often to be eating while we let the meat drop down by our sides, under the mats on which we were sitting. The Indians feasted on till a late hour of the night, when they crawled into their tents and lay down. They, of course, might have deprived us of our guns by force, but from a sense of honour as we were their guests, though they carried us off against our will, they would not do this. We had therefore been allowed to retain them, and took good care not to let them out of our hands either night or day. Our packs had been left in the chief's tent, and we used them as pillows. In a few minutes the whole of the community were fast asleep; even the dogs, the watchful guardians of a Cree encampment, had so gorged themselves that they were unwilling to get up. Had a party of Blackfeet made a sudden onslaught, the whole of the inhabitants might have been slaughtered before they could have arisen to defend themselves. CHAPTER EIGHT. OUR ABRUPT DEPARTURE--QUICK TRAVELLING--THE FORTUNATE DISCOVERY OF THE CANOE--OUR PROVISIONS RUN SHORT--THE CHASE AFTER THE SWANS--BOUNCER IN TROUBLE--OUR CANOE IS DAMAGED--ROASTED SWAN RATHER STRONG--OUR WIGWAM--A MIDNIGHT VISITOR--THE MORNING START--DUCKS--FISH-SPEARS--OUR CANOE WRECKED--OUR DANGEROUS SITUATION--A ROPE MANUFACTURED--DRY LAND REACHED BY ITS MEANS--SWAN MEAT AGAIN. As soon as Alick was satisfied that the people were sound asleep, he sat up and made a sign to Martin, Robin, and me to follow him. We found Bouncer at the door. When I patted him on the head he opened his eyes, and seeing us got on his legs ready for a start. We waited for a few seconds to be certain that we were not observed. Had we been questioned, we had agreed to answer that we preferred the open air to the hot tent. To our great satisfaction, finding that no one had noticed us, we moved on, stepping as noiselessly as possible, till we were free of the tents. The night was starry, and we had noted well the way we had to go. Of course we might have stolen some of the Cree horses, and very little blame would have been attached to us for so doing even had we been overtaken; but some time would have been lost in catching them, and we hoped to get to a considerable distance from the camp before the Indians recovered from their debauch. As soon as we had got so far that there was no chance of our footsteps being heard, we began to run, keeping close together. The Crees, who always move about on horseback, were less likely than most of the Indians to discover our trail, and we felt sure that they would not follow us on foot. We were all in good wind, and might be twenty or even thirty miles away before they found out that we had escaped; for even when the chief awoke he would very likely turn to again and drink a further quantity of the fire-water. We went on till we had passed the Cree encampment we had before visited. We might have ventured into it, for the women who were alone there would not have known that we were escaping, and would have consequently allowed us to continue on our way. We thought it wiser, however, to avoid paying our friends a visit, as we had enough food to last us till we could reach the river. After the abundant meal we had taken on the previous evening, we could have gone on all day with very little food or rest. In crossing a small valley we found a number of the mesaskatomina bushes, from which we obtained a supply of fruit which greatly refreshed us. I am afraid that it will be scarcely believed that we accomplished, according to our calculation, upwards of fifty miles before we stopped to camp at night. Though nothing on a highroad, it was good going over the prairie grass, with occasionally to have to make our way through woods and across streams. We had the satisfaction of believing that the Crees would not take the trouble of coming after us, and we were thankful that we had not been tempted to make off with their horses, though we might have been justified in so doing. We supped off pemmican, refraining from lighting a fire lest it might betray our position. We kept, however, a pile of sticks ready to kindle, should it become necessary by the approach of wolves or of bears. As usual, of course, one of us kept watch, that we might have timely warning of danger. The night passed away without any event of importance, and the next morning, the moment the first streaks of dawn appeared in the eastern sky, we pushed forward at as rapid a rate as before. We at last got into the country we knew pretty well, and in the afternoon of the third day came in sight of the spot where Fort Black had stood. "It looks black enough now," observed Martin, as he surveyed the charred ruins. "I wish I knew where my poor father and mother are! Should the Sioux have paid them a visit, I fear that they will have had great difficulty in escaping." "I don't think the Sioux would have gone so far north," observed Alick. "They are probably better off than they would have been had they come to the fort, when they to a certainty would have been murdered with the rest of our poor people. Don't let us contemplate misfortunes, before we know that they have happened." Not a human being was seen in the neighbourhood of the fort; neither cattle nor horses were anywhere visible. The whole scene was one of perfect desolation. Without entering the ruins, we at once made our way down the bank to the spot where we hoped to find the canoes. The door of the shed was open. One canoe only out of three remained. "So far that is satisfactory," observed Alick. "I trust that the rest of the men had time to get down and embark before they were discovered by the Sioux. I wonder the rascals didn't search for them. Had they done so, they would have found this canoe and destroyed it." "It shows, however, that only a few could have escaped--eight or ten at the utmost. If more had got off they would have taken all the canoes," said Robin. Martin and I agreed with the conclusions at which Alick and Robin had arrived. We examined the canoe, and found it in good condition, only requiring to have the seams gummed. There was not time to do that and to make any progress on our way down the river, so we agreed to spend the night in the shed, and to commence our voyage the next morning. We had food remaining for only two scanty meals for ourselves and Bouncer, who had been almost starved during the journey, and it was settled that we should start the first thing in the morning and go in search of wild-fowl. As we had no fear of any enemies being in the neighbourhood, we lighted a good fire outside the hut, at which we cooked the remainder of our bear's flesh and ate it for supper. Martin, while hunting about in the shed, discovered a lump of the gum used for paying over the seams of canoes. This we melted in one of our tin pots, and very soon had the canoe in a fit state to launch. There were several pairs of paddles, and some cloth which could be used as a sail. "Perhaps we may find something else which may prove useful," observed Martin, and he twisted up a torch from the dry reeds which grew on the bank. With this we thoroughly examined the cave, and our search was rewarded by the discovery of a flask of powder, apparently dropped by one of the men who had escaped from the fort. We also found an axe and a long sheath-knife. Both were likely to prove very useful. Altogether we were very thankful that we had decided on returning to the fort. After our long and rapid journey we were all very tired, and as soon as we had finished our search we lay down to rest without any fear of interruption. We younger ones should have slept on, I suspect, till long after the sun was high in the heavens, had not Alick roused us up. "Come, boys," he exclaimed, "turn out; we must have breakfast and begin our voyage as soon as we can." "I thought you said that we were to look out for wild-fowl," observed Martin. "I suspect that if we don't in good time we shall have to go without our dinner." "We'll have breakfast, and then talk about that," said Alick. "I want to feel that we really have begun the voyage." Our breakfast was a very scanty one, though we had plenty of water to wash it down; the last few morsels being given to Bouncer, who sat wistfully looking up at us as we ate our food. The canoe was at last carefully lifted into the water; Alick took the steering-oar, and each of us three a paddle. "Away then we go, boys; and I pray that we may have a successful voyage," said Alick. As he spoke he gave a shove with his paddle, and we dipping ours into the water, the canoe was soon in the middle of the stream. We glided on rapidly with the current till we came to the mouth of a broad stream, which ran into it from the opposite side. As we looked up it we caught sight of some white objects. "They are swans," cried Alick, "and one of them will afford us an ample dinner." The difficulty, however, was to get near the birds, for they would take to flight the moment they saw the canoe paddling towards them. Fortunately the wind was up the stream. "We will hoist the sail," said Alick, "and it will assist to conceal us, while the canoe will glide noiselessly towards the swans." We had two sticks, which we fixed in the gunwale of the canoe, setting the sail between them. Though of a primitive nature, it had the advantage of being lowered in a moment. This was very necessary in so crank a craft as is a birch-bark canoe. We now allowed the canoe to glide on, while we got our guns ready and watched the birds from under the sail. They were mere specks of white in the distance, and as we glided towards them we had no doubt that they were swans. They must have seen the strange-looking object entering their river, for, turning their arched necks from us, they began to swim up the stream. A strong current was running down, which impeded our progress; while they avoided it by keeping close to the bank, where the water was altogether still, or was running with less force. This gave them a great advantage; still, having once begun the chase we felt no inclination to give it up, hunger urging us on. The trees in many places overhung the water, shutting out the rays of the sun. Here and there, however, penetrating through more open parts, they struck on the snowy plumage of the birds, enabling us clearly to keep them in view. "We are getting near them," whispered Robin, who was peering under the sail. "We shall soon be close enough to make our shot tell with effect." We had no intention on entering the stream of going so far out of our way. Now having begun we were led on and on, still hoping soon to come up with the chase. At last we reached a part where the branches of the trees so densely overhung the water that they cast a dark shadow below, which almost completely concealed the canoe. The swans, we concluded from their movements, no longer perceived us, for they began to swim about in an unconcerned fashion, some of them even allowing themselves to be carried down by the current. Four of them at length got quite close to us, when Martin and I, lifting our guns, fired, and two, immediately spreading out their wings for an instant, dropped their heads in the water. Their companions, on seeing their fate, darted off with loud screams; while we, lowering our sail, got out our paddles and propelled the canoe as fast as we could to secure our prey. One of the birds was quite dead; the other struggled violently as Robin seized it by the neck, and tried to dart its beak at him, very nearly upsetting the canoe. As soon as Martin and I had hauled the other bird on board, we went to his assistance, Martin holding the poor bird tight round the neck till its struggles ceased, when we also got it into the canoe. We might have been satisfied with our prizes, but we wished to obtain a supply of provisions sufficient to enable us to continue our voyage without stopping to hunt. We therefore rehoisted our sail, and made chase after the remainder of the swans. The appearance of the stream also tempted us to continue our course, as we thought it possible that we might fall in with some animals--perhaps deer coming down to drink, or beavers, or smaller creatures--which might give us a variety of food. Should we be successful our intention was to land and smoke them thoroughly, so that they might last us for the remainder of the voyage. It would take us several days we knew, at all events, to perform the voyage, for there were rapids to be passed; and though we might shoot them, the attempt, without being well acquainted with the navigation, would be hazardous, and it would be far wiser, Alick considered, to make a portage, or in other words to carry our canoe on our shoulders overland, till tranquil water should be reached. "If we had fishing-lines and hooks we need have no fear of wanting food," observed Martin. "I must try to manufacture some hooks and lines." "But where are you to find iron for the hooks or material for the lines?" I asked. "The first I'll form, as the Indians do, out of bone," answered Martin. "They use them in the upper Saskatchewan, and on the lakes in the neighbourhood. If we can shoot a deer, the skin and the inside will supply us with material for the lines." "But the deer must be shot first, and fitting bones found to make the hooks; and then, as to bait?" I observed. "We'll try various sorts. We may find grasshoppers or some other insects on the shore, at which I should think several fish would bite," answered Martin. "If not, we must dig for worms, or try the insides of the birds or beasts we may shoot." "If we do happen to shoot any; but so much depends on that little word `if,' that we must not be too sanguine," I remarked. "At all events, we have already killed two swans, and should not be doubting about our success for the future," answered Martin. "Just think, David, how remarkably we have been hitherto preserved! We are positively ungrateful to Heaven if we doubt that the same kind Providence will continue to watch over us." "Hush, boys!" said Alick. "We are again getting near the swans, and we may kill one or two more if we approach them carefully. Get your guns ready, but don't fire too soon. Stand by to lower the sail when I tell you. Do you, Martin and Robin, be prepared to get out your paddles the moment you have fired; while you, David, must reload in case the others miss." Soon after he spoke the wind failed us, and the canoe no longer stemmed the current. The greatest caution was now necessary to get up to the swans. Should we use our paddles, we should frighten them, and they might escape us. The birds, as before, kept swimming slowly up the stream. We waited in the hopes that the wind would again fill our sail. We found that the canoe was slowly drifting down with the current; still we thought that another puff of wind would come and send us along again, and that it would be a pity to risk lowering the sail and exhibiting ourselves to the birds. They appeared to have recovered from their former fright at the loss of their companions, though we saw their leader every now and then turning round his head to take a look at the suspicious object the canoe must have presented to them floating in the middle of the stream. Again the wind blew softly, and we once more stemmed the current. "We are gaining on them," whispered Robin. "We must try to get up before they reach yonder point. If they double it, we may lose sight of them." The swans were all this time within range of our shot, but had we fired it would not have penetrated their thick feathers, and Alick charged us on no account to pull a trigger. We were thus long tantalised by seeing the swans majestically gliding over the water ahead of us. "They will get round the point, after all, before we are up to them," said Robin. "Never mind if they do," answered Alick. "We'll then use our paddles, as they will not see us, and we shall very likely soon overtake them on the other side. There seems to be more breeze on the water out there. Be ready to hoist the sail again the moment we get off the point." Though we were still making way, Robin's anticipations were fulfilled, and the swans, one after another, disappeared behind the point. The instant they did so we lowered the sail and began paddling away with might and main, as we hoped to find ourselves much nearer to them than we had hitherto been. Bouncer had sat very quietly in the boat watching all our proceedings. He was too well-trained a dog to bark or show any signs of impatience; he probably knew from experience that had he, indeed, attempted to swim out and attack the swans, he might receive a blow from their wings which would make him repent his temerity, for such power does the swan possess that it has been known by a single blow of one of its wings to break a man's leg. We soon got up to the point, and immediately taking in our paddles and hoisting our sail, glided noiselessly round it. Great was our disappointment, however, to see only one swan still in the water. What had become of the others we could not tell. Possibly they had plunged into some tall reeds which in dense masses lined the right bank of the river. That bird, however, we resolved should become our prize, and again lowering our sail we all three fired. As the smoke cleared off, however, there swam the swan, stately as before, and apparently uninjured, making for the reeds I have mentioned. "We must have that fellow, at all events," cried Alick. "Paddle away, Robin and Martin; we shall be soon up to him." While they obeyed the order, I reloaded, determined not again to miss the swan. "Wait a moment," said Alick; "he's still rather far off." "If I wait, he'll get into the reeds. Do let me fire," I answered. But Alick did not give the word, and as we had all agreed to obey him implicitly, I, of course, would not set a bad example, though I felt sure that I could hit the swan. The bird turning round its long neck saw us coming, and immediately, aided by its wings as well as its feet, with a loud cry darted into an opening among the reeds. "We shall have him still," cried Alick; "paddle away! paddle away!" Laying down my gun, I seized a paddle, and in another minute we had reached the reeds where the swan had disappeared. "Now, Bouncer, see what you can do," cried Alick. The faithful old dog did not require to receive a second order, but plunging bravely overboard, dashed into the reeds, and struggled energetically forward amid them, with leaps and bounds, though he had no firm ground on which to place his feet. We watched eagerly for the bird, which we felt sure from Bouncer's movements could not be far off. A large tree grew close to the bank, its roots reaching the water. We urged the canoe forward, and presently up rose the swan, no longer presenting the same graceful appearance it did in the water. Though its wings were powerful enough to lift it in the air, its body had a remarkably heavy, awkward appearance. Bouncer would in another instant have seized it, and have had cause to repent doing so, but the bird rose just beyond reach of his jaws. I lifted my gun and fired, as did Robin. Neither Martin nor Alick, on account of the tree, could take aim. With a loud cry the swan flew off, its white body glittering in the sun; but it had not gone far when down it came with a heavy flop on the reeds. Bouncer dashed forward to seize it. We, finding that the water was deep enough to allow us to make our way through the reeds, pushed the canoe in between them, thoughtless of any snags or branches which might tear a hole in her thin coating. We had got some way when we guessed, by a white wing every now and then raised above the green herbage, that Bouncer was having a desperate struggle with the wounded swan, and this made us the more eager to advance, that we might hasten to his assistance. Finding at last that the canoe stuck fast, I stepped overboard, followed by Martin. Scarcely had we done so when we sank almost up to our middles in soft mud-and-water, mixed with dead branches. Being in for it, we determined to proceed, though we advised Alick and Robin to keep quiet, which, seeing the plight we were in, they had every inclination to do. We floundered on for some yards, when our feet reached firm ground. As we got up the bank, we saw that Bouncer had seized the swan by the neck, and that every moment its struggles were becoming less violent than before. Ere we got close up to the combatants the bird was dead; but Bouncer was bleeding at the nose, and moved with a limp. As we took the swan from him, he looked up in our faces as much as to say, "I have done it, masters; but it has cost me pretty dearly." We were not aware at that time what a price we had paid for that swan. Finding that it was quite dead, we dragged it along towards the canoe; into which we hauled it. Bouncer followed, though not without difficulty, and we had to help him on board. "We must get to some better place than this for landing," said Alick. "I don't know whether you are hungry, boys, but I know that I am, and the sooner we have one of these birds roasting before a good fire the better pleased I shall be. Shove off." We endeavoured to obey the order. "Very well to say shove off, but it's more than we can do," said Martin, turning round. "Then you must get into the water and lift her off. You are already wet through, so it will not signify." "Here goes then," I said; and Martin and I stepped into the water, on to what we found to be the sunken trunk of a tree, off which we quickly lifted the canoe, though we found an unexpected resistance. Scarcely had we done so than we saw the water running like a mill stream into the canoe. "We must get out of her, or she'll fill to the gunwale in a few minutes," exclaimed Alick. "We can't land here or haul her up if we do," I observed, as I still stood on the sunken trunk. "If we secure the sail under the bottom, we may keep the water from running in so fast till we can get to the opposite bank, where there must be a fit place for landing." Alick agreed to my proposal, and Martin and I stooping down managed to secure the piece of cloth, as I suggested might be done. Robin also shoved his handkerchief into the worst leak. The plan answered apparently better than we had expected; and Martin and I stepping on board again, we paddled the canoe as fast as we could in the direction of the opposite bank. We had got scarcely half across the stream, however, when the water began to rush in again more violently than at first. There seemed every probability of the canoe filling. We paddled away with all our force; still the water came in. "The only chance I see of reaching the shore is to swim for it," cried Alick, throwing off his heavier clothing. I did the same, and Martin imitated us. "Sit quiet, Robin," said Alick. "Take the paddle and steer the canoe." Poor Bouncer would have jumped overboard also, but one of his front legs pained him, and he stood quiet with the water rushing about his feet. Alick took the painter in his mouth and towed ahead, while Martin and I swam astern, pushing the canoe before us. Robin paddled, now on one side, now on the other. We thus proceeded towards the bank, being carried down, however, farther than we intended by the current. We were all three pretty well exhausted by the time we reached the shore, where, as soon as Robin had bailed her out, we hauled up the canoe, he and Bouncer jumping out of her. "We shall have to camp here," said Alick, "for it will be nearly dark before we can repair the canoe, and cook one of the swans, and get our clothes dried." "I suggest that we get our clothes dried first," said Martin. "We are hardy fellows, but we may catch cold notwithstanding if we remain in our wet garments." Agreeing with him, we all set to work to collect wood for a large fire, before which, as soon as it burned up brightly, he and I spread out our clothes, while we sat down wrapped in Alick's and Robin's thick coats, which had been kept dry. They meanwhile searched for some gum and birch-bark wherewith to repair our damaged canoe. Martin and I employed ourselves in plucking one of the swans and preparing it for cooking. I proposed cutting it into several portions, that it might cook the sooner; but he advocated cooking it whole, declaring that it would not take much longer to dress than if cut up, and be far better. We were still discussing that knotty point, when Alick came up and settled it in favour of Martin's proposal. "One long spit, which we can tend better than several small ones, will then serve the purpose," he observed. Being hung up close to the fire, our lower garments were soon dried, and while the swan was cooking we again examined our canoe. So extensive was the rent that we found it would be necessary to sew on a piece of birch-bark, and then to cover the seams over with gum. We fortunately found some fibre which would answer the purpose of thread. The operation of sewing in the piece was a long one, as every hole had to be carefully made and the fibre passed through it and secured; the only tool we had to work with being a small pricker from Alick's pocket-knife. Robin had remained by the fire to tend the roasting of the swan, and as we worked away we every now and then shouted to him to know how the swan was getting on. "Pretty well," he answered, "but it would be all the better for basting, as it seems to dry very fast, and has somewhat of a fishy odour." "We must not be particular," said Alick; "and the sooner you can manage to get it done the better, for I am sharp set, and so, I am sure, are Martin and David." "The scent has taken off my appetite," said Robin, as he continued to turn the spit. We at last got the piece of bark sewn on, and had then to heat the gum which Alick had collected. It required a good quantity, as it was not equal to what we had before obtained. We were rather afraid that it would fall out and allow the canoe to leak. By the time we had accomplished part of our task Robin announced that the swan was cooked, and as we found it difficult to labour by the light of the fire, we put off finishing the repairs of the canoe till the next morning. With appetites ravenous from long fasting we sat down round the fire to eat the swan. It had the advantage of being hot, but possessed no other commendable quality, being somewhat tough and of a strong flavour; still it completely satisfied our hunger, and Bouncer, at all events, made no objection to the portion we gave him. He had been much more quiet than usual, having stretched himself by Robin's side, and remained in that position till he got up to eat his supper. He seemed much better after it, though he still limped when he attempted to walk, and his nose showed the scars which the swan's beak had made on it. Had he been capable of any feeling of revenge, it would have afforded him infinite satisfaction to know that he was devouring his late antagonist; but such a thought did not enter his canine mind. There was the food; he ate it, and was grateful. By the time supper was over all our clothes were dry, and we put them on to prepare ourselves for the night. The air felt much cooler than usual, so we determined to build a wigwam in which to shelter ourselves. It would also give us some slight protection from bears or wolves. We did not expect to be annoyed by any of the latter on this side of the river, but it was very probable that a grizzly or black bear might pay us a visit; for they roam throughout the whole of the Hudson Bay Territory, the white bears taking their place in the more northern regions. The axe we had found enabled us quickly to cut down some long poles to form the framework of the wigwam. As there were numerous large birch trees about, we soon collected a sufficient number of slabs of bark to cover it. Some were of considerable size, and all we had to do was to place them on their ends against the conical framework of poles. In a few minutes we had a serviceable wigwam formed. As after our fatigues we were anxious to have comfortable couches, we cut down the tops of a number of small spruce firs, with which we covered the floor, using our knapsacks for pillows, and before long three of us were fast asleep. Alick, who was better able than any of us to endure fatigue, agreed to keep the first watch. I took the watch after him. Though I paced up and down before the fire, I had great difficulty in keeping my eyes open. The murmur of the stream as it flowed by, and the suppressed hum of insects with the occasional cry of some bird, had a very soporific effect. I kept walking about and stamping my feet, but every moment I stopped my head began to nod; and when I got a little distance from the fire and turned round to look at it, I could not make out whether it was the sun or the moon just rising. I pinched myself, and sang, and walked faster up and down. When I stopped for a moment the same overpowering drowsiness came over me. I had gone to the farthest extent of my beat, when I thought that I would just lean against a tree for a few seconds to rest, myself. It was an imprudent act, and the consequences might have been serious. I remember that I felt myself sinking down, but the movement fortunately aroused me. I just then heard the cracking of branches and a low growl. Turning round, the light from the fire revealed to me a huge hairy creature not ten paces off. It was a bear! but whether a black or a grizzly I could not make out. The latter would prove a formidable enemy, and I knew that if I ran towards the fire he would run after me. I therefore stood where I was, cocking my piece and shouting loudly to my companions, "A bear! a bear! Up, up, or he'll be upon us." In a moment they all three, awakened by my cries, started to their feet. "Don't fire," cried Alick, "till we are ready; or should you only wound him, he'll make a rush at you." Alick's advice was sound, though it lost us the bear; for the animal, seeing so many opponents ready to do battle with him, turned tail and ran off through the forest. We followed for a short distance, but he made his way amid the trees much faster than we could; and not knowing the nature of the locality, Alick thought it wiser to return. The glare of the fire enabled us to regain our camp without difficulty, or otherwise we might have lost ourselves in the gloom of the forest. This incident showed us the importance of being constantly on the watch; for the bear, if a grizzly, might have picked one of us up before we were aware of his vicinity. After this, during the remainder of my watch, I had no inclination to sleep; but the moment Martin relieved me, I was in the land of dreams, or rather forgetfulness, for neither bears nor swans, nor any of the events of the previous days, in the slightest degree troubled me. Next morning Robin's voice--he having taken the last watch--aroused us at daybreak; and making a hearty breakfast on the remainder of our swan, we set to work to continue the repairs of our canoe. It was a long job, but we hoped that it was effectually done. Some hours had passed since sunrise, and we could not hope to accomplish much of our voyage before nightfall. "I wish we had some of that bear," said Martin. "We must try to get some fish, or something better, for dinner. It won't be worth while to carry these swans with us; will it?" "Don't let us throw away what will keep body and soul together till we have procured something better," answered Alick, who wisely considered that many hours might pass before we could replace what had taken so much trouble to obtain. We put the birds into the canoe, and followed by Bouncer took our seats. The repairs on which we had bestowed so much labour were satisfactory, for not a drop of water came in. Plying our paddles, for the wind was up the stream, and we could not use our sail, we began to make our way down it. The current being moderate did not help us much, and it appeared as if we should never reach the mouth. In our eagerness when chasing the swans we were not aware how far we had gone up. Of course, we kept our guns ready to shoot any animals we might see on the banks; but though we caught sight of a few birds among the branches, they were too far off to afford us a fair chance of killing them. We saw no traces, either, of Indian encampments, though from the pleasant character of the country we thought it probable that wood Indians might have made it their abode. We had just rounded a point, and were passing under some trees which overshadowed the water, throwing a dark shade across it, when we saw ahead of us an object moving up against the current. The darkness prevented us from distinguishing what it was. Robin, who had been talking about the tricks of the redskins, and was, from having lived so long among them, inclined to be suspicious, declared that they were the plumes of Indians who were lying in wait to seize our canoe as we got near them. "They are more likely to have waited on the shore concealed among the bushes, and to have shot us with their arrows," observed Alick. "I don't think any Indians would venture to attack us in the water." Still Robin was not convinced, and Martin was inclined to agree with him. "Be ready, then, to fire if necessary," said Alick; "but not till I tell you. We can easily paddle out of their way, and they'll not venture to follow us; though I repeat that I feel nearly sure that those are not Indians. We will push quickly on, and if they are Indians, when they see that we approach them boldly and have guns ready, they'll keep out of our way." Soon after this a gleam of light coming through an opening in the wood fell on the objects we had been watching, when our apprehensions were completely dissipated; for we saw that they were coloured ducks, so busily engaged among a shoal of small fry that they did not observe us. "Paddle on gently, Robin," said Alick.--"Do you, Martin and David, be ready to fire at the birds in the water, and we will do so as soon as they rise." The current helping us, we rapidly neared the ducks. Martin and I hit two, and Alick and Robin brought down a brace. Hearing the report of our guns, the flock flew towards the wood for shelter. We soon picked up those we had shot; but the flock had got too far off to permit of our killing any others. Those we had obtained were fine fat fellows with rich plumage, and would afford us an ample feast, with some to spare for Bouncer. Our success encouraged us to hope that we should not want for provisions during our voyage. We at last got into the main river. Evening was approaching, and as we had eaten nothing since breakfast, and a convenient spot appearing on the left bank, we could not resist the temptation of landing to cook our ducks. It of course took time to collect sticks for our fire. While Martin and Robin were doing this, Alick and I prepared the ducks, which had not, it must be understood, nearly as much flesh on them as tame ducks, and would therefore, after all, not afford an overpoweringly large meal to each of us, considering that Bouncer was to have his share. We soon saw that by the time the ducks were cooked it would be too late to proceed on our voyage, and therefore agreed to camp during the night where we were. While Alick and I were engaged on our task, Robin arrived with a large bundle of wood sufficient to kindle the fire. We therefore at once set the ducks on to roast, hoping that Martin would soon come in with a further supply of fuel. As he did not appear, Robin and I set off to collect some more, lest our fire should burn out. We were hurrying back when we heard Martin's voice. He had only a small bundle of wood on his shoulders, while he carried under his arm a number of deer-horns. "I found these near an old Indian camp," he exclaimed, "and it struck me at once that we could manufacture out of them some heads for spears, with which we may manage to kill some fish." "I don't know what Alick will think about it, but I suspect that it will take too long a time," I said; "and where are the handles to be found?" "As I came along I saw some saplings, which we can soon cut down with our axe; besides which I found a quantity of deer sinews, which the Indians must have dropped. Though it is some time since the Indians were at the camp, the sinews are still in good condition." Alick was better pleased with Martin's idea than I had fancied he would be. Martin indeed was very ingenious, and could turn his hand to anything, as could Robin. As soon as we had eaten our ducks, as there was still some daylight remaining, Alick and I cut down four thin saplings for spear-handles, while our two friends were working away at the deer-horns, which they shaped into barbs. "We shall not have time to manufacture more than two," said Martin; "and those are as many as we can use, for two must paddle, while the others strike the fish." "How are we to get the fish to stop and be struck at?" I asked. "We must try fishing by night," answered Martin. "Still less likely we shall be to see them," I observed. "Not if we have a light on board, and I have been thinking about that," he answered. "We must fill our pot with resinous wood, and by placing it on the bows we shall have the means of attracting the fish. When they come up we must spear them. I have seen the Indians on the upper lakes catch fish in this way, and I know that they are caught in the same manner in many other countries." From Martin's description we all became eager to try to catch fish in the way he spoke of. We soon found the wood he mentioned, a species of fir which contained a large amount of resin, and split up into small pieces it emitted a bright light. While seated on the bank we had observed a number of fish leaping in the river, which here formed a bay with little or no current; and we agreed that as soon as the spears were ready we would go out and try our luck that night. As the deer-horns were hard, it took a long time to fashion even two spearheads, so that it must have been past ten o'clock when they were ready, though we all worked away diligently by the light of the fire. Alick proposed lying down and waiting till the following night; but we were all so eager to set out that we persuaded him to start at once, that we might try the sport for an hour or so, and then land again with our fish ready to cook for breakfast in the morning. We should have time enough for sleep, as, having to sit in the canoe all day, we could do very well with less than usual. All things being ready we started. We still had our two swans, which Alick observed might be useful should our spears not answer as well as we hoped. Martin and I undertook to use the spears while Alick and Robin paddled. As soon as we had got a short distance from the shore we lighted our fire, which as it blazed up cast a lurid glare over the waters. Though we looked eagerly for the fish none could we see. They had either swum away or were not to be attracted by the bright light. "Perhaps there may be more out in the stream," said Martin. "Let us paddle slowly down, and ten to one we see some." Alick consented, and proposed, moreover, that as we had embarked we might as well proceed on our voyage, as the light enabled us to see our way as well as in the daytime, while the air was cooler than when the hot sun beat down on the stream. We had gone some distance when Martin struck down his spear. "I hit a fish," he exclaimed, "but it got off. We may have better luck the next time." I shortly afterwards saw another fish, which I succeeded not only in striking but in securing, though it fell off the moment I got it into the canoe. It showed us that our spears were not as perfectly barbed or as sharp as was necessary. This success encouraged us to continue the sport, and we went on and on, though we did not succeed in securing any more fish. Our fire, however, had produced an effect we had not expected. As we were passing a low cliff, loud cries of wild-fowl saluted our ears. The birds, roused by the appearance of the light, flew off from their nests, and came circling around us; so we fired several shot at them, and brought three down. The rest, not aware of what had happened, continued pursuing us; their numbers increased from the other denizens of the banks. Alick, in his eagerness to shoot the birds, was using less caution than before. I fancied that I heard the rushing sound of water. "There must be rapids near us," I exclaimed. Just as I spoke Alick again fired, and two birds fell into the water ahead of us. Taking his paddle, he urged the canoe forward to pick them up. None of us could tell how it was, but all of a sudden we found ourselves whirled onwards by an unseen power. Though we got the paddles out, we had lost all control over our canoe. The next instant, her bow striking a rock, she was whirled round, when her stern came in contact with a snag also fixed in the crevices of another rock. "Jump out for your lives, lads!" cried Alick, setting us the example. The water, we found, was rushing over the ledge on to which he stepped. Martin and I followed, carrying our guns. Robin sprang after us, catching hold of the sail; while Bouncer, acting as a brave sailor does, was the last to quit the ship. I had just time to leap forward and catch hold of the iron pot when the canoe was whirled away down the rapids. On examining our position we found ourselves on a large rock nearly in the middle of the stream, which afforded us a resting-place, but how we were to reach the bank was the question. We sat down very disconsolate to discuss the matter. It did not do just then to think too much of the future. Our first business was to get on shore where food was to be obtained; though, fortunately, having had a good supper we were not hungry. As far as we could judge in the darkness, the way to the left bank was most practicable; but even in that direction there were broad places to be passed, across which we might be unable to wade. We had gone through many adventures, but this was the most trying and perhaps the most dangerous. The rapids below us boiled and foamed, and ran with great force. Should we lose our footing we might be carried away and dashed against the rocks. "Though this is not a pleasant place on which to pass the night, I think we shall do wisely to remain here till daylight will enable us better to see our way," observed Alick. Our position was too uncomfortable to allow us to sleep; indeed, had we done so we should have run the risk of slipping off into the water. We therefore discussed various plans for getting on shore. "If we had but a rope we might do it without danger," said Martin, "and I think we have materials enough to manufacture one. The sail cut up and twisted will form a good length." "You shall have my overcoat," said Alick. "We must try to kill a deer, the skin of which will make a covering for me at night. I can do very well without it in the daytime." I also had a coat, and imitating Alick offered to sacrifice it for the public good. "A shirt which I have in my knapsack will supply its place," I observed. "I have a strong linen shirt in mine," said Martin. Robin had a couple of handkerchiefs, besides which we had the straps of our knapsacks and pouch-belts. With these materials we considered that we could make a rope sufficiently strong for our purpose. It required considerable ingenuity to fasten all these together. The parcel of sinews which Martin had found were exceedingly useful; indeed, I don't know how we could have secured the straps without them. We had to wait, however, till daylight before we could perform the neater work, though there was light sufficient in the open river to enable us to cut up and twist some of the articles we had destined for the purpose. We had thus made a pretty strong bit of rope when day broke. We then began to secure the straps together. To do this we had to make holes in the ends with the prickers of our knives, through which to pass the threads--a long and tedious operation, as, of course, it was of vital importance that they should be firmly secured: a weak part might endanger our safety. As may be supposed, we worked very diligently, for we were getting hungry, and had no chance of obtaining food where we were. How long it might be after we reached the shore before we could fall in with game of some sort it was impossible to say. Our spears had been lost, so that even should we see any fish in the rapids we could not catch them. At last the rope was completed. It was sufficiently long, we calculated, to reach from one side to the other of the broadest passage we should have to cross, as there were several rocks which would serve as resting-places between us and the left or northern bank. Before using it, by Alick's advice we tried every part, hauling with all our might, two against two. It was fortunate it did not give way, for had it done so we all four might have fallen into the river on opposite sides of the rock. "Come, that will do," said Alick; "I'll go first, and you three hold on to the other end. If I miss my footing, haul me in; but if I succeed, you, David, remain behind, and let either Martin or Robin make their way across, holding on to the rope. When they are safe over, you fasten it round your waist, and we'll haul you after us." The plan seemed a good one, with every prospect of success. The water was apparently of no great depth, and did not run with nearly as much force on the north side of the rapids as it did on the south, towards which by a bend of the river the principal current was directed; still, as we looked at the foaming, hissing, roaring waters below us, we saw the fearful danger to which we should be exposed should we miss our footing and be carried away in them. Indeed, without a rope, the passage seemed to be altogether impossible. Alick, of course, ran the chief danger, as he had nothing to support him, and had, besides, the rope to drag and his rifle to carry. We scrambled over to the west side of the rock, or that which looked up the stream; then Alick fastened the rope round his waist, and offering up a short prayer for protection, he stepped carefully into the foaming water. At first it did not reach much above his ankles, but it soon began to rise higher and higher, until it reached his knees; and as we saw it foaming round him, we feared every instant that he would be carried off his legs. Though he stepped directly across the stream he kept looking upwards, so that, should he have to swim, he might strike out at once in the right direction. More than half the passage had been accomplished. There was ample length of rope, which we allowed occasionally to run out as it was required. Still the water got deeper. Alick stopped for a moment, as if hesitating whether he should proceed. Then again he stepped out, and the water surged up almost to his waist, as it seemed to us at that distance. A cry escaped us. We thought he had gone, but he recovered himself and sprang to a higher level. Again the water reached no higher than his knees. He went on with more confidence, till he stood safe on the rock for which he was making. "Hold on tightly to the rope," he shouted.--"Robin, you come next. Don't let go your grasp, though you may find yourself carried off your legs." "Ay, ay!" answered Robin. "I'll not do that; the rope is what I'm going to trust to." And without more ado he plunged in, not walking steadily as Alick had been compelled to do, but leaping like a dog in shallow water, so that he got across in much less time with apparently less risk. Martin followed his example, and was twice nearly carried off his legs. It was now my turn. The rope, should it not break, would haul me back should I lose my footing; but the danger was that it might break, as it would have to bear my weight with the current pressing against it, as also that of the articles I carried. There was a piece of rope to spare. I put the end into Bouncer's mouth, and patting him on the head told him to hold on and swim after me. He understood perfectly what was to be done. I did not for a moment hesitate, as there was no time to be lost; and springing in, instead of going directly across I waded diagonally up the stream, Bouncer holding tight on to the rope, and bravely breasting the current. By this means I found, as I expected, that I was in shallower water, and was able to get across almost as fast as the others had done with the aid of the rope. The next passage we had to make was shorter, but was quite as deep, and for a few seconds Alick was in great danger of being carried down the stream. Two other watery spaces had still to be crossed; the last looked the more dangerous, but Alick got over and stood safely on the bank. He then went up the stream some way, when Robin and Martin crossed as they had done at the other places. I followed, with Bouncer towing after me, though I had to put no small strain on the rope to enable myself to get over. Every moment I thought that it would give way, but it held fast, and most thankful we were to find ourselves at length safe on the northern bank of the river. We had kept our guns and ammunition dry, though of course our lower garments were perfectly wet. "My boys," said Alick, "we have reason every day to be thankful to God for His watchful care over us, but especially now we should return thanks for our preservation, for I tell you we have run a fearful risk of losing our lives. We might have been all drowned together when the canoe was destroyed, and at any moment in crossing above these rapids we might have been carried off our feet and swept down them." We all acknowledged the truth of his remarks, and together kneeling down on the grass, we lifted up our voices in a prayer of thanksgiving. We then hurried away to collect wood for a fire, that we might dry our drenched clothes and consider what was next to be done. "One thing is very clear," observed Alick, as we sat round the fire. "We have no food, and being hungry the sooner we can get some the better. Our way is down the stream, and we must set off as soon as possible in that direction." The sun and wind assisted the fire in drying our clothes, and we were soon ready to commence our journey. We kept our eyes about us as we went on, on the chance of any birds or animals appearing. Hunger, it is truly said, makes keen sportsmen, and we should not have let a mouse escape us if we had seen one. We kept close to the bank, and for a mile or more the rapids continued, though we saw that on the opposite side a canoe might descend without danger. Alick was constantly examining the bank. "I thought so," he exclaimed, when we had got about half a mile below the rapid. Running forward he picked up three of our paddles and one of the spears. The others could not be far off, unless they had struck in the crevice of a rock. This, perhaps, they had done, for we could not find them. Martin immediately took possession of the spear. "I may still have a chance of killing a fish, if we come to any deep little bay or bend of the river, where some are likely to be at rest," he observed. It was getting late, and unless we could kill something soon we should have to go supperless to bed. "Hillo! I see something," cried Robin, and rushing forward he held up one of the despised swans. The sight at all events gave pleasure to Bouncer, who began barking and leaping round it. "You shall have some directly, old fellow," cried Robin. As we saw a suitable spot for encamping a little distance from the bank, we agreed to stop for the night. The wind blowing somewhat colder than usual, a wigwam, or at all events a lean-to, was considered advisable. Martin and I set to work to collect the necessary materials, while Alick and Robin lighted the fire and spitted the swan for cooking. CHAPTER NINE. WOOD-PIGEONS AND SQUIRREL FOR SUPPER--BEAR'S MEAT--CANOE-BUILDING-- GRASSHOPPERS--SHE FLOATS EVEN--ROW, BROTHERS, ROW!--THE THUNDERSTORM-- OUR NARROW ESCAPE--OUR HUT--DEER--THE BUCK IS DEAD--VENISON IN PLENTY-- IMPROVIDENCE OF THE INDIANS--BREAKERS AHEAD. I cannot describe our adventures from day to day as I have been lately doing. While eating our somewhat unsavoury swan, we discussed how we should next proceed. We knew but little of the bank of the river on which we found ourselves, but at all events we should have a long journey on foot before us, and we did not fancy the tramp through the woods. "But if we do not go on foot how are we ever to get to Fort Ross?" exclaimed Robin. "We can scarcely expect to find another canoe." "Why, of course we must build one," said Martin. "I have never made one entirely myself, but I have seen them built frequently, and have helped sometimes, and I am very sure that we all together could manage to construct one which will carry us safely down the river." There were no dissentient voices. Martin warned us that it would take some time. We should have to shape out all the ribs, and search for birch trees of sufficient girth to afford large sheets of bark. The chief object for consideration was, that it would take us almost as long to build a canoe as to travel to Fort Ross, but then we should be saved the fatigue and dangers of the journey, and we should be more likely to fall in with any of the people whom our friends at the fort might have dispatched to look for us, in the hopes that we had escaped from the massacre at Fort Black. Another great reason for proceeding by water was the state of our shoes: getting so often wet and dry they had become completely rotten. Alick's were falling off his feet; mine were in a very little better condition; Martin had thrown his away as useless, and Robin had done the same, but as he had so long gone without shoes, his feet were hardened, and he cared very little about the matter. While the weather was warm it was not of much consequence, but we might expect frost soon to set in, and unless we could manufacture some moccasins we should suffer greatly. If we could kill a deer we might supply ourselves, but hitherto we had seen none along the banks of the river; still we hoped to fall in with some, as both skins and meat would be very acceptable. "Then I consider that the best thing we can do is to camp in an eligible spot, and commence building a canoe without delay," said Alick. We all agreed with him. "I have no doubt about being able to do it," said Martin; "but we must fix on some place where the white birch trees are abundant, that we may have a good selection of bark. Much depends on its perfect condition, and many of the trees we have passed are of insufficient size or have holes in the bark, which would render them useless for our purpose." We trudged on therefore, eagerly looking out for a spot which would answer all our requirements. Before long we found one with some cedar trees in the neighbourhood, and some young spruce firs not far off. On a hillside a little way from the river grew a number of pines; the pitch which exuded from them we wanted for covering the seams. The wood of the cedar was required for forming the frame of the canoe, while the slender and flexible roots of the young spruce trees would afford us what is called "wattap"--threads for sewing the bark on to the gunwale and securing it to the ribs. "As we shall be some days building our canoe, we may as well put up a hut and make ourselves comfortable in the meantime," observed Martin. "It won't take long to do that, and should a storm come on we should require shelter." "We shall want something of still more consequence," observed Alick. "We have no food, and you fellows will soon be crying out for it. While Martin and David get the camp ready, light a fire, cut some poles for a wigwam, and collect some rough sheets of bark to cover it with, Robin and I will go in search of game. We shall find something or other before dark, if we keep our eyes open and our wits awake, and I shall not feel inclined to return without food, so take care to have a good fire burning to roast it by." "But I say, don't go off with the axe," exclaimed Martin, as Alick was walking away with it stuck in his belt. "We cannot cut down the poles without it, or strip off the bark from the trees." Alick handed the axe to Martin, who, giving a flourish with it, observed, "We shall have work enough for this fellow to do, but I must take care to keep its edge sharp." Alick and Robin set off with their guns, while Martin and I commenced the work we had undertaken. We at first collected sticks and had a fire blazing in an open spot from which we had cleared off all the grass for fear of its igniting the surrounding herbage and producing a conflagration--no unusual occurrence in the woods. The feeling of hunger made us very active, for we hoped that Alick and Robin would soon return with some game. As they did not appear, we cut down a number of poles and fixed them up on a spot a little distance from the river, towards which the ground gradually sloped down. Having secured all together at the top, the framework of our hut was complete. We had then to obtain some slabs of birch-bark. Several lay on the ground stripped off by the wind. Many of these we found lying at the foot of the trees, and though unfitted for building a canoe, they were very well suited for our present purpose. We worked so diligently that we completely covered our wigwam. We now began to look out anxiously for the return of our companions, our hunger reminding us that it was high time for them to be back. While we were working we had not thought so much about it. I had thrown myself down on the grass, having finished my labours. "Come!" said Martin, who was always very active; "if game is not brought to us, I vote we go in search of it," and seizing his gun he made his way amid the trees. I followed him. Presently I heard him fire, and directly afterwards I caught sight of a squirrel on a high branch. Taking good aim, I brought it down, and was soon joined by Martin, who had shot a couple of wood-pigeons. We hurried back to the camp, stripped the birds of their feathers, skinned the squirrel, and soon had them roasting before the fire. "Our friends will be well pleased not to have to wait for their supper," said Martin, as he quickly turned round the wood-pigeons on the spit. They were soon cooked, and unable to resist the gnawings of hunger we divided one of them and ate it up. We then attacked the squirrel, but restraining our appetites, reserved half for Alick and Robin, for we thought it possible that they might after all return without any game. Having satisfied our hunger, we thought more seriously about them. What could have happened to delay them? At last I began to fear that some accident must have befallen them. It was getting dusk. Should darkness overtake them, they would be unable to find their way through the woods. We piled up more wood on the fire, and went some way from it in the direction we expected they would come, shouting loudly at the top of our voices to attract their attention. "I cannot fancy that they have lost themselves," observed Martin. "Robin, with his Indian training, would find his way anywhere; and Alick is not likely to have gone wrong, especially with the river to guide him." Still I grew more and more anxious, and pictured to myself all sorts of accidents. "We should never think of the worst till it happens," observed Martin. "They were probably tempted to go farther than they intended. Perhaps we shall see them come back loaded with venison or a few dozen wild ducks, which will supply our larder for many days to come. Hark! I think I hear a shout. Now!" and we again shouted out. A reply immediately came through the trees. "That's Alick's voice, and I heard Robin's shriller treble," said Martin. "They will be here anon, and will be highly delighted to sit down and munch the remainder of the squirrel and the wood-pigeon." We hurried forward to meet our friends, as far as the light of the fire would enable us to see our way, and presently they both appeared, carrying huge masses of something on their backs. "We have got food enough to last us till we reach Fort Ross," exclaimed Alick, as he limped along, and I observed that he had lost both his shoes. "It might have cost us dear, though. Robin was nearly getting an ugly grip. See! we have killed a bear, and brought as much of the meat as we could carry, and a part of the skin to form moccasins till we can kill some deer, which will afford us more comfortable covering for our feet." We relieved them of their loads, and were soon seated round the fire, Bouncer lying down complacently watching us, while they discussed the provisions we had cooked; he, having devoured as much of the bear as he could manage, was independent of other food. Alick then told us that they had come suddenly on Bruin, who was on the point of seizing Robin when he had shot at it, but had missed; the bear, instead of pursuing them, frightened by the report of the gun, had taken to flight, when they followed and finally killed it. In their chase, while passing over a piece of boggy ground, he had lost his shoes. The chase and the return to camp had occupied a considerable amount of time. "All's well that ends well," exclaimed Martin, "and now I propose that we smoke some of the bear's flesh." To this we all agreed, and thus employed ourselves till we turned in at night. "Up, up," cried Martin the next morning at daybreak. "We must turn to without loss of time, and begin building our canoe. We must first cut out the ribs, which will be the longest part of the operation, and those who like can accompany me to the cedar wood." We all did so; and Martin, selecting some young trees, cut them down; then, with his axe, he chopped them into lengths. This done, we all worked away with our knives to form them into thin strips. The wood is remarkably tough, hard, and white, and can be bent into any form. We were employed all day in this work, and it was not till the next that we had a sufficient quantity of strips to commence forming the frame. To form the gunwale we had to fasten a number together. The gunwale was kept apart by slender bars of the same wood, while the ribs were bent into the required shape, which they easily retained. There was no keel, and the bottom was nearly flat. The third bar was broader than the rest, and in it we cut a hole for stepping the mast, though unless with a very light and perfectly favourable wind we should be unable to carry sail. It took us several days to put the framework together. We had now to cut the bark from the white birch trees. To do this we formed two circles round a tree, about five or six feet apart, and then cut a perpendicular notch down from one to the other; next, putting pieces of wood under the bark at the notches, we without difficulty pulled it off. Martin having before taken his measurements, the bark exactly fitted the centre part of the canoe, being also very nearly of the required shape. We now sewed it on with the wattap. This was a long operation, as every hole had to be carefully bored. Another piece of somewhat less width formed the bows, easily conforming itself to the required shape. A single thickness of bark formed the sides, but at the bottom we placed some long strips to serve as bottom-boards, which rested on the ribs. The bark had to be sewn on also to all the ribs, though this did not require the same number of stitches as used at the gunwale. We all worked away at it till some progress had been made, when Robin took charge of the gum-pot, he having previously concocted a quantity of pitch from the pine trees. This had to be thickened by boiling, and the joinings were luted with it, thus rendering the canoe perfectly water-tight. The seats were formed by suspending strips of bark with cords from the gunwales in such a manner that they did not press against the sides of the canoe. Our canoe was only about twelve feet long, but was sufficiently large to carry us four. I have seen such canoes thirty-five feet in length, and six feet in width at the widest part, tapering gradually towards the bow and stern, which are brought to a wedge-like point, and turned over from the extremities towards the centre so as to resemble, in some degree, the head of a violin. These large canoes are calculated to carry sixty packages of skins weighing ninety pounds each, and provisions amounting to one thousand pounds' weight. They are paddled by eight men, each of whom has a bag weighing forty pounds. Every canoe also carries a quantity of bark, wattap, gum, and pine for heating the gum, an axe, and some small articles necessary for repairing her. The weight altogether is probably not under four tons. The eight men can paddle her across a lake, in calm weather, at the rate of about four miles an hour; and four can carry her across portages. Altogether, for making voyages in this region, no vessel has been constructed in any way to equal the birch-bark canoe, such as I have described. Ours was very different, being much smaller; and the work, though pretty strong, was not as neat as that performed by Indians. Robin, who was fond of quizzing--a trick he had learned from the redskins--declared that she would prove lopsided, at which Martin, her architect, was very indignant. "She'll swim as straight and steady as a duck," he answered. "We shall see," cried Robin; "the proof of the pudding will be in the eating. However, if she does float a little crooked she'll manage to get to the end of her voyage somehow or other, and we can lay her up at Fort Ross as a specimen of our ingenuity." While building our canoe, one or two of us were compelled to go out in search of game, as it was necessary to dry the bear's flesh as provision for our voyage, and we preferred fresh meat. We generally returned with two or three wood-pigeons or other birds. Just before the completion of the canoe, I accompanied Alick on an excursion which we intended should be longer than usual. We found the forest extending not more than a mile from the bank of the river, after which the country was open, with grassy land and hollows which had once been the beds of ponds. Here the grass grew especially long. We had not long started when I observed that the horizon wore an unearthly ashen hue, and it struck me at once that we were about to have a storm. Presently it seemed as if the whole air was filled with light silvery clouds, and what looked at first like flakes of snow falling, which we saw as they approached nearer to be numberless large insects with wings. They were, indeed, grasshoppers, as they are called in the North-West Territory, though they are really locusts. The number in the air in a short time became so great that at intervals they perceptibly lessened the light of the sun. I had seen them before in much smaller quantities; and I at once knew what they were. That I might watch them more conveniently, I threw myself on my back. When looking upwards, as near to the sun as the light would permit, I saw the sky continually change colour from blue to silvery white, ashy grey, and lead colour-- according to the density of the masses of insects. Opposite to the sun, the prevailing hue was a silvery white, perceptibly flashing. On one occasion the whole heavens towards the south-east and west appeared to irradiate a soft grey-tinted light with a quivering motion. As the day was calm, the hum produced by the vibration of so many millions of wings was quite indescribable, and was more like what people call a ringing in one's ears than any other sound that I can think of. Strange as it may seem, there was something peculiarly awe-producing to the mind as we watched these countless creatures, as it reminded us of those scourges sent by God on the land of Egypt as a punishment to its inhabitants. At first they took short flights, but as the day increased cloud after cloud rose from the prairie, and pursued their way in the direction of the wind. As the day advanced, they settled round us in countless multitudes, clinging to the leaves of shrubs and grass to rest after their long flight. The whole district where they had settled wore a curious appearance, for they had cut the grass uniformly to one inch from the ground. The surface was covered with their small round grey exuvia. Had they passed over any cultivated ground, as they do occasionally, the entire crops of the farms would have been destroyed. They leave nothing green behind them, and devour even such things as woollen garments, skins, and leather, with the most astonishing rapidity. Though they fly very high in the air when they are making their journeys, they pitch usually on the ground, not touching the forests, or one could easily conceive that they would in the course of a year or two strip the trees of their leaves, and leave them with a thoroughly wintry aspect. As, owing to the grasshoppers, we did not expect to obtain any game in the open country, we returned to the wood, and were fortunate in killing a number of wood-pigeons. On our arrival at the camp, Martin and Robin shouted out to us that the canoe was finished, and only required to have the seams gummed. This task was soon accomplished; and as we were in a hurry to try the canoe, Alick and I, lifting her up with the greatest ease, carried her down to the bank. Without hesitation we stepped in and placed her on the water, when she floated with perfect evenness. "Hurrah!" exclaimed Martin, who stood on the bank, throwing up his cap in his delight at the triumphant success of his undertaking; "I knew she'd do! I knew she'd do!" Bouncer, who had followed us down, apparently as much interested as any one, leaped up on his hind legs, barking loudly; while Robin, who had remained at the fire attending to the gum-pot, that we might stop any leaks which were discovered, echoed our shouts. We had indeed reason to congratulate ourselves, for though the canoe was not equal to the one we had lost, yet it would answer our purpose, and convey us safely, we hoped, to our destination. As it was too late to start that day, we lifted her up again, and employed ourselves in finishing off two fresh paddles, in lieu of those which had been lost. We were very merry that evening, as it appeared to us that our difficulties were well-nigh over. We had meat enough to last us for some days, and we might reasonably expect to obtain as much as we could want on the voyage by landing and spending a day or part of a day in hunting; still we were not altogether free from care. Martin was excessively anxious about his parents. He could not avoid recollecting the bad disposition shown by the Indians; and though his father and mother might not have been molested, or might have managed to escape, there was a fearful possibility of their having been attacked and murdered. We were still also doubtful whether Sandy and Pat had got away in safety from the fort, though we hoped that they had, and had arrived safely at Fort Ross. If so, we might, by keeping a lookout on the right bank of the river, see any expedition which, we felt sure, would be sent up to restore Fort Black. Having breakfasted, we again launched our canoe, but we found on putting her into the water that she leaked in two or three places, where the gum had been knocked off. We had to haul her up again, light our fire, and heat some more gum to stop the leaks. This occupied us for some time, but at length we were fairly under way; and singing "Row, brothers, row," we began paddling down the stream. We agreed not to attempt shooting any rapids we might meet with, but rather to land and make a portage with our canoe. Two of us could carry her on our shoulders without difficulty, and, as Robin remarked, she weighed scarcely a feather when four of us lifted her. Though we intended camping on the left bank, we kept over to the right side, that we might have a better chance of seeing any party travelling towards Fort Black. The morning had been fine, and we expected to be able to continue on all day; but before noon clouds gathered in the sky, from which a vivid flash of lightning darted towards us, followed by a tremendous peal of thunder; then came in quick succession another and another flash, with deafening peals. The wind began to blow up the river, and its hitherto calm surface was broken into angry waves. Down rushed the rain, half filling our canoe. "We must make for the shore, lads!" exclaimed Alick, as a heavy sea broke over our bows. "Paddle, lads, for your lives! This is no joke," he added; and he had good reason for saying what he did, for our light bark was tossed about in a way which rendered it difficult to steer her. We all energetically worked at our paddles. We had some way to go. The wind increased, the thunder roared, and the lightning flashed faster than ever. Alick kept the canoe with her head partly up the stream, so that we crossed diagonally, or the canoe would have been upset, as the increasing waves rolled against her. At length the northern bank was reached, but we had still the difficulty of landing. The waves were washing against it with considerable force, and should our canoe be driven against any projecting branches, a dangerous rent might be made in it in a moment, and before we could get safely on shore we might be carried away by the current. We had therefore to look out for some bay or creek up which we could run, so as to be sheltered from the waves. The wind blew now rather up the river than across it, and enabled us to stem the current. We had gone some little distance when we saw the place we were seeking. "Look out, and see that there are no snags or branches ahead of us," cried Alick to Robin, who had the bow paddle. "If you can find a clear space, we will run the canoe alongside the bank." "There is a spot that will do," answered Robin; "and I'll jump on shore and hold her while you get out." Gently paddling the canoe, the next moment we got her up to the bank and stepped on shore in safety. We then hauled her up, but we were not free of danger. Tall trees surrounded the place, their tops waving to and fro and bending to the gale. Every now and then fragments of branches were torn off and carried to a distance. There was a risk of one of them falling on us, or on the canoe, and crushing her; but it was impossible to shift our position, so we had to make the best of it and pray that we might be preserved. We at first ran for shelter under one of the tall trees, and Robin proposed that we should build a hut against it, with a fire in front at which we might dry our wet clothes. "That would do very well, if it were not for the lightning," observed Alick. "At any moment that tree might be struck, and we, if close to the trunk, might all be killed or severely injured." As he said this, Robin and I, who were leaning against it, sprang out into the open. The next instant a loud report was heard; a branch came crashing down, and the stout tree appeared riven to the very roots! Happily the branch fell on one side. "We may thank Providence that we have all escaped," said Alick. "It won't do to be standing out here exposed to the rain. The sooner we can get up a hut of some sort the better." The branch which had fallen afforded us the framework of a hut. Alick, taking the axe, cut off as many pieces as we required, pointing them so that we could run them deep into the earth. A little way off there was an abundance of bark, which, seizing, we quickly dragged up to the spot. Hurrying out of the wood again as fast as we could, in a short time we had a roughly-formed hut erected, sufficient to turn off the rain. The spot was almost completely sheltered from the wind, so that we had no fear about lighting a fire. At the same time the wood was already so wet that it cost us some trouble to ignite it. We succeeded at last, and, drawing it close up to the hut, it afforded us warmth and enabled us to dry our wet clothes. The rain soon ceased, but the wind held and whistled in the branches. The thunder roared, and flashes of lightning illumined the dark sky. We had reason to be thankful that we were so far protected, and hoped that we might escape any other falling branches or the effects of the lightning. Had we ventured to land in a more exposed situation, our canoe might at any moment have been blown off into the river, while we could neither have put up a hut nor have lighted a fire. We sat on hour after hour, hoping that the storm would cease. The ground was too damp to allow us to lie down with any prospect of comfort; but we had some pieces of bark which afforded us seats, and had we had time to get larger pieces we might have rested with more comfort. Thus the night passed away, but when daylight returned the storm was blowing with as much fury as before. Though we saw masses of leaves and branches flying over our heads, none of the latter fell into our sheltered little nook. We agreed that it would be wise to remain where we were. Alick employed himself, with Martin's assistance, in making a pair of moccasins, which, though rough and ugly, were calculated to protect his feet from the thorns and splinters he might step upon in the forest. I mended my shoes, patching them with small pieces of bearskin; but they would not have served for a long walk. Robin improved one of the paddles, which had been roughly cut out at first. Thus we passed the greater part of the morning seated before our fire, except when we were cooking and eating some bear's flesh to satisfy our hunger. We had formed also two lookout holes at the back of our hut, through which we could watch should any deer or other animals come near, which we thought it possible they might do for the sake of the shelter it afforded. Robin was continually jumping up to take a look out; but in that respect we were disappointed. Soon after noon the wind began to fall, as we knew by the decrease of its sound among the trees and the lessened agitation of the boughs overhead. "Come, boys, we may make a few miles good this evening," exclaimed Alick, jumping up. "If we find the river still too rough, we can but put back and spend the night here; but I suspect that in a short time the wind will drop altogether, and we shall be able to paddle on till dark. We are sure to find some place or other where we can land to camp for the night." We accordingly lost no time in lifting our canoe into the water and getting on board. Bouncer, observing the careful way in which we stepped into our canoe, imitated our example, his sagacity showing him that if he were to leap on the gunwale he might upset her. Once more we shoved off, and going down the creek were soon in the open river. By this time it was almost calm, and the water was perfectly smooth. We paddled on at a quick rate, the river being free of obstructions of any sort, while at the same time we kept a lookout on both sides for the appearance of either friends or foes, or of any game. The air after the storm was unusually pleasant, and our spirits rose. The banks on either side were wooded, and prevented us from seeing to any distance beyond them. Here and there, however, grassy points ran out into the stream, on which it was possible that deer might be found feeding, while in little bays and indentations of the banks tall reeds grew, likely to afford shelter to wild-fowl. We were just about to round one of these points when a duck flying up directed its course across the river. Putting in my paddle, I seized my gun, and was on the point of firing at it when Alick exclaimed, "Hold fast! see out there;" and as I looked ahead, I observed on a low, grassy point a herd of five or six deer, which had come down to the river to drink. Some of them, catching sight of the canoe, looked up and stood curiously watching us. Our great object was now to approach without frightening them. "Keep silence, all of you," whispered Alick. "Paddle cautiously on. Get ready your guns, so as to fire when I tell you." We did as he bade us. "We must have one of those fellows, at all events, and two if we can. It will be provoking to lose them altogether," said Alick. He steered first directly towards the opposite side of the stream, so as not to alarm the deer sooner than was necessary; then altering the course of the canoe, we made directly for the point where the animals were standing, their curiosity still inducing them to remain watching us. We had got almost within shot when they took the alarm, and turning round retreated into the wood. Exclamations of disappointment escaped from all of us, for we thought that we should see no more of them. "Don't think they are lost; we may still have them," cried Alick. "Paddle away as hard as you can go, and we'll land and give chase. We may get round them and drive them back towards the water." Instead of steering for the point where the deer had been standing, he directed the course of the canoe higher up the river, and as we neared the bank he cried out, "David, you and Martin remain on board, and Robin and I will make our way through the wood, and endeavour to turn the deer." As he said this, he tried the depth of the water, and finding that it was shallow, and the bottom hard, he stepped out, followed by Robin and Bouncer, when, soon getting on shore, all three hurried off through the wood, which was there considerably open. We watched them making their way amid the trees till they were lost to sight. I feared that there was little chance of their driving back the deer; still Martin and I kept a lookout along the shore, on the possibility of the animals returning, either driven by Alick and Robin, or, supposing all danger to have passed, to finish their evening's draught. Several wild-fowl got up and went flying across the stream, some within shot; but we were afraid of firing, lest we should alarm the nobler game. We kept our paddles ready to urge the canoe in any direction which might be necessary. Our patience was somewhat tried. It was possible, however, that Alick and Robin might get near enough to the deer to shoot one of them, and we listened eagerly for the report of their guns. We waited and waited, when we saw some way down the stream a magnificent buck burst forth from amid the trees and rush towards the water. Without hesitating a moment he plunged in and began to swim towards the opposite bank. "Paddle away," I cried out to Martin. "We may have him before he lands." We did paddle, with might and main, feeling almost sure of the prize; but the deer swam rapidly, and the current, which he did not attempt to stem, carried him down. It was, however, impelling our canoe, so that made no difference. As we advanced, we saw a low island of some extent about two-thirds of the way across the river. The deer was making for it. Should he land he would gain considerably on us. Martin proposed that we should steer for the southern side, so as to intercept him. We were close to the western end of the island, on which the deer was about to land, when I thought that I could hit him. I fired. My bullet took effect--of that I was sure; but the deer still continued his course. Martin now steered the canoe as we had proposed, and we saw the deer land and begin to make his way across the island. It was evident, however, that my shot had injured him, for he moved slowly, and by exerting ourselves to the utmost we were soon able again to get him within range. He stopped and gazed at us, apparently not expecting to see us again in front of him. Instead of taking to the water he moved on towards the east end of the island. Again he stopped, facing us, when raising my rifle I sent a shot directly at his breast. Lifting up his head, and vainly endeavouring to recover himself, he slowly sank down on his knees, and the next instant rolled over dead. Martin and I, uttering a shout of triumph, paddled towards the shore. "Shall we cut him up at once, or go back and take Alick and Robin on board, and then return for the purpose?" asked Martin. "It may probably be some time before they get back to the bank," I answered; "and I think it would be best to cut up the deer, and then we shall astonish them with the result of our exploit." Of course we felt not a little proud of our success. We accordingly landed, and set to work in a scientific manner--first skinning the deer, and then by means of our axe and long knives cutting it up into pieces. We took only the best portions, with bits for Bouncer's share, leaving the rest of the carcass with the head, excepting the tongue and the antlers, which might be useful for manufacturing spears and other articles. We extricated also some of the sinews, which we were sure to want. Having loaded our canoe, we shoved off and began to paddle back towards the place where Alick and Robin had landed, looking out for them, in case they should appear in any other part of the bank. We found it a very difficult matter, however, to get up the stream. When we went in chase of the deer we had the current with us, and the canoe was light. Now we had a cargo on board. Though we exerted ourselves to the utmost, we made but slow progress, till Martin proposed that we should pull up near the right bank, where the current appeared to run with less strength. Neither of our companions appearing, it did not seem that we need be in any great hurry until we observed that the sun had sunk low, and that, before long, darkness would come on; still, as we were doing our best, we could do no more. We at last got up some way above the spot where we had seen the deer, and after relaxing our efforts for a minute or two to regain strength, we directed the canoe straight across the stream. We hoped, as we drew near the left bank, that Alick and Robin would make their appearance, and we began to be somewhat anxious at not seeing them. "They were probably induced to follow the deer farther than they intended," observed Martin, "and perhaps, hearing our shots, may have gone down the river; and if so, we might have saved ourselves our fatiguing paddle." On looking along the bank, however, as we could nowhere see them we finally paddled in for the shore, and very glad we were to reach a spot where we could rest. Throwing the painter round the branch of a tree which projected over the water, we hung on to it to wait for our companions' return. We shouted to them to attract their attention, but no answer came, and we were unwilling to expend a charge of powder by firing a signal, as our stock was limited, and it was necessary to husband it as much as possible. The shades of evening were already extending across the river, the bright reflection from the clouds gradually giving place to a uniform grey tint, which soon spread over the whole surface. Martin proposed that we should land and light a fire to cook our venison, for neither of us fancied having to spend the night cramped up in a canoe. "Let us first give another shout. Perhaps they'll hear it, and know where we are," I said. We hailed two or three times. At last, as there was only just sufficient light to enable us to see our way, we paddled up to the bank, unloaded our canoe, and hauled her up. We then piled up the venison, covering it over with the deerskin, lighted a fire, and began cooking some steaks. We were thus engaged when we heard a rustling in the brushwood. We started up with our guns in our hands, expecting to see a deer or bear, when Bouncer came rushing towards us, leaping up and licking his jaws. Martin examined his mouth and sides. "Depend upon it he has had a good tuck-out, the rogue, and feels in a happy humour," observed Martin. "They have killed a deer, and we shall see them here before long." Martin was right, for in a few minutes Alick and Robin came trudging up to the camp, heavily-laden with venison. "We have brought you something to eat, boys," said Alick. "Thanks to Bouncer's guidance, we followed up one of the deer till we shot him, but we have had a heavy tramp back. We should have brought the deerskin, but the meat was of more consequence, and we must go back and get it to-morrow morning. Hillo! you seem to have got something!" "I think we have," I answered, exhibiting our pile of venison. We then described how we had shot the deer; still, as the deerskin would prove of value for many purposes, we settled to go for it at daylight. We had now an abundance of venison, in addition to some of the dried bear's flesh which still remained. Though the Indians often suffer from hunger in this region, so teeming with animal life, it is entirely in consequence of their own want of forethought, as most of them when they obtain food feast on it till it is gone, and few are wise enough to lay up a store for the future. Thousands of buffalo are slaughtered on the prairies, and their carcasses allowed to rot, which, if distributed among the people, would supply every native in the country with an abundance of wholesome food. We had never been without provisions, though sometimes we had run rather short. We had, therefore, no fear for the future. Next morning, Alick and Robin having obtained the skin of the deer they had shot, we proceeded on our voyage. We at first made good way, aided by the current; but as the day advanced, a strong wind arose which created a considerable amount of sea in the river. Our canoe being more deeply laden than usual, with the venison we had on board, the water began to wash over the bows. We had set Robin to work to bail it out; still there appeared to be no actual danger, and we continued our course. As we went on, however, the wind increased, and meeting the current, which here ran stronger than in other places, the canoe was half filled by a foaming wave into which she plunged. Robin bailed away with all his might. "This will never do," cried Alick. "If we meet another wave like that the canoe will be swamped. We must make for the shore. Paddle away, boys, as fast as you can!" We exerted ourselves to the utmost, for we saw the danger to which we were exposed. Martin proposed throwing some of the cargo overboard. "Not if we can help it," cried Alick. "It would be a pity to lose so much good meat. The water looks smoother towards the south bank, and we shall soon be out of danger." In this respect he was not mistaken, but we saw that had we continued on longer the canoe would to a certainty have been filled, for line after line of white breakers extended completely across the stream. We found a safe place for landing, with a sufficient number of trees and brushwood to afford us fuel for our fire, the place also being sheltered by a high bank from the wind. We landed our cargo, and hauling up the canoe, turned her over to empty out the water. It seemed a wonder from the quantity there was in her that she had not sunk. CHAPTER TEN. TANNING--THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE--"HILLO! PAT CASEY! WHAT! DON'T YOU REMEMBER US?"--PAT'S MARVELLOUS ADVENTURES AND HAIRBREADTH ESCAPES-- VEGETABLE DIET--PAT'S HUT--MARTIN'S DANGER--ALICK'S NOBLE CONDUCT--"HE IS STILL ALIVE," CRIED ALICK--OUR WIGWAM--TWO MEN SICK IN THE CAMP-- INDIAN SUMMER--SNOW AGAIN--WINTER HAS SET IN--WATTAP NETS--FISHING THROUGH THE ICE--ROAST FISH AND BOILED FISH. As the wind continued blowing with great force, we saw that there was no prospect of our continuing our voyage that day. We therefore made preparations for camping as usual. Martin suggested that we should employ the time in drying some of the venison, which could not possibly last till it was all consumed. He advised also that we should try to manufacture some pemmican, which, though not equal to that of buffalo, would make nutritious food. We were thus busily employed for the remainder of the day. Alick, too, who wished to prepare the deerskins, stretched them out with pegs on the bank. We then carefully scraped them over, and having boiled some wood ashes in water, we washed them thoroughly with it. This we did twice before dark, leaving them to dry during the night. "I hope no grasshoppers will come this way," observed Alick, laughing, while we were afterwards seated at supper. As I looked round on the river, my eye caught a bright glare reflected on it. "That light comes from a fire somewhere, and not far off," I exclaimed; and, springing to my feet, I made my way up to the top of the bank, which was somewhat higher than the country farther off. There were but few trees, so that I had an uninterrupted view to the southward. There was a fire indeed, and such a fire as I had never before seen. About half a mile off appeared what looked like a vast burning lake, about a mile in width, and extending to a much greater distance. Presently, beyond it, another began to blaze up, increasing with terrible rapidity; and, farther off, a third bright light was seen, which also began quickly to extend itself. I have never seen a volcano in full activity; but this, I think, must have surpassed in grandeur the most terrible eruption. The flames rose up to an extraordinary height, rushing over the ground at the speed of racehorses, and devouring every tree and shrub in their course. The wind being from the north-east blew it away from us; but we saw how fearful would have been our doom, had we been on foot travelling across that part of the country. We should have had no chance of escape, for the intervals which at first existed between these lakes of fire quickly filled up. The conflagration swept on to the westward, gradually also creeping up towards us. We continued watching it, unable to tear ourselves away from the spot. It was grand and awful in the extreme. To arrest its progress would have been utterly beyond the power of human beings. What might be able to stop it, we could not tell. As far as we could see, it might go on leaping over rivers and streams, destroying the woods and burning up the prairies to the very foot of the Rocky Mountains, or even making its fearful progress over the whole of the continent. We knew that prairie fires often took place, and we had seen some on a smaller scale; but this appeared to us more extensive than any we had heard of. Gradually it came creeping up towards us; still, however, at too slow a pace, in consequence of the power of the wind, to make us quit our post. "This, I have no doubt, has been `put out' by the Plain Crees, to prevent the buffalo from going to the eastward and benefiting the Ojibbeways, Wood Crees, and other natives in that direction," observed Alick, using a term common among the Indians--to "put out fire" signifying to set the prairie on fire. I could scarcely suppose that such would have been done on purpose; but he asserted that they very frequently committed this destructive act simply as a signal to let their friends know that they had found buffalo; and that in most instances the fire did not extend to any great distance, being stopped by marshes, or even narrow streams, when there was not much wind, and sometimes by a heavy fall of rain. Robin corroborated what Alick had stated. "I think the fire has got much nearer than when we first saw it," observed Martin. "Should the wind shift, we shall have to run for it, or the burning trees will be tumbling down upon us and our canoe, and we shall be very foolish to be thus caught." In the course of a few minutes after this the wind did shift, and the flames came leaping and crackling towards us. "We will follow Martin's advice," said Alick. "We shall have plenty of time though, I hope, to get our traps on board and shove off. We must look out for another camping-ground to spend the remainder of the night." We hastened down the bank, followed by Bouncer, who stood for some seconds barking furiously at the fire, as if indignant at its having put us to flight. We were not long in launching our canoe, reloading her, and tumbling in the skins; when, shoving off, we paddled to a safe distance from the shore. In a couple of minutes we saw the flames reach the base of the narrow line of trees which lined the bank; when, aided by the dry creepers which encircled them, it climbed up at a rapid rate, twisting and turning and springing from branch to branch till the whole wood presented a solid wall of fire. It could not injure us, as the wind, blowing in the opposite direction, carried the falling boughs away from the river. The valley a little to the eastward prevented the conflagration from extending in that direction, but it still gave forth sufficient light to enable us to select a sheltered bay, into which we steered the canoe. Here we again landed, hoping to remain unmolested for the rest of the night. As the wind was cold we lighted a fire, though we could find no bark with which to put up a lean-to. We had therefore to sleep as well as we could on the bare ground. Very frequently one or other of us climbed to the top of the bank to watch the progress of the flames. They were sweeping along to the west and south-west, leaving a space in their rear still glowing with the burning embers. Alick, who was anxious to get the skins dressed as soon as possible, again spread them out, and those of us who were unable to sleep employed ourselves in beating them with the paddles. As soon, also, as we could scrape a sufficient quantity of ashes from the fire we made a ley, with which we kept them moist, the effect being to render them soft and pliable. Before morning the fire had got to a considerable distance, but we could still see a thin line of flame extending from north to south. After all, I believe that it was not so destructive as we had supposed. At the same time, such fires constantly occurring on the prairies render them arid and sterile and prevent the growth of forest trees. Were any means taken to put a stop to their occurrence, willows and other trees would soon sprout up, and the prairies would be converted into humid tracts in which vegetable matter would accumulate, and a soil be formed adapted to promote the growth of fine trees. We were tempted to remain an hour or two after sunrise, for the sake of making progress with the dressing of our deerskins, and also to dry some more venison, as it was very evident that it would not keep fresh wetted as it had been, with the sun beating down upon it, though covered up by the skins. "We have plenty to eat and plenty to drink," observed Martin, as we were paddling along; "but I should very much like a variety, and unless we can get it I am afraid that we shall be attacked by scurvy, or fall ill in some other way." "To be sure, it will take us some time to drink up the water of the river, but I don't know that the venison will hold out quite as long," said Robin. "We might find some berries and roots if we were to search for them in any of the woods we may come to, or perhaps we might shoot some birds or catch some fish. I should like some fish amazingly. We have materials for lines, but I have not had time yet to manufacture some hooks, as I intended. If some of you like to search for berries and roots, or to shoot any birds you may meet, I'll undertake to stay by the canoe and work away at the hooks." "But if we delay, we shall not get to Fort Ross before the winter sets in," remarked Alick. "But it will be better to be delayed than to fall sick from want of wholesome food," observed Martin. "I have an extraordinary longing for vegetable diet, and would give anything just now for a dish of greens, or mashed potatoes, or strawberries and cream." While this conversation was going on, we came to the mouth of a pretty large stream, the banks of which were covered with wood of considerable growth, while here and there grassy spots offered tempting landing-places. My feelings were very like Martin's, and Robin joining us, we all begged Alick to steer up the stream, intending to land and search for what we were so eager to obtain. We kept a lookout, some of us on one side of the canoe and some on the other, for any animals or birds which might appear on the bank. Martin and I, who were in the bow, fancied we saw a deer on the right-hand side, and called Alick's attention to it. While we were looking out Robin, whose quick sight had been attracted by some movements in the foliage, exclaimed, "There's a man--an Indian. If he's an enemy, he'll have a shot at us;" and pulling in his paddle, he seized his gun, ready to take aim at our supposed foe. As he spoke we turned our heads round in the same direction, and we all saw among the trees a human being stooping and apparently intently watching us. "If he sees that we're all armed he won't fire, though he should have a musket," said Alick. "We'll wave to him, and try to make him understand that we have no wish to be foes to any one. Show your fowling-pieces, lads!" We all lifted up our guns, then laying them down, again took to our paddles. We now steered the canoe towards the shore, where we had seen the man. We soon reached a spot where we could land; but Alick desired us to sit still in the canoe, as possibly there might be other persons besides the one we saw. The gloom of the forest prevented our seeing his features, but on getting nearer, to our surprise we perceived that the seeming Indian was a white man, though clad from head to foot in skins. There he stood, in an attitude of astonishment, with his mouth wide open, unable apparently to utter a word. Though he was greatly altered, I felt sure that I knew the man before me. "Hillo! Pat Casey!" I exclaimed. "What! don't you remember us?" "Och! shure, is it yourself that's spaking to me?" exclaimed Pat, for Pat he was--of that I had no doubt. "I belaved that you were all murthered by the Injins months ago, and niver expected to see your faces again." "But you see that you were mistaken, Pat, and that we are all alive and well," I said. While I was speaking, Pat had been slowly approaching, still evidently greatly in doubt whether we were real beings of this world or spirits from another. When at length he was convinced that we were ourselves, he rushed forward towards us, and seizing me by the hand, exclaimed, "Shure, it's a reality, and you have escaped the redskins." The rest of the party also convinced him that we were alive by shaking him warmly by the hand, and inquiring how he came to be there. "Och! shure, but it's a sad story," he answered, "and I'll be afther telling you all about it. I need not ask you whether you know that the fort was surprised by the Sioux, and all who could not escape put to death, for if you have been to the place you would have been afther seeing the state those thafes of the world left it in. Sandy McTavish and I, with five others, managed to get away by leaping from the stockade on one side, as the redskins came in on the other; but short time we had to do it and hide ourselves. Making our way down to the canoe, we had just time to shove off before they discovered us and sent a shower of arrows whizzing round our heads. As it was dark, they did not take good aim, and though they came howling along on the top of the bank, we got over to the opposite side, and soon paddled out of their sight. We had no food and only a couple of muskets which Sandy and I carried off, for the other men had dropped theirs in their fright, and what was worse, we found that we had only a few charges of powder and shot. We got on very well, barring the want of food--for we could see nothing to shoot--till we came to the rapids, and faith! it would have been betther if we hadn't thried to shoot them, for though Sandy and the other man had gone up and down them several times, it was always in a large canoe. It was late in the day and getting dusk, and somehow or other Sandy, who was steering, let the canoe strike against a big rock. Over she went, with a hole knocked through her bows! Having no fancy to be drowned, I made a leap on to the rock, and shouting to my companions to follow, with many a hop, skip, and jump, managed to reach the shore; but when I looked out for the rest of us, I could nowhere see them. I shouted again and again, but they did not answer. My belafe is that they were all carried away and drowned. I sat down on the bank, and at last, as I had been awake for many a long hour, I fell fast asleep. When I awoke in the morning, not a sight was there of the canoe, and I thought to myself, What was I to do? I knew that Fort Ross was somewhere in the direction the sun was used to rise, and so thinks I, if I kape along in that direction I shall some day get there. I had only four charges of powder in my pouch, and as I might have been afther starving when I had shot it all away, I felt gloomy enough. However, there was no use sighing, so I got up and set forward. As ill-luck would have it, I missed the first two shots, but with the third I killed an aigle, or bird of that sort. It was not very good ateing, anyhow, but it kept body and soul together for a day or two. I had now got only one charge remaining, and thinks I to myself, I'll never be reaching Fort Ross with this, if I don't manage to kill a deer or some other big baste which would give me mate enough to last me all the way. I went on all day, eagerly looking out for a deer or a buffalo or a bear, and thinking how I could get up to it to make shure. At last, what should I see between the trees but a crayther with big horns cropping the grass all alone. Thinks I to myself, `If I can creep up and put a shot into his head, I'll have mate enough to last me for a month to come.' There was no time to be lost, so creeping along Indian fashion, I made towards him. I kept my gun all ready to fire, not knowing what moment he might start off. All the time I felt my heart beating pit-a-pat, for thinking what I should do if I missed. `Take it easy,' says I to myself, but that was no aisy matther. At last I got within twenty yards of the deer, who hadn't yet seen me. It may be if I thry to get nearer, he'll know there's danger near and will be off with a whisk of his tail, and my bullet will be flying nowhere; so, just praying that I might shoot straight, I raised my piece as he was lifting his head to look about him. I fired. He leaped into the air, and I thought he was going to be off; but instead of doing that same, over he fell. `Hurrah! good luck to ye, Pat Casey,' I cried out, making the forest ring with my shouts. I soon had some slices off the deer, and lighting a fire where I was, I quickly cooked them, for I had had nothing to eat since I had finished the aigle. I had now food enough to last me till I could reach the fort, but how to kape it swate till then was the question. I thried to smoke some, but I did not manage it altogether well. I was still considering what to do when, going into the wood to get some more sticks for my fire, I saw the river running directly in front of me. At first I thought it was the big sthrame itself, but when I looked down it and up it, I saw that it was neither, and that if I was going to reach Fort Ross I must cross it somehow or other, but how to get over was the throuble. I'd be dhrowned if I thried, and be no better off than poor Sandy and the rest, so at last I thought to myself, `I'll just squat where I am; maybe some canoes will be coming this way, or some friendly Indians will be finding me out.' Well, that's the long and short of my history." We agreed that Pat, perhaps, had acted wisely, knowing the difficulties he would have had to encounter, had he continued his journey overland. He took us to his hut, which was a short distance from the bank of the river. It was very well formed of birch-bark, and of good size. He had made himself a bed from the tops of spruce firs. Alongside it was a smaller hut in which he had hung up his venison. The top of this smaller wigwam was covered with the deer's skin. During the summer he might have done very well, but in the winter he would, I suspect, have perished from cold and hunger, as he would have had great difficulty in catching any animals. It was indeed fortunate for him that we had put into that river. We did not forget the object for which we had visited it, and we immediately set to work, under the guidance of Robin, to search for roots and berries. Of the latter, Pat had already collected a great quantity for present use, but remembering how nearly poisoned we had been, he was afraid to cook any roots. Robin, however, knew well what were good to eat and what were pernicious, and we had perfect confidence in his judgment. Altogether we added a considerable amount of what I may call vegetables to our stock. As we all had a peculiar longing for them, we at once cooked as many as we could eat, scarcely touching the venison, of which we had already begun to get tired. Pat, who appeared to consider himself at home, begged that we would occupy his hut for the night, remarking that it was already too late to make much progress before nightfall. We accordingly agreed to stay where we were till the following morning. His stock of venison added to ours would enable us to perform the voyage without having again to stop and hunt for game. Martin had been employing himself, as he had undertaken to do, in manufacturing some hooks and lines, aided by Robin, who had learned very ingenious arts from the Indians. The rest of us employed the evening in cutting out some moccasins, for not one of us had a pair of shoes to our feet, and should we have to make any portages we should seriously suffer in having to walk with our loads over the hard ground. We used but a small portion of our deerskins. We intended the remainder to serve as a covering for our provisions in the daytime, and for ourselves at night, should the weather become cold. Our intention, however, was to kill two or three bears, the skins of which might better answer the latter purpose. It was with evident regret that Pat the next morning left the hut in which he had made himself so completely at home; still, he had no wish to remain behind. "If I had but a few pigs and praties," he observed, with a sigh, "I'd soon be afther making a garden of this wilderness." Again we were paddling down the stream, with Pat on board. There was room for him, and though his weight brought the canoe much deeper in the water than before, as long as it remained calm we had no fear. We paddled along, and were speaking to Pat of the possibility that Sandy and the other men had escaped. He, however, declared that they must have been drowned, as he had seen them, he asserted, a long way below the rocks in the seething foam, through which it would be impossible for them to swim; still, we had some hopes--knowing the dangers from which some men manage to escape--that they had saved their lives. Martin had manufactured some hooks, and had greatly improved his fish-spear, of which he was very proud. We had not gone far when we came to a slight rapid, down which, however, Alick declared he should have no difficulty in steering the canoe; though the water ran swiftly and a few dark rocks appeared above the surface, as there were no waves of any size and but comparatively little foam, there did not appear to be much danger. Martin, who was seated in the bow, exclaimed, "I saw a sturgeon pass us just now; if I catch sight of any more, I must have one of them." Presently, before Alick could warn him of the danger he was running, he stood up and darted his spear. The next instant what was our horror to see him fall over headlong into the water, the line attached to the spear catching as he did so round his leg! I was sitting next to him, and attempted to catch hold of one of his feet, which hung for a moment on the gunwale. The canoe was nearly upset, the water rushing quickly in. At the same time, her bow being stopped she was brought broadside to the current. Before I could catch Martin's foot, it slipped off the gunwale, and he disappeared under the waves. "He's Rose's brother, and for his own sake I must save him!" exclaimed Alick, and without considering the fearful danger he was running of losing his own life, he threw himself over the stern, and swam towards the spot where Martin had disappeared. Robin, who was sitting next to him, seizing the steering-paddle, with great presence of mind brought the canoe with her bow down the stream. "Back, both of you!" he shouted out to Pat and me. We did as he advised, but the strong current drove the canoe downwards. Just below us a dark rock of some extent rose above the water, and we had to exert ourselves to the utmost to avoid drifting against it. With the deepest interest we watched Alick's progress. Presently down he dived, and to our joy returned holding Martin in one hand, and energetically treading water, while with the other hand he released him from the line which had got round his leg. The current was rapidly bearing them down towards the rock. I should have said that there was another rock, just above where the accident happened, and though it scarcely rose above the surface, it had the effect of deflecting the current, thus causing it to run with less violence than would otherwise have been the case against the larger rock. Lower down, a powerful swimmer such as Alick was could alone have borne up another person, and that person almost senseless, and at the same time have contrived to direct his course amid those furious waters. We were using all our efforts to get up to him. "Keep off!" he shouted. "You will upset the canoe if you attempt to take us on board. I'll make for the rock." That he would be able to do so, however, seemed very doubtful, and we trembled for his and Martin's safety, while we still plied our paddles to stem the current and at the same time to avoid the rock. "Go to the other side," shouted Alick; "and, Pat, you get on the rock and help me." Understanding his intentions, and seeing that it was the best course to pursue, we obeyed his order, and turning round into our usual position when paddling, we directed the canoe so as to round the southern end of the rock, and then, though drifted down some yards, we once more paddled up to it on its eastern or lower side. Here we could approach it without difficulty, and finding bottom with our paddles, Pat, as directed, stepped out, and clambered up to the top of the rock. A minute or more of intense anxiety had passed since we had last seen Alick and Martin; and Robin and I looked eagerly up at Pat to hear his report. Without uttering a word, however, we saw him slip down to the other side of the rock. "Can they have sunk!" exclaimed Robin. "He would have told us if he had seen them." "He would not have gone down the rock had they disappeared," I answered, but still I felt terribly anxious, and wished that Alick had told me to land instead of Pat; still, under such circumstances, it is always wise to obey orders, and I hoped for the best. To leave the canoe and go to their assistance would be dangerous in the extreme, as, should she drift away, Robin would be unable by himself to paddle her back. I could not, however, resist the temptation of sending Bouncer, and one pat on the back while I pointed to the top of the rock was sufficient to make him leap on to it and climb to the top. The loud bark he gave and the wag of his tail, as he looked down on the other side, convinced me that our companions were safe, and presently afterwards I saw Alick and Pat lifting Martin's apparently inanimate body to the summit. "He is still alive," cried Alick; "but we must reach the shore, and get a fire lighted as soon as possible." He said no more, except to direct us to bring the stern of the canoe closer to the rock. This we did, when, wading into the water, he placed Martin on board, he himself getting in, followed by Pat and Bouncer. We were now, we found, close to the foot of the rapid, and a few more strokes carried us into comparatively still water. A short distance off, on the left bank, was a wood of some size. The bank, which here formed a small bay, was sufficiently low to enable us to land; we paddled rapidly towards it, but when we got near the spot we found that the water was not of sufficient depth to allow the canoe, heavily-laden as she was, to get alongside. Pat therefore stepped out, and loading himself with a couple of packages of meat and all the skins, carried them on shore. The rest of us then getting into the water, we were able to drag the canoe much nearer to the bank. On this, Alick lifting Martin by the shoulders and I taking his legs, we carried him on shore. He made no movement, and as I looked into his face I certainly feared that he was dead. Robin must have thought the same, for, putting his hands before his eyes, he burst into tears. "Oh! he's gone, he's gone!" he murmured. We could say nothing to reassure our young friend. An open space being found, Pat spread out the skins, and without a moment's loss of time began to collect wood for a fire. As soon as Robin and I had unloaded the canoe and lifted her up the bank, we assisted him, while Alick, regardless of himself, was getting off Martin's wet garments. Having done so, he called and desired me to rub his feet and hands, while we wrapped him up in the skins. Our friend was still breathing, which gave us some encouragement, and we continued our exertions without ceasing. As soon as the fire was lighted we placed him as close to it as was prudent, while Pat and Robin cut some stakes and collected some bark to form a lean-to, that we might still further shelter him. He at length opened his eyes and recognised us, but was still unable to speak. We continued rubbing him, our hopes of his complete restoration being raised. Pat, also by Alick's directions, got water and put some venison on to boil, that we might have broth to pour down his throat as soon as he was able to swallow it. The improvement we looked for was, however, so gradual that I proposed--as it was impossible for us to continue our voyage till the next day--that it would be advisable to build a wigwam, which would afford better shelter than the lean-to during the night. "I agree with you," answered Alick, "and the sooner you set about it the better." "So we will," I said; "but I wish that you would get off your wet clothes, or, strong as you are, you may suffer from remaining in them so long." Alick laughed at this notion. "This fire will soon dry me," he answered, "and I'll stay by it and attend to Martin while you three collect the materials and build the wigwam." I in vain expostulated with my brother. Even though my clothes were dry, except my moccasins and the lower part of my trousers, I felt the wind very chilly. At last I was obliged to set off with Pat and Robin. We settled to put up a good large wigwam, which might hold us all; and we could then have a fire in the centre. This for Martin's sake would be very important. We accordingly cut down the largest saplings we could find, and we were fortunate in discovering numerous large sheets of bark, some in a sufficiently good condition to have formed a canoe, had we been compelled to build one. A very short time only is necessary to erect a birch-bark wigwam when materials are abundant, as they were in the present instance; and it is wonderful what a comfortable abode it affords, impervious alike to rain or wind or even to an ordinary amount of cold. When in a sheltered situation, the Indians pass most severe winters in these habitations, built in the recesses of cypress groves, through which the chilling blast fails to find an entrance. Having put up the wigwam, we cleared away the grass from the interior, and then dug a slight hole in the centre, which we surrounded with the largest stones we could find. This was to form our fireplace. Four little trenches around it, leading to the bottom, would enable a sufficient current of air to enter and keep it blazing. Our next care was to cut down a good supply of spruce fir tops to form couches. The wigwam was quite large enough for all of us, including Bouncer, and would have held another guest, leaving ample space between the feet of the sleepers and the fire. We little thought at the time how long we should require it. As soon as it was finished, we lifted Martin up on one of the skins, and carried him into it. He was aware of what we were doing, for as I bent over him I heard him whisper, "Thank you! thank you!" but he could say no more. The soup, which was now ready, greatly revived him, and we ourselves, after our exertions, were glad of a hearty meal. I observed Alick, while we were seated round our fire in the wigwam, shivering several times, while he looked unusually pale. "I am afraid you're ill," I said. "Oh, it is nothing; I shall be better after supper and some sleep," he answered. "My plunge into the cold water was somewhat trying, perhaps; and I wish I had followed your advice, and dried my clothes at once." I begged him to put on my coat, and to cover himself up with one of the deerskins, which was not required for Martin, while his clothes were more effectually dried. To this he at last consented, and we hung them up on the side of the fire opposite to that where Martin lay, so as not to deprive him of the warmth. On going out into the open air, we were sensible of the great difference of temperature which existed inside the hut and outside. We found it necessary to keep the entrance open, instead of closing it with a piece of bark which we had prepared for the purpose. Alick's clothes were soon quite dry, when, having put them on, he stretched himself on the bed we had prepared for him. As he did so, I saw him again shiver violently several times. This made me more than ever apprehensive that he had received a chill. He confessed, indeed, that his head ached terribly, and that he felt sometimes extremely hot, and then very cold. Even a mugful of hot soup, which we got him to swallow, did not seem to do him any good; and as he was now unable to attend to Martin, I took his place. The next morning, as I feared, though Martin was slightly better, Alick was very ill and utterly unfit to proceed on the voyage. We at once made up our minds to remain where we were for that day, or perhaps for longer if necessary. Alick, though very weak, was perfectly conscious. "Don't lose time," he whispered to me; "but do you and Robin go out and try and shoot some game. If our voyage is delayed we may be running short of provisions. Pat will remain with Martin and me, for as he is no shot, he would only be throwing the ammunition away." Pat, who was not vain of his powers as a sportsman, readily consented to this. "Shure, I'll be afther taking good care of the jintleman," he said. "If a bear or a wolf comes this way, faith, he'll be sorry for it to the end of his days." Bouncer accompanied us, and he was so well-trained that he would assist us greatly should we fall in with a deer. We were more successful even than we expected, for we killed a small deer and three squirrels, and on our return saw several other animals--another deer, a raccoon lodged comfortably high up between the branches of a tree, a black fox, and a wolverine; which showed us that, should we have to remain on the spot, we were not likely to run short of provisions. "If we have to remain out during the winter, we shall want skins of all sorts to make clothes and bed-coverings," observed Robin. "Why do you say that?" I asked. "Because I think that there is a great chance of our not getting to the fort before the winter sets in," he answered. "We have already been a long time about our voyage, and I fear, both from your brother's and Martin's state, that we may be detained here several days. Alick's fever is only just commencing, and Martin cannot recover in a hurry; though he's not worse to-day, he's very little better." I could not help agreeing with him, and when we got back to the camp we were both confirmed in the opinion he had expressed. Alick's fever had increased, and Martin was still so weak that he could only just open his eyes and utter a few words in a low voice. Pat had been very attentive in feeding him with small mouthfuls of soup at a time--the best thing he could do. Poor Alick could take nothing, though he was thankful to have his lips moistened with cold water. Robin and I felt very anxious about their condition, but we did not let them see this, and endeavoured to keep up their spirits and our own. The fresh meat we had brought was of great benefit to Martin, as Pat could make better soup with it than he had before been able to do with the dry venison. The next day we were all too much alarmed about Alick even to leave the wigwam; indeed, for several days he seemed to hang between life and death, till a turn came, and he began slowly to mend--so slowly, though, that we gave up all hopes of continuing our voyage. Martin got better rather more rapidly, and was at length able to assist in attending to Alick. He did so with the greatest care. He was aware of the gallant way, with the fearful risk of losing his own life, in which Alick had saved his. The Indian summer--that period between the first breaking up of the real summer weather and the setting in of the frost--lasted but a few days. The leaves of the trees changed from green to varied tints of red, brown, yellow, and purple, hanging but a short time, and the first icy winds brought them in showers to the ground. One morning, when we looked out of our wigwam, the whole face of nature was changed. The boughs of the trees were bending with the snow, and the country on every side was covered with a sheet of white. By closing the entrance of our wigwam, and keeping a fire constantly burning, we maintained a sufficient heat in the interior. The severe frost, however, of that northern region had not yet commenced; but come it would, we knew, and we talked earnestly of the means we must take to enable us to encounter it. Robin and I had been pretty successful with our guns, and we had kept our party well supplied with game. We had killed two more deer, and should have been glad to fall in with three or four bears for the sake of their skins; but, except that of the bear Alick had killed, we had no other. Still, we had reason to be thankful that we had deerskins sufficient to clothe all the party. As Martin got better he employed himself in making some small nets of wattap, of which we obtained a plentiful supply. He had also manufactured another spear, and he proposed, as soon as he was able to go out, to attempt catching some fish. During one of our excursions, Robin and I had reached the shore of a fine lake, in the clear water of which we had seen several large white-fish; and when we told Martin, he begged that we would take his net and spear and try to catch them. "But they are all under the ice now, for the lake must be frozen over," I observed. "So much the better; you will catch them the more easily," he answered. "All you have to do is to cut a hole in the ice, and let down the net, and the fish which will come to breathe at the open water are sure to be caught." As Martin himself was unable to go out, Robin and I undertook to follow his directions, at which he appeared greatly pleased. As both he and Alick seemed to wish for fish we set off at once, leaving Pat to take care of them. We found the lake completely frozen over, and though the ice was not yet very thick, it was sufficiently so to bear our weight. With our long sheath-knives we contrived after some labour to cut a hole in the ice; we then let down one of the nets, holding tight to the upper edge. We had not long to wait, when we felt by the violent agitation of the net that a fish had been caught. We hauled it carefully in, not knowing whether the fish might escape; but it was securely fastened by the gills, and we soon had it safe. It weighed, we calculated, between six and eight pounds. Our success encouraged us to proceed, and another fish, of a still larger size, was captured. "This is good fun," cried Robin. "We shall never want food while we can catch fish in this fashion." Again we put down the net; but though we waited long, no fish came into it. Losing patience, we agreed to cut another hole at some distance off, fancying that the fish might have been frightened at seeing their companions drawn so suspiciously out of the water. Having cut the hole, we, as before, let down the net, and shortly afterwards captured a third fish. I suspect that, had we remained at the first hole, we should have been equally successful. The fish at this early season of the year were probably swimming about freely under the water, and did not require the fresh air which afterwards would become so welcome to them. We cut two or three other holes, and altogether caught five fish--a pretty fair load to carry home. We had the advantage, at this season of the year, of being able to keep them fresh; for they froze soon after they were taken out of the water, and would remain thus perfectly stiff till the return of spring, or till put into water, when the frost would be drawn out of them. That evening, for supper, we had roasted fish and boiled fish, both of which Alick and Martin greatly relished. We made several trips after this to the lake, and the first day Martin was able to set out on an excursion he accompanied us. On that day we were more successful than ever, owing to his superior skill and practical experience. We each returned home heavily-laden. Alick was still too weak to go out, but he had sufficiently recovered to take an interest in all that was going forward, as also to consider our prospects for the future. "One thing is certain, boys: if we are to remain here, we must build a warmer abode than our present one," he observed. "This does very well to sleep in at present; but, as you all know, we shall presently have weather when we may be frozen in our beds, even if we should manage to keep up a fire all night. We must build a log hut with a chimney of stones and clay. I wish we had thought of it before, when the ground was soft, and we could have dug up the stones and found mud to stop the intervals between the logs. We may still manage it, but there is very little time to lose, I suspect, if we are to escape the fate of the gallant Willoughby and his brave men, who were all found frozen on board their ship to the north of Lapland." We were all eager to do as Alick proposed, but as we had but one axe between us, it must be a slow process, I knew; and the axe might break, and the work be stopped altogether. The next morning we commenced operations by marking a number of trees suited for the purpose. Taking the axe, I began chopping away at the first tree we intended to fell. No further progress was, however, made in the work. I had given but a few strokes when I was interrupted in my task. CHAPTER ELEVEN. INDIANS ABROAD--THE LOG CABIN IN THE WILDERNESS--THE SICK MAN--THE OLD IRON POT--THE LITTER--BOUNCER IS LEFT IN A BARGE--MISTICOOK'S SLEDGE-- RABUSHWAY'S ADVICE--ROBIN'S DELIGHT ON DISCOVERING HIS FATHER--PREPARING TO START--SNOW-SHOES AND FUR COATS--HONEST BOUNCER WORKS WELL IN HARNESS--TEA AND SUGAR A LUXURY--PAT'S UNLUCKY MISHAP--SNOW-BLINDNESS-- COYOTES--NO FOOD--THE DESERTED FORT--BEARS AND BEAR'S FLESH--WE START FOR TOUCHWOOD HILLS--WOLVES AND STARVATION--WE GO SUPPERLESS TO BED-- THONG SOUP--BOUNCER SAVES HIS BACON. "Whist! Mister David, whist!" exclaimed Pat, hurrying up to me. "There are Indians lurking about, and they will be sure to be afther discovering us before long. I caught sight of one of them not half an hour ago, away there down the river, as I was looking out for a bird or a baste to shoot for Mister Alick's supper, seeing it's fresh mate he wants more than anything else to set him up again. The redskin did not discover me, as his face was the other way; but I saw a wreath of smoke curling up among the trees on the opposite bank of the river, and it was towards it he was making his way." "The Indian you saw may be a friend quite as likely as a foe," I answered, not feeling much alarmed at Pat's report. "We must, however, find out who he is. I will consult my brother, and hear what he advises." "But if there are a whole band of Indians, they may come some night and take our scalps while we are aslape," said Pat, who, though brave as need be when it came to the pinch, held the Indians in especial dread. Shouldering the axe, I called Martin and Robin, who were selecting trees for our proposed hut at some little distance off. I told them of the information I had just received from Pat, and together we returned to the wigwam to consult Alick. He took the matter with perfect composure. "It is important to ascertain the position of their camp, and whether there are few or many Indians," he observed. "Pat says he has only seen one. If I were well enough I would go out myself; but as it is, I think it will be best for you, David, and Robin to accompany Pat, and to try and get a sight of the camp. As they must, if we remain here, discover us before long, it will be wise to try and get on friendly terms with them. It is possible that they may be well disposed towards the white men, and have been accustomed to trade at the forts. If you can get near their camp without being discovered as evening approaches, you will be able to ascertain how many there are of them, and to what tribe they belong. If you know them to be friends, you can at once go up to them and sit down at their fire. If you are doubtful, it may be better for Robin alone to make his appearance. You, Robin, can tell them that a party of white men, who wish to become their friends, are encamped near." "I am very ready to do whatever you propose," answered Robin. "I shall have no fear of going among them, whoever they may be, and I fully believe they are likely to prove friends." "Should such be the case, tell them that we shall be able to assist each other. If they have no firearms they can track out the game for us, and we can shoot it and share the meat; and say that we will reward them liberally for any aid they may render us," said Alick. Our plan of proceeding was soon arranged. Leaving Bouncer with Alick and Martin, Pat, Robin, and I set out towards the spot where the former had seen the Indian. We then crept forward in single file, carefully concealing ourselves among the bushes, and before long saw a wreath of smoke such as Pat had described curling up amid the trees at no great distance off. Though Alick had advised us to wait till sundown, as we saw no one moving about and the nature of the ground afforded us sufficient concealment, we advanced farther, when what was our surprise, as we got round a thickly wooded point, to see, not an Indian wigwam, but a substantially built log cabin, with a stone chimney, from which the smoke was ascending. "The inhabitants, whoever they are, are not likely to be unfriendly," exclaimed Robin. "Let us go across the river at once and announce ourselves." "The Indians may possibly have taken possession of the log hut, and we should follow Alick's directions," I observed. "Then, as it seems doubtful, let me go alone," said Robin. "That will be doing as Alick desired me, and I have no fear about the matter." While Robin was speaking, an Indian appeared at the door, whom we at once knew from his appearance to be an Ojibbeway, and therefore a friend to the English. He retired again into the hut. This settled all our doubts as to the reception we were likely to meet with. Crossing the river, which was here strongly frozen over, we made our way towards the hut. As we advanced we observed the remains of other buildings, and I now felt sure that it was a deserted missionary station of which I had heard but had never visited, as it lay out of the direct route between the forts. Who the inhabitants of the hut could be we could not surmise. Probably they were weatherbound travellers like ourselves. "If Sandy and the other men hadn't been drowned, bedad, I should be afther thinking it was themselves," observed Pat. I greatly hoped that our friend Sandy had escaped, and that we should find him occupying the hut. It stood a little way back from the river, on a piece of level ground, surrounded by trees whose branches were now weighed down with the snow. Climbing up the bank, we were approaching the door, when our footsteps must have been heard, for it opened, and the same Indian we had before seen appeared, gun in hand. On discovering that we were whites, he turned round and uttered a few words, as if addressing some other person within. "You friends!" he exclaimed; "glad see you." "Yes, indeed we are, and very glad to see you," I answered, advancing and putting out my hand. He took it, and then went through the same ceremony with Robin and Pat. "Come in; but not make much noise," he said, looking over his shoulder; "sick man in there--very sick; glad to see you; maybe you do him good." "I hope that we may," I said, as I advanced into the hut, followed by Robin and Pat. A fire was blazing on the hearth, and with his feet towards it lay a tall man on a low rough bunk covered over with a buffalo-robe. I saw that a number of things were piled up in the corner of the hut, but the scanty furniture was of the roughest description. The whole was comprised in a table formed of a slab of fir and a couple of three-legged stools. "Who are you, friends?" asked the sick man on the bunk, feebly raising his head to look at us. There was no window in the hut to admit light, but the fire showed a bright glare on the countenance of the speaker. It was thin and worn, and deadly pale; it seemed to me as I gazed at him that he could have but a few days to live. Drawing near and sitting down on one of the stools which he bade me take, I briefly told him of the capture of Fort Black, and of our several mishaps while endeavouring to make our way to Fort Ross. I added that my brother and a friend were at the camp a short distance off, but that the former was too ill to venture on the journey at this inclement season of the year, and that we were about to build a hut in which we might pass the winter. "You are welcome to share this hut with me, or rather you have as much right to it as I have, except that possession is said to be nine-tenths of the law," he answered. "However, I will not dispute your right, and should be very glad of your company, especially if you bring provisions; for though I have enough for myself and my faithful Ojibbeways, I could not undertake to feed five more mouths." I assured him that we should be very unwilling to exhaust his store; that we had sufficient meat to last us for some time. While I was speaking, I saw him looking at Robin and Pat, but he asked no questions about them. I told him that we must now return to the camp, or my brother would be growing anxious, and that I hoped we should be able to join him the next day, provided that Alick was well enough to bear the journey. "You should not delay," he remarked, "for we may expect the winter to set in shortly with far greater rigour than hitherto, and your brother might suffer from being exposed to it." "May I venture to ask how you came to be here?" I said, as I was preparing to go. "By a very simple accident," he answered. "I was on a hunting expedition with several followers when, while in the neighbourhood, I was suddenly seized with an illness. Most of my followers took it into their heads that it was the smallpox, and deserted me, with the exception of two Ojibbeways, who remained faithful and brought me to this hut, of the existence of which they were aware, having received instruction here when it was occupied by a missionary. We found it in a very dilapidated condition; but they repaired the roof and rendered it habitable. Had it not been for their care I should have died, and I am still, as you see, hovering between life and death. Don't let me detain you." The voice and language of the person whom we found in this deplorable state convinced me that he was a gentleman. I felt, however, unwilling to leave him longer under the care of the Indians, for I saw what he said about himself was too true, and I feared that even before we could return he might die. I proposed leaving Robin with him, and Robin himself said that he should very much like to remain; but then I recollected that we should require four persons to carry Alick, and that he could not be spared. The sick man's eyes were again turned towards Robin as I spoke. "Strange!" I heard him mutter to himself. "It must be but fancy, though." I again expressed my regret that none of us could remain. "I would not detain you," he answered. "Your companion requires probably more care than I do. I have only to lie here and suffer. My medicine-chest is well-nigh exhausted, and I must now trust to nature. Farewell! I hope to see you all to-morrow." He spoke in the tone of a gentleman inviting a party of guests to his house. We took our departure, and hurried back as fast as we could go. The shades of evening were rapidly increasing; the cold was becoming intense. We were not likely to lose our way, but that was possible, and the consequences might be serious. "There is something strange in the tone of his voice," observed Robin, as he walked by my side. "I could almost fancy that I had heard it before, and yet I don't remember ever seeing anybody like him." Before I could answer, Robin had to fall behind me to follow in my trail, and, indeed, we had to move too rapidly to allow of any conversation. It was becoming darker and darker, and I anxiously looked out for the camp-fire, which I felt sure Martin would keep up to guide us on our way. I should have been thankful could we have moved into warm quarters that night, for I feared that Alick would suffer from the cold. It was a great relief when I at length caught sight of a bright light between the trunks of the trees, as I knew that it must proceed from our camp-fire. We hurried on, and found Martin busily employed in cooking supper. He had made some soup for Alick. I don't know what we should have done without that old iron pot. He had also lighted a small fire in the centre of our wigwam, which of course required constant attention, lest any sparks should reach the inflammable materials of which our habitation was composed. "What news?" asked Martin, looking up from his occupation. "Don't stop to tell me here--it's wonderfully cold; but go inside, and I'll come and hear all about it. Pat, you carry the pot, and I'll bring in the roast. You'll want some food, I suspect, after your expedition." We followed his advice. Pat took off the pot, and we were all soon seated round our wigwam with the entrance carefully closed. Alick was of course much surprised to hear the account we gave him, and declared that he should be perfectly ready to set off the next morning; he would go on his own feet if he could, but if not he must ask us to carry him. "Shure, it's not on your own feet you're going, Mister Alick," observed Pat; "we'll build you an illigant litther, and carry you on our four shoulders." Alick felt conscious that the journey would surpass his powers, and thanked Pat for his good intentions. The Irishman, who was sincerely attached to my brother, proposed immediately setting to work to form a litter, and in spite of the cold, as soon as supper was over he went out with the axe on his shoulder; and, aided by the light of the fire, he cut two long saplings and several smaller pieces, with which he returned to the hut. Before they lay down to sleep, he and Martin put together a litter well suited for carrying Alick. I was thankful the next morning to find my brother so much better, and as soon as we had had some breakfast, having stretched one of the skins over the litter, we placed him on it, covering him up carefully with the others. Not till we were about to start did we think of the danger to which our camp would be exposed by being left without any protection. "Shure, Bouncer will look afther that," said Pat. "Here, Bouncer, see that not a wolf, or a grizzly, or an Indian, or any other brute comes to our camp till we are back again to carry off the things." The dog clearly understood him, and set himself down at the entrance of our wigwam. We then, taking up Alick, commenced our journey to the log hut. Considerable as was the cold, the excursion we had to make kept us warm, and Alick, being well covered up, did not suffer from it. We felt much anxiety as we approached our destination with regard to the sick stranger, and I was prepared as we got up to the door to hear the worst. I was greatly relieved when the Indian, appearing at the door, told us that the gentleman was no worse. Sitting up in his bunk, he welcomed us with a languid smile, and begged that we would place Alick by his side near the fire. We had brought the iron pot at Martin's request, that he might make some soup for the two invalids. "We want you to assist in bringing our provisions from the camp," I observed. "Oh! then let me attend to the soup," exclaimed Robin. "I don't want to shirk my duty." As Martin was now perfectly recovered, he agreed to Robin's proposal. "The lad will be able to attend to all our wants," remarked the sick man, who seemed pleased that Robin should remain. He then turned to the Ojibbeway, and desired him to accompany us, observing that Rabushway, the other Indian, had gone out hunting in the morning, and would probably not return till late. Misticook, the Indian we found at the hut, expressed his readiness to accompany us, and he, Martin, Pat, and I set off at once for our camp. In broad daylight the journey appeared much shorter than it had done the previous evening. As we got up to the camp, I examined it with no little anxiety, fearing that during our absence a prowling bear or band of more ferocious wolves might have broken into it, and carried off our provisions, though I knew that Bouncer would have fought to the death before he allowed them to approach. My fears were at an end when he came rushing out with a cheerful bark to welcome us, wagging his tail and leaping up to assure us that all was safe. Martin and I at once began making up the packages to carry on our backs. "That not do; I no carry these things," observed Misticook. "Arrah! thin, why in the name of wonder did you come?" exclaimed Pat. "You see, I show better way," answered the Indian, and forthwith taking his axe from his belt, he chopped two branches from a neighbouring tree, about ten feet long, turning up at the ends. He then adroitly secured several cross-pieces a little more than a foot long, and in a short time had manufactured a rough sledge. To this he lastly fastened some of the thongs which he had brought with him, to serve as traces. "Now what you carry?" he asked. We showed him the packages we had done up. Nearly as much again remained, for which we had intended to return. He placed the whole of it on the sledge, securing it firmly. "Now ready," he said, and started off. We took a look round, to see that nothing was left behind, and then followed, but found it difficult to keep up with Misticook, who glanced round every now and then in triumph at us. "I wish that we also had made a sledge," said Martin; "we might have saved ourselves a good deal of trouble." However, our pride would not allow us to give in, and we managed to reach the hut soon after the Indian. We found Robin seated by the side of the sick man, who had fallen asleep. Robin put up his finger as a sign to us not to make any noise. We placed our packages with the other things already there, against the walls, as well as those which had been brought on the sleigh. I then observed that there were a number of buffalo-robes and a small tent, and several other articles of traveller's gear. Alick seemed much better. "I shall be all to rights in a few days, I hope," he said; "but I fear that the days of the poor man there are numbered. He has spoken but little during your absence though I remarked that his eyes were continually falling upon Robin as he moved about the hut." "We shall see how he is when he awakes. In the meantime, as you must be hungry, I advise you to take the food Robin has prepared." We very gladly followed the advice, and then lay down to rest. In the evening Rabushway, the other Ojibbeway, returned with a ground-squirrel, the only animal he had shot; the previous day he had killed nothing; he reported that game was very scarce. Knowing that we were coming to the hut, he expressed no surprise at seeing us. He, however, did not look very well pleased. "If you wish to live, you must go out and shoot," he observed, "or else we all starve." "We will do what we can, depend on that," I answered; and Martin and I agreed to accompany him the next morning. The sick man slept on and on, till at last I began to fear that he would not awake. At length, greatly to my relief, I heard him speaking to Robin, and I went up to the side of his bunk to inquire how he felt. "As I have done for several days," he answered. Robin, who had gone to the fire, brought him some broth. "This will restore your strength, sir," he said, "for it has done Alick much good." The sick man took it with a faint smile, for he doubted whether anything would do him good. "Your elder brother will, I hope, soon be well," he observed. "He only requires food and rest." "He is not my brother," answered Robin; on which, thinking it might interest the sick man, he briefly described how he had been carried off by the Indians, and finally, having made his escape from them, been brought to Fort Black. The stranger was evidently listening with intense interest. "Tell me, boy," he exclaimed, interrupting him--"have you no recollection of your parents? What's your name?" "Oh yes, indeed I have. I remember them well--my father and mother, and my sister Ella, and little brother Oliver. My name is Robin Grey!" Almost before the words were out of his mouth, the sick man stretched out his arms, exclaiming-- "I thought it was so. Come here, my boy. I am your father. Long and almost hopelessly I have searched for you." Robin embraced his father. "O papa, I remember you now," he answered, "though you look so ill and sad; but you must get well, you must not die; and dear mamma and Ella and Oliver?" "They were quite well when I left them many months ago; though your poor mother has never ceased to mourn for your loss," answered Captain Grey. "I could not bear to see her suffering, and year after year, since you were lost, I have set off in search of you, returning home only when driven back by the winter. While I lay here I believed that I must abandon all hopes of restoring you to your mother's arms; and, ungrateful as I was, a merciful Providence has brought you to me." "O papa! papa! I am so happy," cried Robin. "You must get well, and we'll go back together to mamma and dear little Ella and Oliver." Captain Grey smiled faintly. "You must pray with me to God that He will restore me, for He alone has the power," he answered; "and we must never again mistrust His providence." This unexpected meeting between Robin and his father gave us all sincere pleasure, and made us acknowledge that our course had been directed by a Superior Power. I cannot but suppose that Robin's arrival at that very moment had the effect of giving a turn to his father's complaint; though, for several days, we perceived no change in him. All we could see was that he was not worse. Alick rapidly recovered, and in the course of a week was on foot and able to face the wintry cold. A heavy fall of snow prevented us from leaving the hut, so we employed the time in manufacturing snow-shoes, without which we saw that it would be impossible to go in search of game. On examining our store of provisions, we found that unless we could kill some large game--either a buffalo, a deer, or a bear--we should be compelled to trespass on Captain Grey's stock. Alick and I discussed the matter when we were out together. "I see no other alternative, should we fail to obtain an abundance of meat, than to push on at once to Fort Ross," he observed. "You and I and Martin and Pat must go. I shall be very sorry to part from Robin, but we must, of course, leave him with his father, and endeavour as soon as possible to send them assistance. I wish that we could find a doctor to send to them, for I fear that the captain will not recover without medical aid. As it is, should the two Ojibbeways be unsuccessful in hunting, they will be very hard pressed for food." I agreed in this with Alick, but I thought that Captain Grey would get well in the course of time, without a doctor. I hoped so, indeed, for there was but little prospect of our finding one. As soon as the weather cleared, Alick, Martin, and I set off on snow-shoes with our guns, but returned without having seen even the trace of an animal. For three days in succession we went out, but came back as unsuccessful as at first. We accordingly, as we had determined, told Captain Grey of our proposal to start forthwith for Fort Ross. He appeared to be very unwilling to let us go. "I don't wish to detain you on my own account, though I shall be sorry to lose your society," he said, "but Robin will be very solitary without your companionship; and should death overtake me, I dread to think of the situation the poor boy will be left in with these two Indians alone." We endeavoured to raise the captain's spirits by promising to send him aid, and pointing out to him that our plan was the best for all parties. We at length succeeded, and as he consented to our proposal, we made immediate preparations for our departure. We first set to work to manufacture fresh knapsacks, with one of which each of us was provided, as also fur coats and caps, that we might be enabled the better to withstand the cold, to which we must inevitably be exposed. Our snow-shoes were strengthened for the long tramp we had in prospect. Fortunately we found a sleigh in the hut, the wood of which was in good condition. It was simply a thin board, twelve feet long, twelve inches broad, and turned up at one end, from the top of which end to the hinder part, two thin poles were fixed on either side for the purpose of fastening the thongs by which the baggage carried on it was to be secured. We also manufactured some harness from buffalo thongs for Bouncer, who was destined to drag it. Pat undertook to drag the sledge which Misticook had made to bring the provisions from our camp. The captain insisted that we should take the tent, as it was but small, and would greatly contribute to our comfort; and he also gave us a further supply of powder and shot, of which we had run short. The morning we had arranged to start arrived. It was snowing, but not sufficiently heavy to delay us. We had tried Bouncer twice before, and he seemed fully to understand the duty required of him. Pat, who was less accustomed to snow-shoes than the rest of us, practised himself frequently, that he might perform the journey without any inconvenience. Robin had been too stoically brought up among the Indians to exhibit the sorrow he felt at seeing us depart, but he was satisfied that it was his duty to remain with his father. After shaking us all by the hand, he resumed his seat by the side of the captain, apparently being unwilling actually to witness our start. The two Indians came out of the hut to give us their final advice as to how, under various circumstances, we should act. While Alick was securing the cargo of Bouncer's sleigh, and I held the brave dog, who once having got on the harness, was eager to set out. Pat led the way with his sleigh to make a road, the direction we were to take having before been arranged. "Good-bye! good-bye!" we cried to the Indians, and away we started, Martin following Pat, while I went just ahead of Bouncer, and Alick brought up the rear, It continued to snow harder than we liked, though as there was but little wind, we did not in consequence suffer. Pat, whose sleigh was but lightly laden, went on bravely, he having wisely placed his knapsack and gun upon it. We, having heavier weights to carry, had at first some difficulty in keeping up with him; and as we were compelled to proceed in Indian file, we could hold but little conversation with each other. Bouncer needed no whip, but followed closely at my heels, assisted by Alick when any hill had to be surmounted. At first we kept along the margin of the river; then having ascended the bank, we found ourselves on level ground, covered by an almost unbroken sheet of snow, here and there only a line of trees showing themselves above the wide expanse of white. Captain Grey had given Alick a compass, which much assisted us in directing our course. The snow ceased about noon, and we halted in the open plain, to enjoy what was decidedly a cold collation, for there was no wood to light a fire, and we did not think it worth while to unpack our sleigh to put up the tent. We were more fortunate in the evening in reaching a thick grove, sheltered by which we encamped. On Pat's sleigh were three short poles, over which the little tent was stretched. It was large enough to allow us four, with Bouncer, to creep inside, while the sleighs were placed one on one side and one on the other, to prevent the canvas from being blown away. We made up our fire at a sufficient distance from the tent, to avoid the risk of the flames catching it. Captain Grey had supplied us with some tea and sugar, and I shall never forget how much we enjoyed the warm beverage, after our long tramp across the snow. Having taken a good meal, we all turned in, wrapped in our buffalo-robes, knowing that Bouncer would warn us should any enemy approach. The only enemies we had to dread were bears or wolves, and we should not have objected to be visited by one of the former, provided we had time to get a fair shot at it. Nothing occurred that night to disturb our repose, and we arose in good spirits, anticipating a successful termination to our journey. In the morning the sky was clear, and the sun glanced brightly over the glittering sheet of snow. It was perfectly calm, and we trudged on cheerfully, every now and then exchanging remarks with each other. We had been walking for some hours, and had agreed that it would soon be time to stop for dinner, when Martin complained of a peculiar pricking in the eyelids. "Shure, it's the same sort of thing I've been feeling," exclaimed Pat. "It's mighty unpleasant, but I thought I'd say nothing about it." It did not occur to me at the time that the symptoms were those which precede snow-blindness, and Alick was too far behind to hear what was said. I had found the glare of the sun unpleasant, and had drawn the front of my cap somewhat over my eyes, which I kept partially closed, fixing them only on Martin's dark coat, which served to guide me. It was owing to this that I did not experience the sensations of which my companions complained. Nothing more was said on the subject for some time, and Pat went forward at his usual pace. The ground became at length rather more uneven than before, but Pat manfully dragged forward his sleigh without complaining; and Alick, who, though coming last, was really directing us like a helmsman at the wheel, seemed to consider that we were going right. Presently I heard a cry, and looking over Martin's shoulder, I saw Pat's legs in the air, and the sleigh, the hinder part of which Martin had just caught hold of, tipping up, as if about to follow the Irishman down the hollow into which it was evident he had fallen. I sprang forward as fast as my snow-shoes would allow me, to catch hold of the sleigh, when what was my dismay to see Pat's feet disappear altogether beneath the snow, his stifled cries alone reaching my ears. "He has fallen into a deep pit, I fear," cried Martin. "He'll be smothered if we don't dig him out quickly," I said. Martin and I, going ahead of the sleigh, hauled away at the traces which were secured round Pat's body, but in our efforts to haul him out they broke. We became seriously alarmed, for the snow falling in completely concealed Pat from sight. Alick, seeing what had happened, came hurrying up ahead of Bouncer, who sagaciously halted. Every moment of delay was of consequence, but before we could do anything we had to take off our snow-shoes. Alick then holding on to the sledge, which we brought close to the side of the pit, plunged into it, feeling with his hands in the hopes of catching hold of one of Pat's feet, while we shovelled away, lying flat with our heads and shoulders over the hollow, endeavouring to throw out the snow. "I feel one of Pat's shoes!" cried Alick at length. "Here is a foot! Pass the broken trace down to me." We did as he directed. Presently we caught sight of another foot which was still moving about, showing that the owner was not yet altogether suffocated. I succeeded in getting hold of it. "Now, haul away!" cried Alick. "We mustn't mind how we get him out, provided he comes out." We pulled and pulled, the snow slipping in around us, and at length the Irishman's legs came into view, though, as Alick was on one side of the hole and I on the other, their owner must have suffered no little inconvenience and pain. As soon, however, as Alick could get on firmer ground, the body quickly followed, and at length we heard Pat's voice in smothered tones exclaiming, "Shure, if you pull my legs off, I'll niver be able to walk again at all, at all!" "Never mind your legs, if we can get your head out," answered Alick, laughing. We saw that Pat was not likely to be much the worse for the adventure, and in a few seconds we got him safe out of the hole, and in a few more he was all to rights, and we helped him put on his snow-shoes, which were fortunately not broken. His cap had stuck to his head, and he had not even lost his mitts. "Bedad! I thought I was niver going to stop till I got to the bottom of the airth! I'm mighty obliged to yese, for if ye hadn't caught me I should have been going on still," said Pat, shaking the snow from his fur dress. We again put on our snow-shoes, while Pat was knotting the traces. Making a circuit to avoid the pit, which was of considerable extent, we proceeded as before. We had gone two or three miles farther, and were near a wood, when Pat cried out, "For the life of me it's more than I can do to see the way," and Martin confessed that he also had almost lost his sight. I told Alick what they said. "It is snow-blindness," he answered--"a serious matter. We must camp without delay. Do you go on, David, ahead of Pat, and show the way." I told Pat, who was stumbling on, to stop while I took the lead of the train. He then easily followed, and Martin kept after his sledge. We went on in this way till we reached the wood for which I was steering. On getting under its shelter we lost no time in putting up the tent, in which we immediately placed our two now perfectly blind companions. Alick and I had cause to be thankful that we had not suffered in the same way. How dreadful would have been our fate had the whole party been struck by snow-blindness! Alick remembered to have heard that the only cure was to bathe the eyes in cold water, and to remain under shelter. We might thus be delayed for several days, but as we could not tell that we should not be attacked in the same way, we thought this better than attempting to reach Fort Ross without stopping. We lighted a fire, and put some snow into the pot to melt. We had abundance of food for the journey, so that the delay on that account was not of much consequence, though we might have to go on short commons at the end of it. Our blind companions found great relief from bathing their eyes. We had to take the pot again and again to the fire, as it rapidly cooled and began to freeze. All arrangements having been made, Alick took his gun, and went out in the hopes of finding some game in the wood. Late in the evening he returned without having shot anything. Another whole day passed, and on the third, as Martin began to see a little, leaving Bouncer to assist him in taking care of the camp, I accompanied Alick. We had been out some hours when we caught sight of a small deer, to which we gave chase. It kept a long way ahead of us, but we followed its trail, determined, at all costs, to have it. It stopped several times, and at last, we having got within range, Alick was tempted to fire. His shot took effect, but the deer bounded off, though we saw by the crimson stains on the snow that it was severely wounded; still it kept ahead of us, and disappeared behind a grove of larches. Feeling pretty sure that it would seek for shelter in the wood, and knowing that we could always trace it, as we were both weary of our long run, we sat down for a few minutes to rest. "Now," cried Alick, "well go and get the deer." Again we started off, but had not gone many paces when we heard the faint sounds of yelping and barking. The trail was clear enough, but the deer, though wounded, had evidently gone at a great pace. In a short time we discovered that the trail had been joined by that of several other animals coming from the right hand and the left, which we at once knew to be wolves. "We shall lose our venison, I fear, if we don't make haste," said Alick. The yelping and barking sounds increased in loudness, when we saw ahead of us, amid the snow, a flashing of tails and flying hair, and directly afterwards a dozen or more dark forms, all tugging and snarling and occasionally biting at each other, evidently employed in pulling away at a body on the ground. They were "coyotes," or small prairie-wolves; but though small, they exhibit wonderful activity and power of swallowing. By the time we got up to the brutes they had devoured every particle of the deer, and nothing remained but a well-picked skeleton, from which they slunk off when we were almost close enough to knock them over with the butts of our guns. They were not worth shooting, so we let them go, and, bitterly disappointed, set off to return to our camp. We had no difficulty in finding our way, but it was trying to have lost our game after so long a chase, especially as we greatly needed the venison both for ourselves and Bouncer, who required to be well fed. The next morning Pat, as well as Martin, had sufficiently recovered to set off again. By Alick's advice we fastened some dark handkerchiefs over our faces, with two minute holes in them through which we could look. We could, however, see only directly before us, unless, we turned our heads. We had been compelled to use up the greater portion of our food during these four days' delay. On the evening of the fifth day after leaving the camp at which we had so long remained, we found ourselves approaching Fort Ross. All our troubles, we hoped, would now be at an end. We had exhausted the remainder of our pemmican and dried meat at the last, meal we had taken at noon, having given Bouncer a larger portion than usual. That did not matter. We were about to be welcomed by our friends, and to enjoy an abundance. We all felt hungry, and could not help talking of the warm supper which would soon be placed before us. We therefore trudged cheerfully forward, Pat every now and then giving forth one of his merry Irish songs. At last the flanking towers of Fort Ross came into view through the dim twilight, but no flag was flying, nor did we see anybody moving about. "Of course they hauled down the flag at sunset," said Martin, "but I wonder they didn't see us. They would be sure to be keeping a lookout." Alick made no remark. I expected every instant to see Mr Meredith or some of the garrison come out to welcome us. The gate was reached, but no one appeared. We knocked and shouted, and Bouncer barked. No answer came, neither to his nor our calls. "The fort is deserted!" I exclaimed. "What dreadful event can have happened?" "Mr Meredith for some reason or other was ordered to retire. Had the Indians captured the fort, the gate would have been left open," observed Alick. "The sooner we get in and ascertain what has occurred, the better," said Martin. "Faix, thin, if you'll give me a lift I'll soon find out," said Pat, taking off his snow-shoes. The poles of the tent were placed against the gate, and with our help Pat climbed them till he could reach the top with his hands, when, drawing himself up, he got his head and shoulders over. "Sorra a man do I see," he cried out, "but, bedad, there's a black baste waddling along on the opposite side. There's another, and another. They're bears, and seem to be the only garrison left in the place. Just hand me up my gun, plase, for I should not like having them coming to turn me out without the manes of disputing the matther." We handed Pat up his gun, when he immediately slipped down inside and made haste to undo the fastenings of the gate. It was opened, and we hurried in, dragging the sledges after us. We loosened Bouncer, that he might be able to do battle should any of the bears venture to attack us. They, however, the very moment we had arrived, were, so it seemed to us, on the point of evacuating the fort, and the last of them must have climbed over the palisades while Pat was engaged in undoing the door. We conjectured that their object in coming to the fort was to search for food. Having entered, we again closed the door and took possession of one of the rooms, in which was a large stove. Fortunately there was a small store of wood remaining, with which we lighted a fire, and had there been food we should have been perfectly comfortable. Why our friends had deserted the fort it was difficult to determine. Martin thought that it was on account of want of provisions. Alick held to the opinion that they were required to strengthen the garrison of some more important fort. I suspected that Mr Meredith, having heard of the destruction of Fort Black, and believing that Fort Ross would be attacked, and that he possessed inadequate means of defending it, had thought it prudent to retire to another post. "Surely they would not have gone away without leaving some notice for us behind them, even although they were unable to spare any provisions, should we arrive here," I said. "They also probably believed that we were all destroyed," said Alick, "and would not have thought about us." "Whether or not, gintlemen, I'll just take the liberty of hunting about, and seeing if I cannot ferret out some food or other," exclaimed Pat. "If these bastes of bears haven't broken into the pantry, maybe there will be a scrap of something or other to stay our stomachs." Saying this, Pat lighted the end of a piece of pinewood, and set off on his search. Though we had but little hope of finding anything eatable, we followed his example, and searched in every nook and corner of the fort. Not a particle of food of any description could we find, which confirmed the opinion Martin had expressed that our friends had been compelled to desert the fort from the want of provisions. Indeed, when I came to think of the matter, I did not believe that Mr Meredith could have been frightened away by fear of an attack from Indians. As I was returning to the sitting-room across the square, the light from my torch showed me a dark form creeping along near the stockade. I felt sure that it was a bear which had not succeeded in making its escape. I hurried in for my gun, which I had left in the room where Bouncer was lying down by the fire. My companions were at the time in different parts of the fort. I was afraid of calling to them, for fear of frightening the bear; so, taking my gun in one hand and the torch in the other, I crept forward in the direction in which I had seen the animal. Again I caught sight of him attempting to climb up the palisade. I advanced a few steps. Whether or not he saw me I could not tell. Marking well the spot, I dropped my torch, and raising my gun to my shoulder, fired. By the faint light of the almost expiring torch I saw a huge body fall. The report of the gun of course quickly brought out the rest of the party, when, all of us hurrying forward, to our infinite satisfaction we saw the bear on the ground struggling to get up. My bullet had missed his head, but broken his shoulder. Alick and Martin immediately fired, and the bear's struggles ceased. "Be aisy, gintlemen; he may not be dead afther all," cried Pat, advancing cautiously with his torch. I reloaded my gun, in case Pat should be right in his conjecture; but the bear gave no signs of life, and getting up to him we found that he was quite dead. We lost no time in skinning him, and as soon as we had done so Martin cut a few choice pieces out of the carcass, and hastened back with them to the fire, while we finished the operation. He was a young animal, less active or sagacious than his companions. We at once carried the meat and skin into the house, where Martin had some steaks ready for us. We lay down after supper with thankful hearts that a supply of meat had been so providentially sent to us. Bouncer had his share, and then composed himself to sleep near the door, with one eye open ready to warn us of the approach of danger. Feeling sure that no unfriendly Indians were likely to be in the neighbourhood at that season of the year, we passed the night with a feeling of perfect security. We had now to determine what further course it would be best to pursue. The meat of the young bear would last us for several days, and perhaps some of its companions might return to the fort and allow themselves to be shot; but the probability was, however, slight. Finding that there was no food and that the fort was garrisoned, they were not likely again to climb over the palisades. Should they not do so we might, after all, be very hard pressed for food. "What do you say, lads, to pushing forward at once to the fort at Touchwood Hills? The journey is a long one, but we are likely to find game on the way; and if not, the flesh of this bear economised will last us till we get there," said Alick. There were no dissentient voices. We agreed, however, to rest that day and keep watch, on the possibility of another bear appearing. None came, and early in the morning we again plunged into the wilderness of snow. For two days we travelled on without any adventure, looking out for game as we had before done. The second day we encamped rather earlier than usual, as we saw traces of several deer, which we resolved if possible to run down. Having hurriedly pitched our tent near a small wood, Alick, Martin, and I started off, leaving Pat and Bouncer to guard the camp. Pat had his gun ready, observing that perhaps a deer would come that way, and if so he might hope to kill it. Though no deer were in sight, their tracks were unmistakable, and we were tempted to go on farther from the camp than we had intended. As the sun set, the wind began to blow colder than before, and clouds to gather in the sky. Alick exclaimed that we must return as fast as our legs could carry us. Before we had got far, down came the snow, and with good reason we began to fear that we should be unable to retrace our steps. As long as we had sufficient light Alick's compass guided us, and we had taken the last glance at it, and were scarcely able to distinguish in what direction the needle pointed, when we caught sight of the tent, and heard Pat's voice shouting loudly to us. We hurried on, thankful that we had not been benighted; but Pat, instead of welcoming us, as we expected, stood in front of the tent wringing his hands. "What's the matter, Pat?" asked Alick. "Shure! matther enough, Misther Alick dear," he answered. "Just afther you went away, Bouncer and I caught sight of a deer, far off over the snow. Says I to Bouncer, `We'll have that deer;' and off we set, making sure that we should come up to him before long. Instead of stopping to be shot, however, the baste took to its heels. To make a long story short, though we followed for many a mile, it got away afther all. Now comes the worst part of the business. As we drew near to the tent I heard a loud yelling, and what should I see but a pack of hungry wolves tearing away at my sledge with all the bear's mate on it, and by the time I got up not a scrap was left--bad luck to the bastes. Och! shure, shure, what shall we be afther doing?" We cast blank looks at each other, and Bouncer hung down his head, as if he had been the cause of our loss. Alick could not blame Pat, though he regretted that he did not give him a strict charge on no account to leave the camp. After our long chase we were desperately hungry, but had not a morsel to eat. There was no use repining, however, and we hoped that we might have better fortune the next day. Supperless we turned into our little tent, to try to overcome our hunger by sleep. An occasional growl from Bouncer showed us that the wolves were still near. As we had no breakfast to cook, the next morning we started as soon as there was daylight sufficient to enable us to pack up our tent. Not a trace of a deer did we see the next day; had any passed that way, the snow must have obliterated their footmarks. The second night was approaching, and we had no food. We came to some hills with a grove of trees near a stream at their foot, but the stream was frozen over, and the hills and trees covered thickly with snow. As we were looking round for a spot on which to pitch our tent, we heard Pat, who was at a little distance, shout out, "Here's an Injin wigwam; maybe the owner will give us some food." On reaching it, however, we found that the wigwam contained no inhabitants. There were, however, several articles within, the household goods of a native--a pot, wallet, basket, buffalo-robe, and other things. At first we thought that the owner had gone out hunting, and would soon return, but on a further examination we were satisfied that it had been deserted for several days, or perhaps weeks. Too probably, the unfortunate man had lost his life, either killed by a bear or a human enemy, or, unable to obtain game, had perished from hunger. Alick suggested that the occupants might have died of some disease, and that it would be prudent to pitch our tent and sleep in that, rather than in the wigwam. Having cut some wood, we lighted a fire and chopped up the thongs of Pat's sledge to make some soup. Though very unpalatable, it would serve to keep us alive; it, at all events, stopped the gnawings of hunger and enabled us to go to sleep. We were awakened towards the morning by the howling of the wind amid the leafless trees and the falling of the snow from the branches. Looking out of the tent, we could scarcely bear the chilling blast, which drove the particles of snow like pins and needles into our faces much as spoondrift is driven from off the waves of the ocean. To proceed on our journey was impossible. We dared not even light a fire near the tent, lest it might be destroyed by the flames driven against it by any sudden change of wind. All that day we sat helpless and disconsolate. Martin, who had held out bravely hitherto, began to give way. "Oh! I must have some food," he murmured, "or I shall die." He repeated this several times. Alick at length, seizing his gun, started up. I thought he was going out in spite of the bitter weather to search for game, but I saw him put his hand on Bouncer's head and lead him forth. He had got a short distance from the tent when we overtook him. "It must be done," he said; "Bouncer must die. I cannot sit by and see that poor boy perish. What should we say to his father and mother, should we again meet them, or to Rose?" I felt as he did, but, unwilling to see our noble and faithful dog put to death, I turned aside, expecting to hear the report of the gun, when Pat stepped up. "Shure, Misther Alick, you would not be afther killing the poor baste!" he exclaimed. "Let us trust to Providence as heretofore. We have not been deserted through all our throubles and dangers. See now! what's that there?" he suddenly exclaimed. "After it, Bouncer!" and he and the dog started off over the snow. I turned on hearing his voice, and saw a small animal followed by a larger, which I knew to be a fox. The cunning animal, catching sight of us just before I fired, gave a sudden turn, and though my bullet knocked off the top of his brush, he was far away, hidden by some low bushes, before even Alick had seen him. A "Hurrah!" from Pat at the same instant reached my ears, and he came running back with Bouncer, who had caught the smaller animal. The faithful dog at once surrendered his prize. It was a ground-squirrel which the fox had chased out of its winter nest. We should have been compelled to eat it raw had we not discovered a small open spot among the trees where we could light a fire. Skinning the squirrel, we cut it up and put it into the pot to boil, while Bouncer had the head and skin for his share. He looked very grateful at being first served, but licked his chaps, as if he would have been obliged to us for a larger meal. That squirrel, I believe, saved Martin's life, and perhaps the lives of all of us. We were sufficiently recovered the next morning, and the storm having abated we again set out; for all of us suffered more from hunger than we had ever before done during our adventures. CHAPTER TWELVE. "TRIPE DE ROCHE"--DESOLATION--PAT'S ENDURANCE--LEATHER SOUP--"IT'S A CARIOLE; THERE'S ANOTHER AND ANOTHER"--"ALICK MCCLELLAN! DAVID! CAN IT BE YOU?"--A GOOD SQUARE MEAL--SANDY'S ESCAPE--HONEST BOUNCER'S "RIGHTFUL POSITION"--THE CARIOLE--NIGHT ENCAMPMENT IN THE SNOW--BUFFALO-HUNTING-- WOLVES! WOLVES!--ROSE AND LETTY IN DANGER--I DEFEND THEM--THE FORT REACHED AT LAST--OUR START FOR THE LOG CABIN--CAPTAIN GREY RECOVERS--I ACCOMPANY ROBIN TO FORT GARRY--ELLEN AND OLIVER--CONCLUSION OF MY HISTORY--DESCRIPTION OF THE PRESENT STATE OF THE RED RIVER SETTLEMENT (NOW CALLED MANITOBA) AND OF THE "FERTILE BELT" BEYOND IT REACHING TO THE FOOT OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. A moderate walk on snow-shoes on a fine winter's day, with agreeable companions, when the sky is blue, the air still, and the snow frozen hard, is a very pleasant thing; and so is a hunting expedition, with attendants carrying refreshments, and the certainty, even though game may not be shot, of a good meal after it at a cheerful camp-fire, with abundance of buffalo-robes for covering; but to go on, tramp, tramp, tramp, day after day over the icy plains, often with a sharp wind blowing, and but a scanty fire and imperfect shelter at the termination of the journey, is a very different matter. We found it to be so. Often the ground was uneven; sometimes we had hills to ascend, and precipitous elopes to slide down, not knowing what might be at the bottom; and then a wide plain to traverse, without a tree or a shrub to break its monotony or to assist us in directing our course. Soon after we set out in the morning our eyebrows became covered with frost, our caps froze to our brows, surrounded by a rim of icicles. The fronts of our coats were fringed with similar ornaments; even our eyelashes were covered with our congealed breath. On several occasions we had to camp that we might go in search of game; but after many hours' toil we returned--on one occasion with a fox, on another with a second ground-squirrel, and on two other days with a single hare. The fox, though the least palatable, from being larger, lasted us longer than the other animals, and afforded poor Bouncer an ample meal. We had reason to be thankful at obtaining these supplies, or we should otherwise have sunk down on the snow and perished; for even had we killed our poor dog, as he was nothing but skin and bones his body would not have long sustained us. For two whole days we feasted on _tripe de roche_, which, when boiled in our kettle, afforded us the only vegetable diet we had for a long time tasted. A high ridge had to be crossed, and it cost us much trouble to reach the summit. We had to take Bouncer out of the traces and drag up the sleigh ourselves. A dreary prospect met our view from thence. Before us was a wide extent of country covered with its wintry clothing, its undulations reminding us of the ocean when the troubled waves begin to subside after a storm. Here and there a few leafless trees partially diversified the chilling scene, resembling the shattered masts of vessels which had suffered in the conflict of waters. In vain did we strain our eyes to catch a glimpse of anything of human or animal shape. Neither did man, nor fowl, nor cattle, nor beast, nor creeping thing meet our gaze. Animated nature seemed to have abandoned the dreary solitude, and silent desolation reigned around. Yet this was the region we had to cross for many days before we could reach our destination. I could not avoid asking myself, should any of us be able to endure the fatigue we must first undergo, or should we even obtain food to support life? Already we were greatly weakened, while Martin especially looked a phantom of his former self. Alick, though only so lately recovered from his severe illness, held out the best. Pat never made a complaint, though his wan cheek showed that famine was telling on him. If I sucked in my cheeks, it felt as if my teeth would come through them, and my knees would often scarcely bear me. Hitherto, except the lichen we had scraped from the rocks, we had had no food that day, and we might be unable to obtain any before night. "Come, lads; we must push on," cried Alick. "It won't do to be stopping here doubting whether we shall be able to get over yonder country. It has to be done, and the sooner we do it the better." Allowing the sledge to go first, we all slid down the steep slope in a half-sitting posture, happily reaching the bottom without accident. Honest Bouncer then came up to be again harnessed, and we set off at our usual pace--trudge, trudge, trudge. Hour after hour the click of the snow-shoes sounded in our ears. "I wonder how long a man can go without eating?" asked Martin in a doleful tone. "It is possible to hold out for three days," answered Alick, "and perhaps longer, though it would not be pleasant. Don't you think of giving in yet, Martin. We shall have some fresh meat to-morrow, I dare say, if we don't get it to-night; and, at all events, we can have some leather soup before we turn in. We have a spare buffalo-robe or two to eat up before we cry die!" That night all we had to sustain nature was the leather soup Alick spoke of, with the addition of some _tripe de roche_. Next morning we breakfasted on the same unsatisfactory materials. We were still some days' journey from the fort, and for the last three days not an animal had we seen. Alick again began to turn, I thought, wolfish eyes at Bouncer. The poor dog walked on steadily dragging the sleigh, and looking up with an affectionate glance at our faces when any of us passed, happily unconscious of the fate threatening him. Even Pat was at length beginning to despair. Alick cheered us on. "You must not give in, boys; you must not give in," he exclaimed over and over again. I felt that his advice, though good, was impracticable. The evening was approaching. I could scarcely drag one foot after another. We yet had some distance to go before we could reach a valley which lay below us, with a stream in summer flowing through it, and a grove of trees by its side. Unable longer to support myself, I sank down on my knees, my gun dropping to the ground. My eyes were dimmed by my frozen eyelashes. Alick and Pat were assisting me to rise, when Martin, who was a little ahead, exclaimed, "I see something coming along the valley: it's a cariole. There's another and another." I passed the cuff of my coat over my eyes. My companions held up their hands and shouted at the top of their voices, Bouncer at the same time lifting up his head and barking with all his might, as if conscious of the importance of being heard. The carioles came on at full speed along the valley, their drivers running behind them. There were twenty or thirty of them, each drawn by eight or ten powerful dogs. I could now see them clearly. Then came a number of baggage-sledges with more men on snow-shoes, all keeping up the same steady pace. Our dread was that the travellers would pass without seeing us. Who they could be we could not tell, but they were evidently coming from the direction of the place to which we were bound. Again we shouted and waved our hands, and then Alick bethought him of firing off his gun. We all discharged ours, and presently we saw the leading sledge stop, the driver making a signal to the one behind him. It was passed along the line, and the whole train came to a halt. "We are saved! we are saved!" we cried in chorus. The knowledge of this restored our strength. I was helped up by my companions, and we all, straggling on, reached the bottom of the valley close to the leading sledge. A gentleman got out of it and came towards us. We at once saw that he was Mr Meredith, though he at first evidently did not recognise any of us. "What!" he exclaimed at length; "Alick McClellan!--David! can it be you?" He pressed our hands. "I little expected again to see you.--And Martin Crisp! can that be you? I know you now, though you look dreadfully pulled down. There are those behind to whom your appearance will give new life." "Then have my father and mother escaped?" exclaimed Martin, and he burst into tears. "Yes," answered Mr Meredith, "I am thankful to say that they have, and are now returning with us to Fort Ross, on their way to their former station." I cannot well describe the greetings we received from Rose and Letty, and indeed from all the party, with many of whom, besides Mr and Mrs Crisp, we were well acquainted. Fortunately the train was not far from the spot selected for camping that night, and several of the gentlemen insisted upon getting out of their carioles and letting us take their places, while they put on our snow-shoes and ran by our sides. Poor Pat was of course treated in the same manner, and I took Bouncer in between my legs--the first time in his life he had ever enjoyed the honour of being dragged by his fellow-creatures. The camp was soon reached. A party of men had gone on before to make preparations. Tents had been put up for the ladies, lean-to's near the fires to shelter the gentlemen. Abundance of food was soon placed before us--soft bread, hot tea and coffee. Far gone as we were, we were not so far gone that we could not enjoy it. The adventures of our friends were recounted. Mr Meredith, though he had heard that the Blackfeet intended to take the fort, would have remained to defend it had he not been compelled to quit it for want of provisions. He was now returning with reinforcements of men and an ample supply of food; besides which he had a party of hunters with him, and he hoped to obtain an abundance of buffalo meat and venison. So secure did he feel that he was bringing back Rose and Letty and Mr and Mrs Crisp. The two young ladies allowed Alick and me to sit near them; and I am compelled to confess, though I heard the sweet tones of their voices in my ear, it was not long after supper when I found my head nodding, and that the power to rouse myself had gone. I sunk back fast asleep, and remember nothing more till, opening my eyes, instead of the fair countenances of my young friends, I saw the well-bronzed visage of Sandy McTavish bending over me. "Vera glad to see you, faster David, though I am loath to rouse you from your sleep; but the sleighs are harnessing, and the train will presently be on the move." Sandy, taking my hand as he spoke, helped me to rise. I felt extremely stiff, and my joints ached considerably. While I was drinking a tin of hot coffee which he had brought me, he told me how he and one of his companions, after the canoe had been upset, had clung on under her with their heads just above water, as she floated down the river, till at length, by great exertions, they had managed to direct her with their feet towards the shore. Believing that Pat was lost, they did not look for him, but, as soon as they had recovered, pushed on for Fort Ross, which they reached almost dead with hunger, and were, of course, the first to announce the tidings of the destruction of Fort Black. Sandy had already found Pat, who had given him an account of our adventures. I told him how delighted I was, too, to find that he had escaped, as I had given him up for lost. He told me, almost with tears in his eyes, how he had mourned for us, cut off, as he fancied, in our prime. "But God is vera merciful," he said, "and He has preserved you, I hope, to be good and useful men." "He has indeed taught us to trust Him, for His arm alone could have saved us from the many dangers to which we were exposed," I answered. We had not much time, however, for conversation, and Sandy, who had undertaken to look after me, helped me into a sledge, which had been prepared, he said, for my use. Honest Bouncer, who had slept at the door of the tent, got in after me, seeming to consider that the place at my feet was his rightful position. There was just time before starting to exchange greetings with the rest of the party, who were already in their carioles. I found that during the night four fresh carioles had been formed, and by taking a dog from one team and one or more from others, a sufficient number of animals had been procured to drag us. Sandy, who drove my team, gave me an account of the various events which had occurred, and of the grief our supposed loss had caused our friends. "The young ladies," he said, "he feared would never again have recovered their spirits, and it was only when some hope was expressed that we might have escaped that they at all brightened up." Letty afterwards told me, indeed, that she had never altogether abandoned hope. "I could not have borne it had I done so," she added. After the fatiguing way in which we had been accustomed to travel, it was delightful to be drawn along at a rapid rate over the hard snow, well wrapped up in buffalo-robes; with a piece of crape drawn over the face to shelter it from the icy blast when the wind blew strong, or to shield the eyes when the sun shone too brightly on the glittering sheet of white. The cariole, such as I was now seated in, is a somewhat simple vehicle. It is formed of a very thin board ten feet long and fourteen inches broad, turned up at one end in the form of a half-circle. To this board a high cradle, like the body of a small carriage, is attached, about eighteen inches from the end of the floor-board. The framework is covered with buffalo-skin parchment, and painted according to the taste of the builder. The inside is lined with a blanket or buffalo-robe; and when the traveller is seated in it, with his legs stretched out at his ease, he is only separated from the snow by the before-mentioned floor-board. Eight, twelve, or even more dogs form the team of a cariole, dragging it by long traces attached to collars which are ornamented with bead-work and tassels, and a string of small bells, which emit a pleasant tinkling sound. The driver runs behind the cariole, guiding it by means of a line fastened to the floor which projects behind the seat. When he gets tired of running, he stands on this projecting board; or should there be any luggage, he sits on the top of it. When a new road is to be made--as was the case at the present--two or three men on snow-shoes go ahead and beat down the snow, making the road just wide enough for the passage of a cariole. The dogs seldom attempt to go off the track thus formed, though the first four or five teams have the hardest work; after which the road becomes hard, and the rest easily follow. It was curious to look forward and back at the long thin line, like some vast serpent moving over the snowy plain, following all the windings of the pioneers ahead; and it was cheering to hear the tinkling sound of the bells, and the voices of the drivers as they urged on the dogs. When we encamped for the night, a small tent for the ladies, and another for two or three of the superior officers who required the luxury, were pitched; fires were lighted as close to them as safety would allow, or sometimes one long fire at which the cooks at once commenced operations. Supper over, a short time was spent in conversation, and then all the party except those on guard betook themselves to repose. The greater number, who slept in the open air, rolled themselves up in their buffalo-robes in two lines, one on each side of the fire, with their feet towards it. Most of the dogs in the meantime had scraped out for themselves hollows in the snow, while others found out snug berths so close to the fire that they ran no little danger of burning their fur. Such was the scene which met my eyes just before I fell asleep, rolled up like the rest in buffalo-robes with a knapsack for my pillow, the snow my couch, and the sky glittering brightly with countless stars overhead; and such was the scene which our camp presented night after night. We had got within three days' journey of our destination, when numerous buffaloes were seen in the far distance; and as it was important to secure some fresh meat, Mr Meredith ordered a halt, that the hunters might go in chase of the animals. It was supposed that the buffaloes were moving away to the westward, and that another opportunity of hunting them might not occur during the winter. A convenient place for a camp, in a hollow surrounded by trees, was chosen, and wigwams were put up for those who wished to remain in camp. The larger number of the men, however, all of whom were accustomed to hunting, were eager to go in chase, so that comparatively few remained to guard the camp. I resolved to stay behind, both for the sake of enjoying the society of Rose and Letty, as also because I had had hunting enough, and had scarcely yet sufficiently recovered to undergo the fatigue of a long run in snow-shoes. Alick, though he had held out so well when leading our small party, had knocked up altogether when his responsibilities were over, and was unfit to exert himself in any way; all he could do, indeed, was to step into his cariole and be dragged along over the snow. Martin was very little better, and this was the first opportunity he had had of spending any time with his parents, who were anxious to hear his adventures. I had been seated with Rose and Letty before the camp-fire, when they proposed putting on their snow-shoes and walking to the top of a slight elevation some distance off, from whence we fancied that a view might be obtained of the herd of buffaloes. The air was perfectly calm, the sky bright, and as a hard crust had formed over the snow, we found walking especially pleasant. We went on and on, consequently, farther than we had intended, expecting every instant to come in sight of the hunters and the shaggy monsters of which they were in chase. The ridge on the top of which we were walking was of no great height, and others somewhat more elevated intervened, we found, between us and the plain on which the buffaloes had been seen. Rose--who had been leading, while Letty and I walked alongside each other--at last proposed going back. We--that is, Letty and I--had forgotten to watch the sun, which was already sinking rapidly towards the horizon. Just as we turned I caught sight of a number of dark objects, moving quickly over the snow. For a moment I thought they might be the huntsmen, but I was soon convinced that they were wolves. I did not at first apprehend that they were coming towards us, but still I knew that it would be well to make our way back to camp as fast as possible. I begged Rose and Letty to go forward while I kept watch on the proceedings of the wolves. We had not gone far when to my dismay I felt convinced that they were making towards us, and I could even hear the faint sounds of their yelping and barking coming up from the plain below us. I urged my companions to hasten on while I followed close behind them. I was in hopes that they were merely coyotes, which are cowardly creatures; but as they got nearer I saw that they were the larger species of prairie wolf, too probably rendered savage by hunger. I now bitterly regretted having allowed my young friends to go so far from the camp. We were still at too great a distance to make any signal for assistance. I knew that by running we should only encourage the wolves to pursue us, and therefore entreating the young ladies to stop, I placed myself between them and the yelping pack of brutes, who were now within twenty yards of us. The brave girls not only did not continue running, but came up close behind me--Rose placing herself directly in front of Letty, and holding her hands to her neck, knowing that they were too likely to spring at it. I felt that I must make every effort to drive the brutes away. Shouting at the top of my voice in order to scare them, I fired at the leader of the pack, and knocked it over; but before I could reload, the savage animals were close upon me. Taking my gun by the barrel, I used it as a club and struck with it right and left. My first blow beat down a wolf close to my feet, when its hungry companions immediately set upon it, and with fearful yelps and snarls began tearing it to pieces; but others still came on, gaunt, starving animals, barking savagely. Another wolf was on the point of springing at my throat, when I happily struck that down also; but several were at the same time making at Rose and Letty. My courage rose to desperation. I must save them even though I were myself to perish; but how could I hope to drive off the savage pack that came scampering on, eager to tear us to pieces? There must have been fifty or more of them. Again and again as I struck around me I shouted with all my might. A reply came from behind me. It was that of human voices. I heard a shot, and another wolf rolled over. I dared not for a second look round to ascertain who was coming to our relief. Presently I heard Bouncer's deep bark and the voices of several more people. Other shots followed, and as the wolves fell their companions as before set upon them, leaving only a few brutes for me to deal with; till Bouncer, seizing by the throat one of the most daring, who was in the act of leaping at Rose, pulled it down as a hound does a deer. Sandy, Pat, and several of the hunting party now came up, and clubbing their guns, quickly laid low many more of the wolves, the remainder, panic-stricken, turning tail and galloping off at full speed. Reloading, we fired at the retreating pack, a number more of which fell over killed or went yelping away. Thankful for our merciful deliverance, we returned to the camp accompanied by our friends. They had followed a buffalo, which they had killed just below the ridge along which we had been walking when the wolves attacked us. Messengers arrived from the remainder of the hunting party, and sledges were forthwith dispatched to bring in the meat of the animals they had killed. Another day was spent here, and the second hunting expedition which was sent out returned almost as successful as the first. We then again moved forward and reached Fort Ross, without any further adventure worth recording. The ladies performed the journey without having suffered any unusual fatigue. The fort was uninjured, and had evidently not been visited except by bears, who had managed to break into one of the storerooms, but had got nothing for their pains. We had not forgotten Captain Grey and our young friend Robin. Mr Crisp, who had a good knowledge of medicine and surgery, at once volunteered to go to his assistance; and Alick and I having organised a party with four dog-sleighs, we set off, accompanied by the excellent missionary. We of course felt very anxious, remembering the precarious state in which we had left Captain Grey. The first person we saw as we drew near the hut was Robin, who had heard the sound of our sleigh-bells, and came rushing out to meet us. "How is your father?" was the first question we asked. "He is still very low," answered Robin sadly; "but if he had a doctor who knew how to treat him, I think that he would soon get better." "The doctor is here," I answered, pointing to Mr Crisp. Robin grasped his hand, exclaiming, "Oh, do come and cure my father!" "God only can cure the ailments of the body, as He does those of the soul, my boy. I may prove, I trust, a humble instrument in His hands; but I will exert all the skill I possess, and pray to Him for a blessing on it." We remained several days at the hut; and the good missionary ministered not only, as he had promised, to the physical ailments of the sufferer, but to his spiritual necessities likewise, pointing out to him the great truth that though the all-pure God hates the sin He loves the sinner, and would have all men, though by nature His enemies, reconciled to Him, according to His own appointed way, through simple faith in the all-perfect, all-sufficient atonement for sin which His dear Son Jesus Christ offered up on Calvary. That truth, which I suspect had hitherto been rejected by Captain Grey, came home with force to his heart, and I heard him say as he took Mr Crisp's hand, "I believe! I believe! and I pray that He will help my unbelief." In a week from the time of our arrival Captain Grey was sufficiently recovered to accompany us on our return to Fort Ross, where he was hospitably received by Mr Meredith, and carefully tended by Mrs Crisp, Rose, and Letty. Robin won the affections of all our friends. Reinforcements having arrived, a strong party was formed which, under Alick's command, was to rebuild and garrison Fort Black on the return of spring. Before the snow had disappeared and sleigh-travelling had become impracticable, I was ordered to proceed to Fort Garry, when I was accompanied by my young friend Robin and his father, who was now perfectly restored to health. The governor, who was then residing at the fort, made Captain Grey an offer to join the company; which he gladly accepted, provided time was allowed him to return to his wife and family and bring them up. This request was willingly granted; and before I left Fort Garry, where I was engaged for some weeks, he returned, accompanied by his long-suffering wife and their three children. I found that Robin had not overpraised his sweet sister Ella or his little brother Oliver, who, however, by this time had grown into a fine handsome boy. Robin had told his mother of our kindness to him, and she expressed her gratitude in a way which could not fail to give me very sincere satisfaction. "And oh, how I long," she added, "to thank that good missionary, Mr Crisp, for the change he has been the means of working in my husband!" We all went back in the spring to Fort Ross, but Mr and Mrs Crisp had by that time returned to their distant station. Martin, however, remained, having been appointed to a clerkship. In a few years afterwards, when Alick married his sister, I became the husband of Letty Meredith. He proposed and was accepted by Ella Grey. Before white hairs sprinkled our brows we were all able to retire from the service, and to settle on adjacent farms in Canada, where we enjoyed the benefit of having Mr Crisp as minister of the district. We formed, I believe, as happy and prosperous a community as any in that truly magnificent colony of Great Britain, to the sovereign of which we have ever remained devotedly attached. We have never forgotten the trials and dangers we went through, or ceased, I trust, to be grateful to that merciful Being whose loving hand guided us safely through them; while we have ever striven to impress upon our children the importance of a loving obedience to our heavenly Father, a confidence in the justice of His laws, and a perfect trust in Him. THE END. 
646	----	Transcribed from the 1884 Thomas Nelson and Sons edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org {Book cover: cover.jpg} The Coral Island: A Tale of the Pacific Ocean {A coral island: p0.jpg} BY ROBERT MICHAEL BALLANTYNE, AUTHOR OF "HUDSON'S BAY; OR, EVERY-DAY LIFE IN THE WILDS OF NORTH AMERICA; "SNOW-FLAKES AND SUN-BEAMS; OR, THE YOUNG FUR-TRADERS;" "UNGAVA: A TALE OF THE ESQUIMAUX," ETC., ETC. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY DALZIEL. London: THOMAS NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW. EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK. 1884. Preface I was a boy when I went through the wonderful adventures herein set down. With the memory of my boyish feelings strong upon me, I present my book specially to boys, in the earnest hope that they may derive valuable information, much pleasure, great profit, and unbounded amusement from its pages. One word more. If there is any boy or man who loves to be melancholy and morose, and who cannot enter with kindly sympathy into the regions of fun, let me seriously advise him to shut my book and put it away. It is not meant for him. RALPH ROVER CHAPTER I. The beginning--My early life and character--I thirst for adventure in foreign lands and go to sea. Roving has always been, and still is, my ruling passion, the joy of my heart, the very sunshine of my existence. In childhood, in boyhood, and in man's estate, I have been a rover; not a mere rambler among the woody glens and upon the hill-tops of my own native land, but an enthusiastic rover throughout the length and breadth of the wide wide world. It was a wild, black night of howling storm, the night in which I was born on the foaming bosom of the broad Atlantic Ocean. My father was a sea-captain; my grandfather was a sea-captain; my great-grandfather had been a marine. Nobody could tell positively what occupation _his_ father had followed; but my dear mother used to assert that he had been a midshipman, whose grandfather, on the mother's side, had been an admiral in the royal navy. At anyrate we knew that, as far back as our family could be traced, it had been intimately connected with the great watery waste. Indeed this was the case on both sides of the house; for my mother always went to sea with my father on his long voyages, and so spent the greater part of her life upon the water. Thus it was, I suppose, that I came to inherit a roving disposition. Soon after I was born, my father, being old, retired from a seafaring life, purchased a small cottage in a fishing village on the west coast of England, and settled down to spend the evening of his life on the shores of that sea which had for so many years been his home. It was not long after this that I began to show the roving spirit that dwelt within me. For some time past my infant legs had been gaining strength, so that I came to be dissatisfied with rubbing the skin off my chubby knees by walking on them, and made many attempts to stand up and walk like a man; all of which attempts, however, resulted in my sitting down violently and in sudden surprise. One day I took advantage of my dear mother's absence to make another effort; and, to my joy, I actually succeeded in reaching the doorstep, over which I tumbled into a pool of muddy water that lay before my father's cottage door. Ah, how vividly I remember the horror of my poor mother when she found me sweltering in the mud amongst a group of cackling ducks, and the tenderness with which she stripped off my dripping clothes and washed my dirty little body! From this time forth my rambles became more frequent, and, as I grew older, more distant, until at last I had wandered far and near on the shore and in the woods around our humble dwelling, and did not rest content until my father bound me apprentice to a coasting vessel, and let me go to sea. For some years I was happy in visiting the sea-ports, and in coasting along the shores of my native land. My Christian name was Ralph, and my comrades added to this the name of Rover, in consequence of the passion which I always evinced for travelling. Rover was not my real name, but as I never received any other I came at last to answer to it as naturally as to my proper name; and, as it is not a bad one, I see no good reason why I should not introduce myself to the reader as Ralph Rover. My shipmates were kind, good-natured fellows, and they and I got on very well together. They did, indeed, very frequently make game of and banter me, but not unkindly; and I overheard them sometimes saying that Ralph Rover was a "queer, old-fashioned fellow." This, I must confess, surprised me much, and I pondered the saying long, but could come at no satisfactory conclusion as to that wherein my old-fashionedness lay. It is true I was a quiet lad, and seldom spoke except when spoken to. Moreover, I never could understand the jokes of my companions even when they were explained to me: which dulness in apprehension occasioned me much grief; however, I tried to make up for it by smiling and looking pleased when I observed that they were laughing at some witticism which I had failed to detect. I was also very fond of inquiring into the nature of things and their causes, and often fell into fits of abstraction while thus engaged in my mind. But in all this I saw nothing that did not seem to be exceedingly natural, and could by no means understand why my comrades should call me "an old-fashioned fellow." Now, while engaged in the coasting trade, I fell in with many seamen who had travelled to almost every quarter of the globe; and I freely confess that my heart glowed ardently within me as they recounted their wild adventures in foreign lands,--the dreadful storms they had weathered, the appalling dangers they had escaped, the wonderful creatures they had seen both on the land and in the sea, and the interesting lands and strange people they had visited. But of all the places of which they told me, none captivated and charmed my imagination so much as the Coral Islands of the Southern Seas. They told me of thousands of beautiful fertile islands that had been formed by a small creature called the coral insect, where summer reigned nearly all the year round,--where the trees were laden with a constant harvest of luxuriant fruit,--where the climate was almost perpetually delightful,--yet where, strange to say, men were wild, bloodthirsty savages, excepting in those favoured isles to which the gospel of our Saviour had been conveyed. These exciting accounts had so great an effect upon my mind, that, when I reached the age of fifteen, I resolved to make a voyage to the South Seas. I had no little difficulty at first in prevailing on my dear parents to let me go; but when I urged on my father that he would never have become a great captain had he remained in the coasting trade, he saw the truth of what I said, and gave his consent. My dear mother, seeing that my father had made up his mind, no longer offered opposition to my wishes. "But oh, Ralph," she said, on the day I bade her adieu, "come back soon to us, my dear boy, for we are getting old now, Ralph, and may not have many years to live." I will not take up my reader's time with a minute account of all that occurred before I took my final leave of my dear parents. Suffice it to say, that my father placed me under the charge of an old mess-mate of his own, a merchant captain, who was on the point of sailing to the South Seas in his own ship, the Arrow. My mother gave me her blessing and a small Bible; and her last request was, that I would never forget to read a chapter every day, and say my prayers; which I promised, with tears in my eyes, that I would certainly do. Soon afterwards I went on board the Arrow, which was a fine large ship, and set sail for the islands of the Pacific Ocean. CHAPTER II. The departure--The sea--My companions--Some account of the wonderful sights we saw on the great deep--A dreadful storm and a frightful wreck. It was a bright, beautiful, warm day when our ship spread her canvass to the breeze, and sailed for the regions of the south. Oh, how my heart bounded with delight as I listened to the merry chorus of the sailors, while they hauled at the ropes and got in the anchor! The captain shouted--the men ran to obey--the noble ship bent over to the breeze, and the shore gradually faded from my view, while I stood looking on with a kind of feeling that the whole was a delightful dream. The first thing that struck me as being different from anything I had yet seen during my short career on the sea, was the hoisting of the anchor on deck, and lashing it firmly down with ropes, as if we had now bid adieu to the land for ever, and would require its services no more. "There, lass," cried a broad-shouldered jack-tar, giving the fluke of the anchor a hearty slap with his hand after the housing was completed--"there, lass, take a good nap now, for we shan't ask you to kiss the mud again for many a long day to come!" And so it was. That anchor did not "kiss the mud" for many long days afterwards; and when at last it did, it was for the last time! There were a number of boys in the ship, but two of them were my special favourites. Jack Martin was a tall, strapping, broad-shouldered youth of eighteen, with a handsome, good-humoured, firm face. He had had a good education, was clever and hearty and lion-like in his actions, but mild and quiet in disposition. Jack was a general favourite, and had a peculiar fondness for me. My other companion was Peterkin Gay. He was little, quick, funny, decidedly mischievous, and about fourteen years old. But Peterkin's mischief was almost always harmless, else he could not have been so much beloved as he was. "Hallo! youngster," cried Jack Martin, giving me a slap on the shoulder, the day I joined the ship, "come below and I'll show you your berth. You and I are to be mess-mates, and I think we shall be good friends, for I like the look o' you." Jack was right. He and I and Peterkin afterwards became the best and stanchest friends that ever tossed together on the stormy waves. I shall say little about the first part of our voyage. We had the usual amount of rough weather and calm; also we saw many strange fish rolling in the sea, and I was greatly delighted one day by seeing a shoal of flying fish dart out of the water and skim through the air about a foot above the surface. They were pursued by dolphins, which feed on them, and one flying-fish in its terror flew over the ship, struck on the rigging, and fell upon the deck. Its wings were just fins elongated, and we found that they could never fly far at a time, and never mounted into the air like birds, but skimmed along the surface of the sea. Jack and I had it for dinner, and found it remarkably good. When we approached Cape Horn, at the southern extremity of America, the weather became very cold and stormy, and the sailors began to tell stories about the furious gales and the dangers of that terrible cape. "Cape Horn," said one, "is the most horrible headland I ever doubled. I've sailed round it twice already, and both times the ship was a'most blow'd out o' the water." "An' I've been round it once," said another, "an' that time the sails were split, and the ropes frozen in the blocks, so that they wouldn't work, and we wos all but lost." "An' I've been round it five times," cried a third, "an' every time wos wuss than another, the gales wos so tree-mendous!" "And I've been round it no times at all," cried Peterkin, with an impudent wink of his eye, "an' _that_ time I wos blow'd inside out!" Nevertheless, we passed the dreaded cape without much rough weather, and, in the course of a few weeks afterwards, were sailing gently, before a warm tropical breeze, over the Pacific Ocean. Thus we proceeded on our voyage, sometimes bounding merrily before a fair breeze, at other times floating calmly on the glassy wave and fishing for the curious inhabitants of the deep,--all of which, although the sailors thought little of them, were strange, and interesting, and very wonderful to me. At last we came among the Coral Islands of the Pacific, and I shall never forget the delight with which I gazed,--when we chanced to pass one,--at the pure, white, dazzling shores, and the verdant palm-trees, which looked bright and beautiful in the sunshine. And often did we three long to be landed on one, imagining that we should certainly find perfect happiness there! Our wish was granted sooner than we expected. One night, soon after we entered the tropics, an awful storm burst upon our ship. The first squall of wind carried away two of our masts; and left only the foremast standing. Even this, however, was more than enough, for we did not dare to hoist a rag of sail on it. For five days the tempest raged in all its fury. Everything was swept off the decks except one small boat. The steersman was lashed to the wheel, lest he should be washed away, and we all gave ourselves up for lost. The captain said that he had no idea where we were, as we had been blown far out of our course; and we feared much that we might get among the dangerous coral reefs which are so numerous in the Pacific. At day-break on the sixth morning of the gale we saw land ahead. It was an island encircled by a reef of coral on which the waves broke in fury. There was calm water within this reef, but we could only see one narrow opening into it. For this opening we steered, but, ere we reached it, a tremendous wave broke on our stern, tore the rudder completely off, and left us at the mercy of the winds and waves. "It's all over with us now, lads," said the captain to the men; "get the boat ready to launch; we shall be on the rocks in less than half an hour." The men obeyed in gloomy silence, for they felt that there was little hope of so small a boat living in such a sea. "Come boys," said Jack Martin, in a grave tone, to me and Peterkin, as we stood on the quarterdeck awaiting our fate;--"Come boys, we three shall stick together. You see it is impossible that the little boat can reach the shore, crowded with men. It will be sure to upset, so I mean rather to trust myself to a large oar, I see through the telescope that the ship will strike at the tail of the reef, where the waves break into the quiet water inside; so, if we manage to cling to the oar till it is driven over the breakers, we may perhaps gain the shore. What say you; will you join me?" We gladly agreed to follow Jack, for he inspired us with confidence, although I could perceive, by the sad tone of his voice, that he had little hope; and, indeed, when I looked at the white waves that lashed the reef and boiled against the rocks as if in fury, I felt that there was but a step between us and death. My heart sank within me; but at that moment my thoughts turned to my beloved mother, and I remembered those words, which were among the last that she said to me--"Ralph, my dearest child, always remember in the hour of danger to look to your Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. He alone is both able and willing to save your body and your soul." So I felt much comforted when I thought thereon. The ship was now very near the rocks. The men were ready with the boat, and the captain beside them giving orders, when a tremendous wave came towards us. We three ran towards the bow to lay hold of our oar, and had barely reached it when the wave fell on the deck with a crash like thunder. At the same moment the ship struck, the foremast broke off close to the deck and went over the side, carrying the boat and men along with it. Our oar got entangled with the wreck, and Jack seized an axe to cut it free, but, owing to the motion of the ship, he missed the cordage and struck the axe deep into the oar. Another wave, however, washed it clear of the wreck. We all seized hold of it, and the next instant we were struggling in the wild sea. The last thing I saw was the boat whirling in the surf, and all the sailors tossed into the foaming waves. Then I became insensible. On recovering from my swoon, I found myself lying on a bank of soft grass, under the shelter of an overhanging rock, with Peterkin on his knees by my side, tenderly bathing my temples with water, and endeavouring to stop the blood that flowed from a wound in my forehead. CHAPTER III. The Coral Island--Our first cogitations after landing, and the result of them--We conclude that the island is uninhabited. There is a strange and peculiar sensation experienced in recovering from a state of insensibility, which is almost indescribable; a sort of dreamy, confused consciousness; a half-waking half-sleeping condition, accompanied with a feeling of weariness, which, however, is by no means disagreeable. As I slowly recovered and heard the voice of Peterkin inquiring whether I felt better, I thought that I must have overslept myself, and should be sent to the mast-head for being lazy; but before I could leap up in haste, the thought seemed to vanish suddenly away, and I fancied that I must have been ill. Then a balmy breeze fanned my cheek, and I thought of home, and the garden at the back of my father's cottage, with its luxuriant flowers, and the sweet-scented honey-suckle that my dear mother trained so carefully upon the trellised porch. But the roaring of the surf put these delightful thoughts to flight, and I was back again at sea, watching the dolphins and the flying-fish, and reefing topsails off the wild and stormy Cape Horn. Gradually the roar of the surf became louder and more distinct. I thought of being wrecked far far away from my native land, and slowly opened my eyes to meet those of my companion Jack, who, with a look of intense anxiety, was gazing into my face. "Speak to us, my dear Ralph," whispered Jack, tenderly, "are you better now?" I smiled and looked up, saying, "Better; why, what do you mean, Jack? I'm quite well." "Then what are you shamming for, and frightening us in this way?" said Peterkin, smiling through his tears; for the poor boy had been really under the impression that I was dying. I now raised myself on my elbow, and putting my hand to my forehead, found that it had been cut pretty severely, and that I had lost a good deal of blood. "Come, come, Ralph," said Jack, pressing me gently backward, "lie down, my boy; you're not right yet. Wet your lips with this water, it's cool and clear as crystal. I got it from a spring close at hand. There now, don't say a word, hold your tongue," said he, seeing me about to speak. "I'll tell you all about it, but you must not utter a syllable till you have rested well." "Oh! don't stop him from speaking, Jack," said Peterkin, who, now that his fears for my safety were removed, busied himself in erecting a shelter of broken branches in order to protect me from the wind; which, however, was almost unnecessary, for the rock beside which I had been laid completely broke the force of the gale. "Let him speak, Jack; it's a comfort to hear that he's alive, after lying there stiff and white and sulky for a whole hour, just like an Egyptian mummy. Never saw such a fellow as you are, Ralph; always up to mischief. You've almost knocked out all my teeth and more than half choked me, and now you go shamming dead! It's very wicked of you, indeed it is." While Peterkin ran on in this style, my faculties became quite clear again, and I began to understand my position. "What do you mean by saying I half choked you, Peterkin?" said I. "What do I mean? Is English not your mother tongue, or do you want me to repeat it in French, by way of making it clearer? Don't you remember--" "I remember nothing," said I, interrupting him, "after we were thrown into the sea." {Slowly recovering: p24.jpg} "Hush, Peterkin," said Jack, "you're exciting Ralph with your nonsense. I'll explain it to you. You recollect that after the ship struck, we three sprang over the bow into the sea; well, I noticed that the oar struck your head and gave you that cut on the brow, which nearly stunned you, so that you grasped Peterkin round the neck without knowing apparently what you were about. In doing so you pushed the telescope,--which you clung to as if it had been your life,--against Peterkin's mouth--" "Pushed it against his mouth!" interrupted Peterkin, "say crammed it down his throat. Why, there's a distinct mark of the brass rim on the back of my gullet at this moment!" "Well, well, be that as it may," continued Jack, "you clung to him, Ralph, till I feared you really would choke him; but I saw that he had a good hold of the oar, so I exerted myself to the utmost to push you towards the shore, which we luckily reached without much trouble, for the water inside the reef is quite calm." "But the captain and crew, what of them?" I inquired anxiously. Jack shook his head. "Are they lost?" "No, they are not lost, I hope, but I fear there is not much chance of their being saved. The ship struck at the very tail of the island on which we are cast. When the boat was tossed into the sea it fortunately did not upset, although it shipped a good deal of water, and all the men managed to scramble into it; but before they could get the oars out the gale carried them past the point and away to leeward of the island. After we landed I saw them endeavouring to pull towards us, but as they had only one pair of oars out of the eight that belong to the boat, and as the wind was blowing right in their teeth, they gradually lost ground. Then I saw them put about and hoist some sort of sail,--a blanket, I fancy, for it was too small for the boat,--and in half an hour they were out of sight." "Poor fellows," I murmured sorrowfully. "But the more I think about it, I've better hope of them," continued Jack, in a more cheerful tone. "You see, Ralph, I've read a great deal about these South Sea Islands, and I know that in many places they are scattered about in thousands over the sea, so they're almost sure to fall in with one of them before long." "I'm sure I hope so," said Peterkin, earnestly. "But what has become of the wreck, Jack? I saw you clambering up the rocks there while I was watching Ralph. Did you say she had gone to pieces?" "No, she has not gone to pieces, but she has gone to the bottom," replied Jack. "As I said before, she struck on the tail of the island and stove in her bow, but the next breaker swung her clear, and she floated away to leeward. The poor fellows in the boat made a hard struggle to reach her, but long before they came near her she filled and went down. It was after she foundered that I saw them trying to pull to the island." There wan a long silence after Jack ceased speaking, and I have no doubt that each was revolving in his mind our extraordinary position. For my part I cannot say that my reflections were very agreeable. I knew that we were on an island, for Jack had said so, but whether it was inhabited or not I did not know. If it should be inhabited, I felt certain, from all I had heard of South Sea Islanders, that we should be roasted alive and eaten. If it should turn out to be uninhabited, I fancied that we should be starved to death. "Oh!" thought I, "if the ship had only stuck on the rocks we might have done pretty well, for we could have obtained provisions from her, and tools to enable us to build a shelter, but now--alas! alas! we are lost!" These last words I uttered aloud in my distress. "Lost! Ralph?" exclaimed Jack, while a smile overspread his hearty countenance. "Saved, you should have said. Your cogitations seem to have taken a wrong road, and led you to a wrong conclusion." "Do you know what conclusion _I_ have come to?" said Peterkin. "I have made up my mind that it's capital,--first rate,--the best thing that ever happened to us, and the most splendid prospect that ever lay before three jolly young tars. We've got an island all to ourselves. We'll take possession in the name of the king; we'll go and enter the service of its black inhabitants. Of course we'll rise, naturally, to the top of affairs. White men always do in savage countries. You shall be king, Jack; Ralph, prime minister, and I shall be--" "The court jester," interrupted Jack. "No," retorted Peterkin, "I'll have no title at all. I shall merely accept a highly responsible situation under government, for you see, Jack, I'm fond of having an enormous salary and nothing to do." "But suppose there are no natives?" "Then we'll build a charming villa, and plant a lovely garden round it, stuck all full of the most splendiferous tropical flowers, and we'll farm the land, plant, sow, reap, eat, sleep, and be merry." "But to be serious," said Jack, assuming a grave expression of countenance, which I observed always had the effect of checking Peterkin's disposition to make fun of everything, "we are really in rather an uncomfortable position. If this is a desert island, we shall have to live very much like the wild beasts, for we have not a tool of any kind, not even a knife." "Yes, we have _that_," said Peterkin, fumbling in his trousers pocket, from which he drew forth a small penknife with only one blade, and that was broken. "Well, that's better than nothing; but come," said Jack, rising, "we are wasting our time in _talking_ instead of _doing_. You seem well enough to walk now, Ralph, let us see what we have got in our pockets, and then let us climb some hill and ascertain what sort of island we have been cast upon, for, whether good or bad, it seems likely to be our home for some time to come." CHAPTER IV. We examine into our personal property, and make a happy discovery--Our island described--Jack proves himself to be learned and sagacious above his fellows--Curious discoveries--Natural lemonade! We now seated ourselves upon a rock and began to examine into our personal property. When we reached the shore, after being wrecked, my companions had taken off part of their clothes and spread them out in the sun to dry, for, although the gale was raging fiercely, there was not a single cloud in the bright sky. They had also stripped off most part of my wet clothes and spread them also on the rocks. Having resumed our garments, we now searched all our pockets with the utmost care, and laid their contents out on a flat stone before us; and, now that our minds were fully alive to our condition, it was with no little anxiety that we turned our several pockets inside out, in order that nothing might escape us. When all was collected together we found that our worldly goods consisted of the following articles:-- First, A small penknife with a single blade broken off about the middle and very rusty, besides having two or three notches on its edge. (Peterkin said of this, with his usual pleasantry, that it would do for a saw as well as a knife, which was a great advantage.) Second, An old German-silver pencil-case without any lead in it. Third, A piece of whip- cord about six yards long. Fourth, A sailmaker's needle of a small size. Fifth, A ship's telescope, which I happened to have in my hand at the time the ship struck, and which I had clung to firmly all the time I was in the water. Indeed it was with difficulty that Jack got it out of my grasp when I was lying insensible on the shore. I cannot understand why I kept such a firm hold of this telescope. They say that a drowning man will clutch at a straw. Perhaps it may have been some such feeling in me, for I did not know that it was in my hand at the time we were wrecked. However, we felt some pleasure in having it with us now, although we did not see that it could be of much use to us, as the glass at the small end was broken to pieces. Our sixth article was a brass ring which Jack always wore on his little finger. I never understood why he wore it, for Jack was not vain of his appearance, and did not seem to care for ornaments of any kind. Peterkin said "it was in memory of the girl he left behind him!" But as he never spoke of this girl to either of us, I am inclined to think that Peterkin was either jesting or mistaken. In addition to these articles we had a little bit of tinder, and the clothes on our backs. These last were as follows:-- Each of us had on a pair of stout canvass trousers, and a pair of sailors' thick shoes. Jack wore a red flannel shirt, a blue jacket, and a red Kilmarnock bonnet or night-cap, besides a pair of worsted socks, and a cotton pocket-handkerchief, with sixteen portraits of Lord Nelson printed on it, and a union Jack in the middle. Peterkin had on a striped flannel shirt,--which he wore outside his trousers, and belted round his waist, after the manner of a tunic,--and a round black straw hat. He had no jacket, having thrown it off just before we were cast into the sea; but this was not of much consequence, as the climate of the island proved to be extremely mild; so much so, indeed, that Jack and I often preferred to go about without our jackets. Peterkin had also a pair of white cotton socks, and a blue handkerchief with white spots all over it. My own costume consisted of a blue flannel shirt, a blue jacket, a black cap, and a pair of worsted socks, besides the shoes and canvass trousers already mentioned. This was all we had, and besides these things we had nothing else; but, when we thought of the danger from which we had escaped, and how much worse off we might have been had the ship struck on the reef during the night, we felt very thankful that we were possessed of so much, although, I must confess, we sometimes wished that we had had a little more. While we were examining these things, and talking about them, Jack suddenly started and exclaimed-- "The oar! we have forgotten the oar." "What good will that do us?" said Peterkin; "there's wood enough on the island to make a thousand oars." "Ay, lad," replied Jack, "but there's a bit of hoop iron at the end of it, and that may be of much use to us." "Very true," said I, "let us go fetch it;" and with that we all three rose and hastened down to the beach. I still felt a little weak from loss of blood, so that my companions soon began to leave me behind; but Jack perceived this, and, with his usual considerate good nature, turned back to help me. This was now the first time that I had looked well about me since landing, as the spot where I had been laid was covered with thick bushes which almost hid the country from our view. As we now emerged from among these and walked down the sandy beach together, I cast my eyes about, and, truly, my heart glowed within me and my spirits rose at the beautiful prospect which I beheld on every side. The gale had suddenly died away, just as if it had blown furiously till it dashed our ship upon the rocks, and had nothing more to do after accomplishing that. The island on which we stood was hilly, and covered almost everywhere with the most beautiful and richly coloured trees, bushes, and shrubs, none of which I knew the names of at that time, except, indeed, the cocoa- nut palms, which I recognised at once from the many pictures that I had seen of them before I left home. A sandy beach of dazzling whiteness lined this bright green shore, and upon it there fell a gentle ripple of the sea. This last astonished me much, for I recollected that at home the sea used to fall in huge billows on the shore long after a storm had subsided. But on casting my glance out to sea the cause became apparent. About a mile distant from the shore I saw the great billows of the ocean rolling like a green wall, and falling with a long, loud roar, upon a low coral reef, where they were dashed into white foam and flung up in clouds of spray. This spray sometimes flew exceedingly high, and, every here and there, a beautiful rainbow was formed for a moment among the falling drops. We afterwards found that this coral reef extended quite round the island, and formed a natural breakwater to it. Beyond this the sea rose and tossed violently from the effects of the storm; but between the reef and the shore it was as calm and as smooth as a pond. My heart was filled with more delight than I can express at sight of so many glorious objects, and my thoughts turned suddenly to the contemplation of the Creator of them all. I mention this the more gladly, because at that time, I am ashamed to say, I very seldom thought of my Creator, although I was constantly surrounded by the most beautiful and wonderful of His works. I observed from the expression of my companion's countenance that he too derived much joy from the splendid scenery, which was all the more agreeable to us after our long voyage on the salt sea. There, the breeze was fresh and cold, but here it was delightfully mild; and, when a puff blew off the land, it came laden with the most exquisite perfume that can be imagined. While we thus gazed, we were startled by a loud "Huzza!" from Peterkin, and, on looking towards the edge of the sea, we saw him capering and jumping about like a monkey, and ever and anon tugging with all his might at something that lay upon the shore. "What an odd fellow he is, to be sure," said Jack, taking me by the arm and hurrying forward; "come, let us hasten to see what it is." "Here it is, boys, hurrah! come along. Just what we want," cried Peterkin, as we drew near, still tugging with all his power. "First rate; just the very ticket!" I need scarcely say to my readers that my companion Peterkin was in the habit of using very remarkable and peculiar phrases. And I am free to confess that I did not well understand the meaning of some of them,--such, for instance, as "the very ticket;" but I think it my duty to recount everything relating to my adventures with a strict regard to truthfulness in as far as my memory serves me; so I write, as nearly as possible, the exact words that my companions spoke. I often asked Peterkin to explain what he meant by "ticket," but he always answered me by going into fits of laughter. However, by observing the occasions on which he used it, I came to understand that it meant to show that something was remarkably good, or fortunate. On coming up we found that Peterkin was vainly endeavouring to pull the axe out of the oar, into which, it will be remembered, Jack struck it while endeavouring to cut away the cordage among which it had become entangled at the bow of the ship. Fortunately for us the axe had remained fast in the oar, and even now, all Peterkin's strength could not draw it out of the cut. "Ah! that is capital indeed," cried Jack, at the same time giving the axe a wrench that plucked it out of the tough wood. "How fortunate this is! It will be of more value to us than a hundred knives, and the edge is quite new and sharp." "I'll answer for the toughness of the handle at any rate," cried Peterkin; "my arms are nearly pulled out of the sockets. But see here, our luck is great. There is iron on the blade." He pointed to a piece of hoop iron, as he spoke, which had been nailed round the blade of the oar to prevent it from splitting. This also was a fortunate discovery. Jack went down on his knees, and with the edge of the axe began carefully to force out the nails. But as they were firmly fixed in, and the operation blunted our axe, we carried the oar up with us to the place where we had left the rest of our things, intending to burn the wood away from the iron at a more convenient time. "Now, lads," said Jack, after we had laid it on the stone which contained our little all, "I propose that we should go to the tail of the island, where the ship struck, which is only a quarter of a mile off, and see if anything else has been thrown ashore. I don't expect anything, but it is well to see. When we get back here it will be time to have our supper and prepare our beds." "Agreed!" cried Peterkin and I together, as, indeed, we would have agreed to any proposal that Jack made; for, besides his being older and much stronger and taller than either of us, he was a very clever fellow, and I think would have induced people much older than himself to choose him for their leader, especially if they required to be led on a bold enterprise. Now, as we hastened along the white beach, which shone so brightly in the rays of the setting sun that our eyes were quite dazzled by its glare, it suddenly came into Peterkin's head that we had nothing to eat except the wild berries which grew in profusion at our feet. "What shall we do, Jack?" said he, with a rueful look; "perhaps they may be poisonous!" "No fear," replied Jack, confidently; "I have observed that a few of them are not unlike some of the berries that grow wild on our own native hills. Besides, I saw one or two strange birds eating them just a few minutes ago, and what won't kill the birds won't kill us. But look up there, Peterkin," continued Jack, pointing to the branched head of a cocoa-nut palm. "There are nuts for us in all stages." "So there are!" cried Peterkin, who being of a very unobservant nature had been too much taken up with other things to notice anything so high above his head as the fruit of a palm tree. But, whatever faults my young comrade had, he could not be blamed for want of activity or animal spirits. Indeed, the nuts had scarcely been pointed out to him when he bounded up the tall stem of the tree like a squirrel, and, in a few minutes, returned with three nuts, each as large as a man's fist. "You had better keep them till we return," raid Jack. "Let us finish our work before eating." "So be it, captain, go ahead," cried Peterkin, thrusting the nuts into his trousers pocket. "In fact I don't want to eat just now, but I would give a good deal for a drink. Oh that I could find a spring! but I don't see the smallest sign of one hereabouts. I say, Jack, how does it happen that you seem to be up to everything? You have told us the names of half- a-dozen trees already, and yet you say that you were never in the South Seas before." "I'm not up to _everything_, Peterkin, as you'll find out ere long," replied Jack, with a smile; "but I have been a great reader of books of travel and adventure all my life, and that has put me up to a good many things that you are, perhaps, not acquainted with." "Oh, Jack, that's all humbug. If you begin to lay everything to the credit of books, I'll quite lose my opinion of you," cried Peterkin, with a look of contempt. "I've seen a lot o' fellows that were _always_ poring over books, and when they came to try to _do_ anything, they were no better than baboons!" "You are quite right," retorted Jack; "and I have seen a lot of fellows who never looked into books at all, who knew nothing about anything except the things they had actually seen, and very little they knew even about these. Indeed, some were so ignorant that they did not know that cocoa-nuts grew on cocoa-nut trees!" I could not refrain from laughing at this rebuke, for there was much truth in it, as to Peterkin's ignorance. "Humph! maybe you're right," answered Peterkin; "but I would not give _tuppence_ for a man of books, if he had nothing else in him." "Neither would I," said Jack; "but that's no reason why you should run books down, or think less of me for having read them. Suppose, now, Peterkin, that you wanted to build a ship, and I were to give you a long and particular account of the way to do it, would not that be very useful?" "No doubt of it," said Peterkin, laughing. "And suppose I were to write the account in a letter instead of telling you in words, would that be less useful?" "Well--no, perhaps not." "Well, suppose I were to print it, and send it to you in the form of a book, would it not be as good and useful as ever?" "Oh, bother! Jack, you're a philosopher, and that's worse than anything!" cried Peterkin, with a look of pretended horror. "Very well, Peterkin, we shall see," returned Jack, halting under the shade of a cocoa-nut tree. "You said you were thirsty just a minute ago; now, jump up that tree and bring down a nut,--not a ripe one, bring a green, unripe one." Peterkin looked surprised, but, seeing that Jack was in earnest, he obeyed. "Now, cut a hole in it with your penknife, and clap it to your mouth, old fellow," said Jack. Peterkin did as he was directed, and we both burst into uncontrollable laughter at the changes that instantly passed over his expressive countenance. No sooner had he put the nut to his mouth, and thrown back his head in order to catch what came out of it, than his eyes opened to twice their ordinary size with astonishment, while his throat moved vigorously in the act of swallowing. Then a smile and look of intense delight overspread his face, except, indeed, the mouth, which, being firmly fixed to the hole in the nut, could not take part in the expression; but he endeavoured to make up for this by winking at us excessively with his right eye. At length he stopped, and, drawing a long breath, exclaimed-- "Nectar! perfect nectar! I say, Jack, you're a Briton--the best fellow I ever met in my life. Only taste that!" said he, turning to me and holding the nut to my mouth. I immediately drank, and certainly I was much surprised at the delightful liquid that flowed copiously down my throat. It was extremely cool, and had a sweet taste, mingled with acid; in fact, it was the likest thing to lemonade I ever tasted, and was most grateful and refreshing. I handed the nut to Jack, who, after tasting it, said, "Now, Peterkin, you unbeliever, I never saw or tasted a cocoa nut in my life before, except those sold in shops at home; but I once read that the green nuts contain that stuff, and you see it is true!" "And pray," asked Peterkin, "what sort of 'stuff' does the ripe nut contain?" "A hollow kernel," answered Jack, "with a liquid like milk in it; but it does not satisfy thirst so well as hunger. It is very wholesome food I believe." "Meat and drink on the same tree!" cried Peterkin; "washing in the sea, lodging on the ground,--and all for nothing! My dear boys, we're set up for life; it must be the ancient Paradise,--hurrah!" and Peterkin tossed his straw hat in the air, and ran along the beach hallooing like a madman with delight. We afterwards found, however, that these lovely islands were very unlike Paradise in many things. But more of this in its proper place. We had now come to the point of rocks on which the ship had struck, but did not find a single article, although we searched carefully among the coral rocks, which at this place jutted out so far as nearly to join the reef that encircled the island. Just as we were about to return, however, we saw something black floating in a little cove that had escaped our observation. Running forward, we drew it from the water, and found it to be a long thick leather boot, such as fishermen at home wear; and a few paces farther on we picked up its fellow. We at once recognised these as having belonged to our captain, for he had worn them during the whole of the storm, in order to guard his legs from the waves and spray that constantly washed over our decks. My first thought on seeing them was that our dear captain had been drowned; but Jack soon put my mind more at rest on that point, by saying that if the captain had been drowned with the boots on, he would certainly have been washed ashore along with them, and that he had no doubt whatever he had kicked them off while in the sea, that he might swim more easily. Peterkin immediately put them on, but they were so large that, as Jack said, they would have done for boots, trousers, and vest too. I also tried them, but, although I was long enough in the legs for them, they were much too large in the feet for me; so we handed them to Jack, who was anxious to make me keep them, but as they fitted his large limbs and feet as if they had been made for him, I would not hear of it, so he consented at last to use them. I may remark, however, that Jack did not use them often, as they were extremely heavy. It was beginning to grow dark when we returned to our encampment; so we put off our visit to the top of a hill till next day, and employed the light that yet remained to us in cutting down a quantity of boughs and the broad leaves of a tree, of which none of us knew the name. With these we erected a sort of rustic bower, in which we meant to pass the night. There was no absolute necessity for this, because the air of our island was so genial and balmy that we could have slept quite well without any shelter; but we were so little used to sleeping in the open air, that we did not quite relish the idea of lying down without any covering over us: besides, our bower would shelter us from the night dews or rain, if any should happen to fall. Having strewed the floor with leaves and dry grass, we bethought ourselves of supper. But it now occurred to us, for the first time, that we had no means of making a fire. "Now, there's a fix!--what shall we do?" said Peterkin, while we both turned our eyes to Jack, to whom we always looked in our difficulties. Jack seemed not a little perplexed. "There are flints enough, no doubt, on the beach," said he, "but they are of no use at all without a steel. However, we must try." So saying, he went to the beach, and soon returned with two flints. On one of these he placed the tinder, and endeavoured to ignite it; but it was with great difficulty that a very small spark was struck out of the flints, and the tinder, being a bad, hard piece, would not catch. He then tried the bit of hoop iron, which would not strike fire at all; and after that the back of the axe, with no better success. During all these trials Peterkin sat with his hands in his pockets, gazing with a most melancholy visage at our comrade, his face growing longer and more miserable at each successive failure. "Oh dear!" he sighed, "I would not care a button for the cooking of our victuals,--perhaps they don't need it,--but it's so dismal to eat one's supper in the dark, and we have had such a capital day, that it's a pity to finish off in this glum style. Oh, I have it!" he cried, starting up; "the spy-glass,--the big glass at the end is a burning-glass!" "You forget that we have no sun," said I. Peterkin was silent. In his sudden recollection of the telescope he had quite overlooked the absence of the sun. "Ah, boys, I've got it now!" exclaimed Jack, rising and cutting a branch from a neighbouring bush, which be stripped of its leaves. "I recollect seeing this done once at home. Hand me the bit of whip-cord." With the cord and branch Jack soon formed a bow. Then he cut a piece, about three inches long, off the end of a dead branch, which he pointed at the two ends. Round this he passed the cord of the bow, and placed one end against his chest, which was protected from its point by a chip of wood; the other point he placed against the bit of tinder, and then began to saw vigorously with the bow, just as a blacksmith does with his drill while boring a hole in a piece of iron. In a few seconds the tinder began to smoke; in less than a minute it caught fire; and in less than a quarter of an hour we were drinking our lemonade and eating cocoa nuts round a fire that would have roasted an entire sheep, while the smoke, flames, and sparks, flew up among the broad leaves of the overhanging palm trees, and cast a warm glow upon our leafy bower. That night the starry sky looked down through the gently rustling trees upon our slumbers, and the distant roaring of the surf upon the coral reef was our lullaby. CHAPTER V. Morning, and cogitations connected therewith--We luxuriate in the sea, try our diving powers, and make enchanting excursions among the coral groves at the bottom of the ocean--The wonders of the deep enlarged upon. What a joyful thing it is to awaken, on a fresh glorious morning, and find the rising sun staring into your face with dazzling brilliancy!--to see the birds twittering in the bushes, and to hear the murmuring of a rill, or the soft hissing ripples as they fall upon the sea-shore! At any time and in any place such sights and sounds are most charming, but more especially are they so when one awakens to them, for the fist time, in a novel and romantic situation, with the soft sweet air of a tropical climate mingling with the fresh smell of the sea, and stirring the strange leaves that flutter overhead and around one, or ruffling the plumage of the stranger birds that fly inquiringly around, as if to demand what business we have to intrude uninvited on their domains. When I awoke on the morning after the shipwreck, I found myself in this most delightful condition; and, as I lay on my back upon my bed of leaves, gazing up through the branches of the cocoa-nut trees into the clear blue sky, and watched the few fleecy clouds that passed slowly across it, my heart expanded more and more with an exulting gladness, the like of which I had never felt before. While I meditated, my thoughts again turned to the great and kind Creator of this beautiful world, as they had done on the previous day, when I first beheld the sea and the coral reef, with the mighty waves dashing over it into the calm waters of the lagoon. While thus meditating, I naturally bethought me of my Bible, for I had faithfully kept the promise, which I gave at parting to my beloved mother, that I would read it every morning; and it was with a feeling of dismay that I remembered I had left it in the ship. I was much troubled about this. However, I consoled myself with reflecting that I could keep the second part of my promise to her, namely, that I should never omit to say my prayers. So I rose quietly, lest I should disturb my companions, who were still asleep, and stepped aside into the bushes for this purpose. On my return I found them still slumbering, so I again lay down to think over our situation. Just at that moment I was attracted by the sight of a very small parrot, which Jack afterwards told me was called a paroquet. It was seated on a twig that overhung Peterkin's head, and I was speedily lost in admiration of its bright green plumage, which was mingled with other gay colours. While I looked I observed that the bird turned its head slowly from side to side and looked downwards, fist with the one eye, and then with the other. On glancing downwards I observed that Peterkin's mouth was wide open, and that this remarkable bird was looking into it. Peterkin used to say that I had not an atom of fun in my composition, and that I never could understand a joke. In regard to the latter, perhaps he was right; yet I think that, when they were explained to me, I understood jokes as well as most people: but in regard to the former he must certainly have been wrong, for this bird seemed to me to be extremely funny; and I could not help thinking that, if it should happen to faint, or slip its foot, and fall off the twig into Peterkin's mouth, he would perhaps think it funny too! Suddenly the paroquet bent down its head and uttered a loud scream in his face. This awoke him, and, with a cry of surprise, he started up, while the foolish bird flew precipitately away. "Oh you monster!" cried Peterkin, shaking his fist at the bird. Then he yawned and rubbed his eyes, and asked what o'clock it was. I smiled at this question, and answered that, as our watches were at the bottom of the sea, I could not tell, but it was a little past sunrise. Peterkin now began to remember where we were. As he looked up into the bright sky, and snuffed the scented air, his eyes glistened with delight, and he uttered a faint "hurrah!" and yawned again. Then he gazed slowly round, till, observing the calm sea through an opening in the bushes, he started suddenly up as if he had received an electric shock, uttered a vehement shout, flung off his garments, and, rushing over the white sands, plunged into the water. The cry awoke Jack, who rose on his elbow with a look of grave surprise; but this was followed by a quiet smile of intelligence on seeing Peterkin in the water. With an energy that he only gave way to in moments of excitement, Jack bounded to his feet, threw off his clothes, shook back his hair, and with a lion-like spring, dashed over the sands and plunged into the sea with such force as quite to envelop Peterkin in a shower of spray. Jack was a remarkably good swimmer and diver, so that after his plunge we saw no sign of him for nearly a minute; after which he suddenly emerged, with a cry of joy, a good many yards out from the shore. My spirits were so much raised by seeing all this that I, too, hastily threw off my garments and endeavoured to imitate Jack's vigorous bound; but I was so awkward that my foot caught on a stump, and I fell to the ground; then I slipped on a stone while running over the mud, and nearly fell again, much to the amusement of Peterkin, who laughed heartily, and called me a "slow coach," while Jack cried out, "Come along, Ralph, and I'll help you." However, when I got into the water I managed very well, for I was really a good swimmer, and diver too. I could not, indeed, equal Jack, who was superior to any Englishman I ever saw, but I infinitely surpassed Peterkin, who could only swim a little, and could not dive at all. While Peterkin enjoyed himself in the shallow water and in running along the beach, Jack and I swam out into the deep water, and occasionally dived for stones. I shall never forget my surprise and delight on first beholding the bottom of the sea. As I have before stated, the water within the reef was as calm as a pond; and, as there was no wind, it was quite clear, from the surface to the bottom, so that we could see down easily even at a depth of twenty or thirty yards. When Jack and I dived in shallower water, we expected to have found sand and stones, instead of which we found ourselves in what appeared really to be an enchanted garden. The whole of the bottom of the lagoon, as we called the calm water within the reef, was covered with coral of every shape, size, and hue. Some portions were formed like large mushrooms; others appeared like the brain of a man, having stalks or necks attached to them; but the most common kind was a species of branching coral, and some portions were of a lovely pale pink colour, others pure white. Among this there grew large quantities of sea-weed of the richest hues imaginable, and of the most graceful forms; while innumerable fishes--blue, red, yellow, green, and striped--sported in and out amongst the flower-beds of this submarine garden, and did not appear to be at all afraid of our approaching them. On darting to the surface for breath, after our first dive, Jack and I rose close to each other. "Did you ever in your life, Ralph, see anything so lovely?" said Jack, as he flung the spray from his hair. "Never," I replied. "It appears to me like fairy realms. I can scarcely believe that we are not dreaming." "Dreaming!" cried Jack, "do you know, Ralph, I'm half tempted to think that we really are dreaming. But if so, I am resolved to make the most of it, and dream another dive; so here goes,--down again, my boy!" We took the second dive together, and kept beside each other while under water; and I was greatly surprised to find that we could keep down much longer than I ever recollect having done in our own seas at home. I believe that this was owing to the heat of the water, which was so warm that we afterwards found we could remain in it for two and three hours at a time without feeling any unpleasant effects such as we used to experience in the sea at home. When Jack reached the bottom, he grasped the coral stems, and crept along on his hands and knees, peeping under the sea-weed and among the rocks. I observed him also pick up one or two large oysters, and retain them in his grasp, as if he meant to take them up with him, so I also gathered a few. Suddenly he made a grasp at a fish with blue and yellow stripes on its back, and actually touched its tail, but did not catch it. At this he turned towards me and attempted to smile; but no sooner had he done so than he sprang like an arrow to the surface, where, on following him, I found him gasping and coughing, and spitting water from his mouth. In a few minutes he recovered, and we both turned to swim ashore. "I declare, Ralph," said he, "that I actually tried to laugh under water." "So I saw," I replied; "and I observed that you very nearly caught that fish by the tail. It would have done capitally for breakfast if you had." "Breakfast enough here," said he, holding up the oysters, as we landed and ran up the beach. "Hallo! Peterkin, here you are, boy. Split open these fellows while Ralph and I put on our clothes. They'll agree with the cocoa nuts excellently, I have no doubt." Peterkin, who was already dressed, took the oysters, and opened them with the edge of our axe, exclaiming, "Now, that _is_ capital. There's nothing I'm so fond of." "Ah! that's lucky," remarked Jack. "I'll be able to keep you in good order now, Master Peterkin. You know you can't dive any better than a cat. So, sir, whenever you behave ill, you shall have no oysters for breakfast." "I'm very glad that our prospect of breakfast is so good," said I, "for I'm very hungry." "Here, then, stop your mouth with that, Ralph," said Peterkin, holding a large oyster to my lips. I opened my mouth and swallowed it in silence, and really it was remarkably good. We now set ourselves earnestly about our preparations for spending the day. We had no difficulty with the fire this morning, as our burning- glass was an admirable one; and while we roasted a few oysters and ate our cocoa nuts, we held a long, animated conversation about our plans for the future. What those plans were, and how we carried them into effect, the reader shall see hereafter. CHAPTER VI. An excursion into the interior, in which we make many valuable and interesting discoveries--We get a dreadful fright--The bread-fruit tree--Wonderful peculiarity of some of the fruit trees--Signs of former inhabitants. Our first care, after breakfast, was to place the few articles we possessed in the crevice of a rock at the farther end of a small cave which we discovered near our encampment. This cave, we hoped, might be useful to us afterwards as a store-house. Then we cut two large clubs off a species of very hard tree which grew near at hand. One of these was given to Peterkin, the other to me, and Jack armed himself with the axe. We took these precautions because we purposed to make an excursion to the top of the mountains of the interior, in order to obtain a better view of our island. Of course we knew not what dangers might befall us by the way, so thought it best to be prepared. Having completed our arrangements and carefully extinguished our fire, we sallied forth and walked a short distance along the sea-beach, till we came to the entrance of a valley, through which flowed the rivulet before mentioned. Here we turned our backs on the sea and struck into the interior. The prospect that burst upon our view on entering the valley was truly splendid. On either side of us there was a gentle rise in the land, which thus formed two ridges about a mile apart on each side of the valley. These ridges,--which, as well as the low grounds between them, were covered with trees and shrubs of the most luxuriant kind--continued to recede inland for about two miles, when they joined the foot of a small mountain. This hill rose rather abruptly from the head of the valley, and was likewise entirely covered even to the top with trees, except on one particular spot near the left shoulder, where was a bare and rocky place of a broken and savage character. Beyond this hill we could not see, and we therefore directed our course up the banks of the rivulet towards the foot of it, intending to climb to the top, should that be possible, as, indeed, we had no doubt it was. Jack, being the wisest and boldest among us, took the lead, carrying the axe on his shoulder. Peterkin, with his enormous club, came second, as he said he should like to be in a position to defend me if any danger should threaten. I brought up the rear, but, having been more taken up with the wonderful and curious things I saw at starting than with thoughts of possible danger, I had very foolishly left my club behind me. Although, as I have said the trees and bushes were very luxuriant, they were not so thickly crowded together as to hinder our progress among them. We were able to wind in and out, and to follow the banks of the stream quite easily, although, it is true, the height and thickness of the foliage prevented us from seeing far ahead. But sometimes a jutting- out rock on the hill sides afforded us a position whence we could enjoy the romantic view and mark our progress towards the foot of the hill. I wag particularly struck, during the walk, with the richness of the undergrowth in most places, and recognised many berries and plants that resembled those of my native land, especially a tall, elegantly-formed fern, which emitted an agreeable perfume. There were several kinds of flowers, too, but I did not see so many of these as I should have expected in such a climate. We also saw a great variety of small birds of bright plumage, and many paroquets similar to the one that awoke Peterkin so rudely in the morning. Thus we advanced to the foot of the hill without encountering anything to alarm us, except, indeed, once, when we were passing close under a part of the hill which was hidden from our view by the broad leaves of the banana trees, which grew in great luxuriance in that part. Jack was just preparing to force his way through this thicket, when we were startled and arrested by a strange pattering or rumbling sound, which appeared to us quite different from any of the sounds we had heard during the previous part of our walk. "Hallo!" cried Peterkin, stopping short and grasping his club with both hands, "what's that?" Neither of us replied; but Jack seized his axe in his right hand, while with the other he pushed aside the broad leaves and endeavoured to peer amongst them. "I can see nothing," he said, after a short pause. "I think it--" Again the rumbling sound came, louder than before, and we all sprang back and stood on the defensive. For myself, having forgotten my club, and not having taken the precaution to cut another, I buttoned my jacket, doubled my fists, and threw myself into a boxing attitude. I must say, however, that I felt somewhat uneasy; and my companions afterwards confessed that their thoughts at this moment had been instantly filled with all they had ever heard or read of wild beasts and savages, torturings at the stake, roastings alive, and such like horrible things. Suddenly the pattering noise increased with tenfold violence. It was followed by a fearful crash among the bushes, which was rapidly repeated, as if some gigantic animal were bounding towards us. In another moment an enormous rock came crashing through the shrubbery, followed by a cloud of dust and small stones, flew close past the spot where we stood, carrying bushes and young trees along with it. "Pooh! is that all?" exclaimed Peterkin, wiping the perspiration off his forehead. "Why, I thought it was all the wild men and beasts in the South Sea Islands galloping on in one grand charge to sweep us off the face of the earth, instead of a mere stone tumbling down the mountain side." "Nevertheless," remarked Jack, "if that same stone had hit any of us, it would have rendered the charge you speak of quite unnecessary, Peterkin." This was true, and I felt very thankful for our escape. On examining the spot more narrowly, we found that it lay close to the foot of a very rugged precipice, from which stones of various sizes were always tumbling at intervals. Indeed, the numerous fragments lying scattered all around might have suggested the cause of the sound, had we not been too suddenly alarmed to think of anything. We now resumed our journey, resolving that, in our future excursions into the interior, we would be careful to avoid this dangerous precipice. Soon afterwards we arrived at the foot of the hill and prepared to ascend it. Here Jack made a discovery which caused us all very great joy. This was a tree of a remarkably beautiful appearance, which Jack confidently declared to be the celebrated bread-fruit tree. "Is it celebrated?" inquired Peterkin, with a look of great simplicity. "It is," replied Jack "That's odd, now," rejoined Peterkin; "never heard of it before." "Then it's not so celebrated as I thought it was," returned Jack, quietly squeezing Peterkin's hat over his eyes; "but listen, you ignorant boobie! and hear of it now." Peterkin re-adjusted his hat, and was soon listening with as much interest as myself, while Jack told us that this tree is one of the most valuable in the islands of the south; that it bears two, sometimes three, crops of fruit in the year; that the fruit is very like wheaten bread in appearance, and that it constitutes the principal food of many of the islanders. "So," said Peterkin, "we seem to have everything ready prepared to our hands in this wonderful island,--lemonade ready bottled in nuts, and loaf- bread growing on the trees!" Peterkin, as usual, was jesting; nevertheless, it is a curious fact that he spoke almost the literal truth. "Moreover," continued Jack, "the bread-fruit tree affords a capital gum, which serves the natives for pitching their canoes; the bark of the young branches is made by them into cloth; and of the wood, which is durable and of a good colour, they build their houses. So you see, lads, that we have no lack of material here to make us comfortable, if we are only clever enough to use it." "But are you sure that that's it?" asked Peterkin. "Quite sure," replied Jack; "for I was particularly interested in the account I once read of it, and I remember the description well. I am sorry, however, that I have forgotten the descriptions of many other trees which I am sure we have seen to-day, if we could but recognise them. So you see, Peterkin, I'm not up to everything yet." "Never mind, Jack," said Peterkin, with a grave, patronizing expression of countenance, patting his tall companion on the shoulder,--"never mind, Jack; you know a good deal for your age. You're a clever boy, sir,--a promising young man; and if you only go on as you have begun, sir, you will--" The end of this speech was suddenly cut short by Jack tripping up Peterkin's heels and tumbling him into a mass of thick shrubs, where, finding himself comfortable, he lay still basking in the sunshine, while Jack and I examined the bread-tree. We were much struck with the deep, rich green colour of its broad leaves, which were twelve or eighteen inches long, deeply indented, and of a glossy smoothness, like the laurel. The fruit, with which it was loaded, was nearly round, and appeared to be about six inches in diameter, with a rough rind, marked with lozenge-shaped divisions. It was of various colours, from light pea-green to brown and rich yellow. Jack said that the yellow was the ripe fruit. We afterwards found that most of the fruit-trees on the island were evergreens, and that we might, when we wished, pluck the blossom and the ripe fruit from the same tree. Such a wonderful difference from the trees of our own country surprised us not a little. The bark of the tree was rough and light-coloured; the trunk was about two feet in diameter, and it appeared to be twenty feet high, being quite destitute of branches up to that height, where it branched off into a beautiful and umbrageous head. We noticed that the fruit hung in clusters of twos and threes on the branches; but as we were anxious to get to the top of the hill, we refrained from attempting to pluck any at that time. Our hearts were now very much cheered by our good fortune, and it was with light and active steps that we clambered up the steep sides of the hill. On reaching the summit, a new, and if possible a grander, prospect met our gaze. We found that this was not the highest part of the island, but that another hill lay beyond, with a wide valley between it and the one on which we stood. This valley, like the first, was also full of rich trees, some dark and some light green, some heavy and thick in foliage, and others light, feathery, and graceful, while the beautiful blossoms on many of them threw a sort of rainbow tint over all, and gave to the valley the appearance of a garden of flowers. Among these we recognised many of the bread-fruit trees, laden with yellow fruit, and also a great many cocoa-nut palms. After gazing our fill we pushed down the hill side, crossed the valley, and soon began to ascend the second mountain. It was clothed with trees nearly to the top, but the summit was bare, and in some places broken. While on our way up we came to an object which filled us with much interest. This was the stump of a tree that had evidently been cut down with an axe! So, then, we were not the first who had viewed this beautiful isle. The hand of man had been at work there before us. It now began to recur to us again that perhaps the island was inhabited, although we had not seen any traces of man until now; but a second glance at the stump convinced us that we had not more reason to think so now than formerly; for the surface of the wood was quite decayed, and partly covered with fungus and green matter, so that it must have been cut many years ago. "Perhaps," said Peterkin, "some ship or other has touched here long ago for wood, and only taken one tree." We did not think this likely, however, because, in such circumstances, the crew of a ship would cut wood of small size, and near the shore, whereas this was a large tree and stood near the top of the mountain. In fact it was the highest large tree on the mountain, all above it being wood of very recent growth. "I can't understand it," said Jack, scratching the surface of the stump with his axe. "I can only suppose that the savages have been here and cut it for some purpose known only to themselves. But, hallo! what have we here?" As he spoke, Jack began carefully to scrape away the moss and fungus from the stump, and soon laid bare three distinct traces of marks, as if some inscription or initials had been cut thereon. But although the traces were distinct, beyond all doubt, the exact form of the letters could not be made out. Jack thought they looked like J. S. but we could not be certain. They had apparently been carelessly cut, and long exposure to the weather had so broken them up that we could not make out what they were. We were exceedingly perplexed at this discovery, and stayed a long time at the place conjecturing what these marks could have been, but without avail; so, as the day was advancing, we left it and quickly reached the top of the mountain. We found this to be the highest point of the island, and from it we saw our kingdom lying, as it were, like a map around us. As I have always thought it impossible to get a thing properly into one's understanding without comprehending it, I shall beg the reader's patience for a little while I describe our island, thus, shortly:-- It consisted of two mountains; the one we guessed at 500 feet; the other, on which we stood, at 1000. Between these lay a rich, beautiful valley, as already said. This valley crossed the island from one end to the other, being high in the middle and sloping on each side towards the sea. The large mountain sloped, on the side farthest from where we had been wrecked, gradually towards the sea; but although, when viewed at a glance, it had thus a regular sloping appearance, a more careful observation showed that it was broken up into a multitude of very small vales, or rather dells and glens, intermingled with little rugged spots and small but abrupt precipices here and there, with rivulets tumbling over their edges and wandering down the slopes in little white streams, sometimes glistening among the broad leaves of the bread-fruit and cocoa- nut trees, or hid altogether beneath the rich underwood. At the base of this mountain lay a narrow bright green plain or meadow, which terminated abruptly at the shore. On the other side of the island, whence we had come, stood the smaller hill, at the foot of which diverged three valleys; one being that which we had ascended, with a smaller vale on each side of it, and separated from it by the two ridges before mentioned. In these smaller valleys there were no streams, but they were clothed with the same luxuriant vegetation. The diameter of the island seemed to be about ten miles, and, as it was almost circular in form, its circumference must have been thirty miles;--perhaps a little more, if allowance be made for the numerous bays and indentations of the shore. The entire island was belted by a beach of pure white sand, on which laved the gentle ripples of the lagoon. We now also observed that the coral reef completely encircled the island; but it varied its distance from it here and there, in some places being a mile from the beach, in others, a few hundred yards, but the average distance was half a mile. The reef lay very low, and the spray of the surf broke quite over it in many places. This surf never ceased its roar, for, however calm the weather might be, there is always a gentle swaying motion in the great Pacific, which, although scarce noticeable out at sea, reaches the shore at last in a huge billow. The water within the lagoon, as before said, was perfectly still. There were three narrow openings in the reef; one opposite each end of the valley which I have described as crossing the island; the other opposite our own valley, which we afterwards named the Valley of the Wreck. At each of these openings the reef rose into two small green islets, covered with bushes and having one or two cocoa-nut palms on each. These islets were very singular, and appeared as if planted expressly for the purpose of marking the channel into the lagoon. Our captain was making for one of these openings the day we were wrecked, and would have reached it too, I doubt not, had not the rudder been torn away. Within the lagoon were several pretty, low coral islands, just opposite our encampment; and, immediately beyond these, out at sea, lay about a dozen other islands, at various distances, from half a mile to ten miles; all of them, as far as we could discern, smaller than ours and apparently uninhabited. They seemed to be low coral islands, raised but little above the sea, yet covered with cocoa-nut trees. All this we noted, and a great deal more, while we sat on the top of the mountain. After we had satisfied ourselves we prepared to return; but here again we discovered traces of the presence of man. These were a pole or staff and one or two pieces of wood which had been squared with an axe. All of these were, however, very much decayed, and they had evidently not been touched for many years. Full of these discoveries we returned to our encampment. On the way we fell in with the traces of some four-footed animal, but whether old or of recent date none of us were able to guess. This also tended to raise our hopes of obtaining some animal food on the island, so we reached home in good spirits, quite prepared for supper, and highly satisfied with our excursion. After much discussion, in which Peterkin took the lead, we came to the conclusion that the island was uninhabited, and went to bed. CHAPTER VII. Jack's ingenuity--We get into difficulties about fishing, and get out of them by a method which gives us a cold bath--Horrible encounter with a shark. For several days after the excursion related in the last chapter we did not wander far from our encampment, but gave ourselves up to forming plans for the future and making our present abode comfortable. There were various causes that induced this state of comparative inaction. In the first place, although everything around us was so delightful, and we could without difficulty obtain all that we required for our bodily comfort, we did not quite like the idea of settling down here for the rest of our lives, far away from our friends and our native land. To set energetically about preparations for a permanent residence seemed so like making up our minds to saying adieu to home and friends for ever, that we tacitly shrank from it and put off our preparations, for one reason and another, as long as we could. Then there was a little uncertainty still as to there being natives on the island, and we entertained a kind of faint hope that a ship might come and take us off. But as day after day passed, and neither savages nor ships appeared, we gave up all hope of an early deliverance and set diligently to work at our homestead. During this time, however, we had not been altogether idle. We made several experiments in cooking the cocoa-nut, most of which did not improve it. Then we removed our goods, and took up our abode in the cave, but found the change so bad that we returned gladly to the bower. Besides this we bathed very frequently, and talked a great deal; at least Jack and Peterkin did,--I listened. Among other useful things, Jack, who was ever the most active and diligent, converted about three inches of the hoop-iron into an excellent knife. First he beat it quite flat with the axe. Then he made a rude handle, and tied the hoop-iron to it with our piece of whip-cord, and ground it to an edge on a piece of sand-stone. When it was finished he used it to shape a better handle, to which he fixed it with a strip of his cotton handkerchief;--in which operation he had, as Peterkin pointed out, torn off one of Lord Nelson's noses. However, the whip-cord, thus set free, was used by Peterkin as a fishing line. He merely tied a piece of oyster to the end of it. This the fish were allowed to swallow, and then they were pulled quickly ashore. But as the line was very short and we had no boat, the fish we caught were exceedingly small. One day Peterkin came up from the beach, where he had been angling, and said in a very cross tone, "I'll tell you what, Jack, I'm not going to be humbugged with catching such contemptible things any longer. I want you to swim out with me on your back, and let me fish in deep water!" "Dear me, Peterkin," replied Jack, "I had no idea you were taking the thing so much to heart, else I would have got you out of that difficulty long ago. Let me see,"--and Jack looked down at a piece of timber on which he had been labouring, with a peculiar gaze of abstraction, which he always assumed when trying to invent or discover anything. "What say you to building a boat?" he inquired, looking up hastily. "Take far too long," was the reply; "can't be bothered waiting. I want to begin at once!" Again Jack considered. "I have it!" he cried. "We'll fell a large tree and launch the trunk of it in the water, so that when you want to fish you've nothing to do but to swim out to it." "Would not a small raft do better?" said I. "Much better; but we have no ropes to bind it together with. Perhaps we may find something hereafter that will do as well, but, in the meantime, let us try the tree." This was agreed on, so we started off to a spot not far distant, where we knew of a tree that would suit us, which grew near the water's edge. As soon as we reached it Jack threw off his coat, and, wielding the axe with his sturdy arms, hacked and hewed at it for a quarter of an hour without stopping. Then he paused, and, while he sat down to rest, I continued the work. Then Peterkin made a vigorous attack on it, so that when Jack renewed his powerful blows, a few minutes cutting brought it down with a terrible crash. "Hurrah! now for it," cried Jack; "let us off with its head." So saying he began to cut through the stem again, at about six yards from the thick end. This done, he cut three strong, short poles or levers from the stout branches, with which to roll the log down the beach into the sea; for, as it was nearly two feet thick at the large end, we could not move it without such helps. With the levers, however, we rolled it slowly into the sea. Having been thus successful in launching our vessel, we next shaped the levers into rude oars or paddles, and then attempted to embark. This was easy enough to do; but, after seating ourselves astride the log, it was with the utmost difficulty we kept it from rolling round and plunging us into the water. Not that we minded that much; but we preferred, if possible, to fish in dry clothes. To be sure, our trousers were necessarily wet, as our legs were dangling in the water on each side of the log; but, as they could be easily dried, we did not care. After half an hour's practice, we became expert enough to keep our balance pretty steadily. Then Peterkin laid down his paddle, and having baited his line with a whole oyster, dropt it into deep water. "Now, then, Jack," said he, "be cautious; steer clear o' that sea-weed. There; that's it; gently, now, gently. I see a fellow at least a foot long down there, coming to--ha! that's it! Oh! bother, he's off." "Did he bite?" said Jack, urging the log onwards a little with his paddle. "Bite? ay! He took it into his mouth, but the moment I began to haul he opened his jaws and let it out again." "Let him swallow it next time," said Jack, laughing at the melancholy expression of Peterkin's visage. "There he's again," cried Peterkin, his eyes flashing with excitement. "Look out! Now then! No! Yes! No! Why, the brute _won't_ swallow it!" "Try to haul him up by the mouth, then," cried Jack. "Do it gently." A heavy sigh and a look of blank despair showed that poor Peterkin had tried and failed again. "Never mind, lad," said Jack, in a voice of sympathy; "we'll move on, and offer it to some other fish." So saying, Jack plied his paddle; but scarcely had he moved from the spot, when a fish with an enormous head and a little body darted from under a rock and swallowed the bait at once. "Got him this time,--that's a fact!" cried Peterkin, hauling in the line. "He's swallowed the bait right down to his tail, I declare. Oh what a thumper!" As the fish came struggling to the surface, we leaned forward to see it, and overbalanced the log. Peterkin threw his arms round the fish's neck; and, in another instant, we were all floundering in the water! A shout of laughter burst from us as we rose to the surface like three drowned rats, and seized hold of the log. We soon recovered our position, and sat more warily, while Peterkin secured the fish, which had well-nigh escaped in the midst of our struggles. It was little worth having, however; but, as Peterkin remarked, it was better than the smouts he had been catching for the last two or three days; so we laid it on the log before us, and having re-baited the line, dropt it in again for another. Now, while we were thus intent upon our sport, our attention was suddenly attracted by a ripple on the sea, just a few yards away from us. Peterkin shouted to us to paddle in that direction, as he thought it was a big fish, and we might have a chance of catching it. But Jack, instead of complying, said, in a deep, earnest tone of voice, which I never before heard him use,-- "Haul up your line, Peterkin; seize your paddle; quick,--it's a shark!" The horror with which we heard this may well be imagined, for it must be remembered that our legs were hanging down in the water, and we could not venture to pull them up without upsetting the log. Peterkin instantly hauled up the line; and, grasping his paddle, exerted himself to the utmost, while we also did our best to make for shore. But we were a good way off, and the log being, as I have before said, very heavy, moved but slowly through the water. We now saw the shark quite distinctly swimming round and round us, its sharp fin every now and then protruding above the water. From its active and unsteady motions, Jack knew it was making up its mind to attack us, so he urged us vehemently to paddle for our lives, while he himself set us the example. Suddenly he shouted "Look out!--there he comes!" and in a second we saw the monstrous fish dive close under us, and turn half over on his side. But we all made a great commotion with our paddles, which no doubt frightened it away for that time, as we saw it immediately after circling round us as before. "Throw the fish to him," cried Jack, in a quick, suppressed voice; "we'll make the shore in time yet if we can keep him off for a few minutes." Peterkin stopped one instant to obey the command, and then plied his paddle again with all his might. No sooner had the fish fallen on the water than we observed the shark to sink. In another second we saw its white breast rising; for sharks always turn over on their sides when about to seize their prey, their mouths being not at the point of their heads like those of other fish, but, as it were, under their chins. In another moment his snout rose above the water,--his wide jaws, armed with a terrific double row of teeth, appeared. The dead fish was engulfed, and the shark sank out of sight. But Jack was mistaken in supposing that it would be satisfied. In a very few minutes it returned to us, and its quick motions led us to fear that it would attack us at once. "Stop paddling," cried Jack suddenly. "I see it coming up behind us. Now, obey my orders quickly. Our lives may depend on it Ralph. Peterkin, do your best to _balance the log_. Don't look out for the shark. Don't glance behind you. Do nothing but balance the log." {A dreadful adventure: p77.jpg} Peterkin and I instantly did as we were ordered, being only too glad to do anything that afforded us a chance or a hope of escape, for we had implicit confidence in Jack's courage and wisdom. For a few seconds, that seemed long minutes to my mind, we sat thus silently; but I could not resist glancing backward, despite the orders to the contrary. On doing so, I saw Jack sitting rigid like a statue, with his paddle raised, his lips compressed, and his eye-brows bent over his eyes, which glared savagely from beneath them down into the water. I also saw the shark, to my horror, quite close under the log, in the act of darting towards Jack's foot. I could scarce suppress a cry on beholding this. In another moment the shark rose. Jack drew his leg suddenly from the water, and threw it over the log. The monster's snout rubbed against the log as it passed, and revealed its hideous jaws, into which Jack instantly plunged the paddle, and thrust it down its throat. So violent was the act that Jack rose to his feet in performing it; the log was thereby rolled completely over, and we were once more plunged into the water. We all rose, spluttering and gasping, in a moment. "Now then, strike out for shore," cried Jack. "Here, Peterkin, catch hold of my collar, and kick out with a will." Peterkin did as he was desired, and Jack struck out with such force that he cut through the water like a boat; while I, being free from all encumbrance, succeeded in keeping up with him. As we had by this time drawn pretty near to the shore, a few minutes more sufficed to carry us into shallow water; and, finally, we landed in safety, though very much exhausted, and not a little frightened by our terrible adventure. CHAPTER VIII. The beauties of the bottom of the sea tempt Peterkin to dive--How he did it--More difficulties overcome--The water garden--Curious creatures of the sea--The tank--Candles missed very much, and the candle-nut tree discovered--Wonderful account of Peterkin's first voyage--Cloth found growing on a tree--A plan projected, and arms prepared for offence and defence--A dreadful cry. Our encounter with the shark was the first great danger that had befallen us since landing on this island, and we felt very seriously affected by it, especially when we considered that we had so often unwittingly incurred the same danger before while bathing. We were now forced to take to fishing again in the shallow water, until we should succeed in constructing a raft. What troubled us most, however, was, that we were compelled to forego our morning swimming excursions. We did, indeed, continue to enjoy our bathe in the shallow water, but Jack and I found that one great source of our enjoyment was gone, when we could no longer dive down among the beautiful coral groves at the bottom of the lagoon. We had come to be so fond of this exercise, and to take such an interest in watching the formations of coral and the gambols of the many beautiful fish amongst the forests of red and green sea-weeds, that we had become quite familiar with the appearance of the fish and the localities that they chiefly haunted. We had also become expert divers. But we made it a rule never to stay long under water at a time. Jack told me that to do so often was bad for the lungs, and, instead of affording us enjoyment, would ere long do us a serious injury. So we never stayed at the bottom as long as we might have done, but came up frequently to the top for fresh air, and dived down again immediately. Sometimes, when Jack happened to be in a humorous frame, he would seat himself at the bottom of the sea on one of the brain corals, as if he were seated on a large paddock-stool, and then make faces at me, in order, if possible, to make me laugh under water. At first, when he took me unawares, he nearly succeeded, and I had to shoot to the surface in order to laugh; but afterwards I became aware of his intentions, and, being naturally of a grave disposition, I had no difficulty in restraining myself. I used often to wonder how poor Peterkin would have liked to be with us; and he sometimes expressed much regret at being unable to join us. I used to do my best to gratify him, poor fellow, by relating all the wonders that we saw; but this, instead of satisfying, seemed only to whet his curiosity the more, so one day we prevailed on him to try to go down with us. But, although a brave boy in every other way, Peterkin was very nervous in the water, and it was with difficulty we got him to consent to be taken down, for he could never have managed to push himself down to the bottom without assistance. But no sooner had we pulled him down a yard or so into the deep clear water, than he began to struggle and kick violently, so we were forced to let him go, when he rose out of the water like a cork, gave a loud gasp and a frightful roar, and struck out for the land with the utmost possible haste. Now, all this pleasure we were to forego, and when we thought thereon, Jack and I felt very much depressed in our spirits. I could see, also, that Peterkin grieved and sympathized with us, for, when talking about this matter, he refrained from jesting and bantering us upon it. As, however, a man's difficulties usually set him upon devising methods to overcome them, whereby he often discovers better things than those he may have lost, so this our difficulty induced us to think of searching for a large pool among the rocks, where the water should be deep enough for diving yet so surrounded by rocks as to prevent sharks from getting at us. And such a pool we afterwards found, which proved to be very much better than our most sanguine hopes anticipated. It was situated not more than ten minutes' walk from our camp, and was in the form of a small deep bay or basin, the entrance to which, besides being narrow, was so shallow that no fish so large as a shark could get in, at least not unless he should be a remarkably thin one. Inside of this basin, which we called our Water Garden, the coral formations were much more wonderful, and the sea-weed plants far more lovely and vividly coloured, than in the lagoon itself. And the water was so clear and still, that, although very deep, you could see the minutest object at the bottom. Besides this, there was a ledge of rock which overhung the basin at its deepest part, from which we could dive pleasantly and whereon Peterkin could sit and see not only all the wonders I had described to him, but also see Jack and me creeping amongst the marine shrubbery at the bottom, like, as--he expressed it,--"two great white sea-monsters." During these excursions of ours to the bottom of the sea, we began to get an insight into the manners and customs of its inhabitants, and to make discoveries of wonderful things, the like of which we never before conceived. Among other things, we were deeply interested with the operations of the little coral insect which, I was informed by Jack, is supposed to have entirely constructed many of the numerous islands in Pacific Ocean. And, certainly, when we considered the great reef which these insects had formed round the island on which we were cast, and observed their ceaseless activity in building their myriad cells, it did at first seem as if this might be true; but then, again, when I looked at the mountains of the island, and reflected that there were thousands of such, many of them much higher, in the South Seas, I doubted that there must be some mistake here. But more of this hereafter. I also became much taken up with the manners and appearance of the anemones, and star-fish, and crabs, and sea-urchins, and such-like creatures; and was not content with watching those I saw during my dives in the Water Garden, but I must needs scoop out a hole in the coral rock close to it, which I filled with salt water, and stocked with sundry specimens of anemones and shell-fish, in order to watch more closely how they were in the habit of passing their time. Our burning-glass also now became a great treasure to me, as it enabled me to magnify, and so to perceive more clearly the forms and actions of these curious creatures of the deep. Having now got ourselves into a very comfortable condition, we began to talk of a project which we had long had in contemplation,--namely, to travel entirely round the island; in order, first, to ascertain whether it contained any other productions which might be useful to us; and, second, to see whether there might be any place more convenient and suitable for our permanent residence than that on which we were now encamped. Not that we were in any degree dissatisfied with it; on the contrary, we entertained quite a home-feeling to our bower and its neighbourhood; but if a better place did exist, there was no reason why we should not make use of it. At any rate, it would be well to know of its existence. We had much earnest talk over this matter. But Jack proposed that, before undertaking such an excursion, we should supply ourselves with good defensive arms, for, as we intended not only to go round all the shore, but to ascend most of the valleys, before returning home, we should be likely to meet in with, he would not say dangers, but, at least, with everything that existed on the island, whatever that might be. "Besides," said Jack, "it won't do for us to live on cocoa-nuts and oysters always. No doubt they are very excellent in their way, but I think a little animal food, now and then, would be agreeable as well as good for us; and as there are many small birds among the trees, some of which are probably very good to eat, I think it would be a capital plan to make bows and arrows, with which we could easily knock them over." "First rate!" cried Peterkin. "You will make the bows, Jack, and I'll try my hand at the arrows. The fact is, I'm quite tired of throwing stones at the birds. I began the very day we landed, I think, and have persevered up to the present time, but I've never hit anything yet." "You forget," said I, "you hit me one day on the shin." "Ah, true," replied Peterkin, "and a precious shindy you kicked up in consequence. But you were at least four yards away from the impudent paroquet I aimed at; so you see what a horribly bad shot I am." "But," said I, "Jack, you cannot make three bows and arrows before to- morrow, and would it not be a pity to waste time, now that we have made up our minds to go on this expedition? Suppose that you make one bow and arrow for yourself, and we can take our clubs?" "That's true, Ralph. The day is pretty far advanced, and I doubt if I can make even one bow before dark. To be sure I might work by fire-light, after the sun goes down." We had, up to this time, been in the habit of going to bed with the sun, as we had no pressing call to work o' nights; and, indeed, our work during the day was usually hard enough,--what between fishing, and improving our bower, and diving in the Water Garden, and rambling in the woods; so that, when night came, we were usually very glad to retire to our beds. But now that we had a desire to work at night, we felt a wish for candles. "Won't a good blazing fire give you light enough?" inquired Peterkin. "Yes," replied Jack, "quite enough; but then it will give us a great deal more than enough of heat in this warm climate of ours." "True," said Peterkin; "I forgot that. It would roast us." "Well, as you're always doing that at any rate," remarked Jack, "we could scarcely call it a change. But the fact is, I've been thinking over this subject before. There is a certain nut growing in these islands which is called the candle-nut, because the natives use it instead of candles, and I know all about it, and how to prepare it for burning--" "Then why don't you do it?" interrupted Peterkin. "Why have you kept us in the dark so long, you vile philosopher?" "Because," said Jack, "I have not seen the tree yet, and I'm not sure that I should know either the tree or the nuts if I did see them. You see, I forget the description." "Ah! that's just the way with me," said Peterkin with a deep sigh. "I never could keep in my mind for half an hour the few descriptions I ever attempted to remember. The very first voyage I ever made was caused by my mistaking a description, or forgetting it, which is the same thing. And a horrible voyage it was. I had to fight with the captain the whole way out, and made the homeward voyage by swimming!" "Come, Peterkin," said I, "you can't get even _me_ to believe that." "Perhaps not, but it's true, notwithstanding," returned Peterkin, pretending to be hurt at my doubting his word. "Let us hear how it happened," said Jack, while a good-natured smile overspread his face. "Well, you must know," began Peterkin, "that the very day before I went to sea, I was greatly taken up with a game at hockey, which I was playing with my old school-fellows for the last time before leaving them. You see I was young then, Ralph." Peterkin gazed, in an abstracted and melancholy manner, out to sea! "Well, in the midst of the game, my uncle, who had taken all the bother and trouble of getting me bound 'prentice and rigged out, came and took me aside, and told me that he was called suddenly away from home, and would not be able to see me aboard, as he had intended. 'However,' said he, 'the captain knows you are coming, so that's not of much consequence; but as you'll have to find the ship yourself, you must remember her name and description. D'ye hear, boy?' I certainly did hear, but I'm afraid I did not understand, for my mind was so taken up with the game, which I saw my side was losing, that I began to grow impatient, and the moment my uncle finished his description of the ship, and bade me good-bye, I bolted back to my game, with only a confused idea of three masts, and a green painted tafferel, and a gilt figure-head of Hercules with his club at the bow. Next day I was so much cast down with everybody saying good-bye, and a lot o' my female friends cryin' horribly over me, that I did not start for the harbour, where the ship was lying among a thousand others, till it was almost too late. So I had to run the whole way. When I reached the pier, there were so many masts, and so much confusion, that I felt quite humblebumbled in my faculties. 'Now,' said I to myself, 'Peterkin, you're in a fix.' Then I fancied I saw a gilt figure-head and three masts, belonging to a ship just about to start; so I darted on board, but speedily jumped on shore again, when I found that two of the masts belonged to another vessel, and the figurehead to a third! At last I caught sight of what I made sure was it,--a fine large vessel just casting off her moorings. The tafferel was green. Three masts,--yes, that must be it,--and the gilt figure-head of Hercules. To be sure it had a three-pronged pitchfork in its hand instead of a club; but that might be my uncle's mistake; or perhaps Hercules sometimes varied his weapons. 'Cast off!' roared a voice from the quarter-deck. 'Hold on!' cried I, rushing frantically through the crowd. 'Hold on! hold on!' repeated some of the bystanders, while the men at the ropes delayed for a minute. This threw the captain into a frightful rage; for some of his friends had come down to see him off, and having his orders contradicted so flatly was too much for him. However, the delay was sufficient. I took a race and a good leap; the ropes were cast off; the steam-tug gave a puff, and we started. Suddenly the captain was up to me: 'Where did you come from, you scamp, and what do you want here?' "'Please, sir,' said I, touching my cap, 'I'm you're new 'prentice come aboard.' "'New 'Prentice,' said he, stamping, 'I've got no new 'prentice. My boys are all aboard already. This is a trick, you young blackguard. You've run away, you have;' and the captain stamped about the deck and swore dreadfully; for, you see, the thought of having to stop the ship and lower a boat and lose half an hour, all for the slake of sending a small boy ashore, seemed to make him very angry. Besides, it was blowin' fresh outside the harbour, so that, to have let the steamer alongside to put me into it was no easy job. Just as we were passing the pier-head, where several boats were rowing into harbour, the captain came up to me,-- "'You've run away, you blackguard,' he said, giving me a box on the ear. "'No I haven't,' said I, angrily; for the box was by no means a light one. "Hark'ee, boy, can you swim?' "'Yes,' said I. "'Then do it,' and, seizing me by my trousers and the nape of my neck, he tossed me over the side into the sea. The fellows in the boats at the end of the pier, backed their oars on seeing this; but observing that I could swim, they allowed me to make the best of my way to the pier-head. So, you see, Ralph, that I really did swim my first homeward voyage." Jack laughed and patted Peterkin on the shoulder. "But tell us about the candle-nut tree," said I; "you were talking about it." "Very true," said Jack, "but I fear I can remember little about it. I believe the nut is about the size of a walnut; and I think that the leaves are white, but I am not sure." "Eh! ha! hum!" exclaimed Peterkin, "I saw a tree answering to that description this very day." "Did you?" cried Jack. "Is it far from this?" "No, not half a mile." "Then lead me to it," said Jack, seizing his axe. In a few minutes we were all three pushing through the underwood of the forest, headed by Peterkin. We soon came to the tree in question, which, after Jack had closely examined it, we concluded must be the candle-nut tree. Its leaves were of a beautiful silvery white, and formed a fine contrast to the dark-green foliage of the surrounding trees. We immediately filled our pockets with the nuts, after which Jack said,-- "Now, Peterkin, climb that cocoa-nut tree and cut me one of the long branches." This was soon done, but it cost some trouble, for the stem was very high, and as Peterkin usually pulled nuts from the younger trees, he was not much accustomed to climbing the high ones. The leaf or branch was a very large one, and we were surprised at its size and strength. Viewed from a little distance, the cocoa-nut tree seems to be a tall, straight stem, without a single branch except at the top, where there is a tuft of feathery-looking leaves, that seem to wave like soft plumes in the wind. But when we saw one of these leaves or branches at our feet, we found it to be a strong stalk, about fifteen feet long, with a number of narrow, pointed leaflets ranged alternately on each side. But what seemed to us the most wonderful thing about it was a curious substance resembling cloth, which was wrapped round the thick end of the stalk, where it had been cut from the tree. Peterkin told us that he had the greatest difficulty in separating the branch from the stem, on account of this substance, as it was wrapped quite round the tree, and, he observed, round all the other branches, thus forming a strong support to the large leaves while exposed to high winds. When I call this substance cloth I do not exaggerate. Indeed, with regard to all the things I saw during my eventful career in the South Seas, I have been exceedingly careful not to exaggerate, or in any way to mislead or deceive my readers. This cloth, I say, was remarkably like to coarse brown cotton cloth. It had a seam or fibre down the centre of it, from which diverged other fibres, about the size of a bristle. There were two layers of these fibres, very long and tough, the one layer crossing the other obliquely, and the whole was cemented together with a still finer fibrous and adhesive substance. When we regarded it attentively, we could with difficulty believe that it had not been woven by human hands. This remarkable piece of cloth we stripped carefully off, and found it to be above two feet long, by a foot broad, and we carried it home with us as a great prize. Jack now took one of the leaflets, and, cutting out the central spine or stalk, hurried back with it to our camp. Having made a small fire, he baked the nuts slightly, and then pealed off the husks. After this he wished to bore a hole in them, which, not having anything better at hand at the time, he did with the point of our useless pencil-case. Then he strung them on the cocoa-nut spine, and on putting a light to the topmost nut, we found to our joy that it burned with a clear, beautiful flame; upon seeing which, Peterkin sprang up and danced round the fire for at least five minutes in the excess of his satisfaction. "Now lads," said Jack, extinguishing our candle, the sun will set in an hour, so we have no time to lose. "I shall go and cut a young tree to make my bow out of, and you had better each of you go and select good strong sticks for clubs, and we'll set to work at them after dark." So saying he shouldered his axe and went off, followed by Peterkin, while I took up the piece of newly discovered cloth, and fell to examining its structure. So engrossed was I in this that I was still sitting in the same attitude and occupation when my companions returned. "I told you so!" cried Peterkin, with a loud laugh. "Oh, Ralph, you're incorrigible. See, there's a club for you. I was sure, when we left you looking at that bit of stuff, that we would find you poring over it when we came back, so I just cut a club for you as well as for myself." "Thank you, Peterkin," said I. "It was kind of you to do that, instead of scolding me for a lazy fellow, as I confess I deserve." "Oh! as to that," returned Peterkin, "I'll blow you up yet, if you wish it--only it would be of no use if I did, for you're a perfect mule!" As it was now getting dark we lighted our candle, and placing it in a holder made of two crossing branches, inside of our bower, we seated ourselves on our leafy beds and began to work. "I intend to appropriate the bow for my own use," said Jack, chipping the piece of wood he had brought with his axe. "I used to be a pretty fair shot once. But what's that you're doing?" he added, looking at Peterkin, who had drawn the end of a long pole into the tent, and was endeavouring to fit a small piece of the hoop-iron to the end of it. "I'm going to enlist into the Lancers," answered Peterkin. "You see, Jack, I find the club rather an unwieldy instrument for my delicately- formed muscles, and I flatter myself I shall do more execution with a spear." "Well, if length constitutes power," said Jack, "you'll certainly be invincible." The pole which Peterkin had cut was full twelve feet long, being a very strong but light and tough young tree, which merely required thinning at the butt to be a serviceable weapon. "That's a very good idea," said I. "Which--this?" inquired Peterkin, pointing to the spear. "Yes;" I replied. "Humph!" said he; "you'd find it a pretty tough and matter-of-fact idea, if you had it stuck through your gizzard, old boy!" "I mean the idea of making it is a good one," said I, laughing. "And, now I think of it, I'll change my plan, too. I don't think much of a club, so I'll make me a sling out of this piece of cloth. I used to be very fond of slinging, ever since I read of David slaying Goliath the Philistine, and I was once thought to be expert at it." So I set to work to manufacture a sling. For a long time we all worked very busily without speaking. At length Peterkin looked up: "I say, Jack, I'm sorry to say I must apply to you for another strip of your handkerchief, to tie on this rascally head with. It's pretty well torn at any rate, so you won't miss it." Jack proceeded to comply with this request when Peterkin suddenly laid his hand on his arm and arrested him. "Hist, man," said he, "be tender; you should never be needlessly cruel if you can help it. Do try to shave past Lord Nelson's mouth without tearing it, if possible! Thanks. There are plenty more handkerchiefs on the cocoa-nut trees." Poor Peterkin! with what pleasant feelings I recall and record his jests and humorous sayings now! While we were thus engaged, we were startled by a distant but most strange and horrible cry. It seemed to come from the sea, but was so far away that we could not clearly distinguish its precise direction. Rushing out of our bower, we hastened down to the beach and stayed to listen. Again it came quite loud and distinct on the night air,--a prolonged, hideous cry, something like the braying of an ass. The moon had risen, and we could see the islands in and beyond the lagoon quite plainly, but there was no object visible to account for such a cry. A strong gust of wind was blowing from the point whence the sound came, but this died away while we were gazing out to sea. "What can it be?" said Peterkin, in a low whisper, while we all involuntarily crept closer to each other. "Do you know," said Jack, "I have heard that mysterious sound twice before, but never so loud as to-night. Indeed it was so faint that I thought I must have merely fancied it, so, as I did not wish to alarm you, I said nothing about it." We listened for a long time for the sound again, but as it did not come, we returned to the bower and resumed our work. "Very strange," said Peterkin, quite gravely. "Do you believe in ghosts, Ralph?" "No," I answered, "I do not. Nevertheless I must confess that strange, unaccountable sounds, such as we have just heard, make me feel a little uneasy." "What say you to it, Jack?" "I neither believe in ghosts nor feel uneasy," he replied. "I never saw a ghost myself, and I never met with any one who had; and I have generally found that strange and unaccountable things have almost always been accounted for, and found to be quite simple, on close examination. I certainly can't imagine what _that_ sound is; but I'm quite sure I shall find out before long,--and if it's a ghost I'll--" "Eat it," cried Peterkin. "Yes, I'll eat it! Now, then, my bow and two arrows are finished; so if you're ready we had better turn in." By this time Peterkin had thinned down his spear and tied an iron point very cleverly to the end of it; I had formed a sling, the lines of which were composed of thin strips of the cocoa-nut cloth, plaited; and Jack had made a stout bow, nearly five feet long, with two arrows, feathered with two or three large plumes which some bird had dropt. They had no barbs, but Jack said that if arrows were well feathered, they did not require iron points, but would fly quite well if merely sharpened at the point; which I did not know before. "A feathered arrow without a barb," said he, "is a good weapon, but a barbed arrow without feathers is utterly useless." The string of the bow was formed of our piece of whip-cord, part of which, as he did not like to cut it, was rolled round the bow. Although thus prepared for a start on the morrow, we thought it wise to exercise ourselves a little in the use of our weapons before starting, so we spent the whole of the next day in practising. And it was well we did so, for we found that our arms were very imperfect, and that we were far from perfect in the use of them. First, Jack found that the bow was much too strong, and he had to thin it. Also the spear was much too heavy, and so had to be reduced in thickness, although nothing would induce Peterkin to have it shortened. My sling answered very well, but I had fallen so much out of practice that my first stone knocked off Peterkin's hat, and narrowly missed making a second Goliath of him. However, after having spent the whole day in diligent practice, we began to find some of our former expertness returning--at least Jack and I did. As for Peterkin, being naturally a neat-handed boy, he soon handled his spear well, and could run full tilt at a cocoa nut, and hit it with great precision once out of every five times. But I feel satisfied that we owed much of our rapid success to the unflagging energy of Jack, who insisted that, since we had made him Captain, we should obey him; and he kept us at work from morning till night, perseveringly, at the same thing. Peterkin wished very much to run about and stick his spear into everything he passed; but Jack put up a cocoa nut, and would not let him leave off running at that for a moment, except when he wanted to rest. We laughed at Jack for this, but we were both convinced that it did us much good. That night we examined and repaired our arms ere we lay down to rest, although we were much fatigued, in order that we might be in readiness to set out on our expedition at daylight on the following morning. CHAPTER IX. Prepare for a journey round the island--Sagacious reflections--Mysterious appearances and startling occurrences. Scarcely had the sun shot its first ray across the bosom of the broad Pacific, when Jack sprang to his feet, and, hallooing in Peterkin's ear to awaken him, ran down the beach to take his customary dip in the sea. We did not, as was our wont, bathe that morning in our Water Garden, but, in order to save time, refreshed ourselves in the shallow water just opposite the bower. Our breakfast was also despatched without loss of time, and in less than an hour afterwards all our preparations for the journey were completed. In addition to his ordinary dress, Jack tied a belt of cocoa-nut cloth round his waist, into which he thrust the axe. I was also advised to put on a belt and carry a short cudgel or bludgeon in it; for, as Jack truly remarked, the sling would be of little use if we should chance to come to close quarters with any wild animal. As for Peterkin, notwithstanding that he carried such a long, and I must add, frightful-looking spear over his shoulder, we could not prevail on him to leave his club behind; "for," said he, "a spear at close quarters is not worth a button." I must say that it seemed to me that the club was, to use his own style of language, not worth a button-hole; for it was all knotted over at the head, something like the club which I remember to have observed in picture-books of Jack the Giant Killer, besides being so heavy that he required to grasp it with both hands in order to wield it at all. However, he took it with him, and, in this manner we set out upon our travels. We did not consider it necessary to carry any food with us, as we knew that wherever we went we should be certain to fall in with cocoa-nut trees; having which, we were amply supplied, as Peterkin said, with meat and drink and pocket-handkerchiefs! I took the precaution, however, to put the burning-glass into my pocket, lest we should want fire. The morning was exceeding lovely. It was one of that very still and peaceful sort which made the few noises that we heard seem to be _quiet_ noises. I know no other way of expressing this idea. Noises which so far from interrupting the universal tranquillity of earth, sea, and sky--rather tended to reveal to us how quiet the world around us really was. Such sounds as I refer to were, the peculiarly melancholy--yet, it seemed to me, cheerful--plaint of sea-birds floating on the glassy water, or sailing in the sky, also the subdued twittering of little birds among the bushes, the faint ripples on the beach, and the solemn boom of the surf upon the distant coral reef. We felt very glad in our hearts as we walked along the sands side by side. For my part, I felt so deeply overjoyed, that I was surprised at my own sensations, and fell into a reverie upon the causes of happiness. I came to the conclusion that a state of profound peace and repose, both in regard to outward objects and within the soul, is the happiest condition in which man can be placed; for, although I had many a time been most joyful and happy when engaged in bustling, energetic, active pursuits or amusements, I never found that such joy or satisfaction was so deep or so pleasant to reflect upon as that which I now experienced. And I was the more confirmed in this opinion when I observed, and, indeed, was told by himself, that Peterkin's happiness was also very great; yet he did not express this by dancing, as was his wont, nor did he give so much as a single shout, but walked quietly between us with his eye sparkling, and a joyful smile upon his countenance. My reader must not suppose that I thought all this in the clear and methodical manner in which I have set it down here. These thoughts did, indeed, pass through my mind, but they did so in a very confused and indefinite manner, for I was young at that time, and not much given to deep reflections. Neither did I consider that the peace whereof I write is not to be found in this world--at least in its perfection, although I have since learned that by religion a man may attain to a very great degree of it. I have said that Peterkin walked along the sands between us. We had two ways of walking together about our island. When we travelled through the woods, we always did so in single file, as by this method we advanced with greater facility, the one treading in the other's footsteps. In such cases Jack always took the lead, Peterkin followed, and I brought up the rear. But when we travelled along the sands, which extended almost in an unbroken line of glistening white round the island, we marched abreast, as we found this method more sociable, and every way more pleasant. Jack, being the tallest, walked next the sea, and Peterkin marched between us, as by this arrangement either of us could talk to him or he to us, while if Jack and I happened to wish to converse together, we could conveniently do so over Peterkin's head. Peterkin used to say, in reference to this arrangement, that had he been as tall as either of us, our order of march might have been the same, for, as Jack often used to scold him for letting everything we said to him pass in at one ear and out at the other, his head could of course form no interruption to our discourse. We were now fairly started. Half a mile's walk conveyed us round a bend in the land which shut out our bower from view, and for some time we advanced at a brisk pace without speaking, though our eyes were not idle, but noted everything, in the woods, on the shore, or in the sea, that was interesting. After passing the ridge of land that formed one side of our valley--the Valley of the Wreck--we beheld another small vale lying before us in all the luxuriant loveliness of tropical vegetation. We had, indeed, seen it before from the mountain-top, but we had no idea that it would turn out to be so much more lovely when we were close to it. We were about to commence the exploration of this valley, when Peterkin stopped us, and directed our attention to a very remarkable appearance in advance along the shore. "What's yon, think you?" said he, levelling his spear, as if he expected an immediate attack from the object in question, though it was full half a mile distant. As he spoke, there appeared a white column above the rocks, as if of steam or spray. It rose upwards to a height of several feet, and then disappeared. Had this been near the sea, we would not have been so greatly surprised, as it might in that case have been the surf, for at this part of the coast the coral reef approached so near to the island that in some parts it almost joined it. There was therefore no lagoon between, and the heavy surf of the ocean beat almost up to the rocks. But this white column appeared about fifty yards inland. The rocks at the place were rugged, and they stretched across the sandy beach into the sea. Scarce had we ceased expressing our surprise at this sight, when another column flew upwards for a few seconds, not far from the spot where the first had been seen, and disappeared; and so, at long irregular intervals, these strange sights recurred. We were now quite sure that the columns were watery or composed of spray, but what caused them we could not guess, so we determined to go and see. In a few minutes we gained the spot, which was very rugged and precipitous, and, moreover, quite damp with the falling of the spray. We had much ado to pass over dry-shod. The ground also was full of holes here and there. Now, while we stood anxiously waiting for the re-appearance of these water-spouts, we heard a low, rumbling sound near us, which quickly increased to a gargling and hissing noise, and a moment afterwards a thick spout of water burst upwards from a hole in the rock, and spouted into the air with much violence, and so close to where Jack and I were standing that it nearly touched us. We sprang to one side, but not before a cloud of spray descended, and drenched us both to the skin. Peterkin, who was standing farther off, escaped with a few drops, and burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter on beholding our miserable plight. "Mind your eye!" he shouted eagerly, "there goes another!" The words were scarcely out of his mouth when there came up a spout from another hole, which served us exactly in the same manner as before. Peterkin now shrieked with laughter; but his merriment was abruptly put a stop to by the gurgling noise occurring close to where he stood. "Where'll it spout this time, I wonder?" he said, looking about with some anxiety, and preparing to run. Suddenly there came a loud hiss or snort; a fierce spout of water burst up between Peterkin's legs, blew him off his feet, enveloped him in its spray, and hurled him to the ground. He fell with so much violence that we feared he must have broken some of his bones, and ran anxiously to his assistance; but fortunately he had fallen on a clump of tangled herbage, in which he lay sprawling in a most deplorable condition. It was now our turn to laugh; but as we were not yet quite sure that he was unhurt, and as we knew not when or where the next spout might arise, we assisted him hastily to jump up and hurry from the spot. I may here add, that although I am quite certain that the spout of water was very strong, and that it blew Peterkin completely off his legs, I am not quite certain of the exact height to which it lifted him, being somewhat startled by the event, and blinded partially by the spray, so that my power of observation was somewhat impaired for the moment. "What's to be done now?" inquired Peterkin ruefully. "Make a fire, lad, and dry ourselves," replied Jack. "And here is material ready to our hand," said I, picking up a dried branch of a tree, as we hurried up to the woods. In about an hour after this mishap our clothes were again dried. While they were hanging up before the fire, we walked down to the beach, and soon observed that these curious spouts took place immediately after the fall of a huge wave, never before it; and, moreover, that the spouts did not take place excepting when the billow was an extremely large one. From this we concluded that there must be a subterraneous channel in the rock into which the water was driven by the larger waves, and finding no way of escape except through these small holes, was thus forced up violently through them. At any rate, we could not conceive any other reason for these strange water-spouts, and as this seemed a very simple and probable one, we forthwith adopted it. "I say, Ralph, what's that in the water? is it a shark?" said Jack, just as we were about to quit the place. I immediately ran to the overhanging ledge of rock, from which he was looking down into the sea, and bent over it. There I saw a very faint pale object of a greenish colour, which seemed to move slightly while I looked at it. "It's like a fish of some sort," said I. "Hallo, Peterkin!" cried Jack, "fetch your spear; here's work for it." But when we tried to reach the object, the spear proved to be too short. "There, now," said Peterkin with a sneer, "you were always telling me it was too long." Jack now drove the spear forcibly towards the object, and let go his hold; but, although it seemed to be well aimed, he must have missed, for the handle soon rose again; and when the spear was drawn up, there was the pale green object in exactly the same spot, slowly moving its tail. "Very odd," said Jack. But although it was undoubtedly very odd, and, although Jack and all of us plunged the spear at it repeatedly, we could neither hit it nor drive it away, so we were compelled to continue our journey without discovering what it was. I was very much perplexed at this strange appearance in the water, and could not get it out of my mind for a long time afterwards. However, I quieted myself by resolving that I would pay a visit to it again at some more convenient season. CHAPTER X. Make discovery of many excellent roots and fruits--The resources of the Coral Island gradually unfolded--The banian-tree--Another tree which is supported by natural planks--Water-fowl found--A very remarkable discovery, and a very peculiar murder--We luxuriate on the fat of the land. Our examination of the little valley proved to be altogether most satisfactory. We found in it not only similar trees to those we had already seen in our own valley, but also one or two others of a different species. We had also the satisfaction of discovering a peculiar vegetable, which Jack concluded must certainly be that of which he had read as being very common among the South Sea islanders, and which was named _taro_. Also we found a large supply of yams, and another root like a potato in appearance. As these were all quite new to us, we regarded our lot as a most fortunate one, in being thus cast on an island which was so prolific and so well stored with all the necessaries of life. Long afterwards we found out that this island of ours was no better in these respects than thousands of other islands in those seas. Indeed, many of them were much richer and more productive; but that did not render us the less grateful for our present good fortune. We each put one of these roots in our pocket, intending to use them for our supper; of which more hereafter. We also saw many beautiful birds here, and traces of some four-footed animal again. Meanwhile the sun began to descend, so we returned to the shore, and pushed on round the spouting rocks into the next valley. This was that valley of which I have spoken as running across the entire island. It was by far the largest and most beautiful that we had yet looked upon. Here were trees of every shape and size and hue which it is possible to conceive of, many of which we had not seen in the other valleys; for, the stream in this valley being larger, and the mould much richer than in the Valley of the Wreck, it was clothed with a more luxuriant growth of trees and plants. Some trees were dark glossy green, others of a rich and warm hue, contrasting well with those of a pale light green, which were everywhere abundant. Among these we recognised the broad dark heads of the bread-fruit, with its golden fruit; the pure, silvery foliage of the candle-nut, and several species which bore a strong resemblance to the pine; while here and there, in groups and in single trees, rose the tall forms of the cocoa- nut palms, spreading abroad, and waving their graceful plumes high above all the rest, as if they were a superior race of stately giants keeping guard over these luxuriant forests. Oh! it was a most enchanting scene, and I thanked God for having created such delightful spots for the use of man. Now, while we were gazing around us in silent admiration, Jack uttered an exclamation of surprise, and, pointing to an object a little to one side of us, said,-- "That's a banian-tree." "And what's a banian-tree?" inquired Peterkin, as we walked towards it. "A very curious one, as you shall see presently," replied Jack. "It is called the _aoa_ here, if I recollect rightly, and has a wonderful peculiarity about it. What an enormous one it is, to be sure." "_It_!" repeated Peterkin; "why, there are dozens of banians here! What do you mean by talking bad grammar? Is your philosophy deserting you, Jack?" "There is but one tree here of this kind," returned Jack, "as you will perceive if you will examine it." And, sure enough, we did find that what we had supposed was a forest of trees was in reality only one. Its bark was of a light colour, and had a shining appearance, the leaves being lance-shaped, small, and of a beautiful pea-green. But the wonderful thing about it was, that the branches, which grew out from the stem horizontally, sent down long shoots or fibres to the ground, which, taking root, had themselves become trees, and were covered with bark like the tree itself. Many of these fibres had descended from the branches at various distances, and thus supported them on natural pillars, some of which were so large and strong, that it was not easy at first to distinguish the offspring from the parent stem. The fibres were of all sizes and in all states of advancement, from the pillars we have just mentioned to small cords which hung down and were about to take root, and thin brown threads still far from the ground, which swayed about with every motion of wind. In short, it seemed to us that, if there were only space afforded to it, this single tree would at length cover the whole island. Shortly after this we came upon another remarkable tree, which, as its peculiar formation afterwards proved extremely useful to us, merits description. It was a splendid chestnut, but its proper name Jack did not know. However, there were quantities of fine nuts upon it, some of which we put in our pockets. But its stem was the wonderful part of it. It rose to about twelve feet without a branch, and was not of great thickness; on the contrary, it was remarkably slender for the size of the tree; but, to make up for this, there were four or five wonderful projections in this stem, which I cannot better describe than by asking the reader to suppose that five planks of two inches thick and three feet broad had been placed round the trunk of the tree, with their _edges_ closely fixed to it, from the ground up to the branches, and that these planks had been covered over with the bark of the tree and incorporated with it. In short, they were just natural buttresses, without which the stem could not have supported its heavy and umbrageous top. We found these chestnuts to be very numerous. They grew chiefly on the banks of the stream, and were of all sizes. While we were examining a small tree of this kind, Jack chipped a piece off a buttress with his axe, and found the wood to be firm and easily cut. He then struck the axe into it with all his force, and very soon split it off close to the tree, first, however, having cut it across transversely above and below. By this means he satisfied himself that we could now obtain short planks, as it were all ready sawn, of any size and thickness that we desired; which was a very great discovery indeed, perhaps the most important we had yet made. We now wended our way back to the coast, intending to encamp near the beach, as we found that the mosquitoes were troublesome in the forest. On our way we could not help admiring the birds which flew and chirped around us. Among them we observed a pretty kind of paroquet, with a green body, a blue head, and a red breast; also a few beautiful turtledoves, and several flocks of wood-pigeons. The hues of many of these birds were extremely vivid,--bright green, blue, and scarlet, being the prevailing tints. We made several attempts throughout the day to bring down one of these, both with the bow and the sling,--not for mere sport, but to ascertain whether they were good for food. But we invariably missed, although once or twice we were very near hitting. As evening drew on, however, a flock of pigeons flew past. I slung a stone into the midst of them at a venture, and had the good fortune to kill one. We were startled, soon after, by a loud whistling noise above our heads; and on looking up, saw a flock of wild ducks making for the coast. We watched these, and, observing where they alighted, followed them up until we came upon a most lovely blue lake, not more than two hundred yards long, imbosomed in verdant trees. Its placid surface, which reflected every leaf and stem, as if in a mirror, was covered with various species of wild ducks, feeding among the sedges and broad-leaved water-plants which floated on it, while numerous birds like water-hens ran to and fro most busily on its margin. These all with one accord flew tumultuously away the instant we made our appearance. While walking along the margin we observed fish in the water, but of what sort we could not tell. Now, as we neared the shore, Jack and I said we would go a little out of our way to see if we could procure one of those ducks; so, directing Peterkin to go straight to the shore and kindle a fire, we separated, promising to rejoin him speedily. But we did not find the ducks, although we made a diligent search for half an hour. We were about to retrace our steps, when we were arrested by one of the strangest sights that we had yet beheld. Just in front of us, at the distance of about ten yards, grew a superb tree, which certainly was the largest we had yet seen on the island. Its trunk was at least five feet in diameter, with a smooth gray bark; above this the spreading branches were clothed with light green leaves, amid which were clusters of bright yellow fruit, so numerous as to weigh down the boughs with their great weight. This fruit seemed to be of the plum species, of an oblong form, and a good deal larger than the magnum bonum plum. The ground at the foot of this tree was thickly strewn with the fallen fruit, in the midst of which lay sleeping, in every possible attitude, at least twenty hogs of all ages and sizes, apparently quite surfeited with a recent banquet. Jack and I could scarce restrain our laughter as we gazed at these coarse, fat, ill-looking animals, while they lay groaning and snoring heavily amid the remains of their supper. "Now, Ralph," said Jack, in a low whisper, "put a stone in your sling,--a good big one,--and let fly at that fat fellow with his back toward you. I'll try to put an arrow into yon little pig." "Don't you think we had better put them up first?" I whispered; "it seems cruel to kill them while asleep." "If I wanted _sport_, Ralph, I would certainly set them up; but as we only want _pork_, we'll let them lie. Besides, we're not sure of killing them; so, fire away." Thus admonished, I slung my stone with so good aim that it went bang against the hog's flank as if against the head of a drum; but it had no other effect than that of causing the animal to start to its feet, with a frightful yell of surprise, and scamper away. At the same instant Jack's bow twanged, and the arrow pinned the little pig to the ground by the ear. "I've missed, after all," cried Jack, darting forward with uplifted axe, while the little pig uttered a loud squeal, tore the arrow from the ground, and ran away with it, along with the whole drove, into the bushes and disappeared, though we heard them screaming long afterwards in the distance. "That's very provoking, now," said Jack, rubbing the point of his nose. "Very," I replied, stroking my chin. "Well, we must make haste and rejoin Peterkin," said Jack. "It's getting late." And, without further remark, we threaded our way quickly through the woods towards the shore. When we reached it, we found wood laid out, the fire lighted and beginning to kindle up, with other signs of preparation for our encampment, but Peterkin was nowhere to be found. We wondered very much at this; but Jack suggested that he might have gone to fetch water; so he gave a shout to let him know that we had arrived, and sat down upon a rock, while I threw off my jacket and seized the axe, intending to split up one or two billets of wood. But I had scarce moved from the spot when, in the distance, we heard a most appalling shriek, which was followed up by a chorus of yells from the hogs, and a loud "hurrah!" "I do believe," said I, "that Peterkin has met with the hogs." "When Greek meets Greek," said Jack, soliloquizing, "then comes the tug of--" "Hurrah!" shouted Peterkin in the distance. We turned hastily towards the direction whence the sound came, and soon descried Peterkin walking along the beach towards us with a little pig transfixed on the end of his long spear! "Well done, my boy!" exclaimed Jack, slapping him on the shoulder when he came up, "you're the best shot amongst us." "Look here Jack!" cried Peterkin, as he disengaged the animal from his spear. "Do you recognise that hole?" said he, pointing to the pig's ear; "and are you familiar with this arrow, eh?" "Well, I declare!" said Jack. "Of course you do," interrupted Peterkin; "but, pray, restrain your declarations at this time, and let's have supper, for I'm uncommonly hungry, I can tell you; and it's no joke to charge a whole herd of swine with their great-grandmother bristling like a giant porcupine at the head of them!" We now set about preparing supper; and, truly, a good display of viands we made, when all was laid out on a flat rock in the light of the blazing fire. There was, first of all, the little pig; then there was the taro- root, and the yam, and the potato, and six plums; and, lastly, the wood- pigeon. To these Peterkin added a bit of sugar-cane, which he had cut from a little patch of that plant which he had found not long after separating from us; "and," said he, "the patch was somewhat in a square form, which convinces me it must have been planted by man." "Very likely," replied Jack. "From all we have seen, I'm inclined to think that some of the savages must have dwelt here long ago." We found no small difficulty in making up our minds how we were to cook the pig. None of us had ever cut up one before, and we did not know exactly how to begin; besides, we had nothing but the axe to do it with, our knife having been forgotten. At last Jack started up and said,-- "Don't let us waste more time talking about it, boys. Hold it up, Peterkin. There, lay the hind leg on this block of wood, so;" and he cut it off, with a large portion of the haunch, at a single blow of the axe. "Now the other,--that's it." And having thus cut off the two hind legs, he made several deep gashes in them, thrust a sharp-pointed stick through each, and stuck them up before the blaze to roast. The wood-pigeon was then split open, quite flat, washed clean in salt water, and treated in a similar manner. While these were cooking, we scraped a hole in the sand and ashes under the fire, into which we put our vegetables, and covered them up. The taro-root was of an oval shape, about ten inches long and four or five thick. It was of a mottled-gray colour, and had a thick rind. We found it somewhat like an Irish potato, and exceedingly good. The yam was roundish, and had a rough brown skin. It was very sweet and well- flavoured. The potato, we were surprised to find, was quite sweet and exceedingly palatable, as also were the plums; and, indeed, the pork and pigeon too, when we came to taste them. Altogether this was decidedly the most luxurious supper we had enjoyed for many a day; and Jack said it was out-of-sight better than we ever got on board ship; and Peterkin said he feared that if we should remain long on the island he would infallibly become a glutton or an epicure: whereat Jack remarked that he need not fear that, for he was _both_ already! And so, having eaten our fill, not forgetting to finish off with a plum, we laid ourselves comfortably down to sleep upon a couch of branches under the overhanging ledge of a coral rock. CHAPTER XI. Effects of over-eating, and reflections thereon--Humble advice regarding cold water--The "horrible cry" accounted for--The curious birds called penguins--Peculiarity of the cocoa nut palm--Questions on the formation of coral islands--Mysterious footsteps--Strange discoveries and sad sights. When we awoke on the following morning, we found that the sun was already a good way above the horizon, so I came to the conclusion that a heavy supper is not conducive to early rising. Nevertheless, we felt remarkably strong and well, and much disposed to have our breakfast. First, however, we had our customary morning bathe, which refreshed us greatly. I have often wondered very much in after years that the inhabitants of my own dear land did not make more frequent use of this most charming element, water. I mean in the way of cold bathing. Of course, I have perceived that it is not convenient for them to go into the sea or the rivers in winter, as we used to do on the Coral Island; but then, I knew from experience that a large washing-tub and a sponge do form a most pleasant substitute. The feelings of freshness, of cleanliness, of vigour, and extreme hilarity, that always followed my bathes in the sea, and even, when in England, my ablutions in the wash-tub, were so delightful, that I would sooner have gone without my breakfast than without my bathe in cold water. My readers will forgive me for asking whether they are in the habit of bathing thus every morning; and if they answer "No," they will pardon me for recommending them to begin at once. Of late years, since retiring from the stirring life of adventure which I have led so long in foreign climes, I have heard of a system called the cold-water-cure. Now, I do not know much about that system, so I do not mean to uphold it, neither do I intend to run it down. Perhaps, in reference to it, I may just hint that there may be too much of a good thing. I know not; but of this I am quite certain, that there may also be too little of a good thing; and the great delight I have had in cold bathing during the course of my adventurous career inclines me to think that it is better to risk taking too much than to content one's self with too little. Such is my opinion, derived from much experience; but I put it before my readers with the utmost diffidence and with profound modesty, knowing that it may possibly jar with their feelings of confidence in their own ability to know and judge as to what is best and fittest in reference to their own affairs. But, to return from this digression, for which I humbly crave forgiveness. We had not advanced on our journey much above a mile or so, and were just beginning to feel the pleasant glow that usually accompanies vigorous exercise, when, on turning a point that revealed to us a new and beautiful cluster of islands, we were suddenly arrested by the appalling cry which had so alarmed us a few nights before. But this time we were by no means so much alarmed as on the previous occasion, because, whereas at that time it was night, now it was day; and I have always found, though I am unable to account for it, that daylight banishes many of the fears that are apt to assail us in the dark. On hearing the sound, Peterkin instantly threw forward his spear. "Now, what can it be?" said he, looking round at Jack. "I tell you what it is, if we are to go on being pulled up in a constant state of horror and astonishment, as we have been for the last week, the sooner we're out o' this island the better, notwithstanding the yams and lemonade, and pork and plums!" Peterkin's remark was followed by a repetition of the cry, louder than before. "It comes from one of these islands," said Jack. "It must be the ghost of a jackass, then," said Peterkin, "for I never heard anything so like." We all turned our eyes towards the cluster of islands, where, on the largest, we observed curious objects moving on the shore. "Soldiers they are,--that's flat!" cried Peterkin, gazing at them in the utmost amazement. And, in truth, Peterkin's remark seemed to me to be correct; for, at the distance from which we saw them, they appeared to be an army of soldiers. There they stood, rank and file, in lines and in squares, marching and countermarching, with blue coats and white trousers. While we were looking at them, the dreadful cry came again over the water, and Peterkin suggested that it must be a regiment sent out to massacre the natives in cold blood. At this remark Jack laughed and said,-- "Why, Peterkin, they are penguins!" "Penguins?" repeated Peterkin. "Ay, penguins, Peterkin, penguins,--nothing more or less than big sea- birds, as you shall see one of these days, when we pay them a visit in our boat, which I mean to set about building the moment we return to our bower." "So, then, our dreadful yelling ghosts and our murdering army of soldiers," remarked Peterkin, "have dwindled down to penguins,--big sea- birds! Very good. Then I propose that we continue our journey as fast as possible, lest our island should be converted into a dream before we get completely round it." Now, as we continued on our way, I pondered much over this new discovery, and the singular appearance of these birds, of which Jack could only give us a very slight and vague account; and I began to long to commence to our boat, in order that we might go and inspect them more narrowly. But by degrees these thoughts left me, and I began to be much taken up again with the interesting peculiarities of the country which we were passing through. The second night we passed in a manner somewhat similar to the first, at about two-thirds of the way round the island, as we calculated, and we hoped to sleep on the night following at our bower. I will not here note so particularly all that we said and saw during the course of this second day, as we did not make any further discoveries of great importance. The shore along which we travelled, and the various parts of the woods through which we passed, were similar to those which have been already treated of. There were one or two observations that we made, however, and these were as follows:-- We saw that, while many of the large fruit-bearing trees grew only in the valleys, and some of them only near the banks of the streams, where the soil was peculiarly rich, the cocoa-nut palm grew in every place whatsoever,--not only on the hill sides, but also on the sea shore, and even, as has been already stated, on the coral reef itself, where the soil, if we may use the name, was nothing better than loose sand mingled with broken shells and coral rock. So near to the sea, too, did this useful tree grow, that in many places its roots were washed by the spray from the breakers. Yet we found the trees growing thus on the sands to be quite as luxuriant as those growing in the valleys, and the fruit as good and refreshing also. Besides this, I noticed that, on the summit of the high mountain, which we once more ascended at a different point from our first ascent, were found abundance of shells and broken coral formations, which Jack and I agreed proved either that this island must have once been under the sea, or that the sea must once have been above the island. In other words, that as shells and coral could not possibly climb to the mountain top, they must have been washed upon it while the mountain top was on a level with the sea. We pondered this very much; and we put to ourselves the question, "What raised the island to its present height above the sea?" But to this we could by no means give to ourselves a satisfactory reply. Jack thought it might have been blown up by a volcano; and Peterkin said he thought it must have jumped up of its own accord! We also noticed, what had escaped us before, that the solid rocks of which the island was formed were quite different from the live coral rocks on the shore, where the wonderful little insects were continually working. They seemed, indeed, to be of the same material,--a substance like limestone; but, while the coral rocks were quite full of minute cells in which the insects lived, the other rocks inland were hard and solid, without the appearance of cells at all. Our thoughts and conversations on this subject were sometimes so profound that Peterkin said we should certainly get drowned in them at last, even although we were such good divers! Nevertheless we did not allow his pleasantry on this and similar points to deter us from making our notes and observations as we went along. We found several more droves of hogs in the woods, but abstained from killing any of them, having more than sufficient for our present necessities. We saw also many of their foot-prints in this neighbourhood. Among these we also observed the footprints of a smaller animal, which we examined with much care, but could form no certain opinion as to them. Peterkin thought they were those of a little dog, but Jack and I thought differently. We became very curious on this matter, the more so that we observed these foot-prints to lie scattered about in one locality, as if the animal which had made them was wandering round about in a very irregular manner, and without any object in view. Early in the forenoon of our third day we observed these footprints to be much more numerous than ever, and in one particular spot they diverged off into the woods in a regular beaten track, which was, however, so closely beset with bushes, that we pushed through it with difficulty. We had now become so anxious to find out what animal this was, and where it went to, that we determined to follow the track, and, if possible, clear up the mystery. Peterkin said, in a bantering tone, that he was sure it would be cleared up as usual in some frightfully simple way, and prove to be no mystery at all! The beaten track seemed much too large to have been formed by the animal itself, and we concluded that some larger animal had made it, and that the smaller one made use of it. But everywhere the creeping plants and tangled bushes crossed our path, so that we forced our way along with some difficulty. Suddenly, as we came upon an open space, we heard a faint cry, and observed a black animal standing in the track before us. "A wild-cat!" cried Jack, fitting an arrow to his bow, and discharging it so hastily that he missed the animal, and hit the earth about half a foot to one side of it. To our surprise the wild-cat did not fly, but walked slowly towards the arrow, and snuffed at it. "That's the most comical wild-cat I ever saw!" cried Jack. "It's a tame wild-cat, I think," said Peterkin, levelling his spear to make a charge. "Stop!" cried I, laying my hand on his shoulder; "I do believe the poor beast is blind. See, it strikes against the branches as it walks along. It must be a very old one;" and I hastened towards it. "Only think," said Peterkin, with a suppressed laugh, "of a superannuated wild-cat!" We now found that the poor cat was not only blind, or nearly so, but extremely deaf, as it did not hear our footsteps until we were quite close behind it. Then it sprang round, and, putting up its back and tail, while the black hair stood all on end, uttered a hoarse mew and a fuff. "Poor thing," said Peterkin, gently extending his hand, and endeavouring to pat the cat's head. "Poor pussy; chee, chee, chee; puss, puss, puss; cheetie pussy!" No sooner did the cat hear these sounds than all signs of anger fled, and, advancing eagerly to Peterkin, it allowed itself to be stroked, and rubbed itself against his legs, purring loudly all the time, and showing every symptom of the most extreme delight. "It's no more a wild cat than I am!" cried Peterkin, taking it in his arms. "It's quite tame. Poor pussy, cheetie pussy!" We now crowded around Peterkin, and were not a little surprised, and, to say truth, a good deal affected, by the sight of the poor animal's excessive joy. It rubbed its head against Peterkin's cheek, licked his chin, and thrust its head almost violently into his neck, while it purred more loudly than I ever heard a cat purr before, and appeared to be so much overpowered by its feelings, that it occasionally mewed and purred almost in the same breath. Such demonstrations of joy and affection led us at once to conclude that this poor cat must have known man before, and we conjectured that it had been left either accidentally or by design on the island many years ago, and was now evincing its extreme joy at meeting once more with human beings. While we were fondling the cat and talking about it, Jack glanced round the open space in the midst of which we stood. "Hallo!" exclaimed he; "this looks something like a clearing. The axe has been at work here. Just look at these tree-stumps." We now turned to examine these, and, without doubt, we found trees that had been cut down here and there, also stumps and broken branches; all of which, however, were completely covered over with moss, and bore evidence of having been in this condition for some years. No human foot-prints were to be seen, either on the track or among the bushes; but those of the cat were found everywhere. We now determined to follow up the track as far as it went, and Peterkin put the cat down; but it seemed to be so weak, and mewed so very pitifully, that he took it up again and carried it in his arms, where, in a few minutes, it fell sound asleep. About ten yards farther on, the felled trees became more numerous, and the track, diverging to the right, followed for a short space the banks of a stream. Suddenly we came to a spot where once must have been a rude bridge, the stones of which were scattered in the stream, and those on each bank entirely covered over with moss. In silent surprise and expectancy we continued to advance, and, a few yards farther on, beheld, under the shelter of some bread-fruit trees, a small hut or cottage. I cannot hope to convey to my readers a very correct idea of the feelings that affected us on witnessing this unexpected sight. We stood for a long time in silent wonder, for there was a deep and most melancholy stillness about the place that quite overpowered us; and when we did at length speak, it was in subdued whispers, as if we were surrounded by some awful or supernatural influence. Even Peterkin's voice, usually so quick and lively on all occasions, was hushed now; for there was a dreariness about this silent, lonely, uninhabited cottage,--so strange in its appearance, so far away from the usual dwellings of man, so old, decayed, and deserted in its aspect,--that fell upon our spirits like a thick cloud, and blotted out as with a pall the cheerful sunshine that had filled us since the commencement of our tour round the island. The hut or cottage was rude and simple in its construction. It was not more than twelve feet long by ten feet broad, and about seven or eight feet high. It had one window, or rather a small frame in which a window might, perhaps, once have been, but which was now empty. The door was exceedingly low, and formed of rough boards, and the roof was covered with broad cocoa-nut and plantain leaves. But every part of it was in a state of the utmost decay. Moss and green matter grew in spots all over it. The woodwork was quite perforated with holes; the roof had nearly fallen in, and appeared to be prevented from doing so altogether by the thick matting of creeping-plants and the interlaced branches which years of neglect had allowed to cover it almost entirely; while the thick, luxuriant branches of the bread-fruit and other trees spread above it, and flung a deep, sombre shadow over the spot, as if to guard it from the heat and the light of day. We conversed long and in whispers about this strange habitation ere we ventured to approach it; and when at length we did so it was, at least on my part, with feelings of awe. At first Jack endeavoured to peep in at the window, but from the deep shadow of the trees already mentioned, and the gloom within, he could not clearly discern objects; so we lifted the latch and pushed open the door. We observed that the latch was made of iron, and almost eaten away with rust. In the like condition were also the hinges, which creaked as the door swung back. On entering, we stood still and gazed around us, while we were much impressed with the dreary stillness of the room. But what we saw there surprised and shocked us not a little. There was no furniture in the apartment save a little wooden stool and an iron pot, the latter almost eaten through with rust. In the corner farthest from the door was a low bedstead, on which lay two skeletons, imbedded in a little heap of dry dust. With beating hearts we went forward to examine them. One was the skeleton of a man, the other that of a dog, which was extended close beside that of the man, with its head resting on his bosom Now we were very much concerned about this discovery, and could scarce refrain from tears on beholding these sad remains. After some time, we began to talk about what we had seen, and to examine in and around the hut, in order to discover some clue to the name or history of this poor man, who had thus died in solitude, with none to mourn his loss save his cat and his faithful dog. But we found nothing,--neither a book nor a scrap of paper. We found, however, the decayed remnants of what appeared to have been clothing, and an old axe. But none of these things bore marks of any kind; and, indeed, they were so much decayed as to convince us that they had lain in the condition in which we found them for many years. This discovery now accounted to us for the tree stump at the top of the mountain with the initials cut on it; also for the patch of sugar-cane and other traces of man which we had met with in the course of our rambles over the island. And we were much saddened by the reflection that the lot of this poor wanderer might possibly be our own, after many years' residence on the island, unless we should be rescued by the visit of some vessel or the arrival of natives. Having no clue whatever to account for the presence of this poor human being in such a lonely spot, we fell to conjecturing what could have brought him there. I was inclined to think that he must have been a shipwrecked sailor, whose vessel had been lost here, and all the crew been drowned except himself and his dog and cat. But Jack thought it more likely that he had run away from his vessel, and had taken the dog and cat to keep him company. We were also much occupied in our minds with the wonderful difference between the cat and the dog. For here we saw that while the one perished, like a loving friend, by its master's side, with its head resting on his bosom, the other had sought to sustain itself by prowling abroad in the forest, and had lived in solitude to a good old age. However, we did not conclude from this that the cat was destitute of affection, for we could not forget its emotions on first meeting with us; but we saw from this, that the dog had a great deal more of generous love in its nature than the cat, because it not only found it impossible to live after the death of its master, but it must needs, when it came to die, crawl to his side and rest its head upon his lifeless breast. While we were thinking on these things, and examining into everything about the room, we were attracted by an exclamation from Peterkin. "I say, Jack," said he, "here is something that will be of use to us." "What is it?" said Jack, hastening across the room. "An old pistol," replied Peterkin, holding up the weapon, which he had just pulled from under a heap of broken wood and rubbish that lay in a corner. "That, indeed, might have been useful," said Jack, examining it, "if we had any powder; but I suspect the bow and the sling will prove more serviceable." "True, I forgot that," said Peterkin; "but we may as well take it with us, for the flint will serve to strike fire with when the sun does not shine." {A saddening discovery: p136.jpg} After having spent more than an hour at this place without discovering anything of further interest, Peterkin took up the old cat, which had lain very contentedly asleep on the stool whereon he had placed it, and we prepared to take our departure. In leaving the hut, Jack stumbled heavily against the door-post, which was so much decayed as to break across, and the whole fabric of the hut seemed ready to tumble about our ears. This put into our heads that we might as well pull it down, and so form a mound over the skeleton. Jack, therefore, with his axe, cut down the other door-post, which, when it was done, brought the whole hut in ruins to the ground, and thus formed a grave to the bones of the poor recluse and his dog. Then we left the spot, having brought away the iron pot, the pistol, and the old axe, as they might be of much use to us hereafter. During the rest of this day we pursued our journey, and examined the other end of the large valley, which we found to be so much alike to the parts already described, that I shall not recount the particulars of what we saw in this place. I may, however, remark, that we did not quite recover our former cheerful spirits until we arrived at our bower, which we did late in the evening, and found everything just in the same condition as we had left it three days before. CHAPTER XII. Something wrong with the tank--Jack's wisdom and Peterkin's impertinence--Wonderful behaviour of a crab--Good wishes for those who dwell far from the sea--Jack commences to build a little boat. Rest is sweet as well for the body as for the mind. During my long experience, amid the vicissitudes of a chequered life, I have found that periods of profound rest at certain intervals, in addition to the ordinary hours of repose, are necessary to the wellbeing of man. And the nature as well as the period of this rest varies, according to the different temperaments of individuals, and the peculiar circumstances in which they may chance to be placed. To those who work with their minds, bodily labour is rest. To those who labour with the body, deep sleep is rest. To the downcast, the weary, and the sorrowful, joy and peace are rest. Nay, further, I think that to the gay, the frivolous, the reckless, when sated with pleasures that cannot last, even sorrow proves to be rest of a kind, although, perchance, it were better that I should call it relief than rest. There is, indeed, but one class of men to whom rest is denied. There is no rest to the wicked. At this I do but hint, however, as I treat not of that rest which is spiritual, but, more particularly, of that which applies to the mind and to the body. Of this rest we stood much in need on our return home, and we found it exceedingly sweet, when we indulged in it, after completing the journey just related. It had not, indeed, been a very long journey, nevertheless we had pursued it so diligently that our frames were not a little prostrated. Our minds were also very much exhausted in consequence of the many surprises, frequent alarms, and much profound thought, to which they had been subjected; so that when we lay down on the night of our return under the shelter of the bower, we fell immediately into very deep repose. I can state this with much certainty, for Jack afterwards admitted the fact, and Peterkin, although he stoutly denied it, I heard snoring loudly at least two minutes after lying down. In this condition we remained all night and the whole of the following day without awaking once, or so much as moving our positions. When we did awake it was near sunset, and we were all in such a state of lassitude that we merely rose to swallow a mouthful of food. As Peterkin remarked, in the midst of a yawn, we took breakfast at tea-time, and then went to bed again, where we lay till the following forenoon. After this we arose very greatly refreshed, but much alarmed lest we had lost count of a day. I say we were much alarmed on this head, for we had carefully kept count of the days since we were cast upon our island, in order that we might remember the Sabbath-day, which day we had hitherto with one accord kept as a day of rest, and refrained from all work whatsoever. However, on considering the subject, we all three entertained the same opinion as to how long we had slept, and so our minds were put at ease. We now hastened to our Water Garden to enjoy a bathe, and to see how did the animals which I had placed in the tank. We found the garden more charming, pelucid, and inviting than ever, and Jack and I plunged into its depth, and gambolled among its radiant coral groves; while Peterkin wallowed at the surface, and tried occasionally to kick us as we passed below. Having dressed, I then hastened to the tank; but what was my surprise and grief to find nearly all the animals dead, and the water in a putrid condition! I was greatly distressed at this, and wondered what could be the cause of it. "Why, you precious humbug," said Peterkin, coming up to me, "how could you expect it to be otherwise? When fishes are accustomed to live in the Pacific Ocean, how can you expect them to exist in a hole like that?" "Indeed, Peterkin," I replied, "there seems to be truth in what you say. Nevertheless, now I think of it, there must be some error in your reasoning; for, if I put in but a few very small animals, they will bear the same proportion to this pond that the millions of fish bear to the ocean." "I say, Jack," cried Peterkin, waving his hand, "come here, like a good fellow. Ralph is actually talking philosophy. Do come to our assistance, for he's out o' sight beyond me already!" "What's the matter?" inquired Jack, coming up, while he endeavoured to scrub his long hair dry with a towel of cocoa-nut cloth. I repeated my thoughts to Jack, who, I was happy to find, quite agreed with me. "Your best plan," he said, "will be to put very few animals at first into your tank, and add more as you find it will bear them. And look here," he added, pointing to the sides of the tank, which, for the space of two inches above the water-level, were incrusted with salt, "you must carry your philosophy a little farther, Ralph. That water has evaporated so much that it is too salt for anything to live in. You will require to add _fresh_ water now and then, in order to keep it at the same degree of saltness as the sea." "Very true, Jack, that never struck me before," said I. "And, now I think of it," continued Jack, "it seems to me that the surest way of arranging your tank so as to get it to keep pure and in good condition, will be to imitate the ocean in it. In fact make it a miniature Pacific. I don't see how you can hope to succeed unless you do that." "Most true," said I, pondering what my companion said. "But I fear that that will be very difficult." "Not at all," cried Jack, rolling his towel up into a ball, and throwing it into the face of Peterkin, who had been grinning and winking at him during the last five minutes. "Not at all. Look here. There is water of a certain saltness in the sea; well, fill your tank with sea water, and keep it at that saltness by marking the height at which the water stands on the sides. When it evaporates a little, pour in _fresh_ water from the brook till it comes up to the mark, and then it will be right, for the salt does not evaporate with the water. Then, there's lots of sea-weed in the sea;--well, go and get one or two bits of sea-weed, and put them into your tank. Of course the weed must be alive, and growing to little stones; or you can chip a bit off the rocks with the weed sticking to it. Then, if you like, you can throw a little sand and gravel into your tank, and the thing's complete." "Nay, not quite," said Peterkin, who had been gravely attentive to this off-hand advice, "not quite; you must first make three little men to dive in it before it can be said to be perfect, and that would be rather difficult, I fear, for two of them would require to be philosophers. But hallo! what's this? I say, Ralph, look here. There's one o' your crabs up to something uncommon. It's performing the most remarkable operation for a crab I ever saw,--taking off its coat, I do believe, before going to bed!" We hastily stooped over the tank, and certainly were not a little amused at the conduct of one of the crabs which still survived it companions. It was one of the common small crabs, like to those that are found running about everywhere on the coasts of England. While we gazed at it, we observed its back to split away from the lower part of its body, and out of the gap thus formed came a soft lump which moved and writhed unceasingly. This lump continued to increase in size until it appeared like a bunch of crab's legs: and, indeed, such it proved in a very few minutes to be; for the points of the toes were at length extricated from this hole in its back, the legs spread out, the body followed, and the crab walked away quite entire, even to the points of its nipper-claws, leaving a perfectly entire shell behind it, so that, when we looked, it seemed as though there were two complete crabs instead of one! "Well!" exclaimed Peterkin, drawing a long breath, "I've _heard_ of a man jumping out of his skin and sitting down in his skeleton in order to cool himself, but I never expected to _see_ a crab do it!" We were, in truth, much amazed at this spectacle, and the more so when we observed that the new crab was larger than the crab that it came out of. It was also quite soft, but by next morning its skin had hardened into a good shell. We came thus to know that crabs grow in this way, and not by the growing of their shells, as we had always thought before we saw this wonderful operation. Now I considered well the advice which Jack had given me about preparing my tank, and the more I thought of it, the more I came to regard it as very sound and worthy of being acted on. So I forthwith put his plan in execution, and found it to answer excellently well, indeed much beyond my expectation; for I found that after a little experience had taught me the proper proportion of sea-weed and animals to put into a certain amount of water, the tank needed no farther attendance; and, moreover, I did not require ever afterwards to renew or change the sea-water, but only to add a very little fresh water from the brook, now and then, as the other evaporated. I therefore concluded that if I had been suddenly conveyed, along with my tank, into some region where there was no salt sea at all, my little sea and my sea-fish would have continued to thrive and to prosper notwithstanding. This made me greatly to desire that those people in the world who live far inland might know of my wonderful tank, and, by having materials like to those of which it was made conveyed to them, thus be enabled to watch the habits of those most mysterious animals that reside in the sea, and examine with their own eyes the wonders of the great deep. For many days after this, while Peterkin and Jack were busily employed in building a little boat out of the curious natural planks of the chestnut tree, I spent much of my time in examining with the burning-glass the marvellous operations that were constantly going on in my tank. Here I saw those anemones which cling, like little red, yellow, and green blobs of jelly, to the rocks, put forth, as it were, a multitude of arms and wait till little fish or other small animalcules unwarily touched them, when they would instantly seize them, fold arm after arm around their victims, and so engulf them in their stomachs. Here I saw the ceaseless working of those little coral insects whose efforts have encrusted the islands of the Pacific with vast rocks, and surrounded them with enormous reefs. And I observed that many of these insects, though extremely minute, were very beautiful, coming out of their holes in a circle of fine threads, and having the form of a shuttle-cock. Here I saw curious little barnacles opening a hole in their backs and constantly putting out a thin feathery hand, with which, I doubt not, they dragged their food into their mouths. Here, also, I saw those crabs which have shells only on the front of their bodies, but no shell whatever on their remarkably tender tails, so that, in order to find a protection to them, they thrust them into the empty shells of wilks, or some such fish, and when they grow too big for one, change into another. But, most curious of all, I saw an animal which had the wonderful power, when it became ill, of casting its stomach and its teeth away from it, and getting an entirely new set in the course of a few months! All this I saw, and a great deal more, by means of my tank and my burning-glass, but I refrain from setting down more particulars here, as I have still much to tell of the adventures that befell us while we remained on this island. CHAPTER XIII. Notable discovery at the spouting cliffs--The mysterious green monster explained--We are thrown into unutterable terror by the idea that Jack is drowned--The Diamond Cave. "Come, Jack," cried Peterkin, one morning about three weeks after our return from our long excursion, "let's be jolly to-day, and do something vigorous. I'm quite tired of hammering and hammering, hewing and screwing, cutting and butting, at that little boat of ours, that seems as hard to build as Noah's ark; let us go on an excursion to the mountain top, or have a hunt after the wild ducks, or make a dash at the pigs. I'm quite flat--flat as bad ginger-beer--flat as a pancake; in fact, I want something to rouse me, to toss me up, as it were. Eh! what do you say to it?" "Well," answered Jack, throwing down the axe with which he was just about to proceed towards the boat, "if that's what you want, I would recommend you to make an excursion to the water-spouts; the last one we had to do with tossed you up a considerable height, perhaps the next will send you higher, who knows, if you're at all reasonable or moderate in your expectations!" "Jack, my dear boy," said Peterkin, gravely, "you are really becoming too fond of jesting. It's a thing I don't at all approve of, and if you don't give it up, I fear that, for our mutual good, we shall have to part." "Well, then, Peterkin," replied Jack, with a smile, "what would you have?" "Have?" said Peterkin, "I would _have_ nothing. I didn't say I wanted to _have_; I said that I wanted to _do_." "By the by," said I, interrupting their conversation, "I am reminded by this that we have not yet discovered the nature of yon curious appearance that we saw near the water-spouts, on our journey round the island. Perhaps it would be well to go for that purpose." "Humph!" ejaculated Peterkin, "I know the nature of it well enough." "What was it?" said I. "It was of a _mysterious_ nature to be sure!" said he, with a wave of his hand, while he rose from the log on which he had been sitting, and buckled on his belt, into which he thrust his enormous club. "Well then, let us away to the water-spouts," cried Jack, going up to the bower for his bow and arrows; "and bring your spear, Peterkin. It may be useful." We now, having made up our minds to examine into this matter, sallied forth eagerly in the direction of the water-spout rocks, which, as I have before mentioned, were not far from our present place of abode. On arriving there we hastened down to the edge of the rocks, and gazed over into the sea, where we observed the pale-green object still distinctly visible, moving its tail slowly to and fro in the water. "Most remarkable!" said Jack. "Exceedingly curious," said I. "Beats everything!" said Peterkin. "Now, Jack," he added, "you made such a poor figure in your last attempt to stick that object, that I would advise you to let me try it. If it has got a heart at all, I'll engage to send my spear right through the core of it; if it hasn't got a heart, I'll send it through the spot where its heart ought to be." "Fire away, then, my boy," replied Jack with a laugh. Peterkin immediately took the spear, poised it for a second or two above his head, then darted it like an arrow into the sea. Down it went straight into the centre of the green object, passed quite through it, and came up immediately afterwards, pure and unsullied, while the mysterious tail moved quietly as before! "Now," said Peterkin, gravely, "that brute is a heartless monster; I'll have nothing more to do with it." "I'm pretty sure now," said Jack, "that it is merely a phosphoric light; but I must say I'm puzzled at its staying always in that exact spot." I also was much puzzled, and inclined to think with Jack that it must be phosphoric light; of which luminous appearance we had seen much while on our voyage to these seas. "But," said I, "there is nothing to hinder us from diving down to it, now that we are sure it is not a shark." "True," returned Jack, stripping off his clothes; "I'll go down, Ralph, as I'm better at diving than you are. Now then, Peterkin, out o' the road!" Jack stepped forward, joined his hands above his head, bent over the rocks, and plunged into the sea. For a second or two the spray caused by his dive hid him from view, then the water became still, and we saw him swimming far down in the midst of the green object. Suddenly he sank below it, and vanished altogether from our sight! We gazed anxiously down at the spot where he had disappeared, for nearly a minute, expecting every moment to see him rise again for breath; but fully a minute passed, and still he did not reappear. Two minutes passed! and then a flood of alarm rushed in upon my soul, when I considered that during all my acquaintance with him, Jack had never stayed underwater more than a minute at a time; indeed seldom so long. "Oh, Peterkin!" I said, in a voice that trembled with increasing anxiety, "something has happened. It is more than three minutes now!" But Peterkin did not answer and I observed that he was gazing down into the water with a look of intense fear mingled with anxiety, while his face was overspread with a deadly paleness. Suddenly he sprang to his feet and rushed about in a frantic state, wringing his hands, and exclaiming, "Oh, Jack, Jack! he is gone! It must have been a shark, and he is gone for ever!" For the next five minutes I know not what I did. The intensity of my feelings almost bereft me of my senses. But I was recalled to myself by Peterkin seizing me by the shoulder and staring wildly into my face, while he exclaimed, "Ralph! Ralph! perhaps he has only fainted. Dive for him, Ralph!" It seemed strange that this did not occur to me sooner. In a moment I rushed to the edge of the rocks, and, without waiting to throw off my garments, was on the point to spring into the waves, when I observed something black rising up through the green object. In another moment Jack's head rose to the surface, and he gave a wild shout, flinging back the spray from his locks, as was his wont after a dive. Now we were almost as much amazed at seeing him reappear, well and strong, as we had been at first at his non-appearance; for, to the best of our judgment, he had been nearly ten minutes under water, perhaps longer, and it required no exertion of our reason to convince us that this was utterly impossible for mortal man to do and retain his strength and faculties. It was therefore with a feeling akin to superstitious awe that I held down my hand and assisted him to clamber up the steep rocks. But no such feeling affected Peterkin. No sooner did Jack gain the rocks and seat himself on one, panting for breath, than he threw his arms round his neck, and burst into a flood of tears. "Oh, Jack, Jack!" said he, "where were you? What kept you so long?" After a few moments Peterkin became composed enough to sit still and listen to Jack's explanation, although he could not restrain himself from attempting to wink every two minutes at me, in order to express his joy at Jack's safety. I say he attempted to wink, but I am bound to add that he did not succeed, for his eyes were so much swollen with weeping, that his frequent attempts only resulted in a series of violent and altogether idiotical contortions of the face, that were very far from expressing what he intended. However, I knew what the poor fellow meant by it, so I smiled to him in return, and endeavoured to make believe that he was winking. "Now, lads," said Jack, when we were composed enough to listen to him, "yon green object is not a shark; it is a stream of light issuing from a cave in the rocks. Just after I made my dive, I observed that this light came from the side of the rock above which we are now sitting; so I struck out for it, and saw an opening into some place or other that appeared to be luminous within. For one instant I paused to think whether I ought to venture. Then I made up my mind, and dashed into it. For you see, Peterkin, although I take some time to tell this, it happened in the space of a few seconds, so that I knew I had wind enough in me to serve to bring me out o' the hole and up to the surface again. Well, I was just on the point of turning,--for I began to feel a little uncomfortable in such a place,--when it seemed to me as if there was a faint light right above me. I darted upwards, and found my head out of water. This relieved me greatly, for I now felt that I could take in air enough to enable me to return the way I came. Then it all at once occurred to me that I might not be able to find the way out again; but, on glancing downwards, my mind was put quite at rest by seeing the green light below me streaming into the cave, just like the light that we had seen streaming out of it, only what I now saw was much brighter. "At first I could scarcely see anything as I gazed around me, it was so dark; but gradually my eyes became accustomed to it, and I found that I was in a huge cave, part of the walls of which I observed on each side of me. The ceiling just above me was also visible, and I fancied that I could perceive beautiful glittering objects there, but the farther end of the cave was shrouded in darkness. While I was looking around me in great wonder, it came into my head that you two would think I was drowned; so I plunged down through the passage again in a great hurry, rose to the surface, and--here I am!" When Jack concluded his recital of what he had seen in this remarkable cave, I could not rest satisfied till I had dived down to see it; which I did, but found it so dark, as Jack had said, that I could scarcely see anything. When I returned, we had a long conversation about it, during which I observed that Peterkin had a most lugubrious expression on his countenance. "What's the matter, Peterkin?" said I. "The matter?" he replied. "It's all very well for you two to be talking away like mermaids about the wonders of this cave, but you know I must be content to hear about it, while you are enjoying yourselves down there like mad dolphins. It's really too bad." "I'm very sorry for you, Peterkin, indeed I am," said Jack, "but we cannot help you. If you would only learn to dive--" "Learn to fly, you might as well say!" retorted Peterkin, in a very sulky tone. "If you would only consent to keep still," said I, "we would take you down with us in ten seconds." "Hum!" returned Peterkin; "suppose a salamander was to propose to you 'only to keep still,' and he would carry you through a blazing fire in a few seconds, what would you say?" We both laughed and shook our heads, for it was evident that nothing was to be made of Peterkin in the water. But we could not rest satisfied till we had seen more of this cave; so, after further consultation, Jack and I determined to try if we could take down a torch with us, and set fire to it in the cavern. This we found to be an undertaking of no small difficulty; but we accomplished it at last by the following means:--First, we made a torch of a very inflammable nature out of the bark of a certain tree, which we cut into strips, and, after twisting, cemented together with a kind of resin or gum, which we also obtained from another tree; neither of which trees, however, was known by name to Jack. This, when prepared, we wrapped up in a great number of plies of cocoa-nut cloth, so that we were confident it could not get wet during the short time it should be under water. Then we took a small piece of the tinder, which we had carefully treasured up lest we should require it, as before said, when the sun should fail us; also, we rolled up some dry grass and a few chips, which, with a little bow and drill, like those described before, we made into another bundle, and wrapped it up in cocoa-nut cloth. When all was ready we laid aside our garments, with the exception of our trousers, which, as we did not know what rough scraping against the rocks we might be subjected to, we kept on. Then we advanced to the edge of the rocks, Jack carrying one bundle, with the torch; I the other, with the things for producing fire. "Now don't weary for us, Peterkin, should we be gone some time," said Jack; "we'll be sure to return in half-an-hour at the very latest, however interesting the cave should be, that we may relieve your mind." "Farewell!" said Peterkin, coming up to us with a look of deep but pretended solemnity, while he shook hands and kissed each of us on the cheek. "Farewell! and while you are gone I shall repose my weary limbs under the shelter of this bush, and meditate on the changefulness of all things earthly, with special reference to the forsaken condition of a poor ship-wrecked sailor boy!" So saying, Peterkin waved his hand, turned from us, and cast himself upon the ground with a look of melancholy resignation, which was so well feigned, that I would have thought it genuine had he not accompanied it with a gentle wink. We both laughed, and, springing from the rocks together, plunged head first into the sea. We gained the interior of the submarine cave without difficulty, and, on emerging from the waves, supported ourselves for some time by treading- water, while we held the two bundles above our heads. This we did in order to let our eyes become accustomed to the obscurity. Then, when we could see sufficiently, we swam to a shelving rock, and landed in safety. Having wrung the water from our trousers, and dried ourselves as well as we could under the circumstances, we proceeded to ignite the torch. This we accomplished without difficulty in a few minutes; and no sooner did it flare up than we were struck dumb with the wonderful objects that were revealed to our gaze. The roof of the cavern just above us seemed to be about ten feet high, but grew higher as it receded into the distance, until it was lost in darkness. It seemed to be made of coral, and was supported by massive columns of the same material. Immense icicles (as they appeared to us) hung from it in various places. These, however, were formed, not of ice, but of a species of limestone, which seemed to flow in a liquid form towards the point of each, where it became solid. A good many drops fell, however, to the rock below, and these formed little cones, which rose to meet the points above. Some of them had already met, and thus we saw how the pillars were formed, which at first seemed to us as if they had been placed there by some human architect to support the roof. As we advanced farther in, we saw that the floor was composed of the same material as the pillars; and it presented the curious appearance of ripples, such as are formed on water when gently ruffled by the wind. There were several openings on either hand in the walls, that seemed to lead into other caverns; but these we did not explore at this time. We also observed that the ceiling was curiously marked in many places, as if it were the fret-work of a noble cathedral; and the walls, as well as the roof, sparkled in the light of our torch, and threw back gleams and flashes, as if they were covered with precious stones. Although we proceeded far into this cavern, we did not come to the end of it; and we were obliged to return more speedily than we would otherwise have done, as our torch was nearly expended. We did not observe any openings in the roof, or any indications of places whereby light might enter; but near the entrance to the cavern stood an immense mass of pure white coral rock, which caught and threw back the little light that found an entrance through the cave's mouth, and thus produced, we conjectured, the pale-green object which had first attracted our attention. We concluded, also, that the reflecting power of this rock was that which gave forth the dim light that faintly illumined the first part of the cave. Before diving through the passage again we extinguished the small piece of our torch that remained, and left it in a dry spot; conceiving that we might possibly stand in need of it, if at any future time we should chance to wet our torch while diving into the cavern. As we stood for a few minutes after it was out, waiting till our eyes became accustomed to the gloom, we could not help remarking the deep, intense stillness and the unutterable gloom of all around us; and, as I thought of the stupendous dome above, and the countless gems that had sparkled in the torch-light a few minutes before, it came into my mind to consider how strange it is that God should make such wonderful and exquisitely beautiful works never to be seen at all, except, indeed, by chance visitors such as ourselves. I afterwards found that there were many such caverns among the islands of the South Seas, some of them larger and more beautiful than the one I have just described. "Now, Ralph, are you ready?" said Jack, in a low voice, that seemed to echo up into the dome above. "Quite ready." "Come along, then," said he; and, plunging off the ledge of the rock into the water, we dived through the narrow entrance. In a few seconds we were panting on the rocks above, and receiving the congratulations of our friend Peterkin. CHAPTER XIV. Strange peculiarity of the tides--Also of the twilight--Peterkin's remarkable conduct in embracing a little pig and killing a big sow--Sage remarks on jesting--Also on love. It was quite a relief to us to breathe the pure air and to enjoy the glad sunshine after our long ramble in the Diamond Cave, as we named it; for, although we did not stay more than half an hour away, it seemed to us much longer. While we were dressing, and during our walk home, we did our best to satisfy the curiosity of poor Peterkin, who seemed to regret, with lively sincerity, his inability to dive. There was no help for it, however, so we condoled with him as we best could. Had there been any great rise or fall in the tide of these seas, we might perhaps have found it possible to take him down with us at low water; but as the tide never rose or fell more than eighteen inches or two feet, this was impossible. This peculiarity of the tide--its slight rise and fall--had not attracted our observation till some time after our residence on the island. Neither had we observed another curious circumstance until we had been some time there. This was the fact, that the tide rose and fell with constant regularity, instead of being affected by the changes of the moon as in our own country, and as it is in most other parts of the world,--at least in all those parts with which I am acquainted. Every day and every night, at twelve o'clock precisely, the tide is at the full; and at six o'clock every morning and evening it is ebb. I can speak with much confidence on this singular circumstance, as we took particular note of it, and never found it to alter. Of course, I must admit, we had to guess the hour of twelve midnight, and I think we could do this pretty correctly; but in regard to twelve noon we are quite positive, because we easily found the highest point that the sun reached in the sky by placing ourselves at a certain spot whence we observed the sharp summit of a cliff resting against the sky, just where the sun passed. Jack and I were surprised that we had not noticed this the first few days of our residence here, and could only account for it by our being so much taken up with the more obvious wonders of our novel situation. I have since learned, however, that this want of observation is a sad and very common infirmity of human nature, there being hundreds of persons before whose eyes the most wonderful things are passing every day, who nevertheless are totally ignorant of them. I therefore have to record my sympathy with such persons, and to recommend to them a course of conduct which I have now for a long time myself adopted,--namely, the habit of forcing my attention upon _all_ things that go on around me, and of taking some degree of interest in them, whether I feel it naturally or not. I suggest this the more earnestly, though humbly, because I have very frequently come to know that my indifference to a thing has generally been caused by my ignorance in regard to it. We had much serious conversation on this subject of the tides; and Jack told us, in his own quiet, philosophical way, that these tides did great good to the world in many ways, particularly in the way of cleansing the shores of the land, and carrying off the filth that was constantly poured into the sea there-from; which, Peterkin suggested, was remarkably _tidy_ of it to do. Poor Peterkin could never let slip an opportunity to joke, however inopportune it might be: which at first we found rather a disagreeable propensity, as it often interrupted the flow of very agreeable conversation; and, indeed, I cannot too strongly record my disapprobation of this tendency in general: but we became so used to it at last that we found it no interruption whatever; indeed, strange to say, we came to feel that it was a necessary part of our enjoyment (such is the force of habit), and found the sudden outbursts of mirth, resulting from his humorous disposition, quite natural and refreshing to us in the midst of our more serious conversations. But I must not misrepresent Peterkin. We often found, to our surprise, that he knew many things which we did not; and I also observed that those things which he learned from experience were never forgotten. From all these things I came at length to understand that things very opposite and dissimilar in themselves, when united, do make an agreeable whole; as, for example, we three on this our island, although most unlike in many things, when united, made a trio so harmonious that I question if there ever met before such an agreeable triumvirate. There was, indeed, no note of discord whatever in the symphony we played together on that sweet Coral Island; and I am now persuaded that this was owing to our having been all tuned to the same key, namely, that of _love_! Yes, we loved one another with much fervency while we lived on that island; and, for the matter of that, we love each other still. And while I am on this subject, or rather the subject that just preceded it--namely, the tides--I may here remark on another curious natural phenomenon. We found that there was little or no twilight in this island. We had a distinct remembrance of the charming long twilight at home, which some people think the most delightful part of the day, though for my part I have always preferred sunrise; and when we first landed, we used to sit down on some rocky point or eminence, at the close of our day's work, to enjoy the evening breeze; but no sooner had the sun sunk below the horizon than all became suddenly dark. This rendered it necessary that we should watch the sun when we happened to be out hunting, for to be suddenly left in the dark while in the woods was very perplexing, as, although the stars shone with great beauty and brilliancy, they could not pierce through the thick umbrageous boughs that interlaced above our heads. But, to return: After having told all we could to Peterkin about the Diamond Cave under Spouting Cliff, as we named the locality, we were wending our way rapidly homewards, when a grunt and a squeal were borne down by the land breeze to our ears. "That's the ticket!" was Peterkin's remarkable exclamation, as he started convulsively, and levelled his spear. "Hist!" cried Jack; "these are your friends, Peterkin. They must have come over expressly to pay you a friendly visit, for it is the first time we have seen them on this side the island." "Come along!" cried Peterkin, hurrying towards the wood, while Jack and I followed, smiling at his impatience. Another grunt and half a dozen squeals, much louder than before, came down the valley. At this time we were just opposite the small vale which lay between the Valley of the Wreck and Spouting Cliff. "I say, Peterkin," cried Jack, in a hoarse whisper. "Well, what is't?" "Stay a bit, man. These grunters are just up there on the hill side. If you go and stand with Ralph in the lee of yon cliff, I'll cut round behind and drive them through the gorge, so that you'll have a better chance of picking out a good one. Now, mind you pitch into a fat young pig, Peterkin," added Jack, as he sprang into the bushes. "Won't I, just!" said Peterkin, licking his lips, as we took our station beside the cliff. "I feel quite a tender affection for young pigs in my heart. Perhaps it would be more correct to say in my s--." "There they come!" cried I, as a terrific yell from Jack sent the whole herd screaming down the hill. Now, Peterkin, being unable to hold back, crept a short way up a very steep grassy mound, in order to get a better view of the hogs before they came up; and just as he raised his head above its summit, two little pigs, which had outrun their companions, rushed over the top with the utmost precipitation. One of these brushed close past Peterkin's ear; the other, unable to arrest its headlong flight, went, as Peterkin himself afterwards expressed it, "bash" into his arms with a sudden squeal, which was caused more by the force of the blow than the will of the animal, and both of them rolled violently down to the foot of the mound. No sooner was this reached than the little pig recovered its feet, tossed up its tail, and fled shrieking from the spot. But I slang a large stone after it, which, being fortunately well aimed, hit it behind the ear, and felled it to the earth. "Capital, Ralph! that's your sort!" cried Peterkin, who, to my surprise and great relief, had risen to his feet. Apparently unhurt, though much dishevelled, he rushed franticly towards the gorge, which the yells of the hogs told us they were now approaching. I had made up my mind that I would abstain from killing another, as, if Peterkin should be successful, two were more than sufficient for our wants at the present time. Suddenly they all burst forth,--two or three little round ones in advance, and an enormous old sow with a drove of hogs at her heels. "Now, Peterkin," said I, "there's a nice little fat one; just spear it." But Peterkin did not move; he allowed it to pass unharmed. I looked at him in surprise, and saw that his lips were compressed and his eyebrows knitted, as if he were about to fight with some awful enemy. "What is it?" I inquired, with some trepidation. Suddenly he levelled his spear, darted forward, and, with a yell that nearly froze the blood in my veins, stabbed the old sow to the heart. Nay, so vigorously was it done that the spear went in at one side and came out at the other! "Oh, Peterkin!" said I, going up to him, "what have you done?" "Done? I've killed their great-great-grandmother, that's all," said he, looking with a somewhat awe-struck expression at the transfixed animal. "Hallo! what's this?" said Jack, as he came up. "Why, Peterkin, you must be fond of a tough chop. If you mean to eat this old hog, she'll try your jaws, I warrant. What possessed you to stick _her_, Peterkin?" "Why, the fact is I want a pair of shoes." "What have your shoes to do with the old hog?' said I, smiling. "My present shoes have certainly nothing to do with her," replied Peterkin; "nevertheless she will have a good deal to do with my future shoes. The fact is, when I saw you floor that pig so neatly, Ralph, it struck me that there was little use in killing another. Then I remembered all at once that I had long wanted some leather or tough substance to make shoes of, and this old grandmother seemed so tough that I just made up my mind to stick her, and you see I've done it!" "That you certainly have, Peterkin," said Jack, as he was examining the transfixed animal. We now considered how we were to carry our game home, for, although the distance was short, the hog was very heavy. At length we hit on the plan of tying its four feet together, and passing the spear handle between them. Jack took one end on his shoulder, I took the other on mine, and Peterkin carried the small pig. Thus we returned in triumph to our bower, laden, as Peterkin remarked, with the glorious spoils of a noble hunt. As he afterwards spoke in similarly glowing terms in reference to the supper that followed, there is every reason to believe that we retired that night to our leafy beds in a high state of satisfaction. CHAPTER XV. Boat-building extraordinary--Peterkin tries his hand at cookery and fails most signally--The boat finished--Curious conversation with the cat, and other matters. For many days after this Jack applied himself with unremitting assiduity to the construction of our boat, which at length began to look somewhat like one. But those only who have had the thing to do can entertain a right idea of the difficulty involved in such an undertaking, with no other implements than an axe, a bit of hoop-iron, a sail-needle, and a broken pen-knife. But Jack did it. He was of, that disposition which _will_ not be conquered. When he believed himself to be acting rightly, he overcame all obstacles. I have seen Jack, when doubtful whether what he was about to do were right or wrong, as timid and vacillating as a little girl,--and I honour him for it! As this boat was a curiosity in its way, a few words here relative to the manner of its construction may not be amiss. I have already mentioned the chestnut tree with its wonderful buttresses or planks. This tree, then, furnished us with the chief part of our material. First of all Jack sought out a limb of a tree of such a form and size as, while it should form the keel a bend at either end should form the stem and stern posts. Such a piece, however, was not easy to obtain, but at last he procured it, by rooting up a small tree which had a branch growing at the proper angle about ten feet up its stem, with two strong roots growing in such a form as enabled him to make a flat-sterned boat. This placed, he procured three branching roots of suitable size, which he fitted to the keel at equal distances, thus forming three strong ribs. Now, the squaring and shaping of these, and the cutting of the grooves in the keel, was an easy enough matter, as it was all work for the axe, in the use of which Jack was become wonderfully expert; but it was quite a different affair when he came to nailing the ribs to the keel, for we had no instrument capable of boring a large hole, and no nails to fasten them with. We were, indeed, much perplexed here; but Jack at length devised an instrument that served very well. He took the remainder of our hoop-iron and beat it into the form of a pipe or cylinder, about as thick as a man's finger. This he did by means of our axe and the old rusty axe we had found at the house of the poor man at the other side of the island. This, when made red hot, bored slowly though the timbers; and, the better to retain the heat, Jack shut up one end of it and filled it with sand. True, the work was very slowly done, but it mattered not--we had little else to do. Two holes were bored in each timber, about an inch and a half apart, and also down into the keel, but not quite through. Into these were placed stout pegs made of a tree called iron-wood; and, when they were hammered well home, the timbers were as firmly fixed as if they had been nailed with iron. The gunwales, which were very stout, were fixed in a similar manner. But, besides the wooden nails, they were firmly lashed to the stem and stern posts and ribs by means of a species of cordage which we had contrived to make out of the fibrous husk of the cocoa nut. This husk was very tough, and when a number of the threads were joined together they formed excellent cordage. At first we tied the different lengths together, but this was such a clumsy and awkward complication of knots, that we contrived, by careful interlacing of the ends together before twisting, to make good cordage of any size or length we chose. Of course it cost us much time and infinite labour, but Jack kept up our spirits when we grew weary, and so all that we required was at last constructed. Planks were now cut off the chestnut trees of about an inch thick. These were dressed with the axe,--but clumsily, for an axe is ill adapted for such work. Five of these planks on each side were sufficient, and we formed the boat in a very rounded, barrel-like shape, in order to have as little twisting of the planks as possible; for, although we could easily bend them, we could not easily twist them. Having no nails to rivet the planks with, we threw aside the ordinary fashion of boat building and adopted one of our own. The planks were therefore placed on each other's edges, and sewed together with the tough cordage already mentioned. They were also thus sewed to the stem, the stern, and the keel. Each stitch or tie was six inches apart, and was formed thus: Three holes were bored in the upper plank and three in the lower,--the holes being above each other, that is, in a vertical line. Through these holes the cord was passed, and, when tied, formed a powerful stitch of three ply. Besides this, we placed between the edges of the planks, layers of cocoa-nut fibre, which, as it swelled when wetted, would, we hoped, make our little vessel water-tight. But in order further to secure this end, we collected a large quantity of pitch from the bread-fruit tree, with which, when boiled in our old iron pot, we payed the whole of the inside of the boat, and, while it was yet hot, placed large pieces of cocoa-nut cloth on it, and then gave it another coat above that. Thus the interior was covered with a tough water-tight material; while the exterior, being uncovered, and so exposed to the swelling action of the water, was we hoped, likely to keep the boat quite dry. I may add that our hopes were not disappointed. While Jack was thus engaged, Peterkin and I sometimes assisted him, but, as our assistance was not much required, we more frequently went a-hunting on the extensive mud-flats at the entrance of the long valley which lay nearest to our bower. Here we found large flocks of ducks of various kinds, some of them bearing so much resemblance to the wild ducks of our own country that I think they must have been the same. On these occasions we took the bow and the sling, with both of which we were often successful, though I must confess I was the least so. Our suppers were thus pleasantly varied, and sometimes we had such a profusion spread out before us that we frequently knew not with which of the dainties to begin. I must also add, that the poor old cat which we had brought home had always a liberal share of our good things, and so well was it looked after, especially by Peterkin, that it recovered much of its former strength, and seemed to improve in sight as well as hearing. {Leaving for the "mud-flats": p175.jpg} The large flat stone, or rock of coral, which stood just in front of the entrance to our bower, was our table. On this rock we had spread out the few articles we possessed the day we were shipwrecked; and on the same rock, during many a day afterwards, we spread out the bountiful supply with which we had been blessed on our Coral Island. Sometimes we sat down at this table to a feast consisting of hot rolls,--as Peterkin called the newly baked bread fruit,--a roast pig, roast duck, boiled and roasted yams, cocoa nuts, taro, and sweet potatoes; which we followed up with a dessert of plums, apples, and plantains,--the last being a large- sized and delightful fruit, which grew on a large shrub or tree not more than twelve feet high, with light-green leaves of enormous length and breadth. These luxurious feasts were usually washed down with cocoa-nut lemonade. Occasionally Peterkin tried to devise some new dish,--"a conglomerate," as he used to say; but these generally turned out such atrocious compounds that he was ultimately induced to give up his attempts in extreme disgust. Not forgetting, however, to point out to Jack that his failure was a direct contradiction to the proverb which he, Jack, was constantly thrusting down his throat, namely, that "where there's a will there's a way." For he had a great will to become a cook, but could by no means find a way to accomplish that end. One day, while Peterkin and I were seated beside our table on which dinner was spread, Jack came up from the beach, and, flinging down his axe, exclaimed,-- "There, lads, the boat's finished at last! so we've nothing to do now but shape two pair of oars, and then we may put to sea as soon as we like." This piece of news threw us into a state of great joy; for although we were aware that the boat had been gradually getting near its completion, it had taken so long that we did not expect it to be quite ready for at least two or three weeks. But Jack had wrought hard and said nothing, in order to surprise us. "My dear fellow," cried Peterkin, "you're a perfect trump. But why did you not tell us it was so nearly ready? won't we have a jolly sail to- morrow? eh?" "Don't talk so much, Peterkin," said Jack; "and, pray, hand me a bit of that pig." "Certainly, my dear," cried Peterkin, seizing the axe; "what part will you have? a leg, or a wing, or a piece of the breast; which?" "A hind leg, if you please," answered Jack; "and, pray, be so good as to include the tail." "With all my heart," said Peterkin, exchanging the axe for his hoop-iron knife, with which he cut off the desired portion. "I'm only too glad, my dear boy, to see that your appetite is so wholesale; and there's no chance whatever of its dwindling down into re-tail again, at least in so far as this pig is concerned. Ralph, lad, why don't you laugh?--eh?" he added turning suddenly to me with a severe look of inquiry. "Laugh?" said I; "what at, Peterkin? why should I laugh?" Both Jack and Peterkin answered this inquiry by themselves laughing so immoderately that I was induced to believe I had missed noticing some good joke, so I begged that it might be explained to me; but as this only produced repeated roars of laughter, I smiled and helped myself to another slice of plantain. "Well, but," continued Peterkin, "I was talking of a sail to-morrow. Can't we have one, Jack?" "No," replied Jack, "we can't have a sail, but I hope we shall have a row, as I intend to work hard at the oars this afternoon, and, if we can't get them finished by sunset we'll light our candle-nuts, and turn them out of hands before we turn into bed." "Very good," said Peterkin, tossing a lump of pork to the cat, who received it with a mew of satisfaction. "I'll help you, if I can." "Afterwards," continued Jack, "we will make a sail out of the cocoa-nut cloth, and rig up a mast, and then we shall be able to sail to some of the other islands, and visit our old friends the penguins." The prospect of being so soon in a position to extend our observations to the other islands, and enjoy a sail over the beautiful sea, afforded us much delight, and, after dinner, we set about making the oars in good earnest. Jack went into the woods and blocked them roughly out with the axe, and I smoothed them down with the knife, while Peterkin remained in the bower, spinning, or, rather, twisting some strong thick cordage with which to fasten them to the boat. We worked hard and rapidly, so that, when the sun went down, Jack and I returned to the bower with four stout oars, which required little to be done to them save a slight degree of polishing with the knife. As we drew near we were suddenly arrested by the sound of a voice! We were not a little surprised at this--indeed I may almost say alarmed--for, although Peterkin was undoubtedly fond of talking, we had never, up to this time, found him talking to himself. We listened intently, and still heard the sound of a voice as if in conversation. Jack motioned me to be silent, and, advancing to the bower on tip-toe, we peeped in. The sight that met our gaze was certainly not a little amusing. On the top of a log which we sometimes used as a table, sat the black cat, with a very demure expression on its countenance; and in front of it, sitting on the ground, with his legs extended on either side of the log, was Peterkin. At the moment we saw him he was gazing intently into the cat's face, with his nose about four inches from it,--his hands being thrust into his breeches pockets. "Cat," said Peterkin, turning his head a little on one side, "I love you!" There was a pause, as if Peterkin awaited a reply to this affectionate declaration but the cat said nothing. "Do you hear me?" cried Peterkin, sharply. "I love you--I do. Don't you love me?" To this touching appeal the cat said "Mew," faintly. "Ah! that's right. You're a jolly old rascal. Why did you not speak at once? eh?" and Peterkin put forward his mouth and kissed the cat on the nose! "Yes," continued Peterkin, after a pause, "I love you. D'you think I'd say so if I didn't, you black villain? I love you because I've got to take care of you, and to look after you, and to think about you, and to see that you don't die--" "Mew, me-a-w!" said the cat. "Very good," continued Peterkin, "quite true, I have no doubt; but you've no right to interrupt me, sir. Hold your tongue till I have done speaking. Moreover, cat, I love you because you came to me the first time you ever saw me, and didn't seem to be afraid, and appeared to be fond of me, though you didn't know that I wasn't going to kill you. Now, that was brave, that was bold, and very jolly, old boy, and I love you for it--I do!" Again there was a pause of a few minutes, during which the cat looked placid, and Peterkin dropped his eyes upon its toes as if in contemplation. Suddenly he looked up. "Well, cat, what are you thinking about now? won't speak? eh? Now, tell me; don't you think it's a monstrous shame that these two scoundrels, Jack and Ralph, should keep us waiting for our supper so long?" Here the cat arose, put up its back and stretched itself; yawned slightly, and licked the point of Peterkin's nose! "Just so, old boy, you're a clever fellow,--I really do believe the brute understands me!" said Peterkin, while a broad grin overspread his face, as he drew back and surveyed the cat. At this point Jack burst into a loud fit of laughter. The cat uttered an angry fuff and fled, while Peterkin sprang up and exclaimed,-- "Bad luck to you, Jack! you've nearly made the heart jump out of my body, you have." "Perhaps I have," replied Jack, laughing, as we entered the bower, "but, as I don't intend to keep you or the cat any longer from your supper, I hope that you'll both forgive me." Peterkin endeavoured to turn this affair off with a laugh, but I observed that he blushed very deeply at the time we discovered ourselves, and he did not seem to relish any allusion to the subject afterwards; so we refrained from remarking on it ever after,--though it tickled us not a little at the time. After supper we retired to rest and to dream of wonderful adventures in our little boat, and distant voyages upon the sea. CHAPTER XVI. The boat launched--We visit the coral reef--The great breaker that never goes down--Coral insects--The way in which coral islands are made--The boat's sail--We tax our ingenuity to form fish-hooks--Some of the fish we saw--And a monstrous whale--Wonderful shower of little fish--Water-spouts. It was a bright, clear, beautiful morning, when we first launched our little boat and rowed out upon the placid waters of the lagoon. Not a breath of wind ruffled the surface of the deep. Not a cloud spotted the deep blue sky. Not a sound that was discordant broke the stillness of the morning, although there were many sounds, sweet, tiny, and melodious, that mingled in the universal harmony of nature. The sun was just rising from the Pacific's ample bosom and tipping the mountain tops with a red glow. The sea was shining like a sheet of glass, yet heaving with the long deep swell that, all the world round, indicates the life of ocean; and the bright sea-weeds and the brilliant corals shone in the depths of that pellucid water, as we rowed over it, like rare and precious gems. Oh! it was a sight fitted to stir the soul of man to its profoundest depths, and, if he owned a heart at all, to lift that heart in adoration and gratitude to the great Creator of this magnificent and glorious universe. At first, in the strength of our delight, we rowed hither and thither without aim or object. But after the effervescence of our spirits was abated, we began to look about us and to consider what we should do. "I vote that we row to the reef," cried Peterkin. "And I vote that we visit the islands within the lagoon," said I. "And I vote we do both," cried Jack, "so pull away, boys." As I have already said, we had made four oars, but our boat was so small that only two were necessary. The extra pair were reserved in case any accident should happen to the others. It was therefore only needful that two of us should row, while the third steered, by means of an oar, and relieved the rowers occasionally. First we landed on one of the small islands and ran all over it, but saw nothing worthy of particular notice. Then we landed on a larger island, on which were growing a few cocoa-nut trees. Not having eaten anything that morning, we gathered a few of the nuts and breakfasted. After this we pulled straight out to sea and landed on the coral reef. This was indeed a novel and interesting sight to us. We had now been so long on shore that we had almost forgotten the appearance of breakers, for there were none within the lagoon; but now, as we stood beside the foam-crested billow of the open sea, all the enthusiasm of the sailor was awakened in our breasts; and, as we gazed on the wide-spread ruin of that single magnificent breaker that burst in thunder at our feet, we forgot the Coral Island behind us; we forgot our bower and the calm repose of the scented woods; we forgot all that had passed during the last few months, and remembered nothing but the storms, the calms, the fresh breezes and the surging billows of the open sea. This huge, ceaseless breaker, to which I have so often alluded, was a much larger and more sublime object than we had at all imagined it to be. It rose many yards above the level of the sea, and could be seen approaching at some distance from the reef. Slowly and majestically it came on, acquiring greater volume and velocity as it advanced, until it assumed the form of a clear watery arch, which sparkled in the bright sun. On it came with resistless and solemn majesty,--the upper edge lipped gently over, and it fell with a roar that seemed as though the heart of Ocean were broken in the crash of tumultuous water, while the foam-clad coral reef appeared to tremble beneath the mighty shock! We gazed long and wonderingly at this great sight, and it was with difficulty we could tear ourselves away from it. As I have once before mentioned, this wave broke in many places over the reef and scattered some of its spray into the lagoon, but in most places the reef was sufficiently broad and elevated to receive and check its entire force. In many places the coral rocks were covered with vegetation,--the beginning, as it appeared to us, of future islands. Thus, on this reef, we came to perceive how most of the small islands of those seas are formed. On one part we saw the spray of the breaker washing over the rocks, and millions of little, active, busy creatures continuing the work of building up this living rampart. At another place, which was just a little too high for the waves to wash over it, the coral insects were all dead; for we found that they never did their work above water. They had faithfully completed the mighty work which their Creator had given them to do, and they were now all dead. Again, in other spots the ceaseless lashing of the sea had broken the dead coral in pieces, and cast it up in the form of sand. Here sea-birds had alighted, little pieces of sea-weed and stray bits of wood had been washed up, seeds of plants had been carried by the wind and a few lovely blades of bright green had already sprung up, which, when they died, would increase the size and fertility of these emeralds of Ocean. At other places these islets had grown apace, and were shaded by one or two cocoa-nut trees, which grew, literally, in the sand, and were constantly washed by the ocean spray; yet, as I have before remarked, their fruit was most refreshing and sweet to our taste. Again at this time Jack and I pondered the formation of the large coral islands. We could now understand how the low ones were formed, but the larger islands cost us much consideration, yet we could arrive at no certain conclusion on the subject. Having satisfied our curiosity and enjoyed ourselves during the whole day, in our little boat, we returned, somewhat wearied, and, withal, rather hungry, to our bower. "Now," said Jack, "as our boat answers so well, we will get a mast and sail made immediately." "So we will," cried Peterkin, as we all assisted to drag the boat above high-water mark; "we'll light our candle and set about it this very night. Hurrah, my boys, pull away!" As we dragged our boat, we observed that she grated heavily on her keel; and, as the sands were in this place mingled with broken coral rocks, we saw portions of the wood being scraped off. "Hallo!" cried Jack, on seeing this. "That won't do. Our keel will be worn off in no time at this rate." "So it will," said I, pondering deeply as to how this might be prevented. But I am not of a mechanical turn, naturally, so I could conceive no remedy save that of putting a plate of iron on the keel, but as we had no iron I knew not what was to be done. "It seems to me, Jack," I added, "that it is impossible to prevent the keel being worn off thus." "Impossible!" cried Peterkin, "my dear Ralph, you are mistaken, there is nothing so easy--" "How?" I inquired, in some surprise. "Why, by not using the boat at all!" replied Peterkin. "Hold your impudent tongue, Peterkin," said Jack, as he shouldered the oars, "come along with me and I'll give you work to do. In the first place, you will go and collect cocoa-nut fibre, and set to work to make sewing twine with it--" "Please, captain," interrupted Peterkin, "I've got lots of it made already,--more than enough, as a little friend of mine used to be in the habit of saying every day after dinner." "Very well," continued Jack; "then you'll help Ralph to collect cocoa-nut cloth, and cut it into shape, after which we'll make a sail of it. I'll see to getting the mast and the gearing; so let's to work." And to work we went right busily, so that in three days from that time we had set up a mast and sail, with the necessary rigging, in our little boat. The sail was not, indeed, very handsome to look at, as it was formed of a number of oblong patches of cloth; but we had sewed it well by means of our sail-needle, so that it was strong, which was the chief point. Jack had also overcome the difficulty about the keel, by pinning to it a _false_ keel. This was a piece of tough wood, of the same length and width as the real keel, and about five inches deep. He made it of this depth because the boat would be thereby rendered not only much more safe, but more able to beat against the wind; which, in a sea where the trade-winds blow so long and so steadily in one direction, was a matter of great importance. This piece of wood was pegged very firmly to the keel; and we now launched our boat with the satisfaction of knowing that when the false keel should be scraped off we could easily put on another; whereas, should the real keel have been scraped away, we could not have renewed it without taking our boat to pieces, which Peterkin said made his "marrow quake to think upon." The mast and sail answered excellently; and we now sailed about in the lagoon with great delight, and examined with much interest the appearance of our island from a distance. Also, we gazed into the depths of the water, and watched for hours the gambols of the curious and bright-coloured fish among the corals and sea-weed. Peterkin also made a fishing line, and Jack constructed a number of hooks, some of which were very good, others remarkably bad. Some of these hooks were made of iron- wood, which did pretty well, the wood being extremely hard, and Jack made them very thick and large. Fish there are not particular. Some of the crooked bones in fish-heads also answered for this purpose pretty well. But that which formed our best and most serviceable hook was the brass finger-ring belonging to Jack. It gave him not a little trouble to manufacture it. First he cut it with the axe; then twisted it into the form of a hook. The barb took him several hours to cut. He did it by means of constant sawing with the broken pen-knife. As for the point, an hour's rubbing on a piece of sandstone made an excellent one. It would be a matter of much time and labour to describe the appearance of the multitudes of fish that were day after day drawn into our boat by means of the brass hook. Peterkin always caught them,--for we observed that he derived much pleasure from fishing,--while Jack and I found ample amusement in looking on, also in gazing down at the coral groves, and in baiting the hook. Among the fish that we saw, but did not catch, were porpoises and sword-fish, whales and sharks. The porpoises came frequently into our lagoon in shoals, and amused us not a little by their bold leaps into the air, and their playful gambols in the sea. The sword- fish were wonderful creatures; some of them apparently ten feet in length, with an ivory spear, six or eight feet long, projecting from their noses. We often saw them darting after other fish, and no doubt they sometimes killed them with their ivory swords. Jack remembered having heard once of a sword-fish attacking a ship,--which seemed strange indeed; but, as they are often in the habit of attacking whales, perhaps it mistook the ship for one. This sword-fish ran against the vessel with such force, that it drove its sword quite through the thick planks; and when the ship arrived in harbour, long afterwards, the sword was found still sticking in it! Sharks did not often appear; but we took care never again to bathe in deep water without leaving one of our number in the boat to give us warning, if he should see a shark approaching. As for the whales, they never came into our lagoon, but we frequently saw them spouting in the deep water beyond the reef. I shall never forget my surprise the first day I saw one of these huge monsters close to me. We had been rambling about on the reef during the morning, and were about to re-embark in our little boat, to return home, when a loud blowing sound caused us to wheel rapidly round. We were just in time to see a shower of spray falling, and the flukes or tail of some monstrous fish disappear in the sea a few hundred yards off. We waited some time to see if he would rise again. As we stood, the sea seemed to open up at our very feet; an immense spout of water was sent with a snort high into the air, and the huge blunt head of a sperm whale arose before us. It was so large that it could easily have taken our little boat, along with ourselves, into its mouth! It plunged slowly back into the sea, like a large ship foundering, and struck the water with its tail so forcibly as to cause a sound like a cannon shot. We also saw a great number of flying fish, although we caught none; and we noticed that they never flew out of the water except when followed by their bitter foe, the dolphin, from whom they thus endeavoured to escape. But of all the fish that we saw, none surprised us so much as those that we used to find in shallow pools after a shower of rain; and this not on account of their appearance, for they were ordinary-looking and very small, but on account of their having descended in a shower of rain! We could account for them in no other way, because the pools in which we found these fish were quite dry before the shower, and at some distance above high-water mark. Jack, however, suggested a cause which seemed to me very probable. We used often to see water-spouts in the sea. A water- spout is a whirling body of water, which rises from the sea like a sharp- pointed pillar. After rising a good way, it is met by a long tongue, which comes down from the clouds; and when the two have joined, they look something like an hour-glass. The water-spout is then carried by the wind, sometimes gently, sometimes with violence, over the sea, sometimes up into the clouds, and then, bursting asunder, it descends in a deluge. This often happens over the land as well as over the sea; and it sometimes does much damage, but frequently it passes gently away. Now, Jack thought that the little fish might perhaps have been carried up in a water-spout, and so sent down again in a shower of rain. But we could not be certain as to this point; yet we thought it likely. During these delightful fishing and boating excursions we caught a good many eels, which we found to be very good to eat. We also found turtles among the coral rocks, and made excellent soup in our iron kettle. Moreover, we discovered many shrimps and prawns, so that we had no lack of variety in our food; and, indeed, we never passed a week without making some new and interesting discovery of some sort or other, either on the land or in the sea. CHAPTER XVII. A monster wave and its consequences--The boat lost and found--Peterkin's terrible accident--Supplies of food for a voyage in the boat--We visit Penguin Island, and are amazed beyond measure--Account of the penguins. One day, not long after our little boat was finished, we were sitting on the rocks at Spouting Cliff, and talking of an excursion which we intended to make to Penguin Island the next day. "You see," said Peterkin, "it might be all very well for a stupid fellow like me to remain here and leave the penguins alone, but it would be quite inconsistent with your characters as philosophers to remain any longer in ignorance of the habits and customs of these birds; so the sooner we go the better." "Very true," said I; "there is nothing I desire so much as to have a closer inspection of them." "And I think," said Jack, "that you had better remain at home, Peterkin, to take care of the cat; for I'm sure the hogs will be at it in your absence, out of revenge for your killing their great-grandmother so recklessly." "Stay at home?" cried Peterkin; "my dear fellow, you would certainly lose your way, or get upset, if I were not there to take care of you." "Ah, true," said Jack, gravely, "that did not occur to me; no doubt you must go. Our boat does require a good deal of ballast; and all that you say, Peterkin, carries so much weight with it, that we won't need stones if you go." Now, while my companions were talking, a notable event occurred, which, as it is not generally known, I shall be particular in recording here. While we were talking, as I have said, we noticed a dark line, like a low cloud or fog-bank, on the seaward horizon. The day was a fine one, though cloudy, and a gentle breeze was blowing, but the sea was not rougher, or the breaker on the reef higher, than usual. At first we thought that this looked like a thunder-cloud; and, as we had had a good deal of broken weather of late, accompanied by occasional peals of thunder, we supposed that a storm must be approaching. Gradually, however, this line seemed to draw nearer, without spreading up over the sky, as would certainly have been the case if it had been a storm-cloud. Still nearer it came, and soon we saw that it was moving swiftly towards the island; but there was no sound till it reached the islands out at sea. As it passed these islands, we observed, with no little anxiety, that a cloud of white foam encircled them, and burst in spray into the air: it was accompanied by a loud roar. This led us to conjecture that the approaching object was an enormous wave of the sea; but we had no idea how large it was till it came near to ourselves. When it approached the outer reef, however, we were awe-struck with its unusual magnitude; and we sprang to our feet, and clambered hastily up to the highest point of the precipice, under an indefinable feeling of fear. I have said before that the reef opposite Spouting Cliff was very near to the shore, while, just in front of the bower, it was at a considerable distance out to sea. Owing to this formation, the wave reached the reef at the latter point before it struck at the foot of Spouting Cliff. The instant it touched the reef we became aware, for the first time, of its awful magnitude. It burst completely over the reef at all points, with a roar that seemed louder to me than thunder; and this roar continued for some seconds, while the wave rolled gradually along towards the cliff on which we stood. As its crest reared before us, we felt that we were in great danger, and turned to flee; but we were too late. With a crash that seemed to shake the solid rocks the gigantic billow fell, and instantly the spouting-holes sent up a gush of water-spouts with such force that they shrieked on issuing from their narrow vents. It seemed to us as if the earth had been blown up with water. We were stunned and confused by the shock, and so drenched and blinded with spray, that we knew not for a few moments whither to flee for shelter. At length we all three gained an eminence beyond the reach of the water; but what a scene of devastation met our gaze as we looked along the shore! This enormous wave not only burst over the reef, but continued its way across the lagoon, and fell on the sandy beach of the island with such force that passed completely over it and dashed into the woods, levelling the smaller trees and bushes in its headlong course! On seeing this, Jack said he feared our bower must have been swept away, and that the boat, which was on the beach, must have been utterly destroyed. Our hearts sank within us as we thought of this, and we hastened round through the woods towards our home. On reaching it we found, to our great relief of mind, that the force of the wave had been expended just before reaching the bower; but the entrance to it was almost blocked up by the torn-up bushes and tangled heaps of sea-weed. Having satisfied ourselves as to the bower, we hurried to the spot where the boat had been left; but no boat was there! The spot on which it had stood was vacant, and no sign of it could we see on looking around us. "It may have been washed up into the woods," said Jack, hurrying up the beach as he spoke. Still, no boat was to be seen, and we were about to give ourselves over to despair, when Peterkin called to Jack and said,-- "Jack, my friend, you were once so exceedingly sagacious and wise as to make me acquainted with the fact that cocoa nuts grow upon trees; will you now be so good as to inform me what sort of fruit that is growing on the top of yonder bush? for I confess to being ignorant, or, at least, doubtful on the point." We looked towards the bush indicated, and there, to our surprise, beheld our little boat snugly nestled among the leaves! We were very much overjoyed at this, for we would have suffered any loss rather than the loss of our boat. We found that the wave had actually borne the boat on its crest from the beach into the woods, and there launched it into the heart of this bush; which was extremely fortunate, for had it been tossed against a rock or a tree, it would have been dashed to pieces, whereas it had not received the smallest injury. It was no easy matter, however, to get it out of the bush and down to the sea again. This cost us two days of hard labour to accomplish. We had also much ado to clear away the rubbish from before the bower, and spent nearly a week in constant labour ere we got the neighbourhood to look as clean and orderly as before; for the uprooted bushes and sea-weed that lay on the beach formed a more dreadfully confused-looking mass than one who had not seen the place after the inundation could conceive. Before leaving the subject I may mention, for the sake of those who interest themselves in the curious natural phenomena of our world, that this gigantic wave occurs regularly on some of the islands of the Pacific, once, and sometimes twice in the year. I heard this stated by the missionaries during my career in those seas. They could not tell me whether it visited all of the islands, but I was certainly assured that it occurred periodically in some of them. After we had got our home put to rights and cleared of the _debris_ of the inundation, we again turned our thoughts to paying the penguins a visit. The boat was therefore overhauled and a few repairs done. Then we prepared a supply of provisions, for we intended to be absent at least a night or two, perhaps longer. This took us some time to do, for while Jack was busy with the boat, Peterkin was sent into the woods to spear a hog or two, and had to search long, sometimes, ere he found them. Peterkin was usually sent on this errand, when we wanted a pork chop (which was not seldom), because he was so active, and could run so wonderfully fast that he found no difficulty in overtaking the hogs; but, being dreadfully reckless, he almost invariably tumbled over stumps and stones in the course of his wild chase, and seldom returned home without having knocked the skin off his shins. Once, indeed, a more serious accident happened to him. He had been out all morning alone and did not return at the usual time to dinner. We wondered at this, for Peterkin was always very punctual at the dinner hour. As supper-time drew near we began to be anxious about him, and at length sallied forth to search the woods. For a long time we sought in vain, but a little before dark we came upon the tracks of the hogs, which we followed up until we came to the brow of a rather steep bank or precipice. Looking over this we beheld Peterkin lying in a state of insensibility at the foot, with his cheek resting on the snout of a little pig, which was pinned to the earth by the spear! We were dreadfully alarmed, but hastened to bathe his forehead with water, and had soon the satisfaction of seeing him revive. After we had carried him home he related to as how the thing had happened. "You must know," said he, "I walked about all the forenoon, till I was as tired as an old donkey, without seeing a single grunter, not so much as a track of one; but, as I was determined not to return empty-handed, I resolved to go without my dinner and--" "What!" exclaimed Jack, "did you _really_ resolve to do that?" "Now, Jack, hold your tongue," returned Peterkin; "I say that I resolved to forego my dinner and to push to the head of the small valley, where I felt pretty sure of discovering the hogs. I soon found that I was on the right scent, for I had scarcely walked half a mile in the direction of the small plum tree we found there the other day, when a squeak fell on my ear. 'Ho, ho,' said I, 'there you go, my boys;' and I hurried up the glen. I soon started them, and singling out a fat pig, ran tilt at him. In a few seconds I was up with him, and stuck my spear right through his dumpy body. Just as I did so, I saw that we were on the edge of a precipice, whether high or low I knew not, but I had been running at such a pace that I could not stop, so the pig and I gave a howl in concert and went plunging over together. I remembered nothing more after that, till I came to my senses and found you bathing my temples, and Ralph wringing his hands over me." But although Peterkin was often unfortunate, in the way of getting tumbles, he was successful on the present occasion in hunting, and returned before evening with three very nice little hogs. I, also, was successful in my visit to the mud-flats, where I killed several ducks. So that, when we launched and loaded our boat at sunrise the following morning, we found our store of provisions to be more than sufficient. Part had been cooked the night before, and, on taking note of the different items, we found the account to stand thus:-- 10 Bread-fruits, (two baked, eight unbaked.) 20 Yams, (six roasted, the rest raw.) 6 Taro roots. 50 Fine large plums. 6 Cocoa nuts, ripe. 6 Ditto green, (for drinking.) 4 Large ducks and two small ones, raw. 3 Cold roast pigs, with stuffing. I may here remark that the stuffing had been devised by Peterkin specially for the occasion. He kept the manner of its compounding a profound secret, so I cannot tell what it was; but I can say, with much confidence, that we found it to be atrociously bad, and, after the first tasting, scraped it carefully out and threw it overboard. We calculated that this supply would last us for several days, but we afterwards found that it was much more than we required, especially in regard to the cocoa nuts, of which we found large supplies wherever we went. However, as Peterkin remarked, it was better to have too much than too little, as we knew not to what straits we might be put during our voyage. It was a very calm sunny morning when we launched forth and rowed over the lagoon towards the outlet in the reef, and passed between the two green islets that guard the entrance. We experienced some difficulty and no little danger in passing the surf of the breaker, and shipped a good deal of water in the attempt; but, once past the billow, we found ourselves floating placidly on the long oily swell that rose and fell slowly as it rolled over the wide ocean. Penguin Island lay on the other side of our own island, at about a mile beyond the outer reef, and we calculated that it must be at least twenty miles distant by the way we should have to go. We might, indeed, have shortened the way by coasting round our island inside of the lagoon, and going out at the passage in the reef nearly opposite to Penguin Island, but we preferred to go by the open sea; first, because it was more adventurous; and, secondly, because we should have the pleasure of again feeling the motion of the deep, which we all loved very much, not being liable to sea sickness. "I wish we had a breeze," said Jack. "So do I," cried Peterkin, resting on his oar and wiping his heated brow; "pulling is hard work. Oh dear, if we could only catch a hundred or two of these gulls, tie them to the boat with long strings, and make them fly as we want them, how capital it would be!" "Or bore a hole through a shark's tail, and reeve a rope through it, eh?" remarked Jack. "But, I say, it seems that my wish is going to be granted, for here comes a breeze. Ship your oar, Peterkin. Up with the mast, Ralph; I'll see to the sail. Mind your helm; look out for squalls!" This last speech was caused by the sudden appearance of a dark blue line on the horizon, which, in an incredibly short space of time, swept down on us, lashing up the sea in white foam as it went. We presented the stern of the boat to its first violence, and, in a few seconds, it moderated into a steady breeze, to which we spread our sail and flew merrily over the waves. Although the breeze died away soon afterwards, it had been so stiff while it lasted, that we were carried over the greater part of our way before it fell calm again; so that, when the flapping of the sail against the mast told us that it was time to resume the oars, we were not much more than a mile from Penguin Island. "There go the soldiers!" cried Peterkin as we came in sight of it; "how spruce their white trousers look, this morning! I wonder if they will receive us kindly. D'you think they are hospitable, Jack?" "Don't talk, Peterkin, but pull away, and you shall see shortly." As we drew near to the island we were much amused by the manoeuvres and appearance of these strange birds. They seemed to be of different species, for some had crests on their heads while others had none, and while some were about the size of a goose others appeared nearly as large as a swan. We also saw a huge albatross soaring above the heads of the penguins. It was followed and surrounded by numerous flocks of sea-gulls. Having approached to within a few yards of the island, which was a low rock, with no other vegetation on it than a few bushes, we lay on our oars and gazed at the birds with surprise and pleasure, they returning our gaze with interest. We now saw that their soldier-like appearance was owing to the stiff, erect manner in which they sat on their short legs,--"Bolt-up-right," as Peterkin expressed it. They had black heads, long sharp beaks, white breasts, and bluish backs. Their wings were so short that they looked more like the fins of a fish, and, indeed, we soon saw that they used them for the purpose of swimming under water. There were no quills on these wings, but a sort of scaly feathers; which also thickly covered their bodies. Their legs were short, and placed so far back that the birds, while on land, were obliged to stand quite upright in order to keep their balance; but in the water they floated like other water-fowl. At first we were so stunned with the clamour which they and other sea-birds kept up around us, that we knew not which way to look,--for they covered the rocks in thousands; but, as we continued to gaze, we observed several quadrupeds (as we thought) walking in the midst of the penguins. "Pull in a bit," cried Peterkin, "and let's see what these are. They must be fond of noisy company, to consort with such creatures." To our surprise we found that these were no other than penguins which had gone down on all fours, and were crawling among the bushes on their feet and wings, just like quadrupeds. Suddenly one big old bird, that had been sitting on a point very near to us, gazing in mute astonishment, became alarmed, and, scuttling down the rocks, plumped or fell, rather than ran, into the sea. It dived in a moment, and, a few seconds afterwards, came out of the water far a-head, with such a spring, and such a dive back into the sea again, that we could scarcely believe it was not a fish that had leaped in sport. "That beats everything," said Peterkin, rubbing his nose, and screwing up his face with an expression of exasperated amazement. "I've heard of a thing being neither fish, flesh, nor fowl, but I never did expect to live to see a brute that was all three together,--at once--in one! But look there!" he continued, pointing with a look of resignation to the shore, "look there! there's no end to it. What _has_ that brute got under its tail?" We turned to look in the direction pointed out, and there saw a penguin walking slowly and very sedately along the shore with an egg under its tail. There were several others, we observed, burdened in the same way; and we found afterwards that these were a species of penguins that always carried their eggs so. Indeed, they had a most convenient cavity for the purpose, just between the tail and the legs. We were very much impressed with the regularity and order of this colony. The island seemed to be apportioned out into squares, of which each penguin possessed one, and sat in stiff solemnity in the middle of it, or took a slow march up and down the spaces between. Some were hatching their eggs, but others were feeding their young ones in a manner that caused us to laugh not a little. The mother stood on a mound or raised rock, while the young one stood patiently below her on the ground. Suddenly the mother raised her head and uttered a series of the most discordant cackling sounds. "She's going to choke," cried Peterkin. But this was not the case, although, I confess, she looked like it. In a few seconds she put down her head and opened her mouth, into which the young one thrust its beak and seemed to suck something from her throat. Then the cackling was renewed, the sucking continued, and so the operation of feeding was carried on till the young one was satisfied; but what she fed her little one with, we could not tell. "Now, just look yonder!" said Peterkin, in an excited tone; "if that isn't the most abominable piece of maternal deception I ever saw. That rascally old lady penguin has just pitched her young one into the sea, and there's another about to follow her example." This indeed seemed to be the cue, for, on the top of a steep rock close to the edge of the sea, we observed an old penguin endeavouring to entice her young one into the water; but the young one seemed very unwilling to go, and, notwithstanding the enticements of its mother, moved very slowly towards her. At last she went gently behind the young bird and pushed it a little towards the water, but with great tenderness, as much as to say, 'Don't be afraid, darling! I won't hurt you, my pet!' but no sooner did she get it to the edge of the rock, where it stood looking pensively down at the sea, than she gave it a sudden and violent push, sending it headlong down the slope into the water, where its mother left it to scramble ashore as it best could. We observed many of them employed in doing this, and we came to the conclusion that this is the way in which old penguins teach their children to swim. Scarcely had we finished making our remarks on this, when we were startled by about a dozen of the old birds hopping in the most clumsy and ludicrous manner towards the sea. The beach, here, was a sloping rock, and when they came to it, some of them succeeded in hopping down in safety, but others lost their balance and rolled and scrambled down the slope in the most helpless manner. The instant they reached the water, however, they seemed to be in their proper element. They dived and bounded out of it and into it again with the utmost agility; and so, diving and bounding and spluttering, for they could not fly, they went rapidly out to sea. On seeing this, Peterkin turned with a grave face to us and said, "It's my opinion that these birds are all stark, staring mad, and that this is an enchanted island. I therefore propose that we should either put about ship and fly in terror from the spot, or land valorously on the island, and sell our lives as dearly as we can." "I vote for landing, so pull in, lads," said Jack, giving a stroke with his oar that made the boat spin. In a few seconds we ran the boat into a little creek where we made her fast to a projecting piece of coral, and, running up the beach, entered the ranks of the penguins armed with our cudgels and our spear. We were greatly surprised to find that, instead of attacking us or showing signs of fear at our approach, these curious birds did not move from their places until we laid hands on them, and merely turned their eyes on us in solemn, stupid wonder as we passed. There was one old penguin, however, that began to walk slowly toward the sea, and Peterkin took it into his head that he would try to interrupt its progress, so he ran between it and the sea and brandished his cudgel in its face. But this proved to be a resolute old bird. It would not retreat; nay, more, it would not cease to advance, but battled with Peterkin bravely and drove him before it until it reached the sea. Had Peterkin used his club he could easily have felled it, no doubt; but, as he had no wish to do so cruel an act merely out of sport, he let the bird escape. We spent fully three hours on this island in watching the habits of these curious birds, and, when we finally left them, we all three concluded, after much consultation, that they were the most wonderful creatures we had ever seen; and further, we thought it probable that they were the most wonderful creatures in the world! CHAPTER XVIII. An awful storm and its consequences--Narrow escape--A rock proves a sure foundation--A fearful night and a bright morning--Deliverance from danger. It was evening before we left the island of the penguins. As we had made up our minds to encamp for the night on a small island, whereon grew a few cocoa-nut trees, which was about two miles off, we lay to our oars with some energy. But a danger was in store for us which we had not anticipated. The wind, which had carried us so quickly to Penguin Island, freshened as evening drew on, to a stiff breeze, and, before we had made half the distance to the small island, it became a regular gale. Although it was not so directly against us as to prevent our rowing in the course we wished to go, yet it checked us very much; and although the force of the sea was somewhat broken by the island, the waves soon began to rise, and to roll their broken crests against our small craft, so that she began to take in water, and we had much ado to keep ourselves afloat. At last the wind and sea together became so violent that we found it impossible to make the island, so Jack suddenly put the head of the boat round and ordered Peterkin and me to hoist a corner of the sail, intending to run back to Penguin Island. "We shall at least have the shelter of the bushes," he said, as the boat flew before the wind, "and the penguins will keep us company." As Jack spoke, the wind suddenly shifted, and blew so much against us that we were forced to hoist more of the sail in order to beat up for the island, being by this change thrown much to leeward of it. What made matters worse was, that the gale came in squalls, so that we were more than once nearly upset. "Stand by, both of you," cried Jack, in a quick, earnest tone; "be ready to dowse the sail. I very much fear we won't make the island after all." Peterkin and I were so much in the habit of trusting everything to Jack that we had fallen into the way of not considering things, especially such things as were under Jack's care. We had, therefore, never doubted for a moment that all was going well, so that it was with no little anxiety that we heard him make the above remark. However, we had no time for question or surmise, for, at the moment he spoke, a heavy squall was bearing down upon us, and, as we were then flying with our lee gunwale dipping occasionally under the waves, it was evident that we should have to lower our sail altogether. In a few seconds the squall struck the boat, but Peterkin and I had the sail down in a moment, so that it did not upset us; but, when it was past, we were more than half full of water. This I soon baled out, while Peterkin again hoisted a corner of the sail; but the evil which Jack had feared came upon us. We found it quite impossible to make Penguin Island. The gale carried us quickly past it towards the open sea, and the terrible truth flashed upon us that we should be swept out and left to perish miserably in a small boat in the midst of the wide ocean. This idea was forced very strongly upon us because we saw nothing in the direction whither the wind was blowing us save the raging billows of the sea; and, indeed, we trembled as we gazed around us, for we were now beyond the shelter of the islands, and it seemed as though any of the huge billows, which curled over in masses of foam, might swallow us up in a moment. The water, also, began to wash in over our sides, and I had to keep constantly baling, for Jack could not quit the helm nor Peterkin the sail for an instant, without endangering our lives. In the midst of this distress Jack uttered an exclamation of hope, and pointed towards a low island or rock which lay directly ahead. It had been hitherto unobserved, owing to the dark clouds that obscured the sky and the blinding spray that seemed to fill the whole atmosphere. As we neared this rock we observed that it was quite destitute of trees and verdure, and so low that the sea broke completely over it. In fact it was nothing more than the summit of one of the coral formations, which rose only a few feet above the level of the water, and was, in stormy weather, all but invisible. Over this island the waves were breaking in the utmost fury, and our hearts sank within us as we saw that there was not a spot where we could thrust our little boat without its being dashed to pieces. "Show a little bit more sail," cried Jack, as we swept past the weather side of the rock with fearful speed. "Ay, ay," answered Peterkin, hoisting about a foot more of our sail. Little though the addition was it caused the boat to lie over and creak so loudly, as we cleft the foaming waves, that I expected to be upset every instant; and I blamed Jack in my heart for his rashness. But I did him injustice, for, although during two seconds the water rushed in-board in a torrent, he succeeded in steering us sharply round to the leeward side of the rock, where the water was comparatively calm, and the force of the breeze broken. "Out your oars now, lads; that's well done. Give way!" We obeyed instantly. The oars splashed into the waves together. One good hearty pull, and we were floating in a comparatively calm creek that was so narrow as to be barely able to admit our boat. Here we were in perfect safety, and, as we leaped on shore and fastened our cable to the rocks, I thanked God in my heart for our deliverance from so great danger. But, although I have said we were now in safety, I suspect that few of my readers would have envied our position. It is true we had no lack of food, but we were drenched to the skin; the sea was foaming round us and the spray flying over our heads, so that we were completely enveloped, as it were, in water; the spot on which we had landed was not more than twelve yards in diameter, and from this spot we could not move without the risk of being swept away by the storm. At the upper end of the creek was a small hollow or cave in the rock, which sheltered us from the fury of the winds and waves; and as the rock extended in a sort of ledge over our heads, it prevented the spray from falling upon us. "Why," said Peterkin, beginning to feel cheery again, "it seems to me that we have got into a mermaid's cave, for there is nothing but water all round us; and as for earth or sky, they are things of the past." Peterkin's idea was not inappropriate, for, what with the sea roaring in white foam up to our very feet, and the spray flying in white sheets continually over our heads, and the water dripping heavily from the ledge above like a curtain in front of our cave, it did seem to us very much more like being below than above water. "Now, boys," cried Jack, "bestir yourselves, and let's make ourselves comfortable. Toss out our provisions, Peterkin; and here, Ralph, lend a hand to haul up the boat. Look sharp." "Ay, ay, captain," we cried, as we hastened to obey, much cheered by the hearty manner of our comrade. Fortunately the cave, although not very deep, was quite dry, so that we succeeded in making ourselves much more comfortable than could have been expected. We landed our provisions, wrung the water out of our garments, spread our sail below us for a carpet, and, after having eaten a hearty meal, began to feel quite cheerful. But as night drew on, our spirits sank again, for with the daylight all evidence of our security vanished away. We could no longer see the firm rock on which we lay, while we were stunned with the violence of the tempest that raged around us. The night grew pitchy dark, as it advanced, so that we could not see our hands when we held them up before our eyes, and were obliged to feel each other occasionally to make sure that we were safe, for the storm at last became so terrible that it was difficult to make our voices audible. A slight variation of the wind, as we supposed, caused a few drops of spray ever and anon to blow into our faces; and the eddy of the sea, in its mad boiling, washed up into our little creek until it reached our feet and threatened to tear away our boat. In order to prevent this latter calamity, we hauled the boat farther up and held the cable in our hands. Occasional flashes of lightning shone with a ghastly glare through the watery curtains around us, and lent additional horror to the scene. Yet we longed for those dismal flashes, for they were less appalling than the thick blackness that succeeded them. Crashing peals of thunder seemed to tear the skies in twain, and fell upon our ears through the wild yelling of the hurricane as if it had been but a gentle summer breeze; while the billows burst upon the weather side of the island until we fancied that the solid rock was giving way, and, in our agony, we clung to the bare ground, expecting every moment to be whirled away and whelmed in the black howling sea! Oh! it was a night of terrible anxiety, and no one can conceive the feelings of intense gratitude and relief with which we at last saw the dawn of day break through the vapory mists around us. For three days and three nights we remained on this rock, while the storm continued to rage with unabated fury. On the morning of the fourth day it suddenly ceased, and the wind fell altogether; but the waves still ran so high that we did not dare to put off in our boat. During the greater part of this period we scarcely slept above a few minutes at a time, but on the third night we slept soundly and awoke early on the fourth morning to find the sea very much down, and the sun shining brightly again in the clear blue sky. It was with light hearts that we launched forth once more in our little boat and steered away for our island home, which, we were overjoyed to find, was quite visible on the horizon, for we had feared that we had been blown out of sight of it altogether. As it was a dead calm we had to row during the greater part of the day; but towards the afternoon a fair breeze sprang up, which enabled us to hoist our sail. We soon passed Penguin Island, and the other island which we had failed to reach on the day the storm commenced; but as we had still enough of provisions, and were anxious to get home, we did not land, to the great disappointment of Peterkin, who seemed to entertain quite an affection for the penguins. Although the breeze was pretty fresh for several hours, we did not reach the outer reef of our island till night-fall, and before we had sailed more than a hundred yards into the lagoon, the wind died away altogether, so that we had to take to our oars again. It was late and the moon and stars were shining brightly when we arrived opposite the bower and leaped upon the strand. So glad were we to be safe back again on our beloved island, that we scarcely took time to drag the boat a short way up the beach, and then ran up to see that all was right at the bower. I must confess, however, that my joy was mingled with a vague sort of fear lest our home had been visited and destroyed during our absence; but on reaching it we found everything just as it had been left, and the poor black cat curled up, sound asleep, on the coral table in front of our humble dwelling. CHAPTER XIX. Shoemaking--The even tenor of our way suddenly interrupted--An unexpected visit and an appalling battle--We all become warriors, and Jack proves himself be a hero. For many months after this we continued to live on our island in uninterrupted harmony and happiness. Sometimes we went out a-fishing in the lagoon, and sometimes went a-hunting in the woods, or ascended to the mountain top, by way of variety, although Peterkin always asserted that we went for the purpose of hailing any ship that might chance to heave in sight. But I am certain that none of us wished to be delivered from our captivity, for we were extremely happy, and Peterkin used to say that as we were very young we should not feel the loss of a year or two. Peterkin, as I have said before, was thirteen years of age, Jack eighteen, and I fifteen. But Jack was very tall, strong, and manly for his age, and might easily have been mistaken for twenty. The climate was so beautiful that it seemed to be a perpetual summer, and as many of the fruit-trees continued to bear fruit and blossom all the year round, we never wanted for a plentiful supply of food. The hogs, too, seemed rather to increase than diminish, although Peterkin was very frequent in his attacks on them with his spear. If at any time we failed in finding a drove, we had only to pay a visit to the plum-tree before mentioned, where we always found a large family of them asleep under its branches. We employed ourselves very busily during this time in making various garments of cocoa-nut cloth, as those with which we had landed were beginning to be very ragged. Peterkin also succeeded in making excellent shoes out of the skin of the old hog, in the following manner:--He first cut a piece of the hide, of an oblong form, a few inches longer than his foot. This he soaked in water, and, while it was wet, he sewed up one end of it, so as to form a rough imitation of that part of the heel of a shoe where the seam is. This done, he bored a row of holes all round the edge of the piece of skin, through which a tough line was passed. Into the sewed-up part of this shoe he thrust his heel, then, drawing the string tight, the edges rose up and overlapped his foot all round. It is true there were a great many ill-looking puckers in these shoes, but we found them very serviceable notwithstanding, and Jack came at last to prefer them to his long boots. We ago made various other useful articles, which added to our comfort, and once or twice spoke of building us a house, but we had so great an affection for the bower, and, withal, found it so serviceable, that we determined not to leave it, nor to attempt the building of a house, which, in such a climate, might turn out to be rather disagreeable than useful. We often examined the pistol that we had found in the house on the other side of the island, and Peterkin wished much that we had powder and shot, as it would render pig-killing much easier; but, after all, we had become so expert in the use of our sling and bow and spear, that we were independent of more deadly weapons. Diving in the Water Garden also continued to afford us as much pleasure as ever; and Peterkin began to be a little more expert in the water from constant practice. As for Jack and I, we began to feel as if water were our native element, and revelled in it with so much confidence and comfort that Peterkin said he feared we would turn into fish some day, and swim off and leave him; adding, that he had been for a long time observing that Jack was becoming more and more like a shark every day. Whereupon Jack remarked, that if he, Peterkin, were changed into a fish, he would certainly turn into nothing better or bigger than a shrimp. Poor Peterkin did not envy us our delightful excursions under water, except, indeed, when Jack would dive down to the bottom of the Water Garden, sit down on a rock and look up and make faces at him. Peterkin did feel envious then, and often said he would give anything to be able to do that. I was much amused when Peterkin said this; for if he could only have seen his own face when he happened to take a short dive, he would have seen that Jack's was far surpassed by it. The great difference being, however, that Jack made faces on purpose--Peterkin couldn't help it! Now, while we were engaged with these occupations and amusements, an event occurred one day which was as unexpected as it was exceedingly alarming and very horrible. Jack and I were sitting, as we were often wont to do, on the rocks at Spouting Cliff, and Peterkin was wringing the water from his garments, having recently fallen by accident into the sea,--a thing he was constantly doing,--when our attention was suddenly arrested by two objects which appeared on the horizon. "What are yon, think you?" I said, addressing Jack. "I can't imagine," answered he; "I've noticed them for some time, and fancied they were black sea-gulls, but the more I look at them the more I feel convinced they are much larger than gulls." "They seem to be coming towards us," said I. "Hallo! what's wrong?" inquired Peterkin, coming up. "Look there," said Jack. "Whales!" cried Peterkin, shading his eyes with his hand. "No! eh! can they be boats, Jack?" Our hearts beat with excitement at the very thought of seeing human faces again. "I think you are about right, Peterkin;--but they seem to me to move strangely for boats," said Jack, in a low tone, as if he were talking to himself. I noticed that a shade of anxiety crossed Jack's countenance as he gazed long and intently at the two objects, which were now nearing us fast. At last he sprang to his feet. "They are canoes, Ralph! whether war-canoes or not I cannot tell, but this I know, that all the natives of the South Sea Islands are fierce cannibals, and they have little respect for strangers. We must hide if they land here, which I earnestly hope they will not do." I was greatly alarmed at Jack's speech, but I confess I thought less of what he said than of the earnest, anxious manner in which he said it, and it was with very uncomfortable feelings that Peterkin and I followed him quickly into the woods. "How unfortunate," said I, as we gained the shelter of the bushes, "that we have forgotten our arms." "It matters not," said Jack; "here are clubs enough and to spare." As he spoke, he laid his hand on a bundle of stout poles of various sizes, which Peterkin's ever-busy hands had formed, during our frequent visits to the cliff, for no other purpose, apparently, than that of having something to do. We each selected a stout club according to our several tastes, and lay down behind a rock, whence we could see the canoes approach, without ourselves being seen. At first we made an occasional remark on their appearance, but after they entered the lagoon, and drew near the beach, we ceased to speak, and gazed with intense interest at the scene before us. We now observed that the foremost canoe was being chased by the other, and that it contained a few women and children, as well as men,--perhaps forty souls altogether; while the canoe which pursued it contained only men. They seemed to be about the same in number, but were better armed, and had the appearance of being a war party. Both crews were paddling with all their might, and it seemed as if the pursuers exerted themselves to overtake the natives ere they could land. In this, however, they failed. The foremost canoe made for the beach close beneath the rocks behind which we were concealed. Their short paddles flashed like meteors in the water, and sent up a constant shower of spray. The foam curled from the prow, and the eyes of the rowers glistened in their black faces as they strained every muscle of their naked bodies; nor did they relax their efforts till the canoe struck the beach with a violent shock; then, with a shout of defiance, the whole party sprang, as if by magic, from the canoe to the shore. Three women, two of whom carried infants in their arms, rushed into the woods; and the men crowded to the water's edge, with stones in their hands, spears levelled, and clubs brandished, to resist the landing of their enemies. The distance between the two canoes had been about half a mile, and, at the great speed they were going, this was soon passed. As the pursuers neared the shore, no sign of fear or hesitation was noticeable. On they came like a wild charger,--received but recked not of a shower of stones. The canoe struck, and, with a yell that seemed to issue from the throats of incarnate fiends, they leaped into the water, and drove their enemies up the beach. The battle that immediately ensued was frightful to behold. Most of the men wielded clubs of enormous size and curious shapes, with which they dashed out each other's brains. As they were almost entirely naked, and had to bound, stoop, leap, and run, in their terrible hand-to-hand encounters, they looked more like demons than human beings. I felt my heart grow sick at the sight of this bloody battle, and would fain have turned away, but a species of fascination seemed to hold me down and glue my eyes upon the combatants. I observed that the attacking party was led by a most extraordinary being, who, from his size and peculiarity, I concluded was a chief. His hair was frizzed out to an enormous extent, so that it resembled a large turban. It was of a light-yellow hue, which surprised me much, for the man's body was as black as coal, and I felt convinced that the hair must have been dyed. He was tattooed from head to foot; and his face, besides being tattooed, was besmeared with red paint, and streaked with white. Altogether, with his yellow turban-like hair, his Herculean black frame, his glittering eyes and white teeth, he seemed the most terrible monster I ever beheld. He was very active in the fight, and had already killed four men. Suddenly the yellow-haired chief was attacked by a man quite as strong and large as himself. He flourished a heavy club something like an eagle's beak at the point. For a second or two these giants eyed each other warily, moving round and round, as if to catch each other at a disadvantage, but seeing that nothing was to be gained by this caution, and that the loss of time might effectually turn the tide of battle either way, they apparently made up their minds to attack at the same instant, for, with a wild shout and simultaneous spring, they swung their heavy clubs, which met with a loud report. Suddenly the yellow-haired savage tripped, his enemy sprang forward, the ponderous club was swung, but it did not descend, for at that moment the savage was felled to the ground by a stone from the hand of one who had witnessed his chief's danger. This was the turning-point in the battle. The savages who landed first turned and fled towards the bush, on seeing the fall of their chief. But not one escaped. They were all overtaken and felled to the earth. I saw, however, that they were not all killed. Indeed, their enemies, now that they were conquered, seemed anxious to take them alive; and they succeeded in securing fifteen, whom they bound hand and foot with cords, and, carrying them up into the woods, laid them down among the bushes. Here they left them, for what purpose I knew not, and returned to the scene of the late battle, where the remnant of the party were bathing their wounds. Out of the forty blacks that composed the attacking party, only twenty- eight remained alive, two of whom were sent into the bush to hunt for the women and children. Of the other party, as I have said, only ten survived, and these were lying bound and helpless on the grass. Jack and Peterkin and I now looked at each other, and whispered our fears that the savages might clamber up the rocks to search for fresh water, and so discover our place of concealment; but we were so much interested in watching their movements that we agreed to remain where we were; and, indeed, we could not easily have risen without exposing ourselves to detection. One of the savages now went up to the wood and soon returned with a bundle of fire-wood, and we were not a little surprised to see him set fire to it by the very same means used by Jack the time we made our first fire,--namely, with the bow and drill. When the fire was kindled, two of the party went again to the woods and returned with one of the bound men. A dreadful feeling of horror crept over my heart, as the thought flashed upon me that they were going to burn their enemies. As they bore him to the fire my feelings almost overpowered me. I gasped for breath, and seizing my club, endeavoured to spring to my feet; but Jack's powerful arm pinned me to the earth. Next moment one of the savages raised his club, and fractured the wretched creature's skull. He must have died instantly, and, strange though it may seem, I confess to a feeling of relief when the deed was done, because I now knew that the poor savage could not be burned alive. Scarcely had his limbs ceased to quiver when the monsters cut slices of flesh from his body, and, after roasting them slightly over the fire, devoured them. Suddenly there arose a cry from the woods, and, in a few seconds, the two savages hastened towards the fire dragging the three women and their two infants along with them. One of those women was much younger than her companions, and we were struck with the modesty of her demeanour and the gentle expression of her face, which, although she had the flattish nose and thick lips of the others, was of a light-brown colour, and we conjectured that she must be of a different race. She and her companions wore short petticoats and a kind of tippet on their shoulders. Their hair was jet black, but instead of being long, was short and curly,--though not woolly--somewhat like the hair of a young boy. While we gazed with interest and some anxiety at these poor creatures, the big chief advanced to one of the elder females and laid his hand upon the child. But the mother shrank from him, and clasping the little one to her bosom, uttered a wail of fear. With a savage laugh, the chief tore the child from her arms and tossed it into the sea. A low groan burst from Jack's lips as we witnessed this atrocious act and heard the mother's shriek, as she fell insensible on the sand. The rippling waves rolled the child on the beach, as if they refused to be a party in such a foul murder, and we could observe that the little one still lived. The young girl was now brought forward, and the chief addressed her; but although we heard his voice, and even the words distinctly, of course we could not understand what he said. The girl made no answer to his fierce questions, and we saw by the way in which he pointed to the fire that he threatened her life. "Peterkin," said Jack in a hoarse whisper, "have you got your knife?" "Yes," replied Peterkin, whose face was pale as death. "That will do. Listen to me, and do my bidding quick. Here is the small knife, Ralph. Fly both of you through the bush, cut the cords that bind the prisoners and set them free. There! quick, ere it be too late." Jack sprang up, and seized a heavy but short bludgeon, while his strong frame trembled with emotion, and large drops rolled down his forehead. At this moment the man who had butchered the savage a few minutes before advanced towards the girl with his heavy club. Jack uttered a yell that rang like a death-shriek among the rocks. With one bound he leaped over a precipice full fifteen feet high, and, before the savages had recovered from their surprise, was in the midst of them; while Peterkin and I dashed through the bushes towards the prisoners. With one blow of his staff Jack felled the man with the club, then, turning round with a look of fury, he rushed upon the big chief with the yellow hair. Had the blow which Jack aimed at his head taken effect, the huge savage would have needed no second stroke; but he was agile as a cat, and avoided it by springing to one side, while, at the same time, he swung his ponderous club at the head of his foe. It was now Jack's turn to leap aside, and well was it for him that the first outburst of his blind fury was over, else he had become an easy prey to his gigantic antagonist; but Jack was cool now. He darted his blows rapidly and well, and the superiority of his light weapon was strikingly proved in this combat, for while he could easily evade the blows of the chief's heavy club, the chief could not so easily evade those of his light one. Nevertheless, so quick was he, and so frightfully did he fling about the mighty weapon, that, although Jack struck him almost every blow, the strokes had to be delivered so quickly that they wanted force to be very effectual. It was lucky for Jack that the other savages considered the success of their chief in this encounter to be so certain that they refrained from interfering. Had they doubted it, they would have probably ended the matter at once by felling him. But they contented themselves with awaiting the issue. The force which the chief expended in wielding his club now began to be apparent. His movements became slower, his breath hissed through his clenched teeth, and the surprised savages drew nearer in order to render assistance. Jack observed this movement. He felt that his fate was sealed, and resolved to cast his life upon the next blow. The chiefs club was again about to descend on his head. He might have evaded it easily, but instead of doing so, he suddenly shortened his grasp of his own club, rushed in under the blow, struck his adversary right between the eyes with all his force and fell to the earth, crushed beneath the senseless body of the chief. A dozen clubs flew high in air ready to descend on the head of Jack, but they hesitated a moment, for the massive body of the chief completely covered him. That moment saved his life. Ere the savages could tear the chief's body away, seven of their number fell prostrate beneath the clubs of the prisoners whom Peterkin and I had set free, and two others fell under our own hand. We could never have accomplished this had not our enemies been so engrossed with the fight between Jack and their chief that they had failed to observe us until we were upon them. They still out-numbered our party by three, but we were flushed with victory while they were taken by surprise and dispirited by the fall of their chief. Moreover, they were awe-struck by the sweeping fury of Jack, who seemed to have lost his senses altogether, and had no sooner shaken himself free of the chief's body than he rushed into the midst of them, and in three blows equalized our numbers. Peterkin and I flew to the rescue, the savages followed us, and, in less than ten minutes, the whole of our opponents were knocked down or made prisoners, bound hand and foot, and extended side by side upon the sea shore. CHAPTER XX. Intercourse with the savages--Cannibalism prevented--The slain are buried and the survivors depart, leaving us again alone on our Coral Island. After the battle was over, the savages crowded round us and gazed at us in surprise, while they continued to pour upon us a flood of questions, which, being wholly unintelligible, of course we could not answer. However, by way of putting an end to it, Jack took the chief (who had recovered from the effects of his wound) by the hand and shook it warmly. No sooner did the blacks see that this was meant to express good-will than they shook hands with us all round. After this ceremony was gone through Jack went up to the girl, who had never once moved from the rock where she had been left, but had continued an eager spectator of all that had passed. He made signs to her to follow him and then, taking the chief by the hand, was about to conduct him to the bower when his eye fell on the poor infant which had been thrown into the sea and was still lying on the shore. Dropping the chief's hand he hastened towards it, and, to his great joy, found it to be still alive. We also found that the mother was beginning to recover slowly. "Here, get out o' the way," said Jack, pushing us aside, as we stooped over the poor woman and endeavoured to restore her, "I'll soon bring her round." So saying, he placed the infant on her bosom and laid its warm cheek on hers. The effect was wonderful. The woman opened her eyes, felt the child, looked at it, and with a cry of joy clasped it in her arms, at the same time endeavouring to rise, for the purpose, apparently, of rushing into the woods. "There, that's all right," said Jack, once more taking the chief by the hand. "Now Ralph and Peterkin, make the women and these fellows follow me to the bower. Well entertain them as hospitably as we can." In a few minutes the savages were all seated on the ground in front of the bower making a hearty meal off a cold roast pig, several ducks, and a variety of cold fish, together with an unlimited supply of cocoa-nuts, bread-fruits, yams, taro, and plums; with all of which they seemed to be quite familiar and perfectly satisfied. Meanwhile, we three being thoroughly knocked up with our day's work, took a good draught of cocoa-nut lemonade, and throwing ourselves on our beds fell fast asleep. The savages it seems followed our example, and in half- an-hour the whole camp was buried in repose. How long we slept I cannot tell, but this I know, that when we lay down the sun was setting and when we awoke it was high in the heavens. I awoke Jack, who started up in surprise, being unable at first to comprehend our situation. "Now, then," said he, springing up, "let's see after breakfast. Hallo! Peterkin, lazy fellow, how long do you mean to lie there?" Peterkin yawned heavily. "Well!" said he, opening his eyes and looking up after some trouble, "if it isn't to-morrow morning, and me thinking it was to-day all this time. Hallo! Venus, where did you come from? you seem tolerably at home, any how. Bah! might as well speak to the cat as to you--better, in fact, for it understands me, and you don't." This remark was called forth by the sight of one of the elderly females, who had seated herself on the rock in front of the bower, and, having placed her child at her feet, was busily engaged in devouring the remains of a roast pig. By this time the natives outside were all astir, and breakfast in an advanced state of preparation. During the course of it we made sundry attempts to converse with the natives by signs, but without effect. At last we hit upon a plan of discovering their names. Jack pointed to his breast and said "Jack," very distinctly; then he pointed to Peterkin and to me, repeating our names at the same time. Then he pointed to himself again, and said "Jack," and laying his finger on the breast of the chief, looked inquiringly into his face. The chief instantly understood him and said "Tararo," twice, distinctly. Jack repeated it after him, and the chief, nodding his head approvingly, said "Chuck." On hearing which, Peterkin exploded with laughter; but Jack turned and with a frown rebuked him, saying, "I must look even more indignantly at you than I feel, Peterkin, you rascal, for these fellows don't like to be laughed at." Then turning towards the youngest of the women, who was seated at the door of the bower, he pointed to her; whereupon the chief said, "Avatea;" and pointing towards the sun, raised his finger slowly towards the zenith, where it remained steadily for a minute or two. "What can that mean, I wonder," said Jack, looking puzzled. "Perhaps," said Peterkin, "the chief means she is an angel come down to stay here for a while. If so, she's an uncommonly black one!" We did not feel quite satisfied with this explanation, so Jack went up to her and said, "Avatea." The woman smiled sadly, and nodded her head, at the same time pointing to her breast and then to the sun, in the same manner as the chief had done. We were much puzzled to know what this could signify, but as there was no way of solving our difficulty we were obliged to rest content. Jack now made signs to the natives to follow him, and, taking up his axe, he led them to the place where the battle had been fought. Here we found the prisoners, who had passed the night on the beach having been totally forgotten by us, as our minds had been full of our guests, and were ultimately overcome by sleep. They did not seem the worse for their exposure, however, as we judged by the hearty appetite with which they devoured the breakfast that was soon after given to them. Jack then began to dig a hole in the sand, and, after working a few seconds, he pointed to it and to the dead bodies that lay exposed on the beach. The natives immediately perceived what he wanted, and, running for their paddles, dug a hole in the course of half an hour that was quite large enough to contain all the bodies of the slain. When it was finished they tossed their dead enemies into it with so much indifference that we felt assured they would not have put themselves to this trouble had we not asked them to do so. The body of the yellow-haired chief was the last thrown in. This wretched man would have recovered from the blow with which Jack felled him, and, indeed, he did endeavour to rise during the melee that followed his fall, but one of his enemies, happening to notice the action, dealt him a blow with his club that killed him on the spot. While they were about to throw the sand over this chief, one of the savages stooped over him, and with a knife, made apparently of stone, cut a large slice of flesh from his thigh. We knew at once that he intended to make use of this for food, and could not repress a cry of horror and disgust. "Come, come, you blackguard," cried Jack, starting up and seizing the man by the arm, "pitch that into the hole. Do you hear?" The savage of course did not understand the command, but he perfectly understood the look of disgust with which Jack regarded the flesh, and his fierce gaze as he pointed towards the hole. Nevertheless he did not obey. Jack instantly turned to Tararo and made signs to him to enforce obedience. The chief seemed to understand the appeal, for he stepped forward, raised his club, and was on the point of dashing out the brains of his offending subject, when Jack sprang forward and caught his uplifted arm. "Stop!" he shouted, "you blockhead, I don't want you to kill the man." He then pointed again to the flesh and to the hole. The chief uttered a few words, which had the desired effect; for the man threw the flesh into the hole, which was immediately filled up. This man was of a morose, sulky disposition, and, during all the time he remained on the island, regarded us, especially Jack, with a scowling visage. His name, we found, was Mahine. The next three or four days were spent by the savages in mending their canoe, which had been damaged by the violent shock it had sustained on striking the shore. This canoe was a very curious structure. It was about thirty feet long, and had a high towering stern. The timbers, of which it was partly composed, were fastened much in the same way as those of our little boat were put together; but the part that seemed most curious to us was a sort of out-rigger, or long plank, which was attached to the body of the canoe by means of two stout cross beams. These beams kept the plank parallel with the canoe, but not in contact with it, for it floated in the water with an open space between; thus forming a sort of double canoe. This we found was intended to prevent the upsetting of the canoe, which was so narrow that it could not have maintained an upright position without the out-rigger. We could not help wondering both at the ingenuity and the clumsiness of this contrivance. When the canoe was ready, we assisted the natives to carry the prisoners into it, and helped them to load it with provisions and fruit. Peterkin also went to the plum-tree for the purpose of making a special onslaught upon the hogs, and killed no less than six of them. These we baked and presented to our friends on the day of their departure. On that day Tararo made a great many energetic signs to us, which, after much consideration, we came to understand were proposals that we should go away with him to his island; but, having no desire to do so, we shook our heads very decidedly. However, we consoled him by presenting him with our rusty axe, which we thought we could spare, having the excellent one which had been so providentially washed ashore to us the day we were wrecked. We also gave him a piece of wood with our names carved on it, and a piece of string to hang it round his neck as an ornament. In a few minutes more we were all assembled on the beach. Being unable to speak to the savages, we went through the ceremony of shaking hands, and expected they would depart; but, before doing so, Tararo went up to Jack and rubbed noses with him, after which he did the same with Peterkin and me! Seeing that this was their mode of salutation, we determined to conform to their custom, so we rubbed noses heartily with the whole party, women and all! The only disagreeable part of the process was, when we came to rub noses with Mahine, and Peterkin afterwards said, that when he saw his wolfish eyes glaring so close to his face, he felt much more inclined to _bang_ than to _rub_ his nose. Avatea was the last to take leave of us, and we experienced a feeling of real sorrow when she approached to bid us farewell. Besides her modest air and gentle manners she was the only one of the party who exhibited the smallest sign of regret at parting from us. Going up to Jack, she put out her flat little nose to be rubbed, and thereafter paid the same compliment to Peterkin and me. An hour later the canoe was out of sight, and we, with an indefinable feeling of sadness creeping round our hearts, were seated in silence beneath the shadow of our bower, meditating on the wonderful events of the last few days. CHAPTER XXI. Sagacious and moral remarks in regard to life--A sail!--An unexpected salute--The end of the black cat--A terrible dive--An incautious proceeding and a frightful catastrophe. Life is a strange compound. Peterkin used to say of it, that it beat a druggist's shop all to sticks; for, whereas the first is a compound of good and bad, the other is a horrible compound of all that is utterly detestable. And indeed the more I consider it the more I am struck with the strange mixture of good and evil that exists not only in the material earth but in our own natures. In our own Coral Island we had experienced every variety of good that a bountiful Creator could heap on us. Yet on the night of the storm we had seen how almost, in our case,--and altogether, no doubt, in the case of others less fortunate--all this good might be swept away for ever. We had seen the rich fruit-trees waving in the soft air, the tender herbs shooting upwards under the benign influence of the bright sun; and, the next day, we had seen these good and beautiful trees and plants uprooted by the hurricane, crushed and hurled to the ground in destructive devastation. We had lived for many months in a clime for the most part so beautiful, that we had often wondered whether Adam and Eve had found Eden more sweet; and we had seen the quiet solitudes of our paradise suddenly broken in upon by ferocious savages, and the white sands stained with blood and strewed with lifeless forms; yet, among these cannibals, we had seen many symptoms of a kindly nature. I pondered these things much, and, while I considered them, there recurred to my memory those words which I had read in my Bible,--the works of God are wonderful, and his ways past finding out. After these poor savages had left us, we used to hold long and frequent conversations about them, and I noticed that Peterkin's manner was now much altered. He did not, indeed, jest less heartily than before, but he did so less frequently, and often there was a tone of deep seriousness in his manner, if not in his words, which made him seem to Jack and me as if he had grown two years older within a few days. But indeed I was not surprised at this, when I reflected on the awful realities which we had witnessed so lately. We could by no means shake off a tendency to gloom for several weeks afterwards; but, as time wore away, our usual good spirits returned somewhat, and we began to think of the visit of the savages with feelings akin to those with which we recall a terrible dream. One day we were all enjoying ourselves in the Water Garden, preparatory to going on a fishing excursion; for Peterkin had kept us in such constant supply of hogs that we had become quite tired of pork, and desired a change. Peterkin was sunning himself on the ledge of rock, while we were creeping among the rocks below. Happening to look up, I observed Peterkin cutting the most extraordinary capers and making violent gesticulations for us to come up; so I gave Jack a push, and rose immediately. "A sail! a sail! Ralph, look! Jack, away on the horizon there, just over the entrance to the lagoon!" cried Peterkin, as we scrambled up the rocks. "So it is, and a schooner, too!" said Jack, as he proceeded hastily to dress. Our hearts were thrown into a terrible flutter by this discovery, for if it should touch at our island we had no doubt the captain would be happy to give us a passage to some of the civilized islands, where we could find a ship sailing for England, or some other part of Europe. Home, with all its associations, rushed in upon my heart like a flood, and, much though I loved the Coral Island and the bower which had now been our home so long, I felt that I could have quitted all at that moment without a sigh. With joyful anticipations we hastened to the highest point of rock near our dwelling, and awaited the arrival of the vessel, for we now perceived that she was making straight for the island, under a steady breeze. In less than an hour she was close to the reef, where she rounded to, and backed her topsails in order to survey the coast. Seeing this, and fearing that they might not perceive us, we all three waved pieces of cocoa-nut cloth in the air, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing them beginning to lower a boat and bustle about the decks as if they meant to land. Suddenly a flag was run up to the peak, a little cloud of white smoke rose from the schooner's side, and, before we could guess their intentions, a cannon-shot came crashing through the bushes, carried away several cocoa-nut trees in its passage, and burst in atoms against the cliff a few yards below the spot on which we stood. With feelings of terror we now observed that the flag at the schooner's peak was black, with a Death's head and cross bones upon it. As we gazed at each other in blank amazement, the word "pirate" escaped our lips simultaneously. "What is to be done?" cried Peterkin, as we observed a boat shoot from the vessel's side, and make for the entrance of the reef. "If they take us off the island, it will either be to throw us overboard for sport, or to make pirates of us." I did not reply, but looked at Jack, as being our only resource in this emergency. He stood with folded arms, and his eyes fixed with a grave, anxious expression on the ground. "There is but one hope," said he, turning with a sad expression of countenance to Peterkin; "perhaps, after all, we may not have to resort to it. If these villains are anxious to take us, they will soon overrun the whole island. But come, follow me." Stopping abruptly in his speech, Jack bounded into the woods, and led us by a circuitous route to Spouting Cliff. Here he halted, and, advancing cautiously to the rocks, glanced over their edge. We were soon by his side, and saw the boat, which was crowded with armed men, just touching the shore. In an instant the crew landed, formed line, and rushed up to our bower. In a few seconds we saw them hurrying back to the boat, one of them swinging the poor cat round his head by the tail. On reaching the water's edge, he tossed it far into the sea, and joined his companions, who appeared to be holding a hasty council. "You see what we may expect," said Jack bitterly. "The man who will wantonly kill a poor brute for sport will think little of murdering a fellow-creature. Now, boys, we have but one chance left,--the Diamond Cave." "The Diamond Cave!" cried Peterkin, "then my chance is a poor one, for I could not dive into it if all the pirates on the Pacific were at my heels." "Nay, but," said I, "we will take you down, Peterkin, if you will only trust us." As I spoke, we observed the pirates scatter over the beach, and radiate, as if from a centre, towards the woods and along shore. "Now, Peterkin," said Jack, in a solemn tone, "you must make up your mind to do it, or we must make up our minds to die in your company." "Oh, Jack, my dear friend," cried Peterkin, turning pale, "leave me; I don't believe they'll think it worth while to kill me. Go, you and Ralph, and dive into the cave." "That will not I," answered Jack quietly, while he picked up a stout cudgel from the ground. "So now, Ralph, we must prepare to meet these fellows. Their motto is, 'No quarter.' If we can manage to floor those coming in this direction, we may escape into the woods for a while." "There are five of them," said I; "we have no chance." "Come, then," cried Peterkin, starting up, and grasping Jack convulsively by the arm, "let us dive; I will go." Those who are not naturally expert in the water know well the feelings of horror that overwhelm them, when in it, at the bare idea of being held down, even for a few seconds,--that spasmodic, involuntary recoil from compulsory immersion which has no connection whatever with cowardice; and they will understand the amount of resolution that it required in Peterkin to allow himself to be dragged down to a depth of ten feet, and then, through a narrow tunnel, into an almost pitch-dark cavern. But there was no alternative. The pirates had already caught sight of us, and were now within a short distance of the rocks. Jack and I seized Peterkin by the arms. "Now, keep quite still, no struggling," said Jack, "or we are lost." Peterkin made no reply, but the stern gravity of his marble features, and the tension of his muscles, satisfied us that he had fully made up his mind to go through with it. Just as the pirates gained the foot of the rocks, which hid us for a moment from their view, we bent over the sea, and plunged down together head foremost. Peterkin behaved like a hero. He floated passively between us like a log of wood, and we passed the tunnel and rose into the cave in a shorter space of time than I had ever done it before. Peterkin drew a long, deep breath on reaching the surface; and in a few seconds we were all standing on the ledge of rock in safety. Jack now searched for the tinder and torch, which always lay in the cave. He soon found them, and, lighting the torch, revealed to Peterkin's wondering gaze the marvels of the place. But we were too wet to waste much time in looking about us. Our first care was to take off our clothes, and wring them as dry as we could. This done, we proceeded to examine into the state of our larder, for, as Jack truly remarked, there was no knowing how long the pirates might remain on the island. "Perhaps," said Peterkin, "they may take it into their heads to stop here altogether, and so we shall be buried alive in this place." "Don't you think, Peterkin, that it's the nearest thing to being drowned alive that you ever felt?" said Jack with a smile. "But I've no fear of that. These villains never stay long on shore. The sea is their home, so you may depend upon it that they won't stay more than a day or two at the furthest." We now began to make arrangements for spending the night in the cavern. At various periods Jack and I had conveyed cocoa nuts and other fruits, besides rolls of cocoa-nut cloth, to this submarine cave, partly for amusement, and partly from a feeling that we might possibly be driven one day to take shelter here from the savages. Little did we imagine that the first savages who would drive us into it would be white savages, perhaps our own countrymen. We found the cocoa-nuts in good condition, and the cooked yams, but the bread-fruits were spoiled. We also found the cloth where we had left it; and, on opening it out, there proved to be sufficient to make a bed; which was important, as the rock was damp. Having collected it all together, we spread out our bed, placed our torch in the midst of us, and ate our supper. It was indeed a strange chamber to feast in; and we could not help remarking on the cold, ghastly appearance of the walls, and the black water at our side, with the thick darkness beyond, and the sullen sound of the drops that fell at long intervals from the roof of the cavern into the still water; and the strong contrast between all this and our bed and supper, which, with our faces, were lit up with the deep red flame of the torch. We sat long over our meal, talking together in subdued voices, for we did not like the dismal echoes that rang through the vault above when we happened to raise them. At last the faint light that came through the opening died away, warning us that it was night and time for rest. We therefore put out our torch and lay down to sleep. On awaking, it was some time ere we could collect our faculties so as to remember where we were, and we were in much uncertainty as to whether it was early or late. We saw by the faint light that it was day, but could not guess at the hour; so Jack proposed that he should dive out and reconnoitre. "No, Jack," said I, "do you rest here. You've had enough to do during the last few days. Rest yourself now, and take care of Peterkin, while I go out to see what the pirates are about. I'll be very careful not to expose myself, and I'll bring you word again in a short time." "Very well, Ralph," answered Jack, "please yourself, but don't be long; and if you'll take my advice you'll go in your clothes, for I would like to have some fresh cocoa nuts, and climbing trees without clothes is uncomfortable, to say the least of it." "The pirates will be sure to keep a sharp lookout," said Peterkin, "so, pray, be careful." "No fear," said I; "good-bye." "Good-bye," answered my comrades. And while the words were yet sounding in my ears, I plunged into the water, and in a few seconds found myself in the open air. On rising, I was careful to come up gently and to breathe softly, while I kept close in beside the rocks; but, as I observed no one near me, I crept slowly out, and ascended the cliff a step at a time, till I obtained a full view of the shore. No pirates were to be seen,--even their boat was gone; but as it was possible they might have hidden themselves, I did not venture too boldly forward. Then it occurred to me to look out to sea, when, to my surprise, I saw the pirate schooner sailing away almost hull-down on the horizon! On seeing this I uttered a shout of joy. Then my first impulse was to dive back to tell my companions the good news; but I checked myself, and ran to the top of the cliff, in order to make sure that the vessel I saw was indeed the pirate schooner. I looked long and anxiously at her, and, giving vent to a deep sigh of relief, said aloud, "Yes, there she goes; the villains have been baulked of their prey this time at least." "Not so sure of that!" said a deep voice at my side; while, at the same moment, a heavy hand grasped my shoulder, and held it as if in a vice. CHAPTER XXII. I fall into the hands of pirates--How they treated me, and what I said to them--The result of the whole ending in a melancholy separation and in a most unexpected gift. My heart seemed to leap into my throat at the words; and, turning round, I beheld a man of immense stature, and fierce aspect regarding me with a smile of contempt. He was a white man,--that is to say, he was a man of European blood, though his face, from long exposure to the weather, was deeply bronzed. His dress was that of a common seaman, except that he had on a Greek skull-cap, and wore a broad shawl of the richest silk round his waist. In this shawl were placed two pair of pistols and a heavy cutlass. He wore a beard and moustache, which, like the locks on his head, were short, curly, and sprinkled with gray hairs. "So, youngster," he said, with a sardonic smile, while I felt his grasp tighten on my shoulder, "the villains have been baulked of their prey, have they? We shall see, we shall see. Now, you whelp, look yonder." As he spoke, the pirate uttered a shrill whistle. In a second or two it was answered, and the pirate-boat rowed round the point at the Water Garden, and came rapidly towards us. "Now, go, make a fire on that point; and hark'ee, youngster, if you try to run away, I'll send a quick and sure messenger after you," and he pointed significantly at his pistols. I obeyed in silence, and as I happened to have the burning-glass in my pocket, a fire was speedily kindled, and a thick smoke ascended into the air. It had scarcely appeared for two minutes when the boom of a gun rolled over the sea, and, looking up, I saw that the schooner was making for the island again. It now flashed across me that this was a ruse on the part of the pirates, and that they had sent their vessel away, knowing that it would lead us to suppose that they had left altogether. But there was no use of regret now. I was completely in their power, so I stood helplessly beside the pirate watching the crew of the boat as they landed on the beach. For an instant I contemplated rushing over the cliff into the sea, but this I saw I could not now accomplish, as some of the men were already between me and the water. There was a good deal of jesting at the success of their scheme, as the crew ascended the rocks and addressed the man who had captured me by the title of captain. They were a ferocious set of men, with shaggy beards and scowling brows. All of them were armed with cutlasses and pistols, and their costumes were, with trifling variations, similar to that of the captain. As I looked from one to the other, and observed the low, scowling brows, that never unbent, even when the men laughed, and the mean, rascally expression that sat on each face, I felt that my life hung by a hair. "But where are the other cubs?" cried one of the men, with an oath that made me shudder. "I'll swear to it there were three, at least, if not more." "You hear what he says, whelp; where are the other dogs?" said the captain. "If you mean my companions," said I, in a low voice, "I won't tell you." A loud laugh burst from the crew at this answer. The pirate captain looked at me in surprise. Then drawing a pistol from his belt, he cocked it and said, "Now, youngster, listen to me. I've no time to waste here. If you don't tell me all you know, I'll blow your brains out! Where are your comrades?" For an instant I hesitated, not knowing what to do in this extremity. Suddenly a thought occurred to me. "Villain," said I, shaking my clenched fist in his face, "to blow my brains out would make short work of me, and be soon over. Death by drowning is as sure, and the agony prolonged, yet, I tell you to your face, if you were to toss me over yonder cliff into the sea, I would not tell you where my companions are, and I dare you to try me!" The pirate captain grew white with rage as I spoke. "Say you so?" cried he, uttering a fierce oath. "Here, lads, take him by the legs and heave him in,--quick!" The men, who were utterly silenced with surprise at my audacity, advanced, and seized me, and, as they carried me towards the cliff, I congratulated myself not a little on the success of my scheme, for I knew that once in the water I should be safe, and could rejoin Jack and Peterkin in the cave. But my hopes were suddenly blasted by the captain crying out, "Hold on, lads, hold on. We'll give him a taste of the thumb- screws before throwing him to the sharks. Away with him into the boat. Look alive! the breeze is freshening." The men instantly raised me shoulder high, and, hurrying down the rocks, tossed me into the bottom of the boat, where I lay for some time stunned with the violence of my fall. On recovering sufficiently to raise myself on my elbow, I perceived that we were already outside the coral reef, and close alongside the schooner, which was of small size and clipper built. I had only time to observe this much, when I received a severe kick on the side from one of the men, who ordered me, in a rough voice, to jump aboard. Rising hastily I clambered up the side. In a few minutes the boat was hoisted on deck, the vessel's head put close to the wind, and the Coral Island dropped slowly astern as we beat up against a head sea. Immediately after coming aboard, the crew were too busily engaged in working the ship and getting in the boat to attend to me, so I remained leaning against the bulwarks close to the gangway, watching their operations. I was surprised to find that there were no guns or carronades of any kind in the vessel, which had more of the appearance of a fast-sailing trader than a pirate. But I was struck with the neatness of everything. The brass work of the binnacle and about the tiller, as well as the copper belaying-pins, were as brightly polished as if they had just come from the foundry. The decks were pure white, and smooth. The masts were clean-scraped and varnished, except at the cross-trees and truck, which were painted black. The standing and running rigging was in the most perfect order, and the sails white as snow. In short, everything, from the single narrow red stripe on her low black hull to the trucks on her tapering masts, evinced an amount of care and strict discipline that would have done credit to a ship of the Royal Navy. There was nothing lumbering or unseemly about the vessel, excepting, perhaps, a boat, which lay on the deck with its keel up between the fore and main masts. It seemed disproportionately large for the schooner; but, when I saw that the crew amounted to between thirty and forty men, I concluded that this boat was held in reserve, in case of any accident compelling the crew to desert the vessel. As I have before said, the costumes of the men were similar to that of the captain. But in head gear they differed not only from him but from each other, some wearing the ordinary straw hat of the merchant service, while others wore cloth caps and red worsted night-caps. I observed that all their arms were sent below; the captain only retaining his cutlass and a single pistol in the folds of his shawl. Although the captain was the tallest and most powerful man in the ship, he did not strikingly excel many of his men in this respect, and the only difference that an ordinary observer would have noticed was, a certain degree of open candour, straightforward daring, in the bold, ferocious expression of his face, which rendered him less repulsive than his low-browed associates, but did not by any means induce the belief that he was a hero. This look was, however, the indication of that spirit which gave him the pre-eminence among the crew of desperadoes who called him captain. He was a lion-like villain; totally devoid of personal fear, and utterly reckless of consequences, and, therefore, a terror to his men, who individually hated him, but unitedly felt it to be their advantage to have him at their head. But my thoughts soon reverted to the dear companions whom I had left on shore, and as I turned towards the Coral Island, which was now far away to leeward, I sighed deeply, and the tears rolled slowly down my cheeks as I thought that I might never see them more. "So you're blubbering, are you, you obstinate whelp?" said the deep voice of the captain, as he came up and gave me a box on the ear that nearly felled me to the deck. "I don't allow any such weakness aboard o' this ship. So clap a stopper on your eyes or I'll give you something to cry for." I flushed with indignation at this rough and cruel treatment, but felt that giving way to anger would only make matters worse, so I made no reply, but took out my handkerchief and dried my eyes. "I thought you were made of better stuff," continued the captain, angrily; "I'd rather have a mad bull-dog aboard than a water-eyed puppy. But I'll cure you, lad, or introduce you to the sharks before long. Now go below, and stay there till I call you." As I walked forward to obey, my eye fell on a small keg standing by the side of the main-mast, on which the word _gunpowder_ was written in pencil. It immediately flashed across me that, as we were beating up against the wind, anything floating in the sea would be driven on the reef encircling the Coral Island. I also recollected--for thought is more rapid than the lightning--that my old companions had a pistol. Without a moment's hesitation, therefore, I lifted the keg from the deck and tossed it into the sea! An exclamation of surprise burst from the captain and some of the men who witnessed this act of mine. Striding up to me, and uttering fearful imprecations, the captain raised his hand to strike me, while he shouted, "Boy! whelp! what mean you by that?" "If you lower your hand," said I, in a loud voice, while I felt the blood rush to my temples, "I'll tell you. Until you do so I'm dumb!" The captain stepped back and regarded me with a look of amazement. "Now," continued I, "I threw that keg into the sea because the wind and waves will carry it to my friends on the Coral Island, who happen to have a pistol, but no powder. I hope that it will reach them soon, and my only regret is that the keg was not a bigger one. Moreover, pirate, you said just now that you thought I was made of better stuff! I don't know what stuff I am made of,--I never thought much about that subject; but I'm quite certain of this, that I am made of such stuff as the like of you shall never tame, though you should do your worst." To my surprise the captain, instead of flying into a rage, smiled, and, thrusting his hand into the voluminous shawl that encircled his waist, turned on his heel and walked aft, while I went below. Here, instead of being rudely handled, as I had expected, the men received me with a shout of laughter, and one of them, patting me on the back, said, "Well done, lad! you're a brick, and I have no doubt will turn out a rare cove. Bloody Bill, there, was just such a fellow as you are, and he's now the biggest cut-throat of us all." "Take a can of beer, lad," cried another, "and wet your whistle after that speech o' your'n to the captain. If any one o' us had made it, youngster, he would have had no whistle to wet by this time." "Stop your clapper, Jack," vociferated a third; "give the boy a junck o' meat. Don't you see he's a'most goin' to kick the bucket?" "And no wonder," said the first speaker, with an oath, "after the tumble you gave him into the boat. I guess it would have broke _your_ neck if you had got it." I did indeed feel somewhat faint; which was owing, doubtless, to the combined effects of ill-usage and hunger; for it will be recollected that I had dived out of the cave that morning before breakfast, and it was now near mid-day. I therefore gladly accepted a plate of boiled pork and a yam, which were handed to me by one of the men from the locker on which some of the crew were seated eating their dinner. But I must add that the zest with which I ate my meal was much abated in consequence of the frightful oaths and the terrible language that flowed from the lips of these godless men, even in the midst of their hilarity and good-humour. The man who had been alluded to as Bloody Bill was seated near me, and I could not help wondering at the moody silence he maintained among his comrades. He did indeed reply to their questions in a careless, off-hand tone, but he never volunteered a remark. The only difference between him and the others was his taciturnity and his size, for he was nearly, if not quite, as large a man as the captain. During the remainder of the afternoon I was left to my own reflections, which were anything but agreeable, for I could not banish from my mind the threat about the thumb-screws, of the nature and use of which I had a vague but terrible conception. I was still meditating on my unhappy fate when, just after night-fall, one of the watch on deck called down the hatchway,-- "Hallo there! one o' you, tumble up and light the cabin lamp, and send that boy aft to the captain--sharp!" "Now then, do you hear, youngster? the captain wants you. Look alive," said Bloody Bill, raising his huge frame from the locker on which he had been asleep for the last two hours. He sprang up the ladder and I instantly followed him, and, going aft, was shown into the cabin by one of the men, who closed the door after me. A small silver lamp which hung from a beam threw a dim soft light over the cabin, which was a small apartment, and comfortably but plainly finished. Seated on a camp-stool at the table, and busily engaged in examining a chart of the Pacific, was the captain, who looked up as I entered, and, in a quiet voice, bade me be seated, while he threw down his pencil, and, rising from the table, stretched himself on a sofa at the upper end of the cabin. "Boy," said he, looking me full in the face, "what is your name?" "Ralph Rover," I replied. "Where did you come from, and how came you to be on that island? How many companions had you on it? Answer me, now, and mind you tell no lies." "I never tell lies," said I, firmly. The captain received this reply with a cold sarcastic smile, and bade me answer his questions. I then told him the history of myself and my companions from the time we sailed till the day of his visit to the island, taking care, however, to make no mention of the Diamond Cave. After I had concluded, he was silent for a few minutes; then, looking up, he said--"Boy, I believe you." I was surprised at this remark, for I could not imagine why he should not believe me. However, I made no reply. "And what," continued the captain, "makes you think that this schooner is a pirate?" "The black flag," said I, "showed me what you are; and if any further proof were wanting I have had it in the brutal treatment I have received at your hands." The captain frowned as I spoke, but subduing his anger he continued--"Boy, you are too bold. I admit that we treated you roughly, but that was because you made us lose time and gave us a good deal of trouble. As to the black flag, that is merely a joke that my fellows play off upon people sometimes in order to frighten them. It is their humour, and does no harm. I am no pirate, boy, but a lawful trader,--a rough one, I grant you, but one can't help that in these seas, where there are so many pirates on the water and such murderous blackguards on the land. I carry on a trade in sandal-wood with the Feejee Islands; and if you choose, Ralph, to behave yourself and be a good boy, I'll take you along with me and give you a good share of the profits. You see I'm in want of an honest boy like you, to look after the cabin and keep the log, and superintend the traffic on shore sometimes. What say you, Ralph, would you like to become a sandal-wood trader?" I was much surprised by this explanation, and a good deal relieved to find that the vessel, after all, was not a pirate; but instead of replying I said, "If it be as you state, then why did you take me from my island, and why do you not now take me back?" The captain smiled as he replied, "I took you off in anger, boy, and I'm sorry for it. I would even now take you back, but we are too far away from it. See, there it is," he added, laying his finger on the chart, "and we are now here,--fifty miles at least. It would not be fair to my men to put about now, for they have all an interest in the trade." I could make no reply to this; so, after a little more conversation, I agreed to become one of the crew, at least until we could reach some civilized island where I might be put ashore. The captain assented to this proposition, and after thanking him for the promise, I left the cabin and went on deck with feelings that ought to have been lighter, but which were, I could not tell why, marvellously heavy and uncomfortable still. CHAPTER XXIII. Bloody Bill--Dark surmises--A strange sail, and a strange crew, and a still stranger cargo--New reasons for favouring missionaries--A murderous massacre, and thoughts thereon. Three weeks after the conversation narrated in the last chapter, I was standing on the quarter-deck of the schooner watching the gambols of a shoal of porpoises that swam round us. It was a dead calm. One of those still, hot, sweltering days, so common in the Pacific, when Nature seems to have gone to sleep, and the only thing in water or in air that proves her still alive, is her long, deep breathing, in the swell of the mighty sea. No cloud floated in the deep blue above; no ripple broke the reflected blue below. The sun shone fiercely in the sky, and a ball of fire blazed, with almost equal power, from out the bosom of the water. So intensely still was it, and so perfectly transparent was the surface of the deep, that had it not been for the long swell already alluded to, we might have believed the surrounding universe to be a huge blue liquid ball, and our little ship the one solitary material speck in all creation, floating in the midst of it. No sound broke on our ears save the soft puff now and then of a porpoise, the slow creak of the masts, as we swayed gently on the swell, the patter of the reef-points, and the occasional flap of the hanging sails. An awning covered the fore and after parts of the schooner, under which the men composing the watch on deck lolled in sleepy indolence, overcome with excessive heat. Bloody Bill, as the men invariably called him, was standing at the tiller, but his post for the present was a sinecure, and he whiled away the time by alternately gazing in dreamy abstraction at the compass in the binnacle, and by walking to the taffrail in order to spit into the sea. In one of these turns he came near to where I was standing, and, leaning over the side, looked long and earnestly down into the blue wave. This man, although he was always taciturn and often surly, was the only human being on board with whom I had the slightest desire to become better acquainted. The other men, seeing that I did not relish their company, and knowing that I was a protege of the captain, treated me with total indifference. Bloody Bill, it is true, did the same; but as this was his conduct towards every one else, it was not peculiar in reference to me. Once or twice I tried to draw him into conversation, but he always turned away after a few cold monosyllables. As he now leaned over the taffrail close beside me, I said to him,-- "Bill, why is it that you are so gloomy? Why do you never speak to any one?" Bill smiled slightly as he replied, "Why, I s'pose it's because I haint got nothin' to say!" "That's strange," said I, musingly; "you look like a man that could think, and such men can usually speak." "So they can, youngster," rejoined Bill, somewhat sternly; "and I could speak too if I had a mind to, but what's the use o' speakin' here! The men only open their mouths to curse and swear, an' they seem to find it entertaining; but I don't, so I hold my tongue." "Well, Bill, that's true, and I would rather not hear you speak at all than hear you speak like the other men; but _I_ don't swear, Bill, so you might talk to me sometimes, I think. Besides, I'm weary of spending day after day in this way, without a single soul to say a pleasant word to. I've been used to friendly conversation, Bill, and I really would take it kind if you would talk with me a little now and then." Bill looked at me in surprise, and I thought I observed a sad expression pass across his sun-burnt face. "An' where have you been used to friendly conversation," said Bill, looking down again into the sea; "not on that Coral Island, I take it?" "Yes, indeed," said I energetically; "I have spent many of the happiest months in my life on that Coral Island;" and without waiting to be further questioned, I launched out into a glowing account of the happy life that Jack and Peterkin and I had spent together, and related minutely every circumstance that befell us while on the island. "Boy, boy," said Bill, in a voice so deep that it startled me, "this is no place for you." "That's true," said I; "I'm of little use on board, and I don't like my comrades; but I can't help it, and at anyrate I hope to be free again soon." "Free?" said Bill, looking at me in surprise. "Yes, free," returned I; "the captain said he would put me ashore after this trip was over." "_This trip_! Hark'ee, boy," said Bill, lowering his voice, "what said the captain to you the day you came aboard?" "He said that he was a trader in sandal-wood and no pirate, and told me that if I would join him for this trip he would give me a good share of the profits or put me on shore in some civilized island if I chose." Bill's brows lowered savagely as he muttered, "Ay, he said truth when he told you he was a sandal-wood trader, but he lied when--" "Sail ho!" shouted the look-out at the masthead. "Where, away?" cried Bill, springing to the tiller; while the men, startled by the sudden cry jumped up and gazed round the horizon. "On the starboard quarter, hull down, sir," answered the look-out. At this moment the captain came on deck, and mounting into the rigging, surveyed the sail through the glass. Then sweeping his eye round the horizon he gazed steadily at a particular point. "Take in top-sails," shouted the captain, swinging himself down on the deck by the main-back stay. "Take in top-sails," roared the first mate. "Ay, ay, sir-r-r," answered the men as they sprang into the rigging and went aloft like cats. Instantly all was bustle on board the hitherto quiet schooner. The top- sails were taken in and stowed, the men stood by the sheets and halyards, and the captain gazed anxiously at the breeze which was now rushing towards us like a sheet of dark blue. In a few seconds it struck us. The schooner trembled as if in surprise at the sudden onset, while she fell away, then bending gracefully to the wind, as though in acknowledgment of her subjection, she cut through the waves with her sharp prow like a dolphin, while Bill directed her course towards the strange sail. In half an hour we neared her sufficiently to make out that she was a schooner, and, from the clumsy appearance of her masts and sails we judged her to be a trader. She evidently did not like our appearance, for, the instant the breeze reached her, she crowded all sail and showed us her stern. As the breeze had moderated a little our top-sails were again shaken out, and it soon became evident,--despite the proverb, "A stern chase is a long one," that we doubled her speed and would overhaul her speedily. When within a mile we hoisted British colours, but receiving no acknowledgment, the captain ordered a shot to be fired across her bows. In a moment, to my surprise, a large portion of the bottom of the boat amidships was removed, and in the hole thus exposed appeared an immense brass gun. It worked on a swivel and was elevated by means of machinery. It was quickly loaded and fired. The heavy ball struck the water a few yards ahead of the chase, and, ricochetting into the air, plunged into the sea a mile beyond it. This produced the desired effect. The strange vessel backed her top-sails and hove-to, while we ranged up and lay-to, about a hundred yards off. "Lower the boat," cried the captain. In a second the boat was lowered and manned by a part of the crew, who were all armed with cutlasses and pistols. As the captain passed me to get into it, he said, "jump into the stern sheets, Ralph, I may want you." I obeyed, and in ten minutes more we were standing on the stranger's deck. We were all much surprised at the sight that met our eyes. Instead of a crew of such sailors as we were accustomed to see, there were only fifteen blacks standing on the quarter-deck and regarding us with looks of undisguised alarm. They were totally unarmed and most of them unclothed; one or two, however, wore portions of European attire. One had on a pair of duck trousers which were much too large for him and stuck out in a most ungainly manner. Another wore nothing but the common scanty native garment round the loins, and a black beaver hat. But the most ludicrous personage of all, and one who seemed to be chief, was a tall middle-aged man, of a mild, simple expression of countenance, who wore a white cotton shirt, a swallow-tailed coat, and a straw hat, while his black brawny legs were totally uncovered below the knees. "Where's the commander of this ship?" inquired our captain, stepping up to this individual. "I is capin," he answered, taking off his straw hat and making a low bow. "You!" said our captain, in surprise. "Where do you come from, and where are you bound? What cargo have you aboard?" "We is come," answered the man with the swallow-tail, "from Aitutaki; we was go for Rarotonga. We is native miss'nary ship; our name is de _Olive Branch_; an' our cargo is two tons cocoa-nuts, seventy pigs, twenty cats, and de Gosp'l." This announcement was received by the crew of our vessel with a shout of laughter, which, however, was peremptorily checked by the captain, whose expression instantly changed from one of severity to that of frank urbanity as he advanced towards the missionary and shook him warmly by the hand. "I am very glad to have fallen in with you," said he, "and I wish you much success in your missionary labours. Pray take me to your cabin, as I wish to converse with you privately." The missionary immediately took him by the hand, and as he led him away I heard him saying, "Me most glad to find you trader; we t'ought you be pirate. You very like one 'bout the masts." What conversation the captain had with this man I never heard, but he came on deck again in a quarter of an hour, and, shaking hands cordially with the missionary, ordered us into our boat and returned to the schooner, which was immediately put before the wind. In a few minutes the _Olive Branch_ was left far behind us. That afternoon, as I was down below at dinner, I heard the men talking about this curious ship. "I wonder," said one, "why our captain looked so sweet on yon swallow- tailed super-cargo o' pigs and Gospels. If it had been an ordinary trader, now, he would have taken as many o' the pigs as he required and sent the ship with all on board to the bottom." "Why, Dick, you must be new to these seas if you don't know that," cried another. "The captain cares as much for the gospel as you do (an' that's precious little), but he knows, and everybody knows, that the only place among the southern islands where a ship can put in and get what she wants in comfort, is where the gospel has been sent to. There are hundreds o' islands, at this blessed moment, where you might as well jump straight into a shark's maw as land without a band o' thirty comrades armed to the teeth to back you." "Ay," said a man with a deep scar over his right eye, "Dick's new to the work. But if the captain takes us for a cargo o' sandal-wood to the Feejees he'll get a taste o' these black gentry in their native condition. For my part I don't know, an' I don't care, what the gospel does to them; but I know that when any o' the islands chance to get it, trade goes all smooth an' easy; but where they ha'nt got it, Beelzebub himself could hardly desire better company." "Well, you ought to be a good judge," cried another, laughing, "for you've never kept any company but the worst all your life!" "Ralph Rover!" shouted a voice down the hatchway. "Captain wants you, aft." Springing up the ladder I hastened to the cabin, pondering as I went the strange testimony borne by these men to the effect of the gospel on savage natures;--testimony which, as it was perfectly disinterested, I had no doubt whatever was strictly true. On coming again on deck I found Bloody Bill at the helm, and as we were alone together I tried to draw him into conversation. After repeating to him the conversation in the forecastle about the missionaries, I said,-- "Tell me, Bill, is this schooner really a trader in sandal-wood?" "Yes, Ralph, she is; but she's just as really a pirate. The black flag you saw flying at the peak was no deception." "Then how can you say she's a trader?" asked I. "Why, as to that, she trades when she can't take by force, but she takes by force, when she can, in preference. Ralph," he added, lowering his voice, "if you had seen the bloody deeds that I have witnessed done on these decks you would not need to ask if we were pirates. But you'll find it out soon enough. As for the missionaries, the captain favours them because they are useful to him. The South-Sea islanders are such incarnate fiends that they are the better of being tamed, and the missionaries are the only men who can do it." Our track after this lay through several clusters of small islets, among which we were becalmed more than once. During this part of our voyage the watch on deck and the look-out at the mast-head were more than usually vigilant, as we were not only in danger of being attacked by the natives, who, I learned from the captain's remarks, were a bloody and deceitful tribe at this group, but we were also exposed to much risk from the multitudes of coral reefs that rose up in the channels between the islands, some of them just above the surface, others a few feet below it. Our precautions against the savages I found were indeed necessary. One day we were becalmed among a group of small islands, most of which appeared to be uninhabited. As we were in want of fresh water the captain sent the boat ashore to bring off a cask or two. But we were mistaken in thinking there were no natives; for scarcely had we drawn near to the shore when a band of naked blacks rushed out of the bush and assembled on the beach, brandishing their clubs and spears in a threatening manner. Our men were well armed, but refrained from showing any signs of hostility, and rowed nearer in order to converse with the natives; and I now found that more than one of the crew could imperfectly speak dialects of the language peculiar to the South Sea islanders. When within forty yards of the shore, we ceased rowing, and the first mate stood up to address the multitude; but, instead of answering us, they replied with a shower of stones, some of which cut the men severely. Instantly our muskets were levelled, and a volley was about to be fired, when the captain hailed us in a loud voice from the schooner, which lay not more than five or six hundred yards off the shore. "Don't fire," he shouted, angrily. "Pull off to the point ahead of you." The men looked surprised at this order, and uttered deep curses as they prepared to obey, for their wrath was roused and they burned for revenge. Three or four of them hesitated, and seemed disposed to mutiny. "Don't distress yourselves, lads," said the mate, while a bitter smile curled his lip. "Obey orders. The captain's not the man to take an insult tamely. If Long Tom does not speak presently I'll give myself to the sharks." The men smiled significantly as they pulled from the shore, which was now crowded with a dense mass of savages, amounting, probably, to five or six hundred. We had not rowed off above a couple of hundred yards when a loud roar thundered over the sea, and the big brass gun sent a withering shower of grape point blank into the midst of the living mass, through which a wide lane was cut, while a yell, the like of which I could not have imagined, burst from the miserable survivors as they fled to the woods. Amongst the heaps of dead that lay on the sand, just where they had fallen, I could distinguish mutilated forms writhing in agony, while ever and anon one and another rose convulsively from out the mass, endeavoured to stagger towards the wood, and ere they had taken a few steps, fell and wallowed on the bloody sand. My blood curdled within me as I witnessed this frightful and wanton slaughter; but I had little time to think, for the captain's deep voice came again over the water towards us: "Pull ashore, lads, and fill your water casks." The men obeyed in silence, and it seemed to me as if even their hard hearts were shocked by the ruthless deed. On gaining the mouth of the rivulet at which we intended to take in water, we found it flowing with blood, for the greater part of those who were slain had been standing on the banks of the stream, a short way above its mouth. Many of the wretched creatures had fallen into it, and we found one body, which had been carried down, jammed between two rocks, with the staring eyeballs turned towards us and his black hair waving in the ripples of the blood-red stream. No one dared to oppose our landing now, so we carried our casks to a pool above the murdered group, and having filled them, returned on board. Fortunately a breeze sprang up soon afterwards and carried us away from the dreadful spot; but it could not waft me away from the memory of what I had seen. "And this," thought I, gazing in horror at the captain, who, with a quiet look of indifference, leaned upon the taffrail smoking a cigar and contemplating the fertile green islets as they passed like a lovely picture before our eyes--"this is the man who favours the missionaries because they are useful to him and can tame the savages better than any one else can do it!" Then I wondered in my mind whether it were possible for any missionary to tame _him_! CHAPTER XXIV. Bloody Bill is communicative and sagacious--Unpleasant prospects--Retrospective meditations interrupted by volcanic agency--The pirates negotiate with a Feejee chief--Various etceteras that are calculated to surprise and horrify. It was many days after the events just narrated ere I recovered a little of my wonted spirits. I could not shake off the feeling for a long time that I was in a frightful dream, and the sight of our captain filled me with so much horror that I kept out of his way as much as my duties about the cabin would permit. Fortunately he took so little notice of me that he did not observe my changed feelings towards him, otherwise it might have been worse for me. But I was now resolved that I would run away the very first island we should land at, and commit myself to the hospitality of the natives rather than remain an hour longer than I could help in the pirate schooner. I pondered this subject a good deal, and at last made up my mind to communicate my intention to Bloody Bill; for, during several talks I had had with him of late, I felt assured that he too would willingly escape if possible. When I told him of my design he shook his head. "No, no, Ralph," said he, "you must not think of running away here. Among some of the groups of islands you might do so with safety, but if you tried it here you would find that you had jumped out of the fryin' pan into the fire." "How so, Bill?" said I, "would the natives not receive me?" "That they would, lad; but they would eat you too." "Eat me!" said I in surprise, "I thought the South Sea islanders never ate anybody except their enemies." "Humph!" ejaculated Bill. "I s'pose 'twas yer tender-hearted friends in England that put that notion into your head. There's a set o' soft-hearted folk at home that I knows on, who don't like to have their feelin's ruffled, and when you tell them anything they don't like--that shocks them, as they call it--no matter how true it be, they stop their ears and cry out, 'Oh, that is _too_ horrible! We can't believe that!' An' they say truth. They can't believe it 'cause they won't believe it. Now, I believe there's thousands o' the people in England who are sich born drivellin' _won't-believers_ that they think the black fellows hereaway, at the worst, eat an enemy only now an' then, out o' spite; whereas, I know for certain, and many captains of the British and American navies know as well as me, that the Feejee islanders eat not only their enemies but one another; and they do it not for spite, but for pleasure. It's a _fact_ that they prefer human flesh to any other. But they don't like white men's flesh so well as black. They say it makes them sick." "Why, Bill," said I, "you told me just now that they would eat _me_ if they caught me." "So I did; and so I think they would. I've only heard some o' them say they don't like white men _so well_ as black; but if they was hungry they wouldn't be particular. Anyhow, I'm sure they would kill you. You see, Ralph, I've been a good while in them parts, and I've visited the different groups of islands oftentimes as a trader. And thorough goin' blackguards some o' them traders are. No better than pirates, I can tell you. One captain that I sailed with was not a chip better than the one we're with now. He was tradin' with a friendly chief one day, aboard his vessel. The chief had swam off to us with the things for trade tied a- top of his head, for them chaps are like otters in the water. Well, the chief was hard on the captain, and would not part with some o' his things. When their bargainin' was over they shook hands, and the chief jumped over board to swim ashore; but before he got forty yards from the ship the captain seized a musket and shot him dead. He then hove up anchor and put to sea, and as we sailed along shore, he dropped six black- fellows with his rifle, remarkin' that 'that would spoil the trade for the next comers.' But, as I was sayin', I'm up to the ways o' these fellows. One o' the laws o' the country is, that every shipwrecked person who happens to be cast ashore, be he dead or alive, is doomed to be roasted and eaten. There was a small tradin' schooner wrecked off one of these islands when we were lyin' there in harbour during a storm. The crew was lost, all but three men, who swam ashore. The moment they landed they were seized by the natives and carried up into the woods. We knew pretty well what their fate would be, but we could not help them, for our crew was small, and if we had gone ashore they would likely have killed us all. We never saw the three men again; but we heard frightful yelling, and dancing, and merry-making that night; and one of the natives, who came aboard to trade with us next day, told us that the _long pigs_, as he called the men, had been roasted and eaten, and their bones were to be converted into sail needles. He also said that white men were bad to eat, and that most o' the people on shore were sick." I was very much shocked and cast down in my mind at this terrible account of the natives, and asked Bill what he would advise me to do. Looking round the deck to make sure that we were not overheard, he lowered his voice and said, "There are two or three ways that we might escape, Ralph, but none o' them's easy. If the captain would only sail for some o' the islands near Tahiti, we might run away there well enough, because the natives are all Christians; an' we find that wherever the savages take up with Christianity they always give over their bloody ways, and are safe to be trusted. I never cared for Christianity myself," he continued, in a soliloquising voice, "and I don't well know what it means; but a man with half an eye can see what it does for these black critters. However, the captain always keeps a sharp look out after us when we get to these islands, for he half suspects that one or two o' us are tired of his company. Then, we might manage to cut the boat adrift some fine night when it's our watch on deck, and clear off before they discovered that we were gone. But we would run the risk o' bein' caught by the blacks. I wouldn't like to try that plan. But you and I will think over it, Ralph, and see what's to be done. In the meantime it's our watch below, so I'll go and turn in." Bill then bade me good night, and went below, while a comrade took his place at the helm; but, feeling no desire to enter into conversation with him, I walked aft, and, leaning over the stern, looked down into the phosphorescent waves that gargled around the ladder, and streamed out like a flame of blue light in the vessel's wake. My thoughts were very sad, and I could scarce refrain from tears as I contrasted my present wretched position with the happy, peaceful time, I had spent on the Coral Island with my dear companions. As I thought upon Jack and Peterkin anxious forebodings crossed my mind, and I pictured to myself the grief and dismay with which they would search every nook and corner of the island, in a vain attempt to discover my dead body; for I felt assured that if they did not see any sign of the pirate schooner or boat, when they came out of the cave to look for me, they would never imagine that I had been carried away. I wondered, too, how Jack would succeed in getting Peterkin out of the cave without my assistance; and I trembled when I thought that he might lose presence of mind, and begin to kick when he was in the tunnel! These thoughts were suddenly interrupted and put to flight by a bright red blaze which lighted up the horizon to the southward, and cut a crimson glow far over the sea. This appearance was accompanied by a low growling sound, as of distant thunder, and, at the same time, the sky above us became black, while a hot stifling wind blew around us in fitful gusts. The crew assembled hastily on deck, and most of them were under the belief that a frightful hurricane was pending; but the captain coming on deck, soon explained the phenomena. "It's only a volcano," said he. "I knew there was one hereabouts, but thought it was extinct. Up there and furl top-gallant-sails; we'll likely have a breeze, and it's well to be ready." As he spoke, a shower began to fall, which we quickly observed was not rain, but fine ashes. As we were many miles distant from the volcano, these must have been carried to us from it by the wind. As the captain had predicted, a stiff breeze soon afterwards sprang up, under the influence of which we speedily left the volcano far behind us; but during the greater part of the night we could see its lurid glare and hear its distant thunder. The shower did not cease to fall for several hours, and we must have sailed under it for nearly forty miles, perhaps farther. When we emerged from the cloud, our decks and every part of the rigging were completely covered with a thick coat of ashes. I was much interested in this, and recollected that Jack had often spoken of many of the islands of the Pacific as being volcanoes, either active or extinct, and had said that the whole region was more or less volcanic, and that some scientific men were of opinion that the islands of the Pacific were nothing more or less than the mountain tops of a huge continent which had sunk under the influence of volcanic agency. Three days after passing the volcano, we found ourselves a few miles to windward of an island of considerable size and luxuriant aspect. It consisted of two mountains, which seemed to be nearly four thousand feet high. They were separated from each other by a broad valley, whose thick- growing trees ascended a considerable distance up the mountain sides; and rich level plains, or meadow-land, spread round the base of the mountains, except at the point immediately opposite the large valley, where a river seemed to carry the trees, as it were, along with it down to the white sandy shore. The mountain tops, unlike those of our Coral Island, were sharp, needle-shaped, and bare, while their sides were more rugged and grand in outline than anything I had yet seen in those seas. Bloody Bill was beside me when the island first hove in sight. "Ha!" he exclaimed, "I know that island well. They call it Emo." "Have you been here before, then?" I inquired. "Ay, that I have, often, and so has this schooner. 'Tis a famous island for sandal-wood. We have taken many cargoes off it already, and have paid for them too; for the savages are so numerous that we dared not try to take it by force. But our captain has tried to cheat them so often, that they're beginnin' not to like us overmuch now. Besides, the men behaved ill the last time we were here; and I wonder the captain is not afraid to venture. But he's afraid o' nothing earthly, I believe." We soon ran inside the barrier coral-reef, and let go our anchor in six fathoms water, just opposite the mouth of a small creek, whose shores were densely covered with mangroves and tall umbrageous trees. The principal village of the natives lay about half a mile from this point. Ordering the boat out, the captain jumped into it, and ordered me to follow him. The men, fifteen in number, were well armed; and the mate was directed to have Long Tom ready for emergencies. "Give way, lads," cried the captain. The oars fell into the water at the word, the boat shot from the schooner's side, and in a few minutes reached the shore. Here, contrary to our expectation, we were met with the utmost cordiality by Romata, the principal chief of the island, who conducted us to his house, and gave us mats to sit upon. I observed in passing that the natives, of whom there were two or three thousand, were totally unarmed. After a short preliminary palaver, a feast of baked pigs and various roots was spread before us; of which we partook sparingly, and then proceeded to business. The captain stated his object in visiting the island, regretted that there had been a slight misunderstanding during the last visit, and hoped that no ill-will was borne by either party, and that a satisfactory trade would be accomplished. Romata answered that he had forgotten there had been any differences between them, protested that he was delighted to see his friends again, and assured them they should have every assistance in cutting and embarking the wood. The terms were afterwards agreed on, and we rose to depart. All this conversation was afterwards explained to me by Bill, who understood the language pretty well. Romata accompanied us on board, and explained that a great chief from another island was then on a visit to him, and that he was to be ceremoniously entertained on the following day. After begging to be allowed to introduce him to us, and receiving permission, he sent his canoe ashore to bring him off. At the same time he gave orders to bring on board his two favourites, a cock and a paroquet. While the canoe was gone on this errand, I had time to regard the savage chief attentively. He was a man of immense size, with massive but beautifully moulded limbs and figure, only parts of which, the broad chest and muscular arms, were uncovered; for, although the lower orders generally wore no other clothing than a strip of cloth called _maro_ round their loins, the chief, on particular occasions, wrapped his person in voluminous folds of a species of native cloth made from the bark of the Chinese paper-mulberry. Romata wore a magnificent black beard and moustache, and his hair was frizzed out to such an extent that it resembled a large turban, in which was stuck a long wooden pin! I afterwards found that this pin served for scratching the head, for which purpose the fingers were too short without disarranging the hair. But Romata put himself to much greater inconvenience on account of his hair, for we found that he slept with his head resting on a wooden pillow, in which was cut a hollow for the neck, so that the hair of the sleeper might not be disarranged. In ten minutes the canoe returned, bringing the other chief, who certainly presented a most extraordinary appearance, having painted one half of his face red and the other half yellow, besides ornamenting it with various designs in black! Otherwise he was much the same in appearance as Romata, though not so powerfully built. As this chief had never seen a ship before, except, perchance, some of the petty traders that at long intervals visit these remote islands, he was much taken up with the neatness and beauty of all the fittings of the schooner. He was particularly struck with a musket which was shown to him, and asked where the white men got hatchets hard enough to cut the tree of which the barrel was made! While he was thus engaged, his brother chief stood aloof, talking with the captain, and fondling a superb cock and a little blue-headed paroquet, the favourites of which I have before spoken. I observed that all the other natives walked in a crouching posture while in the presence of Romata. Before our guests left us, the captain ordered the brass gun to be uncovered and fired for their gratification; and I have every reason to believe he did so for the purpose of showing our superior power, in case the natives should harbour any evil designs against us. Romata had never seen this gun before, as it had not been uncovered on previous visits, and the astonishment with which he viewed it was very amusing. Being desirous of knowing its power, he begged that the captain would fire it. So a shot was put into it. The chiefs were then directed to look at a rock about two miles out at sea, and the gun was fired. In a second the top of the rock was seen to burst asunder, and to fall in fragments into the sea. Romata was so delighted with the success of this shot, that he pointed to a man who was walking on the shore, and begged the captain to fire at him, evidently supposing that his permission was quite sufficient to justify the captain in such an act. He was therefore surprised, and not a little annoyed, when the captain refused to fire at the native, and ordered the gun to be housed. Of all the things, however, that afforded matter of amusement to these savages, that which pleased Romata's visitor most was the ship's pump. He never tired of examining it, and pumping up the water. Indeed, so much was he taken up with this pump, that he could not be prevailed on to return on shore, but sent a canoe to fetch his favourite stool, on which he seated himself, and spent the remainder of the day in pumping the bilge-water out of the ship! Next day the crew went ashore to cut sandal-wood, while the captain, with one or two men, remained on board, in order to be ready, if need be, with the brass gun, which was unhoused and conspicuously elevated, with its capacious muzzle directed point blank at the chief's house. The men were fully armed as usual; and the captain ordered me to go with them, to assist in the work. I was much pleased with this order, for it freed me from the captain's company, which I could not now endure, and it gave me an opportunity of seeing the natives. As we wound along in single file through the rich fragrant groves of banana, cocoa-nut, bread-fruit, and other trees, I observed that there were many of the plum and banian trees, with which I had become familiar on the Coral Island. I noticed also large quantities of taro-roots, yams, and sweet potatoes, growing in enclosures. On turning into an open glade of the woods, we came abruptly upon a cluster of native houses. They were built chiefly of bamboos, and were thatched with the large thick leaves of the pandanus; but many of them had little more than a sloping roof and three sides with an open front, being the most simple shelter from the weather that could well be imagined. Within these, and around them, were groups of natives--men, women, and children--who all stood up to gaze at us as we marched along, followed by the party of men whom the chief had sent to escort us. About half a mile inland we arrived at the spot where the sandal-wood grew, and, while the men set to work, I clambered up an adjoining hill to observe the country. About mid-day, the chief arrived with several followers, one of whom carried a baked pig on a wooden platter, with yams and potatoes on several plantain leaves, which he presented to the men, who sat down under the shade of a tree to dine. The chief sat down to dine also; but, to my surprise, instead of feeding himself, one of his wives performed that office for him! I was seated beside Bill, and asked him the reason of this. "It is beneath his dignity, I believe, to feed himself," answered Bill; "but I daresay he's not particular, except on great occasions. They've a strange custom among them, Ralph, which is called _tabu_, and they carry it to great lengths. If a man chooses a particular tree for his god, the fruit o' that tree is tabued to him; and if he eats it, he is sure to be killed by his people, and eaten, of course, for killing means eating hereaway. Then, you see that great mop o' hair on the chief's head? Well, he has a lot o' barbers to keep it in order; and it's a law that whoever touches the head of a living chief or the body of a dead one, his hands are tabued; so, in that way, the barbers' hands are always tabued, and they daren't use them for their lives, but have to be fed like big babies, as they are, sure enough!" "That's odd, Bill. But look there," said I, pointing to a man whose skin was of a much lighter colour than the generality of the natives. "I've seen a few of these light-skinned fellows among the Fejeeans. They seem to me to be of quite a different race." "So they are," answered Bill. "These fellows come from the Tongan Islands, which lie a long way to the eastward. They come here to build their big war-canoes; and as these take two, and sometimes four years, to build, there's always some o' the brown-skins among the black sarpents o' these islands." "By the way, Bill," said I, "your mentioning serpents, reminds me that I have not seen a reptile of any kind since I came to this part of the world." "No more there are any," said Bill, "if ye except the niggers themselves, there's none on the islands, but a lizard or two and some sich harmless things. But I never seed any myself. If there's none on the land, however, there's more than enough in the water, and that minds me of a wonderful brute they have here. But, come, I'll show it to you." So saying, Bill arose, and, leaving the men still busy with the baked pig, led me into the forest. After proceeding a short distance we came upon a small pond of stagnant water. A native lad had followed us, to whom we called and beckoned him to come to us. On Bill saying a few words to him, which I did not understand, the boy advanced to the edge of the pond, and gave a low peculiar whistle. Immediately the water became agitated and an enormous eel thrust its head above the surface and allowed the youth to touch it. It was about twelve feet long, and as thick round the body as a man's thigh. "There," said Bill, his lip curling with contempt, "what do you think of that for a god, Ralph? This is one o' their gods, and it has been fed with dozens o' livin' babies already. How many more it'll get afore it dies is hard to say." "Babies?" said I, with an incredulous look "Ay, babies," returned Bill. "Your soft-hearted folk at home would say, 'Oh, horrible! impossible!' to that, and then go away as comfortable and unconcerned as if their sayin' 'horrible! impossible!' had made it a lie. But I tell you, Ralph, it's a _fact_. I've seed it with my own eyes the last time I was here, an' mayhap if you stop a while at this accursed place, and keep a sharp look out, you'll see it too. They don't feed it regularly with livin' babies, but they give it one now and then as a treat. Bah! you brute!' cried Bill, in disgust, giving the reptile a kick on the snout with his heavy boot, that sent it sweltering back in agony into its loathsome pool. I thought it lucky for Bill, indeed for all of us, that the native youth's back happened to be turned at the time, for I am certain that if the poor savages had come to know that we had so rudely handled their god, we should have had to fight our way back to the ship. As we retraced our steps I questioned my companion further on this subject. "How comes it, Bill, that the mothers allow such a dreadful thing to be done?" "Allow it? the mothers _do_ it! It seems to me that there's nothing too fiendish or diabolical for these people to do. Why, in some of the islands they have an institution called the _Areoi_, and the persons connected with that body are ready for any wickedness that mortal man can devise. In fact they stick at nothing; and one o' their customs is to murder their infants the moment they are born. The mothers agree to it, and the fathers do it. And the mildest ways they have of murdering them is by sticking them through the body with sharp splinters of bamboo, strangling them with their thumbs, or burying them alive and stamping them to death while under the sod." I felt sick at heart while my companion recited these horrors. "But it's a curious fact," he continued, after a pause, during which we walked in silence towards the spot where we had left our comrades,--"it's a curious fact, that wherever the missionaries get a footin' all these things come to an end at once, an' the savages take to doin' each other good, and singin' psalms, just like Methodists." "God bless the missionaries!" said I, while a feeling of enthusiasm filled my heart, so that I could speak with difficulty. "God bless and prosper the missionaries till they get a footing in every island of the sea!" "I would say Amen to that prayer, Ralph, if I could," said Bill, in a deep, sad voice; "but it would be a mere mockery for a man to ask a blessing for others who dare not ask one for himself. But, Ralph," he continued, "I've not told you half o' the abominations I have seen durin' my life in these seas. If we pull long together, lad, I'll tell you more; and if times have not changed very much since I was here last, it's like that you'll have a chance o' seeing a little for yourself before long." CHAPTER XXV. The Sandal-wood party--Native children's games, somewhat surprising--Desperate amusements suddenly and fatally brought to a close--An old friend recognised--News--Romata's mad conduct. Next day the wood-cutting party went ashore again, and I accompanied them as before. During the dinner hour I wandered into the woods alone, being disinclined for food that day. I had not rambled far when I found myself unexpectedly on the sea-shore, having crossed a narrow neck of land which separated the native village from a large bay. Here I found a party of the islanders busy with one of their war-canoes, which was almost ready for launching. I stood for a long time watching this party with great interest, and observed that they fastened the timbers and planks to each other very much in the same way in which I had seen Jack fasten those of our little boat. But what surprised me most was its immense length, which I measured very carefully, and found to be a hundred feet long; and it was so capacious that it could have held three hundred men. It had the unwieldy out-rigger and enormously high stern-posts which I had remarked on the canoe that came to us while I was on the Coral Island. Observing some boys playing at games a short way along the beach, I resolved to go and watch them; but as I turned from the natives who were engaged so busily and cheerfully at their work, I little thought of the terrible event that hung on the completion of that war-canoe. Advancing towards the children, who were so numerous that I began to think this must be the general play-ground of the village, I sat down on a grassy bank under the shade of a plantain-tree, to watch them. And a happier or more noisy crew I have never seen. There were at least two hundred of them, both boys and girls, all of whom were clad in no other garments than their own glossy little black skins, except the maro, or strip of cloth round the loins of the boys, and a very short petticoat or kilt on the girls. They did not all play at the same game, but amused themselves in different groups. One band was busily engaged in a game exactly similar to our blind-man's- buff. Another set were walking on stilts, which raised the children three feet from the ground. They were very expert at this amusement and seldom tumbled. In another place I observed a group of girls standing together, and apparently enjoying themselves very much; so I went up to see what they were doing, and found that they were opening their eye-lids with their fingers till their eyes appeared of an enormous size, and then thrusting pieces of straw between the upper and lower lids, across the eye-ball, to keep them in that position! This seemed to me, I must confess, a very foolish as well as dangerous amusement. Nevertheless the children seemed to be greatly delighted with the hideous faces they made. I pondered this subject a good deal, and thought that if little children knew how silly they seem to grown-up people when they make faces, they would not be so fond of doing it. In another place were a number of boys engaged in flying kites, and I could not help wondering that some of the games of those little savages should be so like to our own, although they had never seen us at play. But the kites were different from ours in many respects, being of every variety of shape. They were made of very thin cloth, and the boys raised them to a wonderful height in the air by means of twine made from the cocoa-nut husk. Other games there were, some of which showed the natural depravity of the hearts of these poor savages, and made me wish fervently that missionaries might be sent out to them. But the amusement which the greatest number of the children of both sexes seemed to take chief delight in, was swimming and diving in the sea; and the expertness which they exhibited was truly amazing. They seemed to have two principal games in the water, one of which was to dive off a sort of stage which had been erected near a deep part of the sea, and chase each other in the water. Some of them went down to an extraordinary depth; others skimmed along the surface, or rolled over and over like porpoises, or diving under each other, came up unexpectedly and pulled each other down by a leg or an arm. They never seemed to tire of this sport, and, from the great heat of the water in the South Seas, they could remain in it nearly all day without feeling chilled. Many of these children were almost infants, scarce able to walk; yet they staggered down the beach, flung their round fat little black bodies fearlessly into deep water, and struck out to sea with as much confidence as ducklings. The other game to which I have referred was swimming in the surf. But as this is an amusement in which all engage, from children of ten to gray- headed men of sixty, and as I had an opportunity of witnessing it in perfection the day following, I shall describe it more minutely. I suppose it was in honour of their guest that this grand swimming-match was got up, for Romata came and told the captain that they were going to engage in it, and begged him to "come and see." "What sort of amusement is this surf swimming?" I inquired of Bill, as we walked together to a part of the shore on which several thousands of the natives were assembled. "It's a very favourite lark with these 'xtr'or'nary critters," replied Bill, giving a turn to the quid of tobacco that invariably bulged out his left cheek. "Ye see, Ralph, them fellows take to the water as soon a'most as they can walk, an' long before they can do that anything respectably, so that they are as much at home in the sea as on the land. Well, ye see, I 'spose they found swimmin' for miles out to sea, and divin' fathoms deep, wasn't exciting enough, so they invented this game o' the surf. Each man and boy, as you see, has got a short board or plank, with which he swims out for a mile or more to sea, and then, gettin' on the top o' yon thundering breaker, they come to shore on the top of it, yellin' and screechin' like fiends. It's a marvel to me that they're not dashed to shivers on the coral reef, for sure an' sartin am I that if any o' us tried it, we wouldn't be worth the fluke of a broken anchor after the wave fell. But there they go!" As he spoke, several hundreds of the natives, amongst whom we were now standing, uttered a loud yell, rushed down the beach, plunged into the surf, and were carried off by the seething foam of the retreating wave. At the point where we stood, the encircling coral reef joined the shore, so that the magnificent breakers, which a recent stiff breeze had rendered larger than usual, fell in thunder at the feet of the multitudes who lined the beach. For some time the swimmers continued to strike out to sea, breasting over the swell like hundreds of black seals. Then they all turned, and, watching an approaching billow, mounted its white crest, and, each laying his breast on the short flat board, came rolling towards the shore, careering on the summit of the mighty wave, while they and the onlookers shouted and yelled with excitement. Just as the monster wave curled in solemn majesty to fling its bulky length upon the beach, most of the swimmers slid back into the trough behind; others, slipping off their boards, seized them in their hands, and, plunging through the watery waste, swam out to repeat the amusement; but a few, who seemed to me the most reckless, continued their career until they were launched upon the beach, and enveloped in the churning foam and spray. One of these last came in on the crest of the wave most manfully, and landed with a violent bound almost on the spot where Bill and I stood. I saw by his peculiar head-dress that he was the chief whom the tribe entertained as their guest. The sea-water had removed nearly all the paint with which his face had been covered; and, as he rose panting to his feet, I recognised, to my surprise, the features of Tararo, my old friend of the Coral Island! Tararo at the same moment recognised me, and, advancing quickly, took me round the neck and rubbed noses; which had the effect of transferring a good deal of the moist paint from his nose to mine. Then, recollecting that this was not the white man's mode of salutation, he grasped me by the hand and shook it violently. "Hallo, Ralph!" cried Bill, in surprise, "that chap seems to have taken a sudden fancy to you, or he must be an old acquaintance." "Right, Bill," I replied, "he is indeed an old acquaintance;" and I explained in a few words that he was the chief whose party Jack and Peterkin and I had helped to save. Tararo having thrown away his surf-board, entered into an animated conversation with Bill, pointing frequently during the course of it to me; whereby I concluded he must be telling him about the memorable battle, and the part we had taken in it. When he paused, I begged of Bill to ask him about the woman Avatea, for I had some hope that she might have come with Tararo on this visit. "And ask him," said I, "who she is, for I am persuaded she is of a different race from the Feejeeans." On the mention of her name the chief frowned darkly, and seemed to speak with much anger. "You're right, Ralph," said Bill, when the chief had ceased to talk; "she's not a Feejee girl, but a Samoan. How she ever came to this place the chief does not very clearly explain, but he says she was taken in war, and that he got her three years ago, an' kept her as his daughter ever since. Lucky for her, poor girl, else she'd have been roasted and eaten like the rest." "But why does Tararo frown and look so angry?" said I. "Because the girl's somewhat obstinate, like most o' the sex, an' won't marry the man he wants her to. It seems that a chief of some other island came on a visit to Tararo and took a fancy to her, but she wouldn't have him on no account, bein' already in love, and engaged to a young chief whom Tararo hates, and she kicked up a desperate shindy; so, as he was going on a war expedition in his canoe, he left her to think about it, sayin' he'd be back in six months or so, when he hoped she wouldn't be so obstropolous. This happened just a week ago; an' Tararo says that if she's not ready to go, when the chief returns, as his bride, she'll be sent to him as a _long pig_." "As a long pig!" I exclaimed in surprise; "why what does he mean by that?" "He means somethin' very unpleasant," answered Bill with a frown. "You see these blackguards eat men an' women just as readily as they eat pigs; and, as baked pigs and baked men are very like each other in appearance, they call men _long_ pigs. If Avatea goes to this fellow as a long pig, it's all up with her, poor thing." "Is she on the island now?" I asked eagerly. "No, she's at Tararo's island." "And where does it lie?" "About fifty or sixty miles to the south'ard o' this," returned Bill; "but I--" At this moment we were startled by the cry of "Mao! mao!--a shark! a shark!" which was immediately followed by a shriek that rang clear and fearfully loud above the tumult of cries that arose from the savages in the water and on the land. We turned hastily towards the direction whence the cry came, and had just time to observe the glaring eye-balls of one of the swimmers as he tossed his arms in the air. Next instant he was pulled under the waves. A canoe was instantly launched, and the hand of the drowning man was caught, but only half of his body was dragged from the maw of the monster, which followed the canoe until the water became so shallow that it could scarcely swim. The crest of the next billow was tinged with red as it rolled towards the shore. In most countries of the world this would have made a deep impression on the spectators, but the only effect it had upon these islanders was to make them hurry with all speed out of the sea, lest a similar fate should befall some of the others; but, so utterly reckless were they of human life, that it did not for a moment suspend the progress of their amusements. It is true the surf-swimming ended for that time somewhat abruptly, but they immediately proceeded with other games. Bill told me that sharks do not often attack the surf-swimmers, being frightened away by the immense numbers of men and boys in the water, and by the shouting and splashing that they make. "But," said he, "such a thing as you have seen just now don't frighten them much. They'll be at it again to-morrow or next day, just as if there wasn't a single shark between Feejee and Nova Zembla." After this the natives had a series of wrestling and boxing matches; and being men of immense size and muscle, they did a good deal of injury to each other, especially in boxing, in which not only the lower orders, but several of the chiefs and priests engaged. Each bout was very quickly terminated, for they did not pretend to a scientific knowledge of the art, and wasted no time in sparring, but hit straight out at each other's heads, and their blows were delivered with great force. Frequently one of the combatants was knocked down with a single blow; and one gigantic fellow hit his adversary so severely that he drove the skin entirely off his forehead. This feat was hailed with immense applause by the spectators. During these exhibitions, which were very painful to me, though I confess I could not refrain from beholding them, I was struck with the beauty of many of the figures and designs that were tattooed on the persons of the chiefs and principal men. One figure, that seemed to me very elegant, was that of a palm-tree tattooed on the back of a man's leg, the roots rising, as it were, from under his heel, the stem ascending the tendon of the ankle, and the graceful head branching out upon the calf. I afterwards learned that this process of tattooing is very painful, and takes long to do, commencing at the age of ten, and being continued at intervals up to the age of thirty. It is done by means of an instrument made of bone, with a number of sharp teeth with which the skin is punctured. Into these punctures a preparation made from the kernel of the candle-nut, mixed with cocoa-nut oil, is rubbed, and the mark thus made is indelible. The operation is performed by a class of men whose profession it is, and they tattoo as much at a time, as the person on whom they are operating can bear; which is not much, the pain and inflammation caused by tattooing being very great, sometimes causing death. Some of the chiefs were tattooed with an ornamental stripe down the legs, which gave them the appearance of being clad in tights. Others had marks round the ankles and insteps, which looked like tight-fitting and elegant boots. Their faces were also tattooed, and their breasts were very profusely marked with every imaginable species of device,--muskets, dogs, birds, pigs, clubs, and canoes, intermingled with lozenges, squares, circles, and other arbitrary figures. The women were not tattooed so much as the men, having only a few marks on their feet and arms. But I must say, however objectionable this strange practice may be, it nevertheless had this good effect, that it took away very much from their appearance of nakedness. Next day, while we were returning from the woods to our schooner, we observed Romata rushing about in the neighbourhood of his house, apparently mad with passion. "Ah!" said Bill to me, "there he's at his old tricks again. That's his way when he gets drink. The natives make a sort of drink o' their own, and it makes him bad enough; but when he gets brandy he's like a wild tiger. The captain, I suppose, has given him a bottle, as usual, to keep him in good humour. After drinkin' he usually goes to sleep, and the people know it well and keep out of his way, for fear they should waken him. Even the babies are taken out of ear-shot; for, when he's waked up, he rushes out just as you see him now, and spears or clubs the first person he meets." It seemed at the present time, however, that no deadly weapon had been in his way, for the infuriated chief was raging about without one. Suddenly he caught sight of an unfortunate man who was trying to conceal himself behind a tree. Rushing towards him, Romata struck him a terrible blow on the head, which knocked out the poor man's eye and also dislocated the chief's finger. The wretched creature offered no resistance; he did not even attempt to parry the blow. Indeed, from what Bill said, I found that he might consider himself lucky in having escaped with his life, which would certainly have been forfeited had the chief been possessed of a club at the time. "Have these wretched creatures no law among themselves," said I, "which can restrain such wickedness?" "None," replied Bill. "The chief's word is law. He might kill and eat a dozen of his own subjects any day for nothing more than his own pleasure, and nobody would take the least notice of it." This ferocious deed took place within sight of our party as we wended our way to the beach, but I could not observe any other expression on the faces of the men than that of total indifference or contempt. It seemed to me a very awful thing that it should be possible for men to come to such hardness of heart and callousness to the sight of bloodshed and violence; but, indeed, I began to find that such constant exposure to scenes of blood was having a slight effect upon myself, and I shuddered when I came to think that I, too, was becoming callous. I thought upon this subject much that night while I walked up and down the deck during my hours of watch; and I came to the conclusion that if I, who hated, abhorred, and detested such bloody deeds as I had witnessed within the last few weeks, could so soon come to be less sensitive about them, how little wonder that these poor ignorant savages, who were born and bred in familiarity therewith, should think nothing of them at all, and should hold human life in so very slight esteem. CHAPTER XXVI. Mischief brewing--My blood is made to run cold--Evil consultations and wicked resolves--Bloody Bill attempts to do good and fails--The attack--Wholesale murder--The flight--The escape. Next morning I awoke with a feverish brow and a feeling of deep depression at my heart; and the more I thought on my unhappy fate, the more wretched and miserable did I feel. I was surrounded on all sides by human beings of the most dreadful character, to whom the shedding of blood was mere pastime. On shore were the natives, whose practices were so horrible that I could not think of them without shuddering. On board were none but pirates of the blackest dye, who, although not cannibals, were foul murderers, and more blameworthy even than the savages, inasmuch as they knew better. Even Bill, with whom I had, under the strange circumstances of my lot, formed a kind of intimacy, was so fierce in his nature as to have acquired the title of "Bloody" from his vile companions. I felt very much cast down the more I considered the subject and the impossibility of delivery, as it seemed to me, at least for a long time to come. At last, in my feeling of utter helplessness, I prayed fervently to the Almighty that he would deliver me out of my miserable condition; and when I had done so I felt some degree of comfort. When the captain came on deck, before the hour at which the men usually started for the woods, I begged of him to permit me to remain aboard that day, as I did not feel well; but he looked at me angrily, and ordered me, in a surly tone, to get ready to go on shore as usual. The fact was that the captain had been out of humour for some time past. Romata and he had had some differences, and high words had passed between them, during which the chief had threatened to send a fleet of his war-canoes, with a thousand men, to break up and burn the schooner; whereupon the captain smiled sarcastically, and going up to the chief gazed sternly in his face, while he said, "I have only to raise my little finger just now, and my big gun will blow your whole village to atoms in five minutes!" Although the chief was a bold man, he quailed before the pirate's glance and threat, and made no reply; but a bad feeling had been raised and old sores had been opened. I had, therefore, to go with the wood-cutters that day. Before starting, however, the captain called me into the cabin, and said,-- "Here, Ralph, I've got a mission for you, lad. That blackguard Romata is in the dumps, and nothing will mollify him but a gift; so do you go up to his house and give him these whales' teeth, with my compliments. Take with you one of the men who can speak the language." I looked at the gift in some surprise, for it consisted of six white whales' teeth, and two of the same dyed bright red, which seemed to me very paltry things. However, I did not dare to hesitate or ask any questions; so, gathering them up, I left the cabin and was soon on my way to the chief's house, accompanied by Bill. On expressing my surprise at the gift, he said,-- "They're paltry enough to you or me, Ralph, but they're considered of great value by them chaps. They're a sort o' cash among them. The red ones are the most prized, one of them bein' equal to twenty o' the white ones. I suppose the only reason for their bein' valuable is that there ain't many of them, and they're hard to be got." On arriving at the house we found Romata sitting on a mat, in the midst of a number of large bales of native cloth and other articles, which had been brought to him as presents from time to time by inferior chiefs. He received us rather haughtily, but on Bill explaining the nature of our errand he became very condescending, and his eyes glistened with satisfaction when he received the whales' teeth, although he laid them aside with an assumption of kingly indifference. "Go," said he, with a wave of the hand,--"go, tell your captain that he may cut wood to-day, but not to-morrow. He must come ashore,--I want to have a palaver with him." As we left the house to return to the woods, Bill shook his head: "There's mischief brewin' in that black rascal's head. I know him of old. But what comes here?" As he spoke, we heard the sound of laughter and shouting in the wood, and presently there issued from it a band of savages, in the midst of whom were a number of men bearing burdens on their shoulders. At first I thought that these burdens were poles with something rolled round them, the end of each pole resting on a man's shoulder. But on a nearer approach I saw that they were human beings, tied hand and foot, and so lashed to the poles that they could not move. I counted twenty of them as they passed. "More murder!" said Bill, in a voice that sounded between a hoarse laugh and a groan. "Surely they are not going to murder them?" said I, looking anxiously into Bill's face. "I don't know, Ralph," replied Bill, "what they're goin' to do with them; but I fear they mean no good when they tie fellows up in that way." As we continued our way towards the wood-cutters, I observed that Bill looked anxiously over his shoulder, in the direction where the procession had disappeared. At last he stopped, and turning abruptly on his heel, said,-- "I tell ye what it is, Ralph, I must be at the bottom o' that affair. Let us follow these black scoundrels and see what they're goin' to do." I must say I had no wish to pry further into their bloody practices; but Bill seemed bent on it, so I turned and went. We passed rapidly through the bush, being guided in the right direction by the shouts of the savages. Suddenly there was a dead silence, which continued for some time, while Bill and I involuntarily quickened our pace until we were running at the top of our speed across the narrow neck of land previously mentioned. As we reached the verge of the wood, we discovered the savages surrounding the large war-canoe, which they were apparently on the point of launching. Suddenly the multitude put their united strength to the canoe; but scarcely had the huge machine begun to move, when a yell, the most appalling that ever fell upon my ear, rose high above the shouting of the savages. It had not died away when another and another smote upon my throbbing ear; and then I saw that these inhuman monsters were actually launching their canoe over the living bodies of their victims. But there was no pity in the breasts of these men. Forward they went in ruthless indifference, shouting as they went, while high above their voices rang the dying shrieks of those wretched creatures, as, one after another, the ponderous canoe passed over them, burst the eyeballs from their sockets, and sent the life's blood gushing from their mouths. Oh, reader, this is no fiction. I would not, for the sake of thrilling you with horror, invent so terrible a scene. It was witnessed. It is true; true as that accursed sin which has rendered the human heart capable of such diabolical enormities! When it was over I turned round and fell upon the grass with a deep groan; but Bill seized me by the arm, and lifting me up as if I had been a child, cried,-- "Come along, lad; let's away!"--and so, staggering and stumbling over the tangled underwood, we fled from the fatal spot. During the remainder of that day I felt as if I were in a horrible dream. I scarce knew what was said to me, and was more than once blamed by the men for idling my time. At last the hour to return aboard came. We marched down to the beach, and I felt relief for the first time when my feet rested on the schooner's deck. In the course of the evening I overheard part of a conversation between the captain and the first mate, which startled me not a little. They were down in the cabin, and conversed in an under-tone, but the sky-light being off, I overheard every word that was said. "I don't half like it," said the mate. "It seems to me that we'll only have hard fightin' and no pay." "No pay!" repeated the captain, in a voice of suppressed anger. "Do you call a good cargo all for nothing no pay?" "Very true," returned the mate; "but we've got the cargo aboard. Why not cut your cable and take French leave o' them? What's the use o' tryin' to lick the blackguards when it'll do us no manner o' good?" "Mate," said the captain, in a low voice, "you talk like a fresh-water sailor. I can only attribute this shyness to some strange delusion; for surely" (his voice assumed a slightly sneering tone as he said this) "surely I am not to suppose that _you_ have become soft-hearted! Besides, you are wrong in regard to the cargo being aboard; there's a good quarter of it lying in the woods, and that blackguard chief knows it and won't let me take it off. He defied us to do our worst, yesterday." "Defied us! did he?" cried the mate, with a bitter laugh. "Poor contemptible thing!" "And yet he seems not so contemptible but that you are afraid to attack him." "Who said I was afraid?" growled the mate, sulkily. "I'm as ready as any man in the ship. But, captain, what is it that you intend to do?" "I intend to muffle the sweeps and row the schooner up to the head of the creek there, from which point we can command the pile of sandal-wood with our gun. Then I shall land with all the men except two, who shall take care of the schooner and be ready with the boat to take us off. We can creep through the woods to the head of the village, where these cannibals are always dancing round their suppers of human flesh, and if the carbines of the men are loaded with a heavy charge of buck-shot, we can drop forty or fifty at the first volley. After that the thing will be easy enough. The savages will take to the mountains in a body, and we shall take what we require, up anchor, and away." To this plan the mate at length agreed. As he left the cabin I heard the captain say,-- "Give the men an extra glass of grog, and don't forget the buck-shot." The reader may conceive the horror with which I heard this murderous conversation. I immediately repeated it to Bill, who seemed much perplexed about it. At length he said,-- "I'll tell you what I'll do, Ralph: I'll swim ashore after dark and fix a musket to a tree not far from the place where we'll have to land, and I'll tie a long string to the trigger, so that when our fellows cross it they'll let it off, and so alarm the village in time to prevent an attack, but not in time to prevent us gettin' back to the boat; so, master captain," added Bill with a smile that for the first time seemed to me to be mingled with good-natured cheerfulness, "you'll be baulked at least for once in your life by Bloody Bill." After it grew dark, Bill put this resolve in practice. He slipped over the side with a musket in his left hand, while with his right he swam ashore and entered the woods. He soon returned, having accomplished his purpose, and got on board without being seen,--I being the only one on deck. When the hour of midnight approached the men were mustered on deck, the cable was cut and the muffled sweeps got out. These sweeps were immensely large oars, each requiring a couple of men to work it. In a few minutes we entered the mouth of the creek, which was indeed the mouth of a small river, and took about half an hour to ascend it, although the spot where we intended to land was not more than six hundred yards from the mouth, because there was a slight current against us, and the mangroves which narrowed the creek, impeded the rowers in some places. Having reached the spot, which was so darkened by overhanging trees that we could see with difficulty, a small kedge anchor attached to a thin line was let softly down over the stern. "Now, lads," whispered the captain, as he walked along the line of men, who were all armed to the teeth, "don't be in a hurry, aim low, and don't waste your first shots." He then pointed to the boat, into which the men crowded in silence. There was no room to row, but oars were not needed, as a slight push against the side of the schooner sent the boat gliding to the shore. "There's no need of leaving two in the boat," whispered the mate, as the men stepped out; "we shall want all our hands. Let Ralph stay." The captain assented, and ordered me to stand in readiness with the boat- hook, to shove ashore at a moment's notice if they should return, or to shove off if any of the savages should happen to approach. He then threw his carbine into the hollow of his arm and glided through the bushes followed by his men. With a throbbing head I awaited the result of our plan. I knew the exact locality where the musket was placed, for Bill had described it to me, and I kept my straining eyes fixed upon the spot. But no sound came, and I began to fear that either they had gone in another direction or that Bill had not fixed the string properly. Suddenly I heard a faint click, and observed one or two bright sparks among the bushes. My heart immediately sank within me, for I knew at once that the trigger had indeed been pulled but that the priming had not caught. The plan, therefore, had utterly failed. A feeling of dread now began to creep over me as I stood in the boat, in that dark, silent spot, awaiting the issue of this murderous expedition. I shuddered as I glanced at the water that glided past like a dark reptile. I looked back at the schooner, but her hull was just barely visible, while her tapering masts were lost among the trees which overshadowed her. Her lower sails were set, but so thick was the gloom that they were quite invisible. Suddenly I heard a shot. In a moment a thousand voices raised a yell in the village; again the cry rose on the night air, and was followed by broken shouts as of scattered parties of men bounding into the woods. Then I heard another shout loud and close at hand. It was the voice of the captain cursing the man who had fired the premature shot. Then came the order, "Forward," followed by the wild hurrah of our men, as they charged the savages. Shots now rang in quick succession, and at last a loud volley startled the echoes of the woods. It was followed by a multitude of wild shrieks, which were immediately drowned in another "hurrah" from the men; the distance of the sound proving that they were driving their enemies before them towards the sea. While I was listening intently to these sounds, which were now mingled in confusion, I was startled by the rustling of the leaves not far from me. At first I thought it was a party of savages who had observed the schooner, but I was speedily undeceived by observing a body of natives--apparently several hundreds, as far as I could guess in the uncertain light--bounding through the woods towards the scene of battle. I saw at once that this was a party who had out-flanked our men, and would speedily attack them in the rear. And so it turned out, for, in a short time, the shouts increased ten-fold, and among them I thought I heard a death-cry uttered by voices familiar to my ear. At length the tumult of battle ceased, and, from the cries of exultation that now arose from the savages, I felt assured that our men had been conquered. I was immediately thrown into dreadful consternation. What was I now to do? To be taken by the savages was too horrible to be thought of; to flee to the mountains was hopeless, as I should soon be discovered; and to take the schooner out of the creek without assistance was impossible. I resolved, however, to make the attempt, as being my only hope, and was on the point of pushing off when my hand was stayed and my blood chilled by an appalling shriek in which I recognised the voice of one of the crew. It was succeeded by a shout from the savages. Then came another, and another shriek of agony, making my ears to tingle, as I felt convinced they were murdering the pirate crew in cold blood. With a bursting heart and my brain whirling as if on fire, I seized the boat-hook to push from shore when a man sprang from the bushes. "Stop! Ralph, stop!--there now, push off," he cried, and bounded into the boat so violently as nearly to upset her. It was Bill's voice! In another moment we were on board,--the boat made fast, the line of the anchor cut, and the sweeps run out. At the first stroke of Bill's giant arm the schooner was nearly pulled ashore, for in his haste he forgot that I could scarcely move the unwieldy oar. Springing to the stern he lashed the rudder in such a position as that, while it aided me, it acted against him, and so rendered the force of our strokes nearly equal. The schooner now began to glide quickly down the creek, but before we reached its mouth, a yell from a thousand voices on the bank told that we were discovered. Instantly a number of the savages plunged into the water and swam towards us; but we were making so much way that they could not overtake us. One, however, an immensely powerful man, succeeded in laying hold of the cut rope that hung from the stern, and clambered quickly upon deck. Bill caught sight of him the instant his head appeared above the taffrail. But he did not cease to row, and did not appear even to notice the savage until he was within a yard of him; then, dropping the sweep, he struck him a blow on the forehead with his clenched fist that felled him to the deck. Lifting him up he hurled him overboard and resumed the oar. But now a greater danger awaited us, for the savages had outrun us on the bank and were about to plunge into the water ahead of the schooner. If they succeeded in doing so our fate was sealed. For one moment Bill stood irresolute. Then, drawing a pistol from his belt, he sprang to the brass gun, held the pan of his pistol over the touch-hole and fired. The shot was succeeded by the hiss of the cannon's priming, then the blaze and the crashing thunder of the monstrous gun burst upon the savages with such deafening roar that it seemed as if their very mountains had been rent asunder. This was enough. The moment of surprise and hesitation caused by the unwonted sound, gave us time to pass the point; a gentle breeze, which the dense foliage had hitherto prevented us from feeling, bulged out our sails; the schooner bent before it, and the shouts of the disappointed savages grew fainter and fainter in the distance as we were slowly wafted out to sea. CHAPTER XXVII. Reflections--The wounded man--The squall--True consolation--Death. There is a power of endurance in human beings, both in their bodies and in their minds, which, I have often thought, seems to be wonderfully adapted and exactly proportioned to the circumstances in which individuals may happen to be placed,--a power which, in most cases, is sufficient to carry a man through and over every obstacle that may happen to be thrown in his path through life, no matter how high or how steep the mountain may be, but which often forsakes him the moment the summit is gained, the point of difficulty passed; and leaves him prostrated, with energies gone, nerves unstrung, and a feeling of incapacity pervading the entire frame that renders the most trifling effort almost impossible. During the greater part of that day I had been subjected to severe mental and much physical excitement, which had almost crushed me down by the time I was relieved from duty in the course of the evening. But when the expedition, whose failure has just been narrated, was planned, my anxieties and energies had been so powerfully aroused that I went through the protracted scenes of that terrible night without a feeling of the slightest fatigue. My mind and body were alike active and full of energy. No sooner was the last thrilling fear of danger past, however, than my faculties were utterly relaxed; and, when I felt the cool breezes of the Pacific playing around my fevered brow, and heard the free waves rippling at the schooner's prow, as we left the hated island behind us, my senses forsook me and I fell in a swoon upon the deck. From this state I was quickly aroused by Bill, who shook me by the arm, saying,-- "Hallo! Ralph, boy, rouse up, lad, we're safe now. Poor thing, I believe he's fainted." And raising me in his arms he laid me on the folds of the gaff-top-sail, which lay upon the deck near the tiller. "Here, take a drop o' this, it'll do you good, my boy," he added, in a voice of tenderness which I had never heard him use before, while he held a brandy- flask to my lips. I raised my eyes gratefully, as I swallowed a mouthful; next moment my head sank heavily upon my arm and I fell fast asleep. I slept long, for when I awoke the sun was a good way above the horizon. I did not move on first opening my eyes, as I felt a delightful sensation of rest pervading me, and my eyes were riveted on and charmed with the gorgeous splendour of the mighty ocean, that burst upon my sight. It was a dead calm; the sea seemed a sheet of undulating crystal, tipped and streaked with the saffron hues of sunrise, which had not yet merged into the glowing heat of noon; and there was a deep calm in the blue dome above, that was not broken even by the usual flutter of the sea-fowl. How long I would have lain in contemplation of this peaceful scene I know not, but my mind was recalled suddenly and painfully to the past and the present by the sight of Bill, who was seated on the deck at my feet with his head reclining, as if in sleep, on his right arm, which rested on the tiller. As he seemed to rest peacefully I did not mean to disturb him, but the slight noise I made in raising myself on my elbow caused him to start and look round. "Well, Ralph, awake at last, my boy; you have slept long and soundly," he said, turning towards me. On beholding his countenance I sprang up in anxiety. He was deadly pale, and his hair, which hung in dishevelled locks over his face, was clotted with blood. Blood also stained his hollow cheeks and covered the front of his shirt, which, with the greater part of dress, was torn and soiled with mud. "Oh, Bill!" said I, with deep anxiety, "what is the matter with you? You are ill. You must have been wounded." "Even so, lad," said Bill in a deep soft voice, while he extended his huge frame on the couch from which I had just risen. "I've got an ugly wound, I fear, and I've been waiting for you to waken, to ask you to get me a drop o' brandy and a mouthful o' bread from the cabin lockers. You seemed to sleep so sweetly, Ralph, that I didn't like to disturb you. But I don't feel up to much just now." I did not wait till he had done talking, but ran below immediately, and returned in a few seconds with a bottle of brandy and some broken biscuit. He seemed much refreshed after eating a few morsels and drinking a long draught of water mingled with a little of the spirits. Immediately afterwards he fell asleep, and I watched him anxiously until he awoke, being desirous of knowing the nature and extent of his wound. "Ha!" he exclaimed, on awaking suddenly, after a slumber of an hour, "I'm the better of that nap, Ralph; I feel twice the man I was;" and he attempted to rise, but sank back again immediately with a deep groan. "Nay, Bill you must not move, but lie still while I look at your wound. I'll make a comfortable bed for you here on deck, and get you some breakfast. After that you shall tell me how you got it. Cheer up, Bill," I added, seeing that he turned his head away; "you'll be all right in a little, and I'll be a capital nurse to you though I'm no doctor." I then left him, and lighted a fire in the caboose. While it was kindling, I went to the steward's pantry and procured the materials for a good breakfast, with which, in little more than half an hour, I returned to my companion. He seemed much better, and smiled kindly on me as I set before him a cup of coffee and a tray with several eggs and some bread on it. "Now then, Bill," said I, cheerfully, sitting down beside him on the deck, "let's fall to. I'm very hungry myself, I can tell you; but--I forgot--your wound," I added, rising; "let me look at it." I found that the wound was caused by a pistol shot in the chest. It did not bleed much, and, as it was on the right side, I was in hopes that it might not be very serious. But Bill shook his head. "However," said he, "sit down, Ralph, and I'll tell you all about it." "You see, after we left the boat an' began to push through the bushes, we went straight for the line of my musket, as I had expected; but by some unlucky chance it didn't explode, for I saw the line torn away by the men's legs, and heard the click o' the lock; so I fancy the priming had got damp and didn't catch. I was in a great quandary now what to do, for I couldn't concoct in my mind, in the hurry, any good reason for firin' off my piece. But they say necessity's the mother of invention; so, just as I was givin' it up and clinchin' my teeth to bide the worst o't, and take what should come, a sudden thought came into my head. I stepped out before the rest, seemin' to be awful anxious to be at the savages, tripped my foot on a fallen tree, plunged head foremost into a bush, an', ov coorse, my carbine exploded! Then came such a screechin' from the camp as I never heard in all my life. I rose at once, and was rushin' on with the rest when the captain called a halt. {The dying pirate: p334.jpg} "'You did that a-purpose, you villain!' he said, with a tremendous oath, and, drawin' a pistol from his belt, let fly right into my breast. I fell at once, and remembered no more till I was startled and brought round by the most awful yell I ever heard in my life, except, maybe, the shrieks o' them poor critters that were crushed to death under yon big canoe. Jumpin' up, I looked round, and, through the trees, saw a fire gleamin' not far off, the light o' which showed me the captain and men tied hand and foot, each to a post, and the savages dancin' round them like demons. I had scarce looked for a second, when I saw one o' them go up to the captain flourishing a knife, and, before I could wink, he plunged it into his breast, while another yell, like the one that roused me, rang upon my ear. I didn't wait for more, but, bounding up, went crashing through the bushes into the woods. The black fellows caught sight of me, however, but not in time to prevent me jumpin' into the boat, as you know." Bill seemed to be much exhausted after this recital, and shuddered frequently during the narrative, so I refrained from continuing the subject at that time, and endeavoured to draw his mind to other things. "But now, Bill," said I, "it behoves us to think about the future, and what course of action we shall pursue. Here we are, on the wide Pacific, in a well-appointed schooner, which is our own,--at least no one has a better claim to it than we have,--and the world lies before us. Moreover, here comes a breeze, so we must make up our minds which way to steer." "Ralph, boy," said my companion, "it matters not to me which way we go. I fear that my time is short now. Go where you will. I'm content." "Well then, Bill, I think we had better steer to the Coral Island, and see what has become of my dear old comrades, Jack and Peterkin. I believe the island has no name, but the captain once pointed it out to me on the chart, and I marked it afterwards; so, as we know pretty well our position just now, I think I can steer to it. Then, as to working the vessel, it is true I cannot hoist the sails single-handed, but luckily we have enough of sail set already, and if it should come on to blow a squall, I could at least drop the peaks of the main and fore sails, and clew them up partially without help, and throw her head close into the wind, so as to keep her all shaking till the violence of the squall is past. And if we have continued light breezes, I'll rig up a complication of blocks and fix them to the top-sail halyards, so that I shall be able to hoist the sails without help. 'Tis true I'll require half a day to hoist them, but we don't need to mind that. Then I'll make a sort of erection on deck to screen you from the sun, Bill; and if you can only manage to sit beside the tiller and steer for two hours every day, so as to let me get a nap, I'll engage to let you off duty all the rest of the twenty-four hours. And if you don't feel able for steering, I'll lash the helm and heave to, while I get you your breakfasts and dinners; and so we'll manage famously, and soon reach the Coral Island." Bill smiled faintly as I ran on in this strain. "And what will you do," said he, "if it comes on to blow a storm?" This question silenced me, while I considered what I should do in such a case. At length I laid my hand an his arm, and said, "Bill, when a man has done all that he _can_ do, he ought to leave the rest to God." "Oh, Ralph," said my companion, in a faint voice, looking anxiously into my face, "I wish that I had the feelin's about God that you seem to have, at this hour. I'm dyin', Ralph; yet I, who have braved death a hundred times, am afraid to die. I'm afraid to enter the next world. Something within tells me there will be a reckoning when I go there. But it's all over with me, Ralph. I feel that there's no chance o' my bein' saved." "Don't say that, Bill," said I, in deep compassion, "don't say that. I'm quite sure there's hope even for you, but I can't remember the words of the Bible that make me think so. Is there not a Bible on board, Bill?" "No; the last that was in the ship belonged to a poor boy that was taken aboard against his will. He died, poor lad, I think, through ill treatment and fear. After he was gone the captain found his Bible and flung it overboard." I now reflected, with great sadness and self-reproach, on the way in which I had neglected my Bible; and it flashed across me that I was actually in the sight of God a greater sinner than this blood-stained pirate; for, thought I, he tells me that he never read the Bible, and was never brought up to care for it; whereas I was carefully taught to read it by my own mother, and had read it daily as long as I possessed one, yet to so little purpose that I could not now call to mind a single text that would meet this poor man's case, and afford him the consolation he so much required. I was much distressed, and taxed my memory for a long time. At last a text did flash into my mind, and I wondered much that I had not thought of it before. "Bill," said I, in a low voice, "'Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.'" "Ay, Ralph, I've heard the missionaries say that before now, but what good can it do me? It's not for me that. It's not for the likes o' me." I knew not now what to say, for, although I felt sure that that word was for him as well as for me, I could not remember any other word whereby I could prove it. After a short pause, Bill raised his eyes to mine and said, "Ralph, I've led a terrible life. I've been a sailor since I was a boy, and I've gone from bad to worse ever since I left my father's roof. I've been a pirate three years now. It is true I did not choose the trade, but I was inveigled aboard this schooner and kept here by force till I became reckless and at last joined them. Since that time my hand has been steeped in human blood again and again. Your young heart would grow cold if I--; but why should I go on? 'Tis of no use, Ralph; my doom is fixed." "Bill," said I, "'Though your sins be red like crimson, they shall be white as snow.' 'Only believe.'" "Only believe!" cried Bill, starting up on his elbow; "I've heard men talk o' believing as if it was easy. Ha! 'tis easy enough for a man to point to a rope and say, 'I believe that would bear my weight;' but 'tis another thing for a man to catch hold o' that rope, and swing himself by it over the edge of a precipice!" The energy with which he said this, and the action with which it was accompanied, were too much for Bill. He sank back with a deep groan. As if the very elements sympathized with this man's sufferings, a low moan came sweeping over the sea. "Hist! Ralph," said Bill, opening his eves; "there's a squall coming, lad. Look alive, boy. Clew up the fore-sail. Drop the main-sail peak. Them squalls come quick sometimes." I had already started to my feet, and saw that a heavy squall was indeed bearing down on us. It had hitherto escaped my notice, owing to my being so much engrossed by our conversation. I instantly did as Bill desired, for the schooner was still lying motionless on the glassy sea. I observed with some satisfaction that the squall was bearing down on the larboard bow, so that it would strike the vessel in the position in which she would be best able to stand the shock. Having done my best to shorten sail, I returned aft, and took my stand at the helm. "Now, boy," said Bill, in a faint voice, "keep her close to the wind." A few seconds afterwards he said, "Ralph, let me hear those two texts again." I repeated them. "Are ye sure, lad, ye saw them in the Bible?" "Quite sure," I replied. Almost before the words had left my lips the wind burst upon us, and the spray dashed over our decks. For a time the schooner stood it bravely, and sprang forward against the rising sea like a war-horse. Meanwhile clouds darkened the sky, and the sea began to rise in huge billows. There was still too much sail on the schooner, and, as the gale increased, I feared that the masts would be torn out of her or carried away, while the wind whistled and shrieked through the strained rigging. Suddenly the wind shifted a point, a heavy sea struck us on the bow, and the schooner was almost laid on her beam-ends, so that I could scarcely keep my legs. At the same moment Bill lost his hold of the belaying-pin which had served to steady him, and he slid with stunning violence against the sky- light. As he lay on the deck close beside me, I could see that the shock had rendered him insensible, but I did not dare to quit the tiller for an instant, as it required all my faculties, bodily and mental, to manage the schooner. For an hour the blast drove us along, while, owing to the sharpness of the vessel's bow and the press of canvass, she dashed through the waves instead of breasting over them, thereby drenching the decks with water fore and aft. At the end of that time the squall passed away, and left us rocking on the bosom of the agitated sea. My first care, the instant I could quit the helm, was to raise Bill from the deck and place him on the couch. I then ran below for the brandy bottle and rubbed his face and hands with it, and endeavoured to pour a little down his throat. But my efforts, although I continued them long and assiduously, were of no avail; as I let go the hand which I had been chafing it fell heavily on the deck. I laid my hand over his heart, and sat for some time quite motionless, but there was no flutter there--the pirate was dead! CHAPTER XXVIII. Alone on the deep--Necessity the mother of invention--A valuable book discovered--Natural phenomenon--A bright day in my history. It was with feelings of awe, not unmingled with fear, that I now seated myself on the cabin sky-light and gazed upon the rigid features of my late comrade, while my mind wandered over his past history and contemplated with anxiety my present position. Alone! in the midst of the wide Pacific, having a most imperfect knowledge of navigation, and in a schooner requiring at least eight men as her proper crew. But I will not tax the reader's patience with a minute detail of my feelings and doings during the first few days that followed the death of my companion. I will merely mention that I tied a cannon ball to his feet and, with feelings of the deepest sorrow, consigned him to the deep. For fully a week after that a steady breeze blew from the east, and, as my course lay west-and-by-north, I made rapid progress towards my destination. I could not take an observation, which I very much regretted, as the captain's quadrant was in the cabin; but, from the day of setting sail from the island of the savages, I had kept a dead reckoning, and as I knew pretty well now how much lee-way the schooner made, I hoped to hit the Coral Island without much difficulty. In this I was the more confident that I knew its position on the chart (which I understood was a very good one), and so had its correct bearings by compass. As the weather seemed now quite settled and fine, and as I had got into the trade-winds, I set about preparations for hoisting the top-sails. This was a most arduous task, and my first attempts were complete failures, owing, in a great degree, to my reprehensible ignorance of mechanical forces. The first error I made was in applying my apparatus of blocks and pulleys to a rope which was too weak, so that the very first heave I made broke it in two, and sent me staggering against the after-hatch, over which I tripped, and, striking against the main-boom, tumbled down the companion ladder into the cabin. I was much bruised and somewhat stunned by this untoward accident. However, I considered it fortunate that I was not killed. In my next attempt I made sure of not coming by a similar accident, so I unreeved the tackling and fitted up larger blocks and ropes. But although the principle on which I acted was quite correct, the machinery was now so massive and heavy that the mere friction and stiffness of the thick cordage prevented me from moving it at all. Afterwards, however, I came to proportion things more correctly; but I could not avoid reflecting at the time how much better it would have been had I learned all this from observation and study, instead of waiting till I was forced to acquire it through the painful and tedious lessons of experience. After the tackling was prepared and in good working order, it took me the greater part of a day to hoist the main-top sail. As I could not steer and work at this at the same time, I lashed the helm in such a position that, with a little watching now and then, it kept the schooner in her proper course. By this means I was enabled also to go about the deck and down below for things that I wanted, as occasion required; also to cook and eat my victuals. But I did not dare to trust to this plan during the three hours of rest that I allowed myself at night, as the wind might have shifted, in which case I should have been blown far out of my course ere I awoke. I was, therefore, in the habit of heaving-to during those three hours; that is, fixing the rudder and the sails in such a position as that by acting against each other, they would keep the ship stationary. After my night's rest, therefore, I had only to make allowance for the lee-way she had made, and so resume my course. Of course I was to some extent anxious lest another squall should come, but I made the best provision I could in the circumstances, and concluded that by letting go the weather-braces of the top-sails and the top-sail halyards at the same time, I should thereby render these sails almost powerless. Besides this, I proposed to myself to keep a sharp look-out on the barometer in the cabin, and if I observed at any time a sudden fall in it, I resolved that I would instantly set about my multiform appliances for reducing sail, so as to avoid being taken at unawares. Thus I sailed prosperously for two weeks, with a fair wind, so that I calculated I must be drawing near to the Coral Island; at the thought of which my heart bounded with joyful expectation. The only book I found on board, after a careful search, was a volume of Captain Cook's voyages. This, I suppose, the pirate captain had brought with him in order to guide him, and to furnish him with information regarding the islands of these seas. I found this a most delightful book indeed, and I not only obtained much interesting knowledge about the sea in which I was sailing, but I had many of my own opinions, derived from experience, corroborated; and not a few of them corrected. Besides the reading of this charming book, and the daily routine of occupations, nothing of particular note happened to me during this voyage, except once, when on rising one night, after my three hours' nap, while it was yet dark, I was amazed and a little alarmed to find myself floating in what appeared to be a sea of blue fire! I had often noticed the beautiful appearance of phosphorescent light, but this far exceeded anything of the sort I ever saw before. The whole sea appeared somewhat like milk and was remarkably luminous. I rose in haste, and, letting down a bucket into the sea, brought some of the water on board and took it down to the cabin to examine it; but no sooner did I approach the light than the strange appearance disappeared, and when I removed the cabin lamp the luminous light appeared again. I was much puzzled with this, and took up a little of the water in the hollow of my hand and then let it run off, when I found that the luminous substance was left behind on my palm. I ran with it to the lamp; but when I got there it was gone. I found, however, that when I went into the dark my hand shone again; so I took the large glass of the ship's telescope and examined my hand minutely, when I found that there were on it one or two small patches of a clear, transparent substance like jelly, which were so thin as to be almost invisible to the naked eye. Thus I came to know that the beautiful phosphoric light, which I had so often admired before, was caused by animals, for I had no doubt that these were of the same kind as the medusae or jelly-fish which are seen in all parts of the world. On the evening of my fourteenth day, I was awakened out of a nap into which I had fallen by a loud cry, and starting up, I gazed around me. I was surprised and delighted to see a large albatross soaring majestically over the ship. I immediately took it into my head that this was the albatross I had seen at Penguin Island. I had, of course, no good reason for supposing this, but the idea occurred to me, I know not why, and I cherished it, and regarded the bird with as much affection as if he had been an old friend. He kept me company all that day and left me as night fell. Next morning as I stood motionless and with heavy eyes at the helm, for I had not slept well, I began to weary anxiously for day-light, and peered towards the horizon, where I thought I observed something like a black cloud against the dark sky. Being always on the alert for squalls, I ran to the bow. There could be no doubt it was a squall, and as I listened I thought I heard the murmur of the coming gale. Instantly I began to work might and main at my cumbrous tackle for shortening sail, and in the course of an hour and a half had the most of it reduced,--the top-sail yards down on the caps, the top-sails clewed up, the sheets hauled in, the main and fore peaks lowered, and the flying-jib down. While thus engaged the dawn advanced, and I cast an occasional furtive glance ahead in the midst of my labour. But now that things were prepared for the worst, I ran forward again and looked anxiously over the bow. I now heard the roar of the waves distinctly, and as a single ray of the rising sun gleamed over the ocean I saw--what! could it be that I was dreaming?--that magnificent breaker with its ceaseless roar!--that mountain top!--yes, once more I beheld the Coral Island! CHAPTER XXIX. The effect of a cannon-shot--A happy reunion of a somewhat moist nature--Retrospects and explanations--An awful dive--New plans--The last of the Coral Island. I almost fell upon the deck with the tumult of mingled emotions that filled my heart, as I gazed ardently towards my beautiful island. It was still many miles away, but sufficiently near to enable me to trace distinctly the well-remembered outlines of the two mountains. My first impulse was to utter an exclamation of gratitude for being carried to my former happy home in safety; my second, to jump up, clap my hands, shout, and run up and down the deck, with no other object in view than that of giving vent to my excited feelings. Then I went below for the telescope, and spent nearly ten minutes of the utmost impatience in vainly trying to get a focus, and in rubbing the skin nearly off my eyes, before I discovered that having taken off the large glass to examine the phosphoric water with I had omitted to put it on again. After that I looked up impatiently at the sails, which I now regretted having lowered so hastily, and for a moment thought of hoisting the main- top sail again; but recollecting that it would take me full half a day to accomplish, and that, at the present rate of sailing, two hours would bring me to the island, I immediately dismissed the idea. The remainder of the time I spent in making feverish preparations for arriving and seeing my dear comrades. I remembered that they were not in the habit of rising before six, and, as it was now only three, I hoped to arrive before they were awake. Moreover, I set about making ready to let go the anchor, resolving in my own mind that, as I knew the depth of water in the passage of the reef and within the lagoon, I would run the schooner in and bring up opposite the bower. Fortunately the anchor was hanging at the cat-head, otherwise I should never have been able to use it. Now, I had only to cut the tackling, and it would drop of its own weight. After searching among the flags, I found the terrible black one, which I ran up to the peak. While I was doing this, a thought struck me. I went to the powder magazine, brought up a blank cartridge and loaded the big brass gun, which, it will be remembered, was unhoused when we set sail, and, as I had no means of housing it, there it had stood, bristling alike at fair weather and foul all the voyage. I took care to grease its mouth well, and, before leaving the fore part of the ship, thrust the poker into the fire. {A terrible surprise: p352.jpg} All was now ready. A steady five-knot breeze was blowing, so that I was now not more than quarter of a mile from the reef. I was soon at the entrance, and, as the schooner glided quietly through, I glanced affectionately at the huge breaker, as if it had been the same one I had seen there when I bade adieu, as I feared for ever, to the island. On coming opposite the Water Garden, I put the helm hard down. The schooner came round with a rapid, graceful bend, and lost way just opposite the bower. Running forward, I let go the anchor, caught up the red-hot poker, applied it to the brass gun, and the mountains with a _bang_, such as had only once before broke their slumbering echoes! Effective although it was, however, it was scarcely equal to the bang with which, instantly after, Peterkin bounded from the bower, in scanty costume, his eye-balls starting from his head with surprise and terror. One gaze he gave, one yell, and then fled into the bushes like a wild cat. The next moment Jack went through exactly the same performance, the only difference being, that his movements were less like those of Jack-in- the-box, though not less vigorous and rapid than those of Peterkin. "Hallo!" I shouted, almost mad with joy, "what, ho! Peterkin! Jack! hallo! it's me!" My shout was just in time to arrest them. They halted and turned round, and, the instant I repeated the cry, I saw that they recognised my voice, by both of them running at full speed towards the beach. I could no longer contain myself. Throwing off my jacket, I jumped overboard at the same moment that Jack bounded into the sea. In another moment we met in deep water, clasped each other round the neck, and sank, as a matter of course, to the bottom! We were well-nigh choked, and instantly struggled to the surface, where Peterkin was spluttering about like a wounded duck, laughing and crying by turns, and choking himself with salt water! It would be impossible to convey to my reader, by description, an adequate conception of the scene that followed my landing on the beach, as we stood embracing each other indiscriminately in our dripping garments, and giving utterance to incoherent rhapsodies, mingled with wild shouts. It can be more easily imagined than described, so I will draw a curtain over this part of my history, and carry the reader forward over an interval of three days. During the greater part of that period Peterkin did nothing but roast pigs, taro, and bread-fruit, and ply me with plantains, plums, potatoes, and cocoa-nuts, while I related to him and Jack the terrible and wonderful adventures I had gone through since we last met. After I had finished the account, they made me go all over it again; and, when I had concluded the second recital, I had to go over it again, while they commented upon it piecemeal. They were much affected by what I told them of the probable fate of Avatea, and Peterkin could by no means brook the idea of the poor girl being converted into a _long pig_! As for Jack, he clenched his teeth, and shook his fist towards the sea, saying at the same time, that he was sorry he had not broken Tararo's head, and he only hoped that one day he should be able to plant his knuckles on the bridge of that chief's nose! After they had "pumped me dry," as Peterkin said, I begged to be informed of what had happened to them during my long absence, and particularly as to how they got out of the Diamond Cave. "Well, you must know," began Jack, "after you had dived out of the cave, on the day you were taken away from us, we waited very patiently for half an hour, not expecting you to return before the end of that time. Then we began to upbraid you for staying so long, when you knew we would be anxious; but when an hour passed, we became alarmed, and I resolved at all hazards to dive out, and see what had become of you, although I felt for poor Peterkin, because, as he truly said, 'If you never come back, I'm shut up here for life.' However, I promised not to run any risk, and he let me go; which, to say truth, I thought very courageous of him!" "I should just think it was!" interrupted Peterkin, looking at Jack over the edge of a monstrous potato which he happened to be devouring at the time. "Well," continued Jack, "you may guess my consternation when you did not answer to my halloo. At first I imagined that the pirates must have killed you, and left you in the bush, or thrown you into the sea; then it occurred to me that this would have served no end of theirs, so I came to the conclusion that they must have carried you away with them. As this thought struck me, I observed the pirate schooner standing away to the nor'ard, almost hull-down on the horizon, and I sat down on the rocks to watch her as she slowly sank from my sight. And I tell you, Ralph, my boy, that I shed more tears that time, at losing you, than I have done, I verify believe, all my life before--" "Pardon me, Jack, for interrupting," said Peterkin; "surely you must be mistaken in that; you've often told me that, when you were a baby, you used to howl and roar from morning to--" "Hold your tongue, Peterkin," cried Jack. "Well, after the schooner had disappeared, I dived back into the cave, much to Peterkin's relief, and told him what I had seen. We sat down and had a long talk over this matter, and then we agreed to make a regular, systematic search through the woods, so as to make sure, at least, that you had not been killed. But now we thought of the difficulty of getting out of the cave without your help. Peterkin became dreadfully nervous when he thought of this; and I must confess that I felt some alarm, for, of course, I could not hope alone to take him out so quickly as we two together had brought him in; and he himself vowed that, if we had been a moment longer with him that time, he would have had to take a breath of salt water. However, there was no help for it, and I endeavoured to calm his fears as well as I could: 'for,' said I, 'you can't live here, Peterkin;' to which he replied, 'Of course not, Jack, I can only die here, and, as that's not at all desirable, you had better propose something.' So I suggested that he should take a good long breath, and trust himself to me. "'Might we not make a large bag of cocoa-nut cloth, into which I could shove my head, and tie it tight round my neck?' he asked, with a haggard smile. 'It might let me get one breath under water!' "'No use,' said I; 'it would fill in a moment and suffocate you. I see nothing for it, Peterkin, if you really can't keep your breath so long, but to let me knock you down, and carry you out while in a state of insensibility.' "But Peterkin didn't relish this idea. He seemed to fear that I could not be able to measure the exact force of the blow, and might, on the one hand, hit him so softly as to render a second or third blow necessary, which would be very uncomfortable; or, on the other hand, give him such a smash as would entirely spoil his figure-head, or, mayhap, knock the life out of him altogether! At last I got him persuaded to try to hold his breath, and commit himself to me; so he agreed, and down we went. But I had not got him half way through, when he began to struggle and kick like a wild bull, burst from my grasp, and hit against the roof of the tunnel. I was therefore, obliged to force him violently back into the cave gain, where he rose panting to the surface. In short, he had lost his presence of mind, and--" "Nothing of the sort," cried Peterkin, indignantly, "I had only lost my wind; and if I had not had presence of mind enough to kick as I did, I should have bu'st in your arms!" "Well, well, so be it," resumed Jack, with a smile, "but the upshot of it was, that we had to hold another consultation on the point, and I really believe that, had it not been for a happy thought of mine, we should have been consulting there yet." "I wish we had," again interrupted Peterkin with a sigh. "I'm sure, Ralph, if I had thought that you were coming back again, I would willingly have awaited your return for months, rather than have endured the mental agony which I went through! But proceed." "The thought was this," continued Jack, "that I should tie Peterkin's hands and feet with cords, and then lash him firmly to a stout pole about five feet long, in order to render him quite powerless, and keep him straight and stiff. You should have seen his face of horror, Ralph, when I suggested this: but he came to see that it was his only chance, and told me to set about it as fast as I could; 'for,' said he, 'this is no jokin', Jack, _I_ can tell you, and the sooner it's done the better.' I soon procured the cordage and a suitable pole, with which I returned to the cave, and lashed him as stiff and straight as an Egyptian mummy; and, to say truth, he was no bad representation of what an English mummy would be, if there were such things, for he was as white as a dead man." "'Now,' said Peterkin, in a tremulous voice, 'swim with me as near to the edge of the hole as you can before you dive, then let me take a long breath, and, as I sha'nt be able to speak after I've taken it, you'll watch my face, and the moment you see me wink--dive! And oh!' he added, earnestly, 'pray don't be long!' "I promised to pay the strictest attention to his wishes, and swam with him to the outlet of the cave. Here I paused. 'Now then,' said I, 'pull away at the wind, lad.'" Peterkin drew in a breath so long that I could not help thinking of the frog in the fable, that wanted to swell itself as big as the ox. Then I looked into his face earnestly. Slap went the lid of his right eye; down went my head, and up went my heels. We shot through the passage like an arrow, and rose to the surface of the open sea before you could count twenty! "Peterkin had taken in such an awful load of wind that, on reaching the free air, he let it out with a yell loud enough to have been heard a mile off, and then, the change in his feelings was so sudden and great, that he did not wait till we landed, but began, tied up as he was, to shout and sing for joy as I supported him with my left arm to the shore. However, in the middle of a laugh that a hyaena might have envied, I let him accidentally slip, which extinguished him in a moment. "After this happy deliverance, we immediately began our search for your dead body, Ralph, and you have no idea how low our hearts sank as we set off, day after day, to examine the valleys and mountain sides with the utmost care. In about three weeks we completed the survey of the whole island, and had at least the satisfaction of knowing that you had not been killed. But it occurred to us that you might have been thrown into the sea, so we examined the sands and the lagoon carefully, and afterwards went all round the outer reef. One day, while we were upon the reef, Peterkin espied a small dark object lying among the rocks, which seemed to be quite different from the surrounding stones. We hastened towards the spot, and found it to be a small keg. On knocking out the head we discovered that it was gunpowder." "It was I who sent you that, Jack," said I, with a smile. "Fork out!" cried Peterkin, energetically, starting to his feet and extending his open hand to Jack. "Down with the money, sir, else I'll have you shut up for life in a debtor's prison the moment we return to England!" "I'll give you an I.O.U. in the meantime," returned Jack, laughing, "so sit down and be quiet. The fact is, Ralph, when we discovered this keg of powder, Peterkin immediately took me a bet of a thousand pounds that you had something to do with it, and I took him a bet of ten thousand that you had not. "Peterkin was right then," said I, explaining how the thing had occurred. "Well, we found it very useful," continued Jack; "although some of it had got a little damp; and we furbished up the old pistol, with which Peterkin is a crack shot now. But, to continue. We did not find any other vestige of you on the reef, and, finally, gave up all hope of ever seeing you again. After this the island became a dreary place to us, and we began to long for a ship to heave in sight and take us off. But now that you're back again, my dear fellow, it looks as bright and cheerful as it used to do, and I love it as much as ever." "And now," continued Jack, "I have a great desire to visit some of the other islands of the South Seas. Here we have a first-rate schooner at our disposal, so I don't see what should hinder us." "Just the very thing I was going to propose," cried Peterkin; "I vote for starting at once." "Well, then," said Jack, "it seems to me that we could not do better than shape our course for the island on which Avatea lives, and endeavour to persuade Tararo to let her marry the black fellow to whom she is engaged, instead of making a long pig of her. If he has a spark of gratitude in him he'll do it. Besides, having become champions for this girl once before, it behoves us, as true knights, not to rest until we set her free; at least, all the heroes in all the story-books I have ever read would count it foul disgrace to leave such a work unfinished." "I'm sure I don't know, or care, what your knights in story-books would do," said Peterkin, "but I'm certain that it would be capital fun, so I'm your man whenever you want me." This plan of Jack's was quite in accordance with his romantic, impulsive nature; and, having made up his mind to save this black girl, he could not rest until the thing was commenced. "But there may be great danger in this attempt," he said, at the end of a long consultation on the subject; "will you, lads, go with me in spite of this?" "Go with you?" we repeated in the same breath. "Can you doubt it?" said I. "For a moment," added Peterkin. I need scarcely say that, having made up our minds to go on this enterprise, we lost no time in making preparations to quit the island; and as the schooner was well laden with stores of every kind for a long cruise, we had little to do except to add to our abundant supply a quantity of cocoa-nuts, bread-fruit, taro, yams, plums, and potatoes, chiefly with the view of carrying the fragrance of our dear island along with us as long as we could. When all was ready, we paid a farewell visit to the different familiar spots where most of our time had been spent. We ascended the mountain top, and gazed for the last time at the rich green foliage in the valleys, the white sandy beach, the placid lagoon, and the barrier coral- reef with its crested breakers. Then we descended to Spouting Cliff, and looked down at the pale-green monster which we had made such fruitless efforts to spear in days gone by. From this we hurried to the Water Garden and took a last dive into its clear waters, and a last gambol amongst its coral groves. I hurried out before my companions, and dressed in haste, in order to have a long examination of my tank, which Peterkin, in the fulness of his heart, had tended with the utmost care, as being a vivid remembrancer of me, rather than out of love for natural history. It was in superb condition;--the water as clear and pellucid as crystal; the red and green sea-weed of the most brilliant hues; the red, purple, yellow, green, and striped anemones fully expanded, and stretching out their arms as if to welcome and embrace their former master; the starfish, zoophytes, sea-pens, and other innumerable marine insects, looking fresh and beautiful; and the crabs, as Peterkin said, looking as wide awake, impertinent, rampant, and pugnacious as ever. It was indeed so lovely and so interesting that I would scarcely allow myself to be torn away from it. Last of all, we returned to the bower and collected the few articles we possessed, such as the axe, the pencil-case, the broken telescope, the pen-knife, the hook made from the brass ring, and the sail-needle, with which we had landed on the island;--also, the long boots and the pistol, besides several curious articles of costume which we had manufactured from time to time. These we conveyed on board in our little boat, after having carved our names on a chip of iron-wood, thus:-- JACK MARTIN, RALPH ROVER, PETERKIN GAY, which we fixed up inside of the bower. The boat was then hoisted on board and the anchor weighed; which latter operation cost us great labour and much time, as the anchor was so heavy that we could not move it without the aid of my complex machinery of blocks and pulleys. A steady breeze was blowing off shore when we set sail, at a little before sunset. It swept us quickly past the reef and out to sea. The shore grew rapidly more indistinct as the shades of evening fell, while our clipper bark bounded lightly over the waves. Slowly the mountain top sank on the horizon, until it became a mere speck. In another moment the sun and the Coral Island sank together into the broad bosom of the Pacific. CHAPTER XXX. The voyage--The island, and a consultation in which danger is scouted as a thing unworthy of consideration--Rats and cats--The native teacher--Awful revelations--Wonderful effects of Christianity. Our voyage during the next two weeks was most interesting and prosperous. The breeze continued generally fair, and at all times enabled us to lie our course; for being, as I have said before, clipper-built, the pirate schooner could lie very close to the wind, and made little lee-way. We had no difficulty now in managing our sails, for Jack was heavy and powerful, while Peterkin was active as a kitten. Still, however, we were a very insufficient crew for such a vessel, and if any one had proposed to us to make such a voyage in it before we had been forced to go through so many hardships from necessity, we would have turned away with pity from the individual making such proposal as from a madman. I pondered this a good deal, and at last concluded that men do not know how much they are capable of doing till they try, and that we should never give way to despair in any undertaking, however difficult it may seem:--always supposing, however, that our cause is a good one, and that we can ask the divine blessing on it. Although, therefore, we could now manage our sails easily, we nevertheless found that my pulleys were of much service to us in some things; though Jack did laugh heartily at the uncouth arrangement of ropes and blocks, which had, to a sailor's eye, a very lumbering and clumsy appearance. But I will not drag my reader through the details of this voyage. Suffice it to say, that, after an agreeable sail of about three weeks, we arrived off the island of Mango, which I recognised at once from the description that the pirate, Bill, had given me of it during one of our conversations. As soon as we came within sight of it we hove the ship to, and held a council of war. "Now, boys," said Jack, as we seated ourselves beside him on the cabin sky-light, "before we go farther in this business, we must go over the pros and cons of it; for, although you have so generously consented to stick by me through thick and thin, it would be unfair did I not see that you thoroughly understand the danger of what we are about to attempt." "Oh! bother the danger," cried Peterkin; "I wonder to hear _you_, Jack, talk of danger. When a fellow begins to talk about it, he'll soon come to magnify it to such a degree that he'll not be fit to face it when it comes, no more than a suckin' baby!" "Nay, Peterkin," replied Jack, gravely, "I won't be jested out of it. I grant you, that, when we've once resolved to act, and have made up our minds what to do, we should think no more of danger. But, before we have so resolved, it behoves us to look at it straight in the face, and examine into it, and walk round it; for if we flinch at a distant view, we're sure to run away when the danger is near. Now, I understand from you, Ralph, that the island is inhabited by thorough-going, out-and-out cannibals, whose principal law is--'Might is right, and the weakest goes to the wall?'" "Yes," said I, "so Bill gave me to understand. He told me, however, that, at the southern side of it, the missionaries had obtained a footing amongst an insignificant tribe. A native teacher had been sent there by the Wesleyans, who had succeeded in persuading the chief at that part to embrace Christianity. But instead of that being of any advantage to our enterprise, it seems the very reverse; for the chief Tararo is a determined heathen, and persecutes the Christians,--who are far too weak in numbers to offer any resistance,--and looks with dislike upon all white men, whom he regards as propagators of the new faith." "'Tis a pity," said Jack, "that the Christian tribe is so small, for we shall scarcely be safe under their protection, I fear. If Tararo takes it into his head to wish for our vessel, or to kill ourselves, he could take us from them by force. You say that the native missionary talks English?" "So I believe." "Then, what I propose is this," said Jack: "We will run round to the south side of the island, and cut anchor off the Christian village. We are too far away just now to have been descried by any of the savages, so we shall get there unobserved, and have time to arrange our plans before the heathen tribes know of our presence. But, in doing this, we run the risk of being captured by the ill-disposed tribes, and being very ill used, if not--a--" "Roasted alive and eaten," cried Peterkin. "Come, out with it, Jack; according to your own showing, it's well to look the danger straight in the face!" "Well, that is the worst of it, certainly. Are you prepared, then, to take your chance of that?" "I've been prepared and had my mind made up long ago," cried Peterkin, swaggering about the deck with his hands thrust into his breeches' pockets. "The fact is, Jack, I don't believe that Tararo will be so ungrateful as to eat us; and I'm quite sure that he'll be too happy to grant us whatever we ask: so the sooner we go in and win the better." Peterkin was wrong, however, in his estimate of savage gratitude, as the sequel will show. The schooner was now put before the wind, and, after making a long run to the south'ard, we put about and beat up for the south side of Mango, where we arrived before sunset, and hove-to off the coral reef. Here we awaited the arrival of a canoe, which immediately put off on our rounding to. When it arrived, a mild-looking native, of apparently forty years of age, came on board, and, taking off his straw hat, made us a low bow. He was clad in a respectable suit of European clothes; and the first words he uttered, as he stepped up to Jack and shook hands with him, were,-- "Good day, gentlemen; we are happy to see you at Mango--you are heartily welcome." After returning his salutation, Jack exclaimed, "You must be the native missionary teacher of whom I have heard--are you not?" "I am. I have the joy to be a servant of the Lord Jesus at this station." "You're the very man I want to see, then," replied Jack; "that's lucky. Come down to the cabin, friend, and have a glass of wine. I wish particularly to speak with you. My men there" (pointing to Peterkin and me) "will look after your people." "Thank you," said the teacher, as he followed Jack to the cabin, "I do not drink wine or any strong drink." "Oh! then, there's lots of water, and you can have biscuit." "Now, 'pon my word, that's cool!" said Peterkin; "his _men_, forsooth! Well, since we are to be men, we may as well come it as strong over these black chaps as we can. Hallo, there!" he cried to the half dozen of natives who stood upon the deck, gazing in wonder at all they saw, "here's for you;" and he handed them a tray of broken biscuit and a can of water. Then, thrusting his hands into his pockets, he walked up and down the deck with an enormous swagger, whistling vociferously. In about half an hour Jack and the teacher came on deck, and the latter, bidding us a cheerful good evening, entered his canoe and paddled to the shore. When he was gone, Peterkin stepped up to Jack, and, touching his cap, said,-- "Well, captain, have you any communications to make to your _men_?" "Yes," cried Jack; "ready about, mind the helm and clew up your tongue, while I con the schooner through the passage in the reef. The teacher, who seems a first-rate fellow, says it's quite deep, and good anchorage within the lagoon close to the shore." While the vessel was slowly advancing to her anchorage, under a light breeze, Jack explained to us that Avatea was still on the island, living amongst the heathens; that she had expressed a strong desire to join the Christians, but Tararo would not let her, and kept her constantly in close confinement. "Moreover," continued Jack, "I find that she belongs to one of the Samoan Islands, where Christianity had been introduced long before her capture by the heathens of a neighbouring island; and the very day after she was taken, she was to have joined the church which had been planted there by that excellent body, the London Missionary Society. The teacher tells me, too, that the poor girl has fallen in love with a Christian chief, who lives on an island some fifty miles or so to the south of this one, and that she is meditating a desperate attempt at escape. So, you see, we have come in the nick of time. I fancy that this chief is the fellow whom you heard of, Ralph, at the Island of Emo. Besides all this, the heathen savages are at war among themselves, and there's to be a battle fought the day after to-morrow, in which the principal leader is Tararo; so that we'll not be able to commence our negotiations with the rascally chief till the day after." The village off which we anchored was beautifully situated at the head of a small bay, from the margin of which trees of every description peculiar to the tropics rose in the richest luxuriance to the summit of a hilly ridge, which was the line of demarcation between the possessions of the Christians and those of the neighbouring heathen chief. The site of the settlement was an extensive plot of flat land, stretching in a gentle slope from the sea to the mountain. The cottages stood several hundred yards from the beach, and were protected from the glare of the sea by the rich foliage of rows of large Barringtonia and other trees, which girt the shore. The village was about a mile in length, and perfectly straight, with a wide road down the middle, on either side of which were rows of the tufted-topped ti tree, whose delicate and beautiful blossoms, hanging beneath their plume-crested tops, added richness to the scene. The cottages of the natives were built beneath these trees, and were kept in the most excellent order, each having a little garden in front, tastefully laid out and planted, while the walks were covered with black and white pebbles. Every house had doors and Venetian windows, painted partly with lamp black made from the candle-nut, and partly with red ochre, which contrasted powerfully with the dazzling coral lime that covered the walls. On a prominent position stood a handsome church, which was quite a curiosity in its way. It was a hundred feet long by fifty broad, and was seated throughout to accommodate upwards of two thousand persons. It had six large folding doors and twelve windows with Venetian blinds; and, although a large and substantial edifice, it had been built, we were told by the teacher, in the space of two months! There was not a single iron nail in the fabric, and the natives had constructed it chiefly with their stone and bone axes and other tools, having only one or two axes or tools of European manufacture. Everything around this beautiful spot wore an aspect of peace and plenty, and, as we dropped our anchor within a stone's cast of the substantial coral wharf, I could not avoid contrasting it with the wretched village of Emo, where I had witnessed so many frightful scenes. When the teacher afterwards told me that the people of this tribe had become converts only a year previous to our arrival, and that they had been living before that in the practice of the most bloody system of idolatry, I could not refrain from exclaiming, "What a convincing proof that Christianity is of God!" On landing from our little boat, we were received with a warm welcome by the teacher and his wife; the latter being also a native, clothed in a simple European gown and straw bonnet. The shore was lined with hundreds of natives, whose persons were all more or less clothed with native cloth. Some of the men had on a kind of poncho formed of this cloth, their legs being uncovered. Others wore clumsily-fashioned trousers, and no upper garment except hats made of straw and cloth. Many of the dresses, both of women and men, were grotesque enough, being very bad imitations of the European garb; but all wore a dress of some sort or other. They seemed very glad to see us, and crowded round us as the teacher led the way to his dwelling, where we were entertained, in the most sumptuous manner, on baked pig and all the varieties of fruits and vegetables that the island produced. We were much annoyed, however, by the rats: they seemed to run about the house like domestic animals. As we sat at table, one of them peeped up at us over the edge of the cloth, close to Peterkin's elbow, who floored it with a blow on the snout from his knife, exclaiming as he did so-- "I say, Mister Teacher, why don't you set traps for these brutes?--surely you are not fond of them!" "No," replied the teacher, with a smile; "we would be glad to get rid of them if we could; but if we were to trap all the rats on the island, it would occupy our whole time." "Are they, then, so numerous?" inquired Jack. "They swarm everywhere. The poor heathens on the north side eat them, and think them very sweet. So did my people formerly; but they do not eat so many now, because the missionary who was last here expressed disgust at it. The poor people asked if it was wrong to eat rats; and he told them that it was certainly not wrong, but that the people of England would be much disgusted were they asked to eat rats." We had not been an hour in the house of this kind-hearted man when we were convinced of the truth of his statement as to their numbers, for the rats ran about the floors in dozens, and, during our meal, two men were stationed at the table to keep them off! "What a pity you have no cats," said Peterkin, as he aimed a blow at another reckless intruder, and missed it. "We would, indeed, be glad to have a few," rejoined the teacher, "but they are difficult to be got. The hogs, we find, are very good rat-killers, but they do not seem to be able to keep the numbers down. I have heard that they are better than cats." As the teacher said this, his good-natured black face was wrinkled with a smile of merriment. Observing that I had noticed it, he said:-- "I smiled just now when I remembered the fate of the first cat that was taken to Raratonga. This is one of the stations of the London Missionary Society. It, like our own, is infested with rats, and a cat was brought at last to the island. It was a large black one. On being turned loose, instead of being content to stay among men, the cat took to the mountains, and lived in a wild state, sometimes paying visits during the night to the houses of the natives; some of whom, living at a distance from the settlement, had not heard of the cat's arrival, and were dreadfully frightened in consequence, calling it a 'monster of the deep,' and flying in terror away from it. One night the cat, feeling a desire for company, I suppose, took its way to the house of a chief, who had recently been converted to Christianity, and had begun to learn to read and pray. The chief's wife, who was sitting awake at his side while he slept, beheld with horror two fires glistening in the doorway, and heard with surprise a mysterious voice. Almost petrified with fear, she awoke her husband, and began to upbraid him for forsaking his old religion, and burning his god, who, she declared, was now come to be avenged of them. 'Get up and pray! get up and pray!' she cried. The chief arose, and, on opening his eyes, beheld the same glaring lights, and heard the same ominous sound. Impelled by the extreme urgency of the case, he commenced, with all possible vehemence, to vociferate the alphabet, as a prayer to God to deliver them from the vengeance of Satan! On hearing this, the cat, as much alarmed as themselves, fled precipitately away, leaving the chief and his wife congratulating themselves on the efficacy of their prayer." We were much diverted with this anecdote, which the teacher related in English so good, that we certainly could not have supposed him a native but for the colour of his face and the foreign accent in his tone. Next day we walked out with this interesting man, and were much entertained and instructed by his conversation, as we rambled through the cool shady groves of bananas, citrons, limes, and other trees, or sauntered among the cottages of the natives, and watched them while they laboured diligently in the taro beds, or manufactured the tapa or native cloth. To some of these Jack put questions through the medium of the missionary; and the replies were such as to surprise us at the extent of their knowledge. Indeed, Peterkin very truly remarked that "they seemed to know a considerable deal more than Jack himself!" Among other pieces of interesting information that we obtained was the following, in regard to coral formations:-- "The islands of the Pacific," said our friend, "are of three different kinds or classes. Those of the first class are volcanic, mountainous, and wild; some shooting their jagged peaks into the clouds at an elevation of ten and fifteen thousand feet. Those of the second class are of crystalized limestone, and vary in height from one hundred to five hundred feet. The hills on these are not so wild or broken as those of the first class, but are richly clothed with vegetation, and very beautiful. I have no doubt that the Coral Island on which you were wrecked was one of this class. They are supposed to have been upheaved from the bottom of the sea by volcanic agency, but they are not themselves volcanic in their nature, neither are they of coral formation. Those of the third class are the low coralline islands usually having lagoons of water in their midst; they are very numerous. "As to the manner in which coral islands and reefs are formed; there are various opinions on this point. I will give you what seems to me the most probable theory,--a theory, I may add, which is held by some of the good and scientific missionaries. It is well known that there is much lime in salt water; it is also known that coral is composed of lime. It is supposed that the polypes, or coral insects, have the power of attracting this lime to their bodies; and with this material they build their little cells or habitations. They choose the summit of a volcano, or the top of a submarine mountain, as a foundation on which to build; for it is found that they never work at any great depth below the surface. On this they work; the polypes on the mountain top, of course, reach the surface first, then those at the outer edges reach the top sooner than the others between them and the centre, thus forming the coral reef surrounding the lagoon of water and the central island; after that the insects within the lagoon cease working. When the surface of the water is reached, these myriads of wonderful creatures die. Then birds visit the spot, and seeds are thus conveyed thither, which take root, and spring up, and flourish. Thus are commenced those coralline islets of which you have seen so many in these seas. The reefs round the large islands are formed in a similar manner. When we consider," added the missionary, "the smallness of the architects used by our heavenly Father in order to form those lovely and innumerable islands, we are filled with much of that feeling which induced the ancient king to exclaim, 'How manifold, O God, are thy works! in wisdom thou hast made them all.'" We all heartily agreed with the missionary in this sentiment, and felt not a little gratified to find that the opinions which Jack and I had been led to form from personal observation on our Coral Island were thus to a great extent corroborated. The missionary also gave us an account of the manner in which Christianity had been introduced among them. He said: "When missionaries were first sent here, three years ago, a small vessel brought them; and the chief, who is now dead, promised to treat well the two native teachers who were left with their wives on the island. But scarcely had the boat which landed them returned to the ship, than the natives began to maltreat their guests, taking away all they possessed, and offering them further violence, so that, when the boat was sent in haste to fetch them away, the clothes of both men and women were torn nearly off their backs. "Two years after this the vessel visited them again, and I, being in her, volunteered to land alone, without any goods whatever; begging that my wife might be brought to me the following year,--that is, _this_ year; and, as you see, she is with me. But the surf was so high that the boat could not land me; so with nothing on but my trousers and shirt, and with a few catechisms and a Bible, besides some portions of the Scripture translated into the Mango tongue, I sprang into the sea, and swam ashore on the crest of a breaker. I was instantly dragged up the beach by the natives; who, on finding I had nothing worth having upon me, let me alone. I then made signs to my friends in the ship to leave me; which they did. At fist the natives listened to me in silence, but laughed at what I said while I preached the gospel of our blessed Saviour Jesus Christ to them. Afterwards they treated me ill sometimes; but I persevered, and continued to dwell among them, and dispute, and exhort them to give up their sinful ways of life, burn their idols, and come to Jesus. "About a month after I landed, I heard that the chief was dead. He was the father of the present chief, who is now a most consistent member of the church. It is a custom here that, when a chief dies, his wives are strangled and buried with him. Knowing this, I hastened to his house to endeavour to prevent such cruelty if possible. When I arrived, I found two of the wives had already been killed, while another was in the act of being strangled. I pleaded hard for her, but it was too late; she was already dead. I then entreated the son to spare the fourth wife; and, after much hesitation, my prayer was granted: but, in half an hour afterwards, this poor woman repented of being unfaithful, as she termed it, to her husband, and insisted on being strangled; which was accordingly done. "All this time the chief's son was walking up and down before his father's house with a brow black as thunder. When he entered, I went in with him, and found, to my surprise, that his father was not dead! The old man was sitting on a mat in a corner, with an expression of placid resignation on his face. "'Why,' said I, 'have you strangled your father's wives before he is dead?' "To this the son replied, 'He is dead. That is no longer my father. He is as good as dead now. He is to be _buried alive_.' "I now remembered having heard that it is a custom among the Feejee islanders, that when the reigning chief grows old or infirm, the heir to the chieftainship has a right to depose his father; in which case he is considered as dead, and is buried alive. The young chief was now about to follow this custom, and, despite my earnest entreaties and pleadings, the old chief was buried that day before my eyes in the same grave with his four strangled wives! Oh! my heart groaned when I saw this, and I prayed to God to open the hearts of these poor creatures, as he had already opened mine, and pour into them the light and the love of the gospel of Jesus. My prayer was answered very soon. A week afterwards, the son, who was now chief of the tribe, came to me, bearing his god on his shoulders, and groaning beneath its weight. Flinging it down at my feet, he desired me to burn it! "You may conceive how overjoyed I was at this. I sprang up and embraced him, while I shed tears of joy. Then we made a fire, and burned the god to ashes, amid an immense concourse of the people, who seemed terrified at what was being done, and shrank back when we burned the god, expecting some signal vengeance to be taken upon us; but seeing that nothing happened, they changed their minds, and thought that our God must be the true one after all. From that time the mission prospered steadily, and now, while there is not a single man in the tribe who has not burned his household gods, and become a convert to Christianity, there are not a few, I hope, who are true followers of the Lamb, having been plucked as brands from the burning by Him who can save unto the uttermost. I will not tell you more of our progress at this time, but you see," he said, waving his hand around him, "the village and the church did not exist a year ago!" We were indeed much interested in this account, and I could not help again in my heart praying God to prosper those missionary societies that send such inestimable blessings to these islands of dark and bloody idolatry. The teacher also added that the other tribes were very indignant at this one for having burned its gods, and threatened to destroy it altogether, but they had done nothing yet; "and if they should," said the teacher, "the Lord is on our side; of whom shall we be afraid?" "Have the missionaries many stations in these seas?" inquired Jack. "Oh, yes. The London Missionary Society have a great many in the Tahiti group, and other islands in that quarter. Then the Wesleyans have the Feejee Islands all to themselves, and the Americans have many stations in other groups. But still, my friend, there are hundreds of islands here the natives of which have never heard of Jesus, or the good word of God, or the Holy Spirit; and thousands are living and dying in the practice of those terrible sins and bloody murders of which you have already heard. I trust, my friends," he added, looking earnestly into our faces, "I trust that if you ever return to England, you will tell your Christian friends that the horrors which they hear of in regard to these islands are _literally true_, and that when they have heard the worst, the '_half has not been told them_;' for there are perpetrated here foul deeds of darkness of which man may not speak. You may also tell them," he said, looking around with a smile, while a tear of gratitude trembled in his eye and rolled down his coal-black cheek,--"tell them of the blessings that the gospel has wrought _here_!" We assured our friend that we would certainly not forget his request. On returning towards the village, about noon, we remarked on the beautiful whiteness of the cottages. "That is owing to the lime with which they are plastered," said the teacher. "When the natives were converted, as I have described, I set them to work to build cottages for themselves, and also this handsome church which you see. When the framework and other parts of the houses were up, I sent the people to fetch coral from the sea. They brought immense quantities. Then I made them cut wood, and, piling the coral above it, set it on fire. "'Look! look!' cried the poor people, in amazement; 'what wonderful people the Christians are! He is roasting stones. We shall not need taro or bread-fruit any more; we may eat stones!' "But their surprise was still greater when the coral was reduced to a fine soft white powder. They immediately set up a great shout, and, mingling the lime with water, rubbed their faces and their bodies all over with it, and ran through the village screaming with delight. They were also much surprised at another thing they saw me do. I wished to make some household furniture, and constructed a turning-lathe to assist me. The first thing that I turned was the leg of a sofa; which was no sooner finished than the chief seized it with wonder and delight, and ran through the village exhibiting it to the people, who looked upon it with great admiration. The chief then, tying a string to it, hung it round his neck as an ornament! He afterwards told me that if he had seen it before he became a Christian he would have made it his god!" As the teacher concluded this anecdote we reached his door. Saying that he had business to attend to, he left us to amuse ourselves as we best could. "Now, lads," said Jack, turning abruptly towards us, and buttoning up his jacket as he spoke, "I'm off to see the battle. I've no particular fondness for seein' blood-shed, but I must find out the nature o' these fellows and see their customs with my own eyes, so that I may be able to speak of it again, if need be, authoritatively. It's only six miles off, and we don't run much more risk than that of getting a rap with a stray stone or an over-shot arrow. Will you go?" "To be sure we will," said Peterkin. "If they chance to see us we'll cut and run for it," added Jack. "Dear me!" cried Peterkin,--"_you_ run! thought you would scorn to run from any one." "So I would, if it were my duty to fight," returned Jack, coolly; "but as I don't want to fight, and don't intend to fight, if they offer to attack us I'll run away like the veriest coward that ever went by the name of Peterkin. So come along." CHAPTER XXXI. A strange and bloody battle--The lion bearded in his den--Frightful scenes of cruelty, and fears for the future. We had ascertained from the teacher the direction to the spot on which the battle was to be fought, and after a walk of two hours reached it. The summit of a bare hill was the place chosen; for, unlike most of the other islanders, who are addicted to bush-fighting, those of Mango are in the habit of meeting on open ground. We arrived before the two parties had commenced the deadly struggle, and, creeping as close up as we dared among the rocks, we lay and watched them. The combatants were drawn up face to face, each side ranged in rank four deep. Those in the first row were armed with long spears; the second, with clubs to defend the spearmen; the third row was composed of young men with slings; and the fourth consisted of women, who carried baskets of stones for the slingers, and clubs and spears with which to supply the warriors. Soon after we arrived, the attack was made with great fury. There was no science displayed. The two bodies of savages rushed headlong upon each other and engaged in a general _melee_, and a more dreadful set of men I have never seen. They wore grotesque war-caps made of various substances and decorated with feathers. Their faces and bodies were painted so as to make them look as frightful as possible; and as they brandished their massive clubs, leaped, shouted, yelled, and dashed each other to the ground, I thought I had never seen men look so like demons before. We were much surprised at the conduct of the women, who seemed to be perfect furies, and hung about the heels of their husbands in order to defend them. One stout young women we saw, whose husband was hard pressed and about to be overcome: she lifted a large stone, and throwing it at his opponent's head, felled him to the earth. But the battle did not last long. The band most distant from us gave way and were routed, leaving eighteen of their comrades dead upon the field. These the victors brained as they lay; and putting some of their brains on leaves went off with them, we were afterwards informed, to their temples, to present them to their gods as an earnest of the human victims who were soon to be brought there. We hastened back to the Christian village with feelings of the deepest sadness at the sanguinary conflict which we had just witnessed. Next day, after breakfasting with our friend the teacher, we made preparations for carrying out our plan. At first the teacher endeavoured to dissuade us. "You do not know," said he, turning to Jack, "the danger you run in venturing amongst these ferocious savages. I feel much pity for poor Avatea; but you are not likely to succeed in saving her, and you may die in the attempt." "Well," said Jack, quietly, "I am not afraid to die in a good cause." The teacher smiled approvingly at him as he said this, and after a little further conversation agreed to accompany us as interpreter; saying that, although Tararo was unfriendly to him, he had hitherto treated him with respect. We now went on board the schooner, having resolved to sail round the island and drop anchor opposite the heathen village. We manned her with natives, and hoped to overawe the savages by displaying our brass gun to advantage. The teacher soon after came on board, and setting our sails we put to sea. In two hours more we made the cliffs reverberate with the crash of the big gun, which we fired by way of salute, while we ran the British ensign up to the peak and cast anchor. The commotion on shore showed us that we had struck terror into the hearts of the natives; but seeing that we did not offer to molest them, a canoe at length put off and paddled cautiously towards us. The teacher showed himself, and explaining that we were friends and wished to palaver with the chief, desired the native to go and tell him to come on board. We waited long and with much impatience for an answer. During this time the native teacher conversed with us again, and told us many things concerning the success of the gospel among those islands; and perceiving that we were by no means so much gratified as we ought to have been at the hearing of such good news, he pressed us more closely in regard to our personal interest in religion, and exhorted us to consider that our souls were certainly in as great danger as those of the wretched heathen whom we pitied so much, if we had not already found salvation in Jesus Christ. "Nay, further," he added, "if such be your unhappy case, you are, in the sight of God, much worse than these savages (forgive me, my young friends, for saying so); for they have no knowledge, no light, and do not profess to believe; while you, on the contrary, have been brought up in the light of the blessed gospel and call yourselves Christians. These poor savages are indeed the enemies of our Lord; but you, if ye be not true believers, are traitors!" I must confess that my heart condemned me while the teacher spoke in this earnest manner, and I knew not what to reply. Peterkin, too, did not seem to like it, and I thought would willingly have escaped; but Jack seemed deeply impressed, and wore an anxious expression on his naturally grave countenance, while he assented to the teacher's remarks and put to him many earnest questions. Meanwhile the natives who composed our crew, having nothing particular to do, had squatted down on the deck and taken out their little books containing the translated portions of the New Testament, along with hymns and spelling-books, and were now busily engaged, some vociferating the alphabet, others learning prayers off by heart, while a few sang hymns,--all of them being utterly unmindful of our presence. The teacher soon joined them, and soon afterwards they all engaged in a prayer which was afterwards translated to us, and proved to be a petition for the success of our undertaking and for the conversion of the heathen. While we were thus engaged a canoe put off from shore and several savages leaped on deck, one of whom advanced to the teacher and informed him that Tararo could not come on board that day, being busy with some religious ceremonies before the gods, which could on no account be postponed. He was also engaged with a friendly chief who was about to take his departure from the island, and therefore begged that the teacher and his friends would land and pay a visit to him. To this the teacher returned answer that we would land immediately. "Now, lads," said Jack, as we were about to step into our little boat, "I'm not going to take any weapons with me, and I recommend you to take none either. We are altogether in the power of these savages, and the utmost we could do, if they were to attack us, would be to kill a few of them before we were ourselves overpowered. I think that our only chance of success lies in mild measures. Don't you think so?" To this I assented gladly, and Peterkin replied by laying down a huge bell-mouthed blunderbuss, and divesting himself of a pair of enormous horse-pistols with which he had purposed to overawe the natives! We then jumped into our boat and rowed ashore. On reaching the beach we were received by a crowd of naked savages, who shouted a rude welcome, and conducted us to a house or shed where a baked pig and a variety of vegetables were prepared for us. Having partaken of these, the teacher begged to be conducted to the chief; but there seemed some hesitation, and after some consultation among themselves, one of the men stood forward and spoke to the teacher. "What says he?" inquired Jack when the savage had concluded. "He says that the chief is just going to the temple of his god and cannot see us yet; so we must be patient, my friend." "Well," cried Jack, rising; "if he won't come to see me, I'll e'en go and see him. Besides, I have a great desire to witness their proceedings at this temple of theirs. Will you go with me, friend?" "I cannot," said the teacher, shaking his head; "I must not go to the heathen temples and witness their inhuman rites, except for the purpose of condemning their wickedness and folly." "Very good," returned Jack; "then I'll go alone, for I cannot condemn their doings till I have seen them." Jack arose, and we, having determined to go also, followed him through the banana groves to a rising ground immediately behind the village, on the top of which stood the Bure, or temple, under the dark shade of a group of iron-wood trees. As we went through the village, I was again led to contrast the rude huts and sheds, and their almost naked savage- looking inhabitants, with the natives of the Christian village, who, to use the teacher's scriptural expression, were now "clothed and in their right mind." As we turned into a broad path leading towards the hill, we were arrested by the shouts of an approaching multitude in the rear. Drawing aside into the bushes we awaited their coming up, and as they drew near we observed that it was a procession of the natives, many of whom were dancing and gesticulating in the most frantic manner. They had an exceedingly hideous aspect, owing to the black, red, and yellow paints with which their faces and naked bodies were bedaubed. In the midst of these came a band of men carrying three or four planks, on which were seated in rows upwards of a dozen men. I shuddered involuntarily as I recollected the sacrifice of human victims at the island of Emo, and turned with a look of fear to Jack as I said,-- "Oh, Jack! I have a terrible dread that they are going to commit some of their cruel practices on these wretched men. We had better not go to the temple. We shall only be horrified without being able to do any good, for I fear they are going to kill them." Jack's face wore an expression of deep compassion as he said, in a low voice, "No fear, Ralph; the sufferings of these poor fellows are over long ago." I turned with a start as he spoke, and, glancing at the men, who were now quite near to the spot where we stood, saw that they were all dead. They were tied firmly with ropes in a sitting posture on the planks, and seemed, as they bent their sightless eye-balls and grinning mouths over the dancing crew below, as if they were laughing in ghastly mockery at the utter inability of their enemies to hurt them now. These, we discovered afterwards, were the men who had been slain in the battle of the previous day, and were now on their way to be first presented to the gods, and then eaten. Behind these came two men leading between them a third, whose hands were pinioned behind his back. He walked with a firm step, and wore a look of utter indifference on his face, as they led him along; so that we concluded he must be a criminal who was about to receive some slight punishment for his faults. The rear of the procession was brought up by a shouting crowd of women and children, with whom we mingled and followed to the temple. Here we arrived in a few minutes. The temple was a tall circular building, open at one side. Around it were strewn heaps of human bones and skulls. At a table inside sat the priest, an elderly man, with a long gray beard. He was seated on a stool, and before him lay several knives, made of wood, bone, and splinters of bamboo, with which he performed his office of dissecting dead bodies. Farther in lay a variety of articles that had been dedicated to the god, and among them were many spears and clubs. I observed among the latter some with human teeth sticking in them, where the victims had been clubbed in their mouths. Before this temple the bodies, which were painted with vermilion and soot, were arranged in a sitting posture; and a man, called a "dan-vosa" (orator), advanced, and, laying his hands on their heads, began to chide them, apparently, in a low bantering tone. What he said we knew not, but, as he went on, he waxed warm, and at last shouted to them at the top of his lungs, and finally finished by kicking the bodies over and running away, amid the shouts and laughter of the people, who now rushed forward. Seizing the bodies by a leg, or an arm, or by the hair of the head, they dragged them over stumps and stones and through sloughs, until they were exhausted. The bodies were then brought back to the temple and dissected by the priest, after which they were taken out to be baked. Close to the temple a large fire was kindled, in which stones were heated red hot. When ready these were spread out on the ground, and a thick coating of leaves strewn over them to slack the heat. On this "lovo," or oven, the bodies were then placed, covered over, and left to bake. The crowd now ran, with terrible yells, towards a neighbouring hill or mound, on which we observed the frame-work of a house lying ready to be erected. Sick with horror, yet fascinated by curiosity, we staggered after them mechanically, scarce knowing where we were going or what we did, and feeling a sort of impression that all we saw was a dreadful dream. Arrived at the place, we saw the multitude crowding round a certain spot. We pressed forward and obtained a sight of what they were doing. A large wooden beam or post lay on the ground, beside the other parts of the frame-work of the house, and close to the end of it was a hole about seven feet deep and upwards of two feet wide. While we looked, the man whom we had before observed with his hands pinioned, was carried into the circle. His hands were now free, but his legs were tightly strapped together. The post of the house was then placed in the hole, and the man put in beside it. His head was a good way below the surface of the hole, and his arms were clasped round the post. Earth was now thrown in until all was covered over and stamped down; and this, we were afterwards told, was a _ceremony_ usually performed at the dedication of a new temple, or the erection of a chief's house! "Come, come," cried Jack, on beholding this horrible tragedy, "we have seen enough, enough, far more than enough! Let us go." Jack's face looked ghastly pale and haggard as we hurried back to rejoin the teacher, and I have no doubt that he felt terrible anxiety when he considered the number and ferocity of the savages, and the weakness of the few arms which were ready indeed to essay, but impotent to effect, Avatea's deliverance from these ruthless men. CHAPTER XXXII. An unexpected discovery, and a bold, reckless defiance, with its consequences--Plans of escape, and heroic resolves. When we returned to the shore, and related to our friend what had passed, he was greatly distressed, and groaned in spirit; but we had not sat long in conversation, when we were interrupted by the arrival of Tararo on the beach, accompanied by a number of followers bearing baskets of vegetables and fruits on their heads. We advanced to meet him, and he expressed, through our interpreter, much pleasure in seeing us. "And what is it that my friends wish to say to me?" he inquired. The teacher explained that we came to beg that Avatea might be spared. "Tell him," said Jack, "that I consider that I have a right to ask this of him, having not only saved the girl's life, but the lives of his own people also; and say that I wish her to be allowed to follow her own wishes, and join the Christians." While this was being translated, the chiefs brow lowered, and we could see plainly that our request met with no favourable reception. He replied with considerable energy, and at some length. "What says he?" inquired Jack. "I regret to say that he will not listen to the proposal. He says he has pledged his word to his friend that the girl shall be sent to him, and a deputy is even now on this island awaiting the fulfilment of the pledge." Jack bit his lip in suppressed anger. "Tell Tararo," he exclaimed with flashing eye, "that if he does not grant my demand, it will be worse for him. Say I have a big gun on board my schooner that will blow his village into the sea, if he does not give up the girl." "Nay, my friend," said the teacher, gently, "I will not tell him that; we must overcome evil with good.'" "What does my friend say?" inquired the chief, who seemed nettled by Jack's looks of defiance. "He is displeased," replied the teacher. Tararo turned away with a smile of contempt, and walked towards the men who carried the baskets of vegetables, and who had now emptied the whole on the beach in an enormous pile. "What are they doing there?" I inquired. "I think that they are laying out a gift which they intend to present to some one," said the teacher. At this moment a couple of men appeared leading a young girl between them; and, going towards the heap of fruits and vegetables, placed her on the top of it. We started with surprise and fear, for in the young female before us we recognised the Samoan girl, Avatea! We stood rooted to the earth with surprise and thick coming fears. "Oh! my dear young friend," whispered the teacher, in a voice of deep emotion, while he seized Jack by the arm, "she is to be made a sacrifice even now!" "Is she?" cried Jack, with a vehement shout, spurning the teacher aside, and dashing over two natives who stood in his way, while he rushed towards the heap, sprang up its side, and seized Avatea by the arm. In another moment he dragged her down, placed her back to a large tree, and, wrenching a war-club from the hand of a native who seemed powerless and petrified with surprise, whirled it above his head, and yelled, rather than shouted, while his face blazed with fury, "Come on, the whole nation of you, an ye like it, and do your worst!" It seemed as though the challenge had been literally accepted; for every savage on the ground ran precipitately at Jack with club and spear, and, doubtless, would speedily have poured out his brave blood on the sod, had not the teacher rushed in between them, and, raising his voice to its utmost, cried.-- "Stay your hands, warriors! It is not your part to judge in this matter. It is for Tararo, the chief, to say whether or not the young man shall live or die." The natives were arrested; and I know not whether it was the gratifying acknowledgment of his superiority thus made by the teacher, or some lingering feeling of gratitude for Jack's former aid in time of need, that influenced Tararo, but he stepped forward, and, waving his hand, said to his people,--"Desist. The young man's life is mine." Then, turning to Jack, he said, "You have forfeited your liberty and life to me. Submit yourself, for we are more numerous than the sand upon the shore. You are but one; why should you die?" "Villain!" exclaimed Jack, passionately, "I may die, but, assuredly, I shall not perish alone. I will not submit until you promise that this girl shall not be injured." "You are very bold," replied the chief, haughtily, "but very foolish. Yet I will say that Avatea shall not be sent away, at least for three days." "You had better accept these terms," whispered the teacher, entreatingly. "If you persist in this mad defiance, you will be slain, and Avatea will be lost. Three days are worth having." Jack hesitated a moment, then lowered his club, and, throwing it moodily to the ground, crossed his arms on his breast, and hung down his head in silence. Tararo seemed pleased by his submission, and told the teacher to say that he did not forget his former services, and, therefore, would leave him free as to his person, but that the schooner would be detained till he had further considered the matter. While the teacher translated this, he approached as near to where Avatea was standing as possible, without creating suspicion, and whispered to her a few words in the native language. Avatea, who, during the whole of the foregoing scene, had stood leaning against the tree perfectly passive, and seemingly quite uninterested in all that was going on, replied by a single rapid glance of her dark eye, which was instantly cast down again on the ground at her feet. Tararo now advanced, and taking the girl by the hand, led her unresistingly away, while Jack, Peterkin, and I returned with the teacher on board the schooner. On reaching the deck, we went down to the cabin, where Jack threw himself, in a state of great dejection, on a couch; but the teacher seated himself by his side, and, laying his hand upon his shoulder, said,-- "Do not give way to anger, my young friend. God has given us three days, and we must use the means that are in our power to free this poor girl from slavery. We must not sit in idle disappointment, we must act"-- "Act!" cried Jack, raising himself, and tossing back his hair wildly; "it is mockery to balk of acting when one is bound hand and foot. How can I act? I cannot fight a whole nation of savages single-handed. Yes," he said, with a bitter smile, "I can fight them, but I cannot conquer them, or save Avatea." "Patience, my friend; your spirit is not a good one just now. You cannot expect that blessing which alone can insure success, unless you are more submissive. I will tell you my plans if you will listen." "Listen!" cried Jack, eagerly, "of course I will, my good fellow; I did not know you had any plans. Out with them. I only hope you will show me how I can get the girl on board of this schooner, and I'd up anchor and away in no time. But proceed with your plans." The teacher smiled sadly: "Ah! my friend, if one fathom of your anchor chain were to rattle, as you drew it in, a thousand warriors would be standing on your deck. No, no, that could not be done. Even now, your ship would be taken from you were it not that Tararo has some feeling of gratitude toward you. But I know Tararo well. He is a man of falsehood, as all the unconverted savages are. The chief to whom he has promised this girl is very powerful, and Tararo _must_ fulfil his promise. He has told you that he would do nothing to the girl for three days; but that is because the party who are to take her away will not be ready to start for three days. Still, as he might have made you a prisoner during those three days, I say that God has given them to us." "Well, but what do you propose to do?" said Jack, impatiently. "My plan involves much danger, but I see no other, and I think you have courage to brave it. It is this: There is an island about fifty miles to the south of this, the natives of which are Christians, and have been so for two years or more, and the principal chief is Avatea's lover. Once there, Avatea would be safe. Now, I suggest that you should abandon your schooner. Do you think that you can make so great a sacrifice?" "Friend," replied Jack, "when I make up my mind to go through with a thing of importance, I can make any sacrifice." The teacher smiled. "Well, then, the savages could not conceive it possible that, for the sake of a girl, you would voluntarily lose your fine vessel; therefore as long as she lies here they think they have you all safe: so I suggest that we get a quantity of stores conveyed to a sequestered part of the shore, provide a small canoe, put Avatea on board, and you three would paddle to the Christian island." "Bravo!" cried Peterkin, springing up and seizing the teacher's hand. "Missionary, you're a regular brick. I didn't think you had so much in you." "As for me," continued the teacher, "I will remain on board till they discover that you are gone. Then they will ask me where you are gone to, and I will refuse to tell." "And what'll be the result of that?" inquired Jack. "I know not. Perhaps they will kill me; but," he added, looking at Jack with a peculiar smile, "I too am not afraid to die in a good cause!" "But how are we to get hold of Avatea?" inquired Jack. "I have arranged with her to meet us at a particular spot, to which I will guide you to-night. We shall then arrange about it. She will easily manage to elude her keepers, who are not very strict in watching her, thinking it impossible that she could escape from the island. Indeed, I am sure that such an idea will never enter their heads. But, as I have said, you run great danger. Fifty miles in a small canoe, on the open sea, is a great voyage to make. You may miss the island, too, in which case there is no other in that direction for a hundred miles or more; and if you lose your way and fall among other heathens, you know the law of Feejee--a cast-away who gains the shore is doomed to die. You must count the cost, my young friend." "I have counted it," replied Jack. "If Avatea consents to run the risk, most certainly I will; and so will my comrades also. Besides," added Jack, looking seriously into the teacher's face, "your Bible,--_our_ Bible, tells of ONE who delivers those who call on Him in the time of trouble; who holds the winds in his fists and the waters in the hollow of his hand." We now set about active preparations for the intended voyage; collected together such things as we should require, and laid out on the deck provisions sufficient to maintain us for several weeks, purposing to load the canoe with as much as she could hold consistently with speed and safety. These we covered with a tarpaulin, intending to convey them to the canoe only a few hours before starting. When night spread her sable curtain over the scene, we prepared to land; but, first, kneeling along with the natives and the teacher, the latter implored a blessing on our enterprise. Then we rowed quietly to the shore and followed our sable guide, who led us by a long detour, in order to avoid the village, to the place of rendezvous. We had not stood more than five minutes under the gloomy shade of the thick foliage when a dark figure glided noiselessly up to us. "Ah! here you are," said Jack, as Avatea approached. "Now, then, tell her what we've come about, and don't waste time." "I understan' leetl English," said Avatea, in a low voice. "Why, where did you pick up English?" exclaimed Jack, in amazement; "you were dumb as a stone when I saw you last." "She has learned all she knows of it from me," said the teacher, "since she came to the island." We now gave Avatea a full explanation of our plans, entering into all the details, and concealing none of the danger, so that she might be fully aware of the risk she ran. As we had anticipated, she was too glad of the opportunity thus afforded her to escape from her persecutors to think of the danger or risk. "Then you're willing to go with us, are you?" said Jack. "Yis, I am willing to go." "And you're not afraid to trust yourself out on the deep sea so far?" "No, I not 'fraid to go. Safe with Christian." After some further consultation, the teacher suggested that it was time to return, so we bade Avatea good night, and having appointed to meet at the cliff where the canoe lay, on the following night, just after dark, we hastened away--we to row on board the schooner with muffled oars--Avatea to glide back to her prison-hut among the Mango savages. CHAPTER XXXIII. The flight--The pursuit--Despair and its results--The lion bearded in his den again--Awful danger threatened and wonderfully averted--A terrific storm. As the time for our meditated flight drew near, we became naturally very fearful lest our purpose should be discovered, and we spent the whole of the following day in a state of nervous anxiety. We resolved to go a- shore and ramble about the village, as if to observe the habits and dwellings of the people, as we thought that an air of affected indifference to the events of the previous day would be more likely than any other course of conduct to avert suspicion as to our intentions. While we were thus occupied, the teacher remained on board with the Christian natives, whose powerful voices reached us ever and anon as they engaged in singing hymns or in prayer. At last the long and tedious day came to a close, the sank into the sea, and the short-lived twilight of those regions, to which I have already referred, ended abruptly in a dark night. Hastily throwing a few blankets into our little boat, we stepped into it, and, whispering farewell to the natives in the schooner, rowed gently over the lagoon, taking care to keep as near to the beach as possible. We rowed in the utmost silence and with muffled oars, so that had any one observed us at the distance of a few yards, he might have almost taken us for a phantom- boat or a shadow on the dark water. Not a breath of air was stirring; but fortunately the gentle ripple of the sea upon the shore, mingled with the soft roar of the breaker on the distant reef, effectually drowned the slight plash that we unavoidably made in the water by the dipping of our oars. Quarter of an hour sufficed to bring us to the over-hanging cliff under whose black shadow our little canoe lay, with her bow in the water ready to be launched, and most of her cargo already stowed away. As the keel of our little boat grated on the sand, a hand was laid upon the bow, and a dim form was seen. "Ha!" said Peterkin in a whisper, as he stepped upon the beach, "is that you, Avatea?" "Yis, it am me," was the reply. "All right! Now, then, gently. Help me to shove off the canoe," whispered Jack to the teacher; "and Peterkin, do you shove these blankets aboard, we may want them before long. Avatea, step into the middle;--that's right." "Is all ready?" whispered the teacher. "Not quite," replied Peterkin. "Here, Ralph, lay hold o' this pair of oars, and stow them away if you can. I don't like paddles. After we're safe away I'll try to rig up rollicks for them." "Now, then, in with you and shove off." One more earnest squeeze of the kind teacher's hand, and, with his whispered blessing yet sounding in our ears, we shot like an arrow from the shore, sped over the still waters of the lagoon, and paddled as swiftly as strong arms and willing hearts could urge us over the long swell of the open sea. All that night and the whole of the following day we plied our paddles in almost total silence and without halt, save twice to recruit our failing energies with a mouthful of food and a draught of water. Jack had taken the bearing of the island just after starting, and laying a small pocket- compass before him, kept the head of the canoe due south, for our chance of hitting the island depended very much on the faithfulness of our steersman in keeping our tiny bark exactly and constantly on its proper course. Peterkin and I paddled in the bow, and Avatea worked untiringly in the middle. As the sun's lower limb dipped on the gilded edge of the sea Jack ceased working, threw down his paddle, and called a halt. "There," he cried, heaving a deep, long-drawn sigh, "we've put a considerable breadth of water between us and these black rascals, so now we'll have a hearty supper and a sound sleep." "Hear, hear," cried Peterkin. "Nobly spoken, Jack. Hand me a drop water, Ralph. Why, girl what's wrong with you? You look just like a black owl blinking in the sunshine." Avatea smiled. "I sleepy," she said; and as if to prove the truth of this, she laid her head on the edge of the canoe and fell fast asleep. "That's uncommon sharp practice," said Peterkin, with a broad grin. "Don't you think we should awake her to make her eat something first? or, perhaps," he added, with a grave, meditative look, "perhaps we might put some food in her mouth, which is so elegantly open at the present moment, and see if she'd swallow it while asleep. If so, Ralph, you might come round to the front here and feed her quietly, while Jack and I are tucking into the victuals. It would be a monstrous economy of time." I could not help smiling at Peterkin's idea, which, indeed, when I pondered it, seemed remarkably good in theory; nevertheless I declined to put it in practice, being fearful of the result should the victual chance to go down the wrong throat. But, on suggesting this to Peterkin, he exclaimed-- "Down the wrong throat, man! why, a fellow with half an eye might see that if it went down Avatea's throat it could not go down the wrong throat!--unless, indeed, you have all of a sudden become inordinately selfish, and think that all the throats in the world are wrong ones except your own. However, don't talk so much, and hand me the pork before Jack finishes it. I feel myself entitled to at least one minute morsel." "Peterkin, you're a villain. A paltry little villain," said Jack, quietly, as he tossed the hind legs (including the tail) of a cold roast pig to his comrade; "and I must again express my regret that unavoidable circumstances have thrust your society upon me, and that necessity has compelled me to cultivate your acquaintance. Were it not that you are incapable of walking upon the water, I would order you, sir, out of the canoe." "There! you've wakened Avatea with your long tongue," retorted Peterkin, with a frown, as the girl gave vent to a deep sigh. "No," he continued, "it was only a snore. Perchance she dreameth of her black Apollo. I say, Ralph, do leave just one little slice of that yam. Between you and Jack I run a chance of being put on short allowance, if not--yei--a--a--ow!" Peterkin's concluding remark was a yawn of so great energy that Jack recommended him to postpone the conclusion of his meal till next morning,--a piece of advice which he followed so quickly, that I was forcibly reminded of his remark, a few minutes before, in regard to the sharp practice of Avatea. My readers will have observed, probably, by this time, that I am much given to meditation; they will not, therefore, be surprised to learn that I fell into a deep reverie on the subject of sleep, which was continued without intermission into the night, and prolonged without interruption into the following morning. But I cannot feel assured that I actually slept during that time, although I am tolerably certain that I was not awake. Thus we lay like a shadow on the still bosom of the ocean, while the night closed in, and all around was calm, dark, and silent. A thrilling cry of alarm from Peterkin startled us in the morning, just as the gray dawn began to glimmer in the east. "What's wrong?" cried Jack, starting up. Peterkin replied by pointing with a look of anxious dread towards the horizon; and a glance sufficed to show us that one of the largest sized war-canoes was approaching us! With a groan of mingled despair and anger Jack seized his paddle, glanced at the compass, and, in a suppressed voice, commanded us to "give way." But we did not require to be urged. Already our four paddles were glancing in the water, and the canoe bounded over the glassy sea like a dolphin, while a shout from our pursuers told that they had observed our motions. "I see something like land ahead," said Jack, in a hopeful tone. "It seems impossible that we could have made the island yet; still, if it is so, we may reach it before these fellows can catch us, for our canoe is light and our muscles are fresh." No one replied; for, to say truth, we felt that, in a long chase, we had no chance whatever with a canoe which held nearly a hundred warriors. Nevertheless, we resolved to do our utmost to escape, and paddled with a degree of vigour that kept us well in advance of our pursuers. The war- canoe was so far behind us that it seemed but a little speck on the sea, and the shouts, to which the crew occasionally gave vent, came faintly towards us on the morning breeze. We therefore hoped that we should be able to keep in advance for an hour or two, when we might, perhaps, reach the land ahead. But this hope was suddenly crushed by the supposed land, not long after, rising up into the sky; thus proving itself to be a fog- bank! A bitter feeling of disappointment filled each heart, and was expressed on each countenance, as we beheld this termination to our hopes. But we had little time to think of regret. Our danger was too great and imminent to permit of a moment's relaxation from our exertions. No hope now animated our bosoms; but a feeling of despair, strange to say, lent us power to work, and nerved our arms with such energy, that it was several hours ere the savages overtook us. When we saw that there was indeed no chance of escape, and that paddling any longer would only serve to exhaust our strength, without doing any good, we turned the side of our canoe towards the approaching enemy, and laid down our paddles. Silently, and with a look of bitter determination on his face, Jack lifted one of the light boat-oars that we had brought with us, and, resting it on his shoulder, stood up in an attitude of bold defiance. Peterkin took the other oar and also stood up, but there was no anger visible on his countenance. When not sparkling with fun, it usually wore a mild, sad expression, which was deepened on the present occasion, as he glanced at Avatea, who sat with her face resting in her hands upon her knees. Without knowing very well what I intended to do, I also arose and grasped my paddle with both hands. On came the large canoe like a war-horse of the deep, with the foam curling from its sharp bow, and the spear-heads of the savages glancing the beams of the rising sun. Perfect silence was maintained on both sides, and we could hear the hissing water, and see the frowning eyes of the warriors, as they came rushing on. When about twenty yards distant, five or six of the savages in the bow rose, and, laying aside their paddles, took up their spears. Jack and Peterkin raised their oars, while, with a feeling of madness whirling in my brain, I grasped my paddle and prepared for the onset. But, before any of us could strike a blow, the sharp prow of the war-canoe struck us like a thunderbolt on the side, and hurled us into the sea! What occurred after this I cannot tell, for I was nearly drowned; but when I recovered from the state of insensibility into which I had been thrown, I found myself stretched on my back, bound hand and foot between Jack and Peterkin, in the bottom of the large canoe. In this condition we lay the whole day, during which time the savages only rested one hour. When night came, they rested again for another hour, and appeared to sleep just as they sat. But we were neither unbound nor allowed to speak to each other during the voyage, nor was a morsel of food or a draught of water given to us. For food, however, we cared little; but we would have given much for a drop of water to cool our parched lips, and we would have been glad, too, had they loosened the cords that bound us, for they were tightly fastened and occasioned us much pain. The air, also, was unusually hot, so much so that I felt convinced that a storm was brewing. This also added to our sufferings. However, these were at length relieved by our arrival at the island from which we had fled. While we were being led ashore, we caught a glimpse of Avatea, who was seated in the hinder part of the canoe. She was not fettered in any way. Our captors now drove us before them towards the hut of Tararo, at which we speedily arrived, and found the chief seated with an expression on his face that boded us no good. Our friend the teacher stood beside him, with a look of anxiety on his mild features. "How comes it," said Tararo, turning to the teacher, "that these youths have abused our hospitality?" "Tell him," replied Jack, "that we have not abused his hospitality, for his hospitality has not been extended to us. I came to the island to deliver Avatea, and my only regret is that I have failed to do so. If I get another chance, I will try to save her yet." The teacher shook his head. "Nay, my young friend, I had better not tell him that. It will only incense him." "Fear not," replied Jack. "If you don't tell him that, you'll tell him nothing, for I won't say anything softer." On hearing Jack's speech, Tararo frowned and his eye flashed with anger. "Go," he said, "presumptuous boy. My debt to you is cancelled. You and your companions shall die." As he spoke he rose and signed to several of his attendants, who seized Jack, and Peterkin, and me, violently by the collars, and, dragging us from the hut of the chief, led us through the wood to the outskirts of the village. Here they thrust us into a species of natural cave in a cliff, and, having barricaded the entrance, left us in total darkness. After feeling about for some time--for our legs were unshackled, although our wrists were still bound with thongs--we found a low ledge of rock running along one side of the cavern. On this we seated ourselves, and for a long time maintained unbroken silence. At last I could restrain my feelings no longer. "Alas! dear Jack and Peterkin," said I, "what is to become of us? I fear that we are doomed to die." "I know not," replied Jack, in a tremulous voice, "I know not; Ralph, I regret deeply the hastiness of my violent temper, which, I must confess, has been the chief cause of our being brought to this sad condition. Perhaps the teacher may do something for us. But I have little hope." "Ah! no," said Peterkin, with a heavy sigh; "I am sure he can't help us. Tararo doesn't care more for him than for one of his dogs." "Truly," said I, "there seems no chance of deliverance, unless the Almighty puts forth his arm to save us. Yet I must say that I have great hope, my comrades, for we have come to this dark place by no fault of ours--unless it be a fault to try to succour a woman in distress." I was interrupted in my remarks by a noise at the entrance to the cavern, which was caused by the removal of the barricade. Immediately after, three men entered, and, taking us by the collars of our coats, led us away through the forest. As we advanced, we heard much shouting and beating of native drums in the village, and at first we thought that our guards were conducting us to the hut of Tararo again. But in this we were mistaken. The beating of drums gradually increased, and soon after we observed a procession of the natives coming towards us. At the head of this procession we were placed, and then we all advanced together towards the temple where human victims were wont to be sacrificed! A thrill of horror ran through my heart as I recalled to mind the awful scenes that I had before witnessed at that dreadful spot. But deliverance came suddenly from a quarter whence we little expected it. During the whole of that day there had been an unusual degree of heat in the atmosphere, and the sky assumed that lurid aspect which portends a thunder-storm. Just as we were approaching the horrid temple, a growl of thunder burst overhead and heavy drops of rain began to fall. Those who have not witnessed gales and storms in tropical regions can form but a faint conception of the fearful hurricane that burst upon the island of Mango at this time. Before we reached the temple, the storm burst upon us with a deafening roar, and the natives, who knew too well the devastation that was to follow, fled right and left through the woods in order to save their property, leaving us alone in the midst of the howling storm. The trees around us bent before the blast like willows, and we were about to flee in order to seek shelter, when the teacher ran toward us with a knife in his hand. "Thank the Lord," he said, cutting our bonds, "I am in time! Now, seek the shelter of the nearest rock." This we did without a moment's hesitation, for the whistling wind burst, ever and anon, like thunder-claps among the trees, and, tearing them from their roots, hurled them with violence to the ground. Rain cut across the land in sheets, and lightning played like forked serpents in the air; while, high above the roar of the hissing tempest, the thunder crashed, and burst, and rolled in awful majesty. In the village the scene was absolutely appalling. Roofs were blown completely off the houses in many cases; and in others, the houses themselves were levelled with the ground. In the midst of this, the natives were darting to and fro, in some instances saving their goods, but in many others seeking to save themselves from the storm of destruction that whirled around them. But, terrific although the tempest was on land, it was still more tremendous on the mighty ocean. Billows sprang, as it were, from the great deep, and while their crests were absolutely scattered into white mist, they fell upon the beach with a crash that seemed to shake the solid land. But they did not end there. Each successive wave swept higher and higher on the beach, until the ocean lashed its angry waters among the trees and bushes, and at length, in a sheet of white curdled foam, swept into the village and upset and carried off, or dashed into wreck, whole rows of the native dwellings! It was a sublime, an awful scene, calculated, in some degree at least, to impress the mind of beholders with the might and the majesty of God. We found shelter in a cave that night and all the next day, during which time the storm raged in fury; but on the night following it abated somewhat, and in the morning we went to the village to seek for food, being so famished with hunger that we lost all feeling of danger and all wish to escape in our desire to satisfy the cravings of nature. But no sooner had we obtained food than we began to wish that we had rather endeavoured to make our escape into the mountains. This we attempted to do soon afterwards, but the natives were now able to look after us, and on our showing a disposition to avoid observation and make towards the mountains, we were seized by three warriors, who once more bound our wrists and thrust us into our former prison. It is true Jack made a vigorous resistance, and knocked down the first savage who seized him, with a well-directed blow of his fist, but he was speedily overpowered by others. Thus we were again prisoners, with the prospect of torture and a violent death before us. CHAPTER XXXIV. Imprisonment--Sinking hopes--Unexpected freedom to more than one, and in more senses than one. For a long long month we remained in our dark and dreary prison, during which dismal time we did not see the face of a human being, except that of the silent savage who brought us our daily food. There have been one or two seasons in my life during which I have felt as if the darkness of sorrow and desolation that crushed my inmost heart could never pass away, until death should make me cease to feel the present was such a season. During the first part of our confinement we felt a cold chill at our hearts every time we heard a foot-fall near the cave--dreading lest it should prove to be that of our executioner. But as time dragged heavily on, we ceased to feel this alarm, and began to experience such a deep, irrepressible longing for freedom, that we chafed and fretted in our confinement like tigers. Then a feeling of despair came over us, and we actually longed for the time when the savages would take us forth to die! But these changes took place very gradually, and were mingled sometimes with brighter thoughts; for there were times when we sat in that dark cavern on our ledge of rock and conversed almost pleasantly about the past, until we well-nigh forgot the dreary present. But we seldom ventured to touch upon the future. A few decayed leaves and boughs formed our bed; and a scanty supply of yams and taro, brought to us once a-day, constituted our food. "Well, Ralph, how have you slept?" said Jack, in a listless tone, on rising one morning from his humble couch. "Were you much disturbed by the wind last night?" "No," said I; "I dreamed of home all night, and I thought that my mother smiled upon me, and beckoned me to go to her; but I could not, for I was chained." "And I dreamed, too," said Peterkin; "but it was of our happy home on the Coral Island. I thought we were swimming in the Water Garden; then the savages gave a yell, and we were immediately in the cave at Spouting Cliff, which, somehow or other, changed into this gloomy cavern; and I awoke to find it true." Peterkin's tone was so much altered by the depressing influence of his long imprisonment, that, had I not known it was he who spoke, I should scarcely have recognised it, so sad was it, and so unlike to the merry, cheerful voice we had been accustomed to hear. I pondered this much, and thought of the terrible decline of happiness that may come on human beings in so short a time; how bright the sunshine in the sky at one time, and, in a short space, how dark the overshadowing cloud! I had no doubt that the Bible would have given me much light and comfort on this subject, if I had possessed one, and I once more had occasion to regret deeply having neglected to store my memory with its consoling truths. While I meditated thus, Peterkin again broke the silence of the cave, by saying, in a melancholy tone, "Oh, I wonder if we shall ever see our dear island more." His voice trembled, and, covering his face with both hands, he bent down his head and wept. It was an unusual sight for me to see our once joyous companion in tears, and I felt a burning desire to comfort him; but, alas! what could I say? I could hold out no hope; and although I essayed twice to speak, the words refused to pass my lips. While I hesitated, Jack sat down beside him, and whispered a few words in his ear, while Peterkin threw himself on his friend's breast, and rested his head on his shoulder. Thus we sat for some time in deep silence. Soon after, we heard footsteps at the entrance of the cave, and immediately our jailer entered. We were so much accustomed to his regular visits, however, that we paid little attention to him, expecting that he would set down our meagre fare, as usual, and depart. But, to our surprise, instead of doing so, he advanced towards us with a knife in his hand, and, going up to Jack, he cut the thongs that bound his wrists, then he did the same to Peterkin and me! For fully five minutes we stood in speechless amazement, with our freed hands hanging idly by our sides. The first thought that rushed into my mind was, that the time had come to put us to death; and although, as I have said before, we actually wished for death in the strength of our despair, now that we thought it drew really near I felt all the natural love of life revive in my heart, mingled with a chill of horror at the suddenness of our call. But I was mistaken. After cutting our bonds, the savage pointed to the cave's mouth, and we marched, almost mechanically, into the open air. Here, to our surprise, we found the teacher standing under a tree, with his hands clasped before him, and the tears trickling down his dark cheeks. On seeing Jack, who came out first, he sprang towards him, and clasping him in his arms, exclaimed,-- "Oh! my dear young friend, through the great goodness of God you are free!" "Free!" cried Jack. "Ay, free," repeated the teacher, shaking us warmly by the hands again and again; "free to go and come as you will. The Lord has unloosed the bands of the captive and set the prisoners free. A missionary has been sent to us, and Tararo has embraced the Christian religion! The people are even now burning their gods of wood! Come, my dear friends, and see the glorious sight." We could scarcely credit our senses. So long had we been accustomed in our cavern to dream of deliverance, that we imagined for a moment this must surely be nothing more than another vivid dream. Our eyes and minds were dazzled, too, by the brilliant sunshine, which almost blinded us after our long confinement to the gloom of our prison, so that we felt giddy with the variety of conflicting emotions that filled our throbbing bosoms; but as we followed the footsteps of our sable friend, and beheld the bright foliage of the trees, and heard the cries of the paroquets, and smelt the rich perfume of the flowering shrubs, the truth, that we were really delivered from prison and from death, rushed with overwhelming power into our souls, and, with one accord, while tears sprang to our eyes, we uttered a loud long cheer of joy. It was replied to by a shout from a number of the natives who chanced to be near. Running towards us, they shook us by the hand with every demonstration of kindly feeling. They then fell behind, and, forming a sort of procession, conducted us to the dwelling of Tararo. The scene that met our eyes here was one that I shall never forget. On a rude bench in front of his house sat the chief. A native stood on his left hand, who, from his dress, seemed to be a teacher. On his right stood an English gentleman, who, I at once and rightly concluded, was a missionary. He was tall, thin, and apparently past forty, with a bald forehead, and thin gray hair. The expression of his countenance was the most winning I ever saw, and his clear gray eye beamed with a look that was frank, fearless, loving, and truthful. In front of the chief was an open space, in the centre of which lay a pile of wooden idols, ready to be set on fire; and around these were assembled thousands of natives, who had come to join in or to witness the unusual sight. A bright smile overspread the missionary's face as he advanced quickly to meet us, and he shook us warmly by the hands. "I am overjoyed to meet you, my dear young friends," he said. "My friend, and your friend, the teacher, has told me your history; and I thank our Father in heaven, with all my heart, that he has guided me to this island, and made me the instrument of saving you." We thanked the missionary most heartily, and asked him in some surprise how he had succeeded in turning the heart of Tararo in our favour. "I will tell you that at a more convenient time," he answered, "meanwhile we must not forget the respect due to the chief. He waits to receive you." In the conversation that immediately followed between us and Tararo, the latter said that the light of the gospel of Jesus Christ had been sent to the island, and that to it we were indebted for our freedom. Moreover, he told us that we were at liberty to depart in our schooner whenever we pleased, and that we should be supplied with as much provision as we required. He concluded by shaking hands with us warmly, and performing the ceremony of rubbing noses. This was indeed good news to us, and we could hardly find words to express our gratitude to the chief and to the missionary. "And what of Avatea?" inquired Jack. The missionary replied by pointing to a group of natives in the midst of whom the girl stood. Beside her was a tall, strapping fellow, whose noble mien and air of superiority bespoke him a chief of no ordinary kind. "That youth is her lover. He came this very morning in his war-canoe to treat with Tararo for Avatea. He is to be married in a few days, and afterwards returns to his island home with his bride!" "That's capital," said Jack, as he stepped up to the savage and gave him a hearty shake of the hand. "I wish you joy, my lad;--and you too, Avatea." As Jack spoke, Avatea's lover took him by the hand and led him to the spot where Tararo and the missionary stood, surrounded by most of the chief men of the tribe. The girl herself followed, and stood on his left hand while her lover stood on his right, and, commanding silence, made the following speech, which was translated by the missionary:-- "Young friend, you have seen few years, but your head is old. Your heart also is large and very brave. I and Avatea are your debtors, and we wish, in the midst of this assembly, to acknowledge our debt, and to say that it is one which we can never repay. You have risked your life for one who was known to you only for a few days. But she was a woman in distress, and that was enough to secure to her the aid of a Christian man. We, who live in these islands of the sea, know that the true Christians always act thus. Their religion is one of love and kindness. We thank God that so many Christians have been sent here--we hope many more will come. Remember that I and Avatea will think of you and pray for you and your brave comrades when you are far away." To this kind speech Jack returned a short sailor-like reply, in which he insisted that he had only done for Avatea what he would have done for any woman under the sun. But Jack's forte did not lie in speech-making, so he terminated rather abruptly by seizing the chief's hand and shaking it violently, after which he made a hasty retreat. "Now, then, Ralph and Peterkin," said Jack, as we mingled with the crowd, "it seems to me that the object we came here for having been satisfactorily accomplished, we have nothing more to do but get ready for sea as fast as we can, and hurrah for dear old England!" "That's my idea precisely," said Peterkin, endeavouring to wink, but he had wept so much of late, poor fellow, that he found it difficult; "however, I'm not going away till I see these fellows burn their gods." Peterkin had his wish, for, in a few minutes afterwards, fire was put to the pile, the roaring flames ascended, and, amid the acclamations of the assembled thousands, the false gods of Mango were reduced to ashes! CHAPTER XXXV. Conclusion. To part is the lot of all mankind. The world is a scene of constant leave-taking, and the hands that grasp in cordial greeting to-day, are doomed ere long to unite for the last time, when the quivering lips pronounce the word--"Farewell." It is a sad thought, but should we on that account exclude it from our minds? May not a lesson worth learning be gathered in the contemplation of it? May it not, perchance, teach us to devote our thoughts more frequently and attentively to that land where we meet, but part no more? How many do we part from in this world with a light "Good-bye," whom we never see again! Often do I think, in my meditations on this subject, that if we realized more fully the shortness of the fleeting intercourse that we have in this world with many of our fellow-men, we would try more earnestly to do them good, to give them a friendly smile, as it were, in passing (for the longest intercourse on earth is little more than a passing word and glance), and show that we have sympathy with them in the short quick struggle of life, by our kindly words and looks and action. The time soon drew near when we were to quit the islands of the South Seas; and, strange though it may appear, we felt deep regret at parting with the natives of the island of Mango; for, after they embraced the Christian faith, they sought, by showing us the utmost kindness, to compensate for the harsh treatment we had experienced at their hands; and we felt a growing affection for the native teachers and the missionary, and especially for Avatea and her husband. Before leaving, we had many long and interesting conversations with the missionary, in one of which he told us that he had been making for the island of Raratonga when his native-built sloop was blown out of its course, during a violent gale, and driven to this island. At first the natives refused to listen to what he had to say; but, after a week's residence among them, Tararo came to him and said that he wished to become a Christian, and would burn his idols. He proved himself to be sincere, for, as we have seen, he persuaded all his people to do likewise. I use the word persuaded advisedly; for, like all the other Feejee chiefs, Tararo was a despot and might have commanded obedience to his wishes; but he entered so readily into the spirit of the new faith that he perceived at once the impropriety of using constraint in the propagation of it. He set the example, therefore; and that example was followed by almost every man of the tribe. During the short time that we remained at the island, repairing our vessel and getting her ready for sea, the natives had commenced building a large and commodious church, under the superintendence of the missionary, and several rows of new cottages were marked out; so that the place bid fair to become, in a few months, as prosperous and beautiful as the Christian village at the other end of the island. After Avatea was married, she and her husband were sent away, loaded with presents, chiefly of an edible nature. One of the native teachers went with them, for the purpose of visiting still more distant islands of the sea, and spreading, if possible, the light of the glorious gospel there. As the missionary intended to remain for several weeks longer, in order to encourage and confirm his new converts, Jack and Peterkin and I held a consultation in the cabin of our schooner,--which we found just as we had left her, for everything that had been taken out of her was restored. We now resolved to delay our departure no longer. The desire to see our beloved native land was strong upon us, and we could not wait. Three natives volunteered to go with us to Tahiti, where we thought it likely that we should be able to procure a sufficient crew of sailors to man our vessel; so we accepted their offer gladly. It was a bright clear morning when we hoisted the snow-white sails of the pirate schooner and left the shores of Mango. The missionary, and thousands of the natives, came down to bid us God-speed, and to see us sail away. As the vessel bent before a light fair wind, we glided quickly over the lagoon under a cloud of canvass. Just as we passed through the channel in the reef the natives gave us a loud cheer; and as the missionary waved his hat, while he stood on a coral rock with his gray hairs floating in the wind, we heard the single word "Farewell" borne faintly over the sea. That night, as we sat on the taffrail, gazing out upon the wide sea and up into the starry firmament, a thrill of joy, strangely mixed with sadness, passed through our hearts,--for we were at length "homeward bound," and were gradually leaving far behind us the beautiful, bright, green, coral islands of the Pacific Ocean. 
7124	----	THE CORAL ISLAND _A Tale Of The Pacific Ocean_ BY R. M. BALLANTYNE PREFACE I was a boy when I went through the wonderful adventures herein set down. With the memory of my boyish feelings strong upon me, I present my book specially to boys, in the earnest hope that they may derive valuable information, much pleasure, great profit, and unbounded amusement from its pages. One word more. If there is any boy or man who loves to be melancholy and morose, and who cannot enter with kindly sympathy into the regions of fun, let me seriously advise him to shut my book and put it away. It is not meant for him. RALPH ROVER. CONTENTS CHAP. I. MY EARLY LIFE AND CHARACTER II. THE DEPARTURE--A DREADFUL STORM III. THE CORAL ISLAND IV. OUR ISLAND DESCRIBED--CURIOUS DISCOVERIES V. ENCHANTING EXCURSIONS AMONG THE CORAL GROVES VI. AN EXCURSION INTO THE INTERIOR VII. HORRIBLE ENCOUNTER WITH A SHARK VIII. THE BEAUTIES OF THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA TEMPT PETERKIN TO DIVE IX. PREPARE FOR A JOURNEY ROUND THE ISLAND X. MAKE DISCOVERY OF MANY EXCELLENT ROOTS AND FRUITS XI. EFFECTS OF OVER-EATING, AND REFLECTIONS THEREON XII. SOMETHING WRONG WITH THE TANK XIII. NOTABLE DISCOVERY AT THE SPOUTING CLIFFS XIV. STRANGE PECULIARITY OF THE TIDES XV. BOAT-BUILDING EXTRAORDINARY XVI. THE BOAT LAUNCHED--WE VISIT THE CORAL REEF XVII. A MONSTER WAVE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES XVIII. AN AWFUL STORM AND ITS CONSEQUENCES XVIX. AN UNEXPECTED VISIT AND AN APPALLING BATTLE XX. INTERCOURSE WITH THE SAVAGES--CANNIBALISM PREVENTED XXI. A SAIL!--AN UNEXPECTED SALUTE XXII. I FALL INTO THE HANDS OF PIRATES XXIII. A STRANGE SAIL, AND A STRANGE CREW XXIV. UNPLEASANT PROSPECTS XXV. THE SANDAL-WOOD PARTY XXVI. MISCHIEF BREWING--MY BLOOD IS MADE TO RUN COLD XXVII. REFLECTIONS--THE WOUNDED MAN XXVIII. ALONE ON THE DEEP--NECESSITY THE MOTHER OF INVENTION XXIX. THE EFFECT OF A CANNON-SHOT XXX. THE VOYAGE XXXI. A STRANGE AND BLOODY BATTLE XXXII. AN UNEXPECTED DISCOVERY XXXIII. THE FLIGHT--THE PURSUIT XXXIV. IMPRISONMENT--SINKING HOPES XXXV. CONCLUSION THE CORAL ISLAND Chapter I The beginning--My early life and character--I thirst for adventure in foreign lands, and go to sea. Roving has always been, and still is, my ruling passion, the joy of my heart, the very sunshine of my existence. In childhood, in boyhood, and in man's estate, I have been a rover; not a mere rambler among the woody glens and upon the hilltops of my own native land, but an enthusiastic rover throughout the length and breadth of the wide, wide world. It was a wild, black night of howling storm, the night on which I was born on the foaming bosom of the broad Atlantic Ocean. My father was a sea-captain; my grandfather was a sea-captain; my great-grandfather had been a marine. Nobody could tell positively what occupation _his_ father had followed; but my dear mother used to assert that he had been a midshipman, whose grandfather, on the mother's side, had been an admiral in the Royal Navy. At any rate, we knew that, as far back as our family could be traced, it had been intimately connected with the great watery waste. Indeed, this was the case on both sides of the house; for my mother always went to sea with my father on his long voyages, and so spent the greater part of her life upon the water. Thus it was, I suppose, that I came to inherit a roving disposition. Soon after I was born, my father, being old, retired from a seafaring life, purchased a small cottage in a fishing village on the west coast of England, and settled down to spend the evening of his life on the shores of that sea which had for so many years been his home. It was not long after this that I began to show the roving spirit that dwelt within me. For some time past my infant legs had been gaining strength, so that I came to be dissatisfied with rubbing the skin off my chubby knees by walking on them, and made many attempts to stand up and walk like a man, all of which attempts, however, resulted in my sitting down violently and in sudden surprise. One day I took advantage of my dear mother's absence to make another effort; and, to my joy, I actually succeeded in reaching the doorstep, over which I tumbled into a pool of muddy water that lay before my father's cottage door. Ah, how vividly I remember the horror of my poor mother when she found me sweltering in the mud amongst a group of cackling ducks, and the tenderness with which she stripped off my dripping clothes and washed my dirty little body! From this time forth my rambles became more frequent, and, as I grew older, more distant, until at last I had wandered far and near on the shore and in the woods around our humble dwelling, and did not rest content until my father bound me apprentice to a coasting vessel, and let me go to sea. For some years I was happy in visiting the seaports, and in coasting along the shores of my native land. My Christian name was Ralph, and my comrades added to this the name of Rover, in consequence of the passion which I always evinced for travelling. Rover was not my real name, but as I never received any other, I came at last to answer to it as naturally as to my proper name; and as it is not a bad one, I see no good reason why I should not introduce myself to the reader as Ralph Rover. My shipmates were kind, good-natured fellows, and they and I got on very well together. They did, indeed, very frequently make game of and banter me, but not unkindly; and I overheard them sometimes saying that Ralph Rover was a "queer, old-fashioned fellow." This, I must confess, surprised me much, and I pondered the saying long, but could come at no satisfactory conclusion as to that wherein my old-fashionedness lay. It is true I was a quiet lad, and seldom spoke except when spoken to. Moreover, I never could understand the jokes of my companions, even when they were explained to me: which dulness in apprehension occasioned me much grief. However, I tried to make up for it by smiling and looking pleased when I observed that they were laughing at some witticism which I had failed to detect. I was also very fond of inquiring into the nature of things and their causes, and often fell into fits of abstraction while thus engaged in my mind. But in all this I saw nothing that did not seem to be exceedingly natural, and could by no means understand why my comrades should call me "an old-fashioned fellow." Now, while engaged in the coasting trade, I fell in with many seamen who had travelled to almost every quarter of the globe; and I freely confess that my heart glowed ardently within me as they recounted their wild adventures in foreign lands--the dreadful storms they had weathered, the appalling dangers they had escaped, the wonderful creatures they had seen both on the land and in the sea, and the interesting lands and strange people they had visited. But of all the places of which they told me, none captivated and charmed my imagination so much as the Coral Islands of the Southern Seas. They told me of thousands of beautiful, fertile islands that had been formed by a small creature called the coral insect, where summer reigned nearly all the year round; where the trees were laden with a constant harvest of luxuriant fruit; where the climate was almost perpetually delightful; yet where, strange to say, men were wild, bloodthirsty savages, excepting in those favoured isles to which the Gospel of our Saviour had been conveyed. These exciting accounts had so great an effect upon my mind that, when I reached the age of fifteen, I resolved to make a voyage to the South Seas. I had no little difficulty at first in prevailing on my dear parents to let me go; but when I urged on my father that he would never have become a great captain had he remained in the coasting trade, he saw the truth of what I said, and gave his consent. My dear mother, seeing that my father had made up his mind, no longer offered opposition to my wishes. "But oh, Ralph," she said, on the day I bade her adieu, "come back soon to us, my dear boy, for we are getting old now, Ralph, and may not have many years to live." I will not take up my readers' time with a minute account of all that occurred before I took my final leave of my dear parents. Suffice it to say that my father placed me under the charge of an old messmate of his own, a merchant captain, who was on the point of sailing to the South Seas in his own ship, the _Arrow_. My mother gave me her blessing and a small Bible; and her last request was that I would never forget to read a chapter every day, and say my prayers; which I promised, with tears in my eyes, that I would certainly do. Soon afterwards, I went on board the _Arrow_, which was a fine large ship, and set sail for the islands of the Pacific Ocean. Chapter II The departure--The sea--My companions--Some account of the wonderful sights we saw on the great deep--A dreadful storm and a frightful wreck. It was a bright, beautiful, warm day when our ship spread her canvas to the breeze, and sailed for the regions of the south. Oh, how my heart bounded with delight as I listened to the merry chorus of the sailors, while they hauled at the ropes and got in the anchor! The captain shouted; the men ran to obey; the noble ship bent over to the breeze, and the shore gradually faded from my view, while I stood looking on with a kind of feeling that the whole was a delightful dream. The first thing that struck me as being different from anything I had yet seen during my short career on the sea, was the hoisting of the anchor on deck and lashing it firmly down with ropes, as if we had now bid adieu to the land for ever, and would require its services no more. "There, lass," cried a broad-shouldered jack-tar, giving the fluke of the anchor a hearty slap with his hand after the housing was completed--"there, lass, take a good nap now, for we shan't ask you to kiss the mud again for many a long day to come!" And so it was. That anchor did not "kiss the mud" for many long days afterwards; and when at last it did, it was for the last time! There were a number of boys in the ship, but two of them were my special favourites. Jack Martin was a tall, strapping, broad-shouldered youth of eighteen, with a handsome, good-humoured, firm face. He had had a good education, was clever and hearty and lion-like in his actions, but mild and quiet in disposition. Jack was a general favourite, and had a peculiar fondness for me. My other companion was Peterkin Gay. He was little, quick, funny, decidedly mischievous, and about fourteen years old. But Peterkin's mischief was almost always harmless, else he could not have been so much beloved as he was. "Hallo, youngster!" cried Jack Martin, giving me a slap on the shoulder the day I joined the ship, "come below, and I'll show you your berth. You and I are to be messmates, and I think we shall be good friends, for I like the look o' you." Jack was right. He and I, and Peterkin afterwards, became the best and staunchest friends that ever tossed together on the stormy waves. I shall say little about the first part of our voyage. We had the usual amount of rough weather and calm; also we saw many strange fish rolling in the sea, and I was greatly delighted one day by seeing a shoal of flying-fish dart out of the water and skim through the air about a foot above the surface. They were pursued by dolphins, which feed on them, and one flying-fish in its terror flew over the ship, struck on the rigging, and fell upon the deck. Its wings were just fins elongated, and we found that they could never fly far at a time, and never mounted into the air like birds, but skimmed along the surface of the sea. Jack and I had it for dinner, and found it remarkably good. When we approached Cape Horn, at the southern extremity of America, the weather became very cold and stormy, and the sailors began to tell stories about the furious gales and the dangers of that terrible Cape. "Cape Horn," said one, "is the most horrible headland I ever doubled. I've sailed round it twice already, and both times the ship was a'most blow'd out o' the water." "I've been round it once," said another, "an' that time the sails were split, and the ropes frozen in the blocks, so that they wouldn't work, and we wos all but lost." "An' I've been round it five times," cried a third, "an' every time wos wuss than another, the gales wos so tree-mendous!" "And I've been round it no times at all," cried Peterkin, with an impudent wink in his eye, "an' _that_ time I wos blow'd inside out!" Nevertheless, we passed the dreaded Cape without much rough weather, and, in the course of a few weeks afterwards, were sailing gently before a warm, tropical breeze over the Pacific Ocean. Thus we proceeded on our voyage, sometimes bounding merrily before a fair breeze, at other times floating calmly on the glassy wave and fishing for the curious inhabitants of the deep--all of which, although the sailors thought little of them, were strange, and interesting, and very wonderful to me. At last we came among the Coral Islands of the Pacific, and I shall never forget the delight with which I gazed--when we chanced to pass one--at the pure, white, dazzling shores, and the verdant palm trees, which looked bright and beautiful in the sunshine. And often did we three long to be landed on one, imagining that we should certainly find perfect happiness there! Our wish was granted sooner than we expected. One night, soon after we entered the tropics, an awful storm burst upon our ship. The first squall of wind carried away two of our masts, and left only the foremast standing. Even this, however, was more than enough, for we did not dare to hoist a rag of sail on it. For five days the tempest raged in all its fury. Everything was swept off the decks except one small boat. The steersman was lashed to the wheel, lest he should be washed away, and we all gave ourselves up for lost. The captain said that he had no idea where we were, as we had been blown far out of our course; and we feared much that we might get among the dangerous coral reefs which are so numerous in the Pacific. At daybreak on the sixth morning of the gale we saw land ahead. It was an island encircled by a reef of coral on which the waves broke in fury. There was calm water within this reef, but we could see only one narrow opening into it. For this opening we steered, but ere we reached it a tremendous wave broke on our stern, tore the rudder completely off, and left us at the mercy of the winds and waves. "It's all over with us now, lads!" said the captain to the men. "Get the boat ready to launch; we shall be on the rocks in less than half-an-hour." The men obeyed in gloomy silence, for they felt that there was little hope of so small a boat living in such a sea. "Come, boys," said Jack Martin, in a grave tone, to me and Peterkin, as we stood on the quarter-deck awaiting our fate--"come, boys; we three shall stick together. You see it is impossible that the little boat can reach the shore, crowded with men. It will be sure to upset, so I mean rather to trust myself to a large oar. I see through the telescope that the ship will strike at the tail of the reef, where the waves break into the quiet water inside; so, if we manage to cling to the oar till it is driven over the breakers, we may perhaps gain the shore. What say you? will you join me?" We gladly agreed to follow Jack, for he inspired us with confidence, although I could perceive, by the sad tone of his voice, that he had little hope; and, indeed, when I looked at the white waves that lashed the reef and boiled against the rocks as if in fury, I felt that there was but a step between us and death. My heart sank within me; but at that moment my thoughts turned to my beloved mother, and I remembered those words, which were among the last that she said to me: "Ralph, my dearest child, always remember in the hour of danger to look to your Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. He alone is both able and willing to save your body and your soul." So I felt much comforted when I thought thereon. The ship was now very near the rocks. The men were ready with the boat, and the captain beside them giving orders, when a tremendous wave came towards us. We three ran towards the bow to lay hold of our oar, and had barely reached it when the wave fell on the deck with a crash like thunder. At the same moment the ship struck, the foremast broke off close to the deck and went over the side, carrying the boat and men along with it. Our oar got entangled with the wreck, and Jack seized an axe to cut it free, but, owing to the motion of the ship, he missed the cordage and struck the axe deep into the oar. Another wave, however, washed it clear of the wreck. We all seized hold of it, and the next instant we were struggling in the wild sea. The last thing I saw was the boat whirling in the surf, and all the sailors tossed into the foaming waves. Then I became insensible. On recovering from my swoon, I found myself lying on a bank of soft grass, under shelter of an overhanging rock, with Peterkin on his knees by my side, tenderly bathing my temples with water, and endeavouring to stop the blood that flowed from a wound in my forehead. Chapter III The Coral Island--Our first cogitations after landing, and the result of them--We conclude that the island is uninhabited. There is a strange and peculiar sensation experienced in recovering from a state of insensibility, which is almost indescribable: a sort of dreamy, confused consciousness; a half-waking, half-sleeping condition, accompanied with a feeling of weariness, which, however, is by no means disagreeable. As I slowly recovered, and heard the voice of Peterkin inquiring whether I felt better, I thought that I must have overslept myself, and should be sent to the mast-head for being lazy; but before I could leap up in haste, the thought seemed to vanish suddenly away, and I fancied that I must have been ill. Then a balmy breeze fanned my cheek, and I thought of home, and the garden at the back of my father's cottage, with its luxuriant flowers, and the sweet-scented honeysuckle that my dear mother trained so carefully upon the trellised porch. But the roaring of the surf put these delightful thoughts to flight, and I was back again at sea, watching the dolphins and the flying-fish, and reefing topsails off the wild and stormy Cape Horn. Gradually the roar of the surf became louder and more distinct. I thought of being wrecked far, far away from my native land, and slowly opened my eyes to meet those of my companion Jack, who, with a look of intense anxiety, was gazing into my face. "Speak to us, my dear Ralph," whispered Jack tenderly. "Are you better now?" I smiled, and looked up, saying, "Better! why, what do you mean, Jack? I'm quite well." "Then what are you shamming for, and frightening us in this way?" said Peterkin, smiling through his tears; for the poor boy had been really under the impression that I was dying. I now raised myself on my elbow, and putting my hand to my forehead, found that it had been cut pretty severely, and that I had lost a good deal of blood. "Come, come, Ralph," said Jack, pressing me gently backward, "lie down, my boy; you're not right yet. Wet your lips with this water; it's cool and clear as crystal. I got it from a spring close at hand. There now, don't say a word, hold your tongue," he said, seeing me about to speak. "I'll tell you all about it, but you must not utter a syllable till you have rested well." "Oh! don't stop him from speaking, Jack," said Peterkin, who, now that his fears for my safety were removed, busied himself in erecting a shelter of broken branches in order to protect me from the wind, which, however, was almost unnecessary, for the rock beside which I had been laid completely broke the force of the gale. "Let him speak, Jack; it's a comfort to hear that he's alive, after lying there stiff and white and sulky for a whole hour, just like an Egyptian mummy. Never saw such a fellow as you are, Ralph, always up to mischief. You've almost knocked out all my teeth, and more than half choked me, and now you go shamming dead! It's very wicked of you, indeed it is." While Peterkin ran on in this style, my faculties became quite clear again, and I began to understand my position. "What do you mean by saying I half choked you, Peterkin?" said I. "What do I mean? Is English not your mother-tongue, or do you want me to repeat it in French, by way of making it clearer? Don't you remember----" "I remember nothing," said I, interrupting him, "after we were thrown into the sea." "Hush, Peterkin!" said Jack; "you're exciting Ralph with your nonsense.--I'll explain it to you. You recollect that after the ship struck, we three sprang over the bow into the sea: well, I noticed that the oar struck your head and gave you that cut on the brow, which nearly stunned you, so that you grasped Peterkin round the neck without knowing apparently what you were about. In doing so you pushed the telescope--which you clung to as if it had been your life--against Peterkin's mouth----" "Pushed it against his mouth!" interrupted Peterkin; "say, crammed it down his throat. Why, there's a distinct mark of the brass rim on the back of my gullet at this moment!" "Well, well, be that as it may," continued Jack, "you clung to him, Ralph, till I feared you really would choke him; but I saw that he had a good hold of the oar, so I exerted myself to the utmost to push you towards the shore, which we luckily reached without much trouble, for the water inside the reef is quite calm." "But the captain and crew, what of them?" I inquired anxiously. Jack shook his head. "Are they lost?" "No, they are not lost, I hope, but I fear there is not much chance of their being saved. The ship struck at the very tail of the island on which we are cast. When the boat was tossed into the sea it fortunately did not upset, although it shipped a good deal of water, and all the men managed to scramble into it; but before they could get the oars out the gale carried them past the point and away to leeward of the island. After we landed I saw them endeavouring to pull towards us; but as they had only one pair of oars out of the eight that belong to the boat, and as the wind was blowing right in their teeth, they gradually lost ground. Then I saw them put about and hoist some sort of sail--a blanket, I fancy, for it was too small for the boat--and in half-an-hour they were out of sight." "Poor fellows!" I murmured sorrowfully. "But the more I think about it, I've better hope of them," continued Jack, in a more cheerful tone. "You see, Ralph, I've read a great deal about these South Sea Islands, and I know that in many places they are scattered about in thousands over the sea, so they're almost sure to fall in with one of them before long." "I'm sure I hope so," said Peterkin earnestly. "But what has become of the wreck, Jack? I saw you clambering up the rocks there while I was watching Ralph. Did you say she had gone to pieces?" "No, she has not gone to pieces, but she has gone to the bottom," replied Jack. "As I said before, she struck on the tail of the island and stove in her bow, but the next breaker swung her clear, and she floated away to leeward. The poor fellows in the boat made a hard struggle to reach her, but long before they came near her she filled and went down. It was after she foundered that I saw them trying to pull to the island." There was a long silence after Jack ceased speaking, and I have no doubt that each was revolving in his mind our extraordinary position. For my part, I cannot say that my reflections were very agreeable. I knew that we were on an island, for Jack had said so, but whether it was inhabited or not I did not know. If it should be inhabited, I felt certain, from all I had heard of South Sea Islanders, that we should be roasted alive and eaten. If it should turn out to be uninhabited, I fancied that we should be starved to death. "Oh," thought I, "if the ship had only struck on the rocks we might have done pretty well, for we could have obtained provisions from her, and tools to enable us to build a shelter; but now--alas! alas! we are lost!" These last words I uttered aloud in my distress. "Lost! Ralph?" exclaimed Jack, while a smile overspread his hearty countenance. "Saved, you should have said. Your cogitations seem to have taken a wrong road, and led you to a wrong conclusion." "Do you know what conclusion _I_ have come to?" said Peterkin. "I have made up my mind that it's capital--first-rate--the best thing that ever happened to us, and the most splendid prospect that ever lay before three jolly young tars. We've got an island all to ourselves. We'll take possession in the name of the king; we'll go and enter the service of its black inhabitants. Of course we'll rise, naturally, to the top of affairs. White men always do in savage countries. You shall be king, Jack; Ralph, prime minister; and I shall be----" "The court-jester," interrupted Jack. "No," retorted Peterkin; "I'll have no title at all. I shall merely accept a highly responsible situation under government; for you see, Jack, I'm fond of having an enormous salary and nothing to do." "But suppose there are no natives?" "Then we'll build a charming villa, and plant a lovely garden round it, stuck all full of the most splendiferous tropical flowers, and we'll farm the land, plant, sow, reap, eat, sleep, and be merry." "But to be serious," said Jack, assuming a grave expression of countenance, which I observed always had the effect of checking Peterkin's disposition to make fun of everything, "we are really in rather an uncomfortable position. If this is a desert island, we shall have to live very much like the wild beasts, for we have not a tool of any kind, not even a knife." "Yes, we have _that_," said Peterkin, fumbling in his trousers pocket, from which he drew forth a small penknife with only one blade, and that was broken. "Well, that's better than nothing. But come," said Jack, rising; "we are wasting our time in _talking_ instead of _doing_.--You seem well enough to walk now, Ralph. Let us see what we have got in our pockets, and then let us climb some hill and ascertain what sort of island we have been cast upon, for, whether good or bad, it seems likely to be our home for some time to come." Chapter IV We examine into our personal property, and make a happy discovery--Our island described--Jack proves himself to be learned and sagacious above his fellows--Curious discoveries--Natural lemonade! We now seated ourselves upon a rock, and began to examine into our personal property. When we reached the shore, after being wrecked, my companions had taken off part of their clothes and spread them out in the sun to dry; for although the gale was raging fiercely, there was not a single cloud in the bright sky. They had also stripped off most part of my wet clothes and spread them also on the rocks. Having resumed our garments, we now searched all our pockets with the utmost care, and laid their contents out on a flat stone before us; and now that our minds were fully alive to our condition, it was with no little anxiety that we turned our several pockets inside out, in order that nothing might escape us. When all was collected together, we found that our worldly goods consisted of the following articles:-- First, a small penknife with a single blade broken off about the middle and very rusty, besides having two or three notches on its edge. (Peterkin said of this, with his usual pleasantry, that it would do for a saw as well as a knife, which was a great advantage.) Second, an old German-silver pencil-case without any lead in it. Third, a piece of whipcord about six yards long. Fourth, a sailmaker's needle of a small size. Fifth, a ship's telescope, which I happened to have in my hand at the time the ship struck, and which I had clung to firmly all the time I was in the water. Indeed it was with difficulty that Jack got it out of my grasp when I was lying insensible on the shore. I cannot understand why I kept such a firm hold of this telescope. They say that a drowning man will clutch at a straw. Perhaps it may have been some such feeling in me, for I did not know that it was in my hand at the time we were wrecked. However, we felt some pleasure in having it with us now, although we did not see that it could be of much use to us, as the glass at the small end was broken to pieces. Our sixth article was a brass ring which Jack always wore on his little finger. I never understood why he wore it, for Jack was not vain of his appearance, and did not seem to care for ornaments of any kind. Peterkin said "it was in memory of the girl he left behind him!" But as he never spoke of this girl to either of us, I am inclined to think that Peterkin was either jesting or mistaken. In addition to these articles we had a little bit of tinder, and the clothes on our back. These last were as follows:-- Each of us had on a pair of stout canvas trousers, and a pair of sailors' thick shoes. Jack wore a red flannel shirt, a blue jacket, and a red Kilmarnock bonnet or nightcap, besides a pair of worsted socks, and a cotton pocket-handkerchief, with sixteen portraits of Lord Nelson printed on it, and a Union Jack in the middle. Peterkin had on a striped flannel shirt--which he wore outside his trousers, and belted round his waist, after the manner of a tunic--and a round black straw hat. He had no jacket, having thrown it off just before we were cast into the sea; but this was not of much consequence, as the climate of the island proved to be extremely mild--so much so, indeed, that Jack and I often preferred to go about without our jackets. Peterkin had also a pair of white cotton socks, and a blue handkerchief with white spots all over it. My own costume consisted of a blue flannel shirt, a blue jacket, a black cap, and a pair of worsted socks, besides the shoes and canvas trousers already mentioned. This was all we had, and besides these things we had nothing else; but when we thought of the danger from which we had escaped, and how much worse off we might have been had the ship struck on the reef during the night, we felt very thankful that we were possessed of so much, although, I must confess, we sometimes wished that we had had a little more. While we were examining these things and talking about them, Jack suddenly started and exclaimed-- "The oar! We have forgotten the oar." "What good will that do us!" said Peterkin; "there's wood enough on the island to make a thousand oars." "Ay, lad," replied Jack; "but there's a bit of hoop-iron at the end of it, and that may be of much use to us." "Very true," said I, "let us go fetch it;" and with that we all three rose and hastened down to the beach. I still felt a little weak from loss of blood, so that my companions soon began to leave me behind; but Jack perceived this, and, with his usual considerate good-nature, turned back to help me. This was now the first time that I had looked well about me since landing, as the spot where I had been laid was covered with thick bushes, which almost hid the country from our view. As we now emerged from among these and walked down the sandy beach together, I cast my eyes about, and truly my heart glowed within me and my spirits rose at the beautiful prospect which I beheld on every side. The gale had suddenly died away, just as if it had blown furiously till it dashed our ship upon the rocks, and had nothing more to do after accomplishing that. The island on which we stood was hilly, and covered almost everywhere with the most beautiful and richly coloured trees, bushes, and shrubs, none of which I knew the names of at that time, except, indeed, the cocoa-nut palms, which I recognised at once from the many pictures that I had seen of them before I left home. A sandy beach of dazzling whiteness lined this bright green shore, and upon it there fell a gentle ripple of the sea. This last astonished me much, for I recollected that at home the sea used to fall in huge billows on the shore long after a storm had subsided. But on casting my glance out to sea, the cause became apparent. About a mile distant from the shore, I saw the great billows of the ocean rolling like a green wall, and falling with a long, loud roar upon a low coral reef, where they were dashed into white foam and flung up in clouds of spray. This spray sometimes flew exceedingly high, and every here and there a beautiful rainbow was formed for a moment among the falling drops. We afterwards found that this coral reef extended quite round the island, and formed a natural breakwater to it. Beyond this the sea rose and tossed violently from the effects of the storm; but between the reef and the shore it was as calm and as smooth as a pond. My heart was filled with more delight than I can express at sight of so many glorious objects, and my thoughts turned suddenly to the contemplation of the Creator of them all. I mention this the more gladly because at that time, I am ashamed to say, I very seldom thought of my Creator, although I was constantly surrounded by the most beautiful and wonderful of His works. I observed, from the expression of my companion's countenance, that he too derived much joy from the splendid scenery, which was all the more agreeable to us after our long voyage on the salt sea. There the breeze was fresh and cold, but here it was delightfully mild; and when a puff blew off the land, it came laden with the most exquisite perfume that can be imagined. While we thus gazed, we were startled by a loud "Huzza!" from Peterkin, and on looking towards the edge of the sea, we saw him capering and jumping about like a monkey, and ever and anon tugging with all his might at something that lay upon the shore. "What an odd fellow he is, to be sure!" said Jack, taking me by the arm and hurrying forward; "come, let us hasten to see what it is." "Here it is, boys, hurrah! come along. Just what we want," cried Peterkin, as we drew near, still tugging with all his power. "First-rate; just the very ticket!" I need scarcely say to my readers that my companion Peterkin was in the habit of using very remarkable and peculiar phrases. And I am free to confess that I did not well understand the meaning of some of them--such, for instance, as "the very ticket"; but I think it my duty to recount everything relating to my adventures with a strict regard to truthfulness in as far as my memory serves me; so I write, as nearly as possible, the exact words that my companions spoke. I often asked Peterkin to explain what he meant by "ticket," but he always answered me by going into fits of laughter. However, by observing the occasions on which he used it, I came to understand that it meant to show that something was remarkably good or fortunate. On coming up, we found that Peterkin was vainly endeavouring to pull the axe out of the oar, into which, it will be remembered, Jack struck it while endeavouring to cut away the cordage among which it had become entangled at the bow of the ship. Fortunately for us, the axe had remained fast in the oar, and even now all Peterkin's strength could not draw it out of the cut. "Ah! that is capital indeed," cried Jack, at the same time giving the axe a wrench that plucked it out of the tough wood. "How fortunate this is! It will be of more value to us than a hundred knives, and the edge is quite new and sharp." "I'll answer for the toughness of the handle, at any rate," cried Peterkin; "my arms are nearly pulled out of the sockets. But see here, our luck is great. There is iron on the blade." He pointed to a piece of hoop-iron as he spoke, which had been nailed round the blade of the oar to prevent it from splitting. This also was a fortunate discovery. Jack went down on his knees, and with the edge of the axe began carefully to force out the nails. But as they were firmly fixed in, and the operation blunted our axe, we carried the oar up with us to the place where we had left the rest of our things, intending to burn the wood away from the iron at a more convenient time. "Now, lads," said Jack, after we had laid it on the stone which contained our little all, "I propose that we should go to the tail of the island, where the ship struck, which is only a quarter of a mile off, and see if anything else has been thrown ashore. I don't expect anything, but it is well to see. When we get back here, it will be time to have our supper and prepare our beds." "Agreed!" cried Peterkin and I together, as, indeed, we would have agreed to any proposal that Jack made, for, besides his being older and much stronger and taller than either of us, he was a very clever fellow, and I think would have induced people much older than himself to choose him for their leader, especially if they required to be led on a bold enterprise. Now, as we hastened along the white beach, which shone so brightly in the rays of the setting sun that our eyes were quite dazzled by its glare, it suddenly came into Peterkin's head that we had nothing to eat except the wild berries which grew in profusion at our feet. "What shall we do, Jack?" said he, with a rueful look; "perhaps they may be poisonous!" "No fear," replied Jack confidently; "I have observed that a few of them are not unlike some of the berries that grow wild on our own native hills. Besides, I saw one or two strange birds eating them just a few minutes ago, and what won't kill the birds won't kill us. But look up there, Peterkin," continued Jack, pointing to the branched head of a cocoa-nut palm. "There are nuts for us in all stages." "So there are!" cried Peterkin, who, being of a very unobservant nature, had been too much taken up with other things to notice anything so high above his head as the fruit of a palm tree. But whatever faults my young comrade had, he could not be blamed for want of activity or animal spirits. Indeed, the nuts had scarcely been pointed out to him when he bounded up the tall stem of the tree like a squirrel, and in a few minutes returned with three nuts, each as large as a man's fist. "You had better keep them till we return," said Jack. "Let us finish our work before eating." "So be it, captain; go ahead," cried Peterkin, thrusting the nuts into his trousers pocket. "In fact, I don't want to eat just now, but I would give a good deal for a drink. Oh that I could find a spring! but I don't see the smallest sign of one hereabouts. I say, Jack, how does it happen that you seem to be up to everything? You have told us the names of half-a-dozen trees already, and yet you say that you were never in the South Seas before." "I'm not up to _everything_, Peterkin, as you'll find out ere long," replied Jack, with a smile; "but I have been a great reader of books of travel and adventure all my life, and that has put me up to a good many things that you are, perhaps, not acquainted with." "O Jack, that's all humbug. If you begin to lay everything to the credit of books, I'll quite lose my opinion of you," cried Peterkin, with a look of contempt. "I've seen a lot o' fellows that were _always_ poring over books, and when they came to try to _do_ anything, they were no better than baboons!" "You are quite right," retorted Jack, "and I have seen a lot of fellows who never looked into books at all, who knew nothing about anything except the things they had actually seen, and very little they knew even about these. Indeed, some were so ignorant that they did not know that cocoa-nuts grew on cocoa-nut trees!" I could not refrain from laughing at this rebuke, for there was much truth in it as to Peterkin's ignorance. "Humph! maybe you're right," answered Peterkin; "but I would not give _tuppence_ for a man of books, if he had nothing else in him." "Neither would I," said Jack; "but that's no reason why you should run books down, or think less of me for having read them. Suppose now, Peterkin, that you wanted to build a ship, and I were to give you a long and particular account of the way to do it, would not that be very useful?" "No doubt of it," said Peterkin, laughing. "And suppose I were to write the account in a letter instead of telling you in words, would that be less useful?" "Well--no, perhaps not." "Well, suppose I were to print it, and send it to you in the form of a book, would it not be as good and useful as ever?" "Oh, bother! Jack, you're a philosopher, and that's worse than anything!" cried Peterkin, with a look of pretended horror. "Very well, Peterkin, we shall see," returned Jack, halting under the shade of a cocoa-nut tree. "You said you were thirsty just a minute ago; now jump up that tree and bring down a nut--not a ripe one, bring a green, unripe one." Peterkin looked surprised, but seeing that Jack was in earnest, he obeyed. "Now cut a hole in it with your penknife, and clap it to your mouth, old fellow," said Jack. Peterkin did as he was directed, and we both burst into uncontrollable laughter at the changes that instantly passed over his expressive countenance. No sooner had he put the nut to his mouth, and thrown back his head in order to catch what came out of it, than his eyes opened to twice their ordinary size with astonishment, while his throat moved vigorously in the act of swallowing. Then a smile and look of intense delight overspread his face, except, indeed, the mouth, which, being firmly fixed to the hole in the nut, could not take part in the expression; but he endeavoured to make up for this by winking at us excessively with his right eye. At length he stopped, and, drawing a long breath, exclaimed-- "Nectar! perfect nectar! I say, Jack, you're a Briton--the best fellow I ever met in my life.--Only taste that!" said he, turning to me and holding the nut to my mouth. I immediately drank, and certainly I was much surprised at the delightful liquid that flowed copiously down my throat. It was extremely cool, and had a sweet taste, mingled with acid; in fact it was the likest thing to lemonade I ever tasted, and was most grateful and refreshing. I handed the nut to Jack, who, after tasting it, said, "Now, Peterkin, you unbeliever, I never saw or tasted a cocoa-nut in my life before, except those sold in shops at home; but I once read that the green nuts contain that stuff, and you see it is true!" "And pray," asked Peterkin, "what sort of 'stuff' does the ripe nut contain?" "A hollow kernel," answered Jack, "with a liquid like milk in it; but it does not satisfy thirst so well as hunger. It is very wholesome food, I believe." "Meat and drink on the same tree!" cried Peterkin; "washing in the sea, lodging on the ground--and all for nothing. My dear boys, we're set up for life; it must be the ancient Paradise--hurrah!" and Peterkin tossed his straw hat in the air, and ran along the beach hallooing like a madman with delight. We afterwards found, however, that these lovely islands were very unlike Paradise in many things. But more of this in its proper place. We had now come to the point of rocks on which the ship had struck, but did not find a single article, although we searched carefully among the coral rocks, which at this place jutted out so far as nearly to join the reef that encircled the island. Just as we were about to return, however, we saw something black floating in a little cove that had escaped our observation. Running forward, we drew it from the water, and found it to be a long, thick, leather boot, such as fishermen at home wear; and a few paces farther on we picked up its fellow. We at once recognised these as having belonged to our captain, for he had worn them during the whole of the storm, in order to guard his legs from the waves and spray that constantly washed over our decks. My first thought on seeing them was that our dear captain had been drowned; but Jack soon put my mind more at rest and that point, by saying that if the captain had been drowned with the boots on, he would certainly have been washed ashore along with them, and that he had no doubt whatever he had kicked them off while in the sea, that he might swim more easily. Peterkin immediately put them on, but they were so large that, as Jack said, they would have done for boots, trousers, and vest too. I also tried them, but although I was long enough in the legs for them, they were much too large in the feet for me: so we handed them to Jack, who was anxious to make me keep them; but as they fitted his large limbs and feet as if they had been made for him, I would not hear of it, so he consented at last to use them. I may remark, however, that Jack did not use them often, as they were extremely heavy. It was beginning to grow dark when we returned to our encampment; so we put off our visit to the top of a hill till next day, and employed the light that yet remained to us in cutting down a quantity of boughs and the broad leaves of a tree of which none of us knew the name. With these we erected a sort of rustic bower, in which we meant to pass the night. There was no absolute necessity for this, because the air of our island was so genial and balmy that we could have slept quite well without any shelter; but we were so little used to sleeping in the open air that we did not quite relish the idea of lying down without any covering over us; besides, our bower would shelter us from the night-dews or rain, if any should happen to fall. Having strewed the floor with leaves and dry grass, we bethought ourselves of supper. But it now occurred to us, for the first time, that we had no means of making a fire. "Now, there's a fix! What shall we do?" said Peterkin, while we both turned our eyes to Jack, to whom we always looked in our difficulties. Jack seemed not a little perplexed. "There are flints enough, no doubt, on the beach," said he, "but they are of no use at all without a steel. However, we must try." So saying, he went to the beach, and soon returned with two flints. On one of these he placed the tinder, and endeavoured to ignite it; but it was with great difficulty that a very small spark was struck out of the flints, and the tinder, being a bad, hard piece, would not catch. He then tried the bit of hoop-iron, which would not strike fire at all; and after that the back of the axe, with no better success. During all these trials Peterkin sat with his hands in his pockets, gazing with a most melancholy visage at our comrade, his face growing longer and more miserable at each successive failure. "Oh dear!" he sighed; "I would not care a button for the cooking of our victuals--perhaps they don't need it--but it's so dismal to eat one's supper in the dark; and we have had such a capital day that it's a pity to finish off in this glum style. Oh, I have it!" he cried, starting up; "the spy-glass--the big glass at the end is a burning-glass!" "You forget that we have no sun," said I. Peterkin was silent. In his sudden recollection of the telescope he had quite overlooked the absence of the sun. "Ah, boys, I've got it now!" exclaimed Jack, rising and cutting a branch from a neighbouring bush, which he stripped of its leaves. "I recollect seeing this done once at home. Hand me the bit of whip-cord." With the cord and branch Jack soon formed a bow. Then he cut a piece, about three inches long, off the end of a dead branch, which he pointed at the two ends. Round this he passed the cord of the bow, and placed one end against his chest, which was protected from its point by a chip of wood; the other point he placed against the bit of tinder, and then began to saw vigorously with the bow, just as a blacksmith does with his drill while boring a hole in a piece of iron. In a few seconds the tinder begun to smoke; in less than a minute it caught fire; and in less than a quarter of an hour we were drinking our lemonade and eating cocoa-nuts round a fire that would have roasted an entire sheep, while the smoke, flames, and sparks flew up among the broad leaves of the overhanging palm trees, and cast a warm glow upon our leafy bower. That night the starry sky looked down through the gently rustling trees upon our slumbers, and the distant roaring of the surf upon the coral reef was our lullaby. Chapter V Morning, and cogitations connected therewith--We luxuriate in the sea, try our diving powers, and make enchanting excursions among the coral groves at the bottom of the ocean--The wonders of the deep enlarged upon. What a joyful thing it is to awaken, on a fresh glorious morning, and find the rising sun staring into your face with dazzling brilliancy! to see the birds twittering in the bushes, and to hear the murmuring of a rill, or the soft hissing ripples as they fall upon the seashore! At any time and in any place such sights and sounds are most charming, but more especially are they so when one awakens to them, for the first time, in a novel and romantic situation, with the soft sweet air of a tropical climate mingling with the fresh smell of the sea, and stirring the strange leaves that flutter overhead and around one, or ruffling the plumage of the stranger birds that fly inquiringly around, as if to demand what business we have to intrude uninvited on their domains. When I awoke on the morning after the shipwreck, I found myself in this most delightful condition; and as I lay on my back upon my bed of leaves, gazing up through the branches of the cocoa-nut trees into the clear blue sky, and watched the few fleecy clouds that passed slowly across it, my heart expanded more and more with an exulting gladness, the like of which I had never felt before. While I meditated, my thoughts again turned to the great and kind Creator of this beautiful world, as they had done on the previous day, when I first beheld the sea and the coral reef, with the mighty waves dashing over it into the calm waters of the lagoon. While thus meditating, I naturally bethought me of my Bible, for I had faithfully kept the promise, which I gave at parting to my beloved mother, that I would read it every morning; and it was with a feeling of dismay that I remembered I had left it in the ship. I was much troubled about this. However, I consoled myself with reflecting that I could keep the second part of my promise to her--namely, that I should never omit to say my prayers. So I rose quietly, lest I should disturb my companions, who were still asleep, and stepped aside into the bushes for this purpose. On my return I found them still slumbering, so I again lay down to think over our situation. Just at that moment I was attracted by the sight of a very small parrot, which Jack afterwards told me was called a paroquet. It was seated on a twig that overhung Peterkin's head, and I was speedily lost in admiration of its bright green plumage, which was mingled with other gay colours. While I looked I observed that the bird turned its head slowly from side to side and looked downwards, first with the one eye and then with the other. On glancing downwards I observed that Peterkin's mouth was wide open, and that this remarkable bird was looking into it. Peterkin used to say that I had not an atom of fun in my composition, and that I never could understand a joke. In regard to the latter, perhaps he was right; yet I think that, when they were explained to me, I understood jokes as well as most people. But in regard to the former, he must certainly have been wrong, for this bird seemed to me to be extremely funny; and I could not help thinking that, if it should happen to faint, or slip its foot, and fall off the twig into Peterkin's mouth, he would perhaps think it funny too! Suddenly the paroquet bent down its head and uttered a loud scream in his face. This awoke him, and, with a cry of surprise, he started up, while the foolish bird flew precipitately away. "Oh, you monster!" cried Peterkin, shaking his fist at the bird. Then he yawned, and rubbed his eyes, and asked what o'clock it was. I smiled at this question, and answered that, as our watches were at the bottom of the sea, I could not tell, but it was a little past sunrise. Peterkin now began to remember where we were. As he looked up into the bright sky, and snuffed the scented air, his eyes glistened with delight, and he uttered a faint "Hurrah!" and yawned again. Then he gazed slowly round, till, observing the calm sea through an opening in the bushes, he started suddenly up as if he had received an electric shock, uttered a vehement shout, flung off his garments, and, rushing over the white sands, plunged into the water. The cry awoke Jack, who rose on his elbow with a look of grave surprise; but this was followed by a quiet smile of intelligence on seeing Peterkin in the water. With an energy that he only gave way to in moments of excitement, Jack bounded to his feet, threw off his clothes, shook back his hair, and, with a lion-like spring, dashed over the sands and plunged into the sea with such force as quite to envelop Peterkin in a shower of spray. Jack was a remarkably good swimmer and diver, so that after his plunge we saw no sign of him for nearly a minute; after which he suddenly emerged, with a cry of joy, a good many yards out from the shore. My spirits were so much raised by seeing all this that I, too, hastily threw off my garments and endeavoured to imitate Jack's vigorous bound; but I was so awkward that my foot caught on a stump, and I fell to the ground; then I slipped on a stone while running over the sand, and nearly fell again, much to the amusement of Peterkin, who laughed heartily, and called me a "slow coach," while Jack cried out, "Come along, Ralph, and I'll help you." However, when I got into the water, I managed very well, for I was really a good swimmer and diver too. I could not, indeed, equal Jack, who was superior to any Englishman I ever saw; but I infinitely surpassed Peterkin, who could only swim a little, and could not dive at all. While Peterkin enjoyed himself in the shallow water and in running along the beach, Jack and I swam out into the deep water, and occasionally dived for stones. I shall never forget my surprise and delight on first beholding the bottom of the sea. As I have before stated, the water within the reef was as calm as a pond; and, as there was no wind, it was quite clear from the surface to the bottom, so that we could see down easily even at a depth of twenty or thirty yards. When Jack and I dived into shallower water, we expected to have found sand and stones, instead of which we found ourselves in what appeared really to be an enchanted garden. The whole of the bottom of the lagoon, as we called the calm water within the reef, was covered with coral of every shape, size, and hue. Some portions were formed like large mushrooms; others appeared like the brain of a man, having stalks or necks attached to them; but the most common kind was a species of branching coral, and some portions were of a lovely pale pink colour, others were pure white. Among this there grew large quantities of seaweed of the richest hues imaginable, and of the most graceful forms; while innumerable fishes--blue, red, yellow, green, and striped--sported in and out amongst the flower-beds of this submarine garden, and did not appear to be at all afraid of our approaching them. On darting to the surface for breath, after our first dive, Jack and I rose close to each other. "Did you ever in your life, Ralph, see anything so lovely?" said Jack, as he flung the spray from his hair. "Never," I replied. "It appears to me like fairy realms. I can scarcely believe that we are not dreaming." "Dreaming!" cried Jack; "do you know, Ralph, I'm half tempted to think that we really are dreaming. But if so, I am resolved to make the most of it, and dream another dive; so here goes--down again, my boy!" We took the second dive together, and kept beside each other while under water; and I was greatly surprised to find that we could keep down much longer than I ever recollect having done in our own seas at home. I believe that this was owing to the heat of the water, which was so warm that we afterwards found we could remain in it for two and three hours at a time without feeling any unpleasant effects such as we used to experience in the sea at home. When Jack reached the bottom, he grasped the coral stems, and crept along on his hands and knees, peeping under the seaweed and among the rocks. I observed him also pick up one or two large oysters and retain them in his grasp, as if he meant to take them up with him, so I also gathered a few. Suddenly he made a grasp at a fish with blue and yellow stripes on its back, and actually touched its tail, but did not catch it. At this he turned towards me and attempted to smile; but no sooner had he done so than he sprang like an arrow to the surface, where, on following him, I found him gasping and coughing, and spitting water from his mouth. In a few minutes he recovered, and we both turned to swim ashore. "I declare, Ralph," said he, "that I actually tried to laugh under water." "So I saw," I replied; "and I observed that you very nearly caught that fish by the tail. It would have done capitally for breakfast if you had." "Breakfast enough here," said he, holding up the oysters, as we landed and ran up the beach. "Hallo, Peterkin! here you are, boy. Split open these fellows while Ralph and I put on our clothes. They'll agree with the cocoa-nuts excellently, I have no doubt." Peterkin, who was already dressed, took the oysters, and opened them with the edge of our axe, exclaiming, "Now, that _is_ capital. There's nothing I'm so fond of." "Ah! that's lucky," remarked Jack. "I'll be able to keep you in good order now, Master Peterkin. You know you can't dive any better than a cat. So, sir, whenever you behave ill, you shall have no oysters for breakfast." "I'm very glad that our prospect of breakfast is so good," said I, "for I'm very hungry." "Here, then, stop your mouth with that, Ralph," said Peterkin, holding a large oyster to my lips. I opened my mouth and swallowed it in silence, and really it was remarkably good. We now set ourselves earnestly about our preparations for spending the day. We had no difficulty with the fire this morning, as our burning-glass was an admirable one; and while we roasted a few oysters and ate our cocoa-nuts, we held a long, animated conversation about our plans for the future. What those plans were, and how we carried them into effect, the reader shall see hereafter. Chapter VI An excursion into the interior, in which we make many valuable and interesting discoveries--We get a dreadful fright--The bread-fruit tree--Wonderful peculiarity of some of the fruit-trees--Signs of former inhabitants. Our first care, after breakfast, was to place the few articles we possessed in the crevice of a rock at the farther end of a small cave which we discovered near our encampment. This cave, we hoped, might be useful to us afterwards as a storehouse. Then we cut two large clubs off a species of very hard tree which grew near at hand. One of these was given to Peterkin, the other to me, and Jack armed himself with the axe. We took these precautions because we purposed to make an excursion to the top of the mountains of the interior, in order to obtain a better view of our island. Of course we knew not what dangers might befall us by the way, so thought it best to be prepared. Having completed our arrangements and carefully extinguished our fire, we sallied forth and walked a short distance along the sea-beach, till we came to the entrance of a valley, through which flowed the rivulet before mentioned. Here we turned our backs on the sea and struck into the interior. The prospect that burst upon our view on entering the valley was truly splendid. On either side of us there was a gentle rise in the land, which thus formed two ridges about a mile apart on each side of the valley. These ridges--which, as well as the low grounds between them, were covered with trees and shrubs of the most luxuriant kind--continued to recede inland for about two miles, when they joined the foot of a small mountain. This hill rose rather abruptly from the head of the valley, and was likewise entirely covered even to the top with trees, except on one particular spot near the left shoulder, where was a bare and rocky place of a broken and savage character. Beyond this hill we could not see, and we therefore directed our course up the banks of the rivulet towards the foot of it, intending to climb to the top, should that be possible, as, indeed, we had no doubt it was. Jack being the wisest and boldest among us, took the lead, carrying the axe on his shoulder. Peterkin, with his enormous club, came second, as he said he should like to be in a position to defend me if any danger should threaten. I brought up the rear, but, having been more taken up with the wonderful and curious things I saw at starting than with thoughts of possible danger, I had very foolishly left my club behind me. Although, as I have said, the trees and bushes were very luxuriant, they were not so thickly crowded together as to hinder our progress among them. We were able to wind in and out, and to follow the banks of the stream quite easily, although, it is true, the height and thickness of the foliage prevented us from seeing far ahead. But sometimes a jutting-out rock on the hillsides afforded us a position whence we could enjoy the romantic view and mark our progress towards the foot of the hill. I was particularly struck, during the walk, with the richness of the undergrowth in most places, and recognised many berries and plants that resembled those of my native land, especially a tall, elegantly formed fern, which emitted an agreeable perfume. There were several kinds of flowers, too, but I did not see so many of these as I should have expected in such a climate. We also saw a great variety of small birds of bright plumage, and many paroquets similar to the one that awoke Peterkin so rudely in the morning. Thus we advanced to the foot of the hill without encountering anything to alarm us, except, indeed, once, when we were passing close under a part of the hill which was hidden from our view by the broad leaves of the banana trees, which grew in great luxuriance in that part. Jack was just preparing to force his way through this thicket, when we were startled and arrested by a strange pattering or rumbling sound which appeared to us quite different from any of the sounds we had heard during the previous part of our walk. "Hallo!" cried Peterkin, stopping short and grasping his club with both hands, "what's that?" Neither of us replied; but Jack seized his axe in his right hand, while with the other he pushed aside the broad leaves and endeavoured to peer amongst them. "I can see nothing," he said, after a short pause. "I think it--" Again the rumbling sound came, louder than before, and we all sprang back and stood on the defensive. For myself, having forgotten my club, and not having taken the precaution to cut another, I buttoned my jacket, doubled my fists, and threw myself into a boxing attitude. I must say, however, that I felt somewhat uneasy; and my companions afterwards confessed that their thoughts at this moment had been instantly filled with all they had ever heard or read of wild beasts and savages, torturings at the stake, roastings alive, and such like horrible things. Suddenly the pattering noise increased with tenfold violence. It was followed by a fearful crash among the bushes, which was rapidly repeated, as if some gigantic animal were bounding towards us. In another moment an enormous rock came crashing through the shrubbery, followed by a cloud of dust and small stones, and flew close past the spot where we stood, carrying bushes and young trees along with it. "Pooh! is that all?" exclaimed Peterkin, wiping the perspiration off his forehead. "Why, I thought it was all the wild men and beasts in the South Sea Islands galloping on in one grand charge to sweep us off the face of the earth, instead of a mere stone tumbling down the mountainside." "Nevertheless," remarked Jack, "if that same stone had hit any of us, it would have rendered the charge you speak of quite unnecessary, Peterkin." This was true, and I felt very thankful for our escape. On examining the spot more narrowly, we found that it lay close to the foot of a very rugged precipice, from which stones of various sizes were always tumbling at intervals. Indeed, the numerous fragments lying scattered all around might have suggested the cause of the sound, had we not been too suddenly alarmed to think of anything. We now resumed our journey, resolving that, in our future excursions into the interior, we would be careful to avoid this dangerous precipice. Soon afterwards we arrived at the foot of the hill and prepared to ascend it. Here Jack made a discovery which caused us all very great joy. This was a tree of a remarkably beautiful appearance, which Jack confidently declared to be the celebrated bread-fruit tree. "Is it celebrated?" inquired Peterkin, with a look of great simplicity. "It is," replied Jack. "That's odd, now," rejoined Peterkin; "I never heard of it before." "Then it's not so celebrated as I thought it was," returned Jack, quietly squeezing Peterkin's hat over his eyes; "but listen, you ignorant booby! and hear of it now." Peterkin readjusted his hat, and was soon listening with as much interest as myself, while Jack told us that this tree is one of the most valuable in the islands of the south; that it bears two, sometimes three, crops of fruit in the year; that the fruit is very like wheaten bread in appearance, and that it constitutes the principal food of many of the islanders. "So," said Peterkin, "we seem to have everything ready prepared to our hands in this wonderful island--lemonade ready bottled in nuts, and loaf-bread growing on the trees!" Peterkin, as usual, was jesting; nevertheless, it is a curious fact that he spoke almost the literal truth. "Moreover," continued Jack, "the bread-fruit tree affords a capital gum, which serves the natives for pitching their canoes; the bark of the young branches is made by them into cloth; and of the wood, which is durable and of a good colour, they build their houses. So you see, lads, that we have no lack of material here to make us comfortable, if we are only clever enough to use it." "But are you sure that that's it?" asked Peterkin. "Quite sure," replied Jack; "for I was particularly interested in the account I once read of it, and I remember the description well. I am sorry, however, that I have forgotten the descriptions of many other trees which I am sure we have seen to-day, if we could but recognise them. So you see, Peterkin, I'm not up to everything yet." "Never mind, Jack," said Peterkin, with a grave, patronising expression of countenance, patting his tall companion on the shoulder--"never mind, Jack; you know a good deal for your age. You're a clever boy, sir--a promising young man; and if you only go on as you have begun, sir, you will----" The end of this speech was suddenly cut short by Jack tripping up Peterkin's heels and tumbling him into a mass of thick shrubs, where, finding himself comfortable, he lay still, basking in the sunshine, while Jack and I examined the bread-fruit tree. We were much struck with the deep, rich green colour of its broad leaves, which were twelve or eighteen inches long, deeply indented, and of a glossy smoothness, like the laurel. The fruit, with which it was loaded, was nearly round, and appeared to be about six inches in diameter, with a rough rind, marked with lozenge-shaped divisions. It was of various colours, from light pea-green to brown and rich yellow. Jack said that the yellow was the ripe fruit. We afterwards found that most of the fruit-trees on the island were evergreens, and that we might, when we wished, pluck the blossom and the ripe fruit from the same tree. Such a wonderful difference from the trees of our own country surprised us not a little. The bark of the tree was rough and light-coloured; the trunk was about two feet in diameter, and it appeared to be twenty feet high, being quite destitute of branches up to that height, where it branched off into a beautiful and umbrageous head. We noticed that the fruit hung in clusters of twos and threes on the branches; but as we were anxious to get to the top of the hill, we refrained from attempting to pluck any at that time. Our hearts were now very much cheered by our good fortune, and it was with light and active steps that we clambered up the steep sides of the hill. On reaching the summit, a new and, if possible, a grander prospect, met our gaze. We found that this was not the highest part of the island, but that another hill lay beyond, with a wide valley between it and the one on which we stood. This valley, like the first, was also full of rich trees, some dark and some light green, some heavy and thick in foliage, and others light, feathery, and graceful, while the beautiful blossoms on many of them threw a sort of rainbow tint over all, and gave to the valley the appearance of a garden of flowers. Among these we recognised many of the bread-fruit trees, laden with yellow fruit, and also a great many cocoa-nut palms. After gazing our fill, we pushed down the hillside, crossed the valley, and soon began to ascend the second mountain. It was clothed with trees nearly to the top, but the summit was bare, and in some places broken. While on our way up we came to an object which filled us with much interest. This was the stump of a tree that had evidently been cut down with an axe! So, then, we were not the first who had viewed this beautiful isle. The hand of man had been at work there before us. It now began to recur to us again that perhaps the island was inhabited, although we had not seen any traces of man until now; but a second glance at the stump convinced us that we had not more reason to think so now than formerly; for the surface of the wood was quite decayed, and partly covered with fungus and green matter, so that it must have been cut many years ago. "Perhaps," said Peterkin, "some ship or other has touched here long ago for wood, and only taken one tree." We did not think this likely, however, because, in such circumstances, the crew of a ship would cut wood of small size, and near the shore, whereas this was a large tree and stood near the top of the mountain. In fact, it was the highest large tree on the mountain, all above it being wood of very recent growth. "I can't understand it," said Jack, scratching the surface of the stump with his axe. "I can only suppose that the savages have been here and cut it for some purpose known only to themselves. But, hallo! what have we here?" As he spoke, Jack began carefully to scrape away the moss and fungus from the stump, and soon laid bare three distinct traces of marks, as if some inscription or initials had been cut thereon. But although the traces were distinct, beyond all doubt, the exact form of the letters could not be made out. Jack thought they looked like J. S., but we could not be certain. They had apparently been carelessly cut, and long exposure to the weather had so broken them up that we could not make out what they were. We were exceedingly perplexed at this discovery, and stayed a long time at the place conjecturing what these marks could have been, but without avail; so, as the day was advancing, we left it and quickly reached the top of the mountain. We found this to be the highest point of the island, and from it we saw our kingdom lying, as it were, like a map around us. As I have always thought it impossible to get a thing properly into one's understanding without comprehending it, I shall beg the reader's patience for a little while I describe our island, thus, shortly:-- It consisted of two mountains: the one we guessed at 500 feet; the other, on which we stood, at 1000. Between these lay a rich, beautiful valley, as already said. This valley crossed the island from one end to the other, being high in the middle and sloping on each side towards the sea. The large mountain sloped, on the side farthest from where we had been wrecked, gradually towards the sea; but although, when viewed at a glance, it had thus a regular sloping appearance, a more careful observation showed that it was broken up into a multitude of very small vales, or rather dells and glens, intermingled with little rugged spots and small but abrupt precipices here and there, with rivulets tumbling over their edges and wandering down the slopes in little white streams, sometimes glistening among the broad leaves of the bread-fruit and cocoa-nut trees, or hiding altogether beneath the rich underwood. At the base of this mountain lay a narrow bright green plain or meadow, which terminated abruptly at the shore. On the other side of the island, whence we had come, stood the smaller hill, at the foot of which diverged three valleys; one being that which we had ascended, with a smaller vale on each side of it, and separated from it by the two ridges before mentioned. In these smaller valleys there were no streams, but they were clothed with the same luxuriant vegetation. The diameter of the island seemed to be about ten miles, and as it was almost circular in form, its circumference must have been thirty miles--perhaps a little more, if allowance be made for the numerous bays and indentations of the shore. The entire island was belted by a beach of pure white sand, on which laved the gentle ripples of the lagoon. We now also observed that the coral reef completely encircled the island; but it varied its distance from it here and there, in some places being a mile from the beach, in others a few hundred yards, but the average distance was half a mile. The reef lay very low, and the spray of the surf broke quite over it in many places. This surf never ceased its roar, for however calm the weather might be, there is always a gentle swaying motion in the great Pacific, which, although scarce noticeable out at sea, reaches the shore at last in a huge billow. The water within the lagoon, as before said, was perfectly still. There were three narrow openings in the reef: one opposite each end of the valley which I have described as crossing the island; the other opposite our own valley, which we afterwards named the Valley of the Wreck. At each of these openings the reef rose into two small green islets, covered with bushes and having one or two cocoa-nut palms on each. These islets were very singular, and appeared as if planted expressly for the purpose of marking the channel into the lagoon. Our captain was making for one of these openings the day we were wrecked, and would have reached it too, I doubt not, had not the rudder been torn away. Within the lagoon were several pretty, low coral islands, just opposite our encampment; and immediately beyond these, out at sea, lay about a dozen other islands, at various distances, from half a mile to ten miles;--all of them, as far as we could discern, smaller than ours and apparently uninhabited. They seemed to be low coral islands, raised but little above the sea, yet covered with cocoa-nut trees. All this we noted and a great deal more, while we sat on the top of the mountain. After we had satisfied ourselves we prepared to return; but here again we discovered traces of the presence of man. These were a pole or staff and one or two pieces of wood which had been squared with an axe. All of these were, however, very much decayed, and they had evidently not been touched for many years. Full of these discoveries we returned to our encampment. On the way we fell in with the traces of some four-footed animal, but whether old or of recent date none of us were able to guess. This also tended to raise our hopes of obtaining some animal food on the island, so we reached home in good spirits, quite prepared for supper, and highly satisfied with our excursion. After much discussion, in which Peterkin took the lead, we came to the conclusion that the island was uninhabited, and went to bed. Chapter VII Jack's ingenuity--We get into difficulties about fishing, and get out of them by a method which gives us a cold bath--Horrible encounter with a shark. For several days after the excursion related in the last chapter we did not wander far from our encampment, but gave ourselves up to forming plans for the future and making our present abode comfortable. There were various causes that induced this state of comparative inaction. In the first place, although everything around us was so delightful, and we could without difficulty obtain all that we required for our bodily comfort, we did not quite like the idea of settling down here for the rest of our lives, far away from our friends and our native land. To set energetically about preparations for a permanent residence seemed so like making up our minds to saying adieu to home and friends for ever, that we tacitly shrank from it, and put off our preparations, for one reason and another, as long as we could. Then there was a little uncertainty still as to there being natives on the island, and we entertained a kind of faint hope that a ship might come and take us off. But as day after day passed, and neither savages nor ships appeared, we gave up all hope of an early deliverance, and set diligently to work at our homestead. During this time, however, we had not been altogether idle. We made several experiments in cooking the cocoa-nut, most of which did not improve it. Then we removed our goods, and took up our abode in the cave, but found the change so bad that we returned gladly to the bower. Besides this, we bathed very frequently, and talked a great deal: at least Jack and Peterkin did--I listened. Among other useful things, Jack, who was ever the most active and diligent, converted about three inches of the hoop-iron into an excellent knife. First he beat it quite flat with the axe. Then he made a rude handle, and tied the hoop-iron to it with our piece of whipcord, and ground it to an edge on a piece of sandstone. When it was finished, he used it to shape a better handle, to which he fixed it with a strip of his cotton handkerchief--in which operation he had, as Peterkin pointed out, torn off one of Lord Nelson's noses. However, the whipcord, thus set free, was used by Peterkin as a fishing-line. He merely tied a piece of oyster to the end of it. This the fish were allowed to swallow, and then they were pulled quickly ashore. But as the line was very short and we had no boat, the fish we caught were exceedingly small. One day Peterkin came up from the beach, where he had been angling, and said in a very cross tone, "I'll tell you what, Jack, I'm not going to be humbugged with catching such contemptible things any longer. I want you to swim out with me on your back, and let me fish in deep water!" "Dear me, Peterkin!" replied Jack, "I had no idea you were taking the thing so much to heart, else I would have got you out of that difficulty long ago. Let me see"--and Jack looked down at a piece of timber on which he had been labouring, with a peculiar gaze of abstraction, which he always assumed when trying to invent or discover anything. "What say you to building a boat?" he inquired, looking up hastily. "Take far too long," was the reply; "can't be bothered waiting. I want to begin at once!" Again Jack considered. "I have it!" he cried. "We'll fell a large tree and launch the trunk of it in the water, so that when you want to fish you've nothing to do but to swim out to it." "Would not a small raft do better?" said I. "Much better; but we have no ropes to bind it together with. Perhaps we may find something hereafter that will do as well, but in the meantime let us try the tree." This was agreed on, so we started off to a spot not far distant, where we knew of a tree that would suit us, which grew near the water's edge. As soon as we reached it Jack threw off his coat, and, wielding the axe with his sturdy arms, hacked and hewed at it for a quarter of an hour without stopping. Then he paused, and while he sat down to rest I continued the work. Then Peterkin made a vigorous attack on it, so that when Jack renewed his powerful blows, a few minutes cutting brought it down with a terrible crash. "Hurrah! now for it," cried Jack; "let us off with its head." So saying he began to cut through the stem again, at about six yards from the thick end. This done, he cut three strong, short poles or levers from the stout branches, with which to roll the log down the beach into the sea; for, as it was nearly two feet thick at the large end, we could not move it without such helps. With the levers, however, we rolled it slowly into the sea. Having been thus successful in launching our vessel, we next shaped the levers into rude oars or paddles, and then attempted to embark. This was easy enough to do; but after seating ourselves astride the log, it was with the utmost difficulty we kept it from rolling round and plunging us into the water. Not that we minded that much; but we preferred, if possible, to fish in dry clothes. To be sure, our trousers were necessarily wet, as our legs were dangling in the water on each side of the log; but as they could be easily dried, we did not care. After half-an-hour's practice, we became expert enough to keep our balance pretty steadily. Then Peterkin laid down his paddle, and having baited his line with a whole oyster, dropped it into deep water. "Now then, Jack," said he, "be cautious; steer clear o' that seaweed. There! that's it; gently now, gently. I see a fellow at least a foot long down there, coming to--ha! that's it! Oh bother! he's off." "Did he bite?" said Jack, urging the log onwards a little with his paddle. "Bite? ay! He took it into his mouth, but the moment I began to haul he opened his jaws and let it out again." "Let him swallow it next time," said Jack, laughing at the melancholy expression of Peterkin's visage. "There he's again," cried Peterkin, his eyes flashing with excitement. "Look out! Now then! No! Yes! No! Why the brute _won't_ swallow it!" "Try to haul him up by the mouth, then," cried Jack. "Do it gently." A heavy sigh and a look of blank despair showed that poor Peterkin had tried and failed again. "Never mind, lad," said Jack, in a voice of sympathy, "we'll move on, and offer it to some other fish." So saying, Jack plied his paddle; but scarcely had he moved from the spot, when a fish with an enormous head and a little body darted from under a rock and swallowed the bait at once. "Got him this time--that's a fact!" cried Peterkin, hauling in the line. "He's swallowed the bait right down to his tail, I declare. Oh, what a thumper!" As the fish came struggling to the surface, we leaned forward to see it, and overbalanced the log. Peterkin threw his arms round the fish's neck, and in another instant we were all floundering in the water. A shout of laughter burst from us as we rose to the surface like three drowned rats, and seized hold of the log. We soon recovered our position, and sat more warily, while Peterkin secured the fish, which had well-nigh escaped in the midst of our struggles. It was little worth having, however; but, as Peterkin remarked, it was better than the smouts he had been catching for the last two or three days; so we laid it on the log before us, and having re-baited the line, dropped it in again for another. Now, while we were thus intent upon our sport, our attention was suddenly attracted by a ripple on the sea, just a few yards away from us. Peterkin shouted to us to paddle in that direction, as he thought it was a big fish, and we might have a chance of catching it. But Jack, instead of complying, said, in a deep, earnest tone of voice, which I never before heard him use--"Haul up your line, Peterkin; seize your paddle; quick--it's a shark!" The horror with which we heard this may well be imagined, for it must be remembered that our legs were hanging down in the water, and we could not venture to pull them up without upsetting the log. Peterkin instantly hauled up the line, and grasping his paddle, exerted himself to the utmost, while we also did our best to make for shore. But we were a good way off, and the log being, as I have before said, very heavy, moved but slowly through the water. We now saw the shark quite distinctly swimming round and round us, its sharp fin every now and then protruding above the water. From its active and unsteady motions, Jack knew it was making up its mind to attack us, so he urged us vehemently to paddle for our lives, while he himself set us the example. Suddenly he shouted, "Look out! there he comes!" and in a second we saw the monstrous fish dive close under us, and turn half over on his side. But we all made a great commotion with our paddles, which no doubt frightened it away for that time, as we saw it immediately after circling round us as before. "Throw the fish to him," cried Jack, in a quick, suppressed voice; "we'll make the shore in time yet if we can keep him off for a few minutes." Peterkin stopped one instant to obey the command, and then plied his paddle again with all his might. No sooner had the fish fallen on the water than we observed the shark to sink. In another second we saw its white breast rising; for sharks always turn over on their sides when about to seize their prey, their mouths being not at the point of their heads like those of other fish, but, as it were, under their chins. In another moment his snout rose above the water; his wide jaws, armed with a terrific double row of teeth, appeared. The dead fish was engulfed, and the shark sank out of sight. But Jack was mistaken in supposing that it would be satisfied. In a very few minutes it returned to us, and its quick motions led us to fear that it would attack us at once. "Stop paddling," cried Jack suddenly. "I see it coming up behind us. Now, obey my orders _quickly_. Our lives may depend on it. Ralph, Peterkin, do your best to _balance the log_. Don't look out for the shark. Don't glance behind you. Do nothing but balance the log." Peterkin and I instantly did as we were ordered, being only too glad to do anything that afforded us a chance or a hope of escape, for we had implicit confidence in Jack's courage and wisdom. For a few seconds, that seemed long minutes to my mind, we sat thus silently; but I could not resist glancing backward, despite the orders to the contrary. On doing so, I saw Jack sitting rigid like a statue, with his paddle raised, his lips compressed, and his eyebrows bent over his eyes, which glared savagely from beneath them down into the water. I also saw the shark, to my horror, quite close under the log, in the act of darting towards Jack's foot. I could scarce suppress a cry on beholding this. In another moment the shark rose. Jack drew his leg suddenly from the water, and threw it over the log. The monster's snout rubbed against the log as it passed, and revealed its hideous jaws, into which Jack instantly plunged the paddle, and thrust it down its throat. So violent was this act that Jack rose to his feet in performing it; the log was thereby rolled completely over, and we were once more plunged into the water. We all rose, spluttering and gasping, in a moment. "Now, then, strike out for shore," cried Jack. "Here, Peterkin, catch hold of my collar, and kick out with a will." Peterkin did as he was desired, and Jack struck out with such force that he cut through the water like a boat; while I, being free from all encumbrance, succeeded in keeping up with him. As we had by this time drawn pretty near to the shore, a few minutes more sufficed to carry us into shallow water; and, finally, we landed in safety, though very much exhausted, and not a little frightened by our terrible adventure. Chapter VIII The beauties of the bottom of the sea tempt Peterkin to dive--How he did it--More difficulties overcome--The Water Garden--Curious creatures of the sea--The tank--Candles missed very much, and the candle-nut tree discovered--Wonderful account of Peterkin's first voyage--Cloth found growing on a tree--A plan projected, and arms prepared for offence and defence--A dreadful cry. Our encounter with the shark was the first great danger that had befallen us since landing on this island, and we felt very seriously affected by it, especially when we considered that we had so often unwittingly incurred the same danger before while bathing. We were now forced to take to fishing again in the shallow water, until we should succeed in constructing a raft. What troubled us most, however, was, that we were compelled to forego our morning swimming excursions. We did, indeed, continue to enjoy our bathe in the shallow water, but Jack and I found that one great source of our enjoyment was gone, when we could no longer dive down among the beautiful coral groves at the bottom of the lagoon. We had come to be so fond of this exercise, and to take such an interest in watching the formations of coral and the gambols of the many beautiful fish amongst the forest of red and green seaweeds, that we had become quite familiar with the appearance of the fish and the localities that they chiefly haunted. We had also become expert divers. But we made it a rule never to stay long under water at a time. Jack told me that to do so often was bad for the lungs, and, instead of affording us enjoyment, would ere long do us a serious injury. So we never stayed at the bottom as long as we might have done, but came up frequently to the top for fresh air, and dived down again immediately. Sometimes, when Jack happened to be in a humorous frame, he would seat himself at the bottom of the sea on one of the brain-corals, as if he were seated on a large paddock-stool, and then make faces at me, in order, if possible, to make me laugh under water. At first, when he took me unawares, he nearly succeeded, and I had to shoot to the surface in order to laugh; but afterwards I became aware of his intentions, and being naturally of a grave disposition, I had no difficulty in restraining myself. I used often to wonder how poor Peterkin would have liked to be with us; and he sometimes expressed much regret at being unable to join us. I used to do my best to gratify him, poor fellow, by relating all the wonders that we saw; but this, instead of satisfying, seemed only to whet his curiosity the more, so one day we prevailed on him to try to go down with us. But although a brave boy in every other way, Peterkin was very nervous in the water, and it was with difficulty we got him to consent to be taken down, for he could never have managed to push himself down to the bottom without assistance. But no sooner had we pulled him down a yard or so into the deep clear water, than he began to struggle and kick violently; so we were forced to let him go, when he rose out of the water like a cork, gave a loud gasp and a frightful roar, and struck out for the land with the utmost possible haste. Now all this pleasure we were to forego, and when we thought thereon, Jack and I felt very much depressed in our spirits. I could see, also, that Peterkin grieved and sympathised with us, for when talking about this matter he refrained from jesting and bantering us upon it. As, however, a man's difficulties usually set him upon devising methods to overcome them, whereby he often discovers better things than those he may have lost, so this our difficulty induced us to think of searching for a large pool among the rocks, where the water should be deep enough for diving, yet so surrounded by rocks as to prevent sharks from getting at us. And such a pool we afterwards found, which proved to be very much better than our most sanguine hopes anticipated. It was situated not more than ten minutes' walk from our camp, and was in the form of a small deep bay or basin, the entrance to which, besides being narrow, was so shallow that no fish so large as a shark could get in, at least not unless he should be a remarkably thin one. Inside of this basin, which we called our Water Garden, the coral formations were much more wonderful, and the seaweed plants far more lovely and vividly coloured, than in the lagoon itself. And the water was so clear and still, that, although very deep, you could see the minutest object at the bottom. Besides this, there was a ledge of rock which overhung the basin at its deepest part, from which we could dive pleasantly, and whereon Peterkin could sit and see not only all the wonders I had described to him, but also see Jack and me creeping amongst the marine shrubbery at the bottom, like--as he expressed it--"two great white sea-monsters." During these excursions of ours to the bottom of the sea, we began to get an insight into the manners and customs of its inhabitants, and to make discoveries of wonderful things, the like of which we never before conceived. Among other things, we were deeply interested with the operations of the little coral insect which, I was informed by Jack, is supposed to have entirely constructed many of the numerous islands in the Pacific Ocean. And certainly, when we considered the great reef which these insects had formed round the island on which we were cast, and observed their ceaseless activity in building their myriad cells, it did at first seem as if this might be true; but then, again, when I looked at the mountains of the island, and reflected that there were thousands of such, many of them much higher, in the South Seas, I doubted that there must be some mistake here. But more of this hereafter. I also became much taken up with the manners and appearance of the anemones, and star-fish, and crabs, and sea-urchins, and such-like creatures; and was not content with watching those I saw during my dives in the Water Garden, but I must needs scoop out a hole in the coral rock close to it, which I filled with salt water, and stocked with sundry specimens of anemones and shell-fish, in order to watch more closely how they were in the habit of passing their time. Our burning-glass also now became a great treasure to me, as it enabled me to magnify, and so to perceive more clearly the forms and actions of these curious creatures of the deep. Having now got ourselves into a very comfortable condition, we began to talk of a project which we had long had in contemplation--namely, to travel entirely round the island; in order, first, to ascertain whether it contained any other productions which might be useful to us; and, second, to see whether there might be any place more convenient and suitable for our permanent residence than that on which we were now encamped. Not that we were in any degree dissatisfied with it; on the contrary, we entertained quite a home-feeling to our bower and its neighbourhood; but if a better place did exist, there was no reason why we should not make use of it. At any rate, it would be well to know of its existence. We had much earnest talk over this matter. But Jack proposed that, before undertaking such an excursion, we should supply ourselves with good defensive arms; for as we intended not only to go round all the shore, but to descend most of the valleys, before returning home, we should be likely to meet in with, he would not say _dangers_, but at least with everything that existed on the island, whatever that might be. "Besides," said Jack, "it won't do for us to live on cocoa-nuts and oysters always. No doubt they are very excellent in their way, but I think a little animal food now and then would be agreeable as well as good for us; and as there are many small birds among the trees, some of which are probably very good to eat, I think it would be a capital plan to make bows and arrows, with which we could easily knock them over." "First-rate!" cried Peterkin. "You will make the bows, Jack, and I'll try my hand at the arrows. The fact is, I'm quite tired of throwing stones at the birds. I began the very day we landed, I think, and have persevered up to the present time, but I've never hit anything yet." "You forget," said I, "you hit me one day on the shin." "Ah, true," replied Peterkin, "and a precious shindy you kicked up in consequence. But you were at least four yards away from the impudent paroquet I aimed at; so you see what a horribly bad shot I am." "But," said I, "Jack, you cannot make three bows and arrows before to-morrow, and would it not be a pity to waste time, now that we have made up our minds to go on this expedition? Suppose that you make one bow and arrow for yourself, and we can take our clubs?" "That's true, Ralph. The day is pretty far advanced, and I doubt if I can make even one bow before dark. To be sure, I might work by firelight, after the sun goes down." We had, up to this time, been in the habit of going to bed with the sun, as we had no pressing call to work o' nights; and, indeed, our work during the day was usually hard enough--what between fishing, and improving our bower, and diving in the Water Garden, and rambling in the woods; so that when night came we were usually very glad to retire to our beds. But now that we had a desire to work at night, we felt a wish for candles. "Won't a good blazing fire give you light enough?" inquired Peterkin. "Yes," replied Jack, "quite enough; but then it will give us a great deal more than enough of heat in this warm climate of ours." "True," said Peterkin; "I forgot that. It would roast us." "Well, as you're always doing that at any rate," remarked Jack, "we could scarcely call it a change. But the fact is, I've been thinking over this subject before. There is a certain nut growing in these islands which is called the candle-nut, because the natives use it instead of candles, and I know all about it, and how to prepare it for burning--" "Then why don't you do it?" interrupted Peterkin. "Why have you kept us in the dark so long, you vile philosopher?" "Because," said Jack, "I have not seen the tree yet, and I'm not sure that I should know either the tree or the nuts if I did see them. You see, I forget the description." "Ah! that's just the way with me," said Peterkin, with a deep sigh. "I never could keep in my mind for half-an-hour the few descriptions I ever attempted to remember. The very first voyage I ever made was caused by my mistaking a description, or forgetting it, which is the same thing. And a horrible voyage it was. I had to fight with the captain the whole way out, and made the homeward voyage by swimming!" "Come, Peterkin," said I, "you can't get even _me_ to believe that." "Perhaps not, but it's true notwithstanding," returned Peterkin, pretending to be hurt at my doubting his word. "Let us hear how it happened," said Jack, while a good-natured smile overspread his face. "Well, you must know," began Peterkin, "that the very day before I went to sea, I was greatly taken up with a game at hockey, which I was playing with my old school-fellows for the last time before leaving them--you see I was young then, Ralph." Peterkin gazed, in an abstracted and melancholy manner, out to sea. "Well, in the midst of the game, my uncle, who had taken all the bother and trouble of getting me bound 'prentice and rigged out, came and took me aside, and told me that he was called suddenly away from home, and would not be able to see me aboard, as he had intended. 'However,' said he, 'the captain knows you are coming, so that's not of much consequence; but as you'll have to find the ship yourself, you must remember her name and description. D'ye hear, boy?' I certainly did hear, but I'm afraid I did not understand, for my mind was so taken up with the game, which I saw my side was losing, that I began to grow impatient, and the moment my uncle finished his description of the ship and bade me good-bye, I bolted back to my game, with only a confused idea of three masts, and a green painted tafferel, and a gilt figure-head of Hercules with his club at the bow. Next day I was so much cast down with everybody saying good-bye, and a lot o' my female friends cryin' horribly over me, that I did not start for the harbour, where the ship was lying among a thousand others, till it was almost too late. So I had to run the whole way. When I reached the pier, there were so many masts, and so much confusion, that I felt quite humble-bumbled in my faculties. 'Now,' said I to myself, 'Peterkin, you're in a fix.' Then I fancied I saw a gilt figure-head and three masts, belonging to a ship just about to start; so I darted on board, but speedily jumped on shore again when I found that two of the masts belonged to another vessel, and the figure-head to a third! At last I caught sight of what I made sure was it--a fine large vessel just casting off her moorings. The tafferel was green. Three masts--yes, that must be it--and the gilt figure-head of Hercules. To be sure, it had a three-pronged pitchfork in its hand instead of a club; but that might be my uncle's mistake, or perhaps Hercules sometimes varied his weapons. 'Cast off!' roared a voice from the quarter-deck. 'Hold on!' cried I, rushing frantically through the crowd. 'Hold on! hold on!' repeated some of the bystanders, while the men at the ropes delayed for a minute. This threw the captain into a frightful rage; for some of his friends had come down to see him off, and having his orders contradicted so flatly was too much for him. However, the delay was sufficient. I took a race and a good leap; the ropes were cast off; the steam-tug gave a puff, and we started. Suddenly the captain walks up to me: 'Where did you come from, you scamp, and what do you want here?' "'Please, sir,' said I, touching my cap, 'I'm your new 'prentice come aboard.' "'New 'prentice!' said he, stamping; 'I've got no new 'prentice. My boys are all aboard already. This is a trick, you young blackguard. You've run away, you have;' and the captain stamped about the deck and swore dreadfully; for, you see, the thought of having to stop the ship and lower a boat and lose half-an-hour, all for the sake of sending a small boy ashore, seemed to make him very angry. Besides, it was blowin' fresh outside the harbour, so that to have let the steamer alongside to put me into it was no easy job. Just as we were passing the pierhead, where several boats were rowing into the harbour, the captain came up to me. "'You've run away, you blackguard,' he said, giving me a box on the ear. "'No, I haven't,' said I angrily; for the box was by no means a light one. "'Hark'ee, boy, can you swim?' "'Yes,' said I. "'Then do it;' and seizing me by my trousers and the nape of my neck, he tossed me over the side into the sea. The fellows in the boats at the end of the pier backed their oars on seeing this; but observing that I could swim, they allowed me to make the best of my way to the pierhead. So you see, Ralph, that I really did swim my first homeward voyage." Jack laughed, and patted Peterkin on the shoulder. "But tell us about the candle-nut tree," said I; "you were talking about it." "Very true," said Jack, "but I fear I can remember little about it. I believe the nut is about the size of a walnut; and I think that the leaves are white, but I am not sure." "Eh! ha! hum!" exclaimed Peterkin, "I saw a tree answering to that description this very day." "Did you?" cried Jack. "Is it far from this?" "No, not half a mile." "Then lead me to it," said Jack, seizing his axe. In a few minutes we were all three pushing through the underwood of the forest, headed by Peterkin. We soon came to the tree in question, which, after Jack had closely examined it, we concluded must be the candle-nut tree. Its leaves were of a beautiful silvery white, and formed a fine contrast to the dark-green foliage of the surrounding trees. We immediately filled our pockets with the nuts, after which Jack said-- "Now, Peterkin, climb that cocoa-nut tree and cut me one of the long branches." This was soon done, but it cost some trouble, for the stem was very high, and as Peterkin usually pulled nuts from the younger trees, he was not much accustomed to climbing the high ones. The leaf or branch was a very large one, and we were surprised at its size and strength. Viewed from a little distance, the cocoa-nut tree seems to be a tall, straight stem, without a single branch except at the top, where there is a tuft of feathery-looking leaves, that seem to wave like soft plumes in the wind. But when we saw one of these leaves or branches at our feet, we found it to be a strong stalk, about fifteen feet long, with a number of narrow, pointed leaflets ranged alternately on each side. But what seemed to us the most wonderful thing about it was a curious substance resembling cloth, which was wrapped round the thick end of the stalk, where it had been cut from the tree. Peterkin told us that he had the greatest difficulty in separating the branch from the stem on account of this substance, as it was wrapped quite round the tree, and, he observed, round all the other branches, thus forming a strong support to the large leaves while exposed to high winds. When I call this substance cloth I do not exaggerate. Indeed, with regard to all the things I saw during my eventful career in the South Seas, I have been exceedingly careful not to exaggerate, or in any way to mislead or deceive my readers. This cloth, I say, was remarkably like to coarse brown cotton cloth. It had a seam or fibre down the centre of it, from which diverged other fibres, about the size of a bristle. There were two layers of these fibres, very long and tough, the one layer crossing the other obliquely, and the whole was cemented together with a still finer fibrous and adhesive substance. When we regarded it attentively, we could with difficulty believe that it had not been woven by human hands. This remarkable piece of cloth we stripped carefully off, and found it to be above two feet long by a foot broad, and we carried it home with us as a great prize. Jack now took one of the leaflets, and, cutting out the central spine or stalk, hurried back with it to our camp. Having made a small fire, he baked the nuts slightly, and then peeled off the husks. After this he wished to bore a hole in them, which, not having anything better at hand at the time, he did with the point of our useless pencil-case. Then he strung them on the cocoa-nut spine, and on putting a light to the topmost nut, we found to our joy that it burned with a clear, beautiful flame; upon seeing which, Peterkin sprang up and danced round the fire for at least five minutes in the excess of his satisfaction. "Now, lads," said Jack, extinguishing our candle, "the sun will set in an hour, so we have no time to lose. I shall go and cut a young tree to make my bow out of, and you had better each of you go and select good strong sticks for clubs, and we'll set to work at them after dark." So saying he shouldered his axe and went off, followed by Peterkin, while I took up the piece of newly discovered cloth, and fell to examining its structure. So engrossed was I in this that I was still sitting in the same attitude and occupation when my companions returned. "I told you so!" cried Peterkin, with a loud laugh. "O Ralph, you're incorrigible. See, there's a club for you. I was sure, when we left you looking at that bit of stuff, that we would find you poring over it when we came back, so I just cut a club for you as well as for myself." "Thank you, Peterkin," said I. "It was kind of you to do that, instead of scolding me for a lazy fellow, as I confess I deserve." "Oh, as to that," returned Peterkin, "I'll blow you up yet, if you wish it; only it would be of no use if I did, for you're a perfect mule!" As it was now getting dark we lighted our candle, and placing it in a holder made of two crossing branches, inside of our bower, we seated ourselves on our leafy beds and began to work. "I intend to appropriate the bow for my own use," said Jack, chipping the piece of wood he had brought with his axe. "I used to be a pretty fair shot once. But what's that you're doing?" he added, looking at Peterkin, who had drawn the end of a long pole into the tent, and was endeavouring to fit a small piece of the hoop-iron to the end of it. "I'm going to enlist into the Lancers," answered Peterkin. "You see, Jack, I find the club rather an unwieldy instrument for my delicately formed muscles, and I flatter myself I shall do more execution with a spear." "Well, if length constitutes power," said Jack, "you'll certainly be invincible." The pole which Peterkin had cut was full twelve feet long, being a very strong but light and tough young tree, which merely required thinning at the butt to be a serviceable weapon. "That's a very good idea," said I. "Which--this?" inquired Peterkin, pointing to the spear. "Yes," I replied. "Humph!" said he; "you'd find it a pretty tough and matter-of-fact idea if you had it stuck through your gizzard, old boy!" "I mean the idea of making it is a good one," said I, laughing. "And, now I think of it, I'll change my plan too. I don't think much of a club, so I'll make me a sling out of this piece of cloth. I used to be very fond of slinging, ever since I read of David slaying Goliath the Philistine, and I was once thought to be expert at it." So I set to work to manufacture a sling. For a long time we all worked very busily without speaking. At length Peterkin looked up. "I say, Jack, I'm sorry to say I must apply to you for another strip of your handkerchief, to tie on this rascally head with. It's pretty well torn at any rate, so you won't miss it." Jack proceeded to comply with this request, when Peterkin suddenly laid his hand on his arm and arrested him. "Hist, man," said he, "be tender; you should never be needlessly cruel if you can help it. Do try to shave past Lord Nelson's mouth without tearing it, if possible! Thanks. There are plenty more handkerchiefs on the cocoa-nut trees." Poor Peterkin! with what pleasant feelings I recall and record his jests and humorous sayings now! While we were thus engaged, we were startled by a distant but most strange and horrible cry. It seemed to come from the sea, but was so far away that we could not clearly distinguish its precise direction. Rushing out of our bower, we hastened down to the beach and stayed to listen. Again it came quite loud and distinct on the night air--a prolonged, hideous cry, something like the braying of an ass. The moon had risen, and we could see the islands in and beyond the lagoon quite plainly, but there was no object visible to account for such a cry. A strong gust of wind was blowing from the point whence the sound came, but this died away while we were gazing out to sea. "What can it be?" said Peterkin in a low whisper, while we all involuntarily crept closer to each other. "Do you know," said Jack, "I have heard that mysterious sound twice before, but never so loud as to-night. Indeed it was so faint that I thought I must have merely fancied it, so, as I did not wish to alarm you, I said nothing about it." We listened for a long time for the sound again, but as it did not come, we returned to the bower and resumed our work. "Very strange," said Peterkin, quite gravely. "Do you believe in ghosts, Ralph?" "No," I answered, "I do not. Nevertheless I must confess that strange, unaccountable sounds, such as we have just heard, make me feel a little uneasy." "What say you to it, Jack?" "I neither believe in ghosts nor feel uneasy," he replied. "I never saw a ghost myself, and I never met with any one who had; and I have generally found that strange and unaccountable things have almost always been accounted for, and found to be quite simple on close examination. I certainly can't imagine what _that_ sound is; but I'm quite sure I shall find out before long, and if it's a ghost I'll--I'll--" "Eat it," cried Peterkin. "Yes, I'll eat it! Now, then, my bow and two arrows are finished; so if you are ready we had better turn in." By this time Peterkin had thinned down his spear and tied an iron point very cleverly to the end of it; I had formed a sling, the lines of which were composed of thin strips of the cocoa-nut cloth, plaited; and Jack had made a stout bow, nearly five feet long, with two arrows, feathered with two or three large plumes which some bird had dropped. They had no barbs, but Jack said that if arrows were well feathered they did not require iron points, but would fly quite well if merely sharpened at the point; which I did not know before. "A feathered arrow without a barb," said he, "is a good weapon, but a barbed arrow without feathers is utterly useless." The string of the bow was formed of our piece of whipcord, part of which, as he did not like to cut it, was rolled round the bow. Although thus prepared for a start on the morrow, we thought it wise to exercise ourselves a little in the use of our weapons before starting, so we spent the whole of the next day in practising. And it was well we did so, for we found that our arms were very imperfect, and that we were far from perfect in the use of them. First, Jack found that the bow was much too strong, and he had to thin it. Also the spear was much too heavy, and so had to be reduced in thickness, although nothing would induce Peterkin to have it shortened. My sling answered very well, but I had fallen so much out of practice that my first stone knocked off Peterkin's hat, and narrowly missed making a second Goliath of him. However, after having spent the whole day in diligent practice, we began to find some of our former expertness returning--at least Jack and I did. As for Peterkin, being naturally a neat-handed boy, he soon handled his spear well, and could run full tilt at a cocoa-nut, and hit it with great precision once out of every five times. But I feel satisfied that we owed much of our rapid success to the unflagging energy of Jack, who insisted that since we had made him captain, we should obey him; and he kept us at work from morning till night, perseveringly, at the same thing. Peterkin wished very much to run about and stick his spear into everything he passed; but Jack put up a cocoa-nut, and would not let him leave off running at that for a moment, except when he wanted to rest. We laughed at Jack for this, but we were both convinced that it did us much good. That night we examined and repaired our arms ere we lay down to rest, although we were much fatigued, in order that we might be in readiness to set out on our expedition at daylight on the following morning. Chapter IX Prepare for a journey round the island--Sagacious reflections--Mysterious appearances and startling occurrences. Scarcely had the sun shot its first ray across the bosom of the broad Pacific, when Jack sprang to his feet, and, hallooing in Peterkin's ear to awaken him, ran down the beach to take his customary dip in the sea. We did not, as was our wont, bathe that morning in our Water Garden, but, in order to save time, refreshed ourselves in the shallow water just opposite the bower. Our breakfast was also despatched without loss of time, and in less than an hour afterwards all our preparations for the journey were completed. In addition to his ordinary dress, Jack tied a belt of cocoa-nut cloth round his waist, into which he thrust the axe. I was also advised to put on a belt and carry a short cudgel or bludgeon in it; for, as Jack truly remarked, the sling would be of little use if we should chance to come to close quarters with any wild animal. As for Peterkin, notwithstanding that he carried such a long, and I must add, frightful-looking spear over his shoulder, we could not prevail on him to leave his club behind; "for," said he, "a spear at close quarters is not worth a button." I must say that it seemed to me that the club was, to use his own style of language, not worth a button-hole; for it was all knotted over at the head, something like the club which I remember to have observed in picture-books of Jack the Giant Killer, besides being so heavy that he required to grasp it with both hands in order to wield it at all. However, he took it with him, and in this manner we set out upon our travels. We did not consider it necessary to carry any food with us, as we knew that wherever we went we should be certain to fall in with cocoa-nut trees; having which we were amply supplied, as Peterkin said, with meat and drink and pocket-handkerchiefs! I took the precaution, however, to put the burning-glass into my pocket lest we should want fire. The morning was exceedingly lovely. It was one of that very still and peaceful sort which made the few noises that we heard seem to be _quiet_ noises. I know no other way of expressing this idea. Noises which, so far from interrupting the universal tranquillity of earth, sea, and sky, rather tended to reveal to us how quiet the world round us really was. Such sounds as I refer to were, the peculiar melancholy--yet, it seemed to me, cheerful--plaint of sea-birds floating on the glassy waters or sailing in the sky, also the subdued twittering of little birds among the bushes, the faint ripples on the beach, and the solemn boom of the surf upon the distant coral reef. We felt very glad in our hearts as we walked along the sands side by side. For my part, I felt so deeply overjoyed that I was surprised at my own sensations, and fell into a reverie upon the causes of happiness. I came to the conclusion that a state of profound peace and repose, both in regard to outward objects and within the soul, is the happiest condition in which man can be placed; for although I had many a time been most joyful and happy when engaged in bustling, energetic, active pursuits or amusements, I never found that such joy or satisfaction was so deep or so pleasant to reflect upon as that which I now experienced. And I was the more confirmed in this opinion when I observed, and indeed was told by himself, that Peterkin's happiness was also very great; yet he did not express this by dancing as was his wont, nor did he give so much as a single shout, but walked quietly between us with his eye sparkling, and a joyful smile upon his countenance. My reader must not suppose that I thought all this in the clear and methodical manner in which I have set it down here. These thoughts did indeed pass through my mind, but they did so in a very confused and indefinite manner, for I was young at that time, and not much given to deep reflections. Neither did I consider that the peace whereof I write is not to be found in this world--at least in its perfection, although I have since learned that by religion a man may attain to a very great degree of it. I have said that Peterkin walked along the sands between us. We had two ways of walking together about our island. When we travelled through the woods, we always did so in single file, as by this method we advanced with greater facility, the one treading in the other's footsteps. In such cases Jack always took the lead, Peterkin followed, and I brought up the rear. But when we travelled along the sands, which extended almost in an unbroken line of glistening white round the island, we marched abreast, as we found this method more sociable, and every way more pleasant. Jack, being the tallest, walked next the sea, and Peterkin marched between us, as by this arrangement either of us could talk to him or he to us, while if Jack and I happened to wish to converse together, we could conveniently do so over Peterkin's head. Peterkin used to say, in reference to this arrangement, that had he been as tall as either of us, our order of march might have been the same; for as Jack often used to scold him for letting everything we said to him pass in at one ear and out at the other, his head could of course form no interruption to our discourse. We were now fairly started. Half a mile's walk conveyed us round a bend in the land which shut out our bower from view, and for some time we advanced at a brisk pace without speaking, though our eyes were not idle, but noted everything, in the woods, on the shore, or in the sea, that was interesting. After passing the ridge of land that formed one side of our valley--the Valley of the Wreck--we beheld another small vale lying before us in all the luxuriant loveliness of tropical vegetation. We had, indeed, seen it before from the mountain-top, but we had no idea that it would turn out to be so much more lovely when we were close to it. We were about to commence the exploration of this valley, when Peterkin stopped us, and directed our attention to a very remarkable appearance in advance along the shore. "What's yon, think you?" said he, levelling his spear, as if he expected an immediate attack from the object in question, though it was full half a mile distant. As he spoke, there appeared a white column above the rocks, as if of steam or spray. It rose upwards to a height of several feet, and then disappeared. Had this been near the sea, we would not have been so greatly surprised, as it might in that case have been the surf, for at this part of the coast the coral reef approached so near to the island that in some parts it almost joined it. There was therefore no lagoon between, and the heavy surf of the ocean beat almost up to the rocks. But this white column appeared about fifty yards inland. The rocks at the place were rugged, and they stretched across the sandy beach into the sea. Scarce had we ceased expressing our surprise at this sight, when another column flew upwards for a few seconds, not far from the spot where the first had been seen, and disappeared; and so, at long, irregular intervals, these strange sights recurred. We were now quite sure that the columns were watery or composed of spray, but what caused them we could not guess, so we determined to go and see. In a few minutes we gained the spot, which was very rugged and precipitous, and, moreover, quite damp with the falling of the spray. We had much ado to pass over dry-shod. The ground also was full of holes here and there. Now, while we stood anxiously waiting for the reappearance of these water-spouts, we heard a low, rumbling sound near us, which quickly increased to a gurgling and hissing noise, and a moment afterwards a thick spout of water burst upwards from a hole in the rock, and spouted into the air with much violence, and so close to where Jack and I were standing that it nearly touched us. We sprang aside, but not before a cloud of spray descended, and drenched us both to the skin. Peterkin, who was standing farther off, escaped with a few drops, and burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter on beholding our miserable plight. "Mind your eye!" he shouted eagerly, "there goes another!" The words were scarcely out of his mouth when there came up a spout from another hole, which served us exactly in the same manner as before. Peterkin now shrieked with laughter; but his merriment was abruptly put a stop to by the gurgling noise occurring close to where he stood. "Where'll it spout this time, I wonder?" he said, looking about with some anxiety, and preparing to run. Suddenly there came a loud hiss or snort; a fierce spout of water burst up between Peterkin's legs, blew him off his feet, enveloped him in its spray, and hurled him to the ground. He fell with so much violence that we feared he must have broken some of his bones, and ran anxiously to his assistance; but fortunately he had fallen on a clump of tangled herbage, in which he lay sprawling in a most deplorable condition. It was now our turn to laugh; but as we were not yet quite sure that he was unhurt, and as we knew not when or where the next spout might arise, we assisted him hastily to jump up and hurry from the spot. I may here add that, although I am quite certain that the spout of water was very strong, and that it blew Peterkin completely off his legs, I am not quite certain of the exact height to which it lifted him, being somewhat startled by the event, and blinded partially by the spray, so that my power of observation was somewhat impaired for the moment. "What's to be done now?" asked Peterkin ruefully. "Make a fire, lad, and dry ourselves," replied Jack. "And here is material ready to our hand," said I, picking up a dried branch of a tree, as we hurried up to the woods. In about an hour after this mishap our clothes were again dried. While they were hanging up before the fire, we walked down to the beach, and soon observed that these curious spouts took place immediately after the fall of a huge wave, never before it; and, moreover, that the spouts did not take place excepting when the billow was an extremely large one. From this we concluded that there must be a subterraneous channel in the rock into which the water was driven by the larger waves, and finding no way of escape except through these small holes, was thus forced up violently through them. At any rate, we could not conceive any other reason for these strange water-spouts, and as this seemed a very simple and probable one, we forthwith adopted it. "I say, Ralph, what's that in the water; is it a shark?" said Jack, just as we were about to quit the place. I immediately ran to the overhanging ledge of rock, from which he was looking down into the sea, and bent over it. There I saw a very faint pale object of a greenish colour, which seemed to move slightly, while I looked at it. "It's like a fish of some sort," said I. "Hallo, Peterkin!" cried Jack, "fetch your spear; here's work for it." But when we tried to reach the object, the spear proved to be too short. "There now," said Peterkin with a sneer, "you were always telling me it was too long." Jack now drove the spear forcibly towards the object, and let go his hold; but although it seemed to be well aimed, he must have missed, for the handle soon rose again; and when the spear was drawn up, there was the pale green object in exactly the same spot, slowly moving its tail. "Very odd," said Jack. But although it was undoubtedly very odd, and although Jack and all of us plunged the spear at it repeatedly, we could neither hit it nor drive it away, so we were compelled to continue our journey without discovering what it was. I was very much perplexed at this strange appearance in the water, and could not get it out of my mind for a long time afterwards. However, I quieted myself by resolving that I would pay a visit to it again at some more convenient season. Chapter X Make discovery of many excellent roots and fruits--The resources of the Coral Island gradually unfolded--The banyan tree--Another tree which is supported by natural planks--Waterfowl found--A very remarkable discovery, and a very peculiar murder--We luxuriate on the fat of the land. Our examination of the little valley proved to be altogether most satisfactory. We found in it not only similar trees to those we had already seen in our own valley, but also one or two others of a different species. We had also the satisfaction of discovering a peculiar vegetable, which Jack concluded must certainly be that of which he had read as being very common among the South Sea islanders, and which was named _taro_. Also we found a large supply of yams, and another root like a potato in appearance. As these were all quite new to us, we regarded our lot as a most fortunate one, in being thus cast on an island which was so prolific and so well stored with all the necessaries of life. Long afterwards we found out that this island of ours was no better in these respects than thousands of other islands in those seas. Indeed, many of them were much richer and more productive; but that did not render us the less grateful for our present good fortune. We each put one of these roots in our pocket, intending to use them for our supper; of which more hereafter. We also saw many beautiful birds here, and traces of some four-footed animal again. Meanwhile the sun began to descend, so we returned to the shore, and pushed on round the spouting rocks into the next valley. This was that valley of which I have spoken as running across the entire island. It was by far the largest and most beautiful that we had yet looked upon. Here were trees of every shape and size and hue which it is possible to conceive of, many of which we had not seen in the other valleys; for, the stream in this valley being larger, and the mould much richer than in the Valley of the Wreck, it was clothed with a more luxuriant growth of trees and plants. Some trees were dark glossy green, others of a rich and warm hue, contrasting well with those of a pale light green, which were everywhere abundant. Among these we recognised the broad dark heads of the bread-fruit, with its golden fruit; the pure, silvery foliage of the candle-nut, and several species which bore a strong resemblance to the pine; while here and there, in groups and in single trees, rose the tall forms of the cocoa-nut palms, spreading abroad, and waving their graceful plumes high above all the rest, as if they were a superior race of stately giants keeping guard over these luxuriant forests. Oh, it was a most enchanting scene, and I thanked God for having created such delightful spots for the use of man. Now, while we were gazing around us in silent admiration, Jack uttered an exclamation of surprise, and pointing to an object a little to one side of us, said-- "That's a banyan tree." "And what's a banyan tree?" inquired Peterkin, as we walked towards it. "A very curious one, as you shall see presently," replied Jack. "It is called the _aoa_ here, if I recollect rightly, and has a wonderful peculiarity about it. What an enormous one it is, to be sure!" _"It!"_ repeated Peterkin; "why, there are dozens of banyans here! What do you mean by talking bad grammar? Is your philosophy deserting you, Jack?" "There is but one tree here of this kind," returned Jack, "as you will perceive if you will examine it." And, sure enough, we did find that what we had supposed was a forest of trees was in reality only one. Its bark was of a light colour, and had a shining appearance, the leaves being lance-shaped, small, and of a beautiful pea-green. But the wonderful thing about it was, that the branches, which grew out from the stem horizontally, sent down long shoots or fibres to the ground, which, taking root, had themselves become trees, and were covered with bark like the tree itself. Many of these fibres had descended from the branches at various distances, and thus supported them on natural pillars, some of which were so large and strong that it was not easy at first to distinguish the offspring from the parent stem. The fibres were of all sizes and in all states of advancement, from the pillars we have just mentioned to small cords which hung down and were about to take root, and thin brown threads still far from the ground, which swayed about with every motion of wind. In short, it seemed to us that, if there were only space afforded to it, this single tree would at length cover the whole island. Shortly after this we came upon another remarkable tree, which, as its peculiar formation afterwards proved extremely useful to us, merits description. It was a splendid chestnut, but its proper name Jack did not know. However, there were quantities of fine nuts upon it, some of which we put in our pockets. But its stem was the most wonderful part of it. It rose to about twelve feet without a branch, and was not of great thickness: on the contrary, it was remarkably slender for the size of the tree; but, to make up for this, there were four or five wonderful projections in this stem, which I cannot better describe than by asking the reader to suppose that five planks of two inches thick and three feet broad had been placed round the trunk of the tree, with their _edges_ closely fixed to it, from the ground up to the branches, and that these planks had been covered over with the bark of the tree and incorporated with it. In short, they were just natural buttresses, without which the stem could not have supported its heavy and umbrageous top. We found these chestnuts to be very numerous. They grew chiefly on the banks of the stream, and were of all sizes. While we were examining a small tree of this kind, Jack chipped a piece off a buttress with his axe, and found the wood to be firm and easily cut. He then struck the axe into it with all his force, and very soon split it off close to the tree, first, however, having cut it across transversely above and below. By this means he satisfied himself that we could now obtain short planks, as it were all ready sawn, of any size and thickness that we desired; which was a very great discovery indeed, perhaps the most important we had yet made. We now wended our way back to the coast, intending to encamp near the beach, as we found that the mosquitoes were troublesome in the forest. On our way we could not help admiring the birds which flew and chirped around us. Among them we observed a pretty kind of paroquet, with a green body, a blue head, and a red breast; also a few beautiful turtle-doves, and several flocks of wood-pigeons. The hues of many of these birds were extremely vivid--bright green, blue, and scarlet being the prevailing tints. We made several attempts throughout the day to bring down one of these, both with the bow and the sling--not for mere sport, but to ascertain whether they were good for food. But we invariably missed, although once or twice we were very near hitting. As evening drew on, however, a flock of pigeons flew past. I slung a stone into the midst of them at a venture, and had the good fortune to kill one. We were startled, soon after, by a loud whistling noise above our heads; and on looking up, saw a flock of wild-ducks making for the coast. We watched these, and observing where they alighted, followed them up until we came upon a most lovely blue lake, not more than two hundred yards long, embosomed in verdant trees. Its placid surface, which reflected every leaf and stem as if in a mirror, was covered with various species of wild ducks, feeding among the sedges and broad-leaved water-plants which floated on it, while numerous birds like water-hens ran to and fro most busily on its margin. These all with one accord flew tumultuously away the instant we made our appearance. While walking along the margin we observed fish in the water, but of what sort we could not tell. Now, as we neared the shore, Jack and I said we would go a little out of our way to see if we could procure one of those ducks; so, directing Peterkin to go straight to the shore and kindle a fire, we separated, promising to rejoin him speedily. But we did not find the ducks, although we made a diligent search for half-an-hour. We were about to retrace our steps, when we were arrested by one of the strangest sights that we had yet beheld. Just in front of us, at the distance of about ten yards, grew a superb tree, which certainly was the largest we had yet seen on the island. Its trunk was at least five feet in diameter, with a smooth grey bark; above this the spreading branches were clothed with light green leaves, amid which were clusters of bright yellow fruit, so numerous as to weigh down the boughs with their great weight. This fruit seemed to be of the plum species, of an oblong form, and a good deal larger than the magnum-bonum plum. The ground at the foot of this tree was thickly strewn with the fallen fruit, in the midst of which lay sleeping, in every possible attitude, at least twenty hogs of all ages and sizes, apparently quite surfeited with a recent banquet. Jack and I could scarce restrain our laughter as we gazed at these coarse, fat, ill-looking animals while they lay groaning and snoring heavily amid the remains of their supper. "Now, Ralph," said Jack, in a low whisper, "put a stone in your sling--a good big one--and let fly at that fat fellow with his back toward you. I'll try to put an arrow into yon little pig." "Don't you think we had better put them up first?" I whispered; "it seems cruel to kill them while asleep." "If I wanted _sport,_ Ralph, I would certainly set them up; but as we only want _pork,_ we'll let them lie. Besides, we're not sure of killing them; so, fire away." Thus admonished, I slung my stone with so good aim that it went bang against the hog's flank as if against the head of a drum; but it had no other effect than that of causing the animal to start to its feet, with a frightful yell of surprise, and scamper away. At the same instant Jack's bow twanged, and the arrow pinned the little pig to the ground by the ear. "I've missed, after all," cried Jack, darting forward with uplifted axe, while the little pig uttered a loud squeal, tore the arrow from the ground, and ran away with it, along with the whole drove, into the bushes and disappeared, though we heard them screaming long afterwards in the distance. "That's very provoking, now," said Jack, rubbing the point of his nose. "Very," I replied, stroking my chin. "Well, we must make haste and rejoin Peterkin," said Jack. "It's getting late." And without further remark we threaded our way quickly through the woods towards the shore. When we reached it, we found wood laid out, the fire lighted and beginning to kindle up, with other signs of preparation for our encampment, but Peterkin was nowhere to be found. We wondered very much at this; but Jack suggested that he might have gone to fetch water; so he gave a shout to let him know that we had arrived, and sat down upon a rock, while I threw off my jacket, and seized the axe, intending to split up one or two billets of wood. But I had scarce moved from the spot when, in the distance, we heard a most appalling shriek, which was followed up by a chorus of yells from the hogs, and a loud hurrah. "I do believe," said I, "that Peterkin has met with the hogs." "When Greek meets Greek," said Jack, soliloquising, "then comes the tug of--" "Hurrah!" shouted Peterkin in the distance. We turned hastily towards the direction whence the sound came, and soon descried Peterkin walking along the beach towards us with a little pig transfixed on the end of his long spear! "Well done, my boy!" exclaimed Jack, slapping him on the shoulder when he came up; "you're the best shot amongst us." "Look here, Jack!" cried Peterkin, as he disengaged the animal from his spear. "Do you recognise that hole?" said he, pointing to the pig's ear; "and are you familiar with this arrow, eh?" "Well, I declare!" said Jack. "Of course you do," interrupted Peterkin; "but, pray, restrain your declarations at this time, and let's have supper, for I'm uncommonly hungry, I can tell you; and it's no joke to charge a whole herd of swine with their great-grandmother bristling like a giant porcupine at the head of them!" We now set about preparing supper; and, truly a good display of viands we made, when all was laid out on a flat rock in the light of the blazing fire. There was, first of all, the little pig; then there were the taro-root, and the yam, and the potato, and six plums; and, lastly, the wood-pigeon. To these Peterkin added a bit of sugar-cane, which he had cut from a little patch of that plant which he had found not long after separating from us; "and," said he, "the patch was somewhat in a square form, which convinces me it must have been planted by man." "Very likely," replied Jack. "From all we have seen, I'm inclined to think that some of the savages must have dwelt here long ago." We found no small difficulty in making up our minds how we were to cook the pig. None of us had ever cut up one before, and we did not know exactly how to begin; besides, we had nothing but the axe to do it with, our knife having been forgotten. At last Jack started up and said-- "Don't let us waste more time talking about it, boys.--Hold it up, Peterkin. There, lay the hind-leg on this block of wood--so;" and he cut it off, with a large portion of the haunch, at a single blow of the axe. "Now the other--that's it." And having thus cut off the two hind-legs, he made several deep gashes in them, thrust a sharp-pointed stick through each, and stuck them up before the blaze to roast. The wood-pigeon was then split open, quite flat, washed clean in salt water, and treated in a similar manner. While these were cooking, we scraped a hole in the sand and ashes under the fire, into which we put our vegetables, and covered them up. The taro-root was of an oval shape, about ten inches long and four or five thick. It was of a mottled-grey colour, and had a thick rind. We found it somewhat like an Irish potato, and exceedingly good. The yam was roundish, and had a rough brown skin. It was very sweet and well flavoured. The potato, we were surprised to find, was quite sweet and exceedingly palatable, as also were the plums; and, indeed, the pork and pigeon too, when we came to taste them. Altogether this was decidedly the most luxurious supper we had enjoyed for many a day; and Jack said it was out-of-sight better than we ever got on board ship; and Peterkin said he feared that if we should remain long on the island he would infallibly become a glutton or an epicure: whereat Jack remarked that he need not fear that, for he was _both_ already! And so, having eaten our fill, not forgetting to finish off with a plum, we laid ourselves comfortably down to sleep upon a couch of branches, under the overhanging ledge of a coral rock. Chapter XI Effects of over-eating, and reflections thereon--Humble advice regarding cold water--The "horrible cry" accounted for--The curious birds called penguins--Peculiarity of the cocoa-nut palm--Questions on the formation of coral islands--Mysterious footsteps--Strange discoveries and sad sights. When we awoke on the following morning, we found that the sun was already a good way above the horizon, so I came to the conclusion that a heavy supper is not conducive to early rising. Nevertheless we felt remarkably strong and well, and much disposed to have our breakfast. First, however, we had our customary morning bathe, which refreshed us greatly. I have often wondered very much in after years that the inhabitants of my own dear land did not make more frequent use of this most charming element, water. I mean in the way of cold bathing. Of course, I have perceived that it is not convenient for them to go into the sea or the rivers in winter, as we used to do on the Coral Island; but then I knew from experience that a large washing-tub and a sponge do form a most pleasant substitute. The feelings of freshness, of cleanliness, of vigour, and extreme hilarity, that always followed my bathes in the sea, and even, when in England, my ablutions in the wash-tub, were so delightful that I would sooner have gone without my breakfast than without my bathe in cold water. My readers will forgive me for asking whether they are in the habit of bathing thus every morning; and if they answer "No," they will pardon me for recommending them to begin at once. Of late years, since retiring from the stirring life of adventure which I have led so long in foreign climes, I have heard of a system called the cold-water cure. Now, I do not know much about that system, so I do not mean to uphold it, neither do I intend to run it down. Perhaps, in reference to it, I may just hint that there may be too much of a good thing. I know not, but of this I am quite certain, that there may also be too little of a good thing; and the great delight I have had in cold bathing during the course of my adventurous career inclines me to think that it is better to risk taking too much than to content one's self with too little. Such is my opinion, derived from much experience; but I put it before my readers with the utmost diffidence and with profound modesty, knowing that it may possibly jar with their feelings of confidence in their own ability to know and judge as to what is best and fittest in reference to their own affairs. But, to return from this digression, for which I humbly crave forgiveness. We had not advanced on our journey much above a mile or so, and were just beginning to feel the pleasant glow that usually accompanies vigorous exercise, when, on turning a point that revealed to us a new and beautiful cluster of islands, we were suddenly arrested by the appalling cry which had so alarmed us a few nights before. But this time we were by no means so much alarmed us on the previous occasion, because, whereas at that time it was night, now it was day; and I have always found, though I am unable to account for it, that daylight banishes many of the fears that are apt to assail us in the dark. On hearing the sound, Peterkin instantly threw forward his spear. "Now, what can it be?" said he, looking round at Jack. "I tell you what it is: if we are to go on being pulled up in a constant state of horror and astonishment, as we have been for the last week, the sooner we're out o' this island the better, notwithstanding the yams and lemonade, and pork and plums!" Peterkin's remark was followed by a repetition of the cry, louder than before. "It comes from one of these islands," said Jack. "It must be the ghost of a jackass, then," said Peterkin, "for I never heard anything so like." We all turned our eyes towards the cluster of islands, where, on the largest, we observed curious objects moving on the shore. "Soldiers they are--that's flat!" cried Peterkin, gazing at them in the utmost amazement. And, in truth, Peterkin's remark seemed to me to be correct; for, at the distance from which we saw them, they appeared to be an army of soldiers. There they stood, rank and file, in lines and in squares, marching and countermarching, with blue coats and white trousers. While we were looking at them, the dreadful cry came again over the water, and Peterkin suggested that it must be a regiment sent out to massacre the natives in cold blood. At this remark Jack laughed and said-- "Why, Peterkin, they are penguins!" "Penguins?" repeated Peterkin. "Ay, penguins, Peterkin, penguins--nothing more or less than big sea-birds, as you shall see one of these days, when we pay them a visit in our boat, which I mean to set about building the moment we return to our bower." "So, then, our dreadful yelling ghosts and our murdering army of soldiers," remarked Peterkin, "have dwindled down to penguins--big sea-birds! Very good. Then I propose that we continue our journey as fast as possible, lest our island should be converted into a dream before we get completely round it." Now, as we continued on our way, I pondered much over this new discovery, and the singular appearance of these birds, of which Jack could only give us a very slight and vague account; and I began to long to commence our boat, in order that we might go and inspect them more narrowly. But by degrees these thoughts left me, and I began to be much taken up again with the interesting peculiarities of the country which we were passing through. The second night we passed in a manner somewhat similar to the first, at about two-thirds of the way round the island, as we calculated, and we hoped to sleep on the night following at our bower. I will not here note so particularly all that we said and saw during the course of this second day, as we did not make any further discoveries of great importance. The shore along which we travelled, and the various parts of the woods through which we passed, were similar to those which have been already treated of. There were one or two observations that we made, however, and these were as follows:-- We saw that, while many of the large fruit-bearing trees grew only in the valleys, and some of them only near the banks of the streams, where the soil was peculiarly rich, the cocoa-nut palm grew in every place whatsoever; not only on the hillsides, but also on the seashore, and even, as has been already stated, on the coral reef itself, where the soil, if we may use the name, was nothing better than loose sand mingled with broken shells and coral rock. So near to the sea, too, did this useful tree grow, that in many places its roots were washed by the spray from the breakers. Yet we found the trees growing thus on the sands to be quite as luxuriant as those growing in the valleys, and the fruit as good and refreshing also. Besides this, I noticed that on the summit of the high mountain, which we once more ascended at a different point from our first ascent, were found abundance of shells and broken coral formations; which Jack and I agreed proved either that this island must have once been under the sea, or that the sea must once have been above the island. In other words, that as shells and coral could not possibly climb to the mountain-top, they must have been washed upon it while the mountain-top was on a level with the sea. We pondered this very much; and we put to ourselves the question, "What raised the island to its present height above the sea?" But to this we could by no means give to ourselves a satisfactory reply. Jack thought it might have been blown up by a volcano; and Peterkin said he thought it must have jumped up of its own accord! We also noticed, what had escaped us before, that the solid rocks of which the island was formed were quite different from the live coral rocks on the shore, where the wonderful little insects were continually working. They seemed, indeed, to be of the same material--a substance like limestone; but while the coral rocks were quite full of minute cells in which the insects lived, the other rocks inland were hard and solid, without the appearance of cells at all. Our thoughts and conversations on this subject were sometimes so profound that Peterkin said we should certainly get drowned in them at last, even although we were such good divers! Nevertheless we did not allow his pleasantry on this and similar points to deter us from making our notes and observations as we went along. We found several more droves of hogs in the woods, but abstained from killing any of them, having more than sufficient for our present necessities. We saw also many of their footprints in this neighbourhood. Among these we also observed the footprints of a smaller animal, which we examined with much care, but could form no certain opinion as to them. Peterkin thought they were those of a little dog, but Jack and I thought differently. We became very curious on this matter, the more so that we observed these footprints to lie scattered about in one locality, as if the animal which had made them was wandering round about in a very irregular manner, and without any object in view. Early in the forenoon of our third day we observed these footprints to be much more numerous than ever, and in one particular spot they diverged off into the woods in a regular beaten track, which was, however, so closely beset with bushes that we pushed through it with difficulty. We had now become so anxious to find out what animal this was and where it went to, that we determined to follow the track, and, if possible, clear up the mystery. Peterkin said, in a bantering tone, that he was sure it would be cleared up, as usual, in some frightfully simple way, and prove to be no mystery at all! The beaten track seemed much too large to have been formed by the animal itself, and we concluded that some larger animal had made it, and that the smaller one made use of it. But everywhere the creeping plants and tangled bushes crossed our path, so that we forced our way along with some difficulty. Suddenly, as we came upon an open space, we heard a faint cry, and observed a black animal standing in the track before us. "A wild-cat!" cried Jack, fitting an arrow to his bow, and discharging it so hastily that he missed the animal, and hit the earth about half a foot to one side of it. To our surprise the wild-cat did not fly, but walked slowly towards the arrow, and snuffed at it. "That's the most comical wild-cat I ever saw!" cried Jack. "It's a tame wild-cat, I think," said Peterkin, levelling his spear to make a charge. "Stop!" cried I, laying my hand on his shoulder; "I do believe the poor beast is blind. See, it strikes against the branches as it walks along. It must be a very old one;" and I hastened towards it. "Only think," said Peterkin, with a suppressed laugh, "of a superannuated wild-cat!" We now found that the poor cat was not only blind, or nearly so, but extremely deaf, as it did not hear our footsteps until we were quite close behind it. Then it sprang round, and putting up its back and tail, while the black hair stood all on end, uttered a hoarse mew and a fuff. "Poor thing," said Peterkin, gently extending his hand, and endeavouring to pat the cat's head. "Poor pussy; chee, chee, chee; puss, puss, puss; cheetie pussy!" No sooner did the cat hear these sounds than all signs of anger fled, and advancing eagerly to Peterkin, it allowed itself to be stroked, and rubbed itself against his legs, purring loudly all the time, and showing every symptom of the most extreme delight. "It's no more a wild-cat than I am!" cried Peterkin, taking it in his arms; "it's quite tame.--Poor pussy, cheetie pussy!" We now crowded around Peterkin, and were not a little surprised, and, to say truth, a good deal affected, by the sight of the poor animal's excessive joy. It rubbed its head against Peterkin's cheek, licked his chin, and thrust its head almost violently into his neck, while it purred more loudly than I ever heard a cat purr before, and appeared to be so much overpowered by its feelings, that it occasionally mewed and purred almost in the same breath. Such demonstrations of joy and affection led us at once to conclude that this poor cat must have known man before, and we conjectured that it had been left either accidentally or by design on the island many years ago, and was now evincing its extreme joy at meeting once more with human beings. While we were fondling the cat and talking about it, Jack glanced round the open space in the midst of which we stood. "Hallo!" exclaimed he, "this looks something like a clearing. The axe has been at work here. Just look at these tree-stumps." We now turned to examine these, and without doubt we found trees that had been cut down here and there, also stumps and broken branches; all of which, however, were completely covered over with moss, and bore evidence of having been in this condition for some years. No human footprints were to be seen either on the track or among the bushes, but those of the cat were found everywhere. We now determined to follow up the track as far as it went, and Peterkin put the cat down; but it seemed to be so weak, and mewed so very pitifully, that he took it up again and carried it in his arms, where in a few minutes it fell sound asleep. About ten yards farther on, the felled trees became more numerous, and the track, diverging to the right, followed for a short space the banks of a stream. Suddenly we came to a spot where once must have been a rude bridge, the stones of which were scattered in the stream, and those on each bank entirely covered over with moss. In silent surprise and expectancy we continued to advance, and, a few yards farther on, beheld, under the shelter of some bread-fruit trees, a small hut or cottage. I cannot hope to convey to my readers a very correct idea of the feelings that affected us on witnessing this unexpected sight. We stood for a long time in silent wonder, for there was a deep and most melancholy stillness about the place that quite overpowered us; and when we did at length speak, it was in subdued whispers, as if we were surrounded by some awful or supernatural influence. Even Peterkin's voice, usually so quick and lively on all occasions, was hushed now; for there was a dreariness about this silent, lonely, uninhabited cottage--so strange in its appearance, so far away from the usual dwellings of man, so old, decayed, and deserted in its aspect--that fell upon our spirits like a thick cloud, and blotted out as with a pall the cheerful sunshine that had filled us since the commencement of our tour round the island. The hut or cottage was rude and simple in its construction. It was not more than twelve feet long by ten feet broad, and about seven or eight feet high. It had one window, or rather a small frame in which a window might perhaps once have been, but which was now empty. The door was exceedingly low, and formed of rough boards, and the roof was covered with broad cocoa-nut and plantain leaves. But every part of it was in a state of the utmost decay. Moss and green matter grew in spots all over it. The woodwork was quite perforated with holes; the roof had nearly fallen in, and appeared to be prevented from doing so altogether by the thick matting of creeping-plants and the interlaced branches which years of neglect had allowed to cover it almost entirely; while the thick, luxuriant branches of the bread-fruit and other trees spread above it, and flung a deep, sombre shadow over the spot, as if to guard it from the heat and the light of day. We conversed long and in whispers about this strange habitation ere we ventured to approach it; and when at length we did so, it was, at least on my part, with feelings of awe. At first Jack endeavoured to peep in at the window, but from the deep shadow of the trees already mentioned, and the gloom within, he could not clearly discern objects; so we lifted the latch and pushed open the door. We observed that the latch was made of iron, and almost eaten away with rust. In the like condition were also the hinges, which creaked as the door swung back. On entering, we stood still and gazed around us, while we were much impressed with the dreary stillness of the room. But what we saw there surprised and shocked us not a little. There was no furniture in the apartment save a little wooden stool and an iron pot, the latter almost eaten through with rust. In the corner farthest from the door was a low bedstead, on which lay two skeletons, embedded in a little heap of dry dust. With beating hearts we went forward to examine them. One was the skeleton of a man, the other that of a dog, which was extended close beside that of the man, with its head resting on his bosom. Now we were very much concerned about this discovery, and could scarce refrain from tears on beholding these sad remains. After some time we began to talk about what we had seen, and to examine in and around the hut, in order to discover some clue to the name or history of this poor man, who had thus died in solitude, with none to mourn his loss save his cat and his faithful dog. But we found nothing--neither a book nor a scrap of paper. We found, however, the decayed remnants of what appeared to have been clothing, and an old axe. But none of these things bore marks of any kind; and, indeed, they were so much decayed as to convince us that they had lain in the condition in which we found them for many years. This discovery now accounted to us for the tree-stump at the top of the mountain with the initials cut on it; also for the patch of sugar-cane and other traces of man which we had met with in the course of our rambles over the island. And we were much saddened by the reflection that the lot of this poor wanderer might possibly be our own, after many years' residence on the island, unless we should be rescued by the visit of some vessel or the arrival of natives. Having no clue whatever to account for the presence of this poor human being in such a lonely spot, we fell to conjecturing what could have brought him there. I was inclined to think that he most have been a shipwrecked sailor, whose vessel had been lost here, and all the crew been drowned except himself and his dog and cat. But Jack thought it more likely that he had run away from his vessel, and had taken the dog and cat to keep him company. We were also much occupied in our minds with the wonderful difference between the cat and the dog. For here we saw that while the one perished like a loving friend by its master's side, with its head resting on his bosom, the other had sought to sustain itself by prowling abroad in the forest, and had lived in solitude to a good old age. However, we did not conclude from this that the cat was destitute of affection, for we could not forget its emotions on first meeting with us; but we saw from this that the dog had a great deal more of generous love in its nature than the cat, because it not only found it impossible to live after the death of its master, but it must needs, when it came to die, crawl to his side and rest its head upon his lifeless breast. While we were thinking on these things, and examining into everything about the room, we were attracted by an exclamation from Peterkin. "I say, Jack," said he, "here is something that will be of use to us." "What is it?" said Jack, hastening across the room. "An old pistol," replied Peterkin, holding up the weapon, which he had just pulled from under a heap of broken wood and rubbish that lay in a corner. "That, indeed, might have been useful," said Jack, examining it, "if we had any powder; but I suspect the bow and the sling will prove more serviceable." "True, I forgot that," said Peterkin; "but we may as well take it with us, for the flint will serve to strike fire with when the sun does not shine." After having spent more than an hour at this place without discovering anything of further interest, Peterkin took up the old cat, which had lain very contentedly asleep on the stool whereon he had placed it, and we prepared to take our departure. In leaving the hut, Jack stumbled heavily against the doorpost, which was so much decayed as to break across, and the whole fabric of the hut seemed ready to tumble about our ears. This put into our heads that we might as well pull it down, and so form a mound over the skeleton. Jack, therefore, with his axe, cut down the other doorpost, which, when it was done, brought the whole hut in ruins to the ground, and thus formed a grave to the bones of the poor recluse and his dog. Then we left the spot, having brought away the iron pot, the pistol, and the old axe, as they might be of much use to us hereafter. During the rest of this day we pursued our journey, and examined the other end of the large valley, which we found to be so much alike to the parts already described, that I shall not recount the particulars of what we saw in this place. I may, however, remark that we did not quite recover our former cheerful spirits until we arrived at our bower, which we did late in the evening, and found everything just in the same condition as we had left it three days before. Chapter XII Something wrong with the tank--Jack's wisdom and Peterkin's impertinence--Wonderful behaviour of a crab--Good wishes for those who dwell far from the sea--Jack commences to build a little boat. Rest is sweet as well for the body as for the mind. During my long experience, amid the vicissitudes of a chequered life, I have found that periods of profound rest at certain intervals, in addition to the ordinary hours of repose, are necessary to the well-being of man. And the nature as well as the period of this rest varies, according to the different temperaments of individuals, and the peculiar circumstances in which they may chance to be placed. To those who work with their minds, bodily labour is rest. To those who labour with the body, deep sleep is rest. To the downcast, the weary, and the sorrowful, joy and peace are rest. Nay, further, I think that to the gay, the frivolous, the reckless, when sated with pleasures that cannot last, even sorrow proves to be rest of a kind, although, perchance, it were better that I should call it relief than rest. There is, indeed, but one class of men to whom rest is denied--there is no rest to the wicked. At this I do but hint, however, as I treat not of that rest which is spiritual, but more particularly of that which applies to the mind and to the body. Of this rest we stood much in need on our return home, and we found it exceedingly sweet when we indulged in it after completing the journey just related. It had not, indeed, been a very long journey, nevertheless we had pursued it so diligently that our frames were not a little prostrated. Our minds were also very much exhausted in consequence of the many surprises, frequent alarms, and much profound thought to which they had been subjected; so that when we lay down on the night of our return under the shelter of the bower, we fell immediately into very deep repose. I can state this with much certainty, for Jack afterwards admitted the fact, and Peterkin, although he stoutly denied it, I heard snoring loudly at least two minutes after lying down. In this condition we remained all night and the whole of the following day without awaking once, or so much as moving our positions. When we did awake it was near sunset, and we were all in such a state of lassitude that we merely rose to swallow a mouthful of food. As Peterkin remarked, in the midst of a yawn, we took breakfast at tea-time, and then went to bed again, where we lay to the following forenoon. After this we arose very greatly refreshed, but much alarmed lest we had lost count of a day. I say we were much alarmed on this head, for we had carefully kept count of the days since we were cast upon our island, in order that we might remember the Sabbath-day, which day we had hitherto with one accord kept as a day of rest, and refrained from all work whatsoever. However, on considering the subject, we all three entertained the same opinion as to how long we had slept, and so our minds were put at ease. We now hastened to our Water Garden to enjoy a bathe, and to see how did the animals which I had placed in the tank. We found the garden more charming, pellucid, and inviting than ever, and Jack and I plunged into its depth and gambolled among its radiant coral groves, while Peterkin wallowed at the surface, and tried occasionally to kick us as we passed below. Having dressed, I then hastened to the tank; but what was my surprise and grief to find nearly all the animals dead, and the water in a putrid condition! I was greatly distressed at this, and wondered what could be the cause of it. "Why, you precious humbug," said Peterkin, coming up to me, "how could you expect it to be otherwise? When fishes are accustomed to live in the Pacific Ocean, how can you expect them to exist in a hole like that?" "Indeed, Peterkin," I replied, "there seems to be truth in what you say. Nevertheless, now I think of it, there must be some error in your reasoning; for if I put in but a few very small animals, they will bear the same proportion to this pond that the millions of fish bear to the ocean." "I say, Jack," cried Peterkin, waving his hand, "come here, like a good fellow. Ralph is actually talking philosophy. Do come to our assistance, for he's out o' sight beyond me already!" "What's the matter?" inquired Jack, coming up, while he endeavoured to scrub his long hair dry with a towel of cocoa-nut cloth. I repeated my thoughts to Jack, who, I was happy to find, quite agreed with me. "The best plan," he said, "will be to put very few animals at first into your tank, and add more as you find it will bear them. And look here," he added, pointing to the sides of the tank, which, for the space of two inches above the water-level, were encrusted with salt, "you must carry your philosophy a little further, Ralph. That water has evaporated so much that it is too salt for anything to live in. You will require to add _fresh_ water now and then, in order to keep it at the same degree of saltness as the sea." "Very true, Jack; that never struck me before," said I. "And, now I think of it," continued Jack, "it seems to me that the surest way of arranging your tank so as to get it to keep pure and in good condition, will be to _imitate_ the ocean in it. In fact, make it a miniature Pacific. I don't see how you can hope to succeed unless you do that." "Most true," said I, pondering what my companion said. "But I fear that that will be very difficult." "Not at all," cried Jack, rolling his towel up into a ball and throwing it into the face of Peterkin, who had been grinning and winking at him during the last five minutes--"not at all. Look here. There is water of a certain saltness in the sea; well, fill your tank with sea-water, and keep it at that saltness by marking the height at which the water stands on the sides. When it evaporates a little, pour in _fresh_ water from the brook till it comes up to the mark, and then it will be right, for the salt does not evaporate with the water. Then there's lots of seaweed in the sea; well, go and get one or two bits of seaweed and put them into your tank. Of course the weed must be alive, and growing to little stones; or you can chip a bit off the rocks with the weed sticking to it. Then, if you like, you can throw a little sand and gravel into your tank and the thing's complete." "Nay, not quite," said Peterkin, who had been gravely attentive to this off-hand advice--"not quite; you must first make three little men to dive in it before it can be said to be perfect; and that would be rather difficult, I fear, for two of them would require to be philosophers. But hallo! what's this? I say, Ralph, look here. There's one o' your crabs up to something uncommon. It's performing the most remarkable operation for a crab I ever saw--taking off its coat, I do believe, before going to bed!" We hastily stooped over the tank, and certainly were not a little amused at the conduct of one of the crabs which still survived its companions. It was one of the common small crabs, like to those that are found running about everywhere on the coasts of England. While we gazed at it, we observed its back to split away from the lower part of its body, and out of the gap thus formed came a soft lump which moved and writhed unceasingly. This lump continued to increase in size until it appeared like a bunch of crab's legs; and, indeed, such it proved in a very few minutes to be, for the points of the toes were at length extricated from the hole in its back, the legs spread out, the body followed, and the crab walked away quite entire, even to the points of its nipper-claws, leaving a perfectly entire shell behind it, so that, when we looked, it seemed as though there were two complete crabs instead of one. "Well!" exclaimed Peterkin, drawing a long breath, "I've _heard_ of a man jumping out of his skin and sitting down in his skeleton in order to cool himself, but I never expected to _see_ a crab do it!" We were, in truth, much amazed at this spectacle, and the more so when we observed that the new crab was larger than the crab that it came out of. It was also quite soft, but by next morning its skin had hardened into a good shell. We came thus to know that crabs grow in this way, and not by the growing of their shells, as we had always thought before we saw this wonderful operation. Now I considered well the advice which Jack had given me about preparing my tank, and the more I thought of it the more I came to regard it as very sound and worthy of being acted on. So I forthwith put his plan in execution, and found it to answer excellently well, indeed, much beyond my expectation; for I found that, after a little experience had taught me the proper proportion of seaweed and animals to put into a certain amount of water, the tank needed no further attendance; and, moreover, I did not require ever afterwards to renew or change the sea-water, but only to add a very little fresh water from the brook, now and then, as the other evaporated. I therefore concluded that if I had been suddenly conveyed, along with my tank, into some region where there was no salt sea at all, my little sea and my sea-fish would have continued to thrive and to prosper notwithstanding. This made me greatly to desire that those people in the world who live far inland might know of my wonderful tank, and, by having materials like to those of which it was made conveyed to them, thus be enabled to watch the habits of those most mysterious animals that reside in the sea, and examine with their own eyes the wonders of the great deep. For many days after this, while Peterkin and Jack were busily employed in building a little boat out of the curious natural planks of the chestnut tree, I spent much of my time in examining with the burning-glass the marvellous operations that were constantly going on in my tank. Here I saw those anemones which cling, like little red, yellow, and green blobs of jelly, to the rocks, put forth, as it were, a multitude of arms and wait till little fish or other small animalcules unwarily touched them, when they would instantly seize them, fold arm after arm around their victims, and so engulf them in their stomachs. Here I saw the ceaseless working of those little coral insects whose efforts have encrusted the islands of the Pacific with vast rocks and surrounded them with enormous reefs. And I observed that many of these insects, though extremely minute, were very beautiful, coming out of their holes in a circle of fine threads, and having the form of a shuttlecock. Here I saw curious little barnacles opening a hole in their backs and constantly putting out a thin, feathery hand, with which, I doubt not, they dragged their food into their mouths. Here, also, I saw those crabs which have shells only on the front of their bodies, but no shell whatever on their remarkably tender tails, so that, in order to find a protection to them, they thrust them into the empty shells of whelks, or some such fish, and when they grow too big for one, change into another. But, most curious of all, I saw an animal which had the wonderful power, when it became ill, of casting its stomach and its teeth away from it, and getting an entirely new set in the course of a few months! All this I saw, and a great deal more, by means of my tank and my burning-glass; but I refrain from setting down more particulars here, as I have still much to tell of the adventures that befell us while we remained on this island. Chapter XII Notable discovery at the spouting cliffs--The mysterious green monster explained--We are thrown into unutterable terror by the idea that Jack is drowned--The Diamond Cave. "Come, Jack," cried Peterkin, one morning about three weeks after our return from our long excursion, "let's be jolly to-day, and do something vigorous. I'm quite tired of hammering and hammering, hewing and screwing, cutting and butting, at that little boat of ours, that seems as hard to build as Noah's ark. Let us go on an excursion to the mountain-top, or have a hunt after the wild-ducks, or make a dash at the pigs. I'm quite flat--flat as bad ginger-beer--flat as a pancake; in fact, I want something to rouse me, to toss me up, as it were. Eh! what do you say to it?" "Well," answered Jack, throwing down the axe with which he was just about to proceed towards the boat, "if that's what you want, I would recommend you to make an excursion to the water-spouts. The last one we had to do with tossed you up a considerable height; perhaps the next will send you higher--who knows?--if you're at all reasonable or moderate in your expectations!" "Jack, my dear boy," said Peterkin gravely, "you are really becoming too fond of jesting. It's a thing I don't at all approve of, and if you don't give it up, I fear that, for our mutual good, we shall have to part." "Well then, Peterkin," replied Jack with a smile, "what would you have?" "Have?" said Peterkin; "I would _have_ nothing. I didn't say I wanted to _have;_ I said that I wanted to _do."_ "By-the-bye," said I, interrupting their conversation, "I am reminded by this that we have not yet discovered the nature of yon curious appearance that we saw near the water-spouts, on our journey round the island. Perhaps it would be well to go for that purpose." "Humph!" ejaculated Peterkin, "I know the nature of it well enough." "What was it?" said I. "It was of a _mysterious_ nature to be sure!" said he, with a wave of his hand, while he rose from the log on which he had been sitting and buckled on his belt, into which he thrust his enormous club. "Well, then, let us away to the water-spouts," cried Jack, going up to the bower for his bow and arrows; "and bring your spear, Peterkin. It may be useful." We now, having made up our minds to examine into this matter, sallied forth eagerly in the direction of the water-spout rocks, which, as I have before mentioned, were not far from our present place of abode. On arriving there we hastened down to the edge of the rocks and gazed over into the sea, where we observed the pale-green object still distinctly visible, moving its tail slowly to and fro in the water. "Most remarkable!" said Jack. "Exceedingly curious!" said I. "Beats everything!" said Peterkin. "Now, Jack," he added, "you made such a poor figure in your last attempt to stick that object, that I would advise you to let me try it. If it has got a heart at all, I'll engage to send my spear right through the core of it; if it hasn't got a heart, I'll send it through the spot where its heart ought to be." "Fire away then, my boy," replied Jack with a laugh. Peterkin immediately took the spear, poised it for a second or two above his head, then darted it like an arrow into the sea. Down it went straight into the centre of the green object, passed quite through it, and came up immediately afterwards, pure and unsullied, while the mysterious tail moved quietly as before! "Now," said Peterkin gravely, "that brute is a heartless monster; I'll have nothing more to do with it." "I'm pretty sure now," said Jack, "that it is merely a phosphoric light; but I must say, I'm puzzled at its staying always in that exact spot." I also was much puzzled, and inclined to think with Jack that it must be phosphoric light, of which luminous appearance we had seen much while on our voyage to these seas. "But," said I, "there is nothing to hinder us from diving down to it, now that we are sure it is not a shark." "True," returned Jack, stripping off his clothes; "I'll go down, Ralph, as I'm better at diving than you are.--Now then, Peterkin, out o' the road!" Jack stepped forward, joined his hands above his head, bent over the rocks, and plunged into the sea. For a second or two the spray caused by his dive hid him from view; then the water became still, and we saw him swimming far down in the midst of the green object. Suddenly he sank below it, and vanished altogether from our sight! We gazed anxiously down at the spot where he had disappeared for nearly a minute, expecting every moment to see him rise again for breath; but fully a minute appeared, and still he did not reappear. Two minutes passed! and then a flood of alarm rushed in upon my soul, when I considered that, during all my acquaintance with him, Jack had never stayed under water more than a minute at a time; indeed, seldom so long. "O Peterkin!" I said, in a voice that trembled with increasing anxiety, "something has happened. It is more than three minutes now." But Peterkin did not answer, and I observed that he was gazing down into the water with a look of intense fear mingled with anxiety, while his face was overspread with a deadly paleness. Suddenly he sprang to his feet and rushed about in a frantic state, wringing his hands, and exclaiming, "O Jack, Jack! he is gone! It must have been a shark, and he is gone for ever!" For the next five minutes I know not what I did; the intensity of my feelings almost bereft me of my senses. But I was recalled to myself by Peterkin seizing me by the shoulders and staring wildly into my face, while he exclaimed, "Ralph! Ralph! perhaps he has only fainted. Dive for him, Ralph!" It seemed strange that this did not occur to me sooner. In a moment I rushed to the edge off the rocks, and without waiting to throw off my garments, was on the point to spring into the waves, when I observed something black rising up through the green object. In another moment Jack's head rose to the surface, and he gave a wild shout, flinging back the spray from his locks, as was his wont after a dive. Now we were almost as much amazed at seeing him reappear, well and strong, as we had been at first at his non-appearance; for, to the best of our judgment, he had been nearly ten minutes under water, perhaps longer, and it required no exertion of our reason to convince us that this was utterly impossible for mortal man to do and retain his strength and faculties. It was therefore with a feeling akin to superstitious awe that I held down my hand and assisted him to clamber up the steep rocks. But no such feeling affected Peterkin. No sooner did Jack gain the rocks and seat himself on one, panting for breath, than he threw his arms round his neck and burst into a flood of tears. "O Jack, Jack!" said he, "where were you? What kept you so long?" After a few moments Peterkin became composed enough to sit still and listen to Jack's explanation, although he could not restrain himself from attempting to wink every two minutes at me, in order to express his joy at Jack's safety. I say he attempted to wink, but I am bound to add that he did not succeed, for his eyes were so much swollen with weeping, that his frequent attempts only resulted in a series of violent and altogether idiotical contortions of the face, that were very far from expressing what he intended. However, I knew what the poor fellow meant by it, so I smiled to him in return, and endeavoured to make believe that he was winking. "Now, lads," said Jack, when we were composed enough to listen to him, "yon green object is not a shark; it is a stream of light issuing from a cave in the rocks. Just after I made my dive, I observed that this light came from the side of the rock above which we are now sitting; so I struck out for it, and saw an opening into some place or other that appeared to be luminous within. For one instant I paused to think whether I ought to venture. Then I made up my mind, and dashed into it. For you see, Peterkin, although I take some time to tell this, it happened in the space of a few seconds, so that I knew I had wind enough in me to serve to bring me out o' the hole and up to the surface again. Well, I was just on the point of turning--for I began to feel a little uncomfortable in such a place--when it seemed to me as if there was a faint light right above me. I darted upwards, and found my head out of water. This relieved me greatly, for I now felt that I could take in air enough to enable me to return the way I came. Then it all at once occurred to me that I might not be able to find the way out again; but, on glancing downwards, my mind was put quite at rest by seeing the green light below me streaming into the cave, just like the light that we had seen streaming out of it, only what I now saw was much brighter. "At first I could scarcely see anything as I gazed around me, it was so dark; but gradually my eyes became accustomed to it, and I found that I was in a huge cave, part of the walls of which I observed on each side of me. The ceiling just above me was also visible, and I fancied that I could perceive beautiful glittering objects there; but the farther end of the cave was shrouded in darkness. While I was looking around me in great wonder, it came into my head that you two would think I was drowned; so I plunged down through the passage again in a great hurry, rose to the surface, and--here I am!" When Jack concluded his recital of what he had seen in this remarkable cave, I could not rest satisfied till I had dived down to see it: which I did, but found it so dark, as Jack had said, that I could scarcely see anything. When I returned, we had a long conversation about it, during which I observed that Peterkin had a most lugubrious expression on his countenance. "What's the matter, Peterkin?" said I. "The matter?" he replied. "It's all very well for you two to be talking away like mermaids about the wonders of this cave, but you know I must be content to hear about it, while you are enjoying yourselves down there like mad dolphins. It's really too bad." "I'm very sorry for you, Peterkin, indeed I am," said Jack, "but we cannot help you. If you would only learn to dive--" "Learn to fly, you might as well say!" retorted Peterkin in a very sulky tone. "If you would only consent to keep still," said I, "we would take you down with us in ten seconds." "Hum!" returned Peterkin; "suppose a salamander was to propose to you 'only to keep still,' and he would carry you through a blazing fire in a few seconds, what would you say?" We both laughed and shook our heads, for it was evident that nothing was to be made of Peterkin in the water. But we could not rest satisfied till we had seen more of this cave; so, after further consultation, Jack and I determined to try if we could take down a torch with us, and set fire to it in the cavern. This we found to be an undertaking of no small difficulty, but we accomplished it at last by the following means: First, we made a torch of a very inflammable nature out of the bark of a certain tree, which we cut into strips, and, after twisting, cemented together with a kind of resin or gum, which we also obtained from another tree; neither of which trees, however, was known by name to Jack. This, when prepared, we wrapped up in a great number of plies of cocoa-nut cloth, so that we were confident it could not get wet during the short time it should be under water. Then we took a small piece of the tinder, which we had carefully treasured up lest we should require it, as before said, when the sun should fail us; also, we rolled up some dry grass and a few chips, which, with a little bow and drill, like those described before, we made into another bundle, and wrapped it up in cocoa-nut cloth. When all was ready, we laid aside our garments, with the exception of our trousers, which, as we did not know what rough scraping against the rocks we might be subjected to, we kept on. Then we advanced to the edge of the rocks, Jack carrying one bundle, with the torch, I the other, with the things for producing fire. "Now don't weary for us, Peterkin, should we be gone some time," said Jack; "we'll be sure to return in half-an-hour at the very latest, however interesting the cave should be, that we may relieve your mind." "Farewell!" said Peterkin, coming up to us with a look of deep but pretended solemnity, while he shook hands and kissed each of us on the cheek. "Farewell! and while you are gone I shall repose my weary limbs under the shelter of this bush, and meditate on the changefulness of all things earthly, with special reference to the forsaken condition of a poor shipwrecked sailor boy!" So saying, Peterkin waved his hand, turned from us, and cast himself upon the ground with a look of melancholy resignation, which was so well feigned that I would have thought it genuine had he not accompanied it with a gentle wink. We both laughed, and springing from the rocks together, plunged head first into the sea. We gained the interior of the submarine cave without difficulty, and, on emerging from the waves, supported ourselves for some time by treading water, while we held the two bundles above our heads. This we did in order to let our eyes become accustomed to the obscurity. Then, when we could see sufficiently, we swam to a shelving rock, and landed in safety. Having wrung the water from our trousers, and dried ourselves as well as we could under the circumstances, we proceeded to ignite the torch. This we accomplished without difficulty in a few minutes; and no sooner did it flare up than we were struck dumb with the wonderful objects that were revealed to our gaze. The roof of the cabin just above us seemed to be about ten feet high, but grew higher as it receded into the distance, until it was lost in darkness. It seemed to be made of coral, and was supported by massive columns of the same material. Immense icicles (as they appeared to us) hung from it in various places. These, however, were formed not of ice, but of a species of limestone, which seemed to flow in a liquid form towards the point of each, where it became solid. A good many drops fell, however, to the rock below, and these formed little cones, which rose to meet the points above. Some of them had already met, and thus we saw how the pillars were formed, which at first seemed to us as if they had been placed there by some human architect to support the roof. As we advanced farther in, we saw that the floor was composed of the same material as the pillars; and it presented the curious appearance of ripples such as are formed on water when gently ruffled by the wind. There were several openings on either hand in the walls that seemed to lead into other caverns; but, these we did not explore at this time. We also observed that the ceiling was curiously marked in many places, as if it were the fretwork of a noble cathedral; and the walls, as well as the roof, sparkled in the light of our torch, and threw back gleams and flashes as if they were covered with precious stones. Although we proceeded far into this cavern, we did not come to the end of it; and we were obliged to return more speedily than we would otherwise have done, as our torch was nearly expended. We did not observe any openings in the roof, or any indications of places whereby light might enter; but near the entrance to the cavern stood an immense mass of pure white coral rock, which caught and threw back the little light that found an entrance through the cave's mouth, and thus produced, we conjectured, the pale-green object which had first attracted our attention. We concluded, also, that the reflecting power of this rock was that which gave forth the dim light that faintly illumined the first part of the cave. Before diving through the passage again we extinguished the small piece of our torch that remained, and left it in a dry spot; conceiving that we might possibly stand in need of it, if at any future time we should chance to wet our torch while diving into the cavern. As we stood for a few minutes after it was out, waiting till our eyes became accustomed to the gloom, we could not help remarking the deep, intense stillness and the unutterable gloom of all around us; and, as I thought of the stupendous dome above, and the countless gems that had sparkled in the torchlight a few minutes before, it came into my mind to consider how strange it is that God should make such wonderful and exquisitely beautiful works never to be seen at all, except, indeed, by chance visitors such as ourselves. I afterwards found that there were many such caverns among the islands of the South Seas, some of them larger and more beautiful than the one I have just described. "Now, Ralph, are you ready?" said Jack, in a low voice, that seemed to echo up into the dome above. "Quite ready." "Come along, then," said he; and plunging off the ledge of the rock into the water, we dived through the narrow entrance. In a few seconds we were panting on the rocks above, and receiving the congratulations of our friend Peterkin. Chapter XIV Strange peculiarity of the tides--Also of the twilight--Peterkin's remarkable conduct in embracing a little pig and killing a big sow--Sage remarks on jesting--Also on love. It was quite a relief to us to breathe the pure air and to enjoy the glad sunshine after our long ramble in the Diamond Cave, as we named it; for although we did not stay more than half-an-hour away, it seemed to us much longer. While we were dressing, and during our walk home, we did our best to satisfy the curiosity of poor Peterkin, who seemed to regret, with lively sincerity, his inability to dive. There was no help for it, however, so we condoled with him as we best could. Had there been any great rise or fall in the tide of these seas, we might perhaps have found it possible to take him down with us at low water; but as the tide never rose as fell more than eighteen inches or two feet, this was impossible. This peculiarity of the tide--its slight rise and fall--had not attracted our observation till some time after our residence on the island. Neither had we observed another curious circumstance until we had been some time there. This was the fact that the tide rose and fell with constant regularity, instead of being affected by the changes of the moon as in our own country, and as it is in most other parts of the world--at least in all those parts with which I am acquainted. Every day and every night, at twelve o'clock precisely, the tide is at the full; and at six o'clock every morning and evening it is ebb. I can speak with much confidence on this singular circumstance, as we took particular note of it, and never found it to alter. Of course, I must admit, we had to guess the hour of twelve midnight, and I think we could do this pretty correctly; but in regard to twelve noon we are quite positive, because we easily found the highest point that the sun reached in the sky by placing ourselves at a certain spot whence we observed the sharp summit of a cliff resting against the sky, just where the sun passed. Jack and I were surprised that we had not noticed this the first few days of our residence here, and could only account for it by our being so much taken up with the more obvious wonders of our novel situation. I have since learned, however, that this want of observation is a sad and very common infirmity of human nature, there being hundreds of persons before whose eyes the most wonderful things are passing every day, who nevertheless are totally ignorant of them. I therefore have to record my sympathy with such persons, and to recommend to them a course of conduct which I have now for a long time myself adopted--namely, the habit of forcing my attention upon _all_ things that go on around me, and of taking some degree of interest in them, whether I feel it naturally or not. I suggest this the more earnestly, though humbly, because I have very frequently come to know that my indifference to a thing has generally been caused by my ignorance in regard to it. We had much serious conversation on this subject of the tides; and Jack told us, in his own quiet, philosophical way, that these tides did great good to the world in many ways, particularly in the way of cleansing the shores of the land, and carrying off the filth that was constantly poured into the sea therefrom; which, Peterkin suggested, was remarkably _tidy_ of it to do. Poor Peterkin could never let slip an opportunity to joke, however inopportune it might be: which at first we found rather a disagreeable propensity, as it often interrupted the flow of very agreeable conversation--and, indeed, I cannot too strongly record my disapprobation of this tendency in general--but we became so used to it at last that we found it no interruption whatever; indeed, strange to say, we came to feel that it was a necessary part of our enjoyment (such is the force of habit), and found the sudden outbursts of mirth, resulting from his humorous disposition, quite natural and refreshing to us in the midst of our more serious conversations. But I must not misrepresent Peterkin. We often found, to our surprise, that he knew many things which we did not; and I also observed that those things which he learned from experience were never forgotten. From all these things I came at length to understand that things very opposite and dissimilar in themselves, when united, do make an agreeable whole; as, for example, we three on this our island, although most unlike in many things, when united, made a trio so harmonious that I question if there ever met before such an agreeable triumvirate. There was, indeed, no note of discord whatever in the symphony we played together on that sweet Coral Island; and I am now persuaded that this was owing to our having been all tuned to the same key, namely, that of _love!_ Yes, we loved one another with much fervency while we lived on that island; and, for the matter of that, we love each other still. And while I am on this subject, or rather the subject that just preceded it--namely, the tides--I may here remark on another curious natural phenomenon. We found that there was little or no twilight in this island. We had a distinct remembrance of the charming long twilight at home, which some people think the most delightful part of the day, though for my part I have always preferred sunrise; and when we first landed, we used to sit down on some rocky point or eminence, at the close of our day's work, to enjoy the evening breeze; but no sooner had the sun sunk below the horizon than all became suddenly dark. This rendered it necessary that we should watch the sun when we happened to be out hunting; for to be suddenly left in the dark while in the woods was very perplexing, as, although the stars shone with great beauty and brilliancy, they could not pierce through the thick umbrageous boughs that interlaced above our heads. But to return: after having told all we could to Peterkin about the Diamond Cave under Spouting Cliff, as we named the locality, we were wending our way rapidly homewards, when a grunt and a squeal were borne down by the land breeze to our ears. "That's the ticket!" was Peterkin's remarkable exclamation, as he started convulsively and levelled his spear. "Hist!" cried Jack; "these are your friends, Peterkin. They must have come over expressly to pay you a friendly visit, for it is the first time we have seen them on this side the island." "Come along!" cried Peterkin, hurrying towards the wood, while Jack and I followed, smiling at his impatience. Another grunt and half-a-dozen squeals, much louder than before, came down the valley. At this time we were just opposite the small vale which lay between the Valley of the Wreck and Spouting Cliff. "I say, Peterkin," cried Jack in a hoarse whisper. "Well, what is't?" "Stay a bit, man. These grunters are just up there on the hillside. If you go and stand with Ralph in the lee of yon cliff, I'll cut round behind and drive them through the gorge, so that you'll have a better chance of picking out a good one. Now, mind you pitch into a fat young pig, Peterkin," added Jack, as he sprang into the bushes. "Won't I, just!" said Peterkin, licking his lips, as we took our station beside the cliff. "I feel quite a tender affection for young pigs in my heart. Perhaps it would be more correct to say in my s--" "There they come!" cried I, as a terrific yell from Jack sent the whole herd screaming down the hill. Now Peterkin, being unable to hold back, crept a short way up a very steep, grassy mound, in order to get a better view of the hogs before they came up; and just as he raised his head above its summit, two little pigs, which had outrun their companions, rushed over the top with the utmost precipitation. One of these brushed close past Peterkin's ear; the other, unable to arrest its headlong flight, went, as Peterkin himself afterwards expressed it, "bash" into his arms with a sudden squeal, which was caused more by the force of the blow than the will of the animal, and both of them rolled violently down to the foot of the mound. No sooner was this reached than the little pig recovered its feet, tossed up its tail, and fled shrieking from the spot. But I slung a large stone after it, which, being fortunately well aimed, hit it behind the ear, and felled it to the earth. "Capital, Ralph! that's your sort!" cried Peterkin, who, to my surprise, and great relief, had risen to his feet apparently unhurt, though much dishevelled. He rushed franticly towards the gorge, which the yells of the hogs told us they were now approaching. I had made up my mind that I would abstain from killing another, as, if Peterkin should be successful, two were more than sufficient for our wants at the present time. Suddenly they all burst forth--two or three little round ones in advance, and an enormous old sow with a drove of hogs at her heels. "Now, Peterkin," said I, "there's a nice little fat one; just spear it." But Peterkin did not move; he allowed it to pass unharmed. I looked at him in surprise, and saw that his lips were compressed and his eyebrows knitted, as if he were about to fight with some awful enemy. "What is it?" I inquired, with some trepidation. Suddenly he levelled his spear, darted forward, and, with a yell that nearly froze the blood in my veins, stabbed the old sow to the heart. Nay, so vigorously was it done that the spear went in at one side and came out at the other! "O Peterkin," said I, going up to him, "what have you done"? _Done?_ "I've killed their great-great-grandmother, that's all," said he, looking with a somewhat awe-struck expression at the transfixed animal. "Hallo! what's this?" said Jack, as he came up. "Why, Peterkin, you must be fond of a tough chop. If you mean to eat this old hog, she'll try your jaws, I warrant. What possessed you to stick _her,_ Peterkin?" "Why, the fact is, I want a pair of shoes." "What have your shoes to do with the old hog?" said I, smiling. "My present shoes have certainly nothing to do with her," replied Peterkin; "nevertheless, she will have a good deal to do with my future shoes. The fact is, when I saw you floor that pig so neatly, Ralph, it struck me that there was little use in killing another. Then I remembered all at once that I had long wanted some leather or tough substance to make shoes of, and this old grandmother seemed so tough that I just made up my mind to stick her, and you see I've done it!" "That you certainly have, Peterkin," said Jack, as he was examining the transfixed animal. We now considered how we were to carry our game home, for, although the distance was short, the hog was very heavy. At length we hit on the plan of tying its four feet together, and passing the spear handle between them. Jack took one end on his shoulder, I took the other on mine, and Peterkin carried the small pig. Thus we returned in triumph to our bower, laden, as Peterkin remarked, with the glorious spoils of a noble hunt. As he afterwards spoke in similarly glowing terms in reference to the supper that followed, there is every reason to believe that we retired that night to our leafy beds in a high state of satisfaction. Chapter XV Boat-building extraordinary--Peterkin tries his hand at cookery, and fails most signally--The boat finished--Curious conversation with the cat and other matters. For many days after this Jack applied himself with unremitting assiduity to the construction of our boat, which at length began to look something like one. But those only who have had the thing to do can entertain a right idea of the difficulty involved in such an undertaking, with no other implements than an axe, a bit of hoop-iron, a sail-needle, and a broken penknife. But Jack did it. He was of that disposition which _will_ not be conquered. When he believed himself to be acting rightly, he overcame all obstacles. I have seen Jack, when doubtful whether what he was about to do were right or wrong, as timid and vacillating as a little girl; and I honour him for it! As this boat was a curiosity in its way, a few words here relative to the manner of its construction may not be amiss. I have already mentioned the chestnut tree with its wonderful buttresses or planks. This tree, then, furnished us with the chief part of our material. First of all, Jack sought out a limb of a tree of such a form and size as, while it should form the keel, a bend at either end should form the stem and stern-posts. Such a piece, however, was not easy to obtain; but at last he procured it by rooting up a small tree which had a branch growing at the proper angle about ten feet up its stem, with two strong roots growing in such a form as enabled him to make a flat-sterned boat. This placed, he procured three branching roots of suitable size, which he fitted to the keel at equal distances, thus forming three strong ribs. Now the squaring and shaping of these, and the cutting of the grooves in the keel, was an easy enough matter, as it was all work for the axe, in the use of which Jack was become wonderfully expert; but it was quite a different affair when he came to nailing the ribs to the keel, for we had no instrument capable of boring a large hole, and no nails to fasten them with. We were, indeed, much perplexed here; but Jack at length devised an instrument that served very well. He took the remainder of our hoop-iron and beat it into the form of a pipe or cylinder, about as thick as a man's finger. This he did by means of our axe and the old rusty axe we had found at the house of the poor man at the other side of the island. This, when made red hot, bored slowly through the timbers; and, the better to retain the heat, Jack shut up one end of it and filled it with sand. True, the work was very slowly done, but it mattered not, we had little else to do. Two holes were bored in each timber, about an inch and a half apart, and also down into the keel, but not quite through. Into these were placed stout pegs made of a tree called iron-wood; and, when they were hammered well home, the timbers were as firmly fixed as if they had been nailed with iron. The gunwales, which were very stout, were fixed in a similar manner. But, besides the wooden nails, they were firmly lashed to the stem and stern-posts and ribs by means of a species of cordage which we had contrived to make out of the fibrous husk of the cocoa-nut. This husk was very tough, and when a number of the threads were joined together they formed excellent cordage. At first we tied the different lengths together; but this was such a clumsy and awkward complication of knots that we contrived, by careful interlacing of the ends together before twisting, to make good cordage of any size or length we chose. Of course it cost us much time and infinite labour, but Jack kept up our spirits when we grew weary, and so all that we required was at last constructed. Planks were now cut off the chestnut trees of about an inch thick. These were dressed with the axe--but clumsily, for an axe is ill adapted for such work. Five of these planks on each side were sufficient; and we formed the boat in a very rounded, barrel-like shape, in order to have as little twisting of the planks as possible, for although we could easily bend them, we could not easily twist them. Having no nails to rivet the planks with, we threw aside the ordinary fashion of boat-building and adopted one of our own. The planks were therefore placed on each other's edges, and sewed together with the tough cordage already mentioned. They were also thus sewed to the stem, the stern, and the keel. Each stitch or tie was six inches apart, and was formed thus: Three holes were bored in the upper plank and three in the lower--the holes being above each other, that is, in a vertical line. Through these holes the cord was passed, and, when tied, formed a powerful stitch of three-ply. Besides this, we placed between the edges of the planks layers of cocoa-nut fibre, which, as it swelled when wetted, would, we hoped, make our little vessel water-tight. But in order further to secure this end, we collected a large quantity of pitch from the bread-fruit tree, with which, when boiled in our old iron pot, we paid the whole of the inside of the boat, and, while it was yet hot, placed large pieces of cocoa-nut cloth on it, and then gave it another coat above that. Thus the interior was covered with a tough, water-tight material; while the exterior, being uncovered, and so exposed to the swelling action of the water, was, we hoped, likely to keep the boat quite dry. I may add that our hopes were not disappointed. While Jack was thus engaged, Peterkin and I sometimes assisted him; but as our assistance was not much required, we more frequently went a-hunting on the extensive mud-flats at the entrance of the long valley which lay nearest to our bower. Here we found large flocks of ducks of various kinds, some of them bearing so much resemblance to the wild ducks of our own country that I think they must have been the same. On these occasions we took the bow and the sling, with both of which we were often successful, though I must confess that I was the least so. Our suppers were thus pleasantly varied, and sometimes we had such a profusion spread out before us that we frequently knew not with which of the dainties to begin. I must also add that the poor old cat which we had brought home had always a liberal share of our good things, and so well was it looked after, especially by Peterkin, that it recovered much of its former strength, and seemed to improve in sight as well as hearing. The large flat stone, or rock of coral, which stood just in front of the entrance to our bower, was our table. On this rock we had spread out the few articles we possessed the day we were shipwrecked; and on the same rock, during many a day afterwards, we spread out the bountiful supply with which we had been blessed on our Coral Island. Sometimes we sat down at this table to a feast consisting of hot rolls--as Peterkin called the newly baked bread-fruit--a roast pig, roast duck, boiled and roasted yams, cocoa-nuts, taro, and sweet potatoes; which we followed up with a dessert of plums, apples, and plantains--the last being a large-sized and delightful fruit, which grew on a large shrub or tree not more than twelve feet high, with light-green leaves of enormous length and breadth. These luxurious feasts were usually washed down with cocoa-nut lemonade. Occasionally Peterkin tried to devise some new dish--"a conglomerate," as he used to say; but these generally turned out such atrocious compounds that he was ultimately induced to give up his attempts in extreme disgust--not forgetting, however, to point out to Jack that his failure was a direct contradiction to the proverb which he (Jack) was constantly thrusting down his throat--namely, that "where there's a will there's a way." For he had a great will to become a cook, but could by no means find a way to accomplish that end. One day, while Peterkin and I were seated beside our table, on which dinner was spread, Jack came up from the beach, and, flinging down his axe, exclaimed-- "There, lads, the boat's finished at last! So we've nothing to do now but shape two pair of oars, and then we may put to sea as soon as we like." This piece of news threw us into a state of great joy; for, although we were aware that the boat had been gradually getting near its completion, it had taken so long that we did not expect it to be quite ready for at least two or three weeks. But Jack had wrought hard and said nothing, in order to surprise us. "My dear fellow," cried Peterkin, "you're a perfect trump. But why did you not tell us it was so nearly ready? Won't we have a jolly sail to-morrow, eh?" "Don't talk so much, Peterkin," said Jack; "and, pray, hand me a bit of that pig." "Certainly, my dear," cried Peterkin, seizing the axe. "What part will you have? A leg, or a wing, or a piece of the breast--which?" "A hind leg, if you please," answered Jack; "and, pray, be so good as to include the tail." "With all my heart," said Peterkin, exchanging the axe for his hoop-iron knife, with which he cut off the desired portion. "I'm only too glad, my dear boy, to see that your appetite is so wholesale, and there's no chance whatever of its dwindling down into re-tail again, at least, in so far as this pig is concerned.--Ralph, lad, why don't you laugh, eh?" he added, turning suddenly to me with a severe look of inquiry. "Laugh!" said I; "what at, Peterkin? Why should I laugh?" Both Jack and Peterkin answered this inquiry by themselves laughing so immoderately that I was induced to believe I had missed noticing some good joke, so I begged that it might be explained to me; but as this only produced repeated roars of laughter, I smiled and helped myself to another slice of plantain. "Well, but," continued Peterkin, "I was talking of a sail to-morrow. Can't we have one, Jack?" "No," replied Jack, "we can't have a sail, but I hope we shall have a row, as I intend to work hard at the oars this afternoon, and, if we can't get them finished by sunset, we'll light our candle-nuts, and turn them out of hands before we turn into bed." "Very good," said Peterkin, tossing a lump of pork to the cat, who received it with a mew of satisfaction. "I'll help you, if I can." "Afterwards," continued Jack, "we will make a sail out of the cocoa-nut cloth, and rig up a mast, and then we shall be able to sail to some of the other islands, and visit our old friends the penguins." The prospect of being so soon in a position to extend our observations to the other islands and enjoy a sail over the beautiful sea afforded us much delight, and after dinner we set about making the oars in good earnest. Jack went into the woods and blocked them roughly out with the axe, and I smoothed them down with the knife, while Peterkin remained in the bower spinning, or rather twisting, some strong, thick cordage with which to fasten them to the boat. We worked hard and rapidly, so that when the sun went down, Jack and I returned to the bower with four stout oars, which required little to be done to them save a slight degree of polishing with the knife. As we drew near, we were suddenly arrested by the sound of a voice. We were not a little surprised at this--indeed, I may almost say alarmed; for, although Peterkin was undoubtedly fond of talking, we had never up to this time found him talking to himself. We listened intently, and still heard the sound of a voice, as if in conversation. Jack motioned me to be silent, and, advancing to the bower on tip-toe, we peeped in. The sight that met our gaze was certainly not a little amusing. On the top of a log which we sometimes used as a table sat the black cat, with a very demure expression on its countenance, and in front of it, sitting on the ground with his legs extended on either side of the log, was Peterkin. At the moment we saw him, he was gazing intently into the cat's face, with his nose about four inches from it, his hands being thrust into his breeches pockets. "Cat," said Peterkin, turning his head a little on one side, "I love you!" There was a pause, as if Peterkin awaited a reply to this affectionate declaration. But the cat said nothing. "Do you hear me?" cried Peterkin sharply. "I love you--I do! Don't you love me?" To this touching appeal the cat said "Mew" faintly. "Ah! that's right. You're a jolly old rascal. Why did you not speak at once, eh?" and Peterkin put forward his mouth and kissed the cat on the nose! "Yes," continued Peterkin, after a pause, "I love you. D'you think I'd say so if I didn't, you black villain? I love you because I've got to take care of you, and to look after you, and to think about you, and to see that you don't die--" "Mew, me-a-w!" said the cat. "Very good," continued Peterkin; "quite true, I have no doubt. But you've no right to interrupt me, sir. Hold your tongue till I have done speaking. Moreover, cat, I love you because you came to me the first time you ever saw me, and didn't seem to be afraid, and appeared to be fond of me, though you didn't know that I wasn't going to kill you. Now that was brave, that was bold, and very jolly, old boy, and I love you for it--I do!" Again there was a pause of a few minutes, during which the cat looked placid, and Peterkin dropped his eyes upon its toes, as if in contemplation. Suddenly he looked up. "Well, cat, what are you thinking about now? Won't speak, eh? Now tell me, don't you think it's a monstrous shame that those two scoundrels, Jack and Ralph, should keep us waiting for our supper so long?" Here the cat arose, put up its back and stretched itself, yawned slightly, and licked the point of Peterkin's nose! "Just so, old boy; you're a clever fellow. I really do believe the brute understands me!" said Peterkin, while a broad grin overspread his face as he drew back and surveyed the cat. At this point Jack burst into a loud fit of laughter. The cat uttered an angry fuff and fled, while Peterkin sprang up and exclaimed-- "Bad luck to you, Jack! you've nearly made the heart jump out of my body, you have." "Perhaps I have," replied Jack, laughing, as we entered the bower, "but as I don't intend to keep you or the cat any longer from your supper, I hope that you'll both forgive me." Peterkin endeavoured to turn this affair off with a laugh, but I observed that he blushed very deeply at the time we discovered ourselves, and he did not seem to relish any allusion to the subject afterwards; so we refrained from remarking on it ever after, though it tickled us not a little at the time. After supper we retired to rest and to dream of wonderful adventures in our little boat and distant voyages upon the sea. Chapter XVI The boat launched--We visit the coral reef--The great breaker that never goes down--Coral insects--The way in which coral islands are made--The boat's sail--We tax our ingenuity to form fish-hooks--Some of the fish we saw--And a monstrous whale--Wonderful shower of little fish--Water-spouts. It was a bright, clear, beautiful morning when we first launched our little boat, and rowed out upon the placid waters of the lagoon. Not a breath of wind ruffled the surface of the deep. Not a cloud spotted the deep blue sky. Not a sound that was discordant broke the stillness of the morning, although there were many sounds, sweet, tiny, and melodious, that mingled in the universal harmony of nature. The sun was just rising from the Pacific's ample bosom and tipping the mountaintops with a red glow. The sea was shining like a sheet of glass, yet heaving with the long deep swell that, all the world round, indicates the life of ocean; and the bright seaweeds and the brilliant corals shone in the depths of that pellucid water, as we rowed over it, like rare and precious gems. Oh! it was a sight fitted to stir the soul of man to its profoundest depths, and, if he owned a heart at all, to lift that heart in adoration and gratitude to the great Creator of this magnificent and glorious universe. At first, in the strength of our delight, we rowed hither and thither without aim or object. But after the effervescence of our spirits was abated, we began to look about us and to consider what we should do. "I vote that we row to the reef," cried Peterkin. "And I vote that we visit the islands within the lagoon," said I. "And I vote we do both," cried Jack; "so pull away, boys." As I have already said, we had made four oars, but our boat was so small that only two were necessary. The extra pair were reserved in case any accident should happen to the others. It was therefore only needful that two of us should row, while the third steered, by means of an oar, and relieved the rowers occasionally. First we landed on one of the small islands and ran all over it, but saw nothing worthy of particular notice. Then we landed on a larger island, on which were growing a few cocoa-nut trees. Not having eaten anything that morning, we gathered a few of the nuts and breakfasted. After this we pulled straight out to sea and landed on the coral reef. This was indeed a novel and interesting sight to us. We had now been so long on shore that we had almost forgotten the appearance of breakers, for there were none within the lagoon; but now, as we stood beside the foam-crested billow of the open sea, all the enthusiasm of the sailor was awakened in our breasts, and as we gazed on the widespread ruin of that single magnificent breaker that burst in thunder at our feet, we forgot the Coral Island behind us; we forgot our bower and the calm repose of the scented woods; we forgot all that had passed during the last few months, and remembered nothing but the storms, the calms, the fresh breezes and the surging billows of the open sea. This huge, ceaseless breaker, to which I have so often alluded, was a much larger and more sublime object than we had at all imagined it to be. It rose many yards above the level of the sea, and could be seen approaching at some distance from the reef. Slowly and majestically it came on, acquiring greater volume and velocity as it advanced, until it assumed the form of a clear watery arch, which sparkled in the bright sun. On it came with resistless and solemn majesty--the upper edge lipped gently over, and it fell with a roar that seemed as though the heart of Ocean were broken in the crash of tumultuous water, while the foam-clad coral reef appeared to tremble beneath the mighty shock! We gazed long and wonderingly at this great sight, and it was with difficulty we could tear ourselves away from it. As I have once before mentioned, this wave broke in many places over the reef and scattered some of its spray into the lagoon, but in most places the reef was sufficiently broad and elevated to receive and check its entire force. In many places the coral rocks were covered with vegetation--the beginning, as it appeared to us, of future islands. Thus, on this reef, we came to perceive how most of the small islands of those seas are formed. On one part we saw the spray of the breaker washing over the rocks, and millions of little, active, busy creatures continuing the work of building up this living rampart. At another place, which was just a little too high for the waves to wash over it, the coral insects were all dead; for we found that they never did their work above water. They had faithfully completed the mighty work which their Creator had given them to do, and they were now all dead. Again, in other spots the ceaseless lashing of the sea had broken the dead coral in pieces, and cast it up in the form of sand. Here sea-birds had alighted, little pieces of seaweed and stray bits of wood had been washed up, seeds of plants had been carried by the wind, and a few lovely blades of bright green had already sprung up, which, when they died, would increase the size and fertility of these emeralds of Ocean. At other places these islets had grown apace, and were shaded by one or two cocoa-nut trees, which grew, literally, in the sand, and were constantly washed by the ocean spray; yet, as I have before remarked, their fruit was most refreshing and sweet to our taste. Again at this time Jack and I pondered the formation of the large coral islands. We could now understand how the low ones were formed; but the larger islands cost us much consideration, yet we could arrive at no certain conclusion on the subject. Having satisfied our curiosity and enjoyed ourselves during the whole day in our little boat, we returned somewhat wearied, and withal rather hungry, to our bower. "Now," said Jack, "as our boat answers so well, we will get a mast and sail made immediately." "So we will," cried Peterkin, as we all assisted to drag the boat above high-water mark. "We'll light our candle and set about it this very night. Hurrah, my boys, pull away!" As we dragged our boat, we observed that she grated heavily on her keel, and as the sands were in this place mingled with broken coral rocks, we saw portions of the wood being scraped off. "Hallo!" cried Jack on seeing this, "that won't do. Our keel will be worn off in no time at this rate." "So it will," said I, pondering deeply as to how this might be prevented. But I am not of a mechanical turn naturally, so I could conceive no remedy save that of putting a plate of iron on the keel; but as we had no iron, I knew not what was to be done. "It seems to me, Jack," I added, "that it is impossible to prevent the keel being worn off thus." "Impossible!" cried Peterkin. "My dear Ralph, you are mistaken; there is nothing so easy." "How?" I inquired, in some surprise. "Why, by not using the boat at all!" replied Peterkin. "Hold your impudent tongue, Peterkin," said Jack, as he shouldered the oars; "come along with me, and I'll give you work to do. In the first place, you will go and collect cocoa-nut fibre, and set to work to make sewing twine with it--" "Please, captain," interrupted Peterkin, "I've got lots of it made already--more than enough, as a little friend of mine used to be in the habit of saying every day after dinner." "Very well," continued Jack; "then you'll help Ralph to collect cocoa-nut cloth, and cut it into shape, after which we'll make a sail of it. I'll see to getting the mast and the gearing; so let's to work." And to work we went right busily, so that in three days from that time we had set up a mast and sail, with the necessary rigging, in our little boat. The sail was not, indeed, very handsome to look at, as it was formed of a number of oblong patches of cloth; but we had sewed it well by means of our sail-needle, so that it was strong, which was the chief point. Jack had also overcome the difficulty about the keel, by pinning to it a _false_ keel. This was a piece of tough wood, of the same length and width as the real keel, and about five inches deep. He made it of this depth because the boat would be thereby rendered not only much more safe, but more able to beat against the wind; which, in a sea where the trade-winds blow so long and so steadily in one direction, was a matter of great importance. This piece of wood was pegged very firmly to the keel; and we now launched our boat with the satisfaction of knowing that when the false keel should be scraped off, we could easily put on another; whereas, should the real keel have been scraped away, we could not have renewed it without taking our boat to pieces, which Peterkin said made his "marrow quake to think upon." The mast and sail answered excellently, and we now sailed about in the lagoon with great delight, and examined with much interest the appearance of our island from a distance. Also, we gazed into the depths of the water, and watched for hours the gambols of the curious and bright-coloured fish among the corals and seaweed. Peterkin also made a fishing-line, and Jack constructed a number of hooks, some of which were very good, others remarkably bad. Some of these hooks were made of iron-wood, which did pretty well, the wood being extremely hard, and Jack made them very thick and large. Fish there are not particular. Some of the crooked bones in fish-heads also answered for this purpose pretty well. But that which formed our best and most serviceable hook was the brass finger-ring belonging to Jack. It gave him not a little trouble to manufacture it. First he cut it with the axe then twisted it into the form of a hook. The barb took him several hours to cut. He did it by means of constant sawing with the broken penknife. As for the point, an hour's rubbing on a piece of sandstone made an excellent one. It would be a matter of much time and labour to describe the appearance of the multitudes of fish that were day after day drawn into our boat by means of the brass hook. Peterkin always caught them--for we observed that he derived much pleasure from fishing--while Jack and I found ample amusement in looking on, also in gazing down at the coral groves, and in baiting the hook. Among the fish that we saw, but did not catch, were porpoises and sword-fish, whales and sharks. The porpoises came frequently into our lagoon in shoals, and amused us not a little by their bold leaps into the air and their playful gambols in the sea. The sword-fish were wonderful creatures; some of them apparently ten feet in length, with an ivory spear six or eight feet long projecting from their noses. We often saw them darting after other fish, and no doubt they sometimes killed them with their ivory swords. Jack remembered having heard once of a sword-fish attacking a ship--which seemed strange indeed; but as they are often in the habit of attacking whales, perhaps it mistook the ship for one. This sword-fish ran against the vessel with such force that it drove its sword quite through the thick planks, and when the ship arrived in harbour, long afterwards, the sword was found still sticking in it! Sharks did not often appear, but we took care never again to bathe in deep water without leaving one of our number in the boat to give us warning, if he should see a shark approaching. As for the whales, they never came into our lagoon, but we frequently saw them spouting in the deep water beyond the reef. I shall never forget my surprise the first day I saw one of these huge monsters close to me. We had been rambling about on the reef during the morning, and were about to re-embark in our little boat to return home, when a loud blowing sound caused us to wheel rapidly round. We were just in time to see a shower of spray falling, and the flukes or tail of some monstrous fish disappear in the sea a few hundred yards off. We waited some time to see if he would rise again. As we stood, the sea seemed to open up at our very feet; an immense spout of water was sent with a snort high into the air, and the huge, blunt head of a sperm whale rose before us. It was so large that it could easily have taken our little boat, along with ourselves, into its mouth! It plunged slowly back into the sea, like a large ship foundering, and struck the water with its tail so forcibly as to cause a sound like a cannon shot. We also saw a great number of flying-fish, although we caught none; and we noticed that they never flew out of the water except when followed by their bitter foe the dolphin, from whom they thus endeavoured to escape. But of all the fish that we saw, none surprised us so much as those that we used to find in shallow pools after a shower of rain; and this not on account of their appearance, for they were ordinary-looking and very small, but on account of their having descended in a shower of rain! We could account for them in no other way, because the pools in which we found these fish were quite dry before the shower, and at some distance above high-water mark. Jack, however, suggested a cause which seemed to me very probable. We used often to see water-spouts in the sea. A water-spout is a whirling body of water, which rises from the sea like a sharp-pointed pillar. After rising a good way, it is met by a long tongue, which comes down from the clouds; and when the two have joined, they look something like an hour-glass. The water-spout is then carried by the wind, sometimes gently, sometimes with violence, over the sea, sometimes up into the clouds, and then, bursting asunder, it descends in a deluge. This often happens over the land as well as over the sea; and it sometimes does much damage, but frequently it passes gently away. Now, Jack thought that the little fish might perhaps have been carried up in a water-spout, and so sent down again in a shower of rain. But we could not be certain as to this point, yet we thought it likely. During these delightful fishing and boating excursions we caught a good many eels, which we found to be very good to eat. We also found turtles among the coral rocks, and made excellent soup in our iron kettle. Moreover, we discovered many shrimps and prawns, so that we had no lack of variety in our food; and, indeed, we never passed a week without making some new and interesting discovery of some sort or other, either on the land or in the sea. Chapter XVII A monster wave and its consequences--The boat lost and found--Peterkin's terrible accident--Supplies of food for a voyage in the boat--We visit Penguin Island, and are amazed beyond measure--Account of the penguins. One day, not long after our little boat was finished, we were sitting on the rocks at Spouting Cliff, and talking of an excursion which we intended to make to Penguin Island the next day. "You see," said Peterkin, "it might be all very well for a stupid fellow like me to remain here and leave the penguins alone, but it would be quite inconsistent with your characters as philosophers to remain any longer in ignorance of the habits and customs of these birds; so the sooner we go the better." "Very true," said I; "there is nothing I desire so much as to have a closer inspection of them." "And I think," said Jack, "that you had better remain at home, Peterkin, to take care of the cat; for I'm sure the hogs will be at it in your absence, out of revenge for your killing their great-grandmother so recklessly." "Stay at home!" cried Peterkin. "My dear fellow, you would certainly lose your way, or get upset, if I were not there to take care of you." "Ah, true," said Jack gravely; "that did not occur to me; no doubt you must go. Our boat does require a good deal of ballast; and all that you say, Peterkin, carries so much weight with it, that we won't need stones if you go." Now, while my companions were talking, a notable event occurred, which, as it is not generally known, I shall be particular in recording here. While we were talking, as I have said, we noticed a dark line, like a low cloud or fog-bank, on the seaward horizon. The day was a fine one, though cloudy, and a gentle breeze was blowing, but the sea was not rougher or the breaker on the reef higher than usual. At first we thought that this looked like a thunder-cloud, and as we had had a good deal of broken weather of late, accompanied by occasional peals of thunder, we supposed that a storm must be approaching. Gradually, however, this line seemed to draw nearer without spreading up over the sky, as would certainly have been the case if it had been a storm-cloud. Still nearer it came, and soon we saw that it was moving swiftly towards the island; but there was no sound till it reached the islands out at sea. As it passed these islands, we observed, with no little anxiety, that a cloud of white foam encircled them, and burst in spray into the air; it was accompanied by a loud roar. This led us to conjecture that the approaching object was an enormous wave of the sea; but we had no idea how large it was till it came near to ourselves. When it approached the outer reef, however, we were awe-struck with its unusual magnitude; and we sprang to our feet, and clambered hastily up to the highest point of the precipice, under an indefinable feeling of fear. I have said before that the reef opposite Spouting Cliff was very near to the shore, while just in front of the bower, it was at a considerable distance out to sea. Owing to this formation, the wave reached the reef at the latter point before it struck at the foot of Spouting Cliff. The instant it touched the reef we became aware, for the first time, of its awful magnitude. It burst completely over the reef at all points, with a roar that seemed louder to me than thunder; and this roar continued for some seconds, while the wave rolled gradually along towards the cliff on which we stood. As its crest reared before us, we felt that we were in great danger, and turned to flee; but we were too late. With a crash that seemed to shake the solid rock the gigantic billow fell, and instantly the spouting-holes sent up a gush of water-spouts with such force that they shrieked on issuing from their narrow vents. It seemed to us as if the earth had been blown up with water. We were stunned and confused by the shock, and so drenched and blinded with spray, that we knew not for a few moments whither to flee for shelter. At length we all three gained an eminence beyond the reach of the water; but what a scene of devastation met our gaze as we looked along the shore! This enormous wave not only burst over the reef, but continued its way across the lagoon, and fell on the sandy beach of the island with such force that it passed completely over it and dashed into the woods, levelling the smaller trees and bushes in its headlong course. On seeing this, Jack said he feared our bower must have been swept away, and that the boat, which was on the beach, must have been utterly destroyed. Our hearts sank within us as we thought of this, and we hastened round through the woods towards our home. On reaching it we found, to our great relief of mind, that the force of the wave had been expended just before reaching the bower; but the entrance to it was almost blocked up by the torn-up bushes and tangled heaps of seaweed. Having satisfied ourselves as to the bower, we hurried to the spot where the boat had been left; but no boat was there. The spot on which it had stood was vacant, and no sign of it could we see on looking around us. "It may have been washed up into the woods," said Jack, hurrying up the beach as he spoke. Still no boat was to be seen, and we were about to give ourselves over to despair, when Peterkin called to Jack and said-- "Jack, my friend, you were once so exceedingly sagacious and wise as to make me acquainted with the fact that cocoa-nuts grow upon trees; will you now be so good as to inform me what sort of fruit that is growing on the top of yonder bush? for I confess to being ignorant, or, at least, doubtful on the point." We looked towards the bush indicated, and there, to our surprise, beheld our little boat snugly nestled among the leaves. We were very much overjoyed at this, for we would have suffered any loss rather than the loss of our boat. We found that the wave had actually borne the boat on its crest from the beach into the woods, and there launched it into the heart of this bush; which was extremely fortunate, for had it been tossed against a rock or a tree, it would have been dashed to pieces, whereas it had not received the smallest injury. It was no easy matter, however, to get it out of the bush and down to the sea again. This cost us two days of hard labour to accomplish. We had also much ado to clear away the rubbish from before the bower, and spent nearly a week in constant labour ere we got the neighbourhood to look as clean and orderly as before; for the uprooted bushes and seaweed that lay on the beach formed a more dreadfully confused-looking mass than one who had not seen the place after the inundation could conceive. Before leaving the subject, I may mention, for the sake of those who interest themselves in the curious natural phenomena of our world, that this gigantic wave occurs regularly on some of the islands of the Pacific once, and sometimes twice, in the year. I heard this stated by the missionaries during my career in those seas. They could not tell me whether it visited all of the islands, but I was certainly assured that it occurred periodically in some of them. After we had got our home put to rights, and cleared of the debris of the inundation, we again turned our thoughts to paying the penguins a visit. The boat was therefore overhauled and a few repairs done. Then we prepared a supply of provisions, for we intended to be absent at least a night or two, perhaps longer. This took us some time to do, for while Jack was busy with the boat, Peterkin was sent into the woods to spear a hog or two, and had to search long, sometimes, ere he found them. Peterkin was usually sent on this errand when we wanted a pork chop (which was not seldom), because he was so active and could run so wonderfully fast that he found no difficulty in overtaking the hogs; but, being dreadfully reckless, he almost invariably tumbled over stumps and stones in the course of his wild chase, and seldom returned home without having knocked the skin off his shins. Once, indeed, a more serious accident happened to him. He had been out all the morning alone, and did not return at the usual time to dinner. We wondered at this, for Peterkin was always very punctual at the dinner-hour. As supper-time drew near, we began to be anxious about him, and at length sallied forth to search the woods. For a long time we sought in vain, but a little before dark we came upon the tracks of the hogs, which we followed up until we came to the brow of a rather steep bank or precipice. Looking over this, we beheld Peterkin lying in a state of insensibility at the foot, with his cheek resting on the snout of a little pig, which was pinned to the earth by the spear. We were dreadfully alarmed, but hastened to bathe his forehead with water, and had soon the satisfaction of seeing him revive. After we had carried him home, he related to us how the thing had happened. "You must know," said he, "I walked about all the forenoon, till I was as tired as an old donkey, without seeing a single grunter--not so much as a track of one; but as I was determined not to return empty-handed, I resolved to go without my dinner, and--" "What!" exclaimed Jack, "did you _really_ resolve to do that?" "Now, Jack, hold your tongue," returned Peterkin. "I say that I resolved to forego my dinner and to push to the head of the small valley, where I felt pretty sure of discovering the hogs. I soon found that I was on the right scent, for I had scarcely walked half a mile in the direction of the small plum tree we found there the other day, when a squeak fell on my ear. 'Ho, ho,' said I, 'there you go, my boys;' and I hurried up the glen. I soon started them, and, singling out a fat pig, ran tilt at him, In a few seconds I was up with him, and stuck my spear right through his dumpy body. Just as I did so, I saw that we were on the edge of a precipice, whether high or low I knew not; but I had been running at such a pace that I could not stop, so the pig and I gave a howl in concert and went plunging over together. I remembered nothing more after that, till I came to my senses and found you bathing my temples, and Ralph wringing his hands over me." But although Peterkin was often unfortunate in the way of getting tumbles, he was successful on the present occasion in hunting, and returned before evening with three very nice little hogs. I also was successful in my visit to the mud-flats, where I killed several ducks. So that, when we launched and loaded our boat at sunrise the following morning, we found our store of provisions to be more than sufficient. Part had been cooked the night before, and on taking note of the different items, we found the account to stand thus:-- 10 Bread-fruits (two baked, eight unbaked). 20 Yams (six roasted, the rest raw). 6 Taro roots. 50 Fine large plums. 6 Cocoa-nuts, ripe. 6 Ditto, green (for drinking). 4 Large ducks and two small ones (raw). 3 Cold roast pigs, with stuffing. I may here remark that the stuffing had been devised by Peterkin specially for the occasion. He kept the manner of its compounding a profound secret, so I cannot tell what it was; but I can say, with much confidence, that we found it to be atrociously bad, and, after the first tasting, scraped it carefully out and threw it overboard. We calculated that this supply would last us for several days; but we afterwards found that it was much more than we required, especially in regard to the cocoa-nuts, of which we found large supplies wherever we went. However, as Peterkin remarked, it was better to have too much than too little, as we knew not to what straits we might be put during our voyage. It was a very calm, sunny morning when we launched forth and rowed over the lagoon towards the outlet in the reef, and passed between the two green islets that guarded the entrance. We experienced some difficulty and no little danger in passing the surf of the breaker, and shipped a good deal of water in the attempt; but, once past the billow, we found ourselves floating placidly on the long oily swell that rose and fell slowly as it rolled over the wide ocean. Penguin Island lay on the other side of our own island at about a mile beyond the outer reef, and we calculated that it must be at least twenty miles distant by the way we should have to go. We might, indeed, have shortened the way by coasting round our island inside of the lagoon, and going out at the passage in the reef nearly opposite to Penguin Island; but we preferred to go by the open sea--first, because it was more adventurous, and, secondly, because we should have the pleasure of again feeling the motion of the deep, which we all loved very much, not being liable to sea-sickness. "I wish we had a breeze," said Jack. "So do I," cried Peterkin, resting on his oar and wiping his heated brow; "pulling is hard work. Oh dear, if we could only catch a hundred or two of these gulls, tie them to the boat with long strings, and make them fly as we want them, how capital it would be!" "Or bore a hole through a shark's tail, and reeve a rope through it, eh?" remarked Jack. "But I say, it seems that my wish is going to be granted, for here comes a breeze. Ship your oar, Peterkin. Up with the mast, Ralph; I'll see to the sail. Mind your helm; look out for squalls!" This last speech was caused by the sudden appearance of a dark-blue line on the horizon, which, in an incredibly short space of time, swept down on us, lashing up the sea in white foam as it went. We presented the stern of the boat to its first violence, and in a few seconds it moderated into a steady breeze, to which we spread our sail and flew merrily over the waves. Although the breeze died away soon afterwards, it had been so stiff while it lasted that we were carried over the greater part of our way before it fell calm again; so that, when the flapping of the sail against the mast told us that it was time to resume the oars, we were not much more than a mile from Penguin Island. "There go the soldiers!" cried Peterkin, as we came in sight of it; "how spruce their white trousers look this morning! I wonder if they will receive us kindly. D'you think they are hospitable, Jack?" "Don't talk, Peterkin, but pull away, and you shall see shortly." As we drew near to the island we were much amused by the manoeuvres and appearance of these strange birds. They seemed to be of different species, for some had crests on their heads while others had none, and while some were about the size of a goose, others appeared nearly as large as a swan. We also saw a huge albatross soaring above the heads of the penguins. It was followed and surrounded by numerous flocks of sea-gulls. Having approached to within a few yards of the island, which was a low rock, with no other vegetation on it than a few bushes, we lay on our oars and gazed at the birds with surprise and pleasure, they returning our gaze with interest. We now saw that their soldier-like appearance was owing to the stiff, erect manner in which they sat on their short legs--"bolt-upright," as Peterkin expressed it. They had black heads, long sharp beaks, white breasts, and bluish backs. Their wings were so short that they looked more like the fins of a fish, and, indeed, we soon saw that they used them for the purpose of swimming under water. There were no quills on these wings, but a sort of scaly feathers, which also thickly covered their bodies. Their legs were short, and placed so far back that the birds, while on land, were obliged to stand quite upright in order to keep their balance; but in the water they floated like other waterfowl. At first we were so stunned with the clamour which they and other sea-birds kept up around us, that we knew not which way to look--for they covered the rocks in thousands; but, as we continued to gaze, we observed several quadrupeds (as we thought) walking in the midst of the penguins. "Pull in a bit," cried Peterkin, "and let's see what these are. They must be fond of noisy company, to consort with such creatures." To our surprise, we found that these were no other than penguins which had gone down on all fours, and were crawling among the bushes on their feet and wings, just like quadrupeds. Suddenly one big old bird, that had been sitting on a point very near to us, gazing in mute astonishment, became alarmed, and, scuttling down the rocks, plumped or fell, rather than ran, into the sea. It dived in a moment, and, a few seconds afterwards, came out of the water far ahead, with such a spring, and such a dive back into the sea again, that we could scarcely believe it was not a fish that had leaped in sport. "That beats everything," said Peterkin, rubbing his nose, and screwing up his face with an expression of exasperated amazement. "I've heard of a thing being neither fish, flesh, nor fowl, but I never did expect to live to see a brute that was all three together--at once--in one! But look there!" he continued--pointing with a look of resignation to the shore--"look there! there's no end to it. What _has_ that brute got under its tail?" We turned to look in the direction pointed out, and there saw a penguin walking slowly and very sedately along the shore with an egg under its tail. There were several others, we observed, burdened in the same way; and we found afterwards that these were a species of penguin that always carried their eggs so. Indeed, they had a most convenient cavity for the purpose, just between the tail and the legs. We were very much impressed with the regularity and order of this colony. The island seemed to be apportioned out into squares, of which each penguin possessed one, and sat in stiff solemnity in the middle of it, or took a slow march up and down the spaces between. Some were hatching their eggs, but others were feeding their young ones in a manner that caused us to laugh not a little. The mother stood on a mound or raised rock, while the young one stood patiently below her on the ground. Suddenly the mother raised her head and uttered a series of the most discordant cackling sounds. "She's going to choke," cried Peterkin. But this was not the case, although, I confess, she looked like it. In a few seconds she put down her head and opened her mouth, into which the young one thrust its beak and seemed to suck something from her throat. Then the cackling was renewed, the sucking continued, and so the operation of feeding was carried on till the young one was satisfied; but what she fed her little one with we could not tell. "Now, just look yonder!" said Peterkin in an excited tone; "if that isn't the most abominable piece of maternal deception I ever saw! That rascally old lady penguin has just pitched her young one into the sea, and there's another about to follow her example." This indeed seemed to be the case, for on the top of a steep rock close to the edge of the sea we observed an old penguin endeavouring to entice her young one into the water; but the young one seemed very unwilling to go, and, notwithstanding the enticements of its mother, moved very slowly towards her. At last she went gently behind the young bird and pushed it a little towards the water, but with great tenderness, as much as to say, "Don't be afraid, darling; I won't hurt you, my pet!" but no sooner did she get it to the edge of the rock, where it stood looking pensively down at the sea, than she gave it a sudden and violent push, sending it headlong down the slope into the water, where its mother left it to scramble ashore as it best could. We observed many of them employed in doing this, and we came to the conclusion that this is the way in which old penguins teach their children to swim. Scarcely had we finished making our remarks on this, when we were startled by about a dozen of the old birds hopping in the most clumsy and ludicrous manner towards the sea. The beach here was a sloping rock, and when they came to it some of them succeeded in hopping down in safety, but others lost their balance, and rolled and scrambled down the slope in the most helpless manner. The instant they reached the water, however, they seemed to be in their proper element. They dived and bounded out of it and into it again with the utmost agility; and so, diving and bounding and sputtering--for they could not fly--they went rapidly out to sea. On seeing this, Peterkin turned with a grave face to us and said: "It's my opinion that these birds are all stark, staring mad, and that this is an enchanted island. I therefore propose that we should either put about ship and fly in terror from the spot, or land valorously on the island, and sell our lives as dearly as we can." "I vote for landing; so pull in, lads," said Jack, giving a stroke with his oar that made the boat spin. In a few seconds we ran the boat into a little creek, where we made her fast to a projecting piece of coral, and running up the beach, entered the ranks of the penguins armed with our cudgels and our spear. We were greatly surprised to find that, instead of attacking us or showing signs of fear at our approach, these curious birds did not move from their places until we laid hands on them, and merely turned their eyes on us in solemn, stupid wonder as we passed. There was one old penguin, however, that began to walk slowly towards the sea, and Peterkin took it into his head that he would try to interrupt its progress, so he ran between it and the sea and brandished his cudgel in its face. But this proved to be a resolute old bird. It would not retreat; nay, more, it would not cease to advance, but battled with Peterkin bravely and drove him before it until it reached the sea. Had Peterkin used his club he could easily have felled it, no doubt; but as he had no wish to do so cruel an act merely out of sport, he let the bird escape. We spent fully three hours on this island in watching the habit of these curious birds, but when we finally left them, we all three concluded, after much consultation, that they were the most wonderful creatures we had ever seen; and further, we thought it probable that they were the most wonderful creatures in the world! Chapter XVIII An awful storm and its consequences--Narrow escape--A rock proves a sure foundation--A fearful night and a bright morning--Deliverance from danger. It was evening before we left the island of the penguins. As we had made up our minds to encamp for the night on a small island, whereon grew a few cocoa-nut trees, which was about two miles off, we lay to our oars with some energy. But a danger was in store for us which we had not anticipated. The wind which had carried us so quickly to Penguin Island freshened as evening drew on to a stiff breeze, and before we had made half the distance to the small island, it became a regular gale. Although it was not so directly against us as to prevent our rowing in the course we wished to go, yet it checked us very much; and although the force of the sea was somewhat broken by the island, the waves soon began to rise, and to roll their broken crests against our small craft, so that she began to take in water, and we had much ado to keep ourselves afloat. At last the wind and sea together became so violent that we found it impossible to make the island, so Jack suddenly put the head of the boat round and ordered Peterkin and me to hoist a corner of the sail, intending to run back to Penguin Island. "We shall at least have the shelter of the bushes," he said, as the boat flew before the wind, "and the penguins will keep us company." As Jack spoke, the wind suddenly shifted, and blew so much against us that we were forced to hoist more of the sail in order to beat up for the island, being by this change thrown much to leeward of it. What made matters worse was that the gale came in squalls, so that we were more than once nearly upset. "Stand by, both of you," cried Jack in a quick, earnest tone; "be ready to douse the sail. I very much fear we won't make the island after all." Peterkin and I were so much in the habit of trusting everything to Jack that we had fallen into the way of not considering things, especially such things as were under Jack's care. We had, therefore, never doubted for a moment that all was going well, so that it was with no little anxiety that we heard him make the above remark. However, we had no time for question or surmise, for at the moment he spoke a heavy squall was bearing down upon us; and as we were then flying with our lee gunwale dipping occasionally under the waves, it was evident that we should have to lower our sail altogether. In a few seconds the squall struck the boat, but Peterkin and I had the sail down in a moment, so that it did not upset us; but when it was past we were more than half full of water. This I soon baled out, while Peterkin again hoisted a corner of the sail; but the evil which Jack had feared came upon us. We found it quite impossible to make Penguin Island. The gale carried us quickly past it towards the open sea, and the terrible truth flashed upon us that we should be swept out and left to perish miserably in a small boat in the midst of the wide ocean. This idea was forced very strongly upon us because we saw nothing in the direction whither the wind was blowing us save the raging billows of the sea; and, indeed, we trembled as we gazed around us, for we were now beyond the shelter of the islands, and it seemed as though any of the huge billows, which curled over in masses of foam, might swallow us up in a moment. The water, also, began to wash in over our sides, and I had to keep constantly baling, for Jack could not quit the helm nor Peterkin the sail for an instant without endangering our lives. In the midst of this distress Jack uttered an exclamation of hope, and pointed towards a low island or rock which lay directly ahead. It had been hitherto unobserved, owing to the dark clouds that obscured the sky and the blinding spray that seemed to fill the whole atmosphere. As we neared this rock, we observed that it was quite destitute of trees and verdure, and so low that the sea broke completely over it. In fact, it was nothing more than the summit of one of the coral formations, which rose only a few feet above the level of the water, and was, in stormy weather, all but invisible. Over this island the waves were breaking in the utmost fury, and our hearts sank within us as we saw that there was not a spot where we could thrust our little boat without its being dashed to pieces. "Show a little bit more sail," cried Jack, as we swept past the weather side of the rock with fearful speed. "Ay, ay," answered Peterkin, hoisting about a foot more of our sail. Little though the addition was, it caused the boat to lie over and creak so loudly as we cleft the foaming waves, that I expected to be upset every instant; and I blamed Jack in my heart for his rashness. But I did him injustice, for although, during two seconds the water rushed inboard in a torrent, he succeeded in steering us sharply round to the leeward side of the rock, where the water was comparatively calm and the force of the breeze broken. "Out your oars now, lads! that's well done. Give way!" We obeyed instantly. The oars splashed into the waves together. One good, hearty pull, and we were floating in a comparatively calm creek that was so narrow as to be barely able to admit our boat. Here we were in perfect safety, and as we leaped on shore and fastened our cable to the rocks, I thanked God in my heart for our deliverance from so great danger. But although I have said we were now in safety, I suspect that few of my readers would have envied our position. It is true we had no lack of food, but we were drenched to the skin; the sea was foaming round us and the spray flying over our heads, so that we were completely enveloped, as it were, in water; the spot on which we had landed was not more than twelve yards in diameter, and from this spot we could not move without the risk of being swept away by the storm. At the upper end of the creek was a small hollow or cave in the rock, which sheltered us from the fury of the winds and waves; and as the rock extended in a sort of ledge over our heads, it prevented the spray from falling upon us. "Why," said Peterkin, beginning to feel cheery again, "it seems to me that we have got into a mermaid's cave; for there is nothing but water all round us, and as for earth and sky, they are things of the past." Peterkin's idea was not inappropriate, for what with the sea roaring in white foam up to our very feet, and the spray flying in white sheets continually over our heads, and the water dripping heavily from the ledge above like a curtain in front of our cave, it did seem to us very much more like being below than above water. "Now, boys," cried Jack, "bestir yourselves, and let's make ourselves comfortable.--Toss out our provisions, Peterkin: and here, Ralph, lend a hand to haul up the boat. Look sharp." "Ay, ay, captain," we cried, as we hastened to obey, much cheered by the hearty manner of our comrade. Fortunately the cave, although not very deep, was quite dry, so that we succeeded in making ourselves much more comfortable than could have been expected. We landed our provisions, wrung the water out of our garments, spread our sail below us for a carpet, and, after having eaten a hearty meal, began to feel quite cheerful. But as night drew on our spirits sank again, for with the daylight all evidence of our security vanished away. We could no longer see the firm rock on which we lay, while we were stunned with the violence of the tempest that raged around us. The night grew pitchy dark as it advanced, so that we could not see our hands when we held them up before our eyes, and were obliged to feel each other occasionally to make sure that we were safe, for the storm at last became so terrible that it was difficult to make our voices audible. A slight variation of the wind, as we supposed, caused a few drops of spray ever and anon to blow into our faces; and the eddy of the sea, in its mad boiling, washed up into our little creek until it reached our feet and threatened to tear away our boat. In order to prevent this latter calamity, we hauled the boat farther up and held the cable in our hands. Occasional flashes of lightning shone with a ghastly glare through the watery curtains around us, and lent additional horror to the scene. Yet we longed for those dismal flashes, for they were less appalling than the thick blackness that succeeded them. Crashing peals of thunder seemed to tear the skies in twain, and fell upon our ears through the wild yelling of the hurricane as if it had been but a gentle summer breeze; while the billows burst upon the weather side of the island until we fancied that the solid rock was giving way, and in our agony we clung to the bare ground, expecting every moment to be whirled away and whelmed in the black howling sea. Oh, it was a night of terrible anxiety! and no one can conceive the feelings of intense gratitude and relief with which we at last saw the dawn of day break through the vapoury mists around us. For three days and three nights we remained on this rock, while the storm continued to rage with unabated fury. On the morning of the fourth day it suddenly ceased, and the wind fell altogether; but the waves still ran so high that we did not dare to put off in our boat. During the greater part of this period we scarcely slept above a few minutes at a time, but on the third night we slept soundly, and awoke early on the fourth morning to find the sea very much down, and the sun shining brightly again in the clear blue sky. It was with light hearts that we launched forth once more in our little boat and steered away for our island home, which, we were overjoyed to find, was quite visible on the horizon, for we had feared that we had been blown out of sight of it altogether. As it was a dead calm, we had to row during the greater part of the day; but towards the afternoon a fair breeze sprang up, which enabled us to hoist our sail. We soon passed Penguin Island and the other island which we had failed to reach on the day the storm commenced; but as we had still enough of provisions, and were anxious to get home, we did not land, to the great disappointment of Peterkin, who seemed to entertain quite an affection for the penguins. Although the breeze was pretty fresh for several hours, we did not reach the outer reef of our island till nightfall, and before we had sailed more than a hundred yards into the lagoon, the wind died away altogether, so that we had to take to our oars again. It was late, and the moon and stars were shining brightly, when we arrived opposite the bower and leaped upon the strand. So glad were we to be safe back again on our beloved island, that we scarcely took time to drag the boat a short way up the beach, and then ran up to see that all was right at the bower. I must confess, however, that my joy was mingled with a vague sort of fear lest our home had been visited and destroyed during our absence; but on reaching it we found everything just as it had been left, and the poor black cat curled up, sound asleep, on the coral table in front of our humble dwelling. Chapter XIX Shoemaking--The even tenor of our way suddenly interrupted--An unexpected visit and an appalling battle--We all become warriors, and Jack proves himself to be a hero. For many months after this we continued to live on our island in uninterrupted harmony and happiness. Sometimes we went out a-fishing in the lagoon, and sometimes went a-hunting in the woods, or ascended to the mountain-top, by way of variety, although Peterkin always asserted that we went for the purpose of hailing any ship that might chance to heave in sight. But I am certain that none of us wished to be delivered from our captivity, for we were extremely happy; and Peterkin used to say that, as we were very young, we should not feel the loss of a year or two. Peterkin, as I have said before, was thirteen years of age, Jack eighteen, and I fifteen. But Jack was very tall, strong, and manly for his age, and might easily have been mistaken for twenty. The climate was so beautiful that it seemed to be a perpetual summer, and as many of the fruit-trees continued to bear fruit and blossom all the year round, we never wanted for a plentiful supply of food. The hogs, too, seemed rather to increase than diminish, although Peterkin was very frequent in his attacks on them with his spear. If at any time we failed in finding a drove, we had only to pay a visit to the plum tree before mentioned, where we always found a large family of them asleep under its branches. We employed ourselves very busily during this time in making various garments of cocoa-nut cloth, as those with which we had landed were beginning to be very ragged. Peterkin also succeeded in making excellent shoes out of the skin of the old hog, in the following manner. He first cut a piece of the hide, of an oblong form, a few inches longer than his foot. This he soaked in water, and while it was wet he sewed up one end of it, so as to form a rough imitation of that part of the heel of a shoe where the seam is. This done, he bored a row of holes all round the edge of the piece of skin, through which a tough line was passed. Into the sewed-up part of this shoe he thrust his heel; then, drawing the string tight, the edges rose up and overlapped his foot all round. It is true there were a great many ill-looking puckers in these shoes; but we found them very serviceable notwithstanding, and Jack came at last to prefer them to his long boots. We also made various other useful articles, which added to our comfort, and once or twice spoke of building us a house; but we had so great an affection for the bower, and withal found it so serviceable, that we determined not to leave it, nor to attempt the building of a house, which in such a climate might turn out to be rather disagreeable than useful. We often examined the pistol that we had found in the house on the other side of the island, and Peterkin wished much that we had powder and shot, as it would render pig-killing much easier; but, after all, we had become so expert in the use of our sling and bow and spear, that we were independent of more deadly weapons. Diving in the Water Garden also continued to afford us as much pleasure as ever; and Peterkin began to be a little more expert in the water from constant practice. As for Jack and me, we began to feel as if water were our native element, and revelled in it with so much confidence and comfort that Peterkin said he feared we would turn into fish some day and swim off and leave him, adding that he had been for a long time observing that Jack was becoming more and more like a shark every day. Whereupon Jack remarked that if he, Peterkin, were changed into a fish, he would certainly turn into nothing better or bigger than a shrimp. Poor Peterkin did not envy us our delightful excursions under water, except, indeed, when Jack would dive down to the bottom of the Water Garden, sit down on a rock, and look up and make faces at him. Peterkin did feel envious then, and often said he would give anything to be able to do that. I was much amused when Peterkin said this; for if he could only have seen his own face when he happened to take a short dive, he would have seen that Jack's was far surpassed by it: the great difference being, however, that Jack made faces on purpose--Peterkin couldn't help it! Now, while we were engaged with these occupations and amusements, an event occurred one day which was as unexpected as it was exceedingly alarming and very horrible. Jack and I were sitting, as we were often wont to do, on the rocks at Spouting Cliff, and Peterkin was wringing the water from his garments, having recently fallen by accident into the sea--a thing he was constantly doing--when our attention was suddenly arrested by two objects which appeared on the horizon. "What are yon, think you?" I said, addressing Jack. "I can't imagine," answered he. "I've noticed them for some time, and fancied they were black sea-gulls, but the more I look at them the more I feel convinced they are much larger than gulls." "They seem to be coming towards us," said I. "Hallo! what's wrong?" inquired Peterkin, coming up. "Look there," said Jack. "Whales!" cried Peterkin, shading his eyes with his hand. "No--eh--_can_ they be boats, Jack?" Our hearts beat with excitement at the very thought of seeing human faces again. "I think you are about right, Peterkin. But they seem to me to move strangely for boats," said Jack in a low tone, as if he were talking to himself. I noticed that a shade of anxiety crossed Jack's countenance as he gazed long and intently at the two objects, which were now nearing us fast. At last he sprang to his feet. "They are canoes, Ralph! Whether war-canoes or not I cannot tell; but this I know, that all the natives of the South Sea Islands are fierce cannibals, and they have little respect for strangers. We must hide if they land here, which I earnestly hope they will not do." I was greatly alarmed at Jack's speech, but I confess I thought less of what he said than of the earnest, anxious manner in which he said it; and it was with very uncomfortable feelings that Peterkin and I followed him quickly into the woods. "How unfortunate," said I, as we gained the shelter of the bushes, "that we have forgotten our arms!" "It matters not," said Jack; "here are clubs enough and to spare." As he spoke, he laid his hand on a bundle of stout poles of various sizes, which Peterkin's ever-busy hands had formed during our frequent visits to the cliff, for no other purpose, apparently, than that of having something to do. We each selected a stout club according to our several tastes, and lay down behind a rock, whence we could see the canoes approach, without ourselves being seen. At first we made an occasional remark on their appearance, but after they entered the lagoon, and drew near the beach, we ceased to speak, and gazed with intense interest at the scene before us. We now observed that the foremost canoe was being chased by the other, and that it contained a few women and children, as well as men--perhaps forty souls altogether; while the canoe which pursued it contained only men. They seemed to be about the same in number, but were better armed, and had the appearance of being a war-party. Both crews were paddling with all their might, and it seemed as if the pursuers exerted themselves to overtake the fugitives ere they could land. In this, however, they failed. The foremost canoe made for the beach close beneath the rocks behind which we were concealed. Their short paddles flashed like meteors in the water, and sent up a constant shower of spray. The foam curled from the prow, and the eyes of the rowers glistened in their black faces, as they strained every muscle of their naked bodies; nor did they relax their efforts till the canoe struck the beach with a violent shock, then with a shout of defiance the whole party sprang, as if by magic, from the canoe to the shore. Three women, two of whom carried infants in their arms, rushed into the woods; and the men crowded to the water's edge, with stones in their hands, spears levelled, and clubs brandished, to resist the landing of their enemies. The distance between the two canoes had been about half a mile, and, at the great speed they were going, this was soon passed. As the pursuers neared the shore, no sign of fear or hesitation was noticeable. On they came like a wild charger--received but recked not of a shower of stones. The canoe struck, and with a yell that seemed to issue from the throats of incarnate fiends, they leaped into the water, and drove their enemies up the beach. The battle that immediately ensued was frightful to behold. Most of the men wielded clubs of enormous size and curious shapes, with which they dashed out each other's brains. As they were almost entirely naked, and had to bound, stoop, leap, and run in their terrible hand-to-hand encounters, they looked more like demons than human beings. I felt my heart grow sick at the sight of this bloody battle, and would fain have turned away, but a species of fascination seemed to hold me down and glue my eyes upon the combatants. I observed that the attacking party was led by a most extraordinary being, who, from his size and peculiarity, I concluded was a chief. His hair was frizzed out to an enormous extent, so that it resembled a large turban. It was of a light-yellow hue, which surprised me much, for the man's body was as black as coal, and I felt convinced that the hair must have been dyed. He was tattooed from head to foot, and his face, besides being tattooed, was besmeared with red paint, and streaked with white. Altogether, with his yellow, turban-like hair, his Herculean black frame, his glittering eyes and white teeth, he seemed the most terrible monster I ever beheld. He was very active in the fight, and had already killed four men. Suddenly the yellow-haired chief was attacked by a man quite as strong and large as himself. He flourished a heavy club something like an eagle's beak at the point. For a second or two these giants eyed each other warily, moving round and round, as if to catch each other at a disadvantage; but seeing that nothing was to be gained by this caution, and that the loss of time might effectually turn the tide of battle either way, they apparently made up their minds to attack at the same instant, for, with a wild shout and simultaneous spring, they swung their heavy clubs, which met with a loud report. Suddenly the yellow-haired savage tripped, his enemy sprang forward, the ponderous club was swung, but it did not descend, for at that moment the savage was felled to the ground by a stone from the hand of one who had witnessed his chief's danger. This was the turning-point in the battle. The savages who landed first turned and fled towards the bush, on seeing the fall of their chief. But not one escaped. They were all overtaken and felled to the earth. I saw, however, that they were not all killed. Indeed, their enemies, now that they were conquered, seemed anxious to take them alive; and they succeeded in securing fifteen, whom they bound hand and foot with cords, and carrying them up into the woods, laid them down among the bushes. Here they left them, for what purpose I knew not, and returned to the scene of the late battle, where the remnant of the party were bathing their wounds. Out of the forty blacks that composed the attacking party, only twenty-eight remained alive, two of whom were sent into the bush to hunt for the women and children. Of the other party, as I have said, only fifteen survived, and these were lying bound and helpless on the grass. Jack and Peterkin and I now looked at each other, and whispered our fears that the savages might clamber up the rocks to search for fresh water, and so discover our place of concealment; but we were so much interested in watching their movements that we agreed to remain where we were--and, indeed, we could not easily have risen without exposing ourselves to detection. One of the savages now went up to the wood, and soon returned with a bundle of firewood, and we were not a little surprised to see him set fire to it by the very same means used by Jack the time we made our first fire--namely, with the bow and drill. When the fire was kindled, two of the party went again to the woods and returned with one of the bound men. A dreadful feeling of horror crept over my heart as the thought flashed upon me that they were going to burn their enemies. As they bore him to the fire my feelings almost overpowered me. I gasped for breath, and seizing my club, endeavoured to spring to my feet; but Jack's powerful arm pinned me to the earth. Next moment one of the savages raised his club, and fractured the wretched creature's skull. He must have died instantly; and, strange though it may seem, I confess to a feeling of relief when the deed was done, because I now knew that the poor savage could not be burned alive. Scarcely had his limbs ceased to quiver when the monsters cut slices of flesh from his body, and, after roasting them slightly over the fire, devoured them. Suddenly there arose a cry from the woods, and in a few seconds the two savages hastened towards the fire dragging the three women and their two infants along with them. One of those women was much younger than her companions, and we were struck with the modesty of her demeanour and the gentle expression of her face, which, although she had the flattish nose and thick lips of the others, was of a light-brown colour, and we conjectured that she must be of a different race. She and her companions wore short petticoats and a kind of tippet on their shoulders. Their hair was jet black, but instead of being long, was short and curly--though not woolly--somewhat like the hair of a young boy. While we gazed with interest and some anxiety at these poor creatures, the big chief advanced to one of the elder females and laid his hand upon the child. But the mother shrank from him, and clasping the little one to her bosom, uttered a wail of fear. With a savage laugh, the chief tore the child from her arms and tossed it into the sea. A low groan burst from Jack's lips as he witnessed this atrocious act and heard the mother's shriek, as she fell insensible on the sand. The rippling waves rolled the child on the beach, as if they refused to be a party in such a foul murder, and we could observe that the little one still lived. The young girl was now brought forward, and the chief addressed her; but although we heard his voice and even the words distinctly, of course we could not understand what he said. The girl made no answer to his fierce questions, and we saw by the way in which he pointed to the fire that he threatened her life. "Peterkin," said Jack in a hoarse whisper, "have you got your knife?" "Yes," replied Peterkin, whose face was pale as death. "That will do. Listen to me, and do my bidding quick.--Here is the small knife, Ralph.--Fly both of you through the bush, cut the cords that bind the prisoners, and set them free. There! quick, ere it be too late." Jack sprang up, and seized a heavy but short bludgeon, while his strong frame trembled with emotion, and large drops rolled down his forehead. At this moment the man who had butchered the savage a few minutes before advanced towards the girl with his heavy club. Jack uttered a yell that rang like a death-shriek among the rocks. With one bound he leaped over a precipice full fifteen feet high, and before the savages had recovered from their surprise, was in the midst of them; while Peterkin and I dashed through the bushes towards the prisoners. With one blow of his staff Jack felled the man with the club; then, turning round with a look of fury, he rushed upon the big chief with the yellow hair. Had the blow which Jack aimed at his head taken effect, the huge savage would have needed no second stroke; but he was agile as a cat, and avoided it by springing to one side, while at the same time he swung his ponderous club at the head of his foe. It was now Jack's turn to leap aside, and well was it for him that the first outburst of his blind fury was over, else he had become an easy prey to his gigantic antagonist; but Jack was cool now. He darted his blows rapidly and well, and the superiority of his light weapon was strikingly proved in this combat; for while he could easily evade the blows of the chiefs heavy club, the chief could not so easily evade those of his light one. Nevertheless, so quick was he, and so frightfully did he fling about the mighty weapon, that although Jack struck him almost every blow, the strokes had to be delivered so quickly that they wanted force to be very effectual. It was lucky for Jack that the other savages considered the success of their chief in this encounter to be so certain that they refrained from interfering. Had they doubted it, they would have probably ended the matter at once by felling him. But they contented themselves with awaiting the issue. The force which the chief expended in wielding his club now began to be apparent. His movements became slower, his breath hissed through his clinched teeth, and the surprised savages drew nearer in order to render assistance. Jack observed this movement. He felt that his fate was sealed, and resolved to cast his life upon the next blow. The chiefs club was again about to descend on his head. He might have evaded it easily, but instead of doing so, he suddenly shortened his grasp of his own club, rushed in under the blow, struck his adversary right between the eyes with all his force, and fell to the earth, crushed beneath the senseless body of the chief. A dozen clubs flew high in air, ready to descend on the head of Jack; but they hesitated a moment, for the massive body of the chief completely covered him. That moment saved his life. Ere the savages could tear the chief's body away, seven of their number fell prostrate beneath the clubs of the prisoners whom Peterkin and I had set free, and two others fell under our own hand. We could never have accomplished this had not our enemies been so engrossed with the fight between Jack and their chief that they had failed to observe us until we were upon them. They still outnumbered our party by three; but we were flushed with victory, while they were taken by surprise and dispirited by the fall of their chief. Moreover, they were awe-struck by the sweeping fury of Jack, who seemed to have lost his senses altogether, and had no sooner shaken himself free of the chief's body than he rushed into the midst of them, and in three blows equalised our numbers. Peterkin and I flew to the rescue, the savages followed us, and in less than ten minutes the whole of our opponents were knocked down or made prisoners, bound hand and foot, and extended side by side upon the sea-shore. Chapter XX Intercourse with the savages--Cannibalism prevented--The slain are buried and the survivors depart, leaving us again alone on our Coral Island. After the battle was over, the savages crowded round us and gazed at us in surprise, while they continued to pour upon us a flood of questions, which, being wholly unintelligible, of course we could not answer. However, by way of putting an end to it, Jack took the chief (who had recovered from the effects of his wound) by the hand and shook it warmly. No sooner did the blacks see that this was meant to express good-will than they shook hands with us all round. After this ceremony was gone through, Jack went up to the girl, who had never once moved from the rock where she had been left, but had continued an eager spectator of all that had passed. He made signs to her to follow him, and then, taking the chief by the hand, was about to conduct him to the bower, when his eye fell on the poor infant which had been thrown into the sea and was still lying on the shore. Dropping the chief's hand, he hastened towards it, and, to his great joy, found it to be still alive. We also found that the mother was beginning to recover slowly. "Here, get out o' the way," said Jack, pushing us aside, as we stooped over the poor woman and endeavoured to restore her; "I'll soon bring her round." So saying, he placed the infant on her bosom and laid its warm cheek on hers. The effect was wonderful. The woman opened her eyes, felt the child, looked at it, and with a cry of joy clasped it in her arms, at the same time endeavouring to rise, for the purpose, apparently, of rushing into the woods. "There, that's all right," said Jack, once more taking the chief by the hand. "Now, Ralph and Peterkin, make the women and these fellows follow me to the bower. We'll entertain them as hospitably as we can." In a few minutes the savages were all seated on the ground in front of the bower making a hearty meal off a cold roast pig, several ducks, and a variety of cold fish, together with an unlimited supply of cocoa-nuts, breadfruits, yams, taro, and plums; with all of which they seemed to be quite familiar and perfectly satisfied. Meanwhile, we three, being thoroughly knocked up with our day's work, took a good draught of cocoa-nut lemonade, and, throwing ourselves on our beds, fell fast asleep. The savages, it seems, followed our example, and in half-an-hour the whole camp was buried in repose. How long we slept I cannot tell, but this I know, that when we lay down the sun was setting, and when we awoke it was high in the heavens. I awoke Jack, who started up in surprise, being unable at first to comprehend our situation. "Now then," said he, springing up, "let's see after breakfast. Hallo, Peterkin, lazy fellow! how long do you mean to lie there?" Peterkin yawned heavily. "Well," said he, opening his eyes and looking up after some trouble, "if it isn't to-morrow morning, and me thinking it was to-day all this time! Hallo, Venus, where did you come from? You seem tolerably at home, anyhow! Bah! might as well speak to the cat as to you--better, in fact, for it understands me, and you don't." This remark was called forth by the sight of one of the elderly females, who had seated herself on the rock in front of the bower, and having placed her child at her feet, was busily engaged in devouring the remains of a roast pig. By this time the natives outside were all astir, and breakfast in an advanced state of preparation. During the course of it we made sundry attempts to converse with the natives by signs, but without effect. At last we hit upon a plan of discovering their names. Jack pointed to his breast and said "Jack" very distinctly; then he pointed to Peterkin and to me, repeating our names at the same time. Then he pointed to himself again and said "Jack," and laying his finger on the breast of the chief, looked inquiringly into his face. The chief instantly understood him, and said "Tararo" twice distinctly. Jack repeated it after him, and the chief, nodding his head approvingly, said "Chuck," on hearing which Peterkin exploded with laughter; but Jack turned, and with a frown rebuked him, saying; "I must look even more indignantly at you than I feel, Peterkin, you rascal, for these fellows don't like to be laughed at." Then turning towards the youngest of the women, who was seated at the door of the bower, he pointed to her; whereupon the chief said "Avatea," and pointing towards the sun, raised his finger slowly towards the zenith, where it remained steadily for a minute or two. "What can that mean, I wonder?" said Jack, looking puzzled. "Perhaps," said Peterkin, "the chief means she is an angel come down to stay here for a while. If so, she's an uncommonly black one!" We did not feel quite satisfied with this explanation, so Jack went up to her and said "Avatea." The woman smiled sadly, and nodded her head, at the same time pointing to her breast and then to the sun, in the same manner as the chief had done. We were much puzzled to know what this could signify, but as there was no way of solving our difficulty we were obliged to rest content. Jack now made signs to the natives to follow him, and taking up his axe, he led them to a place where the battle had been fought. Here we found the prisoners, who had passed the night on the beach, having been totally forgotten by us, as our minds had been full of our guests, and were ultimately overcome by sleep. They did not seem the worse for their exposure, however, as we judged by the hearty appetite with which they devoured the breakfast that was soon after given to them. Jack then began to dig a hole in the sand, and after working a few seconds, he pointed to it and to the dead bodies that lay exposed on the beach. The natives immediately perceived what he wanted, and running for their paddles, dug a hole in the course of half-an-hour that was quite large enough to contain all the bodies of the slain. When it was finished they tossed their dead enemies into it with so much indifference that we felt assured they would not have put themselves to this trouble had we not asked them to do so. The body of the yellow-haired chief was the last thrown in. This wretched man would have recovered from the blow with which Jack felled him, and, indeed, he did endeavour to rise during the _mêlée_ that followed his fall; but one of his enemies, happening to notice the action, dealt him a blow with his club that killed him on the spot. While they were about to throw the sand over this chief, one of the savages stooped over him, and with a knife, made apparently of stone, cut a large slice of flesh from his thigh. We knew at once that he intended to make use of this for food, and could not repress a cry of horror and disgust. "Come, come, you blackguard!" cried Jack, starting up and seizing the man by the arm, "pitch that into the hole. Do you hear?" The savage, of course, did not understand the command, but he perfectly understood the look of disgust with which Jack regarded the flesh, and his fierce gaze as he pointed towards the hole. Nevertheless, he did not obey. Jack instantly turned to Tararo and made signs to him to enforce obedience. The chief seemed to understand the appeal, for he stepped forward, raised his club, and was on the point of dashing out the brains of his offending subject, when Jack sprang forward and caught his uplifted arm. "Stop," he shouted, "you blockhead! I don't want you to kill the man." He then pointed again to the flesh and to the hole. The chief uttered a few words, which had the desired effect; for the man threw the flesh into the hole, which was immediately filled up. This man was of a morose, sulky disposition, and during all the time he remained on the island, regarded us, especially Jack, with a scowling visage. His name, we found, was Mahine. The next three or four days were spent by the savages in mending their canoe, which had been damaged by the violent shock it had sustained on striking the shore. This canoe was a very curious structure. It was about thirty feet long, and had a high, towering stern. The timbers of which it was partly composed, were fastened much in the same way as those of our little boat were put together; but the part that seemed most curious to us was a sort of outrigger, or long plank, which was attached to the body of the canoe by means of two stout cross-beams. These beams kept the plank parallel with the canoe, but not in contact with it, for it floated in the water with an open space between; thus forming a sort of double canoe. This we found was intended to prevent the upsetting of the canoe, which was so narrow that it could not have maintained an upright position without the outrigger. We could not help wondering both at the ingenuity and the clumsiness of this contrivance. When the canoe was ready, we assisted the natives to carry the prisoners into it, and helped them to load it with provisions and fruit. Peterkin also went to the plum tree for the purpose of making a special onslaught upon the hogs, and killed no less than six of them. These we baked and presented to our friends on the day of their departure. On that day Tararo made a great many energetic signs to us, which, after much consideration, we came to understand were proposals that we should go away with him to his island; but having no desire to do so, we shook our heads very decidedly. However, we consoled him by presenting him with our rusty axe, which we thought we could spare, having the excellent one which had been so providentially washed ashore to us the day we were wrecked. We also gave him a piece of wood with our names carved on it, and a piece of string to hang it round his neck as an ornament. In a few minutes more we were all assembled on the beach. Being unable to speak to the savages, we went through the ceremony of shaking hands, and expected they would depart; but before doing so, Tararo went up to Jack and rubbed noses with him, after which he did the same with Peterkin and me! Seeing that this was their mode of salutation, we determined to conform to their custom, so we rubbed noses heartily with the whole party, women and all! The only disagreeable part of the process was when we came to rub noses with Mahine, and Peterkin afterwards said that when he saw his wolfish eyes glaring so close to his face, he felt much more inclined to _bang_ than to _rub_ his nose. Avatea was the last to take leave of us, and we experienced a feeling of real sorrow when she approached to bid us farewell. Besides her modest air and gentle manners, she was the only one of the party who exhibited the smallest sign of regret at parting from us. Going up to Jack, she put out her flat little nose to be rubbed, and thereafter paid the same compliment to Peterkin and me. An hour later the canoe was out of sight, and we, with an indefinable feeling of sadness creeping round our hearts, were seated in silence beneath the shadow of our bower, meditating on the wonderful events of the last few days. Chapter XXI Sagacious and moral remarks in regard to life--A sail!--An unexpected salute--The end of the black cat--A terrible dive--An incautious proceeding and a frightful catastrophe. Life is a strange compound. Peterkin used to say of it that it beat a druggist's shop all to sticks; for whereas the first is a compound of good and bad, the other is a horrible compound of all that is utterly detestable. And indeed the more I consider it the more I am struck with the strange mixture of good and evil that exists not only in the material earth but in our own natures. In our own Coral Island we had experienced every variety of good that a bountiful Creator could heap on us. Yet on the night of the storm we had seen how almost, in our case--and altogether, no doubt, in the case of others less fortunate--all this good might be swept away for ever. We had seen the rich fruit-trees waving in the soft air, the tender herbs shooting upwards under the benign influence of the bright sun; and the next day we had seen these good and beautiful trees and plants uprooted by the hurricane, crushed and hurled to the ground in destructive devastation. We had lived for many months in a clime for the most part so beautiful that we had often wondered whether Adam and Eve had found Eden more sweet; and we had seen the quiet solitudes of our paradise suddenly broken in upon by ferocious savages, and the white sands stained with blood and strewed with lifeless forms; yet among these cannibals we had seen many symptoms of a kindly nature. I pondered these things much, and while I considered them there recurred to my memory those words which I had read in my Bible--"The works of God are wonderful, and His ways past finding out." After these poor savages had left us we used to hold long and frequent conversations about them, and I noticed that Peterkin's manner was now much altered. He did not, indeed, jest less heartily than before, but he did so less frequently, and often there was a tone of deep seriousness in his manner, if not in his words, which made him seem to Jack and me as if he had grown two years older within a few days. But indeed I was not surprised at this, when I reflected on the awful realities which we had witnessed so lately. We could by no means shake off a tendency to gloom for several weeks afterwards; but as time wore away our usual good spirits returned somewhat, and we began to think of the visit of the savages with feelings akin to those with which we recall a terrible dream. One day we were all enjoying ourselves in the Water Garden, preparatory to going on a fishing excursion; for Peterkin had kept us in such constant supply of hogs that we had become quite tired of pork, and desired a change. Peterkin was sunning himself on the ledge of rock, while we were creeping among the rocks below. Happening to look up, I observed Peterkin cutting the most extraordinary capers and making violent gesticulations for us to come up; so I gave Jack a push and rose immediately. "A sail! a sail!--Ralph, look; Jack, away on the horizon there, just over the entrance to the lagoon!" cried Peterkin, as we scrambled up the rocks. "So it is, and a schooner, too!" said Jack, as he proceeded hastily to dress. Our hearts were thrown into a terrible flutter by this discovery, for if it should touch at our island we had no doubt the captain would be happy to give us a passage to some of the civilised islands, where we could find a ship sailing for England, or some other part of Europe. Home, with all its associations, rushed in upon my heart like a flood; and much though I loved the Coral Island and the bower, which had now been our home so long, I felt that I could have quitted all at that moment without a sigh. With joyful anticipations we hastened to the highest point of rock near our dwelling, and awaited the arrival of the vessel; for we now perceived that she was making straight for the island, under a steady breeze. In less than an hour she was close to the reef, where she rounded to and backed her topsails, in order to survey the coast. Seeing this, and fearing that they might not perceive us, we all three waved pieces of cocoa-nut cloth in the air, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing them beginning to lower a boat and bustle about the decks as if they meant to land. Suddenly a flag was run up to the peak, a little cloud of white smoke rose from the schooner's side, and before we could guess their intentions, a cannon-shot came crashing through the bushes, carried away several cocoa-nut trees in its passage, and burst in atoms against the cliff a few yards below the spot on which we stood. With feelings of terror we now observed that the flag at the schooner's peak was black, with a Death's-head and cross-bones upon it. As we gazed at each other in blank amazement, the word "pirate" escaped our lips simultaneously. "What is to be done?" cried Peterkin, as we observed a boat shoot from the vessel's side and make for the entrance of the reef. "If they take us off the island, it will either be to throw us overboard for sport, or to make pirates of us." I did not reply, but looked at Jack, as being our only resource in this emergency. He stood with folded arms, and his eyes fixed with a grave, anxious expression on the ground. "There is but one hope," said he, turning with a sad expression of countenance to Peterkin; "perhaps, after all, we may not have to resort to it. If these villains are anxious to take us, they will soon overrun the whole island. But come, follow me." Stopping abruptly in his speech, Jack bounded into the woods, and led us by a circuitous route to Spouting Cliff. Here he halted, and, advancing cautiously to the rocks, glanced over their edge. We were soon by his side, and saw the boat, which was crowded with armed men, just touching the shore. In an instant the crew landed, formed line, and rushed up to our bower. In a few seconds we saw them hurrying back to the boat, one of them swinging the poor cat round his head by the tail. On reaching the water's edge, he tossed it far into the sea, and joined his companions, who appeared to be holding a hasty council. "You see what we may expect," said Jack bitterly. "The man who will wantonly kill a poor brute for sport will think little of murdering a fellow-creature. Now, boys, we have but one chance left--the Diamond Cave." "The Diamond Cave!" cried Peterkin; "then my chance is a poor one, for I could not dive into it if all the pirates on the Pacific were at my heels." "Nay, but," said I, "we will take you down, Peterkin, if you will only trust us." As I spoke, we observed the pirates scatter over the beach, and radiate, as if from a centre, towards the woods and along shore. "Now, Peterkin," said Jack in a solemn tone, "you must make up your mind to do it, or we must make up our minds to die in your company." "O Jack, my dear friend," cried Peterkin, turning pale, "leave me; I don't believe they'll think it worth while to kill me. Go, you and Ralph, and dive into the cave." "That will not I," answered Jack quietly, while he picked up a stout cudgel from the ground.--"So now, Ralph, we must prepare to meet these fellows. Their motto is, 'No quarter.' If we can manage to floor those coming in this direction, we may escape into the woods for a while." "There are five of them," said I; "we have no chance." "Come, then," cried Peterkin, starting up, and grasping Jack convulsively by the arm, "let us dive; I will go." Those who are not naturally expert in the water know well the feelings of horror that overwhelm them, when in it, at the bare idea of being held down even for a few seconds--that spasmodic, involuntary recoil from compulsory immersion which has no connection whatever with cowardice; and they will understand the amount of resolution that it required in Peterkin to allow himself to be dragged down to a depth of ten feet, and then, through a narrow tunnel, into an almost pitch-dark cavern. But there was no alternative. The pirates had already caught sight of us, and were now within a short distance of the rocks. Jack and I seized Peterkin by the arms. "Now, keep quite still; no struggling," said Jack, "or we are lost." Peterkin made no reply, but the stern gravity of his marble features, and the tension of his muscles, satisfied us that he had fully made up his mind to go through with it. Just as the pirates gained the foot of the rocks, which hid us for a moment from their view, we bent over the sea, and plunged down together head foremost. Peterkin behaved like a hero. He floated passively between us like a log of wood, and we passed the tunnel and rose into the cave in a shorter space of time than I had ever done it before. Peterkin drew a long, deep breath on reaching the surface, and in a few seconds we were all standing on the ledge of rock in safety. Jack now searched for the tinder and torch which always lay in the cave. He soon found them, and, lighting the torch, revealed to Peterkin's wondering gaze the marvels of the place. But we were too wet to waste much time in looking about us. Our first care was to take off our clothes and wring them as dry as we could. This done, we proceeded to examine into the state of our larder, for, as Jack truly remarked, there was no knowing how long the pirates might remain on the island. "Perhaps," said Peterkin, "they may take it into their heads to stop here altogether, and so we shall be buried alive in this place." "Don't you think, Peterkin, that it's the nearest thing to being drowned alive that you ever felt?" said Jack with a smile. "But I have no fear of that. These villains never stay long on shore. The sea is their home, so you may depend upon it that they won't stay more than a day or two at the furthest." We now began to make arrangements for spending the night in the cavern. At various periods Jack and I had conveyed cocoa-nuts and other fruits, besides rolls of cocoa-nut cloth, to this submarine cave, partly for amusement, and partly from a feeling that we might possibly be driven one day to take shelter here from the savages. Little did we imagine that the first savages who would drive us into it would be white savages, perhaps our own countrymen. We found the cocoa-nuts in good condition, and the cooked yams, but the bread-fruits were spoiled. We also found the cloth where we had left it, and on opening it out there proved to be sufficient to make a bed; which was important, as the rock was damp. Having collected it all together, we spread out our bed, placed our torch in the midst of us, and ate our supper. It was indeed a strange chamber to feast in; and we could not help remarking on the cold, ghastly appearance of the walls, and the black water at our side, with the thick darkness beyond, and the sullen sound of the drops that fell at long intervals from the roof of the cavern into the still water, and the strong contrast between all this and our bed and supper, which, with our faces, were lit up with the deep red flame of the torch. We sat long over our meal, talking together in subdued voices, for we did not like the dismal echoes that rang through the vault above when we happened to raise them. At last the faint light that came through the opening died away, warning us that it was night and time for rest. We therefore put out our torch and lay down to sleep. On awaking, it was some time ere we could collect our faculties so as to remember where we were, and we were in much uncertainty as to whether it was early or late. We saw by the faint light that it was day, but could not guess at the hour; so Jack proposed that he should dive out and reconnoitre. "No, Jack," said I; "do you rest here. You've had enough to do during the last few days. Rest yourself now, and take care of Peterkin, while I go out to see what the pirates are about. I'll be very careful not to expose myself, and I'll bring you word again in a short time." "Very well, Ralph," answered Jack, "please yourself, but don't be long; and if you'll take my advice you'll go in your clothes, for I would like to have some fresh cocoa-nuts, and climbing trees without clothes is uncomfortable, to say the least of it." "The pirates will be sure to keep a sharp look-out," said Peterkin, "so, pray, be careful." "No fear," said I; "good-bye." "Good-bye," answered my comrades. And while the words were yet sounding in my ears, I plunged into the water, and in a few seconds found myself in the open air. On rising, I was careful to come up gently and to breathe softly, while I kept close in beside the rocks; but as I observed no one near me, I crept slowly out, and ascended the cliff a step at a time, till I obtained a full view of the shore. No pirates were to be seen--even their boat was gone; but as it was possible they might have hidden themselves, I did not venture too boldly forward. Then it occurred to me to look out to sea, when, to my surprise, I saw the pirate schooner sailing away almost hull down on the horizon! On seeing this I uttered a shout of joy. Then my first impulse was to dive back to tell my companions the good news; but I checked myself, and ran to the top of the cliff, in order to make sure that the vessel I saw was indeed the pirate schooner. I looked long and anxiously at her, and giving vent to a deep sigh of relief, said aloud, "Yes, there she goes; the villains have been balked of their prey this time at least." "Not so sure of that!" said a deep voice at my side, while at the same moment a heavy hand grasped my shoulder, and held it as if in a vice. Chapter XXII I fall into the hands of pirates--How they treated me, and what I said to them--The result of the whole ending in a melancholy separation and in a most unexpected gift. My heart seemed to leap into my throat at the words; and turning round, I beheld a man of immense stature and fierce aspect regarding me with a smile of contempt. He was a white man--that is to say, he was a man of European blood, though his face, from long exposure to the weather, was deeply bronzed. His dress was that of a common seaman, except that he had on a Greek skull-cap, and wore a broad shawl of the richest silk round his waist. In this shawl were placed two pairs of pistols and a heavy cutlass. He wore a beard and moustache, which, like the locks on his head, were short, curly, and sprinkled with grey hairs. "So, youngster," he said with a sardonic smile, while I felt his grasp tighten on my shoulder, "the villains have been balked of their prey, have they? We shall see, we shall see. Now, you whelp, look yonder." As he spoke, the pirate uttered a shrill whistle. In a second or two it was answered, and the pirate boat rowed round the point at the Water Garden, and came rapidly towards us. "Now, go, make a fire on that point; and hark'ee, youngster, if you try to run away, I'll send a quick and sure messenger after you," and he pointed significantly at his pistols. I obeyed in silence, and as I happened to have the burning-glass in my pocket, a fire was speedily kindled, and a thick smoke ascended into the air. It had scarcely appeared for two minutes when the boom of a gun rolled over the sea, and looking up, I saw that the schooner was making for the island again. It now flashed across me that this was a ruse on the part of the pirates, and that they had sent their vessel away, knowing that it would lead us to suppose that they had left altogether. But there was no use of regret now. I was completely in their power, so I stood helplessly beside the pirate watching the crew of the boat as they landed on the beach. For an instant I contemplated rushing over the cliff into the sea; but this I saw I could not now accomplish, as some of the men were already between me and the water. There was a good deal of jesting at the success of their scheme, as the crew ascended the rocks and addressed the man who had captured me by the title of captain. They were a ferocious set of men, with shaggy beards and scowling brows. All of them were armed with cutlasses and pistols, and their costumes were, with trifling variations, similar to that of the captain. As I looked from one to the other, and observed the low, scowling brows that never unbent, even when the men laughed, and the mean, rascally expression that sat on each face, I felt that my life hung by a hair. "But where are the other cubs?" cried one of the men, with an oath that made me shudder. "I'll swear to it there were three, at least, if not more." "You hear what he says, whelp: where are the other dogs?" said the captain. "If you mean my companions," said I in a low voice, "I won't tell you." A loud laugh burst from the crew at this answer. The pirate captain looked at me in surprise. Then drawing a pistol from his belt, he cocked it and said, "Now, youngster, listen to me. I've no time to waste here. If you don't tell me all you know, I'll blow your brains out! Where are your comrades?" For an instant I hesitated, not knowing what to do in this extremity. Suddenly a thought occurred to me. "Villain," said I, shaking my clenched fist in his face, "to blow my brains out would make short work of me, and be soon over; death by drowning is as sure, and the agony prolonged: yet I tell you to your face, if you were to toss me over yonder cliff into the sea, I would not tell you where my companions are, and I dare you to try me!" The pirate captain grew white with rage as I spoke. "Say you so?" cried he, uttering a fierce oath.--"Here, lads, take him by the legs and heave him in--quick!" The men, who were utterly silenced with surprise at my audacity, advanced and seized me, and as they carried me towards the cliff I congratulated myself not a little on the success of my scheme; for I knew that once in the water I should be safe, and could rejoin Jack and Peterkin in the cave. But my hopes were suddenly blasted by the captain crying out, "Hold on, lads, hold on! We'll give him a taste of the thumb-screws before throwing him to the sharks. Away with him into the boat. Look alive! the breeze is freshening." The men instantly raised me shoulder high, and hurrying down the rocks, tossed me into the bottom of the boat, where I lay for some time stunned with the violence of my fall. On recovering sufficiently to raise myself on my elbow, I perceived that we were already outside the coral reef, and close alongside the schooner, which was of small size and clipper built. I had only time to observe this much, when I received a severe kick on the side from one of the men, who ordered me, in a rough voice, to jump aboard. Rising hastily, I clambered up the side. In a few minutes the boat was hoisted on deck, the vessel's head put close to the wind, and the Coral Island dropped slowly astern as we beat up against a head sea. Immediately after coming aboard, the crew were too busily engaged in working the ship and getting in the boat to attend to me, so I remained leaning against the bulwarks close to the gangway, watching their operations. I was surprised to find that there were no guns or carronades of any kind in the vessel, which had more the appearance of a fast-sailing trader than a pirate. But I was struck with the neatness of everything. The brass work of the binnacle and about the tiller, as well as the copper belaying-pins, were as brightly polished as if they had just come from the foundry. The decks were pure white, and smooth. The masts were clean-scraped and varnished except at the cross-trees and truck, which were painted black. The standing and running rigging was in the most perfect order, and the sails white as snow. In short, everything, from the single narrow red stripe on her low, black hull to the trucks on her tapering masts, evinced an amount of care and strict discipline that would have done credit to a ship of the Royal Navy. There was nothing lumbering or unseemly about the vessel, excepting, perhaps, a boat, which lay on the deck with its keel up between the fore and main masts. It seemed disproportionately large for the schooner; but when I saw that the crew amounted to between thirty and forty men, I concluded that this boat was held in reserve in case of any accident compelling the crew to desert the vessel. As I have before said, the costumes of the men were similar to that of the captain. But in head-gear they differed not only from him but from each other, some wearing the ordinary straw hat of the merchant service, while others wore cloth caps and red worsted night-caps. I observed that all their arms were sent below, the captain only retaining his cutlass and a single pistol in the folds of his shawl. Although the captain was the tallest and most powerful man in the ship, he did not strikingly excel many of his men in this respect; and the only difference that an ordinary observer would have noticed was a certain degree of open candour, straightforward daring, in the bold, ferocious expression of his face, which rendered him less repulsive than his low-browed associates, but did not by any means induce the belief that he was a hero. This look was, however, the indication of that spirit which gave him the pre-eminence among the crew of desperadoes who called him captain. He was a lion-like villain, totally devoid of personal fear, and utterly reckless of consequences, and therefore a terror to his men, who individually hated him, but unitedly felt it to be to their advantage to have him at their head. But my thoughts soon reverted to the dear companions whom I had left on shore, and as I turned towards the Coral Island, which was now far away to leeward, I sighed deeply, and the tears polled slowly down my cheeks as I thought that I might never see them more. "So you're blubbering, are you, you obstinate whelp?" said the deep voice of the captain, as he came up and gave me a box on the ear that nearly felled me to the deck. "I don't allow any such weakness aboard o' this ship. So clap a stopper on your eyes, or I'll give you something to cry for." I flushed with indignation at this rough and cruel treatment, but felt that giving way to anger would only make matters worse, so I made no reply, but took out my handkerchief and dried my eyes. "I thought you were made of better stuff," continued the captain angrily. "I'd rather have a mad bulldog aboard than a water-eyed puppy. But I'll cure you, lad, or introduce you to the sharks before long. Now go below, and stay there till I call you." As I walked forward to obey, my eye fell on a small keg standing by the side of the main-mast, on which the word gunpowder was written in pencil. It immediately flashed across me that, as we were beating up against the wind, anything floating in the sea would be driven on the reef encircling the Coral Island. I also recollected--for thought is more rapid than the lightning--that my old companions had a pistol. Without a moment's hesitation, therefore, I lifted the keg from the deck and tossed it into the sea! An exclamation of surprise burst from the captain and some of the men who witnessed this act of mine. Striding up to me, and uttering fearful imprecations, the captain raised his hand to strike me, while he shouted, "Boy! whelp! what mean you by that?" "If you lower your hand," said I in a loud voice, while I felt the blood rush to my temples, "I'll tell you. Until you do so I'm dumb." The captain stepped back and regarded me with a look of amazement. "Now," continued I, "I threw that keg into the sea because the wind and waves will carry it to my friends on the Coral Island, who happen to have a pistol, but no powder. I hope that it will reach them soon; and my only regret is that the keg was not a bigger one. Moreover, pirate, you said just now that you thought I was made of better stuff. I don't know what stuff I am made of--I never thought much about that subject--but I'm quite certain of this, that I am made of such stuff as the like of you shall never tame, though you should do your worst." To my surprise the captain, instead of flying into a rage, smiled, and thrusting his hand into the voluminous shawl that encircled his waist, turned on his heel and walked aft, while I went below. Here, instead of being rudely handled, as I had expected, the men received me with a shout of laughter, and one of them, patting me on the back, said, "Well done, lad! you're a brick, and I have no doubt will turn out a rare cove. Bloody Bill there was just such a fellow as you are, and he's now the biggest cut-throat of us all." "Take a can of beer, lad," cried another, "and wet your whistle after that speech o' your'n to the captain. If any one o' us had made it, youngster, he would have had no whistle to wet by this time." "Stop your clapper, Jack," vociferated a third. "Give the boy a junk o' meat. Don't you see he's a'most going to kick the bucket?" "And no wonder," said the first speaker with an oath, "after the tumble you gave him into the boat. I guess it would have broke _your_ neck if you had got it." I did indeed feel somewhat faint, which was owing, doubtless, to the combined effects of ill-usage and hunger; for it will be recollected that I had dived out of the cave that morning before breakfast, and it was now near midday. I therefore gladly accepted a plate of boiled pork and a yam, which were handed to me by one of the men from the locker on which some of the crew were seated eating their dinner. But I must add that the zest with which I ate my meal was much abated in consequence of the frightful oaths and the terrible language that flowed from the lips of these godless men, even in the midst of their hilarity and good-humour. The man who had been alluded to as Bloody Bill was seated near me, and I could not help wondering at the moody silence he maintained among his comrades. He did indeed reply to their questions in a careless off-hand tone, but he never volunteered a remark. The only difference between him and the others was his taciturnity and his size, for he was nearly, if not quite, as large a man as the captain. During the remainder of the afternoon I was left to my own reflections, which were anything but agreeable; for I could not banish from my mind the threat about the thumb-screws, of the nature and use of which I had a vague but terrible conception. I was still meditating on my unhappy fate, when, just after nightfall, one of the watch on deck called down the hatchway-- "Hallo there! one o' you tumble up and light the cabin lamp, and send that boy aft to the captain--sharp!" "Now then, do you hear, youngster? the captain wants you. Look alive," said Bloody Bill, raising his huge frame from the locker on which he had been asleep for the last two hours. He sprang up the ladder, and I instantly followed him, and going aft was shown into the cabin by one of the men, who closed the door after me. A small silver lamp which hung from a beam threw a dim, soft light over the cabin, which was a small apartment, and comfortably but plainly furnished. Seated on a camp-stool at the table, and busily engaged in examining a chart of the Pacific, was the captain, who looked up as I entered, and in a quiet voice bade me be seated, while he threw down his pencil, and rising from the table, stretched himself on a sofa at the upper end of the cabin. "Boy," said he, looking me full in the face, "what is your name?" "Ralph Rover," I replied. "Where did you come from, and how came you to be on that island? How many companions had you on it? Answer me, now, and mind you tell no lies." "I never tell lies." said I firmly. The captain received this reply with a cold, sarcastic smile, and bade me answer his questions. I then told him the history of myself and my companions from the time we sailed till the day of his visit to the island, taking care, however, to make no mention of the Diamond Cave. After I had concluded, he was silent for a few minutes; then looking up, he said, "Boy, I believe you." I was surprised at this remark, for I could not imagine why he should not believe me. However, I made no reply. "And what," continued the captain, "makes you think that this schooner is a pirate?" "The black flag," said I, "showed me what you are; and if any further proof were wanting, I have had it in the brutal treatment I have received at your hands." The captain frowned as I spoke, but subduing his anger he continued, "Boy, you are too bold. I admit that we treated you roughly, but that was because you made us lose time and gave us a good deal of trouble. As to the black flag, that is merely a joke that my fellows play off upon people sometimes in order to frighten them. It is their humour, and does no harm. I am no pirate, boy, but a lawful trader--a rough one, I grant you, but one can't help that in these seas, where there are so many pirates on the water and such murderous blackguards on the land. I carry on a trade in sandal-wood with the Feejee Islands; and if you choose, Ralph, to behave yourself and be a good boy, I'll take you along with me and give you a good share of the profits. You see I'm in want of an honest boy like you to look after the cabin and keep the log and superintend the traffic on shore sometimes. What say you, Ralph: would you like to become a sandal-wood trader?" I was much surprised by this explanation, and a good deal relieved to find that the vessel, after all, was not a pirate; but, instead of replying, I said, "If it be as you state, then why did you take me from my island, and why do you not now take me back?" The captain smiled as he replied, "I took you off in anger, boy, and I'm sorry for it. I would even now take you back, but we are too far away from it. See, there it is," he added, laying his finger on the chart, "and we are now here--fifty miles at least. It would not be fair to my men to put about now, for they have all an interest in the trade." I could make no reply to this; so, after a little more conversation, I agreed to become one of the crew--at least, until we could reach some civilised island where I might be put ashore. The captain assented to this proposition, and after thanking him for the promise, I left the cabin and went on deck with feelings that ought to have been lighter, but which were, I could not tell why, marvellously heavy and uncomfortable still. Chapter XXIII Bloody Bill--Dark surmises--A strange sail, and a strange crew, and a still stranger cargo--New reasons for favouring missionaries--A murderous massacre, and thoughts thereon. Three weeks after the conversation narrated in the last chapter, I was standing on the quarter-deck of the schooner, watching the gambols of a shoal of porpoises that swam round us. It was a dead calm--one of those still, hot, sweltering days so common in the Pacific, when nature seems to have gone to sleep, and the only thing in water or in air that proves her still alive is her long, deep breathing in the swell of the mighty sea. No cloud floated in the deep blue above; no ripple broke the reflected blue below. The sun shone fiercely in the sky, and a ball of fire blazed with almost equal power from out the bosom of the water. So intensely still was it, and so perfectly transparent was the surface of the deep, that had it not been for the long swell already alluded to, we might have believed the surrounding universe to be a huge, blue, liquid ball, and our little ship the one solitary material speck in all creation, floating in the midst of it. No sound broke on our ears save the soft puff now and then of a porpoise, the slow creak of the masts as we swayed gently on the swell, the patter of the reef-points, and the occasional flap of the hanging sails. An awning covered the fore and after parts of the schooner, under which the men composing the watch on deck lolled in sleepy indolence, overcome with excessive heat. Bloody Bill, as the men invariably called him, was standing at the tiller; but his post for the present was a sinecure, and he whiled away the time by alternately gazing in dreamy abstraction at the compass in the binnacle, and by walking to the taffrail in order to spit into the sea. In one of these turns he came near to where I was standing, and, leaning over the side, looked long and earnestly down into the blue wave. This man, although he was always taciturn and often surly, was the only human being on board with whom I had the slightest desire to become better acquainted. The other men, seeing that I did not relish their company, and knowing that I was a protégé of the captain, treated me with total indifference. Bloody Bill, it is true, did the same; but as this was his conduct to every one else, it was not peculiar in reference to me. Once or twice I tried to draw him into conversation, but he always turned away after a few cold monosyllables. As he now leaned over the taffrail close beside me, I said to him-- "Bill, why is it that you are so gloomy? Why do you never speak to any one?" Bill smiled slightly as he replied, "Why, I s'pose it's because I hain't got nothin' to say!" "That's strange," said I musingly; "you look like a man that could think, and such men can usually speak." "So they can, youngster," rejoined Bill somewhat sternly; "and I could speak, too, if I had a mind to, but what's the use o' speakin' here? The men only open their mouths to curse and swear, an' they seem to find it entertainin'; but I don't, so I hold my tongue." "Well, Bill, that's true, and I would rather not hear you speak at all than hear you speak like the other men; but _I_ don't swear, Bill, so you might talk to me sometimes, I think. Besides, I'm weary of spending day after day in this way, without a single soul to say a pleasant word to. I've been used to friendly conversation, Bill, and I really would take it kind if you would talk with me a little now and then." Bill looked at me in surprise, and I thought I observed a sad expression pass across his sunburned face. "An' where have you been used to friendly conversation?" said Bill, looking down again into the sea; "not on that Coral Island, I take it." "Yes, indeed," said I energetically; "I have spent many of the happiest months in my life on that Coral Island." And without waiting to be further questioned, I launched out into a glowing account of the happy life that Jack and Peterkin and I had spent together, and related minutely every circumstance that befell us while on the island. "Boy, boy," said Bill, in a voice so deep that it startled me, "this is no place for you." "That's true," said I. "I am of little use on board, and I don't like my comrades; but I can't help it, and at any rate I hope to be free again soon." "Free?" said Bill, looking at me in surprise. "Yes, free," returned I; "the captain said he would put me ashore after this trip was over." "_This trip_! Hark'ee, boy," said Bill, lowering his voice, "what said the captain to you the day you came aboard?" "He said that he was a trader in sandal-wood, and no pirate, and told me that if I would join him for this trip he would give me a good share of the profits, or put me on shore in some civilised island if I chose." Bill's brows lowered savagely as he muttered, "Ay, he said truth when he told you he was a sandal-wood trader, but he lied when--" "Sail ho!" shouted the look-out at the masthead. "Where away?" cried Bill, springing to the tiller; while the men, startled by the sudden cry, jumped up and gazed round the horizon. "On the starboard quarter, hull down, sir," answered the look-out. At this moment the captain came on deck, and mounting into the rigging, surveyed the sail through the glass. Then sweeping his eye round the horizon, he gazed steadily at a particular point. "Take in top-sails," shouted the captain, swinging himself down on the deck by the main-back stay. "Take in top-sails," roared the first mate. "Ay, ay, sir--r--r," answered the men, as they sprang into the rigging and went aloft like cats. Instantly all was bustle on board the hitherto quiet schooner. The top-sails were taken in and stowed, the men stood by the sheets and halyards, and the captain gazed anxiously at the breeze which was now rushing towards us like a sheet of dark blue. In a few seconds it struck us. The schooner trembled as if in surprise at the sudden onset, while she fell away, then bending gracefully to the wind, as though in acknowledgment of her subjection, she cut through the waves with her sharp prow like a dolphin, while Bill directed her course towards the strange sail. In half-an-hour we neared her sufficiently to make out that she was a schooner, and from the clumsy appearance of her masts and sails we judged her to be a trader. She evidently did not like our appearance, for the instant the breeze reached her she crowded all sail and showed us her stern. As the breeze had moderated a little, our top-sails were again shaken out, and it soon became evident--despite the proverb, "A stern chase is a long one"--that we doubled her speed and would overhaul her speedily. When within a mile we hoisted British colours, but receiving no acknowledgment, the captain ordered a shot to be fired across her bows. In a moment, to my surprise, a large portion of the bottom of the boat amidships was removed, and in the hole thus exposed appeared an immense brass gun. It worked on a swivel, and was elevated by means of machinery. It was quickly loaded and fired. The heavy ball struck the water a few yards ahead of the chase, and ricochetting into the air, plunged into the sea a mile beyond it. This produced the desired effect. The strange vessel backed her top-sails and hove-to, while we ranged up and lay-to about a hundred yards off. "Lower the boat," cried the captain. In a second the boat was lowered and manned by a part of the crew, who were all armed with cutlasses and pistols. As the captain passed me to get into it, he said, "Jump into the stern-sheets, Ralph; I may want you." I obeyed, and in ten minutes more we were standing on the stranger's deck. We were all much surprised at the sight that met our eyes. Instead of a crew of such sailors as we were accustomed to see, there were only fifteen blacks, standing on the quarter-deck and regarding us with looks of undisguised alarm. They were totally unarmed, and most of them unclothed; one or two, however, wore portions of European attire. One had on a pair of duck trousers which were much too large for him, and stuck out in a most ungainly manner. Another wore nothing but the common scanty native garment round the loins, and a black beaver hat. But the most ludicrous personage of all, and one who seemed to be chief, was a tall, middle-aged man, of a mild, simple expression of countenance, who wore a white cotton shirt, a swallow-tailed coat, and a straw hat, while his black, brawny legs were totally uncovered below the knees. "Where's the commander of this ship?" inquired our captain, stepping up to this individual. "I is capin," he answered, taking off his straw hat and making a low bow. "You!" said our captain in surprise. "Where do you come from, and where are you bound? What cargo have you aboard?" "We is come," answered the man with the swallowtail, "from Aitutaki; we was go for Rarotonga. We is native miss'nary ship; our name is de _Olive Branch_; an' our cargo is two tons cocoa-nuts, seventy pigs, twenty cats, and de Gosp'l." This announcement was received by the crew of our vessel with a shout of laughter, which, however, was peremptorily checked by the captain, whose expression instantly changed from one of severity to that of frank urbanity as he advanced towards the missionary and shook him warmly by the hand. "I am very glad to have fallen in with you," said he, "and I wish you much success in your missionary labours. Pray take me to your cabin, as I wish to converse with you privately." The missionary immediately took him by the hand, and as he led him away I heard him saying, "Me most glad to find you trader; we t'ought you be pirate. You very like one 'bout the masts." What conversation the captain had with this man I never heard, but he came on deck again in a quarter of an hour, and shaking hands cordially with the missionary, ordered us into our boat and returned to the schooner, which was immediately put before the wind. In a few minutes the _Olive Branch_ was left far behind us. That afternoon, as I was down below at dinner, I heard the men talking about this curious ship. "I wonder," said one, "why our captain looked so sweet on yon swallow-tailed supercargo o' pigs and Gospels. If it had been an ordinary trader, now, he would have taken as many o' the pigs as he required and sent the ship with all on board to the bottom." "Why, Dick, you must be new to these seas if you don't know that," cried another. "The captain cares as much for the Gospel as you do (an' that's precious little), but he knows, and everybody knows, that the only place among the southern islands where a ship can put in and get what she wants in comfort is where the Gospel has been sent to. There are hundreds o' islands, at this blessed moment, where you might as well jump straight into a shark's maw as land without a band o' thirty comrades armed to the teeth to back you." "Ay," said a man with a deep scar over his right eye, "Dick's new to the work. But if the captain takes us for a cargo o' sandal-wood to the Feejees, he'll get a taste o' these black gentry in their native condition. For my part, I don't know and I don't care what the Gospel does to them, but I know that when any o' the islands chance to get it, trade goes all smooth and easy; but where they ha'nt got it, Beelzebub himself could hardly desire better company." "Well, you ought to be a good judge," cried another, laughing, "for you've never kept any company but the worst all your life!" "Ralph Rover!" shouted a voice down the hatchway, "captain wants you, aft." Springing up the ladder, I hastened to the cabin, pondering as I went the strange testimony borne by these men to the effect of the Gospel on savage natures--testimony which, as it was perfectly disinterested, I had no doubt whatever was strictly true. On coming again on deck, I found Bloody Bill at the helm, and as we were alone together, I tried to draw him into conversation. After repeating to him the conversation in the forecastle about the missionaries, I said-- "Tell me, Bill, is this schooner really a trader in sandal-wood?" "Yes, Ralph, she is; but she's just as really a pirate. The black flag you saw flying at the peak was no deception." "Then how can you say she's a trader?" asked I. "Why, as to that, she trades when she can't take by force; but she takes by force when she can, in preference. Ralph," he added, lowering his voice, "if you had seen the bloody deeds that I have witnessed done on these decks, you would not need to ask if we were pirates. But you'll find it out soon enough. As for the missionaries, the captain favours them because they are useful to him. The South Sea Islanders are such incarnate fiends that they are the better of being tamed, and the missionaries are the only men who can do it." Our track after this lay through several clusters of small islets, among which we were becalmed more than once. During this part of our voyage the watch on deck and the look-out at the masthead were more than usually vigilant, as we were not only in danger of being attacked by the natives (who, I learned from the captain's remarks, were a bloody and deceitful tribe at this group), but we were also exposed to much risk from the multitudes of coral reefs that rose up in the channels between the islands, some of them just above the surface, others a few feet below it. Our precautions against the savages, I found, were indeed necessary. One day we were becalmed among a group of small islands, most of which appeared to be uninhabited. As we were in want of fresh water, the captain sent the boat ashore to bring off a cask or two. But we were mistaken in thinking there were no natives; for scarcely had we drawn near to the shore when a band of naked blacks rushed out of the bush and assembled on the beach, brandishing their clubs and spears in a threatening manner. Our men were well armed, but refrained from showing any signs of hostility, and rowed nearer in order to converse with the natives; and I now found that more than one of the crew could imperfectly speak dialects of the language peculiar to the South Sea Islanders. When within forty yards of the shore, we ceased rowing, and the first mate stood up to address the multitude; but instead of answering us, they replied with a shower of stones, some of which cut the men severely. Instantly our muskets were levelled, and a volley was about to be fired, when the captain hailed us in a loud voice from the schooner, which lay not more than five or six hundred yards off the shore. "Don't fire!" he shouted angrily. "Pull off to the point ahead of you." The men looked surprised at this order, and uttered deep curses as they prepared to obey, for their wrath was roused and they burned for revenge. Three or four of them hesitated, and seemed disposed to mutiny. "Don't distress yourselves, lads," said the mate, while a bitter smile curled his lip. "Obey orders. The captain's not the man to take an insult tamely. If Long Tom does not speak presently I'll give myself to the sharks." The men smiled significantly as they pulled from the shore, which was now crowded with a dense mass of savages, amounting probably to five or six hundred. We had not rowed off above a couple of hundred yards when a loud roar thundered over the sea, and the big brass gun sent a withering shower of grape point-blank into the midst of the living mass, through which a wide lane was cut, while a yell, the like of which I could not have imagined, burst from the miserable survivors as they fled to the woods. Amongst the heaps of dead that lay on the sand just where they had fallen, I could distinguish mutilated forms writhing in agony, while ever and anon one and another rose convulsively from out the mass, endeavoured to stagger towards the wood, and ere they had taken a few steps, fell and wallowed on the bloody sand. My blood curdled within me as I witnessed this frightful and wanton slaughter; but I had little time to think, for the captain's deep voice came again over the water towards us: "Pull ashore, lads, and fill your water-casks." The men obeyed in silence, and it seemed to me as if even their hard hearts were shocked by the ruthless deed. On gaining the mouth of the rivulet at which we intended to take in water, we found it flowing with blood, for the greater part of those who were slain had been standing on the banks of the stream, a short way above its mouth. Many of the wretched creatures had fallen into it, and we found one body, which had been carried down, jammed between two rocks, with the staring eyeballs turned towards us, and his black hair waving in the ripples of the blood-red stream. No one dared to oppose our landing now, so we carried our casks to a pool above the murdered group, and having filled them, returned on board. Fortunately, a breeze sprang up soon afterwards, and carried us away from the dreadful spot; but it could not waft me away from the memory of what I had seen. "And this," thought I, gazing in horror at the captain, who, with a quiet look of indifference, leaned upon the taffrail smoking a cigar and contemplating the fertile green islets as they passed like a lovely picture before our eyes--"this is the man who favours the missionaries because they are useful to him and can tame the savages better than any one else can do it!" Then I wondered in my mind whether it were possible for any missionary to tame _him_! Chapter XXIV Bloody Bill is communicative and sagacious--Unpleasant prospects--Retrospective meditations interrupted by volcanic agency--The pirates negotiate with a Feejee chief--Various etceteras that are calculated to surprise and horrify. It was many days after the events just narrated ere I recovered a little of my wonted spirits. I could not shake off the feeling for a long time that I was in a frightful dream, and the sight of our captain filled me with so much horror that I kept out of his way as much as my duties about the cabin would permit. Fortunately he took so little notice of me that he did not observe my changed feelings towards him, otherwise it might have been worse for me. But I was now resolved that I would run away the very first island we should land at, and commit myself to the hospitality of the natives rather than remain an hour longer than I could help in the pirate schooner. I pondered this subject a good deal, and at last made up my mind to communicate my intention to Bloody Bill; for during several talks I had had with him of late, I felt assured that he too would willingly escape if possible. When I told him of my design he shook his head. "No, no, Ralph," said he, "you must not think of running away here. Among some of the groups of islands you might do so with safety, but if you tried it here you would find that you had jumped out of the fryin'-pan into the fire." "How so, Bill?" said I; "would the natives not receive me?" "That they would, lad; but they would eat you too." "Eat me!" said I in surprise; "I thought the South Sea Islanders never ate anybody except their enemies." "Humph!" ejaculated Bill. "I s'pose 'twas yer tender-hearted friends in England that put that notion into your head. There's a set o' soft-hearted folk at home that I knows on who don't like to have their feelin's ruffled, and when you tell them anything they don't like--that shocks them, as they call it--no matter how true it be, they stop their ears and cry out, 'Oh, that is _too_ horrible! We can't believe that!' An' they say truth. They can't believe it 'cause they won't believe it. Now, I believe there's thousands o' the people in England who are sich born drivellin' _won't-believers_ that they think the black fellows hereaways at the worst eat an enemy only now an' then, out o' spite; whereas I know for certain, and many captains of the British and American navies know as well as me, that the Feejee Islanders eat not only their enemies but one another; and they do it not for spite, but for pleasure. It's _fact_ that they prefer human flesh to any other. But they don't like white men's flesh so well as black; they say it makes them sick." "Why, Bill," said I, "you told me just now that they would eat me if they caught me." "So I did, and so I think they would. I've only heard some o' them say they don't like white men _so well_ as black; but if they was hungry they wouldn't be particular. Anyhow, I'm sure they would kill you. You see, Ralph, I've been a good while in them parts, and I've visited the different groups of islands oftentimes as a trader. And thorough-goin' blackguards some o' them traders are; no better than pirates, I can tell you. One captain that I sailed with was not a chip better than the one we're with now. He was trading with a friendly chief one day, aboard his vessel. The chief had swum off to us with the thing for trade tied atop of his head, for them chaps are like otters in the water. Well, the chief was hard on the captain, and would not part with some o' his things. When their bargainin' was over they shook hands, and the chief jumped overboard to swim ashore; but before he got forty yards from the ship the captain seized a musket and shot him dead. He then hove up anchor and put to sea, and as we sailed along the shore, he dropped six black fellows with his rifle, remarkin' that 'that would spoil the trade for the next comers.' But, as I was sayin', I'm up to the ways o' these fellows. One o' the laws o' the country is, that every shipwrecked person who happens to be cast ashore, be he dead or alive, is doomed to be roasted and eaten. There was a small tradin' schooner wrecked off one of these islands when we were lyin' there in harbour during a storm. The crew was lost, all but three men, who swam ashore. The moment they landed they were seized by the natives and carried up into the woods. We knew pretty well what their fate would be, but we could not help them, for our crew was small, and if we had gone ashore they would likely have killed us all. We never saw the three men again; but we heard frightful yelling and dancing and merrymaking that night; and one of the natives, who came aboard to trade with us next day, told us that the _long pigs_, as he called the men, had been roasted and eaten, and their bones were to be converted into sail-needles. He also said that white men were bad to eat, and that most o' the people on shore were sick." I was very much shocked and cast down in my mind at this terrible account of the natives, and asked Bill what he would advise me to do. Looking round the deck to make sure that we were not overheard, he lowered his voice and said, "There are two or three ways that we might escape, Ralph, but none o' them's easy. If the captain would only sail for some o' the islands near Tahiti, we might run away there well enough, because the natives are all Christians; an' we find that wherever the savages take up with Christianity they always give over their bloody ways, and are safe to be trusted. I never cared for Christianity myself," he continued in a soliloquising voice, "and I don't well know what it means; but a man with half an eye can see what it does for these black critters. However, the captain always keeps a sharp lookout after us when we get to these islands, for he half suspects that one or two o' us are tired of his company. Then we might manage to cut the boat adrift some fine night when it's our watch on deck, and clear off before they discovered that we were gone.' But we would run the risk o' bein' caught by the blacks, I wouldn't like to try that plan. But you and I will think over it, Ralph, and see what's to be done. In the meantime it's our watch below, so I'll go and turn in." Bill then bade me good-night, and went below, while a comrade took his place at the helm; but feeling no desire to enter into conversation with him, I walked aft, and leaning over the stern, looked down into the phosphorescent waves that gurgled around the rudder, and streamed out like a flame of blue light in the vessel's wake. My thoughts were very sad, and I could scarce refrain from tears as I contrasted my present wretched position with the happy, peaceful time I had spent on the Coral Island with my dear companions. As I thought upon Jack and Peterkin, anxious forebodings crossed my mind, and I pictured to myself the grief and dismay with which they would search every nook and corner of the island, in a vain attempt to discover my dead body; for I felt assured that if they did not see any sign of the pirate schooner or boat when they came out of the cave to look for me, they would never imagine that I had been carried away. I wondered, too, how Jack would succeed in getting Peterkin out of the cave without my assistance; and I trembled when I thought that he might lose presence of mind, and begin to kick when he was in the tunnel! These thoughts were suddenly interrupted and put to flight by a bright red blaze which lighted up the horizon to the southward and cast a crimson glow far over the sea. This appearance was accompanied by a low growling sound, as of distant thunder, and at the same time the sky above us became black, while a hot, stifling wind blew around us in fitful gusts. The crew assembled hastily on deck, and most of them were under the belief that a frightful hurricane was pending; but the captain, coming on deck, soon explained the phenomena. "It's only a volcano," said he. "I knew there was one hereabouts, but thought it was extinct. Up there and furl top-gallant sails; we'll likely have a breeze, and it's well to be ready." As he spoke a shower began to fall, which we quickly observed was not rain but fine ashes. As we were many miles distant from the volcano, these must have been carried to us from it by the wind. As the captain had predicted, a stiff breeze soon afterwards sprang up, under the influence of which we speedily left the volcano far behind us; but during the greater part of the night we could see its lurid glare and hear its distant thunder. The shower did not cease to fall for several hours, and we must have sailed under it for nearly forty miles, perhaps farther. When we emerged from the cloud, our decks and every part of the rigging were completely covered with a thick coat of ashes. I was much interested in this, and recollected that Jack had often spoken of many of the islands of the Pacific as being volcanoes, either active or extinct, and had said that the whole region was more or less volcanic, and that some scientific men were of opinion that the islands of the Pacific were nothing more or less than the mountain tops of a huge continent which had sunk under the influence of volcanic agency. Three days after passing the volcano, we found ourselves a few miles to windward of an island of considerable size and luxuriant aspect. It consisted of two mountains, which seemed to be nearly four thousand feet high. They were separated from each other by a broad valley, whose thick-growing trees ascended a considerable distance up the mountain sides; and rich, level plains, or meadow-land, spread round the base of the mountains, except at the point immediately opposite the large valley, where a river seemed to carry the trees, as it were, along with it down to the white, sandy shore. The mountain tops, unlike those of our Coral Island, were sharp, needle-shaped, and bare, while their sides were more rugged and grand in outline than anything I had yet seen in those seas. Bloody Bill was beside me when the island first hove in sight. "Ha!" he exclaimed, "I know that island well. They call it Emo." "Have you been there before, then?" I inquired. "Ay, that I have, often, and so has this schooner. 'Tis a famous island for sandal-wood. We have taken many cargoes of it already, and have paid for them, too; for the savages are so numerous that we dared not try to take it by force. But our captain has tried to cheat them so often, that they're beginnin' not to like us overmuch now. Besides, the men behaved ill the last time we were here, and I wonder the captain is not afraid to venture. But he's afraid o' nothing earthly, I believe." We soon ran inside the barrier coral-reef, and let go our anchor in six fathoms water, just opposite the mouth of a small creek, whose shores were densely covered with mangroves and tall umbrageous trees. The principal village of the natives lay about half a mile from this point. Ordering the boat out, the captain jumped into it, and ordered me to follow him. The men, fifteen in number, were well armed, and the mate was directed to have Long Tom ready for emergencies. "Give way, lads," cried the captain. The oars fell into the water at the word, the boat shot from the schooner's side, and in a few minutes reached the shore. Here, contrary to our expectation, we were met with the utmost cordiality by Romata, the principal chief of the island, who conducted us to his house and gave us mats to sit upon. I observed in passing that the natives, of whom there were two or three thousand, were totally unarmed. After a short preliminary palaver, a feast of baked pigs and various roots was spread before us; of which we partook sparingly, and then proceeded to business. The captain stated his object in visiting the island, regretted that there had been a slight misunderstanding during the last visit, and hoped that no ill-will was borne by either party, and that a satisfactory trade would be accomplished. Romata answered that he had forgotten there had been any differences between them, protested that he was delighted to see his friends again, and assured them they should have every assistance in cutting and embarking the wood. The terms were afterwards agreed on, and we rose to depart. All this conversation was afterwards explained to me by Bill, who understood the language pretty well. Romata accompanied us on board, and explained that a great chief from another island was then on a visit to him, and that he was to be ceremoniously entertained on the following day. After begging to be allowed to introduce him to us, and receiving permission, he sent his canoe ashore to bring him off. At the same time, he gave orders to bring on board his two favourites, a cock and a paroquet. While the canoe was gone on this errand, I had time to regard the savage chief attentively. He was a man of immense size, with massive but beautifully moulded limbs and figure, only parts of which, the broad chest, and muscular arms, were uncovered; for although the lower orders generally wore no other clothing than a strip of cloth called _maro_ round their loins, the chief, on particular occasions, wrapped his person hi voluminous folds of a species of native cloth, made from the bark of the Chinese paper-mulberry. Romata wore a magnificent black beard and moustache, and his hair was frizzed out to such an extent that it resembled a large turban, in which was stuck a long wooden pin! I afterwards found that this pin served for scratching the head, for which purpose the fingers were too short without disarranging the hair. But Romata put himself to much greater inconvenience on account of his hair, for we found that he slept with his head resting on a wooden pillow, in which was cut a hollow for the neck, so that the hair of the sleeper might not be disarranged. In ten minutes the canoe returned, bringing the other chief, who certainly presented a most extraordinary appearance, having painted one half of his face red and the other half yellow, besides ornamenting it with various designs in black! Otherwise he was much the same in appearance as Romata, though not so powerfully built. As this chief had never seen a ship before, except, perchance, some of the petty traders that at long intervals visit these remote islands, he was much taken up with the neatness and beauty of all the fittings of the schooner. He was particularly struck with a musket which was shown to him, and asked where the white men got hatchets hard enough to cut the tree of which the barrel was made! While he was thus engaged, his brother chief stood aloof, talking with the captain, and fondling a superb cock and a little blue-headed paroquet, the favourites of which I have before spoken. I observed that all the other natives walked in a crouching posture while in the presence of Romata. Before our guests left us, the captain ordered the brass gun to be uncovered and fired for their gratification; and I have every reason to believe he did so for the purpose of showing our superior power, in case the natives should harbour any evil designs against us. Romata had never seen this gun before, as it had not been uncovered on previous visits, and the astonishment with which he viewed it was very amusing. Being desirous of knowing its power, he begged that the captain would fire it; so a shot was put into it. The chiefs were then directed to look at a rock about two miles out at sea, and the gun was fired. In a second the top of the rock was seen to burst asunder, and to fall in fragments into the sea. Romata was so delighted with the success of this shot that he pointed to a man who was walking on the shore and begged the captain to fire at him, evidently supposing that his permission was quite sufficient to justify the captain in such an act. He was therefore surprised, and not a little annoyed, when the captain refused to fire at the native, and ordered the gun to be housed. Of all the things, however, that afforded matter of amusement to these savages, that which pleased Romata's visitor most was the ship's pump. He never tired of examining it and pumping up the water. Indeed, so much was he taken up with this pump, that he could not be prevailed on to return on shore, but sent a canoe to fetch his favourite stool, on which he seated himself, and spent the remainder of the day in pumping the bilge-water out of the ship! Next day the crew went ashore to cut sandal-wood, while the captain, with one or two men, remained on board, in order to be ready, if need be, with the brass gun, which was unhoused and conspicuously elevated, with its capacious muzzle directed point-blank at the chiefs house. The men were fully armed, as usual; and the captain ordered me to go with them, to assist in the work. I was much pleased with this order, for it freed me from the captain's company, which I could not now endure, and it gave me an opportunity of seeing the natives. As we wound along in single file through the rich, fragrant groves of banana, cocoa-nut, bread-fruit, and other trees, I observed that there were many of the plum and banyan trees, with which I had become familiar on the Coral Island. I noticed also large quantities of taro-roots, yams, and sweet potatoes growing in enclosures. On turning into an open glade of the woods, we came abruptly upon a cluster of native houses. They were built chiefly of bamboos, and were thatched with the large, thick leaves of the pandanus; but many of them had little more than a sloping roof and three sides with an open front, being the most simple shelter from the weather that could well be imagined. Within these and around them were groups of natives--men, women, and children--who all stood up to gaze at us as we marched along, followed by the party of men whom the chief had sent to escort us. About half a mile inland we arrived at the spot where the sandal-wood grew, and while the men set to work I clambered up an adjoining hill to observe the country. About mid-day the chief arrived with several followers, one of whom carried a baked pig on a wooden platter, with yams and potatoes on several plantain leaves, which he presented to the men, who sat down under the shade of a tree to dine. The chief sat down to dine also; but, to my surprise, instead of feeding himself, one of his wives performed that office for him! I was seated beside Bill, and asked him the reason of this. "It is beneath his dignity, I believe, to feed himself," answered Bill; "but I daresay he's not particular, except on great occasions. They've a strange custom among them, Ralph, which is called _tabu_, and they carry it to great lengths. If a man chooses a particular tree for his god, the fruit o' that tree is tabued to him; and if he eats it, he is sure to be killed by his people, and eaten, of course, for killing means eating hereaway. Then, you see that great mop o' hair on the chief's head? Well, he has a lot o' barbers to keep it in order; and it's a law that whoever touches the head of a living chief or the body of a dead one, his hands are tabued; so in that way the barbers' hands are always tabued, and they daren't use them for their lives, but have to be fed like big babies, as they are, sure enough!" "That's odd, Bill. But look there," said I, pointing to a man whose skin was of a much lighter colour than the generality of the natives. "I've seen a few of these light-skinned fellows among the Feejeeans. They seem to me to be of quite a different race." "So they are," answered Bill. "These fellows come from the Tongan Islands, which lie a long way to the eastward. They come here to build their big war-canoes; and, as these take two and sometimes four years to build, there's always some o' the brown-skins among the black sarpents o' these islands." "By the way, Bill," said I, "your mentioning serpents reminds me that I have not seen a reptile of any kind since I came to this part of the world." "No more there are any," said Bill, "if ye except the niggers themselves; there's none on the islands but a lizard or two, and some sich harmless things. But I never seed any myself. If there's none on the land, however, there's more than enough in the water, and that reminds me of a wonderful brute they have here. But come, I'll show it to you." So saying, Bill arose, and, leaving the men still busy with the baked pig, led me into the forest. After proceeding a short distance, we came upon a small pond of stagnant water. A native lad had followed us, to whom we called and beckoned him to come to us. On Bill saying a few words to him which I did not understand, the boy advanced to the edge of the pond and gave a low, peculiar whistle. Immediately the water became agitated, and an enormous eel thrust its head above the surface and allowed the youth to touch it. It was about twelve feet long, and as thick round the body as a man's thigh. "There!" said Bill, his lip curling with contempt; "what do you think of that for a god, Ralph? This is one o' their gods, and it has been fed with dozens o' livin' babies already. How many more it'll get afore it dies is hard to say." "Babies!" said I, with an incredulous look. "Ay, babies," returned Bill. "Your soft-hearted folk at home would say, 'Oh, horrible! impossible!' to that, and then go away as comfortable and unconcerned as if their sayin' 'Horrible! impossible!' had made it a lie. But I tell you, Ralph, it's a _fact_. I've seed it with my own eyes the last time I was here, an' mayhap if you stop a while at this accursed place, and keep a sharp look-out, you'll see it too. They don't feed it regularly with livin' babies, but they give it one now and then as a treat. Bah, you brute!" cried Bill in disgust, giving the reptile a kick on the snout with his heavy boot that sent it sweltering back in agony into its loathsome pool. I thought it lucky for Bill, indeed for all of us, that the native youth's back happened to be turned at the time; for I am certain that if the poor savages had come to know that we had so rudely handled their god, we should have had to fight our way back to the ship. As we retraced our steps I questioned my companion further on this subject. "How comes it, Bill, that the mothers allow such a dreadful thing to be done?" "Allow it? the mothers _do_ it! It seems to me that there's nothing too fiendish or diabolical for these people to do. Why, in some of the islands they have an institution called the _Aréoi_, and the persons connected with that body are ready for any wickedness that mortal man can devise. In fact they stick at nothing; and one o' their customs is to murder their infants the moment they are born. The mothers agree to it, and the fathers do it. And the mildest ways they have of murdering them is by sticking them through the body with sharp splinters of bamboo, strangling them with their thumbs, or burying them alive and stamping them to death while under the sod." I felt sick at heart while my companion recited these horrors. "But it's a curious fact," he continued after a pause, during which we walked in silence towards the spot where we had left our comrades--"it's a curious fact, that wherever the missionaries get a footin' all these things come to an end at once, an' the savages take to doin' each other good and singin' psalms, just like Methodists." "God bless the missionaries!" said I, while a feeling of enthusiasm filled my heart, so that I could speak with difficulty. "God bless and prosper the missionaries till they get a footing in every island of the sea!" "I would say Amen to that prayer, Ralph, if I could," said Bill, in a deep, sad voice; "but it would be a mere mockery for a man to ask a blessing for others who dare not ask one for himself. But, Ralph," he continued, "I've not told you half o' the abominations I have seen durin' my life in these seas. If we pull long together, lad, I'll tell you more; and if times have not changed very much since I was here last, it's like that you'll have a chance o' seeing a little for yourself before long." Chapter XXV The sandal-wood party--Native children's games somewhat surprising--Desperate amusements suddenly and fatally brought to a close--An old friend recognised--News--Romata's mad conduct. Next day the wood-cutting party went ashore again, and I accompanied them as before. During the dinner-hour I wandered into the woods alone, being disinclined for food that day. I had not rambled far when I found myself unexpectedly on the sea-shore, having crossed a narrow neck of land which separated the native village from a large bay. Here I found a party of the islanders busy with one of their war-canoes, which was almost ready for launching. I stood for a long time watching this party with great interest, and observed that they fastened the timbers and planks to each other very much in the same way in which I had seen Jack fasten those of our little boat. But what surprised me most was its immense length, which I measured carefully, and found to be a hundred feet long; and it was so capacious that it could have held three hundred men. It had the unwieldy outrigger and enormously high stern-posts which I had remarked on the canoe that came to us while I was on the Coral Island. Observing some boys playing at games a short way along the beach, I resolved to go and watch them; but as I turned from the natives who were engaged so busily and cheerfully at their work, I little thought of the terrible event that hung on the completion of that war-canoe. Advancing towards the children, who were so numerous that I began to think this must be the general playground of the village, I sat down on a grassy bank under the shade of a plantain tree to watch them. And a happier or more noisy crew I have never seen. There were at least two hundred of them, both boys and girls, all of whom were clad in no other garments than their own glossy little black skins, except the maro, or strip of cloth round the loins of the boys, and a very short petticoat or kilt on the girls. They did not all play at the same game, but amused themselves in different groups. One band was busily engaged in a game exactly similar to our blind man's buff. Another set were walking on stilts, which raised the children three feet from the ground. They were very expert at this amusement, and seldom tumbled. In another place I observed a group of girls standing together, and apparently enjoying themselves very much; so I went up to see what they were doing, and found that they were opening their eyelids with their fingers till their eyes appeared of an enormous size, and then thrusting pieces of straw between the upper and lower lids, across the eyeball, to keep them in that position! This seemed to me, I must confess, a very foolish as well as dangerous amusement. Nevertheless the children seemed to be greatly delighted with the hideous faces they made. I pondered this subject a good deal, and thought that if little children knew how silly they seemed to grown-up people when they make faces, they would not be so fond of doing it. In another place were a number of boys engaged in flying kites, and I could not help wondering that some of the games of those little savages should be so like to our own, although they had never seen us at play. But the kites were different from ours in many respects, being of every variety of shape. They were made of very thin cloth, and the boys raised them to a wonderful height in the air by means of twine made from the cocoa-nut husk. Other games there were, some of which showed the natural depravity of the hearts of these poor savages, and made me wish fervently that missionaries might be sent out to them. But the amusement which the greatest number of the children of both sexes seemed to take chief delight in was swimming and diving in the sea, and the expertness which they exhibited was truly amazing. They seemed to have two principal games in the water, one of which was to dive off a sort of stage which had been erected near a deep part of the sea, and chase each other in the water. Some of them went down to an extraordinary depth; others skimmed along the surface, or rolled over and over like porpoises, or diving under each other, came up unexpectedly and pulled each other down by a leg or an arm. They never seemed to tire of this sport, and from the great heat of the water in the South Seas, they could remain in it nearly all day without feeling chilled. Many of these children were almost infants, scarce able to walk; yet they staggered down the beach, flung their round, fat little black bodies fearlessly into deep water, and struck out to sea with as much confidence as ducklings. The other game to which I have referred was swimming in the surf. But as this is an amusement in which all engage, from children of ten to grey-headed men of sixty, and as I had an opportunity of witnessing it in perfection the day following, I shall describe it more minutely. I suppose it was in honour of their guest that this grand swimming-match was got up, for Romata came and told the captain that they were going to engage in it, and begged him to "come and see." "What sort of amusement is this surf-swimming?" I inquired of Bill, as we walked together to a part of the shore on which several thousands of the natives were assembled. "It's a very favourite lark with these 'xtr'or'nary critters," replied Bill, giving a turn to the quid of tobacco that invariably bulged out of his left cheek. "Ye see, Ralph, them fellows take to the water as soon a'most as they can walk, an' long before they can do that anything respectably, so that they are as much at home in the sea as on the land. Well, ye see, I s'pose they found swimmin' for miles out to sea, and divin' fathoms deep, wasn't exciting enough, so they invented this game o' swimmin' on the surf. Each man and boy, as you see, has got a short board or plank, with which he swims out for a mile or more to sea, and then, gettin' on the top o' yon thunderin' breaker, they come to shore on the top of it, yellin' and screechin' like fiends. It's a marvel to me that they're not dashed to shivers on the coral reef, for sure an' sartin' am I that if any o' us tried it, we wouldn't be worth the fluke of a broken anchor after the wave fell. But there they go!" As he spoke, several hundreds of the natives, amongst whom we were now standing, uttered a loud yell, rushed down the beach, plunged into the surf, and were carried off by the seething foam of the retreating wave. At the point where we stood, the encircling coral reef joined the shore, so that the magnificent breakers, which a recent stiff breeze had rendered larger than usual, fell in thunder at the feet of the multitudes who lined the beach. For some time the swimmers continued to strike out to sea, breasting over the swell like hundreds of black seals. Then they all turned, and watching an approaching billow, mounted its white crest, and each laying his breast on the short, flat board, came rolling towards the shore, careering on the summit of the mighty wave, while they and the onlookers shouted and yelled with excitement. Just as the monster wave curled in solemn majesty to fling its bulky length upon the beach, most of the swimmers slid back into the trough behind; others, slipping off their boards, seized them in their hands, and plunging through the watery waste, swam out to repeat the amusement; but a few, who seemed to me the most reckless, continued their career until they were launched upon the beach, and enveloped in the churning foam and spray. One of these last came in on the crest of the wave most manfully, and landed with a violent bound almost on the spot where Bill and I stood. I saw by his peculiar head-dress that he was the chief whom the tribe entertained as their guest. The sea-water had removed nearly all the paint with which his face had been covered, and as he rose panting to his feet, I recognised, to my surprise, the features of Tararo, my old friend of the Coral Island! Tararo at the same moment recognised me, and advancing quickly, took me round the neck and rubbed noses; which had the effect of transferring a good deal of the moist paint from his nose to mine. Then, recollecting that this was not the white man's mode of salutation, he grasped me by the hand and shook it violently. "Hallo, Ralph!" cried Bill in surprise, "that chap seems to have taken a sudden fancy to you, or he must be an old acquaintance." "Right, Bill," I replied; "he is indeed an old acquaintance;" and I explained in a few words that he was the chief whose party Jack and Peterkin and I had helped to save. Tararo haying thrown away his surf-board, entered into an animated conversation with Bill, pointing frequently during the course of it to me; whereby I concluded he must be telling him about the memorable battle and the part we had taken in it. When he paused, I begged of Bill to ask him about the woman Avatea, for I had some hope that she might have come with Tararo on this visit. "And ask him," said I, "who she is, for I am persuaded she is of a different race from the Feejeeans." On the mention of her name the chief frowned darkly, and seemed to speak with much anger. "You're right, Ralph," said Bill, when the chief had ceased to talk; "she's not a Feejee girl, but a Samoan. How she ever came to this place the chief does not very clearly explain, but he says she was taken in war, and that he got her three years ago, an' kept her as his daughter ever since. Lucky for her, poor girl, else she'd have been roasted and eaten like the rest." "But why does Tararo frown and look so angry?" said I. "Because the girl's somewhat obstinate, like most o' the sex, an' won't marry the man he wants her to. It seems that a chief of some other island came on a visit to Tararo and took a fancy to her, but she wouldn't have him on no account, bein' already in love, and engaged to a young chief whom Tararo hates, and she kicked up a desperate shindy; so, as he was going on a war-expedition in his canoe, he left her to think about it, sayin' he'd be back in six months or so, when he hoped she wouldn't be so obstropolous. This happened just a week ago; an' Tararo says that if she's not ready to go when the chief returns, as his bride, she'll be sent to him as a _long pig_." "As a long pig!" I exclaimed in surprise; "why, what does he mean by that?" "He means somethin' very unpleasant," answered Bill with a frown. "You see these blackguards eat men an' women just as readily as they eat pigs; and as baked pigs and baked men are very like each other in appearance, they call men _long_ pigs. If Avatea goes to this fellow as a long pig, it's all up with her, poor thing." "Is she on the island now?" I asked eagerly. "No; she's at Tararo's island." "And where does it lie!" "About fifty or sixty miles to the south'ard o' this," returned Bill; "but I--" At this moment we were startled by the cry of "Mao! mao!--a shark! a shark!" which was immediately followed by a shriek that rang clear and fearfully loud above the tumult of cries that arose from the savages in the water and on the land. We turned hastily towards the direction whence the cry came, and had just time to observe the glaring eyeballs of one of the swimmers as he tossed his arms in the air. Next instant he was pulled under the waves. A canoe was instantly launched, and the hand of the drowning man was caught, but only half of his body was dragged from the maw of the monster, which followed the canoe until the water became so shallow that it could scarcely swim. The crest of the next billow was tinged with red as it rolled towards the shore. In most countries of the world this would have made a deep impression on the spectators, but the only effect it had upon these islanders was to make them hurry with all speed out of the sea, lest a similar fate should befall some of the others; but so utterly reckless were they of human life, that it did not for a moment suspend the progress of their amusements. It is true the surf-swimming ended for that time somewhat abruptly, but they immediately proceeded with other games. Bill told me that sharks do not often attack the surf-swimmers, being frightened away by the immense numbers of men and boys in the water, and by the shouting and splashing that they make. "But," said he, "such a thing as you have seen just now don't frighten them much. They'll be at it again to-morrow or next day, just as if there wasn't a single shark between Feejee and Nova Zembla." After this the natives had a series of wrestling and boxing matches; and being men of immense size and muscle, they did a good deal of injury to each other, especially in boxing, in which not only the lower orders but several of the chiefs and priests engaged. Each bout was very quickly terminated, for they did not pretend to a scientific knowledge of the art, and wasted no time in sparring, but hit straight out at each other's heads, and their blows were delivered with great force. Frequently one of the combatants was knocked down with a single blow; and one gigantic fellow hit his adversary so severely that he drove the skin entirely off his forehead. This feat was hailed with immense applause by the spectators. During these exhibitions, which were very painful to me, though I confess I could not refrain from beholding them, I was struck with the beauty of many of the figures and designs that were tattooed on the persons of the chiefs and principal men. One figure, that seemed to me very elegant, was that of a palm tree tattooed on the back of a man's leg, the roots rising, as it were, from under his heel, the stem ascending the tendon of the ankle, and the graceful head branching out upon the calf. I afterwards learned that this process of tattooing is very painful, and takes long to do, commencing at the age of ten, and being continued at intervals up to the age of thirty. It is done by means of an instrument made of bone, with a number of sharp teeth with which the skin is punctured. Into these punctures a preparation made from the kernel of the candle-nut, mixed with cocoa-nut oil, is rubbed, and the mark thus made is indelible. The operation is performed by a class of men whose profession it is, and they tattoo as much at a time as the person on whom they are operating can bear; which is not much, the pain and inflammation caused by tattooing being very great, sometimes causing death. Some of the chiefs were tattooed with an ornamental stripe down the legs, which gave them the appearance of being clad in tights; others had marks round the ankles and insteps which looked like tight-fitting and elegant boots. Their faces were also tattooed, and their breasts were very profusely marked with every imaginable species of device--muskets, dogs, birds, pigs, clubs, and canoes, intermingled with lozenges, squares, circles, and other arbitrary figures. The women were not tattooed so much as the men, having only a few marks on their feet and arms. But I must say, however objectionable this strange practice may be, it nevertheless had this good effect, that it took away very much from their appearance of nakedness. Next day, while we were returning from the woods to our schooner, we observed Romata rushing about in the neighbourhood of his house, apparently mad with passion. "Ah!" said Bill to me, "there he's at his old tricks again. That's his way when he gets drink. The natives make a sort of drink o' their own, and it makes him bad enough; but when he gets brandy he's like a wild tiger. The captain, I suppose, has given him a bottle, as usual, to keep him in good humour. After drinkin' he usually goes to sleep, and the people know it well, and keep out of his way, for fear they should waken him. Even the babies are taken out of ear-shot; for when he's waked up he rushes out just as you see him now, and spears or clubs the first person he meets." It seemed at the present time, however, that no deadly weapon had been in his way, for the infuriated chief was raging about without one. Suddenly he caught sight of an unfortunate man who was trying to conceal himself behind a tree. Bushing towards him, Romata struck him a terrible blow on the head, which knocked out the poor man's eye and also dislocated the chief's finger. The wretched creature offered no resistance; he did not even attempt to parry the blow. Indeed, from what Bill said, I found that he might consider himself lucky in having escaped with his life, which would certainly have been forfeited had the chief been possessed of a club at the tune. "Have these wretched creatures no law among themselves," said I, "which can restrain such wickedness?" "None," replied Bill. "The chiefs word is law. He might kill and eat a dozen of his own subjects any day for nothing more than his own pleasure, and nobody would take the least notice of it." This ferocious deed took place within sight of our party as we wended our way to the beach, but I could not observe any other expression on the faces of the men than that of total indifference or contempt. It seemed to me a very awful thing that it should be possible for men to come to such hardness of heart and callousness to the sight of bloodshed and violence; but, indeed, I began to find that such constant exposure to scenes of blood was having a slight effect upon myself, and I shuddered when I came to think that I too was becoming callous. I thought upon this subject much that night while I walked up and down the deck during my hours of watch, and I came to the conclusion that if I, who hated, abhorred, and detested such bloody deeds as I had witnessed within the last few weeks, could so soon come to be less sensitive about them, how little wonder that these poor ignorant savages, who were born and bred in familiarity therewith, should think nothing of them at all, and should hold human life in so very slight esteem! Chapter XXVI Mischief brewing--My blood is made to ran cold--Evil consultations and wicked resolves--Bloody Bill attempts to do good, and fails--The attack--Wholesale murder--The flight--The escape. Next morning I awoke with a feverish brow and a feeling of deep depression at my heart, and the more I thought on my unhappy fate, the more wretched and miserable did I feel. I was surrounded on all sides by human beings of the most dreadful character, to whom the shedding of blood was mere pastime. On shore were the natives, whose practices were so horrible that I could not think of them without shuddering. On board were none but pirates of the blackest dye, who, although not cannibals, were foul murderers, and more blameworthy even than the savages, inasmuch as they knew better. Even Bill, with whom I had, under the strange circumstances of my lot, formed a kind of intimacy, was so fierce in his nature as to have acquired the title of "Bloody" from his vile companions. I felt very much cast down the more I considered the subject and the impossibility of delivery, as it seemed to me--at least, for a long time to come. At last, in my feeling of utter helplessness, I prayed fervently to the Almighty that He would deliver me out of my miserable condition; and when I had done so I felt some degree of comfort. When the captain came on deck, before the hour at which the men usually started for the woods, I begged of him to permit me to remain aboard that day, as I did not feel well; but he looked at me angrily, and ordered me, in a surly tone, to get ready to go on shore as usual. The fact was that the captain had been out of humour for some time past. Romata and he had had some differences, and high words had passed between them, during which the chief had threatened to send a fleet of his war-canoes, with a thousand men, to break up and burn the schooner; whereupon the captain smiled sarcastically, and, going up to the chief, gazed sternly in his face, while he said, "I have only to raise my little finger just now, and my big gun will blow your whole village to atoms in five minutes!" Although the chief was a bold man, he quailed before the pirate's glance and threat, and made no reply; but a bad feeling had been raised, and old sores had been opened. I had, therefore, to go with the wood-cutters that day. Before starting, however, the captain called me into the cabin, and said-- "Here, Ralph; I've got a mission for you, lad. That blackguard Romata is in the dumps, and nothing will mollify him but a gift; so do you go up to his house and give him these whale's teeth, with my compliments. Take with you one of the men who can speak the language." I looked at the gift in some surprise, for it consisted of six white whale's teeth, and two of the same dyed bright red, which seemed to me very paltry things. However, I did not dare to hesitate or ask any questions; so, gathering them up, I left the cabin, and was soon on my way to the chiefs house, accompanied by Bill. On expressing my surprise at the gift, he said--"They're paltry enough to you or me, Ralph, but they're considered of great value by them chaps. They're a sort o' cash among them. The red ones are the most prized, one of them bein' equal to twenty o' the white ones. I suppose the only reason for their bein' valuable is that there ain't many of them, and they're hard to be got." On arriving at the house, we found Romata sitting on a mat, in the midst of a number of large bales of native cloth and other articles, which had been brought to him as presents from time to time by inferior chiefs. He received us rather haughtily; but on Bill explaining the nature of our errand, he became very condescending, and his eyes glistened with satisfaction when he received the whale's teeth, although he laid them aside with an assumption of kingly indifference. "Go," said he, with a wave of the hand--"go tell your captain that he may cut wood to-day, but not to-morrow. He must come ashore; I want to have a palaver with him." As we left the house to return to the woods, Bill shook his head. "There's mischief brewin' in that black rascal's head. I know him of old. But what comes here?" As he spoke, we heard the sound of laughter and shouting in the wood, and presently there issued from it a band of savages, in the midst of whom were a number of men bearing burdens on their shoulders. At first I thought that these burdens were poles with something rolled round them, the end of each pole resting on a man's shoulder; but on a nearer approach I saw that they were human beings, tied hand and foot, and so lashed to the poles that they could not move. I counted twenty of them as they passed. "More murder!" said Bill, in a voice that sounded between a hoarse laugh and a groan. "Surely they are not going to murder them?" said I, looking anxiously into Bill's face. "I don't know, Ralph," replied Bill, "what they're goin' to do with them; but I fear they mean no good when they tie fellows up in that way." As we continued our way towards the wood-cutters, I observed that Bill looked anxiously over his shoulder in the direction where the procession had disappeared. At last he stopped, and turning abruptly on his heel, said-- "I tell ye what it is, Ralph: I must be at the bottom o' that affair. Let us follow these black scoundrels and see what they're goin' to do." I must say I had no wish to pry further into their bloody practices; but Bill seemed bent on it, so I turned and went. We passed rapidly through the bush, being guided in the right direction by the shouts of the savages. Suddenly there was a dead silence, which continued for some time, while Bill and I involuntarily quickened our pace until we were running at the top of our speed across the narrow neck of land previously mentioned. As we reached the verge of the wood, we discovered the savages surrounding the large war-canoe, which they were apparently on the point of launching. Suddenly the multitude put their united strength to the canoe; but scarcely had the huge machine begun to move, when a yell, the most appalling that ever fell upon my ear, rose high above the shouting of the savages. It had not died away when another and another smote upon my throbbing ear; and then I saw that these inhuman monsters were actually launching their canoe over the living bodies of their victims. But there was no pity in the breasts of these men. Forward they went in ruthless indifference, shouting as they went, while high above their voices rang the dying shrieks of those wretched creatures, as, one after another, the ponderous canoe passed over them, burst the eyeballs from their sockets, and sent the life-blood gushing from their mouths. O reader, this is no fiction. I would not, for the sake of thrilling you with horror, invent so terrible a scene. It was witnessed. It is true--true as that accursed sin which has rendered the human heart capable of such diabolical enormities! When it was over, I turned round and fell upon the grass with a deep groan; but Bill seized me by the arm, and lifting me up as if I had been a child, cried-- "Come along, lad; let's away!"--and so, staggering and stumbling over the tangled underwood, we fled from the fatal spot. During the remainder of that day, I felt as if I were in a horrible dream. I scarce knew what was said to me, and was more than once blamed by the men for idling my time. At last the hour to return aboard came. We marched down to the beach, and I felt relief for the first time when my feet rested on the schooner's deck. In the course of the evening I overheard part of a conversation between the captain and the first mate, which startled me not a little. They were down in the cabin, and conversed in an undertone; but the skylight being off, I overheard every word that was said. "I don't half like it," said the mate, "It seems to me that we'll only have hard fightin' and no pay." "No pay!" repeated the captain, in a voice of suppressed anger, "Do you call a good cargo all for nothing no pay?" "Very true," returned the mate; "but we've got the cargo aboard. Why not cut your cable and take French leave o' them? What's the use o' tryin' to kill the blackguards when it'll do us no manner o' good?" "Mate," said the captain in a low voice, "you talk like a fresh-water sailor. I can only attribute this shyness to some strange delusion; for surely" (his voice assumed a slightly sneering tone as he said this), "surely I am not to suppose that _you_ have become soft-hearted! Besides, you are wrong in regard to the cargo being aboard; there's a good quarter of it lying in the woods, and that blackguard chief knows it and won't let me take it off. He defied us to do our worst yesterday." "Defied us! did he?" cried the mate with a bitter laugh. "Poor, contemptible thing!" "And yet he seems not so contemptible but that you are afraid to attack him." "Who said I was afraid?" growled the mate sulkily. "I'm as ready as any man in the ship. But, captain, what is it that you intend to do?" "I intend to muffle the sweeps and row the schooner up to the head of the creek there, from which point we can command the pile of sandal-wood with our gun. Then I shall land with all the men except two, who shall take care of the schooner and be ready with the boat to take us off. We can creep through the woods to the head of the village, where these cannibals are always dancing round their suppers of human flesh, and if the carbines of the men are loaded with a heavy charge of buck-shot we can drop forty or fifty at the first volley. After that the thing will be easy enough. The savages will take to the mountains in a body, and we shall take what we require, up anchor, and away." To this plan the mate at length agreed. As he left the cabin I heard the captain say-- "Give the men an extra glass of grog, and don't forget the buck-shot." The reader may conceive the horror with which I heard this murderous conversation. I immediately repeated it to Bill, who seemed much perplexed about it. At length he said-- "I'll tell you what I'll do, Ralph. I'll swim ashore after dark and fix a musket to a tree not far from the place where we'll have to land, and I'll tie a long string to the trigger, so that when our fellows cross it they'll let it off, and so alarm the village in time to prevent an attack, but not in time to prevent us gettin' back to the boat. So, Master Captain," added Bill, with a smile that for the first time seemed to me to be mingled with good-natured cheerfulness, "you'll be balked at least for once in your life by Bloody Bill." After it grew dark, Bill put this resolve in practice. He slipped over the side with a musket in his left hand, while with his right he swam ashore and entered the woods. He soon returned, having accomplished his purpose, and got on board without being seen, I being the only one on deck. When the hour of midnight approached the men were mustered on deck, the cable was cut, and the muffled sweeps got out. These sweeps were immensely large oars, each requiring a couple of men to work it. In a few minutes we entered the mouth of the creek, which was indeed the mouth of a small river, and took about half-an-hour to ascend it, although the spot where we intended to land was not more than six hundred yards from the mouth, because there was a slight current against us, and the mangroves which narrowed the creek impeded the rowers in some places. Having reached the spot, which was so darkened by overhanging trees that we could see with difficulty, a small kedge anchor attached to a thin line was let softly down over the stern. "Now, lads," whispered the captain, as he walked along the line of men, who were all armed to the teeth, "don't be in a hurry, aim low, and don't waste your first shots." He then pointed to the boat, into which the men crowded in silence. There was no room to row; but oars were not needed, as a slight push against the side of the schooner sent the boat gliding to the shore. "There's no need of leaving two in the boat," whispered the mate, as the men stepped out; "we shall want all our hands. Let Ralph stay." The captain assented, and ordered me to stand in readiness with the boat-hook, to shove ashore at a moment's notice if they should return, or to shove off if any of the savages should happen to approach. He then threw his carbine into the hollow of his arm and glided through the bushes, followed by his men. With a throbbing heart I awaited the result of our plan. I knew the exact locality where the musket was placed, for Bill had described it to me, and I kept my straining eyes fixed upon the spot. But no sound came, and I began to fear that either they had gone in another direction or that Bill had not fixed the string properly. Suddenly I heard a faint click, and observed one or two bright sparks among the bushes. My heart immediately sank within me, for I knew at once that the trigger had indeed been pulled, but that the priming had not caught. The plan, therefore, had utterly failed. A feeling of dread now began to creep over me as I stood in the boat, in that dark, silent spot, awaiting the issue of this murderous expedition. I shuddered as I glanced at the water that glided past like a dark reptile. I looked back at the schooner, but her hull was just barely visible, while her tapering masts were lost among the trees which overshadowed her. Her lower sails were set, but so thick was the gloom that they were quite invisible. Suddenly I heard a shot. In a moment a thousand voices raised a yell in the village; again the cry rose on the night air, and was followed by broken shouts as of scattered parties of men bounding into the woods. Then I heard another shout loud and close at hand. It was the voice of the captain cursing the man who had fired the premature shot. Then came the order, "Forward!" followed by a wild hurrah of our men as they charged the savages. Shots now rang in quick succession, and at last a loud volley startled the echoes of the woods. It was followed by a multitude of wild shrieks, which were immediately drowned in another hurrah from the men; the distance of the sound proving that they were driving their enemies before them towards the sea. While I was listening intently to these sounds, which were now mingled in confusion, I was startled by the rustling of the leaves not far from me. At first I thought it was a party of savages who had observed the schooner, but I was speedily undeceived by observing a body of natives--apparently several hundreds, as far as I could guess in the uncertain light--bounding through the woods towards the scene of battle. I saw at once that this was a party who had outflanked our men, and would speedily attack them in the rear. And so it turned out; for in a short time the shouts increased tenfold, and among them I thought I heard a death-cry uttered by voices familiar to my ear. At length the tumult of battle ceased, and from the cries of exultation that now arose from the savages, I felt assured that our men had been conquered. I was immediately thrown into dreadful consternation. What was I now to do? To be taken by the savages was too horrible to be thought of; to flee to the mountains was hopeless, as I should soon be discovered; and to take the schooner out of the creek without assistance was impossible. I resolved, however, to make the attempt, as being my only hope, and was on the point of pushing off, when my hand was stayed, and my blood chilled by an appalling shriek, in which I recognised the voice of one of the crew. It was succeeded by a shout from the savages. Then came another and another shriek of agony, making my ears to tingle, as I felt convinced they were murdering the pirate crew in cold blood. With a bursting heart and my brain whirling as if on fire, I seized the boat-hook to push from shore, when a man sprang from the bushes. "Stop! Ralph, stop!--there now, push off," he cried, and bounded into the boat so violently as nearly to upset her. It was Bill's voice! In another moment we were on board--the boat made fast, the line of the anchor cut, and the sweeps run out. At the first stroke of Bill's giant arm the schooner was nearly pulled ashore, for in his haste he forgot that I could scarcely move the unwieldy oar. Springing to the stern, he lashed the rudder in such a position as that, while it aided me, it acted against him, and so rendered the force of our strokes nearly equal. The schooner now began to glide quickly down the creek; but before we reached its mouth, a yell from a thousand voices on the bank told that we were discovered. Instantly a number of the savages plunged into the water and swam towards us; but we were making so much way that they could not overtake us. One, however, an immensely powerful man, succeeded in laying hold of the cut rope that hung from the stern, and clambered quickly upon deck. Bill caught sight of him the instant his head appeared above the taffrail; but he did not cease to row, and did not appear even to notice the savage until he was within a yard of him. Then, dropping the sweep, he struck him a blow on the forehead with his clenched fist that felled him to the deck. Lifting him up, he hurled him overboard, and resumed the oar. But now a greater danger awaited us, for the savages had outrun us on the bank, and were about to plunge into the water ahead of the schooner. If they succeeded in doing so, our fate was sealed. For one moment Bill stood irresolute. Then, drawing a pistol from his belt, he sprang to the brass gun, held the pan of his pistol over the touch-hole, and fired. The shot was succeeded by the hiss of the cannon's priming; then the blaze and the crushing thunder of the monstrous gun burst upon the savages with such deafening roar that it seemed as if their very mountains had been rent asunder. This was enough. The moment of surprise and hesitation caused by the unwonted sound gave us time to pass the point; a gentle breeze, which the dense foliage had hitherto prevented us from feeling, bulged out our sails; the schooner bent before it, and the shouts of the disappointed savages grew fainter and fainter in the distance as we were slowly wafted out to sea. Chapter XXVII Reflections--The wounded man--The squall--True consolation--Death. There is a power of endurance in human beings, both in their bodies and in their minds, which, I have often thought, seems to be wonderfully adapted and exactly proportioned to the circumstances in which individuals may happen to be placed--a power which, in most cases, is sufficient to carry a man through and over every obstacle that may happen to be thrown in his path through life, no matter how high or how steep the mountain may be, but which often forsakes him the moment the summit is gained, the point of difficulty passed, and leaves him prostrated, with energies gone, nerves unstrung, and a feeling of incapacity pervading the entire frame that renders the most trifling effort almost impossible. During the greater part of that day I had been subjected to severe mental and much physical excitement, which had almost crushed me down by the time I was relieved from duty in the course of the evening. But when the expedition whose failure has just been narrated was planned, my anxieties and energies had been so powerfully aroused that I went through the protracted scenes of that terrible night without a feeling of the slightest fatigue. My mind and body were alike active and full of energy. No sooner was the last thrilling fear of danger past, however, than my faculties went utterly relaxed; and when I felt the cool breezes of the Pacific playing around my fevered brow, and heard the free waves rippling at the schooner's prow, as we left the hated island behind us, my senses forsook me, and I fell in a swoon upon the deck. From this state I was quickly aroused by Bill, who shook me by the arm, saying-- "Hallo, Ralph boy! rouse up, lad; we're safe now. Poor thing! I believe he's fainted." And, raising me in his arms, he laid me on the folds of the gaff top-sail, which lay upon the deck near the tiller. "Here, take a drop o' this; it'll do you good, my boy," he added, in a voice of tenderness which I had never heard him use before, while he held a brandy-flask to my lips. I raised my eyes gratefully as I swallowed a mouthful; next moment my head sank heavily upon my arm, and I fell fast asleep. I slept long, for when I awoke the sun was a good way above the horizon, I did not move on first opening my eyes, as I felt a delightful sensation of rest pervading me, and my eyes were riveted on and charmed with the gorgeous splendour of the mighty ocean that burst upon my sight. It was a dead calm; the sea seemed a sheet of undulating crystal, tipped and streaked with the saffron hues of sunrise, which had not yet merged into the glowing heat of noon; and there was a deep calm in the blue dome above that was not broken even by the usual flutter of the sea-fowl. How long I would have lain in contemplation of this peaceful scene I know not, but my mind was recalled suddenly and painfully to the past and the present by the sight of Bill, who was seated on the deck at my feet, with his head reclining, as if in sleep, on his right arm, which rested on the tiller. As he seemed to rest peacefully, I did not mean to disturb him, but the slight noise I made in raising myself on my elbow caused him to start and look round. "Well, Ralph, awake at last, my boy? You have slept long and soundly," he said, turning towards me. On beholding his countenance I sprang up in anxiety. He was deadly pale, and his hair, which hung in dishevelled locks over his face, was clotted with blood. Blood also stained his hollow cheeks and covered the front of his shirt, which, with the greater part of his dress, was torn and soiled with mud. "O Bill!" said I with deep anxiety, "what is the matter with you? You are ill. You must have been wounded." "Even so, lad," said Bill in a deep, soft voice, while he extended his huge frame on the couch from which I had just risen. "I've got an ugly wound, I fear, and I've been waiting for you to waken, to ask you to get me a drop o' brandy and a mouthful o' bread from the cabin lockers. You seemed to sleep so sweetly, Ralph, that I didn't like to disturb you. But I don't feel up to much just now." I did not wait till he had done talking, but ran below immediately, and returned in a few seconds with a bottle of brandy and some broken biscuit. He seemed much refreshed after eating a few morsels and drinking a long draught of water mingled with a little of the spirits. Immediately afterwards he fell asleep, and I watched him anxiously until he awoke, being desirous of knowing the nature and extent of his wound. "Ha!" he exclaimed, on awaking suddenly after a slumber of an hour, "I'm the better of that nap, Ralph; I feel twice the man I was;" and he attempted to rise, but sank back again immediately with a deep groan. "Nay, Bill, you must not move, but lie still while I look at your wound. I'll make a comfortable bed for you here on deck, and get you some breakfast. After that you shall tell me how you got it. Cheer up, Bill," seeing that he turned his head away; "you'll be all right in a little, and I'll be a capital nurse to you, though I'm no doctor." I then left him, and lighted a fire in the caboose. While it was kindling, I went to the steward's pantry and procured the materials for a good breakfast, with which, in little more than half-an-hour, I returned to my companion. He seemed much better, and smiled kindly on me as I set before him a cup of coffee and a tray with several eggs and some bread on it. "Now then, Bill," said I cheerfully, sitting down beside him on the deck, "let's fall to. I'm very hungry myself, I can tell you; but--I forgot--your wound," I added, rising; "let me look at it." I found that the wound was caused by a pistol-shot in the chest. It did not bleed much, and as it was on the right side, I was in hopes that it might not be very serious. But Bill shook his head. "However," said he, "sit down, Ralph, and I'll tell you all about it. "You see, after we left the boat an' began to push through the bushes, we went straight for the line of my musket, as I had expected; but by some unlucky chance it didn't explode, for I saw the line torn away by the men's legs, and heard the click o' the lock; so I fancy the priming had got damp and didn't catch. I was in a great quandary now what to do, for I couldn't concoct in my mind, in the hurry, any good reason for firin' off my piece. But they say necessity's the mother of invention; so just as I was givin' it up and clinchin' my teeth to bide the worst o't and take what should come, a sudden thought came into my head. I stepped out before the rest, seemin' to be awful anxious to be at the savages, tripped my foot on a fallen tree, plunged head foremost into a bush, an of coorse, my carbine exploded! Then came such a screechin' from the camp as I never heard in all my life. I rose at once, and was rushing on with the rest, when the captain called a halt. "'You did that a-purpose, you villain!' he said with a tremendous oath, and drawin' a pistol from his belt, let fly right into my breast. I fell at once, and remembered no more till I was startled and brought round by the most awful yell I ever heard in my life--except, maybe, the shrieks o' them poor critters that were crushed to death under yon big canoe. Jumpin' up, I looked round, and through the trees saw a fire gleamin' not far off, the light of which showed me the captain and men tied hand and foot, each to a post, and the savages dancin' round them like demons. I had scarce looked for a second, when I saw one o' them go up to the captain flourishing a knife, and before I could wink he plunged it into his breast, while another yell, like the one that roused me, rang upon my ear. I didn't wait for more, but bounding up, went crashing through the bushes into the woods. The black fellows caught sight of me, however, but not in time to prevent me jumpin' into the boat, as you know." Bill seemed to be much exhausted after this recital, and shuddered frequently during the narrative, so I refrained from continuing the subject at that time, and endeavoured to draw his mind to other things. "But now, Bill," said I, "it behoves us to think about the future, and what course of action we shall pursue. Here we are, on the wide Pacific, in a well-appointed schooner, which is our own--at least no one has a better claim to it than we have--and the world lies before us, Moreover, here comes a breeze, so we must make up our minds which way to steer." "Ralph, boy," said my companion; "it matters not to me which way we go. I fear that my time is short now. Go where you will; I'm content." "Well then, Bill, I think we had better steer to the Coral Island, and see what has become of my dear old comrades, Jack and Peterkin. I believe the island has no name, but the captain once pointed it out to me on the chart, and I marked it afterwards; so, as we know pretty well our position just now, I think I can steer to it. Then, as to working the vessel, it is true I cannot hoist the sails single-handed, but luckily we have enough of sail set already; and if it should come on to blow a squall, I could at least drop the peaks of the main and fore sails, and clew them up partially without help, and throw her head close into the wind, so as to keep her all shaking till the violence of the squall is past. And if we have continued light breezes, I'll rig up a complication of blocks and fix them to the top-sail halyards, so that I shall be able to hoist the sails without help. 'Tis true I'll require half a day to hoist them, but we don't need to mind that. Then I'll make a sort of erection on deck to screen you from the sun, Bill; and if you can only manage to sit beside the tiller and steer for two hours every day, so as to let me get a nap, I'll engage to let you off duty all the rest of the twenty-four hours. And if you don't feel able for steering, I'll lash the helm and heave-to, while I get you your breakfasts and dinners; and so we'll manage famously, and soon reach the Coral Island." Bill smiled faintly as I ran on in this strain. "And what will you do," said he, "if it comes on to blow a storm?" This question silenced me, while I considered what I should do in such a case. At length I laid my hand on his arm, and said, "Bill, when a man has done all that he can do, he ought to leave the rest to God." "O Ralph," said my companion in a faint voice, looking anxiously into my face, "I wish that I had the feelin's about God that you seem to have, at this hour. I'm dyin', Ralph; yet I, who have braved death a hundred times, am afraid to die. I'm afraid to enter the next world. Something within tells me there will be a reckoning when I go there. But it's all over with me, Ralph. I feel that there's no chance o' my bein' saved." "Don't say that, Bill," said I in deep compassion; "don't say that. I'm quite sure there's hope even for you, but I can't remember the words of the Bible that make me think so. Is there not a Bible on board, Bill?" "No; the last that was in the ship belonged to a poor boy that was taken aboard against his will. He died, poor lad--I think through ill-treatment and fear. After he was gone the captain found his Bible and flung it overboard." I now reflected, with great sadness and self-reproach, on the way in which I had neglected my Bible; and it flashed across me that I was actually in the sight of God a greater sinner than this blood-stained pirate; for, thought I, he tells me that he never read the Bible, and was never brought up to care for it; whereas I was carefully taught to read it by my own mother, and had read it daily as long as I possessed one, yet to so little purpose that I could not now call to mind a single text that would meet this poor man's case, and afford him the consolation he so much required. I was much distressed, and taxed my memory for a long time. At last a text did flash into my mind, and I wondered much that I had not thought of it before. "Bill," said I in a low voice, "'Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.'" "Ay, Ralph, I've heard the missionaries say that before now, but what good can it do me? It's not for me, that; it's not for the likes o' me." I knew not now what to say, for although I felt sure that that word was for him as well as for me, I could not remember any other word whereby I could prove it. After a short pause, Bill raised his eyes to mine and said, "Ralph, I've led a terrible life. I've been a sailor since I was a boy, and I've gone from bad to worse ever since I left my father's roof. I've been a pirate three years now. It is true I did not choose the trade, but I was inveigled aboard this schooner and kept here by force till I became reckless and at last joined them. Since that time my hand has been steeped in human blood again and again. Your young heart would grow cold if I--But why should I go on? 'Tis of no use, Ralph; my doom is fixed." "Bill," said I, "'Though your sins be red like crimson, they shall be white as snow.' Only believe." "Only believe!" cried Bill, starting up on his elbow. "I've heard men talk o' believing as if it was easy. Ha! 'tis easy enough for a man to point to a rope and my, 'I believe that would bear my weight;' but 'tis another thing for a man to catch hold o' that rope and swing himself by it over the edge of a precipice!" The energy with which he said this, and the action with which it was accompanied, were too much for Bill. He sank back with a deep groan. As if the very elements sympathised with this man's sufferings, a low moan came sweeping over the sea. "Hist, Ralph!" said Bill, opening his eyes; "there's a squall coming, lad. Look alive, boy! Clew up the fore-sail. Drop the main-sail peak. Them squalls come quick sometimes." I had already started to my feet, and saw that a heavy squall was indeed bearing down on us. It had hitherto escaped my notice, owing to my being so much engrossed by our conversation. I instantly did as Bill desired, for the schooner was lying motionless on the glassy sea. I observed with some satisfaction that the squall was bearing down on the larboard bow, so that it would strike the vessel in the position in which she would be best able to stand the shock. Having done my best to shorten sail, I returned aft, and took my stand at the helm. "Now, boy," said Bill in a faint voice, "keep her close to the wind." A few seconds afterwards he said, "Ralph, let me hear those two texts again." I repeated them. "Are ye sure, lad, ye saw them in the Bible?" "Quite sure," I replied. Almost before the words had left my lips the wind burst upon us, and the spray dashed over our decks. For a time the schooner stood it bravely, and sprang forward against the rising sea like a war-horse. Meanwhile clouds darkened the sky, and the sea began to rise in huge billows. There was still too much sail on the schooner, and as the gale increased, I feared that the masts would be torn out of her or carried away, while the wind whistled and shrieked through the strained rigging. Suddenly the wind shifted a point, a heavy sea struck us on the bow, and the schooner was almost laid on her beam ends, so that I could scarcely keep my legs. At the same moment Bill lost his hold of the belaying-pin which had served to steady him, and he slid with stunning violence against the skylight. As he lay on the deck close beside me, I could see that the shock had rendered him insensible; but I did not dare to quit the tiller for an instant, as it required all my faculties, bodily and mental, to manage the schooner. For an hour the blast drove us along, while, owing to the sharpness of the vessel's bow and the press of canvas, she dashed through the waves instead of breasting over them, thereby drenching the decks with water fore and aft. At the end of that time the squall passed away, and left us rocking on the bosom of the agitated sea. My first care, the instant I could quit the helm, was to raise Bill from the deck and place him on the couch. I then ran below for the brandy bottle, and rubbed his face and hands with it, and endeavoured to pour a little down his throat. But my efforts, although I continued them long and assiduously, were of no avail; as I let go the hand which I had been chafing, it fell heavily on the deck. I laid my hand over his heart, and sat for some time quite motionless; but there was no flutter there--the pirate was dead! Chapter XXVIII Alone on the deep--Necessity the mother of invention--A valuable book discovered--Natural phenomenon--A bright day in my history. It was with feelings of awe, not unmingled with fear, that I now seated myself on the cabin skylight and gazed upon the rigid features of my late comrade, while my mind wandered over his past history and contemplated with anxiety my present position. Alone, in the midst of the wide Pacific, having a most imperfect knowledge of navigation, and in a schooner requiring at least eight men as her proper crew! But I will not tax the reader's patience with a minute detail of my feelings and doings during the first few days that followed the death of my companion. I will merely mention that I tied a cannon-ball to his feet, and, with feelings of the deepest sorrow, consigned him to the deep. For fully a week after that a steady breeze blew from the east, and as my course lay west and by north, I made rapid progress towards my destination. I could not take an observation, which I very much regretted, as the captain's quadrant was in the cabin; but from the day of setting sail from the island of the savages I had kept a dead reckoning, and as I knew pretty well now how much leeway the schooner made, I hoped to hit the Coral Island without much difficulty. In this I was the more confident that I knew its position on the chart (which I understood was a very good one), and so had its correct bearings by compass. As the weather seemed now quite settled and fine, and as I had got into the trade-winds, I set about preparations for hoisting the top-sails. This was a most arduous task, and my first attempts were complete failures, owing, in a great degree, to my reprehensible ignorance of mechanical forces. The first error I made was in applying my apparatus of blocks and pulleys to a rope which was too weak, so that the very first heave I made broke it in two, and sent me staggering against the after-hatch, over which I tripped, and, striking against the main-boom, tumbled down the companion-ladder into the cabin. I was much bruised and somewhat stunned by this untoward accident. However, I considered it fortunate that I was not killed. In my next attempt I made sure of not coming by a similar accident, so I unreeved the tackling and fitted up larger blocks and ropes. But although the principle on which I acted was quite correct, the machinery was now so massive and heavy that the mere friction and stiffness of the thick cordage prevented me from moving it at all. Afterwards, however, I came to proportion things more correctly; but I could act avoid reflecting at the time how much better it would have been had I learned all this from observation and study, instead of waiting till I was forced to acquire it through the painful and tedious lessons of experience. After the tackling was prepared and in good working order, it took me the greater part of a day to hoist the main top-sail. As I could not steer and work at this at the same time, I lashed the helm in such a position that, with a little watching now and then, it kept the schooner in her proper course. By this means I was enabled also to go about the deck and down below for things that I wanted, as occasion required; also to cook and eat my victuals. But I did not dare to trust to this plan during the three hours of rest that I allowed myself at night, as the wind might have shifted, in which case I should have been blown far out of my course ere I awoke. I was, therefore, in the habit of _heaving-to_ during those three hours--that is, fixing the rudder and the sails in such a position as that, by acting against each other, they would keep the ship stationary. After my night's rest, therefore, I had only to make allowance for the leeway she had made, and so resume my course. Of course I was to some extent anxious lest another squall should come, but I made the best provision I could in the circumstances, and concluded that by letting go the weather-braces of the top-sails and the top-sail halyards at the same time, I should thereby render these sails almost powerless. Besides this, I proposed to myself to keep a sharp look-out on the barometer in the cabin, and if I observed at any time a sudden fall in it, I resolved that I would instantly set about my multiform appliances for reducing sail, so as to avoid being taken unawares. Thus I sailed prosperously for two weeks, with a fair wind, so that I calculated I must be drawing near to the Coral Island; at the thought of which my heart bounded with joyful expectation. The only book I found on board, after a careful search, was a volume of Captain Cook's voyages. This, I suppose, the pirate captain had brought with him in order to guide him, and to furnish him with information regarding the islands of these seas. I found this a most delightful book indeed, and I not only obtained much interesting knowledge about the sea in which I was sailing, but I had many of my own opinions, derived from experience, corroborated, and not a few of them corrected. Besides the reading of this charming book, and the daily routine of occupations, nothing of particular note happened to me during this voyage, except once, when on rising one night, after my three hours' nap, while it was yet dark, I was amazed and a little alarmed to find myself floating in what appeared to be a sea of blue fire. I had often noticed the beautiful appearance of phosphorescent light, but this far exceeded anything of the sort I ever saw before. The whole sea appeared somewhat like milk, and was remarkably luminous. I rose in haste, and letting down a bucket into the sea, brought some of the water on board and took it down to the cabin to examine it; but no sooner did I approach the light than the strange appearance disappeared, and when I removed the cabin lamp the luminous light appeared again. I was much puzzled with this, and took up a little of the water in the hollow of my hand and then let it run off, when I found that the luminous substance was left behind on my palm. I ran with it to the lamp, but when I got there it was gone. I found, however, that when I went into the dark my hand shone again; so I took the large glass of the ship's telescope and examined my hand minutely, when I found that there were on it one or two small patches of a clear, transparent substance like jelly, which were so thin as to be almost invisible to the naked eye. Thus I came to know that the beautiful phosphoric light, which I had so often admired before, was caused by animals, for I had no doubt that these were of the same kind as the medusae or jelly-fish which are seen in all parts of the world. On the evening of my fourteenth day I was awakened out of a nap into which I had fallen by a loud cry, and starting up I gazed around me. I was surprised and delighted to see a large albatross soaring majestically over the ship. I immediately took it into my head that this was the albatross I had seen at Penguin Island. I had, of course, no good reason for supposing this, but the idea occurred to me, I know not why, and I cherished it, and regarded the bird with as much affection as if he had been an old friend. He kept me company all that day, and left me as night fell. Next morning, as I stood motionless and with heavy eyes at the helm--for I had not slept well--I began to weary anxiously for daylight, and peered towards the horizon, where I thought I observed something like a black cloud against the dark sky. Being always on the alert for squalls, I ran to the bow. There could be no doubt it was a squall, and as I listened I thought I heard the murmur of the coming gale. Instantly I began to work might and main at my cumbrous tackle for shortening sail, and in the course of an hour and a half had the most of it reduced--the top-sail yards down on the caps, the top-sails clewed up, the sheets hauled in, the main and fore peaks lowered, and the flying-jib down. While thus engaged the dawn advanced, and I cast an occasional furtive glance ahead in the midst of my labour. But now that things were prepared for the worst, I ran forward again and looked anxiously over the bow. I now heard the roar of the waves distinctly, and as a single ray of the rising sun gleamed over the ocean I saw--what! could it be that I was dreaming?--that magnificent breaker with its ceaseless roar!--that mountain top!--yes, once more I beheld the Coral Island! Chapter XXIX The effect of a cannon-shot--A happy reunion of a somewhat moist nature--Retrospect and explanations--An awful dive--New plans--The last of the Coral Island. I almost fell upon the deck with the tumult of mingled emotions that filled my heart as I gazed ardently towards my beautiful island. It was still many miles away, but sufficiently near to enable me to trace distinctly the well-remembered outlines of the two mountains. My first impulse was to utter an exclamation of gratitude for being carried to my former happy home in safety; my second, to jump up, clap my hands, shout, and run up and down the deck, with no other object in view than that of giving vent to my excited feelings. Then I went below for the telescope, and spent nearly ten minutes of the utmost impatience in vainly trying to get a focus, and in rubbing the skin nearly off my eyes, before I discovered that having taken off the large glass to examine the phosphoric water with I had omitted to put it on again. After that I looked up impatiently at the sails, which I now regretted having lowered so hastily, and for a moment thought of hoisting the main top-sail again; but recollecting that it would take me full half a day to accomplish, and that, at the present rate of sailing, two hours would bring me to the island, I immediately dismissed the idea. The remainder of the time I spent in making feverish preparations for arriving and seeing my dear comrades. I remembered that they were not in the habit of rising before six, and as it was now only three, I hoped to arrive before they were awake. Moreover, I set about making ready to let go the anchor, resolving in my own mind that, as I knew the depth of water in the passage of the reef and within the lagoon, I would run the schooner in and bring up opposite the bower. Fortunately the anchor was hanging at the cat-head, otherwise I should never have been able to use it. Now, I had only to cut the tackling, and it would drop of its own weight. After searching among the flags, I found the terrible black one, which I ran up to the peak. While I was doing this a thought struck me. I went to the powder-magazine, brought up a blank cartridge and loaded the big brass gun, which, it will be remembered, was unhoused when we set sail, and as I had no means of housing it, there it had stood, bristling alike at fair weather and foul all the voyage. I took care to grease its mouth well, and before leaving the fore part of the ship, thrust the poker into the fire. All was now ready. A steady five-knot breeze was blowing, so that I was now not more than quarter of a mile from the reef. I was soon at the entrance, and as the schooner glided quickly through, I glanced affectionately at the huge breaker, as if it had been the same one I had seen there when I bade adieu, as I feared for ever, to the island. On coming opposite the Water Garden, I put the helm hard down. The schooner came round with a rapid, graceful bend, and lost way just opposite the bower. Running forward, I let go the anchor, caught up the red-hot poker, applied it to the brass gun, and saluted the mountains with a _bang_ such as had only once before broke their slumbering echoes! Effective although it was, however, it was scarcely equal to the bang with which, instantly after, Peterkin bounded from the bower, in scanty costume, his eyeballs starting from his head with surprise and terror. One gaze he gave, one yell, and then fled into the bushes like a wild cat. The next moment Jack went through exactly the same performance, the only difference being that his movements were less like those of Jack-in-the-box, though not less vigorous and rapid than those of Peterkin. "Hallo!" I shouted, almost mad with joy, "what ho! Peterkin! Jack I hallo! it's _me_!" My shout was just in time to arrest them. They halted and turned round, and the instant I repeated the cry I saw that they recognised my voice, by both of them running at full speed towards the beach. I could no longer contain myself. Throwing off my jacket, I jumped overboard at the same moment that Jack bounded into the sea. In another moment we met in deep water, clasped each other round the neck, and sank, as a matter of course, to the bottom! We were well-nigh choked, and instantly struggled to the surface, where Peterkin was sputtering about like a wounded duck, laughing and crying by turns, and choking himself with salt water! It would be impossible to convey to my reader, by description, an adequate conception of the scene that followed my landing on the beach, as we stood embracing each other indiscriminately in our dripping garments, and giving utterance to incoherent rhapsodies, mingled with wild shouts. It can be more easily imagined than described, so I will draw a curtain over this part of my history, and carry the reader forward over an interval of three days. During the greater part of that period Peterkin did nothing but roast pigs, taro, and bread-fruit, and ply me with plantains, plums, potatoes, and cocoa-nuts, while I related to him and Jack the terrible and wonderful adventures I had gone through since we last met. After I had finished the account, they made me go all over it again; and when I had concluded the second recital, I had to go over it again, while they commented upon it piecemeal. They were much affected by what I told them of the probable fate of Avatea, and Peterkin could by no means brook the idea of the poor girl being converted into a _long pig_! As for Jack, he clinched his teeth, and shook his fist towards the sea, saying at the same time that he was sorry he had not broken Tararo's head, and he only hoped that one day he should be able to plant his knuckles on the bridge of that chiefs nose! After they had "pumped me dry," as Peterkin said, I begged to be informed of what had happened to them during my long absence, and particularly as to how they got out of the Diamond Cave. "Well, you must know," began Jack, "after you had dived out of the cave, on the day you were taken away from us, we waited very patiently for half-an-hour, not expecting you to return before the end of that time. Then we began to upbraid you for staying so long, when you knew we would be anxious; but when an hour passed, we became alarmed, and I resolved at all hazards to dive out, and see what had become of you, although I felt for poor Peterkin, because, as he truly said, 'If you never come back I'm shut up here for life.' However, I promised not to run any risk, and he let me go; which, to say truth, I thought very courageous of him!" "I should just think it was," interrupted Peterkin, looking at Jack over the edge of a monstrous potato which he happened to be devouring at the time. "Well," continued Jack, "you may guess my consternation when you did not answer to my halloo. At first I imagined that the pirates must have killed you, and left you in the bush or thrown you into the sea; then it occurred to me that this would have served no end of theirs, so I came to the conclusion that they must have carried you away with them. As this thought struck me, I observed the pirate schooner standing away to the nor'ard, almost hull down on the horizon, and I sat down on the rocks to watch her as she slowly sank from my sight. And I tell you, Ralph my boy, that I shed more tears that time at losing you than I have done, I verily believe, all my life before--" "Pardon me, Jack, for interrupting," said Peterkin; "surely you must be mistaken in that: you've often told me that when you were a baby you used to howl and roar from morning to--" "Hold your tongue, Peterkin," cried Jack. "Well, after the schooner had disappeared, I dived back into the cave, much to Peterkin's relief, and told him what I had seen. We sat down and had a long talk over this matter, and then we agreed to make a regular, systematic search through the woods, so as to make sure at least that you had not been killed. But now we thought of the difficulty of getting out of the cave without your help. Peterkin became dreadfully nervous when he thought of this; and I must confess I felt some alarm, for, of course, I could not hope alone to take him out so quickly as we two together had brought him in; and he himself vowed that, if we had been a moment longer with him that time, he would have had to take a breath of salt water. However, there was no help for it, and I endeavoured to calm his fears as well as I could; 'For,' said I, 'you can't live here, Peterkin;' to which he replied,' Of course not, Jack, I can only die here, and as that's not at all desirable, you had better propose something.' So I suggested that he should take a good long breath, and trust himself to me. "'Might we not make a large bag of cocoa-nut cloth, into which I could shove my head, and tie it tight round my neck?' he asked with a haggard smile. 'It might let me get one breath under water!' "'No use,' said I, 'it would fill in a moment and suffocate you. I see nothing for it, Peterkin, if you really can't keep your breath so long, but to let me knock you down, and carry you out while in a state of insensibility.' "But Peterkin didn't relish this idea. He seemed to fear that I would not be able to measure the exact force of the blow, and might, on the one hand, hit him so softly as to render a second or third blow necessary, which would be very uncomfortable; or, on the other hand, give him such a smash as would entirely spoil his figure-head, or mayhap knock the life out of him altogether! At last I got him persuaded to try to hold his breath, and commit himself to me; so he agreed, and down we went. But I had not got half-way through, when he began to struggle and kick like a wild bull, burst from my grasp, and hit against the roof of the tunnel. I was therefore obliged to force him violently back into the cave again, where he rose panting to the surface. In short, he had lost his presence of mind, and--" "Nothing of the sort," cried Peterkin indignantly, "I only lost my wind; and if I had not had presence of mind enough to kick as I did, I should have bu'st in your arms!" "Well, well, so be it," resumed Jack with a smile; "but the upshot of it was, that we had to hold another consultation on the point, and I really believe that, had it not been for a happy thought of mine, we should have been consulting there yet." "I wish we had," again interrupted Peterkin with a sigh.--"I'm sure, Ralph, if I had thought that you were coming back again, I would willingly have awaited your return for months rather than have endured the mental agony which I went through. But proceed." "The thought was this," continued Jack, "that I should tie Peterkin's hands and feet with cords, and then lash him firmly to a stout pole about five feet long, in order to render him quite powerless, and keep him straight and stiff. You should have seen his face of horror, Ralph, when I suggested this; but he came to see that it was his only chance, and told me to set about it as fast as I could; 'For,' said he, 'this is no jokin', Jack, _I_ can tell you, and the sooner it's done the better.' I soon procured the cordage and a suitable pole, with which I returned to the cave, and lashed him as stiff and straight as an Egyptian mummy; and, to say truth, he was no bad representation of what an English mummy would be, if there were such things, for he was as white as a dead man." "'Now,' said Peterkin in a tremulous voice, 'swim with me as near to the edge of the hole as you can before you dive, then let me take a long breath, and as I shan't be able to speak after I've taken it, you'll watch my face, and the moment you see me wink--dive! And oh,' he added earnestly, 'pray don't be long!' "I promised to pay the strictest attention to his wishes, and swam with him to the outlet of the cave. Here I paused. 'Now then', said I, 'pull away at the wind, lad.' "Peterkin drew in a breath so long that I could not help thinking of the frog in the fable, that wanted to swell itself as big as the ox. Then I looked into his face earnestly. Slap went the lid of his right eye; down went my head, and up went my heels. We shot through the passage like an arrow, and rose to the surface of the open sea before you could count twenty. "Peterkin had taken in such an awful load of wind that, on reaching the free air, he let it out with a yell loud enough to have been heard a mile off, and then the change in his feelings was so sudden and great, that he did not wait till we landed, but began, tied up as he was, to shout and sing for joy as I supported him, with my left arm, to the shore. However, in the middle of a laugh that a hyena might have envied, I let him accidentally slip, which extinguished him in a moment. "After this happy deliverance, we immediately began our search for your dead body, Ralph; and you have no idea how low our hearts sank as we set off, day after day, to examine the valleys and mountain sides with the utmost care. In about three weeks we completed the survey of the whole island, and had at least the satisfaction of knowing that you had not been killed. But it occurred to us that you might have been thrown into the sea, so we examined the sands and the lagoon carefully, and afterwards went all round the outer reef. One day, while we were upon the reef, Peterkin espied a small, dark object lying among the rocks, which seemed to be quite different from the surrounding stones. We hastened towards the spot, and found it to be a small keg. On knocking out the head we discovered that it was gunpowder." "It was I who sent you that, Jack," said I with a smile. "Fork out!" cried Peterkin energetically, starting to his feet and extending his open hand to Jack. "Down with the money, sir, else I'll have you shut up for life in a debtor's prison the moment we return to England!" "I'll give you an I O U in the meantime," returned Jack, laughing, "so sit down and be quiet.--The fact is, Ralph, when we discovered this keg of powder, Peterkin immediately took me a bet of a thousand pounds that you had something to do with it, and I took him a bet of ten thousand that you had not." "Peterkin was right then," said I, explaining how the thing had occurred. "Well, we found it very useful," continued Jack, "although some of it had got a little damp; and we furbished up the old pistol, with which Peterkin is a crack shot now. But to continue. We did not find any other vestige of you on the reef, and finally gave up all hope of ever seeing you again. After this the island became a dreary place to us, and we began to long for a ship to heave in sight and take us off. But now that you're back again, my dear fellow, it looks as bright and cheerful as it used to do, and I love it as much as ever. "And now," continued Jack, "I have a great desire to visit some of the other islands of the South Seas. Here we have a first-rate schooner at our disposal, so I don't see what should hinder us." "Just the very thing I was going to propose," cried Peterkin. "I vote for starting at once." "Well, then," said Jack, "it seems to me that we could not do better than shape our course for the island on which Avatea lives, and endeavour to persuade Tararo to let her marry the black fellow to whom she is engaged, instead of making a long pig of her. If he has a spark of gratitude in him, he'll do it. Besides, having become champions for this girl once before, it behoves us, as true knights, not to rest until we set her free; at least, all the heroes in all the story-books I have ever read would count it foul disgrace to leave such a work unfinished." "I'm sure I don't know or care what your knights in story-books would do," said Peterkin; "but I'm certain that it would be capital fun, so I'm your man whenever you want me." This plan of Jack's was quite in accordance with his romantic, impulsive nature; and having made up his mind to save this black girl, he could not rest until the thing was commenced. "But there may be great danger in this attempt," he said, at the end of a long consultation on the subject. "Will you, lads, go with me in spite of this?" "Go with you!" we repeated in the same breath. "Can you doubt it?" said I. "For a moment," added Peterkin. I need scarcely say that, having made up our minds to go on this enterprise, we lost no time in making preparations to quit the island; and as the schooner was well laden with stores of every kind for a long cruise, we had little to do except to add to our abundant supply a quantity of cocoa-nuts, bread-fruit, taro, yams, plums, and potatoes, chiefly with the view of carrying the fragrance of our dear island along with us as long as we could. When all was ready, we paid a farewell visit to the different familiar spots where most of our time had been spent. We ascended the mountain top, and gazed for the last time at the rich green foliage in the valleys, the white sandy beach, the placid lagoon, and the barrier coral reef with its crested breakers. Then we descended to Spouting Cliff, and looked down at the pale-green monster which we had made such fruitless efforts to spear in days gone by. From this we hurried to the Water Garden, and took a last dive into its clear waters, and a last gambol amongst its coral groves. I hurried out before my companions, and dressed in haste, in order to have a long examination of my tank, which Peterkin, in the fulness of his heart, had tended with the utmost care, as being a vivid remembrancer of me, rather than out of love for natural history. It was in superb condition--the water as clear and pellucid as crystal; the red and green seaweed of the most brilliant hues; the red, purple, yellow, green, and striped anemones fully expanded, and stretching out their arms as if to welcome and embrace their former master; the star-fish, zoophytes, sea-pens, and other innumerable marine insects looking fresh and beautiful; and the crabs, as Peterkin said, looking as wide awake, impertinent, rampant, and pugnacious as ever. It was, indeed, so lovely and so interesting that I would scarcely allow myself to be torn away from it. Last of all, we returned to the bower and collected the few articles we possessed, such as the axe, the pencil-case, the broken telescope, the penknife, the hook made from the brass ring, and the sail-needle, with which we had landed on the island; also the long boots and the pistol, besides several curious articles of costume which we had manufactured from time to time. These we conveyed on board in our little boat, after having carved our names on a chip of ironwood, thus:-- JACK MARTIN, RALPH ROVER, PETERKIN GAY, which we fixed up inside of the bower. The boat was then hoisted on board and the anchor weighed; which latter operation cost us great labour and much time, as the anchor was so heavy that we could not move it without the aid of my complex machinery of blocks and pulleys. A steady breeze was blowing off shore when we set sail, at a little before sunset. It swept us quickly past the reef and out to sea. The shore grew rapidly more indistinct as the shades of evening fell, while our clipper bark bounded lightly over the waves. Slowly the mountain top sank on the horizon, until it became a mere speck. In another moment the sun and the Coral Island sank together into the broad bosom of the Pacific. Chapter XXX The voyage--The island, and a consultation in which danger is scouted as a thing unworthy of consideration--Rats and cats--The native teacher--Awful revelations--Wonderful effects of Christianity. Our voyage during the next two weeks was most interesting and prosperous. The breeze continued generally fair, and at all times enabled us to lie our course; for being, as I have said before, clipper-built, the pirate schooner could lie very close to the wind and make little leeway. We had no difficulty now in managing our sails, for Jack was heavy and powerful, while Peterkin was active as a kitten. Still, however, we were a very insufficient crew for such a vessel, and if any one had proposed to us to make such a voyage in it before we had been forced to go through so many hardships from necessity, we would have turned away with pity from the individual making such proposal as from a madman. I pondered this a good deal, and at last concluded that men do not know how much they are capable of doing till they try, and that we should never give way to despair in any undertaking, however difficult it may seem--always supposing, however, that our cause is a good one, and that we can ask the Divine blessing on it. Although, therefore, we could now manage our sails easily, we nevertheless found that my pulleys were of much service to us in some things; though Jack did laugh heartily at the uncouth arrangement of ropes and blocks, which had, to a sailor's eye, a very lumbering and clumsy appearance. But I will not drag my reader through the details of this voyage. Suffice it to say that, after an agreeable sail of about three weeks, we arrived off the island of Mango, which I recognised at once from the description that the pirate Bill had given me of it during one of our conversations. As soon as we came within sight of it we hove the ship to and held a council of war. "Now, boys," said Jack, as we seated ourselves beside him on the cabin skylight, "before we go further in this business, we must go over the pros and cons of it; for although you have so generously consented to stick by me through thick and thin, it would be unfair did I not see that you thoroughly understand the danger of what we are about to attempt." "Oh, bother the danger!" cried Peterkin. "I wonder to hear you, Jack, talk of danger. When a fellow begins to talk about it, he'll soon come to magnify it to such a degree that he'll not be fit to face it when it comes, no more than a suckin' baby." "Nay, Peterkin," replied Jack gravely, "I won't be jested out of it. I grant you that when we've once resolved to act, and have made up our minds what to do, we should think no more of danger. But before we have so resolved it behoves us to look it straight in the face, and examine into it, and walk round it; for if we flinch at a distant view, we're sure to run away when the danger is near.--Now, I understand from you, Ralph, that the island is inhabited by thorough-going, out-and-out cannibals, whose principal law is, 'Might is right, and the weakest goes to the wall'?" "Yes," said I; "so Bill gave me to understand. He told me, however, that at the southern side of it the missionaries had obtained a footing amongst an insignificant tribe. A native teacher had been sent there by the Wesleyans, who had succeeded in persuading the chief at that part to embrace Christianity. But instead of that being of any advantage to our enterprise, it seems the very reverse; for the chief Tararo is a determined heathen, and persecutes the Christians--who are far too weak in numbers to offer any resistance--and looks with dislike upon all white men, whom he regards as propagators of the new faith." "Tis a pity," said Jack, "that the Christian tribe is so small, for we shall scarcely be safe under their protection, I fear. If Tararo takes it into his head to wish for our vessel, or to kill ourselves, he could take us from them by force. You say that the native missionary talks English?" "So I believe." "Then, what I propose is this," said Jack. "We will run round to the south side of the island, and cast anchor off the Christian village. We are too far away just now to have been descried by any of the savages, so we shall get there unobserved, and have time to arrange our plans before the heathen tribes know of our presence. But in doing this we run the risk of being captured by the ill-disposed tribes, and being very ill used, if not-a--" "Roasted alive and eaten," cried Peterkin. "Come, out with it, Jack. According to your own showing, it's well to look the danger straight in the face!" "Well, that is the worst of it, certainly. Are you prepared, then, to take your chance of that?" "I've been prepared and had my mind made up long ago," cried Peterkin, swaggering about the deck with his hands thrust into his breeches pockets. "The fact is, Jack, I don't believe that Tararo will be so ungrateful as to eat us; and I'm quite sure that he'll be too happy to grant us whatever we ask, so the sooner we go in and win the better." Peterkin was wrong, however, in his estimate of savage gratitude, as the sequel will show. The schooner was now put before the wind, and after making a long run to the southward, we put about and beat up for the south side of Mango, where we arrived before sunset, and hove-to off the coral reef. Here we awaited the arrival of a canoe, which immediately put off on our rounding-to. When it arrived, a mild-looking native, of apparently forty years of age, came on board, and, taking off his straw hat, made us a low bow. He was clad in a respectable suit of European clothes; and the first words he uttered, as he stepped up to Jack and shook hands with him, were-- "Good day, gentlemen. We are happy to see you at Mango; you are heartily welcome." After returning his salutation, Jack exclaimed, "You must be the native missionary teacher of whom I have heard; are you not?" "I am. I have the joy to be a servant of the Lord Jesus at this station." "You're the very man I want to see, then," replied Jack; "that's lucky. Come down to the cabin, friend, and have a glass of wine. I wish particularly to speak with you. My men there," pointing to Peterkin and me, "will look after your people." "Thank you," said the teacher, as he followed Jack to the cabin; "I do not drink wine, or any strong drink." "Oh! then there's lots of water, and you can have biscuit." "Now, 'pon my word, that's cool!" said Peterkin; "his _men_, forsooth! Well, since we are to be men, we may as well come it as strong over these black chaps as we can.--Hallo, there!" he cried to the half-dozen of natives who stood upon the deck, gazing in wonder at all they saw, "here's for you;" and he handed them a tray of broken biscuit and a can of water. Then, thrusting his hands into his pockets, he walked up and down the deck with an enormous swagger, whistling vociferously. In about half-an-hour Jack and the teacher came on deck, and the latter, bidding us a cheerful good-evening, entered his canoe and paddled to the shore. When he was gone, Peterkin stepped up to Jack, and, touching his cap, said-- "Well, captain, have you any communications to make to your _men?_" "Yes," cried Jack; "ready about, mind the helm, and clew up your tongue, while I con the schooner through the passage in the reef. The teacher, who seems a first-rate fellow, says it's quite deep, and good anchorage within the lagoon close to the shore." While the vessel was slowly advancing to her anchorage, under a light breeze, Jack explained to us that Avatea was still on the island, living amongst the heathens; that she had expressed a strong desire to join the Christians, but Tararo would not let her, and kept her constantly in close confinement. "Moreover," continued Jack, "I find that she belongs to one of the Samoan Islands, where Christianity had been introduced long before her capture by the heathens of a neighbouring island; and the very day after she was taken she was to have joined the Church which had been planted there by that excellent body the London Missionary Society. The teacher tells me, too, that the poor girl has fallen in love with a Christian chief, who lives on an island some fifty miles or so to the south of this one, and that she is meditating a desperate attempt at escape. So, you see, we have come in the nick of time. I fancy that this chief is the fellow whom you heard of, Ralph, at the Island of Emo. Besides all this, the heathen savages are at war among themselves, and there's to be a battle fought the day after to-morrow, in which the principal leader is Tararo; so that we'll not be able to commence our negotiations with the rascally chief till the day after." The village off which we anchored was beautifully situated at the head of a small bay, from the margin of which trees of every description peculiar to the tropics rose in the richest luxuriance to the summit of a hilly ridge, which was the line of demarcation between the possessions of the Christians and those of the neighbouring heathen chief. The site of the settlement was an extensive plot of flat land, stretching in a gentle slope from the sea to the mountain. The cottages stood several hundred yards from the beach, and were protected from the glare of the sea by the rich foliage of rows of large Barringtonia and other trees which girt the shore. The village was about a mile in length, and perfectly straight, with a wide road down the middle, on either side of which were rows of the tufted-topped ti tree, whose delicate and beautiful blossoms, hanging beneath their plume-crested tops, added richness to the scene. The cottages of the natives were built beneath these trees, and were kept in the most excellent order, each having a little garden in front, tastefully laid out and planted, while the walks were covered with black and white pebbles. Every house had doors and Venetian windows, painted partly with lamp-black made from the candle-nut, and partly with red ochre, which contrasted powerfully with the dazzling coral lime that covered the walls. On a prominent position stood a handsome church, which was quite a curiosity in its way. It was a hundred feet long by fifty broad, and was seated throughout to accommodate upwards of two thousand persons. It had six large folding doors, and twelve windows with Venetian blinds; and although a large and substantial edifice, it had been built, we were told by the teacher, in the space of two months! There was not a single iron nail in the fabric, and the natives had constructed it chiefly with their stone and bone axes and other tools, having only one or two axes or tools of European manufacture. Everything around this beautiful spot wore an aspect of peace and plenty; and as we dropped our anchor within a stone's cast of the substantial coral wharf, I could not avoid contrasting it with the wretched village of Emo, where I had witnessed so many frightful scenes. When the teacher afterwards told me that the people of this tribe had become converts only a year previous to our arrival, and that they had been living before that in the practice of the most bloody system of idolatry, I could not refrain from exclaiming, "What a convincing proof that Christianity is of God!" On landing from our little boat, we were received with a warm welcome by the teacher and his wife; the latter being also a native, clothed in a simple European gown and a straw bonnet. The shore was lined with hundreds of natives, whose persons were all more or less clothed with native cloth. Some of the men had on a kind of poncho formed of this cloth, their legs being uncovered; others wore clumsily fashioned trousers, and no upper garment except hats made of straw and cloth. Many of the dresses, both of women and men, were grotesque enough, being very bad imitations of the European garb; but all wore a dress of some sort or other. They seemed very glad to see us, and crowded round us as the teacher led the way to his dwelling, where we were entertained, in the most sumptuous manner, on baked pig and all the varieties of fruits and vegetables that the island produced. We were much annoyed, however, by the rats: they seemed to run about the house like domestic animals. As we sat at table, one of them peeped up at us over the edge of the cloth, close to Peterkin's elbow, who floored it with a blow on the snout from his knife, exclaiming as he did so-- "I say, Mister Teacher, why don't you set traps for these brutes? Surely you are not fond of them!" "No," replied the teacher with a smile; "we would be glad to get rid of them if we could; but if we were to trap all the rats on the island, it would occupy our whole time." "Are they, then, so numerous?" inquired Jack. "They swarm everywhere. The poor heathens on the north side eat them, and think them very sweet. So did my people formerly; but they do not eat so many now, because the missionary who was last here expressed disgust at it. The poor people asked if it was wrong to eat rats; and he told them that it was certainly not wrong, but that the people of England would be much disgusted were they asked to eat rats." We had not been an hour in the house of this kind-hearted man when we were convinced of the truth of his statement as to their numbers; for the rats ran about the floors in dozens, and during our meal two men were stationed at the table to keep them off! "What a pity you have no cats!" said Peterkin, and he aimed a blow at another reckless intruder, and missed it. "We would indeed be glad to have a few," rejoined the teacher, "but they are difficult to be got. The hogs, we find, are very good rat-killers, but they do not seem to be able to keep the numbers down. I have heard that they are better than cats." As the teacher said this, his good-natured black face was wrinkled with a smile of merriment. Observing that I had noticed it, he said-- "I smiled just now when I remembered the fate of the first cat that was taken to Rarotonga. This is one of the stations of the London Missionary Society. It, like our own, is infested with rats, and a cat was brought at last to the island. It was a large black one. On being turned loose, instead of being content to stay among men, the cat took to the mountains, and lived in a wild state, sometimes paying visits during the night to the houses of the natives; some of whom, living at a distance from the settlement, had not heard of the cat's arrival, and were dreadfully frightened in consequence, calling it a 'monster of the deep,' and flying in terror away from it. One night the cat--feeling a desire for company, I suppose--took its way to the house of a chief who had recently been converted to Christianity, and had begun to learn to read and pray. The chief's wife, who was sitting awake at his side while he slept, beheld with horror two fires glistening in the doorway, and heard with surprise a mysterious voice. Almost petrified with fear, she awoke her husband, and began to upbraid him for forsaking his old religion and burning his god, who, she declared, was now come to be avenged of them. 'Get up and pray! get up and pray!' she cried. The chief arose, and on opening his eyes beheld the same glaring lights and heard the same ominous sound. Impelled by the extreme urgency of the case, he commenced, with all possible vehemence, to vociferate the alphabet, as a prayer to God to deliver them from the vengeance of Satan! On hearing this, the cat, as much alarmed as themselves, fled precipitately away, leaving the chief and his wife congratulating themselves on the efficacy of their prayer." We were much diverted with this anecdote, which the teacher related in English so good that we certainly could not have supposed him a native but for the colour of his face and the foreign accent in his tone. Next day we walked out with this interesting man, and were much entertained and instructed by his conversation, as we rambled through the cool, shady groves of bananas, citrons, limes, and other trees, or sauntered among the cottages of the natives, and watched them while they laboured diligently in the taro beds or manufactured the tapa or native cloth. To some of these Jack put questions through the medium of the missionary; and the replies were such as to surprise us at the extent of their knowledge. Indeed, Peterkin very truly remarked that "they seemed to know a considerable deal more than Jack himself!" Among other pieces of interesting information that we obtained was the following, in regard to coral formations:-- "The islands of the Pacific," said our friend, "are of three different kinds or classes. Those of the first class are volcanic, mountainous, and wild; some shooting their jagged peaks into the clouds at an elevation of ten and fifteen thousand feet. Those of the second class are of crystallised limestone, and vary in height from one hundred to five hundred feet. The hills on these are not so wild or broken as those of the first class, but are richly clothed with vegetation, and very beautiful. I have no doubt that the Coral Island on which you were wrecked was one of this class. They are supposed to have been upheaved from the bottom of the sea by volcanic agency, but they are not themselves volcanic in their nature, neither are they of coral formation. Those of the third class are the low coralline islands, usually having lagoons of water in their midst; they are very numerous. "As to the manner in which coral islands and reefs are formed, there are various opinions on this point. I will give you what seems to me the most probable theory--a theory, I may add, which is held by some of the good and scientific missionaries. It is well known that there is much lime in salt water; it is also known that coral is composed of lime. It is supposed that the polypes, or coral insects, have the power of attracting this lime to their bodies; and with this material they build their little cells or habitations. They choose the summit of a volcano, or the top of a submarine mountain, as a foundation on which to build; for it is found that they never work at any great depth below the surface. On this they work; the polypes on the mountain top, of course, reach the surface first, then those at the outer edges reach the top sooner than the others between them and the centre, thus forming the coral reef surrounding the lagoon of water and the central island; after that the insects within the lagoon cease working. When the surface of the water is reached, these myriads of wonderful creatures die. Then birds visit the spot, and seeds are thus conveyed thither, which take root, and spring up, and flourish. Thus are commenced those coralline islets of which you have seen so many in these seas. The reefs round the large islands are formed in a similar manner. When we consider," added the missionary, "the smallness of the architects used by our heavenly Father in order to form those lovely and innumerable islands, we are filled with much of that feeling which induced the ancient king to exclaim, 'How manifold, O Lord, are Thy works! in wisdom hast Thou made them all.'" We all heartily agreed with the missionary in this sentiment, and felt not a little gratified to find that the opinions which Jack and I had been led to form from personal observation on our Coral Island were thus to a great extent corroborated. The missionary also gave us an account of the manner in which Christianity had been introduced among them. He said: "When missionaries were first sent here, three years ago, a small vessel brought them; and the chief, who is now dead, promised to treat well the two native teachers who were left with their wives on the island. But scarcely had the boat which landed them returned to the ship, than the natives began to maltreat their guests, taking away all they possessed, and offering them further violence, so that, when the boat was sent in haste to fetch them away, the clothes of both men and women were torn nearly off their backs. "Two years after this the vessel visited them again, and I, being in her, volunteered to land alone, without any goods whatever, begging that my wife might be brought to me the following year--that is, _this_ year; and, as you see, she is with me. But the surf was so high that the boat could not land me; so with nothing on but my trousers and shirt, and with a few catechisms and a Bible, besides some portions of the Scripture translated into the Mango tongue, I sprang into the sea, and swam ashore on the crest of a breaker. I was instantly dragged up the beach by the natives; who, on finding I had nothing worth having upon me, let me alone. I then made signs to my friends in the ship to leave me; which they did. At first the natives listened to me in silence, but laughed at what I said while I preached the Gospel of our blessed Saviour Jesus Christ to them. Afterwards they treated me ill sometimes; but I persevered, and continued to dwell among them, and dispute, and exhort them to give up their sinful ways of life, burn their idols, and come to Jesus. "About a month after I landed, I heard that the chief was dead. He was the father of the present chief, who is now a most consistent member of the Church. It is a custom here that when a chief dies his wives are strangled and buried with him. Knowing this, I hastened to his house to endeavour to prevent such cruelty if possible. When I arrived, I found two of the wives had already been killed, while another was in the act of being strangled. I pleaded hard for her, but it was too late; she was already dead. I then entreated the son to spare the fourth wife, and after much hesitation my prayer was granted; but in half-an-hour afterwards this poor woman repented of being unfaithful, as she termed it, to her husband, and insisted on being strangled; which was accordingly done. "All this time the chief's son was walking up and down before his father's house with a brow black as thunder. When he entered I went in with him, and found, to my surprise, that his father was _not_ dead! The old man was sitting on a mat in a corner, with an expression of placid resignation on his face. "'Why,' said I, 'have you strangled your father's wives before he is dead?' "To this the son replied, 'He is dead. That is no longer my father. He is as good as dead now. He is to be _buried alive_.' "I now remembered having heard that it is a custom among the Feejee Islanders, that when the reigning chief grows old or infirm, the heir to the chieftainship has a right to depose his father; in which case he is considered as dead, and is buried alive. The young chief was now about to follow this custom, and despite my earnest entreaties and pleadings, the old chief was buried that day before my eyes in the same grave with his four strangled wives! Oh, my heart groaned when I saw this! and I prayed to God to open the hearts of these poor creatures, as He had already opened mine, and pour into them the light and the love of the Gospel of Jesus. My prayer was answered very soon. A week afterwards, the son, who was now chief of the tribe, came to me, bearing his god on his shoulders, and groaning beneath its weight. Flinging it down at my feet, he desired me to burn it! "You may conceive how overjoyed I was at this. I sprang up and embraced him, while I shed tears of joy. Then we made a fire, and burned the god to ashes, amid an immense concourse of the people, who seemed terrified at what was being done, and shrank back when we burned the god, expecting some signal vengeance to be taken upon us; but seeing that nothing happened, they changed their minds, and thought that our God must be the true one after all. From that time the mission prospered steadily; and now, while there is not a single man in the tribe who has not burned his household gods and become a convert to Christianity, there are not a few, I hope, who are true followers of the Lamb, having been plucked as brands from the burning by Him who can save unto the uttermost. I will not tell you more of our progress at this time; but you see," he said, waving his hand around him, "the village and the church did not exist a year ago!" We were indeed much interested in this account, and I could not help again in my heart praying to God to prosper those missionary societies that send such inestimable blessings to these islands of dark and bloody idolatry. The teacher also added that the other tribes were very indignant at this one for having burned its gods, and threatened to destroy it altogether, but they had done nothing yet. "And if they should," said the teacher, "the Lord is on our side; of whom shall we be afraid?" "Have the missionaries many stations in these seas?" inquired Jack. "Oh yes. The London Missionary Society have a great many in the Tahiti group, and other islands in that quarter. Then the Wesleyans have the Feejee Islands all to themselves, and the Americans have many stations in other groups. But still, my friend, there are hundreds of islands here the natives of which have never heard of Jesus, or the good word of God, or the Holy Spirit; and thousands are living and dying in the practice of those terrible sins and bloody murders of which you have already heard. I trust, my friends," he added, looking earnestly into our faces--"I trust that if you ever return to England, you will tell your Christian friends that the horrors which they hear of in regard to these islands are _literally true,_ and that when they have heard the worst, the _'half has not been told them;'_ for there are perpetrated here foul deeds of darkness of which man may not speak. You may also tell them," he said, looking around with a smile, while a tear of gratitude trembled in his eye and rolled down his coal-black cheek--"tell them of the blessings that the Gospel has wrought _here_!" We assured our friend that we would certainly not forget his request. On returning towards the village, about noon, we remarked on the beautiful whiteness of the cottages. "That is owing to the lime with which they are plastered," said the teacher. "When the natives were converted, as I have described, I set them to work to build cottages for themselves, and also this handsome church which you see. When the framework and other parts of the house were up, I sent the people to fetch coral from the sea. They brought immense quantities. Then I made them cut wood, and piling the coral above it, set it on fire. "'Look! look!' cried the poor people in amazement, 'what wonderful people the Christians are! He is roasting stones. We shall not need taro or bread-fruit any more; we may eat stones!' "But their surprise was still greater when the coral was reduced to a fine, soft white powder. They immediately set up a great shout, and mingling the lime with water, rubbed their faces and their bodies all over with it, and ran through the village screaming with delight. They were also much surprised at another thing they saw me do. I wished to make some household furniture, and constructed a turning-lathe to assist me. The first thing that I turned was the leg of a sofa; which was no sooner finished than the chief seized it with wonder and delight, and ran through the village exhibiting it to the people, who looked upon it with great admiration. The chief then, tying a string to it, hung it round his neck as an ornament! He afterwards told me that if he had seen it before he became a Christian, he would have made it his god!" As the teacher concluded this anecdote we reached his door. Saying that he had business to attend to, he left us to amuse ourselves as we best could. "Now, lads," said Jack, turning abruptly towards us, and buttoning up his jacket as he spoke, "I'm off to see the battle. I've no particular fondness for seein' bloodshed, but I must find out the nature o' these fellows and see their customs with my own eyes, so that I may be able to speak of it again, if need be, authoritatively. It's only six miles off, and we don't run much more risk than that of getting a rap with a stray stone or an overshot arrow. Will you go?" "To be sure we will," said Peterkin. "If they chance to see us we'll cut and run for it," added Jack. "Dear me!" cried Peterkin--"_you_ run! I thought you would scorn to run from any one." "So I would, if it were my duty to fight," returned Jack coolly; "but as I don't want to fight, and don't intend to fight, if they offer to attack us I'll run away like the veriest coward that ever went by the name of Peterkin. So come along." Chapter XXXI A strange and bloody battle--The lion bearded in his den--Frightful scenes of cruelty, and fear for the future. We had ascertained from the teacher the direction to the spot on which the battle was to be fought, and after a walk of two hours, reached it. The summit of a bare hill was the place chosen; for, unlike most of the other islanders who are addicted to bush fighting, those of Mango are in the habit of meeting on open ground. We arrived before the two parties had commenced the deadly struggle, and, creeping as close up as we dared among the rocks, we lay and watched them. The combatants were drawn up face to face, each side ranged in rank four deep. Those in the first row were armed with long spears; the second with clubs to defend the spearmen; the third row was composed of young men with slings; and the fourth consisted of women, who carried baskets of stones for the slingers, and clubs and spears with which to supply the warriors. Soon after we arrived the attack was made with great fury. There was no science displayed. The two bodies of savages rushed headlong upon each other and engaged in a general _mêlée_, and a more dreadful set of men I have never seen. They wore grotesque war-caps made of various substances and decorated with feathers. Their faces and bodies were painted so as to make them look as frightful as possible; and as they brandished their massive clubs, leaped, shouted, jelled, and dashed each other to the ground, I thought I had never seen men look so like demons before. We were much surprised at the conduct of the women, who seemed to be perfect furies, and hung about the heels of their husbands in order to defend them. One stout young woman we saw whose husband was hard pressed and about to be overcome she lifted a large stone, and throwing it at his opponent's head, felled him to the earth. But the battle did not last long. The band most distant from us gave way and were routed, leaving eighteen of their comrades dead upon the field. These the victors brained as they lay; and, putting some of their brains on leaves, went off with them, we were afterwards informed, to their temples to present them to their gods as an earnest of the human victims who were soon to be brought there. We hastened back to the Christian village with feelings of the deepest sadness at the sanguinary conflict which we had just witnessed. Next day, after breakfasting with our friend the teacher, we made preparations for carrying out our plan. At first the teacher endeavoured to dissuade us. "You do not know," said he, turning to Jack, "the danger you run in venturing amongst these ferocious savages. I feel much pity for poor Avatea; but you are not likely to succeed in saving her, and you may die in the attempt." "Well," said Jack quietly, "I am not afraid to die in a good cause." The teacher smiled approvingly at him as he said this, and, after a little further conversation, agreed to accompany us as interpreter; saying that, although Tararo was unfriendly to him, he had hitherto treated him with respect. We now went on board the schooner, having resolved to sail round the island and drop anchor opposite the heathen village. We manned her with natives, and hoped to overawe the savages by displaying our brass gun to advantage. The teacher soon after came on board, and, setting our sails, we put to sea. In two hours more we made the cliffs reverberate with the crash of the big gun, which we fired by way of salute, while we ran the British ensign up to the peak and cast anchor. The commotion on shore showed us that we had struck terror into the hearts of the natives; but, seeing that we did not offer to molest them, a canoe at length put off and paddled cautiously towards us. The teacher showed himself, and, explaining that we were friends and wished to palaver with the chief, desired the native to go and tell him to come on board. We waited long and with much impatience for an answer. During this time the native teacher conversed with us again, and told us many things concerning the success of the Gospel among those islands; and, perceiving that we were by no means so much gratified as we ought to have been at the hearing of such good news, he pressed us more closely in regard to our personal interest in religion, and exhorted us to consider that our souls were certainly in as great danger as those of the wretched heathen whom we pitied so much, if we had not already found salvation in Jesus Christ. "Nay, further," he added, "if such be your unhappy case, you are, in the sight of God, much worse than these savages (forgive me, my young friends, for saying so): for they have no knowledge, no light, and do not profess to believe; while you, on the contrary, have been brought up in the light of the blessed Gospel, and call yourselves Christians. These poor savages are indeed the enemies of our Lord; but you, if ye be not true believers, are traitors!" I must confess that my heart condemned me while the teacher spoke in this earnest manner, and I knew not what to reply. Peterkin, too, did not seem to like it, and I thought would willingly have escaped. But Jack seemed deeply impressed, and wore an anxious expression on his naturally grave countenance; while he assented to the teacher's remarks, and put to him many earnest questions. Meanwhile, the natives who composed our crew, having nothing particular to do, had squatted down on the deck and taken out their little books containing the translated portions of the New Testament, along with hymns and spelling-books, and were now busily engaged, some vociferating the alphabet, others learning prayers off by heart, while a few sang hymns--all of them being utterly unmindful of our presence. The teacher soon joined them, and soon afterwards they all engaged in a prayer, which was afterwards translated to us, and proved to be a petition for the success of our undertaking, and for the conversion of the heathen. While we were thus engaged, a canoe put off from shore and several savages leaped on deck, one of whom advanced to the teacher and informed him that Tararo could not come on board that day, being busy with some religious ceremonies before the gods, which could on no account be postponed. He was also engaged with a friendly chief who was about to take his departure from the island, and therefore begged that the teacher and his friends would land and pay a visit to him. To this the teacher returned answer that we would land immediately. "Now, lads," said Jack, as we were about to step into our little boat, "I'm not going to take any weapons with me, and I recommend you to take none either. We are altogether in the power of these savages, and the utmost we could do, if they were to attack us, would be to kill a few of them before we were ourselves overpowered. I think that our only chance of success lies in mild measures; don't you think so?" To this I assented gladly, and Peterkin replied by laying down a huge bell-mouthed blunderbuss, and divesting himself of a pair of enormous horse-pistols with which he had purposed to overawe the natives! We then jumped into our boat and rowed ashore. On reaching the beach we were received by a crowd of naked savages, who shouted a rude welcome, and conducted us to a house or shed where a baked pig and a variety of vegetables were prepared for us. Having partaken of these, the teacher begged to be conducted to the chief; but there seemed some hesitation, and after some consultation among themselves one of the men stood forward and spoke to the teacher. "What says he?" inquired Jack when the savage had concluded. "He says that the chief is just going to the temple of his god and cannot see us yet; so we must be patient, my friend." "Well," cried Jack, rising, "if he won't come to see me, I'll e'en go and see him. Besides, I have a great desire to witness their proceedings at this temple of theirs. Will you go with me, friend?" "I cannot," said the teacher, shaking his head; "I must not go to the heathen temples and witness their inhuman rites, except for the purpose of condemning their wickedness and folly." "Very good," returned Jack; "then I'll go alone, for I cannot condemn their doings till I have seen them." Jack arose, and we, having determined to go also, followed him through the banana groves to a rising ground immediately behind the village, on the top of which stood the Buré, or temple, under the dark shade of a group of iron-wood trees. As we went through the village, I was again led to contrast the rude huts and sheds and their almost naked, savage-looking inhabitants with the natives of the Christian village, who, to use the teacher's scriptural expression, were now "clothed and in their right mind." As we turned into a broad path leading towards the hill, we were arrested by the shouts of an approaching multitude in the rear. Drawing aside into the bushes, we awaited their coming up, and as they drew near we observed that it was a procession of the natives, many of whom were dancing and gesticulating in the most frantic manner. They had an exceedingly hideous aspect, owing to the black, red, and yellow paints with which their faces and naked bodies were bedaubed. In the midst of these came a band of men carrying three or four planks, on which were seated in rows upwards of a dozen men. I shuddered involuntarily as I recollected the sacrifice of human victims at the island of Emo, and turned with a look of fear to Jack as I said-- "O Jack! I have a terrible dread that they are going to commit some of their cruel practices on these wretched men. We had better not go to the temple. We shall only be horrified without being able to do any good, for I fear they are going to kill them." Jack's face wore an expression of deep compassion as he said in a low voice, "No fear, Ralph; the sufferings of these poor fellows are over long ago." I turned with a start as he spoke, and glancing at the men, who were now quite near to the spot where we stood, saw that they were all dead. They were tied firmly with ropes in a sitting posture on the planks, and seemed, as they bent their sightless eyeballs and grinning mouths over the dancing crew below, as if they were laughing in ghastly mockery at the utter inability of their enemies to hurt them now. These, we discovered afterwards, were the men who had been slain in the battle of the previous day, and were now on their way to be first presented to the gods and then eaten, Behind these came two men leading between them a third, whose hands were pinioned behind his back. He walked with a firm step, and wore a look of utter indifference on his face as they led him along; so that we concluded he must be a criminal who was about to receive some slight punishment for his faults. The rear of the procession was brought up by a shouting crowd of women and children, with whom we mingled and followed to the temple. Here we arrived in a few minutes. The temple was a tall circular building, open at one side. Around it were strewn heaps of human bones and skulls. At a table inside sat the priest, an elderly man with a long grey beard. He was seated on a stool, and before him lay several knives, made of wood, bone, and splinters of bamboo, with which he performed his office of dissecting dead bodies. Farther in lay a variety of articles that had been dedicated to the god, and among them were many spears and clubs. I observed among the latter some with human teeth sticking in them, where the victims had been clubbed in their mouths. Before this temple the bodies, which were painted with vermilion and soot, were arranged in a sitting posture; and a man called a "dan-vosa" (orator), advanced, and laying his hands on their heads, began to chide them, apparently in a low, bantering tone. What he said we knew not, but as he went on he waxed warm, and at last shouted to them at the top of his lungs, and finally finished by kicking the bodies over and running away, amid the shouts and laughter of the people, who now rushed forward. Seizing the bodies by a leg or an arm, or by the hair of the head, they dragged them over stumps and stones and through sloughs until they were exhausted. The bodies were then brought back to the temple and dissected by the priest, after which they were taken out to be baked. Close to the temple a large fire was kindled, in which stones were heated red hot. When ready these were spread out on the ground, and a thick coating of leaves strewn over them to slack the heat. On this "lovo," or oven, the bodies were then placed, covered over, and left to bake. The crowd now ran with terrible yells towards a neighbouring hill or mound, on which we observed the framework of a house lying ready to be erected. Sick with horror, yet fascinated by curiosity, we staggered after them mechanically, scarce knowing where we were going or what we did, and feeling a sort of impression that all we saw was a dreadful dream. Arrived at the place, we saw the multitude crowding round a certain spot. We pressed forward and obtained a sight of what they were doing. A large wooden beam or post lay on the ground, beside the other parts of the frame-work of the house, and close to the end of it was a hole about seven feet deep and upwards of two feet wide. While we looked, the man whom we had before observed with his hands pinioned was carried into the circle. His hands were now free, but his legs were tightly strapped together. The post of the house was then placed in the hole, and the man put in beside it. His head was a good way below the surface of the hole, and his arms were clasped round the post. Earth was now thrown in until all was covered over and stamped down; and this, we were afterwards told, was a ceremony usually performed at the dedication of a new temple or the erection of a chiefs house! "Come, come," cried Jack, on beholding this horrible tragedy; "we have seen enough, enough--far more than enough! Let us go." Jack's face looked ghastly pale and haggard as we hurried back to rejoin the teacher, and I have no doubt that he felt terrible anxiety when he considered the number and ferocity of the savages, and the weakness of the few arms which were ready indeed to essay, but impotent to effect, Avatea's deliverance from these ruthless men. Chapter XXXII An unexpected discovery, and a bold, reckless defiance, with its consequences--Plans of escape, and heroic resolve. When we returned to the shore and related to our friend what had passed, he was greatly distressed, and groaned in spirit; but we had not sat long in conversation, when we were interrupted by the arrival of Tararo on the beach, accompanied by a number of followers bearing baskets of vegetables and fruits on their heads. We advanced to meet him, and he expressed, through our interpreter, much pleasure in seeing us. "And what is it that my friends wish to say to me?" he inquired. The teacher explained that we came to beg that Avatea might be spared. "Tell him," said Jack, "that I consider that I have a right to ask this of him, having not only saved the girl's life, but the lives of his own people also; and say that I wish her to be allowed to follow her own wishes, and join the Christians." While this was being translated, the chiefs brow lowered, and we could see plainly that our request met with no favourable reception. He replied with considerable energy, and at some length. "What says he?" inquired Jack. "I regret to say that he will not listen to the proposal. He says he has pledged his word to his friend that the girl shall be sent to him, and a deputy is even now on this island awaiting the fulfilment of the pledge." Jack bit his lip in suppressed anger. "Tell Tararo," he exclaimed with a flashing eye, "that if he does not grant my demand it will be worse for him. Say I have a big gun on board my schooner that will blow his village into the sea, if he does not give up the girl." "Nay, my friend," said the teacher gently, "I will not tell him that; we must 'overcome evil with good.'" "What does my friend say?" inquired the chief, who seemed nettled by Jack's looks of defiance. "He is displeased," replied the teacher. Tararo turned away with a smile of contempt, and walked towards the men who carried the baskets of vegetables, and who had now emptied the whole on the beach in an enormous pile. "What are they doing there?" I inquired. "I think that they are laying out a gift which they intend to present to some one," said the teacher. At this moment a couple of men appeared, leading a young girl between them, and, going towards the heap of fruits and vegetables, placed her on top of it. We started with surprise and fear, for in the young female before us we recognised the Samoan girl Avatea. We stood rooted to the earth with surprise and thick-coming fears. "Oh my dear young friend," whispered the teacher in a voice of deep emotion, while he seized Jack by the arm, "she is to be made a sacrifice even now!" "Is she?" cried Jack with a vehement shout, spurning the teacher aside, and dashing over two natives who stood in his way, while he rushed towards the heap, sprang up its side, and seized Avatea by the arm. In another moment he dragged her down, placed her back to a large tree, and, wrenching a war-club from the hand of a native who seemed powerless and petrified with surprise, whirled it above his head, and yelled, rather than shouted, while his face blazed with fury, "Come on, the whole nation of you, an ye like it, and do your worst!" It seemed as though the challenge had been literally accepted; for every savage on the ground ran precipitately at Jack with club and spear, and doubtless would speedily have poured out his brave blood on the sod, had not the teacher rushed in between them, and, raising his voice to its utmost, cried-- "Stay your hands, warriors! It is not your part to judge in this matter. It is for Tararo, the chief, to say whether or not the young man shall live, or die." The natives were arrested; and I know not whether it was the gratifying acknowledgment of his superiority thus made by the teacher, or some lingering feeling of gratitude for Jack's former aid in time of need, that influenced Tararo, but he stepped forward, and, waving his hand, said to his people, "Desist. The young man's life is mine." Then, turning to Jack, he said, "You have forfeited your liberty and life to me. Submit yourself, for we are more numerous than the sand upon the shore. You are but one; why should you die?" "Villain!" exclaimed Jack passionately, "I may die, but assuredly I shall not perish alone. I will not submit until you promise that this girl shall not be injured." "You are very bold," replied the chief haughtily, "but very foolish. Yet I will say that Avatea shall not be sent away--at least, for three days." "You had better accept these terms," whispered the teacher entreatingly. "If you persist in this mad defiance, you will be slain, and Avatea will be lost. Three days are worth having." Jack hesitated a moment, then lowered his club, and throwing it moodily to the ground, crossed his arms on his breast and hung down his head in silence. Tararo seemed pleased by his submission, and told the teacher to say that he did not forget his former services, and therefore would leave him free as to his person, but that the schooner would be detained till he had further considered the matter. While the teacher translated this, he approached as near to where Avatea was standing as possible, without creating suspicion, and whispered to her a few words in the native language. Avatea, who during the whole of the foregoing scene had stood leaning against the tree perfectly passive, and seemingly quite uninterested in all that was going on, replied by a single rapid glance of her dark eye, which was instantly cast down again on the ground at her feet. Tararo now advanced, and taking the girl by the hand, led her unresistingly away; while Jack, Peterkin, and I returned with the teacher on board the schooner. On reaching the deck, we went down to the cabin, where Jack threw himself, in a state of great dejection, on a couch; but the teacher seated himself by his side, and laying his hand upon his shoulder, said-- "Do not give way to anger, my young friend. God has given us three days, and we must use the means that are In our power to free this poor girl from slavery. We must not sit in idle disappointment, we must act--" "Act!" cried Jack, raising himself and tossing back his hair wildly; "it is mockery to talk of acting when one is bound hand and foot. How can I act? I cannot fight a whole nation of savages single-handed. Yes," he said with a bitter smile, "I _can_ fight them, but I cannot conquer them, or save Avatea." "Patience, my friend; your spirit is not a good one just now. You cannot expect that blessing which alone can ensure success unless you are more submissive. I will tell you my plans if you will listen." "Listen!" cried Jack eagerly: "of course I will, my good fellow; I did not know you had any plans. Out with them. I only hope you will show me how I can get the girl on board of this schooner, and I'd up anchor and away in no time. But proceed with your plans." The teacher smiled sadly. "Ah, my friend! if one fathom of your anchor chain were to rattle as you drew it in, a thousand warriors would be standing on your deck. No, no, that could not be done. Even now your ship would be taken from you were it not that Tararo has some feeling of gratitude towards you. But I know Tararo well. He is a man of falsehood, as all the unconverted savages are. The chief to whom he has promised this girl is very powerful, and Tararo _must_ fulfil his promise. He has told you that he would do nothing to the girl for three days, but that is because the party who are to take her away will not be ready to start for three days. Still, as he might have made you a prisoner during those three days, I say that God has given them to us." "Well, but what do you propose to do?" said Jack impatiently. "My plan involves much danger, but I see no other, and I think you have courage to brave it. It is this. There is an island about fifty miles to the south of this, the natives of which are Christians, and have been so for two years or more, and the principal chief is Avatea's lover. Once there, Avatea would be safe. Now, I suggest that you should abandon your schooner. Do you think that you can make so great a sacrifice?" "Friend," replied Jack, "when I make up my mind to go through with a thing of importance, I can make any sacrifice." The teacher smiled. "Well, then, the savages could not conceive it possible that for the sake of a girl you would voluntarily lose your fine vessel; therefore as long as she lies here they think they have you all safe: so I suggest that we get a quantity of stores conveyed to a sequestered part of the shore, provide a small canoe, put Avatea on board, and you three would paddle to the Christian island." "Bravo!" cried Peterkin, springing up and seizing the teacher's hand. "Missionary, you're a regular brick. I didn't think you had so much in you." "As for me," continued the teacher, "I will remain on board till they discover that you are gone. Then they will ask me where you are gone to, and I will refuse to tell." "And what'll be the result of that?" inquired Jack. "I know not. Perhaps they will kill me; but," he added, looking at Jack with a peculiar smile, "I, too, am not afraid to die in a good cause!" "But how are we to get hold of Avatea?" inquired Jack. "I have arranged with her to meet us at a particular spot, to which I will guide you to-night. We shall then arrange about it. She will easily manage to elude her keepers, who are not very strict in watching her, thinking it impossible that she could escape from the island. Indeed, I am sure that such an idea will never enter their heads. But, as I have said, you run great danger. Fifty miles in a small canoe, on the open sea, is a great voyage to make. You may miss the island, too, in which case there is no other in that direction for a hundred miles or more; and if you lose your way and fall among other heathens, you know the law of Feejee--a castaway who gains the shore is doomed to die. You must count the cost, my young friend." "I have counted it," replied Jack. "If Avatea consents to run the risk, most certainly I will; and so will my comrades also. Besides," added Jack, looking seriously into the teacher's face, "your Bible--_our_ Bible--tells of ONE who delivers those who call on Him in the time of trouble; who holds the winds in His fists, and the waters in the hollow of His hand." We now set about active preparations for the intended voyage; collected together such things as we should require, and laid out on the deck provisions sufficient to maintain us for several weeks, purposing to load the canoe with as much as she could hold consistently with speed and safety. These we covered with a tarpaulin, intending to convey them to the canoe only a few hours before starting. When night spread her sable curtain over the scene, we prepared to land; but first kneeling along with the natives and the teacher, the latter implored a blessing on our enterprise. Then we rowed quietly to the shore and followed our sable guide, who led us by a long detour, in order to avoid the village, to the place of rendezvous. We had not stood more than five minutes under the gloomy shade of the thick foliage when a dark figure glided noiselessly up to us. "Ah! here you are," said Jack, as Avatea approached.--"Now, then, tell her what we've come about, and don't waste time." "I understan' leetl English," said Avatea in a low voice. "Why, where did you pick up English?" exclaimed Jack in amazement; "you were dumb as a stone when I saw you last." "She has learned all she knows of it from me," said the teacher, "since she came to the island." We now gave Avatea a full explanation of our plans, entering into all the details, and concealing none of the danger, so that she might be fully aware of the risk she ran. As we had anticipated, she was too glad of the opportunity thus afforded her to escape from her persecutors to think of the danger or risk. "Then you're willing to go with us, are you?" said Jack. "Yis, I willing to go." "And you're not afraid to trust yourself out on the deep sea so far?" "No, I not 'fraid to go. Safe with Christian." After some further consultation, the teacher suggested that it was time to return, so we bade Avatea good-night, and having appointed to meet at the cliff where the canoe lay on the following night, just after dark, we hastened away--we to row on board the schooner with muffled oars, Avatea to glide back to her prison-hut among the Mango savages. Chapter XXXIII The flight--The pursuit--Despair and its results--The lion bearded in his den again--Awful danger threatened and wonderfully averted--A terrific storm. As the time for our meditated flight drew near, we became naturally very fearful lest our purpose should be discovered, and we spent the whole of the following day in a state of nervous anxiety. We resolved to go ashore and ramble about the village, as if to observe the habits and dwellings of the people, as we thought that an air of affected indifference to the events of the previous day would be more likely than any other course of conduct to avert suspicion as to our intentions. While we were thus occupied, the teacher remained on board with the Christian natives, whose powerful voices reached us ever and anon as they engaged in singing hymns or in prayer. At last the long and tedious day came to a close, the sun sank into the sea, and the short-lived twilight of those regions, to which I have already referred, ended abruptly in a dark night. Hastily throwing a few blankets into our little boat, we stepped into it, and whispering farewell to the natives in the schooner, rowed gently over the lagoon, taking care to keep as near to the beach as possible. We rowed in the utmost silence, and with muffled oars, so that had any one observed us at the distance of a few yards, he might have almost taken us for a phantom-boat, or a shadow on the dark water. Not a breath of air was stirring; but, fortunately, the gentle ripple of the sea upon the shore, mingled with the soft roar of the breaker on the distant reef, effectually drowned the slight plash that we unavoidably made in the water by the dipping of our oars. A quarter of an hour sufficed to bring us to the overhanging cliff under whose black shadow our little canoe lay, with her bow in the water ready to be launched, and most of her cargo already stowed away. As the keel of our little boat grated on the sand, a hand was laid upon the bow, and a dim form was seen. "Ha!" said Peter kin in a whisper, as he stepped upon the beach, "is that you, Avatea?" "Yis, it am me," was the reply. "All right! Now, then, gently. Help me to shove off the canoe," whispered Jack to the teacher; "and, Peterkin, do you shove these blankets aboard--we may want them before long. Avatea, step into the middle--that's right." "Is all ready?" whispered the teacher. "Not quite," replied Peterkin.--"Here, Ralph, lay hold o' this pair of oars, and stow them away if you can. I don't like paddles. After we're safe away I'll try to rig up rollicks for them." "Now, then, in with you and shove off." One more earnest squeeze of the kind teacher's hand, and with his whispered blessing yet sounding in our ears, we shot like an arrow from the shore, sped over the still waters of the lagoon, and paddled as swiftly as strong arms and willing hearts could urge us over the long swell of the open sea. All that night and the whole of the following day we plied our paddles in almost total silence and without a halt, save twice to recruit our failing energies with a mouthful of food and a draught of water. Jack had taken the bearing of the island just after starting, and, laying a small pocket-compass before him, kept the head of the canoe due south, for our chance of hitting the island depended very much on the faithfulness of our steersman in keeping our tiny bark exactly and constantly on its proper course. Peterkin and I paddled in the bow, and Avatea worked untiringly in the middle. As the sun's lower limb dipped on the gilded edge of the sea, Jack ceased working, threw down his paddle, and called a halt. "There!" he cried, heaving a deep, long-drawn sigh, "we've put a considerable breadth of water between us and these black rascals, so now we'll have a hearty supper and a sound sleep." "Heat, hear!" cried Peterkin. "Nobly spoken, Jack.--Hand me a drop of water, Ralph.--Why, girl, what's wrong with you? You look just like a black owl blinking in the sunshine." Avatea smiled. "I sleepy," she said; and as if to prove the truth of this, she laid her head on the edge of the canoe and fell fast asleep. "That's uncommon sharp practice," said Peterkin with a broad grin. "Don't you think we should awake her to make her eat something first? Or perhaps," he added, with a grave, meditative look--"perhaps we might put some food in her mouth, which is so elegantly open at the present moment, and see if she'd swallow it while asleep. If so, Ralph, you might come round to the front here and feed her quietly, while Jack and I are tucking into the victuals. It would be a monstrous economy of time." I could not help smiling at Peterkin's idea, which indeed, when I pondered it, seemed remarkably good in theory; nevertheless I declined to put it in practice, being fearful of the result should the victual chance to go down the wrong throat. But on suggesting this to Peterkin, he exclaimed-- "Down the wrong throat, man! why, a fellow with half an eye might see that if it went down Avatea's throat it could not go down the wrong throat!--unless, indeed, you have all of a sudden become inordinately selfish, and think that all the throats in the world are wrong ones except your own. However, don't talk so much, and hand me the pork before Jack finishes it. I feel myself entitled to at least one minute morsel." "Peterkin, you're a villain--a paltry little villain," said Jack quietly, as he tossed the hind-legs (including the tail) of a cold roast pig to his comrade; "and I must again express my regret that unavoidable circumstances have thrust your society upon me, and that necessity has compelled me to cultivate your acquaintance. Were it not that you are incapable of walking upon the water, I would order you, sir, out of the canoe." "There! you've awakened Avatea with your long tongue," retorted Peterkin with a frown, as the girl gave vent to a deep sigh. "No," he continued, "it was only a snore. Perchance she dreameth of her black Apollo.--I say, Ralph, do leave just one little slice of that yam. Between you and Jack I run a chance of being put on short allowance, if not--yei--a--a--ow!" Peterkin's concluding remark was a yawn of so great energy that Jack recommended him to postpone the conclusion of his meal till next morning--a piece of advice which he followed so quickly that I was forcibly reminded of his remark, a few minutes before, in regard to the sharp practice of Avatea. My readers will have observed, probably, by this time that I am much given to meditation; they will not, therefore, be surprised to learn that I fell into a deep reverie on the subject of sleep, which was continued without intermission into the night, and prolonged without interruption into the following morning. But I cannot feel assured that I actually slept during that time, although I am tolerably certain that I was not awake. Thus we lay like a shadow on the still bosom of the ocean, while the night closed in, and all around was calm, dark, and silent. A thrilling cry of alarm from Peterkin startled us in the morning, just as the grey dawn began to glimmer in the east. "What's wrong?" cried Jack, starting up. Peterkin replied by pointing with a look of anxious dread towards the horizon; and a glance sufficed to show us that one of the largest-sized war-canoes was approaching us! With a groan of mingled despair and anger Jack seized his paddle, glanced at the compass, and in a suppressed voice commanded us to "give way." But we did not require to be urged. Already our four paddles were glancing in the water, and the canoe bounded over the glassy sea like a dolphin, while a shout from our pursuers told that they had observed our motions. "I see something like land ahead," said Jack in a hopeful tone. "It seems impossible that we could have made the island yet; still, if it is so, we may reach it before these fellows can catch us, for our canoe is light and our muscles are fresh." No one replied; for, to say truth, we felt that in a long chase we had no chance whatever with a canoe which held nearly a hundred warriors. Nevertheless, we resolved to do our utmost to escape, and paddled with a degree of vigour that kept us well in advance of our pursuers. The war-canoe was so far behind us that it seemed but a little speck on the sea, and the shouts, to which the crew occasionally gave vent, came faintly towards us on the morning breeze. We therefore hoped that we should be able to keep in advance for an hour or two, when we might perhaps reach the land ahead. But this hope was suddenly crushed by the supposed land not long after rising up into the sky, thus proving itself to be a fog-bank! A bitter feeling of disappointment filled each heart, and was expressed on each countenance, as we beheld this termination to our hopes. But we had little time to think of regret. Our danger was too great and imminent to permit of a moment's relaxation from our exertions. No hope now animated our bosoms; but a feeling of despair, strange to say, lent us power to work, and nerved our arms with such energy that it was several hours ere the savages overtook us. When we saw that there was indeed no chance of escape, and that paddling any longer would only serve to exhaust our strength, without doing any good, we turned the side of our canoe towards the approaching enemy, and laid down our paddles. Silently, and with a look of bitter determination on his face, Jack lifted one of the light boat-oars that we had brought with us, and resting it on his shoulder, stood up in an attitude of bold defiance. Peterkin took the other oar and also stood up, but there was no anger visible on his countenance. When not sparkling with fun, it usually wore a mild, sad expression, which was deepened on the present occasion, as he glanced at Avatea, who sat with her face resting in her hands upon her knees. Without knowing very well what I intended to do, I also arose and grasped my paddle with both hands. On came the large canoe like a war-horse of the deep, with the foam curling from its sharp bow, and the spearheads of the savages glancing in the beams of the rising sun. Perfect silence was maintained on both sides, and we could hear the hissing water, and see the frowning eyes of the warriors, as they came rushing on. When about twenty yards distant, five or six of the savages in the bow rose, and, laying aside their paddles, took up their spears. Jack and Peterkin raised their oars, while, with a feeling of madness whirling in my brain, I grasped my paddle and prepared for the onset. But before any of us could strike a blow, the sharp prow of the war-canoe struck us like a thunderbolt on the side, and hurled us into the sea! What occurred after this I cannot tell, for I was nearly drowned; but when I recovered from the state of insensibility into which I had been thrown, I found myself stretched on my back, bound hand and foot between Jack and Peterkin, in the bottom of the large canoe. In this condition we lay the whole day, during which time the savages only rested one hour. When night came, they rested again for another hour, and appeared to sleep just as they sat. But we were neither unbound nor allowed to speak to each other during the voyage, nor was a morsel of food or a draught of water given to us. For food, however, we cared little; but we would have given much for a drop of water to cool our parched lips, and we would have been glad, too, had they loosened the cords that bound us, for they were tightly fastened and occasioned us much pain. The air, also, was unusually hot, so much so that I felt convinced that a storm was brewing. This also added to our sufferings. However, these were at length relieved by our arrival at the island from which we had fled. While we were being led ashore, we caught a glimpse of Avatea, who was seated in the hinder part of the canoe. She was not fettered in any way. Our captors now drove us before them towards the hut of Tararo, at which we speedily arrived, and found the chief seated with an expression on his face that boded us no good. Our friend the teacher stood beside him, with a look of anxiety on his mild features. "How comes it," said Tararo, turning to the teacher, "that these youths have abused our hospitality?" "Tell him," replied Jack, "that we have not abused his hospitality, for his hospitality has not been extended to us. I came to the island to deliver Avatea, and my only regret is that I have failed to do so. If I get another chance, I will try to save her yet." The teacher shook his head. "Nay, my young friend, I had better not tell him that; it will only incense him." "I care not," replied Jack. "If you don't tell him that, you'll tell him nothing, for I won't say anything softer." On hearing Jack's speech, Tararo frowned and his eye flashed with anger. "Go," he said, "presumptuous boy. My debt to you is cancelled. You and your companions shall die." As he spoke he rose and signed to several of his attendants, who seized Jack and Peterkin and me violently by the collars, and dragging us from the hut of the chief, led us through the wood to the outskirts of the village. Here they thrust us into a species of natural cave in a cliff, and having barricaded the entrance, left us in total darkness. After feeling about for some time--for our legs were unshackled, although our wrists were still bound with thongs--we found a low ledge of rock running along one side of the cavern. On this we seated ourselves, and for a long time maintained unbroken silence. At last I could restrain my feelings no longer. "Alas! dear Jack and Peterkin," said I, "what is to become of us?--I fear that we are doomed to die." "I know not," replied Jack in a tremulous voice, "I know not. Ralph, I regret deeply the hastiness of my violent temper, which, I must confess, has been the chief cause of our being brought to this sad condition. Perhaps the teacher may do something for us. But I have little hope." "Ah no!" said Peterkin with a heavy sigh, "I am sure he can't help us. Tararo doesn't care more for him than for one of his dogs." "Truly," said I, "there seems no chance of deliverance, unless the Almighty puts forth His arm to save us. Yet I must say that I have great hope, my comrades; for we have come to this dark place by no fault of ours--unless it be a fault to try to succour a woman in distress." I was interrupted in my remarks by a noise at the entrance to the cavern, which was caused by the removal of the barricade. Immediately after, three men entered, and taking us by the collars of our coats, led us away through the forest. As we advanced, we heard much shouting and beating of native drums in the village, and at first we thought that our guards were conducting us to the hut of Tararo again. But in this we were mistaken. The beating of drums gradually increased, and soon after we observed a procession of the natives coming towards us. At the head of this procession we were placed, and then we all advanced together towards the temple where human victims were wont to be sacrificed! A thrill of horror ran through my heart as I recalled to mind the awful scenes that I had before witnessed at that dreadful spot. But deliverance came suddenly from a quarter whence we little expected it. During the whole of that day there had been an unusual degree of heat in the atmosphere, and the sky assumed that lurid aspect which portends a thunder-storm. Just as we were approaching the horrid temple, a growl of thunder burst overhead and heavy drops of rain began to fall. Those who have not witnessed gales and storms in tropical regions can form but a faint conception of the fearful hurricane that burst upon the island of Mango at this time. Before we reached the temple, the storm burst upon us with a deafening roar, and the natives, who knew too well the devastation that was to follow, fled right and left through the woods in order to save their property, leaving us alone in the midst of the howling storm. The trees around us bent before the blast like willows, and we were about to flee in order to seek shelter, when the teacher ran towards us with a knife in his hand. "Thank the Lord," he said, cutting our bonds, "I am in time! Now, seek the shelter of the nearest rock." This we did without a moment's hesitation, for the whistling wind burst, ever and anon, like thunder-claps among the trees, and tearing them from their roots, hurled them with violence to the ground. Rain cut across the land in sheets, and lightning played like forked serpents in the air, while high above the roar of the hissing tempest the thunder crashed and burst and rolled in awful majesty. In the village the scene was absolutely appalling. Roofs were blown completely off the houses in many cases, and in others the houses themselves were levelled with the ground. In the midst of this the natives were darting to and fro, in some instances saving their goods, but in many others seeking to save themselves from the storm of destruction that whirled around them. But terrific although the tempest was on land, it was still more tremendous on the mighty ocean. Billows sprang, as it were, from the great deep, and while their crests were absolutely scattered into white mist, they fell upon the beach with a crash that seemed to shake the solid land. But they did not end there. Each successive wave swept higher and higher on the beach, until the ocean lashed its angry waters among the trees and bushes, and at length, in a sheet of white curdled foam, swept into the village and upset and carried off, or dashed into wreck, whole rows of the native dwellings! It was a sublime, an awful scene, calculated, in some degree at least, to impress the mind of beholders with the might and majesty of God. We found shelter in a cave that night and all the next day, during which time the storm raged in fury; but on the night following it abated somewhat, and in the morning we went to the village to seek for food, being so famished with hunger that we lost all feeling of danger and all wish to escape in our desire to satisfy the cravings of nature. But no sooner had we obtained food than we began to wish that we had rather endeavoured to make our escape into the mountains. This we attempted to do soon afterwards; but the natives were now able to look after us, and on our showing a disposition to avoid observation and make towards the mountains, we were seized by three warriors, who once more bound our wrists and thrust us into our former prison. It is true Jack made a vigorous resistance, and knocked down the first savage who seized him with a well-directed blow of his fist, but he was speedily overpowered by others. Thus we were again prisoners, with the prospect of torture and a violent death before us. Chapter XXXIV Imprisonment--Sinking hopes--Unexpected freedom to more than one, and in more senses than one. For a long, long month we remained in our dark and dreary prison, during which dismal time we did not see the face of a human being, except that of the silent savage who brought us our daily food. There have been one or two seasons in my life during which I have felt as if the darkness of sorrow and desolation that crushed my inmost heart could never pass away until death should make me cease to feel. The present was such a season. During the first part of our confinement we felt a cold chill at our hearts every time we heard a footfall near the cave--dreading lest it should prove to be that of our executioner. But as time dragged heavily on, we ceased to feel this alarm, and began to experience such a deep, irrepressible longing for freedom, that we chafed and fretted in our confinement like tigers. Then a feeling of despair came over us, and we actually longed for the time when the savages would take us forth to die! But these changes took place very gradually, and were mingled sometimes with brighter thoughts; for there were times when we sat in that dark cavern on our ledge of rock and conversed almost pleasantly about the past, until we well-nigh forgot the dreary present. But we seldom ventured to touch upon the future. A few decayed leaves and boughs formed our bed, and a scanty supply of yams and taro, brought to us once a day, constituted our food. "Well, Ralph, how have you slept?" said Jack in a listless tone, on rising one morning from his humble couch. "Were you much disturbed by the wind last night?" "No," said I; "I dreamed of home all night, and I thought that my mother smiled upon me, and beckoned me to go to her; but I could not, for I was chained." "And I dreamed, too," said Peterkin; "but it was of our happy home on the Coral Island. I thought we were swimming in the Water Garden; then the savages gave a yell, and we were immediately in the cave at Spouting Cliff, which, somehow or other, changed into this gloomy cavern; and I awoke to find it true." Peterkin's tone was so much altered by the depressing influence of his long imprisonment that, had I not known it was he who spoke, I should scarcely have recognised it, so sad was it, and so unlike to the merry, cheerful voice we had been accustomed to hear. I pondered this much, and thought of the terrible decline of happiness that may come on human beings in so short a time; how bright the sunshine in the sky at one time, and in a short space how dark the overshadowing cloud! I had no doubt that the Bible would have given me much light and comfort on this subject, if I had possessed one, and I once more had occasion to regret deeply having neglected to store my memory with its consoling truths. While I meditated thus, Peterkin again broke the silence of the cave by saying, in a melancholy tone, "Oh, I wonder if we shall ever see our dear island more!" His voice trembled, and covering his face with both hands, he bent down his head and wept. It was an unusual sight for me to see our once joyous companion in tears, and I felt a burning desire to comfort him; but alas! what could I say? I could hold out no hope; and although I essayed twice to speak, the words refused to pass my lips. While I hesitated, Jack sat down beside him, and whispered a few words in his ear; while Peterkin threw himself on his friend's breast, and rested his head on his shoulder. Thus we sat for some time in deep silence. Soon after we heard footsteps at the entrance of the cave, and immediately our jailer entered. We were so much accustomed to his regular visits, however, that we paid little attention to him, expecting that he would set down our meagre fare, as usual, and depart. But to our surprise, instead of doing so, he advanced towards us with a knife in his hand, and, going up to Jack, he cut the thongs that bound his wrists, then he did the same to Peterkin and me! For fully five minutes we stood in speechless amazement, with our freed hands hanging idly by our sides. The first thought that rushed into my mind was that the time had come to put us to death; and although, as I have said before, we actually wished for death in the strength of our despair, now that we thought it drew really near, I felt all the natural love of life revive in my heart, mingled with a chill of horror at the suddenness of our call. But I was mistaken. After cutting our bonds, the savage pointed to the cave's mouth, and we marched, almost mechanically, into the open air. Here, to our surprise, we found the teacher standing under a tree, with his hands clasped before him, and the tears trickling down his dark cheeks. On seeing Jack, who came out first, he sprang towards him, and, clasping him in his arms, exclaimed--"Oh, my dear young friend, through the great goodness of God you are free!" "Free?" cried Jack. "Ay, free," repeated the teacher, shaking us warmly by the hands again and again--"free to go and come as you will. The Lord has unloosed the bonds of the captive, and set the prisoners free, A missionary has been sent to us, and Tararo has embraced the Christian religion! The people are even now burning their gods of wood! Come, my dear friends, and see the glorious sight." We could scarcely credit our senses. So long had we been accustomed in our cavern to dream of deliverance, that we imagined for a moment this must surely be nothing more than another vivid dream. Our eyes and minds were dazzled, too, by the brilliant sunshine, which almost blinded us after our long confinement to the gloom of our prison, so that we felt giddy with the variety of conflicting emotions that filled our throbbing bosoms; but as we followed the footsteps of our sable friend, and beheld the bright foliage of the trees, and heard the cries of the paroquets, and smelt the rich perfume of the flowering shrubs, the truth, that we were really delivered from prison and from death, rushed with overwhelming power into our souls, and with one accord, while tears sprang to our eyes, we uttered a loud, long cheer of joy. It was replied to by a shout from a number of the natives who chanced to be near. Running towards us, they shook us by the hand with every demonstration of kindly feeling. They then fell behind, and forming a sort of procession, conducted us to the dwelling of Tararo. The scene that met our eyes here was one that I shall never forget. On a rude bench in front of his house sat the chief. A native stood on his left hand, who from his dress seemed to be a teacher. On his right stood an English gentleman, who I at once and rightly concluded was a missionary. He was tall, thin, and apparently past forty, with a bald forehead and thin grey hair. The expression of his countenance was the most winning I ever saw, and his clear grey eye beamed with a look that was frank, fearless, loving, and truthful. In front of the chief was an open space, in the centre of which lay a pile of wooden idols, ready to be set on fire; and around these were assembled thousands of natives, who had come to join in or to witness the unusual sight. A bright smile overspread the missionary's face as he advanced quickly to meet us, and he shook us warmly by the hands. "I am overjoyed to meet you, my dear young friends," he said. "My friend and _your_ friend, the teacher, has told me your history; and I thank our Father in heaven, with all my heart, that He has guided me to this island, and made me the instrument of saving you." We thanked the missionary most heartily, and asked him in some surprise how he had succeeded in turning the heart of Tararo in our favour. "I will tell you that at a more convenient time," he answered; "meanwhile we must not forget the respect due to the chief. He waits to receive you." In the conversation that immediately followed between us and Tararo, the latter said that the light of the Gospel of Jesus Christ had been sent to the island, and that to it we were indebted for our freedom. Moreover, he told us that we were at liberty to depart in our schooner whenever we pleased, and that we should be supplied with as much provision as we required. He concluded by shaking hands with us warmly, and performing the ceremony of rubbing noses. This was indeed good news to us, and we could hardly find words to express our gratitude to the chief and to the missionary. "And what of Avatea?" inquired Jack. The missionary replied by pointing to a group of natives in the midst of whom the girl stood. Beside her was a tall, strapping fellow, whose noble mien and air of superiority bespoke him a chief of no ordinary kind. "That youth is her lover. He came this very morning in his war-canoe to treat with Tararo for Avatea. He is to be married in a few days, and afterwards returns to his island home with his bride!" "That's capital," said Jack, as he stepped up to the savage and gave him a hearty shake of the hand. "I wish you joy, my lad; and you too, Avatea." As Jack spoke, Avatea's lover took him by the hand and led him to the spot where Tararo and the missionary stood, surrounded by most of the chief men of the tribe. The girl herself followed, and stood on his left hand while her lover stood on his right, and, commanding silence, made the following speech, which was translated by the missionary:-- "Young friend, you have seen few years, but your head is old. Your heart also is large and very brave. I and Avatea are your debtors, and we wish, in the midst of this assembly, to acknowledge our debt, and to say that it is one which we can never repay. You have risked your life for one who was known to you only for a few days. But she was a woman in distress, and that was enough to secure to her the aid of a Christian man. We, who live in these islands of the sea, know that the true Christians always act thus. Their religion is one of love and kindness. We thank God that so many Christians have been sent here; we hope many more will come. Remember that I and Avatea will think of you and pray for you and your brave comrades when you are far away." To this kind speech Jack returned a short, sailor-like reply, in which he insisted that he had only done for Avatea what he would have done for any woman under the sun. But Jack's forte did not lie in speech-making, so he terminated rather abruptly by seizing the chief's hand and shaking it violently, after which he made a hasty retreat. "Now then, Ralph and Peterkin," said Jack, as we mingled with the crowd, "it seems to me that the object we came here for having been satisfactorily accomplished, we have nothing more to do but get ready for sea as fast as we can, and hurrah for dear old England!" "That's my idea precisely," said Peterkin, endeavouring to wink; but he had wept so much of late, poor fellow, that he found it difficult. "However, I'm not going away till I see these fellows burn their gods." Peterkin had his wish, for in a few minutes afterwards fire was put to the pile, the roaring flames ascended, and amid the acclamations of the assembled thousands the false gods of Mango were reduced to ashes! Chapter XXXV CONCLUSION To part is the lot of all mankind. The world is a scene of constant leave-taking, and the hands that grasp in cordial greeting to-day are doomed ere long to unite for the last time, when the quivering lips pronounce the word--"Farewell." It is a sad thought, but should we on that account exclude it from our minds? May not a lesson worth learning be gathered in the contemplation of it? May it not, perchance, teach us to devote our thoughts more frequently and attentively to that land where we meet, but part no more? How many do we part from in this world with a light good-bye whom we never see again! Often do I think, in my meditations on this subject, that if we realised more fully the shortness of the fleeting intercourse that we have in this world with many of our fellow-men, we would try more earnestly to do them good, to give them a friendly smile, as it were, in passing (for the longest intercourse on earth is little more than a passing word and glance), and show that we have sympathy with them in the short, quick struggle of life, by our kindly words and looks and actions. The time soon drew near when we were to quit the islands of the South Seas; and strange though it may appear, we felt deep regret at parting with the natives of the island of Mango: for after they embraced the Christian faith, they sought, by showing us the utmost kindness, to compensate for the harsh treatment we had experienced at their hands: and we felt a growing affection for the native teachers and the missionary, and especially for Avatea and her husband. Before leaving we had many long and interesting conversations with the missionary, in one of which he told us that he had been making for the island of Rarotonga, when his native-built sloop was blown out of its course, during a violent gale, and driven to this island. At first the natives refused to listen to what he had to say; but after a week's residence among them, Tararo came to him and said that he wished to become a Christian, and would burn his idols. He proved himself to be sincere, for, as we have seen, he persuaded all his people to do likewise. I use the word "persuaded" advisedly; for, like all the other Feejee chiefs, Tararo was a despot, and might have commanded obedience to his wishes; but he entered so readily into the spirit of the new faith, that he perceived at once the impropriety of using constraint in the propagation of it. He set the example, therefore; and that example was followed by almost every man of the tribe. During the short time that we remained at the island, repairing our vessel and getting her ready for sea, the natives had commenced building a large and commodious church, under the superintendence of the missionary, and several rows of new cottages were marked out; so that the place bid fair to become, in a few months, as prosperous and beautiful as the Christian village at the other end of the island. After Avatea was married, she and her husband were sent away loaded with presents, chiefly of an edible nature. One of the native teachers went with them, for the purpose of visiting still more distant islands of the sea, and spreading, if possible, the light of the glorious Gospel there. As the missionary intended to remain for several weeks longer, in order to encourage and confirm his new converts, Jack and Peterkin and I held a consultation in the cabin of our schooner--which we found just as we had left her, for everything that had been taken out of her was restored. We now resolved to delay our departure no longer. The desire to see our beloved native land was strong upon us, and we could not wait. Three natives volunteered to go with us to Tahiti, where we thought it likely that we should be able to procure a sufficient crew of sailors to man our vessel, so we accepted their offer gladly. It was a bright, clear morning when we hoisted the snow-white sails of the pirate schooner and left the shores of Mango. The missionary and thousands of the natives came down to bid us God-speed, and to see us sail away. As the vessel bent before a light, fair wind, we glided quickly over the lagoon under a cloud of canvas. Just as we passed through the channel in the reef the natives gave us a loud cheer; and as the missionary waved his hat, while he stood on a coral rock with his grey hairs floating in the wind, we heard the single word "Farewell" borne faintly over the sea. That night, as we sat on the taffrail gazing out upon the wide sea and up into the starry firmament, a thrill of joy, strangely mixed with sadness, passed through our hearts; for we were at length "homeward bound," and were gradually leaving far behind us the beautiful, bright green coral islands of the Pacific Ocean. THE END 
37732	----	[Frontispiece: Frank Osborne's alarm on discovering a bow and quiver suspended in the forest] [Illustration: Title page] THE EMIGRANT'S LOST SON: OR, LIFE ALONE IN THE FOREST. EDITED BY GEORGE HENRY WALL. _NEW EDITION._ _Illustrated by Corbould_ LONDON: ROUTLEDGE, WARNE, AND ROUTLEDGE, FARRINGDON STREET. NEW YORK: 56, WALKER STREET. 1860. [_The Author of this Work reserves to himself the right of Translating._] LONDON; SAVILL AND EDWARDS, PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET, COVENT GARDEN. CONTENTS. INTRODUCTION BY THE EDITOR CHAPTER I. CAUSE OF LEAVING ENGLAND, AND ARRIVAL AT THE FOREST CHAPTER II. I AM LOST IN THE FOREST--MY SITUATION AND FEELINGS DESCRIBED CHAPTER III. I BUILD MYSELF A HUT--THE SCENERY THROUGHOUT A DAY IN THE FOREST DESCRIBED CHAPTER IV. AN ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR--AN EXTRAORDINARY ECHO--I AM ATTACKED WITH A FEVER, AND SUBSEQUENTLY DRIVEN FROM MY HUT CHAPTER V. I WITNESS A GRAND CONVULSION OF NATURE, IN WHICH I HAVE A WONDERFUL ESCAPE--AM RESCUED IN THE LAST EXTREMITY, AND ADMITTED INTO A TRIBE OF INDIANS CHAPTER VI. FURTHER ACCOUNT OF THE INDIANS--I ARRIVE AT MY FATHER'S FARM INTRODUCTION BY THE EDITOR That no person in this state of existence may be tempted to assert his own independence, the affairs of life are so ordered that much of the happiness enjoyed by mankind depends upon their communion with each other. Human affections, if they were permitted to act freely, as they spontaneously arise in the breast of mankind, are designed to bind all the human race in one bond of brotherhood. Our own parents and near relatives first call these affections into active exercise. Their care and attention to our welfare, the interest they take in preserving us in a state of safety and health, and in teaching us also the duties we owe both to our Creator and fellow-creatures, tend to give the first impetus to the germs of our affections; and it is by the exercise of these very affections that we derive a continual source of happiness, which becomes hereafter the chief means by which the refinement of the senses may be effected. Thus it is, that when death, or other causes, deprive us of our immediate parental guidance, the affections as naturally seek for new objects, on which to exert their influence, as the operations of any other well recognised principles proceed in the works of nature. The author and hero of the following narrative, was called upon to experience the sudden deprivation of not only his parents, but of all his dearest friends; and that at an age when the heart first expands to the relations of our existence, and is most sensitive to the emotions of grief; when, unexpectedly and unprepared, it is cut off from all sympathy or communication with human kind. At the age of thirteen he was lost in an almost boundless Guiana forest, where he remained for several years, dependent solely upon his own resources, mental and physical--that is, on the one hand, to bear the mind up against the shock it received in being thrown suddenly into solitude; and, on the other, to provide for his daily wants. That man never was intended to live in what is denominated "a state of nature," is manifest by his long infancy and the tardy development of his mental powers. No animal is so long after its birth before it can support the body on its legs as man; in none is the period of complete adult stature so long protracted. When born into the world he is entirely defenceless, his great distinctions from other animals are reason and speech: these, however, are germs which are not developed of themselves, but are brought to maturity by extraneous assistance, cultivation, and education; hence we must infer that man was intended for social union, and that his imaginary state of nature, which some writers have spoken of, never has existed. Man, however, in his nature, is limited in no respect; being fitted for every kind of life, every climate, and every variety of food. The Deity has given him the whole earth for his abode, and the produce thereof for his nourishment. With the advantages, however, of an early moral and religious education, together with an excellent constitution, our juvenile exile from man was enabled, under the direction of a watchful Providence, to preserve his life, protect his mind against despondency, and procure a subsistence in the midst of dangers. The difficulties he encountered, the manner in which he overcame them, and the scenes which were brought under his view in the extended field of observation into which he was thrown, it is the object of the following narrative to lay before the reader. To those whose knowledge extends not beyond the world of man to the boundless fields of nature, it may appear that such a life must have been one of monotonous listlessness, from which few materials could be gathered to impart knowledge or interest to the general reader. Our hero, however, found employment for the mind in every moment of his waking hours, and was furnished with objects for study in the forest, that might engage the longest period of life allotted to man to catalogue or enumerate. Happily for the exile, his mind was formed to seek for knowledge in the only sources open to man for the full development of the intellectual powers; namely, observation and reflection. Denied the aid of books, in the far woods that "steeped in their moonbeams lie," he called upon his Maker, and the echo of the floor of the forest recognised his presence. Acquiring confidence from this assurance, and relying on Providence for protection, he converted the scenes around him into a school of study, and realized in the woods a life of activity instead of one of solitude. He soon discovered, when left to draw deductions from his own experience in the scenes of Nature, that there is nothing but what is beautiful, nothing unworthy of admiration. "The disregard," he says, "which by many is paid to her productions, reflects no honour on those who evince it, and little credit on a system of education that does not at once lead its pupils to the grand fountain of all knowledge. While the majority," he adds, "of my youthful contemporaries were engaged in committing to memory a vocabulary of words, I was busily engaged in studying the things themselves." While others were spending their time in acquiring a knowledge of the customs and forms of artificial society, our exile had the great book of nature widely spread open before him, Throughout that period of life which is usually devoted, by the majority of individuals, to study the purposes of social life, he was conversing only with the trees; or with the birds, and insects, and other tribes, of the animal kingdom, all the works of God, and to which his attachment was ardent and sincere. Now that he is again in the society of his fellow-men, the recollections of his sylvan probation are as vividly depicted on his mind as at the moment when he first received the impressions. Trees which supplied him with food, or shelter from the heat of the sun or the rains of the climate, are still dear to his recollection, and he often reverts to them with feelings of gratitude and respect, from which he would not, if he could, estrange the affections of his heart. There is no music so sweet to his ear as the breezes that animated the lofty cloud-aspiring monarchs of the forest, with which he claims a peculiar acquaintance, or the murmuring of the brook, where he was wont to slake his thirst; no concert to his sense of sound so grateful as the wild notes of the birds that chanted, morning and evening, their Maker's praise, as he offered up his own prayers of gratitude for the prolongation of his existence, or the hummings of the myriads of insects, that every hour, in his woodland rovings, arrested his attention. It was while listening to these voices of the Creator that his heart was first touched with feelings of admiration and wonder at the multifarious and exquisitely organized beings that everywhere, whether in tranquil meditation or in active search of his food, met his sight. He saw nature everywhere teeming with life, and proclaiming in language intelligible to every one the presence of an All-directing Power. It was in the forest, too, in the midst of the wonders of the creation, that the lost youth first aspired to lift up his thoughts to heaven, and mentally exclaim--"These are thy works, oh God!" It was also in the lonely wilderness he first cherished the hope, in the language of the Indian, that the Great Spirit had provided for him a higher state of happiness; and then it was he offered up a prayer, that this hope might, in his Maker's own time, be realized. It was also in the wilderness, communing with his own thoughts, that he first received an assurance that he possessed a soul to be saved, and became imbued with a firm conviction that the wise Creator, in his infinite beneficence, designed the happiness of his creatures, and that nothing can deprive the human race of his blessings but a connexion with sin. With an undivided mind, intent only on examining and admiring the works of creation, the youth, in his lonely wayfaring, everywhere found the presence of his Maker. At the earliest moment of incipient vegetation, he was busy watching the indications of bursting nature preparing to re-robe the trees; and in a prospective vista he beheld the joyous movements of the various tribes of birds and insects providing for the wants of themselves and their progeny. Not less busily was his mind engaged when these labours actually commenced, in noting the construction of their habitations, and in admiring the wonderful ingenuity each displayed in providing for its own peculiar wants and safety. Thus engaged in almost continual observation, he was enabled to trace the manner in which numbers of the feathered and insect tribes worked out the purposes of their existence. As the multifarious branches of the trees of the forest expanded themselves into fulness of leaf, he saw nations after nations of living things on the move to claim his attention, all pouring forth to seize on their share of the abundance of nature. As each revolving season hastened the decay of or imparted new vigour to the monarchs of the forest, the exile from man had an opportunity, abstracted as he was from the busy affairs of human life, to distinguish the various characteristics of the tribes of insects that took possession of the trees, differing from those which, apparently innoxiously, fed on their fulness of vegetable youthfulness, and the insects that came to prey only on the trunk or branches of those that age or disease had brought to decay. He saw the leaves of the forest come into life, witnessed their gradual expansion into verdant beauty; he was there, likewise, at their decline and fall--recurring symbols of the succession of the races of mankind,--and when, the biting north winds denuded of their leaves many of these mighty monarchs of the forest, he collected them to form his woodland bed. No season passed without adding to his store of information in reference to the works of nature, which knowledge, as we have already said, it is the design of this work to impart to others. It is the natural history of the forest, or so much of it as has been seen by one individual during a period of six years' sojourn in its solitude. From what has been stated, the reader will not expect to find any classified arrangement of subjects in this work; things are spoken of as they were seen, either in the stillness of the shade at one time, or in the raging of the storm at another. Forest trees, in general, are described; those which may afford food to man are more frequently mentioned. Of quadrupeds, birds of the air, and insects, those that most excited his attention are more especially noticed. Those whose ferocity or whose shyness rendered it hazardous or difficult to approach them, are less spoken of. The details of the author's history, in reference to his probation in the wilds of nature, he has endeavoured to relate in a most familiar manner, and in the simplest language; and when describing scenes and events, faithfully to impart the impressions made on his own mind as they occurred. Reasoning from the convictions arising from his experience,--that is, the effects wrought upon his own mind--he thinks that the study of natural objects, used as a means for the improvement of the religious and moral character of mankind, has been much overlooked by the philanthropist, and neglected by those who are sincere in their desire to improve their own species. When the author was restored to society, nothing more excited his surprise than the total absence of a system of education which should at once direct the mind of youth to the fountain of all knowledge; and, in consequence, to persons he met with who took any lively interest in the study of natural objects, he remarked, "Your system of education appears more designed to exercise the mere verbal memory, than to excite observation or reflection;" adding, "that an acquaintance with the works of the Deity, as they are seen remote from the haunts of men, not only expands and elevates the thought, but spiritualises the soul." The contemplation of nature's works, while it subdues the pride of man, harmonizes the feelings of social life, and in a peculiar manner prepares the mind for the reception of revealed truths. It is only necessary to add that, the education of the "Emigrant's Son," previously to his exclusion from the world of man, had not in any way been of a peculiarly religious tendency; nor had he evinced any predilection for discussing religious topics. Yet, when he was brought to contemplate the works of the Deity on an extended scale, he everywhere found the indications of the presence of a superior and all-wise Creator in those scenes. It is therefore natural that he should feel a desire that others should seek and find Him at the same pure fountain of knowledge. "The voice of my beloved; behold he cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills." (Solomon, ii. 9.) True it is, that the student who once enters the portals of natural history, seldom thinks of returning. Strolling from object to object, his appetite is never satiated. St. Pierre aptly remarked, that "nature invites to the cultivation of herself." Should the perusal of the following page direct the mind of the youthful reader to the study of nature, the object of publishing this narrative will have been attained. G. H. W. HARRINGTON COTTAGE, BROMPTON THE EMIGRANT'S LOST SON. CHAPTER I. CAUSE OF LEAVING ENGLAND AND ARRIVAL AT THE FOREST. "On the bosom, lone and still, Of nature east, I early sought to stroll Through wood and wild, o'er forest, rook, and hill, Companionless; without a wish or goal, Save to discover every shape and voice Of living thing that there did fearlessly rejoice." As it is my object to lay before my readers only that portion of my life which was passed in the wilds of nature, it will be unnecessary for me to detain them with a lengthened account of the genealogy of my family. My father occupied a small farm in the west of England, situate near a peaceful village, the curate of which superintended the education of myself and some fourteen or fifteen of the neighbouring youths. I was between ten and eleven years of age, when a stranger arrived at our house, informing the family that, in consequence of the death of my father's elder brother, he, together with two surviving brothers, had jointly become the proprietors of a tract of land situate in the south-western part of Guiana. It subsequently appeared that my deceased uncle had speculated in the purchase of the land in question, intending to have invited his three brothers to join him in the cultivation of it. Death frustrated these intentions, the land became the joint property of the survivors, and after using every effort to dispose of it in this country, being unsuccessful in meeting with a purchaser, the three brothers came to the resolution of going out, together with their families, and sharing their newly-acquired property. [Sidenote: First leaving home] When the order was finally given to prepare for the voyage, it operated on my mind almost as a penal sentence; expatriation presented itself to my imagination as the climax of all evils. It now suddenly occurred to me that I had a thousand local attachments, all of which were to be broken asunder; my imagination passing in review a painful parting with my schoolfellows and other intimates; when all the early and recent scenes of my short career poured in on the memory, and seemed to bind me to the immediate locality of my existence and its environs. I then discovered that I had a real attachment for my teacher, the good pastor of a small flock; indeed, every person known to me, I thought had, in some way, been peculiarly kind, and a torrent of gratitude overflowed the heart; while the idea of quitting the scenes of my childhood, and all I then knew of the world, presented itself as the annihilation of every object from which I had hitherto derived pleasure. The young heart is generally thought to bound with joyousness at the prospect of a change of scene, but it was otherwise with me: the world, in the map of my microcosm, excepting the circumscribed view I had taken of it, was an entire desert, where there was no one to love or be loved. In this state of mind the agitation of my feelings nearly choked me, till I sought the favourite arm of a tree in the orchard, where, unobserved, I found relief in a flood of tears. Still oppressed, as the evening advanced I crept to bed without speaking to any one,--not even to my sister, whose buoyant joyfulness at the time excited my surprise. I spent the night in a state of half-dreamy stupor, being neither asleep nor awake; whilst the imagination was engaged in endeavouring to contrast the retrospection of the past with the prospects of the future. Every act of kindness which had been bestowed upon me, stood out in strong relief in my memory, as a vista of other days, and into which I had not previously been permitted to look; whilst the little village-world was presented to my view as a bright speck in creation--an oasis in a desert, all around which was a mass of confusion and darkness. The placid countenance of the curate, monarch of his locality, with all the scholastic paraphernalia, were brought vividly under review; the form on which I was wont to sit, with every cut I had made on the well-marked desk with my knife--an instrument with which boys early prove themselves tool-loving animals--were all objects of endearment to me. My fancy then roamed into the little churchyard, where I took a view of each mouldering heap, with the tombstones at the head and foot, every epitaph on which I had committed to memory. I then stood under the brave old Hercules, as we designated an oak tree where four of us had met most days to proceed together to school. Here I distinctly noted--such is the power of memory when the feelings are excited--each abrupt rising of its rugged roots, and marked the boundary of its shadows at different hours of the day, as described by its broad, out-spreading limbs on the greensward. I wandered to the copse, entered by a well-defined gap at the angular point; noted each spot where I had taken eggs or young ones from birds that had been incautious enough to attract my attention; paused to take a last look at the hazel from which I had gathered the largest cob-nut; lingering at every step, and sighing as I passed each object of remembrance. The following morning, sleepless and weary, I arose with the sun, and collected all my little stock of property--bows and arrows, fishing-tackle, bats, balls, and other juvenile valuables; these I labelled as presents to my intimates. My heart then knew how highly it was susceptible of friendship; it had yet to learn how readily, after the lapse of a few years, such attachments are forgotten. The desire in after life to meet with an old schoolfellow is seldom prompted by a higher motive than a curiosity to learn his success in the world. It is probable that my parents had associations and connexions from which they were about to separate, and deeper feelings of regret to struggle with, than myself, when parting from attached friends. It is fresh in my memory that our calls were very numerous, and that many reasons were adduced to dissuade my father from emigration. The Sunday previously to our departure, the curate, from the pulpit, mentioned the intention of the families to emigrate, and offered up a prayer for the realization of their prospects of success. I shall ever remember the day I left the kind preceptor of my youth and the companions of my boyish days. My father had sent a chaise to fetch me and my valuable stock of personal property a day before our final departure. I think I see now the mild old curate shaking my hand and giving me his blessing and friendly advice, while around the gate of the old house were assembled my school companions, to take a last sight of me before I took my leave of home and of them. [Sidenote: Voyage to Demerara] Our journey to the coast, and voyage to Demerara, a _ci-devant_ Dutch settlement, was unattended by any circumstance of peculiar interest. I therefore take up the narrative from the period of our landing. My father was purely a business man, never permitting pleasure or curiosity to divert him from his pursuits. Immediately, therefore, on our arrival at Demerara, preparations were made for us to proceed on towards our destination, regarding the situation and name of which I had not up to that time taken any interest, I had, however, heard that we had to travel some hundreds of miles over a country where there were no roads, as in England. I also remember a long discussion between my father and my two uncles, whether we should travel with a waggon or purchase horses and mules to carry our luggage and relieve the females when fatigued. As our course was through an extensive wooded country, where carriages could not conveniently pass, the latter mode of travelling was ultimately adopted. Our party consisted of nine persons, namely, my father, mother, sister, and self; one uncle, with a grown-up son (his father being a widower); the other uncle, his wife, and son (a youth three years older than myself). My father provided himself with a horse and mule; the latter to carry our personal necessaries, and the former to alternately relieve my mother, and my sister, who was a healthy girl of sixteen years of age, when either was fatigued with walking. One other horse was purchased for the use of my aunt and the party in general. We were provided with two painted cloths, to be used as a covering when we should halt for rest, and no better accommodation could be obtained. I remember my father making a pen-and-ink sketch of the route, marking down, with the assistance of a traveller, the stages we were daily to accomplish. [Sidenote: Crossing the savanna] Thus prepared and equipped, as all of us were in excellent health and spirits, we commenced our journey over the plantations of the settlers, proceeding onwards till we reached the extended savannas--open plains. Here the scene was altogether so new and striking, that it was with difficulty I could be prevented from running after every living thing that came under my view. At one moment I was lost in wonder at the multitudes of creeping creatures which, at every step, crossed my path, while the birds of the air in numbers, variety, and plumage, fixed me with astonishment. My excitement was so great that I actually screamed with delight; at another moment I ran from object to object with such eagerness, that, my mother became alarmed for my intellect, affirming that no one in their senses could sustain so much unnatural excitement. On the third day of our journey I began to be seriously fatigued, and my father placed me across the back of our mule. This, however, was a measure against which the animal at once entered his protest, by refusing to move forward the moment I threw my legs across him; his conduct seemed to imply that at starting a contract had been made with him to carry the baggage, and he would not consent to its infringement; and it would appear that the mere attempt to overburden him soured his temper for the whole journey; for a more obstinate or perverse mule was never crossed by man or boy. At length we entered into a compromise, by removing a portion of his baggage to one of our horses; and he then allowed me to ride in peace, as he proceeded sulkily along. He was, however, faithful to his second bargain, never evincing any more discontent. This third day of our journey was the longest we had yet had, and we were all of us anxiously looking for some habitation towards its close, where we might rest for the night. The sun soon promised to hide his golden beams behind the hills which formed the horizon, and we all showed signs of fatigue. We were much delighted when my father informed us that we were approaching the house of a settler, where he hoped to obtain shelter for the night. We proceeded up a steep declivity to the house in question, forming rather a picturesque party. My sister was first, mounted on a heavy dappled grey horse, with my father and mother by her side. I followed on my mule; while the remainder of the party were some fifty yards in the rear. As we halted before the house, my father informed us that, in all probability, this would be the last time we should find accommodation, even in the outhouse of a settler; and that in future we should have to resort to our painted cloths for shelter during the night. We all retired to rest, therefore, with a determination to lay in a good stock of sleep. Notwithstanding this determination, and the fatigue I had endured in the excessive heat of the day, the novelty of my new existence resisted every effort to close my eyes for rest; and I arose in the morning but very little refreshed. [Sidenote: The blessing of rain] During the first five days of our journey the intense heat of the sun, to which we were unseasoned, annoyed us all exceedingly; while the scorching earth so much blistered my feet that, on the sixth morning, I lingered behind, and divested myself of both stockings and shoes, hanging them upon the mule's baggage. In the school of experience nature is head master. The relief was almost instantaneous; and, during that day, I surprised my fellow-travellers with my pedestrian performances, which induced them all to follow my example. Early the same afternoon, the rain began to fall in torrents, or rather in sheets, previously to which, during our journey over the plains, the extreme dryness of the weather had occasioned one of those vegetable conflagrations so common in hot countries. Hitherto the scene had been arid, the land being hard to the feet, and painfully dry to the eye. The following morning, we had an opportunity of observing with what surprising rapidity nature, in these climates, clothes the earth. Our course was now on a wide-expanded green carpet, every where soft and cooling to the feet, and deliciously refreshing to the sight. Birds of every hue, gems of the air, glittered in our pathway; a vast number of the cormorant species were busy in gobbling up frogs, toads, and snakes; the eagle and the vulture, too, were soaring over our heads, looking out for the prey these regions afford them in such abundance. Every step we took frightened up flocks of the smaller feathered tribe, and brought to view myriads of other living things, such as slugs, snails, and insects of every variety. On the tenth day of our journey, we approached a country covered, as far as the eye could reach, with dense foliage, variegated with every known or imaginable hue, the groundwork of which was one wide-spreading mass of every shade of green. There were browns of all tints, yellow, orange, purple, and brilliant scarlets, so intermingled as to present one uninterrupted view of nature in glorious beauty, spreading over an undulating mass of waving forest-green, while, in appearance, reaching from the high heavens to the earth, into which the lower sweeps seemed to dip, conveying the idea of eternal spring, summer, and autumn, harmoniously blended into one. As we skirted the forest, the charming variety of the blossoms, and their shades of colour, presented a still more enlivened appearance--the tops of the trees being covered with bloom, some standing erect towards the light of the sun, others bending down, with a profusion of fruit and seed. Yet, even here, in this enchanting scene, was man admonished, and reminded of mortality: as we passed the margin of the wood, here and there was seen some former giant of the forest, whose head had been bared by time or the thunder blast, painfully, in the midst of nature's prodigal luxuriance, intimating that all things have their period of birth, maturity, and decay. [Sidenote: Meeting with natives] Penetrated with surprise and admiration at the scene, it was some time before we discovered that we were approaching a party of natives, who, it was evident, had been watching our movements. When they first attracted our notice, the sound of what we took for a village bell fell upon the ear; whereupon my father flattered himself that we were approaching a civilized settlement; while both my uncles were of opinion that a signal of alarm was given at our approach, and, in consequence, prepared for defence. The bell, however, sounded only at intervals of four or five minutes; and as there was no increase of numbers in consequence, we at once went forth to meet the natives. They consisted of a party of six, besides an old negro, who seemed to be the patriarch of his race. To our surprise and delight, he spoke English remarkably well, as did also a young man who appeared to be his son. Probably, they were runaway slaves. They proved, however, to be friendly disposed; and when we spoke of the bell, and the negro had explained the nature of our enquiry, they all broke out into a most immoderate fit of laughter. The negro, almost convulsed, said, "White bird, ding dong--ding, dong! a great way off; for white man here, white bird, ding, dong--ding, dong!" The bird that sends forth this peculiar sound is named the campanero, and is snow white; it may be heard at three miles' distance; and during my sojourn subsequently in the wilds of nature, it was the only sound that daily recalled to my recollection the tones of my native village church bell. As we were all attention to the negro, who was very lively and garrulous, a flock of birds passed over our heads, emitting sounds that might be mistaken for those of a trumpet; when the old man pointed up, and laughingly said--"Red-coats, red-coats!" meaning to ask, ironically, if we took the birds for soldiers? These birds are properly called Waracaba, and are frequently rendered domestic, when they exhibit the attachment of a dog to their master, following him in the same spirit of fidelity; their spirit, also, appears to exceed that of the game cock--although unarmed with spurs for defence, they will fly at a dog; and, in a domestic state, seldom fail to browbeat and lord it over the dunghill cocks living in the same yard. While my father was consulting with the negro regarding our bivouac for the night, the latter suddenly seized his foot, exclaiming, "_Chegoe_ in toe," then forcing him to the ground, and taking from his pocket a knife, proceeded to extract one of those formidable insects, which had become embedded in the skin of the foot. This insect, had it been allowed to remain, would have, no doubt, produced inflammation, from its bite, and, in all probability, caused my father lameness for some weeks. The negroes treated us with the greatest possible kindness and respect; and the old man, who appeared the orator of his party, insisted upon our sharing their hospitality, by partaking of their evening meal, which we readily accepted, producing, at the same time, our own provisions; and such an interchange of delicacies took place, that I am sure it would puzzle me now to recollect or enumerate them. I know it was the cause of some considerable share of merriment among us all. Their food, if I remember rightly, appeared to me to consist more of vegetables and fruit than ours, and was of a simpler nature. I fancy if some of our worthy civic authorities had been present as partakers of this repast, they would have been more surprised at the viands than delighted. But man is of a ductile nature--a creature of habit, and may almost habituate himself to anything. In civilized cities, where thousands are taxing their energies in the pursuit of wealth and position in society, an artificial state of existence is the consequence; and the primitive fare of our forefathers is superseded by something of a more stimulating nature. I have seen, in my experience in forest life, how little man can subsist upon, and how healthy and strong he may continue in a simple state of existence. Civilization brings with it a host of imaginary and fictitious wants. [Sidenote: The repast with the negroes] We accepted the offer of our newly-made friends to share with them their small huts for the night, and they being plentifully provided with various skins of animals, a more agreeable resting-place could hardly be desired. The old negro, without being obtrusively inquisitive, was anxious to know our object in crossing the country; and my father informed him of our route, and produced the rough chart he had made upon our first starting upon the expedition. A long consultation was the result, and a doubtful shake of the head was given by the old man as to the possibility of our accomplishing the task; at the same time he gave an incredulous look at my mother and sister, who, he seemed to consider, would hardly be able to endure the journey and the hardships attending it. To say the truth, my mother looked but very weak, and I remember being struck myself with her appearance. My sister was of such a buoyant temperament, that her joyous spirit would carry her through almost any temporary difficulties; but still we were all considerably jaded. And I remember I thought the rude habitation of our entertainers a most delightful place of refuge, compared to being obliged to bivouac in the woods; and, indeed, I dreaded leaving the following morning. I believe we were all of us impressed with the same idea. When we at first met with them, I was overcome with surprise, and was afraid that some calamity was about to befal us. By degrees, however, the feeling wore off, and by that strong and undefined species of discernment which most possess in discovering those kindly disposed towards us, I became on most familiar terms with our friends. The young man, whose name was Rangal, I discovered, was the only son of the elder negro. He was very solicitous in his attentions to me, and his peculiar manners considerably amused me during our evening's sojourn. [Sidenote: More negroes] Upon our retiring to rest, the two negroes, father and son, took up their station in the apartment we had at first entered; this they did to keep watch that no one should harm us; not that there was any absolute necessity for their so doing, but it was an attention meant to impress us with confidence as to our safety. Early the following morning, after a refreshing and undisturbed sleep, I accompanied Rangal to take a survey of the surrounding country, calling at a neighbouring habitation where the remaining portion of the negroes had located. They conversed with my guide a great deal, two or three speaking at the same time; but it was in a dialect entirely new to me, and beyond my comprehension. They evidently, by their gestures, referred to us; but in what way, I was at a loss to understand. There were also a female and three children, the latter varying from seven to eleven years old. They looked at me in perfect amazement, and the three children retired, whispering, to a corner at the darkest part of the room; but I could see by the whites of their eyes in the gloom, that their gaze was rivetted upon me, in which a feeling of curiosity was mingled with dread. For myself, I was only struck with their comical appearance, and fairly laughed outright, in which I was joined by the negroes, one of whom, I supposed their father, brought them forward and introduced them in due form. Upon returning to our habitation of the previous night, we found our party taking their morning's repast; and I learned that the old negro had insisted upon accompanying us, with his son Rangal, on our journey during the day. He had also arranged where we should halt for the following night which was at the habitation of a friend of his, situate many miles on our road. [Sidenote: The forest] All being got in readiness, we again commenced our pilgrimage. There had been a heavy fall of rain in the night, and it was comparatively cool and refreshing to what it had been, but still the heat was intense to us. We, however, proceeded on our journey with tolerable spirits. My father and uncle shot several birds in the early part of the day, which afforded us an excellent repast. We shortly arrived at a thick and apparently impenetrable forest. Through this we had to travel before reaching our destination for the night. Once having fairly entered its precincts, there appeared to my mind an impossibility of ever again emancipating ourselves from it. The sun, which had been so scorching to our aching sight, was now no longer visible, save here and there, where a few rays would find a passage through the otherwise impenetrably dense foliage, to remind us of the world beyond our sight. The luxuriance of the foliage, the variety of tropical plants which in the fecundity of nature spring up in a few hours--so rapid is their growth in these climates,--the busy hum of myriads of insects, the reptiles, and occasionally the howling of the fiercer animals of prey, can hardly be appreciated by description. Ever and anon we paused, as a rustling of the foliage would give notice of the passage of some fierce animal, who was, as he stole along, unconscious of the presence of man in his domains. We proceeded most watchfully on our way, my father and uncle with guns across their shoulders, ready for immediate service, if required; so, what with our number, and the caution used, we felt ourselves tolerably secure; the more so, as it is a remarkable fact that no species of animal, however fierce, is ever very willing to attack man in open combat, without provocation. Waterton, the celebrated naturalist, who has travelled through the woods in search of animals for scientific purposes, says, speaking on this subject, "Time and experience has convinced me that there is not much danger in roving amongst snakes and wild beasts, provided you have self-command. You must never approach them abruptly; if so, you are sure to pay for your rashness, because the idea of self-defence is predominant in every animal; and thus the snake, to defend himself from what he considers an attack upon him, makes the intruder feel the deadly effect of his poisonous fangs. The jaguar flies at you, and knocks you senseless with a stroke of his paw; whereas, if you had not come upon him too suddenly, it is ten to one but that he had retired, in lieu of disputing the path with you." Secure, however, as we might feel ourselves, it was a matter of surprise to us how the two negroes would fare upon their return, without our party. They would, however, in spite of every persuasion to the contrary, persist in accompanying us, and we were fain to let them have their own way. Presently an incident occurred which made us see the necessity of caution. As I was walking by the side of my uncle Henry, I discerned, glaring from a neighbouring clump of foliage, two fierce-looking eyes. I impulsively caught my uncle by the arm, and pointed in breathless terror to the spot. He paused, and raising his gun, would have fired, had not my father precipitately intervened, and motioned him to be passive. "Do not venture to fire," he whispered, "till there is a greater necessity." At the same time he raised his gun, and both kept guard till the other members of our party passed the point where danger was to be feared. The animal did not move, but appeared ready to spring forth; which had it done, the pieces must then have been discharged. When we had got some little distance from the object of our dread, my father and uncle gradually retreated, with their faces and guns directed towards the animal, until they had got sufficiently out of danger; and we had the satisfaction of observing the animal bound off in another direction. It appeared to be a tolerably large-sized puma, as well as we could discern. This little incident made us doubly cautious, and all were loud in praising the presence of mind evinced by my father; for had my uncle fired so incautiously, it is very improbable that he would have wounded the animal mortally, but it might have incited him to a desperate attack upon us. [Sidenote: The negro's daughter] After one or two false alarms, we arrived again in the open country. The darkness of the forest had led us to believe that the day was on the decline; but on emerging into the plain we were greeted again with the rays of the sun. We had still, however, some distance to journey before we arrived at our proposed destination, and my mother, who appeared wearied, was again seated on the back of one of the mules. But even this mode of conveyance was fatiguing to one unaccustomed to such long journeys, in a country so different to our own. The negroes were the most fresh of the party; indeed, heat, and long hours of fatigue or anxiety, seemed to have no effect upon them, for they retained under these trials their good temper and loquacity. The elder of the two seemed, as indeed he always had been, to be of a reflective temperament; and as he was walking by the side of my father, somewhat ahead of the rest, he turned round, and gazing at my sister, said, "Make me think of de ole day--de ole day." "How so?" said my father. "Had a little girl once myself. Long ago, now! long ago!" And he again lapsed into silence, ruminating, in rather an abstracted melancholy mood, for some minutes. "You lost her, then, did you?" said my father. The old man shook his head sorrowfully, and placing his hand upon my father's shoulder, confidentially, exclaimed, "De white man!" He then promised to tell us the history of the affair before leaving. Arriving shortly at the point he had originally proposed when we commenced our journey in the morning, we discerned two or three habitations, even more rude than those we had left, and our guides expressed much surprise and chagrin at finding them uninhabited. We, however, determined upon taking possession of them for the night, and at once proceeded to make the necessary preparations for our stay. [Sidenote: The story of the negro] Agreeably to his promise, the old negro took an opportunity of relating his history. Our first surmise proved to be correct; he was indeed a runaway slave. Some years previously he and his family were sold to a new owner, who proved to be a cruel and unfeeling taskmaster, the very opposite in character to the former owner, who was a kind-hearted, mild disposed man. His wife was so affected by the change and hard usage, that she sunk into a desponding state, and eventually died, leaving him with a son and daughter. The cruel treatment evinced by their overseer towards the latter, a little girl then of ten years old, was a constant source of trouble and misery to the father, and eventually led to an open revolt. One day, when the brutality of this man was beyond all endurance, the father of the girl, in a fit of rage and disgust, struck his superior to the earth. Conscious of what he had done, and the fearful penalty attached to it, he fled frantically from the spot, whither he knew not. His feelings had been wound up to such a state of excitement, that he was scarcely conscious of what he was about; but he had soon left the scene of his suffering many miles distant. His son, it appeared, who was at a remote part of the plantation, hearing of the affair, fled after his father, and they eventually, after enduring numberless hardships, both succeeded in escaping; and notwithstanding the large rewards offered for their capture, they were never betrayed. His daughter he had learned nothing of for many years. He had endeavoured to rescue her soon after his escape from the hands of her tormentor, but did not succeed. Afterwards he learnt that she had left the plantation, and had been passed into the hands of a new master at another remote part of the country. She was dangerously ill at that time, and was not expected to recover. The poor old negro grew very mournful as he concluded his narrative. He had not heard of his daughter for so long a period that he seemed to think it improbable he should ever behold her again. His story, I remember, called forth a long discussion upon the horrors of slavery, the truth of which is now happily made sufficiently manifest, and so universally acknowledged, that it hardly needs repetition here. On the following morning we parted with our two negro guides of the previous day, but it was with the greatest unwillingness that they could be persuaded to return to their home; eventually, however, we took leave of them after presenting them two or three remembrances for their kindness. We now journeyed on much the same as before, without any incident occurring worthy of notice, when, on the following day, we met with two English gentlemen, both naturalists, on their way to the forest, to collect specimens for the advancement of scientific knowledge. Their party comprised six, namely, themselves, two English attendants, and two negroes, whom they had purchased, with a promise of emancipation if they conducted themselves to their masters' satisfaction. These gentlemen were much delighted to meet with us, and agreed to journey our road, for the sake of company. I was much pleased with their society. I was soon made sensible of the advantages of a system in studying the works of nature. My senses had before been quite captivated and gratified with the general aspect of the scenes through which we had passed; but now I was taught to examine objects more closely and in detail; to compare, arrange, and, above all, to study the uses and purposes of vegetable and animal constituents, with their mechanical construction, tracing, in some measure, the designs of the Creator in all his works. I was now awakened to an intellectual gratification exceeding that of the mere senses. I learned how to collect and store up knowledge in the memory, which elevated my notions of the human species and considerably augmented my self-respect. The more I found opportunities to bring the intellect into play, the more apparent became the advantages which the civilized and cultivated man possessed over the mere savage or uninformed; and, in consequence, my delight in receiving instruction was unbounded. Unlike myself, however, the gentlemen whom we accompanied did not appear to me to enjoy or appreciate my natural enthusiasm for varied scenery. They carried on their researches with surprising ardour; and when in pursuit of an abstract or particular object, their attention was wholly absorbed; nor were they in any way sparing of the lives of animals, birds, or insects, when selecting their specimens from the abundance before them. Their recklessness, too, in destroying what they considered obnoxious animals, somewhat surprised me, so much so as to induce me to enquire what caused them to have antipathies, like unto children and some females, especially against spiders, beetles, &c. The only answer I received was, "We destroy only such things as are of no use to us, and those which come in our way when in search of our object." They soon, however, explained to me that the reason of their shooting such a number of birds was that they were in want of all the varieties, and could not always distinguish, until they had them in hand, whether they had such a one amongst their collection. To watch the young of animals, whether those species born with sight or closed eyes, and note their progress towards perfection, and the celerity with which some of them, birds especially, will remove themselves, even while unfledged, from danger to security, is to see God watching over all his creatures. To be near when the cry of danger is started in the wood, and hear the whole flock, though composed of different kinds of birds, each in their own peculiar note, cry "Hush!" to their young ones before they leave the nest,--to ascertain the cause, and then to have the satisfaction of removing that cause of danger,--is to be an agent of the Deity in the work of benevolence. "All are agents," said one of the gentlemen, "in carrying out the benevolent purposes of the Deity. Direct your mind towards the various provisions which nature has devised for the dispersion, of the seeds of plants, and introducing them, into proper situations for germination. Every class of beings," he continued, "is useful as a means to promote the spread of seeds: man, beasts, birds, reptiles, and probably even fish, by consuming, cause the propagation of the _algæ_ in the depths of the ocean; and the multiplied contrivances of hooks, awns, wings, &c., with the elastic and hygrometric power with which seeds are furnished, manifest what infinite provision has been made for the dispersion of seeds, and successive productions of nature." It was thus that they would tutor me, and relieve the tedium of the day, by instilling into my youthful mind the first rudiments of a knowledge respecting the works of the Deity, and the uses to which they were applied; and I became aware of the wonders an all-bounteous Providence has in store for an enquiring mind. [Sidenote: The rattlesnake] But I now approach a period which proved an epoch in my existence. It was towards the evening of a very long and fatiguing day's journey, perhaps the most wearisome we had yet had, that we halted to refresh ourselves, and consult where we should bivouac for the night. We were all jaded, and scarcely knew how to proceed any further. My sister was reclining on a bank, and had, unobserved by us, fallen fast asleep, fairly overcome with the fatigues of the day. Her head was resting on a small package of tightly compressed woollen cloths. We had not noticed her for some minutes, when one of the gentlemen who accompanied us was the first to observe her dangerous situation. It was fortunate he did so. Taking my father by the arm, and leading him quietly away from the party, he directed his attention to my sister. My father stood almost petrified with fear and horror, on observing a large rattlesnake moving from side to side on my sister's chest. Upon the impulse of the moment, he was incautiously about to rush to her rescue; but was detained by his companion. "I do not think it means any mischief," he whispered. "Make no noise, and I fancy it will merely cross your child's body, and go away." In this, however, he was mistaken, for on reaching my sister's left shoulder the serpent deliberately coiled itself up; and although it made no immediate attack, it did not appear at all likely to leave the side of the sleeper. "Leave it to me," said my father's companion, "to rescue the poor girl from her terrible position. I know best the habits of these creatures, and how to treat them. Make no noise, on your life, or your child may be lost; but follow me." My father obeyed; and our friend then determined that two of us should advance in front, to divert the attention of the snake, while he should noiselessly steal behind my sister, and, with a long stick, remove the reptile from her body. The snake, on observing the approach of the two intruders in front of him, instantly raised its head, and darted out its forked tongue, at the same time shaking its rattles,--all indications of anger. [Sidenote: Anxiety] Every one of our party was in a state of fearful suspense and agitation for the fate of my poor sister; who lay like a beautiful statue, sleeping the calm sleep of innocence, unconscious of her danger. Our friend advanced stealthily behind, with a stick of seven feet long he had procured for the purpose. In an instant, almost before we had time to observe it, he succeeded in cautiously inserting one end of the stick under one of the reptile's coils, and flung the creature some yards from my sister's body. A wild scream of joy was the first indication my sister received of her danger and providential escape. In the meantime, her preserver pursued the snake, and killed it. It was three feet seven inches long, and eleven years old; the age, our friend said, was always to be ascertained by the number of rattles. He also informed us that there is no danger attending the destruction of the rattlesnake, provided a person has a long pliant stick, and does not approach nearer than the reptile's length; for they cannot spring beyond it, and seldom act but upon the defensive. We discovered, on searching about, a nest of these snakes near to where my sister had been lying; and, after this incident, were a little more cautious in taking our way along. We could not shake off the alarm that it had occasioned; and it was with anxious thoughts and heavy hearts that we again proceeded to seek repose from the day's troubles and fatigue. CHAPTER II. I AM LOST IN THE FOREST--MY SITUATION AND FEELINGS DESCRIBED. "Existence may be borne, and the deep root Of life and sufferance make its firm abode In bare and desolate bosoms: mute The camel labours with the heaviest load, And the wolf dies in silence. Not bestow'd In vain should such examples be; if they-- Things of ignoble or of savage mood-- Endure and shrink not, we of nobler clay May temper it to bear; it is but for a day." In arranging our watch for the night every precaution was taken to guard against intrusion; then most of the party composed themselves for sleep; indeed, the previous day had been one of peculiar fatigue and disappointment--opiates much less injurious than those issued from a druggist's shop. I alone, and for the first time, became restless after the approach of night--usually having fallen asleep as soon as I had eaten my supper,--and became insensible to the busy hum of night, which in tropical countries is very noisy. I lay down with the adventure of the snake on my mind, my reflections on which kept me awake till the nocturnal insects of the wood were all in full chorus, and the reptiles began to move. Up to this hour I had no idea--so soundly had I hitherto slept--that the night was as rife with sounds and animated nature as the day; differing not in their variety but only in their peculiar kinds. [Sidenote: Fireflies] As I have in another place, under the head of a natural day in the forest, spoken of this hour, it will be unnecessary for me to describe it in this place; suffice it to say, that my ear being once engaged in attending to the succession of sounds which addressed it, sleep, for the night, became hopeless. About midnight I suddenly sprang to nay feet with the surprise of being surrounded, as I thought, with flakes of fire, or rather with similar lights to those emitted by a jet of gas in the centre of glass drops. Finding myself uninjured in the midst of myriads of these dancing lights, I moved forward, as they moved, to examine the phenomenon. They were fireflies, whose light would have enabled me to see the hour by a watch. They suddenly, however, left me in darkness, and that as rapidly as if they had really been gas-lights extinguished by the turning of the stop-cock. Pausing for some minutes, and censuring my own conduct for having moved from the spot of our bivouac, my attention was again attracted by sounds of something in pain, close to my feet; it was evidently a bird, and I stooped with a view of taking it up, when the note proceeded from my right, and then from the left, "Crek-crek-crek!" Whether I was ambitious to capture the bird, or whether I was moved by feelings of compassion I know not, I acted on the impulse, and continued to turn from side to side till I had advanced some distance in the underwood in a zig-zag direction. At length, being vexed at my disappointment, I lost my temper, and rushed forward again with renewed determination to take the wounded bird, which was always at my feet but never in my hand. He who does not command his temper can scarcely fail to do wrong; and never was indiscretion perhaps more severely punished than in my case. [Sidenote: Bewildered in the wood] I had committed an unpardonable act of imprudence in suffering my curiosity regarding the light emitted by the firefly to lead me one yard from the bivouac; but afterwards to lose my presence of mind in such a situation and at such an hour, in the mere attempt to possess a wounded bird, was an act of puerility inexcusable in a boy many years my junior. Need I inform the reader that I was the dupe of a watchful parent, or perhaps there were two of them, who, with a view of protecting their young ones, beguiled me from the spot where they were being reared. The bird was a species of quail, which, like the plover in England, will pretend to be lame, to draw stragglers from its hiding-place. When the cry of the quail ceased, without doubt I had been led a sufficient distance to place her progeny out of danger; I was now enshrouded in all but utter darkness, and then bean to shout out to my uncle John, who was on watch, as loudly and as frequently as the power of my lungs enabled me; but there was no response. The aphorism says, "Do not halloo till you are out of the wood;" and truly I might have spared my lungs, for calling was of no avail. Errors and blunders generally run in sequences; had I remained on the spot when I found myself first lost, the probability is that I should, when the morning dawned, have been near enough to my friends to have been discovered. But no! having been guilty of one act of folly, I must repair it by committing a second. My impatience impelled me to make an effort to retrace my steps; while a moment's reflection might have shown me, that as there was but one road back, so there were many which might lead me farther into trouble. The remainder of this night was spent in exhausting my strength in vain and useless efforts to retrace my steps; and ere the sun rose, I was so fatigued and hoarse as to abandon every hope of making myself heard. Exhausted nature alone brought conviction of the fruitlessness of such efforts. I sat down on a blasted tree, and there relieved my harassed and affrighted spirits by a flood of tears, the shedding of which did indeed bring alleviation; for previously I felt as if my heart was bursting. A heavy load of grief, however, still pressed with a leaden weight on my mind; but as the heart lightened, the reflective powers began to operate, and the full sense of my desolation was presented to my view. I was horror-stricken and paralysed; but as these paroxysms passed away, I gradually brought my mind to contemplate calmly my isolated situation. [Sidenote: First sensation of solitude] I first reflected on the inestimable value of parental affection, the blessings conferred on us by friends, the pleasures of social life, and the advantages mankind derive by forming communities. At that moment there was no sacrifice I would not have made to have been restored to my family, and become again entitled to all these advantages. Out of this comparative state of calmness, I was roused by murmuring sounds which my excited imagination converted into human voices. Oh, how my heart bounded, and with what intensity did the ear strain itself to catch assurance that there was truth in its first impression. But the organ had prejudged, and was not readily open to conviction. I therefore proceeded, with what haste my weary limbs would permit, to exercise the sense of sight. Alas! it was but the murmuring of waters, a gentle confluence of which was precipitated over an elevated rock of stone. It was impossible to conceive a more enchanting scene than that which now met my anxious eye. Through several ravines the water, pouring over moss-grown stones, fell in miniature cascades, with a musical murmur, over rocks shaded by low trees, and grey with variegated mosses and the elegant maiden's hair. Large trunks of trees, thrown down by the hand of time, lay covered with fungi waved with various hues. The scene was altogether such as might for a time engage the attention and abstract the mind of one plunged into the abyss of grief. I was deeply impressed with its beauty, and it powerfully excited sensations of delight; but as I continued to contemplate it, a sense of loneliness crept over me; there was no one near to hear me exclaim, "How exquisitely enchanting! how sublime! yet how soft and harmonizing is it to the feelings." Turning from this scene I found my grief considerably modified in its intensity; and I began now to look on my case only as that of a lost child in society, whom the parents would be certain of finding on diligent search. "God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb," and in a thousand mysterious ways prepares the minds of his creatures to meet the burdens they are called upon to bear. Of this truth I was early convinced. Had the night of my first day's loneliness closed on me in the full consciousness of my desolation and self-dependence for preservation, it is impossible to say what dreadful effects might have been wrought on the mind of one so young, and so tenderly brought up. But it was ordered otherwise. The want of sleep the previous night, together with agonised moments of distress, and fears which returned with redoubled force as the day progressed and no relief came, all contributed so much to the exhaustion of my frame, that long ere the curtains of night were drawn over the forest, I involuntarily fell into a profound sleep, unconscious at what hour, or where I had lain myself. I was thus spared those feelings of dread which, if night had overtaken my waking moments, might have overshadowed my reason while I was watching the final departure of daylight. When I awoke the next morning, it was broad day; and nothing, while memory retains her seat, can obliterate or weaken the impressions I received on opening my eyes. There was presented to my view the most magnificent scene perhaps ever beheld in this world of nature's productions. For a time I imagined myself dreaming of fairy-land. Before me, as I reclined on a mossy bed of green herbage, as soft as eider-down, there was an opening in the wood, shaped like an amphitheatre, with the sun's rays throwing a flood of light into it. Trees rich with foliage and blossoms waved like a galaxy of parti-coloured flags or banners at a jubilee of nature; brilliant colours, varied in endless hues, all beautifully harmonising, so that each was seen without any being predominant. Here arose upright flowers on stupendous branches, towering aloft as if aspiring to reach the sun; there others hung pendulously, as if seeking to hide themselves amidst the rich foliage that cradled their birth, and were anxious in their modest delicacy, to avoid the god of day. Birds of ever-varied plumage, sizes, and habits, were congregated in immense numbers, forming an orchestra of thousands of vocalists, as if met to celebrate the hour of creation. A small glassy lake in the centre of the glade, peopled with water-fowl, served the songsters for a grace-cup, each quitting the sprays to dip its beak into it, and again resume its perch to pour forth a torrent of musical notes. I know not how long I might have lain rapt with delight, had not some husks fallen on my face, and roused me. I have reason to think that I was pelted by monkeys, whose jealousy at the appearance of a stranger in their territories had aroused their indignation. [Sidenote: The nut-hatch in the gum tree] Entranced as I had been by the scene, the grosser appetite admonished me that food was necessary for the sustenance of the body; I had not tasted it for upwards of twenty-four hours, and the demands of the stomach now became imperative. Without allowing myself time to reflect, the horror of starvation presented itself to my imagination, and I was again relapsing into despondency, when I saw several small birds running up and down the trunk of a large tree, in a spiral course; their movement was so rapid, that I could not distinguish whether their heads or tails were uppermost. Curious to obtain a nearer view of them, I advanced, and observed that they frequently tapped the bark with their beaks, and then inserted them into the interstices; this led me to examine the tree more closely, when I discovered large masses of gum protruding from the bark. This description of bird is named the nuthatch. They were in search of insects and their eggs, not of the gum. I however filled my pocket with it, and putting piece after piece into my mouth, as it dissolved, it allayed for the present the cravings of hunger. Frequently when distant dreaded danger is more nearly approached, our fears vanish, and it often happens that a supposed coming evil turns out to be a benefit. At all times, however, the mind is soon familiarised to those dangers that partake of the inevitable. The very worst had now passed away from me--the first night's sleep alone in the forest. I was safe, unhurt, refreshed, and even cheerful: perhaps because I was still full of the hope of being sought for and found by my father and friends. It was the will of Divine Providence that I should for several weeks cherish this hope; nor did I abandon the flattering solace till I had become fully initiated into the ways of providing for myself. Indeed, I may affirm that hope never left me--hope, if not of meeting directly with my friends, of emancipating myself from the intricacies of the forest. Hope, Memory, and Imagination, three lovely sisters, were my companions, and even in the wilds of a forest, "Hope enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair." Memory, a visionary slumber, with half-closed eyes, was frequently dispelled by the hard necessity there was to be up and stirring for immediate self-preservation. Imagination came with lamp-like eyes, a bright and bold beauty, seating me at one bound or flight in the midst of my family, enjoying all the comforts of civilized life, throwing me into the arms of my mother, indulging in her warm embrace. Remorse would then supervene--remorse for the pain and anguish I had occasioned my fond and worthy parents, and for the misery my waywardness had brought upon myself. [Sidenote: Efforts to escape] My first meal, as I have stated, when left to cater for myself, consisted of gum, of which I had a store in my pocket. As soon, therefore, as I had satisfied myself with the surrounding objects of admiration, I thought of making another effort to regain the spot where I had left my parents: it was a vain hope, but I pursued it throughout the day, during which I must have travelled many miles. In the course of my peregrinations, I found abundance of fruit and nuts, which lay strewed in my way. Late in the day, I met with a mass of the bush-rope, and, ignorant of its abundance, I at once jumped to the conclusion that I had arrived at the identical spot which our party had before passed. This barrier, as it is designated, to my view was considerably extended; and then my heart, after being elevated with hope, again sunk within me. Still, however, disinclined to relinquish hope, my only solace, I soon persuaded myself that I might not, on the former occasion, have accurately surveyed it; and I resolved, as night was fast approaching, to remain on the spot till the following morning, and from thence to make a fresh start, to find, if possible, the track in which the party were travelling. In social life, provident thoughts rarely trouble a youth of thirteen years of age; his parents, or others, think for him, and generally every night provide a bed for his resting-place. Such had been previously my case; the reader will, therefore, not be surprised that, up to this moment, I had not bestowed a thought on how I was to pass the ensuing night in security. I was, however, now fairly inducted into the school of hard necessity; and as the day was fast waning, I had no time to lose. Acting on impulse, I commenced climbing the bush-rope, intending there to make my bed, but the dread of falling came over me, and checked my resolution. I then thought of a hollow tree, many of which I had seen in the course of my perambulations. Following this suggestion of the mind, I immediately began a search for one, and fortunately met with it on the spot. Night was, however, setting in so rapidly, that I had no time to be nice in my choice. [Sidenote: The jaguar] The tree that seemed most to invite me to enter into its interior was partly uprooted, leaning its head towards the earth, so that I could rest in a sloping position; but thinking the opening of the decayed part too wide for perfect security, I stripped off the bark on the reverse side, of which to form a shutter, or loose door, which I might pull towards the opening when fairly ensconced within the hollow. Having thus prepared my bed, I instinctively cast a look round, as an undefinable sense of danger crept over me; the first movement brought my eyes in contact with those of a large jaguar, the tiger of that country. He was standing upright, about eight yards distant, apparently surveying me from head to foot. I was paralyzed with fear, and remained fixed to the spot; the animal gave me a second and third look, then took two or three bounds, and was out of sight in an instant. It is to this moment my fixed opinion, one confirmed by subsequent experience, that I owe my life to the passive manner in which I stood, and which was occasioned by fright; the slightest movement on my part would have occasioned alarm in the jaguar, and proved fatal. With regard to the jaguar's prowess, he is little less formidable than the Bengal tiger: cows and young bulls he destroys with ease and avidity; but the horse is his favourite prey. All these large animals he kills by leaping on their backs, placing one paw upon their head, another on the muzzle, and thus contriving, in a moment, to break the neck of his victim. The jaguar, although as ferocious as the tiger, rarely attacks man unprovoked, or unless very hungry; but in general he finds no scarcity of food in the regions in which I was located. I now debated with myself whether I should enter the tree, foolishly imagining that the animal designed to take me asleep. At length the gloominess of the night enshrouded me in darkness, and left me no alternative but to spring into my cabin, and pull the pieces of bark before the aperture. I will not attempt to describe the fearful trepidation in which I was placed: the darkness of the night rendered the hollow of the tree like a tomb, and I viewed it as a coffin; every movement of a twig was, to my imagination, the jaguar removing my barricade with an intention of clawing me out for prey. The scene was rendered more horrible by the contrast with that of the morning, to which the mind would revert, in spite of surrounding horrors--one was the reality of the fabled Elysium, the other that of the Tartarean fields. Just as I had thought I had now experienced the acme of terrors, my fright was augmented by something fluttering round my head, the noise from which seemed as if an animal was struggling to disentangle itself from a snare. Shakspere, describing the effects of fright, speaks of its causing "Each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porcupine." I will not affirm that the hairs of my head rose to that height, but I may safely aver that no mortal had ever more cause for exhibiting all the known symptoms of extreme fright. In a second or two after I heard the fluttering, I received repeated blows on the head and face, indubitable proofs that I had a quarrelsome fellow lodger. Present and immediate dangers chase all others. I kicked away my temporary shutter; but before I could make my exit I felt, by the motion of the air, that a living thing had passed me in rapid flight. [Sidenote: The terrors of night in the forest] When the sharer of my tenement had flown, I began to consider that it must have been some night-bird; and as the jaguar was still uppermost in my thoughts, I lost no time in repossessing myself of my lodging. Worn out as I now again was with the fatigues of the day and the terrors of the night, after a time I was dropping to sleep, when I was once more roused by the growl of the jaguar, as if he had just seized his prey, and half the beasts of the forest, from the noise there was, had collected to contend and fight for the carnage. A short interval elapsed, and then the growling changed gradually into death-groanings. I was now in the midst of a scene of horror and darkness that may well be said to elude the power of verbal description. Only a few hours previously my mind had been harmonized by the soft and elegant forms of nature's richest beauties, under a clear blue sky. How changed was now the scene! how deformed and disfigured was the aspect! It was a transition from Paradise to Erebus; environed by all the real and conceivable monsters in nature. I had before been alarmed--I now abandoned myself to the one sensation of unmitigated despair, the extremity of which was so intense, that it is a miracle reason held her place, or that I survived to write this narrative. Indeed, nothing but the turn my thoughts took at this crisis could have preserved me. I had already undergone all the horrors of an agonizing and protracted death, and was well nigh insensible to grief or pain, when, providentially, in the last extremity, I was inwardly admonished to appeal to my God. And now, with suppliant accents and upraised hands, I prayed to Heaven for a blessing, for short I still thought was the space between life and death. Praying with fervency of soul, I gradually became inspired with confidence; my mind became more tranquil and fitter for calm consideration. It occurred to me, notwithstanding the horrible din of noises around, that I was still unhurt; that if the jaguar had really selected me for his prey, he would have seized me when within his reach, and not have restrained his appetite for the mere gratification of tearing me from the hollow of a tree. Then, in reference to the sharer of my apartment, I began to look on myself as the real aggressor. Had I not ejected some native of the forest, whose natural home it was, both by right and possession; had I not most unwarrantably intruded on his privacy, and frightened an inoffensive member of the sylvan community. Thus, through the medium of prayer, was I at once enabled and taught how to face danger; and whilst looking it steadfastly in the countenance, to ascertain correctly its magnitude, and banish chimerical fears. That I was surrounded with danger, I was still conscious; but now I offered up thanks to God for preserving me in the midst of them; for having directed me to a place of security, and provided me with a strong tower, where I might almost defy enemies. Thus recovering my self-possession, I began really to enjoy the interior of the tree as a very comfortable resting-place and a complete snuggery. Very soon after this state of mind was brought about, I fell asleep, and awoke refreshed and tranquil. Morning was announced to my glad eyes by lines of light passing from the lofty trees, scintillating through the holes of my worm-eaten shutter--lines of light which were delicately drawn by the golden fingers of Phoebus, the most famed of artists. A very considerable portion of the sufferings of mankind have their source in ignorance: nearly all that I encountered, even from this memorable night to the hour of my emancipation from the forest, was the result of my want of experience. Had I known that the noises which had disturbed my rest were but the imitations of the red monkey, I might have slept in quietude. These animals assemble, and at times amuse themselves throughout the night by making the most horrible noises, more especially mimicking the growlings and roarings of the more ferocious animals. I say amuse themselves; but at the same time I may remark that all sounds given out by quadrupeds, birds, or reptiles, are designed to effect some of nature's especial purposes. Some, for their own protection; others, to caution weaker animals against approaching danger. [Sidenote: Monkey tricks] The gift and propensity the red monkey has of imitating the beasts of prey, may deter some enemy from attacking him in the dark; for it is observed they cease their mocking habits when daylight appears. They may also warn the timid animals when others of a formidable nature and ferocious appetite are in their vicinity. The jaguar, as we have said, was in the immediate neighbourhood that night. Among the general community of the monkey tribes, morning and evening are periods they generally select to settle their public affairs, for the noises they make at these times are absolutely stunning, and to strangers very alarming. The forest is their citadel, where, mounted on lofty trees waving in the breeze, they confabulate, and, as naturalists have often described, arm themselves with sticks and stones, and in conscious independence defy all intruders. The red monkey, however, is the most pugnacious of the whole species; and it was some months before I was permitted to walk the woods in peace, for these animals frequently assailed me with a stick or a stone. Policy led me to take all their insults patiently; and in the end, I imagine, they passed an act of naturalization, for I was ultimately permitted to range the forest without molestation. I once witnessed a peculiar instance of their tenaciousness in regard to their territory. An European boat was passing down a river on the side of a wood, when, on a signal being given by one of these animals, others crowded to the spot in such numbers as literally to cover the trees, bending with their weight the branches to the water's edge. At first they appeared as if amused with the sight of the movement of the rowers; then deeming them intruders, they commenced a general pelting, discharging showers of stones and broken sticks. The people in the boats fired; when the monkeys pelted more furiously than before, and though numbers fell wounded, or dead, still they continued the contest till the boats passed beyond their domain. I now entered on the third day of my sylvan probation, and upon the whole, felt more self-possession than I had any right to expect, under all the circumstances of my forlorn case. This day, like all others, waned with a quick and silent foot, while I again rambled round the immediate locality of my resting-place, fearing I might, if I strayed far away, be constrained to face the perils of a night in the open air. [Sidenote: The blood-sucker] This night I took possession of my lodging in good time, and, as I thought, carefully fenced myself with an impregnable barrier; and, as I thought so, it was the same as if it had been a high stone-wall, for it removed my perturbation, and occasioned me to sleep soundly. When I awoke the following morning, I was surprised to find my stocking matted with coagulated blood; I hastened to a rill of water, where I had the day before previously allayed my thirst, to draw it off and cleanse the foot. To my utter astonishment and dismay, I discovered that my shoe was in every part stained with blood, and that the toes and the sole of the right foot were stiff with coagulum. Divesting myself of the covering of my foot, I observed a small wound on the instep, not unlike the mark made by a leech. Imagining that I had been bitten by some formidable insect, such as I had seen in the course of our journey, when I had washed myself and recovered my fright, I hastened back to scrape out the interior of my chamber with a stick. In performing this work I disturbed myriads of small insects with which I had rested, but nothing that could account for the bite on my foot. Pleased, however, at having discovered the necessity there was for cleanliness in my apartment. I was resolved to give it a thorough scouring; and for this purpose thrust the stick up a hollow arm of the tree above my head, when out flew an extraordinary large bat. It was some satisfaction to become acquainted with those who are likely to become the sharers of your lodging, and I had no doubt the bat was the animal that flew against my face when endeavouring to set out the previous evening on his usual nocturnal rambles. Still I remained in a state of ignorance as to the cause of the wound in my foot. It requires much study and considerable experience, even to ascertain the causes of only a few effects in the phenomena of nature's workshop. Unwilling to leave the uninformed reader in doubt, not only in this particular instance, but in numerous others that will be met with in the course of this narrative, I shall anticipate, as it were, my own subsequent experience, and explain, when I can, the causes of certain effects that occurred to me while living alone in the forest. It was a species of bat, named by naturalists the vampire, that I had ejected, and he it was who had bled me so freely in the foot. It is remarkable that this bloodsucker, when once he has fastened on an animal, is allowed to satiate his appetite unmolested, as its victims all remain quiet and unresisting during the time he makes his meal. It is said that vampires flap their wings and produce a cooling sensation that lulls their prey to sleep while they suck their fill. In the instance of myself, I had not awoke the whole night, and was perfectly unconscious of the attack, until morning; but, as I have already said, I was in nature's great school, and soon learnt that, as in the moral world, so it is in the woods, there is more to dread from insidious attacks, than from open and declared enemies. When I had satisfied my appetite, on leaving my resting-place, with nuts and fruit, I sat down by the rill of water, to consider more determinately than I had hitherto done, what were my prospects, and what course of conduct I should pursue for my own protection. [Sidenote: The battle of the snakes] While thus engaged in thought, my attention was attracted to a snake, only a few yards' distance from where I sat; it was near a patch of brushwood, and was apparently trembling with fear. Almost as soon as I had noticed its state of alarm, another snake, with astonishing celerity, sprung upon it, and seized it by the neck, then encircled itself about six folds round the body of its victim, like the worm of a screw. The assailant then, leaning its head over the other, looked its gasping foe in the face, to ascertain the effect of the coils round the body; and seeing that its prey was still alive, it multiplied the coils three or four times, and evidently tightened the screw, watching all the time to see the effect of the extra coils. The attacking party was an animal designated the black snake, and the victim was a rattlesnake, about three and a half feet long, its enemy being about the same length. The former, however, had perfect command over the latter; but I was surprised at the length of time the executioner took to satisfy himself that his work of death was performed. The black snake remained three-quarters of an hour coiled round the other, and then very slowly and cautiously slackened one coil at a time, narrowly watching if any signs of life yet remained, ready to resume the screw again, if necessary, to complete the destruction of the victim. Driving the live snake away, I obtained possession of the dead one: it was four years old, which I scarce need mention was known by the number of rattles in its tail, which make a rattling noise when these reptiles are in motion. The rattlesnake is not among the most active of the species of snakes: it never springs a greater distance than its own length, which rarely exceeds four feet. It is owing to this that the black snake has the advantage, being able to spring from a greater distance on its prey, and, from its rapid motion and method of seizure to deprive it at once of the power of injecting its venom. I have since seen the rattlesnake destroyed by bucks in the open plain, and that without risk of suffering from the fatal effects of its bite. [Sidenote: The buck and the rattlesnake] A buck, when he discovers a rattlesnake, immediately prepares to attack it as a dreaded enemy, while he will pass other snakes unnoticed. The buck, depending on his sharp bifurcated hoofs, with which to sever the body of his adversary, is very skilful in his manoeuvre. He approaches the snake to within about ten feet, and then makes a bound, cutting the snake down with his hoofs with such unerring celerity and fatality as rarely leaves any chance of escape. The two incidents of the vampire and the snakes threw my mind into a state of reflection on the system of nature which makes the existence of one animal depend on another for its subsistence. Then my thoughts reverted to the number of living things I had myself to dread, separated as I was from society where men unite for mutual protection. I had seen in the case of the chegoe, that a very small insect could inflict a severe injury on the human frame, and I had narrowly escaped being carried off by the jaguar. Snakes, serpents, and enormous lizards, crossed my path at almost every step, and the monkeys pelted me. Uneasy and restless, I rose on my feet, to wander I knew not whither; I proceeded forward as if running from danger, yet dreading it at every step as I advanced. Presently my progress was impeded by a broad piece of expanded network, such as, from appearance, might have been manufactured by the hand of man,--it was spread from tree to tree. In the network was a small bird struggling to free itself from the toil which had ensnared it. Thinking I had now crossed the path of fowlers, my heart leaped with joy, and I flattered myself that deliverance was at hand; yet, fearing to spoil their sport, I drew back, and took up a position behind a tree. My mind was soon disabused of the error into which I had fallen. Several spiders of enormous size approaching the captive, I sprang forward to release the bird, and then perceived that the netting was the work of insects. The captive proved to be a humming bird, one of those beautiful little creatures that are fabled to feed on the nectar of plants. They however feed on insects, those which are attached to the nectarium of plants: these they seize for food with their long bills. The spiders that weave these extraordinary webs from one tree to another, are not, like those of Europe, of solitary habits, but live in communities; they mutually share in the labour of forming the web, and divide the prey they catch. It is worthy of notice that all animals who unite their labour, possess infinitely more ingenuity in their proceedings than those who work individually. The weak, however, are generally provided with some compensating, self-protecting secret, that enables them to rear their young in as much security as the strong. Many insects that execute their buildings in trees, and there collect provisions for their infant colony in fear of the depredations of birds, cover the extremity of their store with substances of nauseous taste. Having saved the elegant little bird from the voracious spiders, I could not resist giving it freedom. The web which had impeded my progress brought to my recollection the bush-rope, which I had previously proposed to examine by daylight, in the hope of falling into the original track my family had taken through the forest. After having spent the whole of the subsequent part of the day in surveying the barrier and its approaches, I was reluctantly constrained again to take up my position in the hollow of the tree, under the firm conviction that I had no clue by which I could, for the present, at least, emancipate myself from the mazes of the forest. I retired to rest much depressed, and half disposed to abandon myself to despair. I, however, got some sleep at intervals, notwithstanding the renewal of the frightful noises heard the first night; and, upon the whole, on the approach of morning, found myself somewhat resigned to my fate. [Sidenote: Preparations for defence] Possessing an excellent pocket-knife, I now thought of cutting a good staff, and, if occasion should render it necessary, of defending myself with it against any assailant. How it happened that I had not thought of this before surprised me; and I acquired new confidence from the consideration that I possessed some means of defence. While trimming my staff, the history of Crusoe occurred to my recollection; and I then resolved to adopt his mode of registering time by making notches on the stick; and this employment brought home to my recollection that I had now been lost four days, and, while so engaged, that the present day was a Sabbath. The last notch I cut longitudinally, that I might mark the Sundays, and thus chronicle the return of the one day to be kept holy. Having always been accustomed religiously to observe the Sabbath, the current of my thoughts now took another turn. My first act was to offer up prayers, and to petition God to infuse into my breast courage to face the trials I must necessarily undergo in the wilderness, and ask for his guiding finger in all my wanderings. Alter performing this duty, I sat down on a fallen tree to court reflection, and presently heard a humming noise close to my ear. Turning round, to see from whence it proceeded, I thought I recognised the identical bird that I had, a short time before, liberated from the spider's web. It appeared, at first, to be stationary in the air, and I marvelled how it was supported; it then occurred to me that it was a spiritual messenger, sent in the form of the little creature I had been kind to, as an assurance of divine protection. Full ten minutes I contemplated the bird in this light, when it flew away, leaving me in a much happier state of mind than I had hitherto felt myself. [Sidenote: Utility of birds] The fixed position of the bird I afterwards found to be its habit when hovering over certain flowers in search of insects. There are a great variety of the humming-bird tribe; the one I had caught was very beautiful, and moved its wings with such astonishing rapidity in flight as to elude the eye; and when poising itself over a flower, waiting to attack insects as they enter between the petals, the wings moved with such celerity as to become almost invisible, like a mist. The habits of these birds may be denominated fly-like:-- "When morning dawns, and the blest sun again Lifts his red glories from the eastern main, Then round our woodbines, wet with glittering dews, The flower-fed humming-bird his round pursues,-- Sips with inserted tube the honied blooms, And chirps his gratitude as round he roams." Birds, throughout my sojourn in the forest, were my chief and most cheerful companions. They seem to be sent by Heaven as the peculiar associates of man; they exhilarate him in his labour, and brighten his hours of leisure by their melody. They also, in an especial manner, serve man, by preventing the increase of those insects that would consume the products of his industry. Whatever the uninformed farmer or gardener may say on this head, I beg to assure them that the depredations birds commit are more than compensated by their insectivorous habits. There is not a vegetable production, cultivated or of spontaneous growth, from the forest tree to the most tender garden-flower, that is not liable to attacks from myriads of insects, though small in form and weapons, yet insidious in their mode of attack, and fatal to the plant. Birds are the natural enemies of insects, and were sent as a check upon their increase. Man persecutes the bird for plundering his fruits, seeds, and grain crops, but he does not enquire whether he would have any of these productions if the bird did not free the ground and buds from insects. The late Professor Bradley ascertained that a pair of sparrows, during the time they had young ones, destroyed on an average 3360 caterpillars every week, besides butterflies. Man, when he clears and cultivates the land, destroys the winter food of birds, cutting down the trees that nature intended should supply them with berries during a season when their insectivorous habits are suspended. It would be an advantage to those who are engaged in cultivating the earth, if they studied the harmony of nature a little more than they now generally do. The farmer will say that a hard and long frost is good for the land, because it kills the insects; so likewise do the birds die off in severe seasons of cold, thus reducing the number of his auxiliary agriculturists to the proportion in which they will be required, on the return of spring, to keep the land clear from insects, and secure a crop to the cultivator. Birds in general return tenfold to man, in the services they render him, for all they take from his store; while they, ----"With melody untaught, Turn all the air to music, within hearing, Themselves unseen." The humming-bird's visit, together with the peculiar associations of my mind at the time, produced in me a calmness that partook of heaven. The scene--a picture, too,--which was before me, was one of those beautiful instances of nature's chaste compositions that combined all around in harmony. Lovely were the sylvan flowers, fresh with blossoms, rising amidst the soft and matted growth beneath; and how exquisite the structure of the moss and lichen within my reach; how calm, how clear and serene was the air--how deepened were the shadows--how perfect was the quiet--how eloquent the silence! [Sidenote: Solitary reflections] My meditations were painfully broken in upon by the mind reverting to the jaguar that I thought at times was lurking about to devour me; then to the snakes, and the captive humming-bird. "Has God," I involuntarily exclaimed, "made all his creatures that they may devour each other? Yes, yes! he has." I continued, as I rose with disturbed feelings; "I see the scheme of destruction at every step, and behold it at every turn; both day and night, every hour, yea, every moment, millions are struggling in the death-grasp of their foes." These reflections almost melted my heart, when, casting up my eyes to heaven, as if to ask for some light to shine on my mind and explain the subject, I saw a falcon, in the act of flying, seize a bird of the pigeon kind, and fly off with it into the woods. Tears came to my relief. Goldsmith says, "The mere uninformed spectator passes on in gloomy silence; while the naturalist, in every plant, in every insect, and in every pebble, finds something to entertain his curiosity and excite his speculation. In the animal kingdom alone there exists nearly one hundred thousand of known different subjects, and half that number of different plants. The discovery of almost every vegetable brings with it the knowledge of a new insect. In the mineral kingdom the compositions and forms are almost endless." And Dr. Priestley says, of scientific pursuits "The investigation of nature cannot fail to be valuable. It engages all our intellectual faculties to the greatest extent, and in its pursuit the general stock of useful knowledge is increased. The field for inquiry is rational, extensive, and profitable, beyond conception." "But what right have I, a poor, short-sighted mortal," I then exclaimed, "to seek for the motives that actuate an all-wise Deity? It is not only vain but wicked in man to scrutinize the ways of Providence." CHAPTER III. I BUILD MYSELF A HUT--THE SCENERY THROUGHOUT A DAY IN THE FOREST DESCRIBED. "O may I with myself agree, And never covet what I see; Content me with a humble shade-- My passions tamed, my wishes laid; For while our wishes wildly roll, We banish quiet from the soul." [Sidenote: Projects of building] As the first Sabbath-day in the woods closed upon me, I felt more resigned to my fate, and more composed, than I had been at any previous period since the separation from my parents. I now looked on myself as a denizen of the forest; and as I slowly repaired to the hollow tree, the thought possessed me that I could construct some kind of dwelling-place. During the night I formed and rejected fifty plans for carrying this scheme out. At length, just as morning dawned, a simple method suggested itself to me of effecting my purpose; and, with my usual ardour, I commenced the work forthwith. Before the evening set in I had collected, and trimmed with my pocket-knife, a considerable number of stakes, about four feet long, at which work I continued for four days, when it occurred to me that I had not yet given the eligibility of site a thought, and had been much too hasty in my proceedings. Ashamed of my own impetuosity and want of consideration, I crept to rest, very weary and ill at ease with myself; and as I took a retrospective view of the results of my impulsive mode of acting on the thought, together with the ills I had brought on my own head, I did not spare self-reproach. Considering my numerous wants, it was clearly, where I had collected the stakes, a very inconvenient spot to choose for a permanent place of residence. Weighing in my judgment the kind of locality suited to the purpose, I decided on an open space or glade in the forest, where I might have a clear view all around, and be out of the way of uprooted or falling timber. But for this last consideration I should at once have selected the spot where I awoke after my first night's sleep in the forest. The recollection of that beautiful scene reminded me of another thing I had not hitherto thought of, namely, that my house must be built near to a supply of water, and also of fruit. The next day, therefore, was spent in searching for a site on which I might commence my building speculation. There was no lack of space, or of glades; but in the resolution I had now made to become thoughtful, and act with caution, I fear I became too nice and fastidious. [Sidenote: The forest stream] One open plot of ground I traversed many times with the eye of a government surveyor: it was the very thing itself; but there was no water to be seen. Presently, I caught the sound of trickling water; and my new friend, caution, forsook me. I was so heedless in running to satisfy myself that there actually was a stream fit to drink, that I was precipitated headlong into the gill, or chasm, which formed the channel for its course. It was so covered with wood that the eye could not see it. Fortunately I met with this rent in the earth near to the commencement of the fissure, where it was comparatively narrow and shallow. At any other part, its steepness and depth might have endangered life. It was the birthplace of a native stream. I subsequently learned to track it by the soothing harmony of this invisible torrent, the notes from which sounded like innumerable broken falls, and were softened by ascending through branches which hung over it. These sounds were extremely harmonious. At the spot where I had fallen the water might with some difficulty be obtained, and near to this, at length I determined to build my villa--a sylvan mansion. This site, on one side, was flanked by a morass, or bog, which even then, in the driest season, was only passable with care on tufts of grass, which here and there sprung from the moisture of the soil. Proceeding to lay out my ground-plan, which was a circle, and to prepare for the morrow, I stayed at work till it was too late to find my way back to my lodging; leaving me no alternative but either to stretch myself on the ground, exposed to numberless dangers, or remain awake, and protect myself as I might. In this extremity I thought of the chasm, and groping my way to it, found its extreme end, where it was a mere slit, into which I rolled, and laid till the return of day. [Sidenote: The hut commenced] The morning opened with its usual bustle of animals, birds, and insects summoning me to my labour, and, having commenced, I was surprised to hear a cry of, "Who are you? Who--who are you?" I had scarcely recovered from the astonishment which these words occasioned, when they were followed by, "Work away!--work away!--work away!" and a mournful cry of "Willy come!--go, Willy! Willy--Willy--come! Go Willy!" Looking up, and being now in an open space, I could plainly see the birds fly over my head that uttered these notes. Not aware that these calls are common to certain birds, and my Christian name being William, the reader may imagine the effect and surprise with which they were heard. I instantly discontinued my labour, conceiving that the birds had been influenced by supernatural agency, and that they portended omens which had a peculiar reference to myself. This impression filled me with fears and fantasies of all kinds; it seemed as if some spell was on me, and I sat down in melancholy moodiness for the rest of the day. Irresolute, the following morning I rather dragged myself than walked to the same spot; but as I went, another bird over my head distinctly cried out, "Whip-poor-Will! Whip-poor-Will! Whip-poor-Will!" Yes! I exclaimed (as my spirits threw off the burden which had oppressed them) I am indeed ashamed of my folly in attending to the omens of birds. They are winging their way to the business of the day, and why should I neglect mine? I then returned, and took a bundle of the prepared stakes on my back to my new settlement. Need I apologise to the reader for mentioning the trifling incidents which depressed me at times, and the manner in which the paroxysms were dispelled. My motive in naming them is to illustrate the alternations my feelings underwent during my early days of probation in the wilderness. I know not whether I had taken a cold, but for some days past I had now suffered from a pain in my limbs, which I at the time attributed to the cramped position in which I rested at night. I therefore became extremely anxious to possess a place in which I might stretch myself at length. It, however, took seven days to construct the internal shell of the hut; for, being determined to sleep in security, I ultimately doubled the frame of the building. Having driven stakes into the earth, about a foot apart, forming a circle of about eight feet in diameter, I interlaced these with the limber branches of trees, fastening them to the stakes with tough fibres, stripped from the bark of lianes. These shrubs, of which there are a great variety, all comprised under that term, sometimes grow to the size of a man's leg round trees, making the trunks look like a mast of a ship furnished with rigging. They support the trees against the hurricanes, in the same manner as spurs are placed in the ground to prop posts; cords are made of their bark stronger than those manufactured of hemp. In woods where timber is felled, it is sometimes the practice to cut several hundred trees near their roots, where they remain till the lianes, which hold them, are also cut. When this is done, one whole part of the wood seems to fall at once, making an astounding crash. By the means of the lianes and stakes, I formed a circular strong hurdle-kind of fence; on this I fastened a number of other sticks, like wands, tapering at the top, which, when bound together, met over the centre part of the floor of the hut, and formed a conical roof. These I also interlaced in the same manner as the upright stakes; covering the whole with leaves of the parrasalla tree, which the wet does not injure; binding these also down with my most excellent substitute for cordage--fibres of the bark of the lianes. In the roof I left a hole for ingress and egress; so that, with two steps up, and then a jump, I was in the centre of my habitation, where, with dried grass, I made a most comfortable bed. This, after all, was a frail affair. My next object was to erect another frame over it, at about two feet distance from the interior shell, filling up the space between the upright stakes with stones and dry earth. The aperture was secured at night, leaving only a space for air, with a piece of bark hung on with the before-named fibres. With the same material (bark) I also formed a kind of stage before the opening into the hut, where I could sit, and survey the surrounding scenery. Some time subsequently I wove myself a grass hammock, which I found more cleanly than the dried grass, and less liable to be infested with insects. Finding myself lonely in this structure, I took the resolution of increasing my family; and, with this view, I devoted a portion of the interior for birds, that I might not be wholly companionless. These I took young, and reared them up in an aviary which I constructed immediately under my hammock, letting them out to hop about me when the aperture of the hut was closed. Many of my associates repaid me for my care with strong proofs of docility and affection. I also caught two land tortoises, to occupy the floor of the dwelling, and make me conscious of other living things besides myself breathing the same air. [Sidenote: The dwellers in the hut] In the foolishness of my heart I thought that when I possessed a hut, in which I might repose in security, I should be happy. But alas! in the city or in the forest, worldly acquisitions are not always attended with contentment. Man everywhere sighs for something more than he possesses. I had now a hut, one, too, that was impregnable against the attacks of the jaguar, or any of the animals of the forest; and, as I thought, in every way compactly built to be impervious to noxious insects; but happiness or contentment did not abide in it. I now wanted a gun, that I ought, man-like, slay, and play the tyrant over the living things around me. I grew tired of my vegetable diet, and daily lamented the want of a fire to cook the eggs, which now began to form a considerable portion of my food. These wants gradually, as the mind dwelt upon them, became sources of anxiety, and disturbed my rest. The animal propensities of my nature began to stir within me. I longed to kill at my pleasure, and live on prey, as did the other animals of the forest. At length I determined on making the best substitute I could for a gun--namely, a bow and arrow; and, like Robin Hood, practise till I could hit the shaft of an arrow placed upright in the ground. It was many weeks subsequently to this resolution before I succeeded in even procuring the materials I deemed suited for my purpose. My knife having become blunted with frequent use, it took a length of time to fashion the bow, and no less than four snapped in two as soon as I attempted to use them; proving that, choice as I had been in the selection of my wood, my judgment was defective in this particular. When I had succeeded in forming one of these primitive warlike weapons, I fastened large butterflies against the hut, and commenced the practice of archery. I have informed the reader that the entrance of the new dwelling was through the roof, where, as I have said, I erected a seat, or standing-place; a sort of balcony, or rather, more like a dormer window. On this, every morning, during the dry season, at daybreak, I took my stand to discharge my arrows at any unwary bird that might come within my reach. [Sidenote: Early morning in the forest] This early rising at length grew into a habit, and to watch the opening of the day gave me unspeakable pleasure; and up to the last day of my pilgrimage it was the most interesting hour to me. It was an hour when the littleness of life did not present itself; the mind being refreshed with rest, was prepared to be filled with enlarged ideas. The labourers of the night--for nature has her two sets of working animals--were then all on their way to seek retirement and rest during the day, from the fatigues of the night; while those that had rested during that period were all preparing to hail the morn with innumerable cries. As twilight glimmers in the east, the tiger-cats are stealing into their holes. The owl and the goat-sucker cease their mournful lament, and as streaks of light appear the "Ha! ha! ha! ha!" of the latter, each note lower than the last, sounding like the voice of a murdered victim, entirely ceases. The crickets, also, at this hour begin to slacken the violence of their chirping, though sometimes in cloudy weather they will continue their notes for four-and-twenty hours together. The partridge is the first of the birds to give signal of the rising of the sun, even before he appears on the horizon; while the mist of the morning, that precedes the day, is dispelling, numerous tribes of insects are creeping to their hiding-places, as others are issuing forth to enjoy the day. Lizards of sparkling lustre, from two inches to two feet and a-half long, cross the paths of the forest; and the chameleon has begun to chase the insects round the trunks of trees. Gaudy serpents steal from out of holes or decayed trees. "Each rapid movement gives a different dye; Like scales of burnished gold they dazzling show, Now sink to shade, now like a furnace glow." The houton, a bird so called from the sound he gives out, distinctly articulates "houton, houton," in a plaintive note, as he erects his crown, and cuts and trims his tail, with his beak, in the most, artistical manner, then flies off with a short jerk. At the same period the maam whistles; and when the sun is seen above the horizon, the hanaquoi, pataca, maroucli, and all the parrots and paroquets are prepared to announce his arrival. Every hour from this moment, excepting noon, calls into action new races of animals; and he who spends a day in the scene that environed my existence, when seated at my door, would not know which most to admire,--the forms, hues, or voices of the animals presented to his observation; as at intervals, wonder, admiration, and awe of the power that created them, are forced on the mind. [Sidenote: Forest animals] With the morning's dawn, the monkeys send forth their howl, the grasshoppers and locusts chirp, the frogs and toads give out their notes. The hanging pendant wasps' nests, most curious in form, send forth their inhabitants; myriads of ants issue from their clay-built tenements, in some places colonized so densely as to cover the foliage all around. These, like the species of ants called the termites, that cast up the earth in mounds, commence their day's journey on roads constructed by themselves, some of which are covered, and others open. Myriads of the most beautiful beetles buzz in the air, and sparkle like jewels on the fresh and green leaves, or on odorous flowers. Other tribes, such as serpents and agile lizards, creep from the hollow of trees, or from holes beneath the herbage; many of them exceeding in splendour the hue of the flowers. The major part of these are on their way to creep up the stems of trees or bushes, there to bask in the sun, and lie in wait for birds and insects. The most brilliantly coloured butterflies, rivalling in hues the rainbow, begin to flutter from flower to flower, or collect in parties on the most sunny banks of cooling streams. There was the blue-white idia, the large eurilochus with its ocellated wings, the hesperite, the Laertes, the blue shining Nestor, and the Adonis; these, like birds, in most places hovered between the bushes. The feronia, with rustling wings, flew rapidly from tree to tree; while the owl, the largest of the moth species, sat immovable, with out-spread wings, waiting the approach of evening. As the day progresses, the life of the scene increases. Troops of gregarious monkeys issue from the depths of the forest, their inquisitive countenances turned towards the verge of their wooded domain, making their way for the plantations; all leaping, whistling, and chattering as they progress from tree to tree. Parrots, some blue, red, or green, others, parti-coloured, assemble in large groups on the tops of the forest-trees; and then, flying off to the plantations, fill the air with their screams. The toucan, perched on an extreme branch, rattles his large, hollow bill; and in loud, plaintive notes, calls for rain. The fly-catcher sits aloof, intent on watching insects as they dart from branch to branch, seizing them as they heedlessly buzz by him in their giddy and unsteady career. Other birds, of singular form, variety, and superb plumage, flutter by, in large or small parties, or in pairs, and some singly, peopling everywhere the fragrant bushes. On the ground are gallinaceans, jacuses, hocuses, and pigeons, that have left the perch to wander under the trees, in the moisture, for food. In the tones of the nightingale the manikins are heard in all places, amusing themselves by their sudden change of position, and in misleading the sportsman; while the woodpecker makes the distant forest resound as he strikes the trees. Super-noisy, above all, is the uraponga, who, perched on the highest tree he can find, gives out sounds resembling the strokes of a sledge-hammer on the anvil, deluding the wanderer, as it once did me, into a belief that a blacksmith's shop is near at hand. [Sidenote: The mocking-bird] Every living thing, by its action and voice, is seen greeting the splendour of the day; while the delicate humming-bird, rivalling, in beauty and lustre, diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires, hovers with invisible wings over the brightest flowers. The bird colibri repairs to the tree called _bois immortel_, when the wild guava ripens its fruit; and there, also, will be found the Pompadour, both the purple-breasted and the purple-throated. At the same hour (day-break), the crowing of the hanaquoi sounds like a village-clock, for all to set to work in the great shop of nature. Then the cassique, or mocking-bird, gives out his own short but sweet song, preparatory to visiting the plantations, being fond of the haunts of man, where he remains till evening, making all kinds of noises, from the crowing of a cock, and the barking of dogs, to the grunting and squeaking of pigs. These birds weave their nests near together, in a pendulous manner. Their bodies are black, having the rump and half-tail yellow; other species have the rump a bright scarlet. In form they are a model of symmetry. As the feathered tribes, one after the other, adjust their plumage, and tune their throats, squirrels, in rapid spiral speed, as quick as thought, are seen descending trees, then darting upon others in opposite directions, flinging themselves from tree to tree, with amazing exactness; pursuing their mates or their rivals among the mazy branches of the trees, with a velocity that eludes the sight. Everywhere is nature's secretary, with his pen dipped in intellect, busy in writing down the invisible agency of Infinite Wisdom and Almighty Power. "How dazzling is thy beauty! how divine! How dim the lustre of the world to thine!" The sublimity of the scene, when first beheld, produced unlimited astonishment; viewed again and again, all was softened down into harmonious shades of beauty, imparting a pleasure that cannot be understood by mere dwellers amidst the works of man. [Sidenote: Noon in the forest] In the forest, every hour of the night and day is the Creator present to the eye. Surrounded by the works of man, we sometimes lose sight of our Maker, and do not always properly appreciate his attributes. I have said that the morning gives life and activity to myriads of his creatures, who declare his power; but not less expressive is the hour of tranquillity--the hour of noon. At that hour, all is suddenly hushed into solemn silence. Stillness, as if by general consent, concert, or word of command, influences all the sylvan communities--a stillness illumined and made more manifest by the dazzling and burning beams of a meridian sun. Creation at that hour appears wearied, fatigued, and overcome with the splendour of the day; it is as the face of God himself, before whose glory all things are struck with awe, and pause to acknowledge His majesty. Nothing moves--it is the hour of nature's siesta--yet the stillness speaks. "Thy shades, thy silence, now be mine, Thy charms my only theme; My haunt the hollow cliff whose pine Waves o'er the gloomy stream." The quietness is that of a pause in the running stream of time; the air is motionless, the leaves hang pendant, as waiting in the presence of a deity for permission to resume the business of growth. The silence that reigns at the hour of noon is peculiarly of a religious character; there is nothing to which it can be compared but itself. From the nobles of the forest to the minutest insect, all appear to be at their devotions--the propensity to kill, for the time being, is forgotten or suspended,-- "The passions to divine repose alone Persuaded yield; and love and joy are waking." It is as if the naiads and fairies had deserted the sunbeams and fallen asleep. Oh! there is a harmony in nature wonderfully attuned to the intelligence of man, if he would but listen to it. The hour of noon, in the woods, is an hour of intellectual transcendentalism; it lifts the thoughts beyond the world, and peoples the grove with spirits of another world. Yet is there nothing in motion but the beams of the sun penetrating the foliage to the base of the trees-- "The chequered earth seems restless as a flood Brushed by the winds, so sportive is the light Shot through the boughs; it dances as they dance, Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick, And dark'ning and enlight'ning (as the beams Play wanton) every part." Everything speaks of the Deity, and the fall of a leaf passes as a phantom of the dead. ----"not a tree, A plant, a leaf, a blossom, but contains A folio volume." The fitful meanings of the wind, in the more boisterous moments of �olus, through the branches, speak not louder of God than the whisper of his breath that plays with the foliage. The low and broken murmurs of the water in the gill are as audibly eloquent as the lashing of the waves of the ocean in a storm, or the wild roar of the cataract. The voice of nature, come in what form it may, brings unutterable thoughts of the majesty of the creation. Whether it is in the deep, delicious tones of the happiness of the wood-dove, the melting, graceful notes of the nightingale, the thrilling melody of other sylvan songsters, or the twitterings of the swallow, all compel us to exclaim, "Oh! there is harmony in nature." "Sounds inharmonious in themselves, and harsh, Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns, ... Please highly for their sake. ... Kites that swim sublime In still-repeated circles, screaming loud, ... Have charms for me." [Sidenote: Evening] But the hour of stillness, like all other hours, passes away. The insects again give out their sounds; wasps and bees buzz in every direction; the talk of birds is clamorously resumed; the king-vulture and the kite soar high in the hair, like fugle-birds, as signals for the resumption of the business of the day. The chattering manikins again rustle among the fig-leaves; the armadillo, and other burrowing animals, are seen cautiously peeping from their holes; the horned screamer opens wide his throat, and one by one, the whole of the sylvan feathered community join in concert. The porcupine moves in the trees; the long grass is observed to give way as creeping things pursue their prey, or escape from foes; all indications that the earth and air again are full of animated life. An hour or two elapses, and a gentle breeze rises to cool the air and give motion to the trees, as troop after troop of birds and monkeys wend their way back into the interior of the forest, indicating the gradual decline of the day. General preparations are being made for rest; only the slender deer, the peccari, the timid agouti, and the tapir, will still graze. The opossum, and some sly animals of the feline race skulk through the obscurity of the wood, stealthily prowling for prey. Finally, the last troop of howling monkeys are heard, as if performing the duty of drovers to those that have preceded them; the sloth cries as if in much distress with pain; the croaking of frogs, and monotonous chirps of large grasshoppers, bring on the close of day. The tops of the forest now appear to be on fire, in the midst of which, the toucan, on a blasted mora tree, is uttering his evening cry, as darker shades are gradually cast into the forest, and the sun's disc sinks into the horizon. The sky, which a moment since was bright as burnished gold, has already changed to a dusky grey, with here and there streaks of purple hue. A solitary bird, truant to its mate, or perhaps a mourner for its loss during the day's excursion, is seen like a wayfarer, with tired flight, wearily labouring to reach the wood ere nightfall. Twilight is still lingering in the west, bringing on the night with a soft and sweet touch of delicacy, but still approaching, till surrounding objects become more and more obscure and confused, though undiminished in their beauty and effect. The cries of the macue, the capaiera, the goat-sucker, and the bass tones of the bullfrog, are now heard. Myriads of luminous beetles fly in the air, resembling the ignes fatui, and announce the departure of the day; when the night-moths and numerous other insects start on the wing, the bats flit between the branches of trees, the owls and vampires, like phantoms, silently pursue their course in search of prey, reserving their hollow cries for the ominous hour of midnight. The stars, one after another, are lighted up as the moon rises on the horizon, with a modest countenance, to intimate to man that there is still a ruling power over the world. She tinges with silver streaks of light the tops and edges of the forest, till "Lo! midnight, from her starry reign, Looks awful down on earth and main, The tuneful birds lie hush'd in sleep, With all that crop the verdant food, With all that skim the crystal flood, Or haunt the caverns of the rocky steep." At this hour the spectral owl quits the hollow tree, and with his shriek makes the boldest birds shrink away in fear, though in the sunshine hour they would hunt him. "So when the night falls, and dogs do howl, Sing Ho! for the reign of the horned owl! We know not alway Who are kings by day; But the king of the night is the bold brown owl!" "Mourn not for the owl, nor his gloomy plight! The owl hath his share of good; If a prisoner he be in the broad daylight, He is lord in the dark greenwood. Nor lonely the bird, nor his ghastly mate, They are each unto each a pride; Thrice fonder, perhaps, since a strange dark fate, Hath rent them from all beside." [Sidenote: The bow and arrows] I made but little progress in archery, which was a great source of mortification to me, although I spent every leisure hour I could spare after obtaining food, in practice. I was on the verge of despair of ever being able to make anything like a shot, when an incident occurred that enabled me to kill, in a few weeks, almost any bird on the wing, if within the range of my bow. Returning home from a long and fatiguing ramble (for I had extended my surveys of the forest as I acquired confidence of finding my way home at night), I one day was astonished to see a bow and a quiver of arrows suspended from the branch of a tree. This was a sight which occasioned feelings that are indescribable. I was both rejoiced and alarmed. At first I thought my deliverance was certain; the next moment I crouched behind a bush to hide myself, as from a most deadly foe. When I reflected on the loneliness of my existence, I longed to join society; yet, whenever society appeared to be available, I instinctively shrunk back, as if about to lose my independence or be carried into slavery. Operated on by mingled impulses, the dread of man seemed for a long time to prevail. Might they not be savages, and take my life? Or might they not lead me into captivity, and make a slave of me? They would at least have the Christian's practice to urge as a plea, in extenuation of such a measure. Confident that human beings were in the neighbourhood, I at length resolved to secrete myself in a bush and wait their return. I fixed my eyes on the bow and quiver, expecting their owner would return for them; but the tones of the toucan were heard, by which I was as well informed of the approach of evening, as the partridge's call announces the coming day. Still unwilling to quit the spot, I remained throughout the night; but no owner came to claim the weapons. All this time I feared to touch them as if they were a trap laid to ensnare me. About noon the next day, I thought of possessing myself of them, and then made a circuit to reassure myself that no one was at hand. With fear and trembling I then, like a thief, took the bow and quiver from the tree, and hastened back to my hut to examine them. The whole secret of my inability to shoot birds was now at once explained. I had not feathered my arrows, nor was my bow long enough. Still anxious to know their owner, the following morning I repaired again to the spot, and hung my own rudely formed weapons on the same tree from which I had taken the others. My motives were, first, to ascertain whether any person would yet come to remove them, and also to inform those who might come for that purpose, that another human being was in the neighbourhood. The bow and arrows hung there a month, when I gave up all hopes of seeing any person in the woods; still the event caused me much uneasiness, and ever afterwards occasioned me to tread the paths around with extreme caution. [Sidenote: Flint and steel] Being now furnished with well-made arms, I soon brought down my birds, and might have fared sumptuously, could I have procured a fire. All my waking hours were, therefore, spent in bewailing this want, when one morning, as I was digging with my stick to come at a land tortoise that had crept into a hole, I raked out a piece of flint, and the tinder-box occurring to my mind, I struck it on the back of my knife, and instantly produced sparks, which actually made me leap for joy. My delight, however, was but of short duration. How were the sparks to be collected? I had no tinder--no matches. I then thought of my shirt, which I had long cast off; but then I had no matches, and must have fire before I could make tinder. My joy was soon turned into despondency. I threw down the flint, and in the bitterness of my disappointment, apostrophised it, as the cock in the fable did, when scratching on a dunghill he found a jewel instead of a grain of corn. "Are all my days to be spent," I ejaculated, "in hopes that delight me only to make me more miserable?" Suddenly it occurred to my memory, that when at school, our small pieces of artillery were fired with lighted decayed wood, what the boys called touch-wood. Repossessing myself of the flint, I flew to my old sleeping-place, and in my impatience, struck a light on my former bed--the soft wood in the interior--it ignited, and smouldered. I was in an ecstacy of delight, and clapped my hands with exultation. Still I had no flame. I then collected some dried leaves, and holding them loosely over the spot that was alight, I blew with my mouth; a severely burnt hand soon informed me that I had succeeded. My first fire was indeed a bonfire: heaping more leaves and dried sticks on to it, the tree was entirely consumed, and a number of others so damaged as very soon to become touch-wood. [Sidenote: The thunder-storm] A terrible thunder-storm succeeded this exploit. So wholly absorbed had I been with the fire, that when it expended itself, I found myself in total darkness, the moon having been suddenly obscured. All the inhabitants of the wood were restless and uneasy in their beds. I could hear the stag startle, and again lay himself down. Flashes of lightning showed the birds, lifting their heads at intervals, then returning them hastily again under their wings. The storm had for some time been gathering on the tops of the forest, and had now spread its black mantle over the moon, while I, like a school-boy on the fifth of November, had been exulting over a blaze. On the storm advanced, in the majesty of darkness, moving on the wings of the blast, which my imagination pictured as uprooting the trees around me. The thunder rolled over the crown of the forest in the rear of the lightning. Rifted clouds continued to pass over my head. An owl left its dirge unfinished, and fitted its ruffled feathers into a cleft of a blasted tree over my head. The wild animals that prowl by night, with famished stomachs, sought shelter in their dens. I alone stood bared to the fury of the storm, incapable of reaching my hut in the darkness of that awful night. The thunder rolled as with ten thousand voices, and the lightning at intervals set the whole forest in a blaze of light. One of the flashes brought down a mora tree near to where I stood, crushing the limbs of other trees as it fell. The crash was terrific. Examining it the next morning by daylight, there was a wild fig-tree growing out of its top, and on the fig grew a wild species of vine. The fig-tree was as large as a common apple-tree, yet owed its growth to an undigested seed, dropped by birds that resort to the mora to feed on its ripe fruit. Such seeds the sap of the mora raises into full bearing, when they, in their turn, are called on to support and give out their sap to different species of seeds, also dropped by birds. In this case the usurpation of the fig on the mora, and the vine on the fig, brought all to an early end. A dead sloth was lying near to the prostrate timber, probably brought down, by the force of its fall, from the branch of another tree. It was a night of devastation in the wilds of nature. The storms of destruction blew piercingly on every quarter. The destroying blast clapped his wings over many a tree, and laid prostrate numerous creatures that had life as the sun went down the previous evening. To the things that can be shaken, belong all that is earthly. However durable they may appear, however they may glitter, or stable they may appear, age, or the storm, will bring them to oblivion. Mutability is written on all the works of nature. It is an inscription that meets every eye, whether turned on the foundations of a city, a nation, or the works of the creation. Awe-struck with the dilapidations the morning made visible, I hastened to my hut, anxious to see if all was safe there, and prepare to cook myself a dinner. [Sidenote: The sloth] Man is essentially a cooking animal, and though omnivorous in his appetite, is nine parts out of ten carnivorous. I had abundance of vegetable food around me, of which I ate freely, and was in good health; yet my desire to taste animal food was so strong that I would at the time have made almost any sacrifice to obtain it. I had reached more than half the distance towards my residence, thinking all the way only on the means that I possessed of making a fire, before it occurred to me that I had no flesh to cook. I then turned back, and with my knife cut off the hind-quarter of the sloth, being resolved to try the quality of the flesh. Having collected a small heap of the dried rotten wood, to use as tinder, I succeeded in making a fire outside my hut, where I broiled some pieces of the sloth's flesh, and from it made a tolerable meal, though it was not so good as beef or mutton. Whenever I subsequently met with the sloth, he always excited my pity, and I forbore from doing such a helpless creature any injury. The natives say that by his piteous moans he will make the heart of a tiger relent, and turn away from him. The sloth is a solitary animal; he has no companion to cheer him, but lies on the branches of trees almost stationary, having no means of defence or escape, if you intend him any harm; his looks, his gestures, and his cries declare it; therefore do not kill him. He subsists wholly on the leaves of trees, and does not quit one branch till there is nothing left for him to eat, and he then moves evidently with much pain to himself. He preys on no living animal, and is deficient and deformed, when compared with other animals, though in some other respects he is compensated in the composition of his frame. His feet are without soles, nor can he move his toes separately; he therefore cannot walk, but hooks himself along by means of the claws which are at the extremity of the fore-feet. He has no cutting teeth; he has four stomachs, and yet wants the long intestinal canals of ruminating animals. His hair lies flat on his body, like long grass withered by the frost. He has six more ribs than the elephant, namely, forty-six, the latter having only forty; his legs strike the eye as being too short, and as if joined to the body with the loss of a joint. On the whole, as a quadruped, the sloth is of the lowest degree. He never quits a tree until all the leaves are eaten. The day after I had made a meal from the sloth, I shot my arrow through the head of a horned screamer, which brought him within my grasp; this was a great feat for me to accomplish, the screamer being a majestic bird, as large as a turkey-cock, having on the head a long slender horn, each wing being armed with a sharp, strong spur, of an inch long. I had seated myself behind a tree, where I had been, for several hours, watching the movements of the ants that build their nests on those trees, when the bird came within a few yards of me. This incident practically exemplified to me that, like other animals that seek for prey, I must use patience, and be wary in my movements. It taught me to reflect and to know that it was not rambling over much space that would ensure success, and that every spot in the world was available, either for the study of the things of creation or for procuring food. It is a great error some fall into when they imagine that travelling over much ground will give knowledge; those who observe and reflect may gain more information when examining a puddle of water, than the careless will in traversing the globe. [Sidenote: The ants] Of the insect tribe, the ants early attracted my attention, and I spent much time in watching their movements; indeed, from the first hour I turned my thoughts to the study of insects, I never afterwards spent a dull one. The tree ants' nests are about five times as large as those made by rooks, from which they have covered ways to the ground; these ways I frequently broke down, but as often as I did so, they were quickly under repair, a body of labouring ants being immediately summoned for that purpose. Ants have the means of communicating with each other in a very rapid manner. I am of opinion that the antennæ are the medium through which they receive and convey orders to each other. I have seen a troop of ants a mile long, each one carrying in its mouth a round leaf about the size of a sixpence, which appeared to have been trimmed round to the shape. Wasps do the same; and after twisting them up in the shape of a horn, deposit their eggs in them. When on their march, or engaged at work, nothing deters them from progressing; they seem to have no fear either of injury or death. I have broken their line at different points, and killed thousands of them; the others go over the same ground, as if perfectly unconscious of danger, while a body of them are instantly detached to remove the dead, and clear the way. It matters not how often the experiment is repeated, or what number are slain, others come on as if their forces were unlimited. It would seem that they live under an absolute monarchy, and dare not disobey orders. When accompanying them on a march, I have seen a messenger arrive from the opposite direction to that they were going, and the whole line, as I have said, of sometimes a mile long, simultaneously brought to a halt. One of the ants belonging to the body went forward, and applied its antennæ to those of the messenger, after which, the latter returned the way he came, and the main body immediately altered its course of march. At one time, I fell in with an unusually large body of these persevering labourers, and being resolved, if possible, to stop them, I formed a ditch in their way, and filled it with water; while the ditch was being made, they continued their course up and down the ridges of the loose earth, as if nothing had happened, although hundreds were every instant buried. When, however, the water was turned into the channel, there was a momentary halt; but as the ant must never be idle, it was but for an instant, to receive orders to take the margin of the earth, and travel round the head of the channel. How the nature of the disaster they had met with was made known, so as to stop the whole body simultaneously, may be difficult to ascertain; but at the moment of making these experiments I have distinctly seen the antennæ of one ant strike the tail of the one immediately before it, and the same movement repeated by all the others in rapid succession as far as my observation extended. [Sidenote: Wasps] All insects that live in communities are, I should imagine, in possession of language. One day I saw a wasp fly into my hut, and recollecting that I had a small collection of honey wrapped in some plantain leaves, I went to close the shutter as it again flew out; but observing the wasp immediately fly towards another of his species, and then to a second and a third, and those instantly fly off in opposite directions, I said to myself, the discovery of my depot of honey is being advertised throughout the community of wasps. Thinking I would disappoint the depredators, before I left home I was very careful in fastening the entrance, and stuffing every crevice up with long grass. About a hundred yards from my hut I met a swarm of wasps, which induced me to return and ascertain whether my conjectures were confirmed; and there I found an immense number seeking an entrance, evidently with a view of plundering me of my honey. It was not long ere they found admission through some of the apertures in the roof. Knowing that my honey must go,--for a swarm of wasps is not to be molested with impunity,--I turned away to pursue my walk with the reflection that they only took what they could get, and suited their appetites, the business of my own every-day life. Both in society and in the forest it is wise at all times to avoid being an aggressor. The stings of mankind, and of insects, are most frequently the result of our own imprudence. In the forest I have daily been surrounded with myriads of wasps and large stinging bees, and never received an injury but when I was committing depredations on their store. But of all plunderers in nature, the ant exceeds the whole. I had become acquainted with five species of bees in my immediate neighbourhood, not one of which could secure their combs from the voracious appetites of the ant. They came in such numbers, as sometimes, in my view, to threaten the undermining of the forest; and were to be seen of all sizes and colour. One sort is so large, that the natives make a considerable article of food of them when fried. The termites, or white ants, are very destructive; neither fruit, flowers of plants, or food of any kind, escapes them. When they appear in the dwellings of man, they will undermine a house in a few hours, if the wood of which it is built suits their taste. [Sidenote: Voracity of the ants] The whole of the ant tribes are, however, essentially carnivorous, and are useful in repressing a too rapid increase amongst reptiles much larger than themselves; and I have often thought, when watching their movements, and observing that there is nothing, from the smallest winged insect to the carcase of a bullock, that comes to the ground, but they instantly assemble in millions to devour it, that they were intended by nature to prevent the corruption of the air from the decay and putrefaction of animal matter. If an enormous spider accidentally falls to the ground, they give it no time to recover itself; thousands are instantly on it; and although the spider, in its struggles to escape, will kill and crush numbers, still others continue to crawl up his legs and thighs, and there hang on in quietness, till their victim is exhausted by fatigue, when a few seconds serve to remove all traces of its heretofore existence. As I grew older, and acquired more experience in hunting for my food, I frequently killed large animals, of whose flesh I could only eat as much as served me for a meal, before the remainder would be spoiled by the heat of the weather: this the ants generally cleared away. At length I learned to go out by moonlight, to kill deer and the peccari,--a time that they like to browse, and may be approached with more ease. I generally dragged the remains of a carcase I did not want in the way of the ants, and watched them at their feast. A few hours served to leave the bones of the largest animal perfectly clean, and as a skeleton for study, fit for an exhibition. When the termites, or white ant, is seen in the neighbourhood of man, the antipathies of the species are rendered available. As soon as they are observed, sugar is strewed in such a direction as to lead the brown or black ants to the spot, who, it is known, will immediately attack and put the white party to the rout, much to the amusement of the negroes, who cheer on the blacks to kill the whites. I have often awoke with my body covered with ants, when I generally ran to the nearest water, and plunging into it, freed myself from them; though I never could discover for what purpose they spread themselves over my frame, unless it were in expectation of my becoming a corpse. When, however, I did rouse myself, they seldom exhibited much alacrity in acknowledging their error by making a speedy retreat. CHAPTER IV. AN ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR--AN EXTRAORDINARY ECHO--I AM ATTACKED WITH A FEVER, AND SUBSEQUENTLY DRIVEN FROM MY HUT. "Give me, indulgent gods--with mind serene, And guiltless heart--to range the sylvan scene; No splendid poverty, no smiling care, No well-bred hate, or servile grandeur there." I had now become a sportsman--a Nimrod--my chief delight being found in the use of my bow and arrows. Thus armed, I ranged the forest, or laid in covert, to destroy any game which might come in my way. My propensity for killing, however, soon led me into a scrape, the escape from which nearly cost me my life; yet the lesson was thrown away on me, for it in no way abated my desire to shoot and eat the flesh of birds. Early one morning I had taken my station behind a large tree, from which I discharged an arrow at a mocking-bird. No sooner had the arrow quitted the string, than I descried a bear, feeding on ants' nests, and that in a direct line between myself and the bird shot at. The arrow passed close by his ear; it might have struck him: be this as it may, the bear instantly began to descend the tree, showing evident signs of his intention to revenge the insult. Not being disposed to confront such an enemy in an angry mood, I instantly took to my heels; but had not proceeded far, before the shaggy monster was near overtaking me. In this extremity I ascended a tree, confident of being as good a climber as Bruin was. I had, however, scarcely reached the lowest extending branch, before the enraged beast was close on me. Fortunately, I had in my flight retained possession of my stick; and as the bear had no means of supporting himself but by clinging to the trunk of the tree with his claws, I applied my staff with so much vigour to his feet, that he was constrained to drop to the ground, whereupon his rage was great. He then took a turn or two round the base of the tree to cool himself, gave a growl, and seated himself under it, fixing his eyes on me. In this position the disappointed monster remained, on his hind-quarters, seven hours, watching my movements; till at length, growing weary of his presence, and having read somewhere of the effect of the human voice, I cried out loudly, mentioning several names, as if calling for assistance. When speaking of the storm, I said that the thunder rolled with ten thousand voices. The cause, however, of its multiplied tones, was reserved for this adventure to make known. As I called out, I was utterly astonished to hear my own words repeated several times in succession;--the bear started on his feet; and after looking round, as if in fear of an attack, took himself off at his utmost speed. [Sidenote: An alarming echo] Assured that I had heard human voices, I became more agitated than when in company with the bear. It may appear anomalous; it is nevertheless true, that the prospect, or thought, of meeting with human beings in these wilds, always elicited agitation, or, more properly, terror. The joy that hope brought of my emancipation was always mixed with an alloy of indefinable dread of some coming evil. I remained in the tree about an hour after the bear had departed, continuing to amuse myself with the exercise of the voice, and listening to the repetitions of its sounds. At length, when assured that the bear did not contemplate a renewal of the attack, I descended from the tree, and again raised my voice, and was again surprised to find that I had no response. This struck me as very mysterious; and instead of seeking for natural causes of the phenomena, I abandoned myself to superstitious fears, and persuaded myself that I was on enchanted ground, while my mind indulged in endless chimeras. Every effect is preceded by a cause, was a sentence I had often heard my father repeat; and as it recurred to my memory, I again ascended the tree, and repeated the experiments, alternately, for some time, on the ground and in the tree. The result was always the same, the voice being reverberated when in the tree, and not so when on the ground. Again and again. I turned the matter over in the mind, and could come to no other conclusion than that there were persons somewhere in the neighbourhood, who could hear me from the tree, but were too far off to hear my voice when surrounded with the underwood on the ground. I now thought it my duty to find out the persons from whom I supposed the sounds came, and was actually preparing to start in search of them, when it suddenly flashed on my mind that I had heard a similar phenomenon under a bridge near my own native village, which the boys called an echo; yet as that gave only one response, or echo, I was still perplexed to make out a cause for hearing so many. This phenomenon, however, soon became a considerable source of amusement to me, and by shifting my positions I found several series of echoes: in some places the reverberations were six and sevenfold, and in others they were so numerous as to run into indistinctness. For a considerable time subsequently it was my wont, on a Sunday, to ascend a tree after my devotions, and sing a line or two, or a verse of a psalm which I knew, when the effect was something like a number of voices in a place of worship, though the ear could not compass the innumerable combination of reverberations. When the echo was peculiarly distinct and near, and then taken up and repeated at a distance, it conveyed to my imagination the idea of aerial spirits answering each other. It was thus that the astonishing multiplied reverberations of the thunder in this region were accounted for--namely, the transmission of its sound from point to point. [Sidenote: The honey-bear] I saw no more of the ant-bear; but the honey-bear, which was more common, and a fellow-depredator of the bees' nests with myself, often crossed my path; and it required the exercise of much ingenuity and caution to successfully compete with him. In all countries where the collection of honey is made a profit, various devices have been resorted to for deterring or entrapping the rugged depredators. To enumerate them all would be a digression from my narrative. The following are, however, among other successful modes of dealing with bears who have a taste for honey. The trees in which the bees are found the inhabitants lop close to the trunk, up to the home of the bees, so that the bear has nothing but the main trunk to assist him in climbing. These trees they sometimes stick with spikes, and blades of knives, with the points upwards. These, however, offer but small impediments to the bear in ascending the tree, but as he cannot descend with his head foremost, he is compelled to slide down, when the points are not so easily avoided, generally lacerating him in such a manner as to deter him from making any future attempt to rob hives situated in trees. The experienced bear will, however, sometimes, as he ascends the tree, break off the points, and secure himself a safe retreat. Entrapping them is, therefore, a more successful practice. In lopping the tree the peasants are careful to leave a branch that extends out from the trunk above the hole where the bees have constructed their hive. From such a branch they suspend, with four ropes, a flat board, forming one scale of a pair, such as are commonly used in open markets; when this is hung up it hangs pendant at a distance from the trunk of the tree. When, however, it is prepared as a trap, it is brought close to the body of the tree by means of a bark rope, upon which it is fastened over the entrance of the hive. The bear having climbed the tree, with difficulty maintains himself with his claws while he commits the depredation, and is, therefore, glad to find a seat so conveniently placed for him to sit on; but seeing the entrance of the hole nearly covered with the bark-rope, he immediately commences tearing it away, and, in so doing, liberates himself from the tree, and becomes suspended in the air. In this situation he sits contemplating the alternatives of remaining to be killed when discovered, or venturing a leap to the ground; both, however, lead to the same end, as stakes are placed to receive him on their points, should he hazard a leap. In cold countries, it is by no means uncommon for bears to attack human beings; but in forests, within the tropics, where redundant nature pours out her horn of plenty, and food is found in abundance throughout the year, man, if he is not himself quarrelsomely disposed, may pass without molestation. Both the ant and the honey-hear occasionally visited my hut, having frequently detected them sniffing round my barricade; but when I made my appearance, either on the roof, or in returning from a ramble, they always walked away without manifesting decided hostile intentions. [Sidenote: The rains of Guiana] I had now passed ten months in the forest, and had learned to dispense with shoes, stockings, linen, and, indeed, with every kind of covering for the body, excepting a wrapper for the loins, which I contrived to make out of the remaining rags collected from the worn-out habiliments I possessed when lost to my family. I had also combated with a wet season, and this season was now again approaching, that is, January and February, when the rains fall heavily; indeed, rain is no proper term for a fall of water in a Guiana forest. Rain conveys the idea of water falling in drops; there, the water comes bodily upon the earth in wide sheets. And before they come, no notice is given; they send no _avant courier_ of a few scattered drops to warn you of what is to follow; they are their own messengers. In the intervals between every such fall, the fervid sun resumes its influence, operating with such intensity as to effectually envelope all things in hot steam. A continuation of rain and excessive heat produces exuberant vegetation; and these in turn, by the exhalations of its ripeness and corruption, furnish back to the atmosphere an accumulating fund of distempering miasma, or cause of malignant fever. When the destructive effects of these influences are considered, in a locality amongst the rankest productions of nature, and where in a thousand places the water is pent up and sluggish,--prolific producers of reptiles and noisome vapours--nothing but a miracle, through the interposition of Providence, could have preserved me in health so long. But my day of sickness was not to be altogether remitted, it was only postponed, and then inflicted in kindness, to teach me prudence, and the necessity there was for adopting proper precautions against evil results. My hut, notwithstanding the complacency with which I had selected the site, was, after all, situated in the very worst place I could have found in the entire forest. The former rainy season had inundated the morass that lay in the rear of my dwelling, and had, indeed, threatened me with submersion; yet I continued to remain there, as if nothing of danger had occurred, and the air, impregnated with the fermentations of collected vegetation for ages, was as healthful as that on hilly lands. It is the province of experience to calculate or anticipate results; how then could one so young as I was know that too frequently the beauty which redundant nature presents to the eye, is but an indication of its treachery to the constitution. I had not then reflected on the condition on which mortals receive life, namely, that of being associated with an inseparable companion called care; a companion which never quits their side till they resign up their souls. In my isolated situation, it was natural I should seek to indulge the sentiment of friendship with such companions as the locality afforded. The interior of my hut was therefore a kind of aviary; and it was my practice every morning to devote a couple of hours to teaching, and in the amusement of feeding my companions; after which, I indulged, by turns, the most docile with a walk into the interior of the wooded parts of the forest. A land-tortoise had become so tame, that when, in my rambles, I sat down to rest, I allowed him to seek his own food in the immediate neighbourhood, and that without any fear of his wandering far, even if unwatched. The rainy season had commenced about three weeks, when one morning I arose with an intense headache, excessive thirst, and a burning skin. I hastened to the stream, drank copiously of cold water, bathed for upwards of an hour, and then returned with my usual supply of water, conveyed in a clay vessel, which I had baked in the sun. This, as were similar vessels, was chiefly for the use of my family of birds, &c. I remember perfectly well, the following morning, that, as was my custom, I caressed the whole family; and, to avoid jealous bickerings, to which some were prone, I bestowed on each an equal portion of attention; and that subsequently I took up a tortoise and a mocking-bird for my companions during a walk. I also remember, that as I reached the aperture under the roof, the rays of the sun affected my sight in a peculiar manner, and that a giddy sensation came over me; but from that moment I lost all remembrance of what followed, being unconscious of passing circumstances; until I found myself reduced in flesh, and so weak and feeble, as to be incapable of rising from the floor of the hut where I was lying. Under the opening, from whence I must have fallen, lay a dead tortoise, the shell being crushed. The sticks of which my aviary was composed were all torn asunder, and the broken fragments strewed about the place. Several of my favourite birds, with their necks wrung, were on the ground; the others were absent. The vessel in which I had brought the water was broken into pieces, and many parts of the hut exhibited proofs of an attempt having been made to pull up the stakes of which it was formed. These were all evidences that I had fallen down when attempting to leave the hut, probably from giddiness or vertigo; that a violent fever had supervened, and in that condition I had lost my reason, and the consequent command of my actions--whence the devastation around me, and the debilitated state in which I found the body when reason returned. Soon after consciousness had made me sensible of my condition, I fell asleep, in which I was carried into all kinds of illusory imaginations. Among other fantasies, I dreamed that I was on the sea--walking--yet bounded on either side with rows of myrtles in full blossom, intermixed with jessamines; and that thousands of Cupids and Fauns preceded me, strewing flowers in my way. These figures, carrying baskets, were followed by Zephyrs, which supplied the flowers. I was in a state of enchantment with the scene, yet every moment suffered from the dread of sinking into the depths of the sea, until I thought the water would no longer support me, when I awoke in the fright of being drowned. [Sidenote: The power of prayer] The fever had entirely left me, and I was in a measure refreshed by the sleep I had had. I was now reflecting on the phenomena of dreams, and the length of time the impressions they leave remain on the mind--for I still heard the action of the water--when, after several efforts to disengage myself from the illusion, as I thought, I was roused from imaginings to a sense of the reality of what I heard. Plash, plash, went the water against the exterior of my hut; and these sounds were continuous and audible, so much so as to be unmistakable. Still I was incapable of reaching the exterior to see what was the cause. My state of alarm and agitation may therefore be better conceived than described. Too feeble to use my limbs, I had no resource but in prayer. Most sincerely did I offer the Supreme Being thanks for having preserved me through my illness. I then prayed, that after such a miraculous dispensation of Divine goodness, I might not be left to perish in my helplessness. I believe that no one ever prayed from the heart without acquiring some additional knowledge or strength of purpose. May not this be because prayer is both an inquiry of the intellect and of the affections; the one seeking for the truth, and the other for what is good? Besides, pure devotion is thought, which improves, at least, and helps the judgment. After some time spent in this manner, I felt the perturbation of my mind much abated, and in a frame to contemplate steadily surrounding circumstances, and consider how they might be best dealt with. A short time since, and I had looked on death as inevitable, either by drowning or starvation; now, I reflected, that if the water had been very high, it must have, ere this, penetrated my frail creation; and, if very powerful, it would have swept the whole away without giving me any notice whatever. It also occurred to me that I ought to have some dozen or two of cocoa-nuts and a store of honey within my reach, as I lay on the floor. As I had not previously, on any occasion, made a store, I could not but see the hand of Providence directing me to prepare for my present extremity. These supplies were placed in a hole which I had made in the ground for their reception, being covered with a piece of bark, and a stone to keep it in its place. Fortunately, I had only to drag myself a few yards, and take the nourishment I so much needed; although it was not calves'-foot jelly and port wine, yet, in my then weak state, it proved a very gratifying refreshment. It is not possible for me to make any rational estimate of the length of time I was under the influence of the fever, or of the period employed in sleeping during my recovery. It is probable that it had but a short, though a violent career; but the present exigencies were too pressing to admit of much time being expended over the past. Plash, plash, continued the water against the hut, and the floor began to exhibit signs of its entrance into the interior. My situation was now one of real peril. I made an effort to raise myself up to the opening through which I mast pass to escape, but as I had first to mount a stool formed of pieces of bark, and then to raise my body several feet with my arms, before my head could reach the aperture, I found my strength insufficient for the task. My distress was considerably augmented by the impossibility of my taking any more rest in a reclining position, as the water was rapidly covering the floor, and the probability there was of the structure giving way on a sudden, and submerging me in an instant of time. I seated myself on the before-mentioned stool, with my feet and legs stretched over a bird-coop that had not been entirely broken up. Singular to relate, in this position I fell into a profound sleep, with my back against the lining of the hut; the extreme of distress, contemplated for a length of time, I believe has a tendency to produce this effect. [Sidenote: Perils of water] I had fallen asleep as the moon went down, about an hour after midnight; it was daylight when I awoke; the first object that caught my attention being the staff, on which were the notches that formed my calendar; this was floating on the water, now a foot or more in depth. It is said drowning men catch at straws; the idea immediately came across my mind that, with the support of the stick, I should be enabled to effect my escape. I succeeded; and after wading about fifty yards up to my knees in water, reached a dry spot of land, on which my first act was to kneel, and offer up prayers of gratitude for my deliverance. As a period of unconsciousness had occasioned a breach in my calendar, and the true Sabbath was lost to me, I made the day of my deliverance a Sunday, from which hereafter to reckon the days of the week. Attenuated in frame, with weak limbs, but possessing a healthy stomach, I dragged myself to a half-natural cave, at a short distance, which I had previously cleared out as a place where I might find shelter from the heavy rains, and where I could lie in wait to kill a head of game without the fatigue of hunting for it. In this retreat I lived for two days, solely on cocoa-nuts and honey; the third, I caught an armadillo, which I dressed for dinner, and then resumed the practice of taking a dessert in the afternoon, having abundance of fruit at my command. It is one of the miseries inseparable from the condition of man, that good and evil are presented under different forms; misery often appearing to us under the mask of happiness, and prosperity under the image of misfortune, teaching us to leave all in the hands of Him who knows best what is good for his creatures. I had no reason to complain, having within my reach blossoms, green and ripe fruit, all on the same trees, and those in abundance throughout the year, new soil for their growth being constantly formed by the exuviæ of the forest, which here keeps her sabbath in silence. But even here, in the midst of plenty, man must not be idle. "The crab," say the negroes, "that does not leave his hole, never gets fat." As my strength returned, my wants increased; and as animal food appeared to be needed for the renovation of the frame, I was constantly engaged in the pursuit of it; while, what leisure time I possessed became irksome, from the want of a domestic establishment such as I had formed in the hut. [Sidenote: The first night in the cave] Although my specimen of sylvan architecture was at no time more than half submerged in water, and that without being broken up, I abandoned it as being unsafe as a residence. Finding myself not only more secure from the heavy rains, but much more cool in the cave, I now began to fortify its entrance, to guard against night intrusions. In effecting this object, the only one I kept in view while at work, I fell into the error of neglecting to provide for the admission of sufficient air to sustain life. The first night I passed in the cave, after completing my barricade of bark, which served the purpose of planks of deal, I could get no rest, turning and rolling about with an uneasiness I could in no way account for, till the morning came, when the admission of air made me sensible of breathing with more freedom, and at once explained the cause of my previous uneasiness. The next day was spent in cutting holes through the bark fence, to remedy so serious an evil as the want of air. Accustomed as I had been to the intimate society of birds and other animals, their loss was too severely felt for me to remain long without them; I therefore commenced the construction of a new aviary on the outside of the cave, with a space beneath, to confine any of the small kind of animals which might fall into my hands. One surviving tortoise from the hut I had already brought into the cave. It was not long before the entrance to my retreat somewhat resembled the display made by a metropolitan dealer in animals, on the pavement before the steps which lead to his lodgings in the cellar. Contentment is in no station the lot of mankind. Although my new residence had many advantages, nothing could compensate me for the loss of the security in which I had every morning obtained a survey of the movements of the inhabitants of the forest from the roof of the hut. I did not, however, indulge in idle regrets, continuing to work on in constructing snares and traps, to people my new dwelling-place; and when it happened that I wounded a bird or animal, I derived a peculiar pleasure in attending to it till its recovery was effected. When I had again collected a tolerable number of friends, and formed some new attachments, a catastrophe happened which occasioned me more regrets than any circumstance which had previously befallen me in the woods. [Sidenote: Slaughter of the pet birds] Early in the day I had left my family all safe and well; they were of course confined, but plenty of air and light was admitted through the bars into their dwellings. I had the satisfaction of thinking they were happy, even in their captivity; they were, however, all carried off at one fell swoop, and I returned only to witness the desolation of the scene. There is a small animal of the weasel species, having the bump of destructiveness so strongly developed, that it seeks the destruction of all other animals that cannot defend themselves from its attacks; it is called the crabbodaga. One of these--or there may have been an accomplice in the murderous business--crept between the bars of the cage, and killed every bird and animal I possessed, excepting a mocking-bird I happened to have out with me. None but those who have reared birds from the callow state and have given them a place in their affections, can appreciate my distress at this disaster. The birds had been my companions--had dined, some of them, at the same table every day, and over the dessert had amused me with their conversation, or delighted me with their music. Reflecting on this domestic tragedy, I resolved to convert the entire of the abandoned hut into one large aviary, that is, as soon as the dry season had entirely freed the place from water. I had very little difficulty in trimming sticks, and binding them together for fences, to confine the birds; but it was not so easy to repair the loss of attached friends, who had reposed their confidence in me, or to teach strangers an agreeable method of conversation upon a given signal. I could now no longer give dinner-parties at home; I therefore intruded on the entertainments given by others, for I did not enjoy my meals alone. I did not often take a meal with gregarious birds--those who moved in flocks,--yet many of these were excellent companions in private; in a body they were generally too noisy and fickle in flight to be depended on, except in the morning or evening. The birds usually called social, were my favourites; these are such as live in pairs, but assemble in parties at certain hours of the day to dine on the same tree, sing in concert for an hour, and then part as they came, each attended by its mate. At many of these entertainments I was permitted to remain, without causing any surprise or confusion; but then I behaved with proper decorum, and above all, did not forget the manners and habits of those I visited. Observing the monkeys to be very fond of the seeds that grew on a tree called the _vanilla_, the Spanish name for scabbard, which the seeds of the plant resemble, I one day presumed to join one of their parties at meal time, and climbed a tree for that purpose, but was received so very uncourteously, that I gave them up as incorrigible boors. That they have no soul for music I have had frequent proofs while listening to the song of the thrush in the breeding season; a period when these birds select an elevated spot, generally the same every day, and pour forth strains of peculiar melody. These songs the monkeys not only disregard, but continually interrupt with their monotonous howls. [Sidenote: Habits of birds] The habits of birds are very peculiar, and distinctively marked; the thrush sings to its mate, delighted with the prospect of rearing up a new progeny; the nightingale, on the contrary, only ceases to sing when his mate arrives to join him; being migrating birds, the male precedes the female in making its passage from one country to another, and pours forth his notes only while waiting for the arrival of the female. If this bird is caught and caged before he is joined by his mate, he will continue to sing in confinement, if afterwards, he will be mute. Nothing is more remarkable in birds, or has perhaps been less noticed, than their affection for each other, and for callow birds in general. The cries from any one nest of birds will set all the old ones within hearing into a state of extreme agitation, all flying up and down anxious to inquire what is the matter, and what assistance they can offer. He who walks through the woods, and can imitate the cries of young birds, may at all times be certain of collecting old ones around him, that is, in the breeding season. The cry of young birds in the nest is in the forest what the cry of fire or murder is in a city; it alarms all the neighbourhood; and the knowledge of an enemy to their young being in the vicinity of their homes, is to them much the same as going to bed next door to an incendiary. I have seen a blue jay--a very noisy and chattering bird--discover an owl sitting in his hiding-place, and immediately summon a flock of his feathered fraternity to his assistance. These surrounded the winking _solitaire_, and opened a fire of abuse on him that might at a distance be mistaken for a general disturbance in Billingsgate Market. The owl opened and then shut his eyes, as if at first unconscious of the meaning of the attack, and asking, "Can it be me you mean?" He, however, was soon made sensible that he would not be suffered to remain within their jurisdiction; and off he went, followed by a mob of birds, who hunted him out of the bounds of their district. Clamorous as the jay is against the owl for eating young birds, he himself I have detected in tearing the callow young out of the eggs belonging to other birds; yet he never fails to unite with the other feathered inhabitants of the wood at the cry of danger. The tender assiduities of birds in their attachments is no less remarkable than their courage in defence of their mates and young ones. The male, solicitous to please, uses the tenderest expressions, as evinced by his manner; sits by his mate as closely as he can; caresses her with a thousand endearing movements of the body and head: sings to her his most enchanting warblings; and, as they are seated together, if he espies an insect more agreeable to her taste than another, he takes it up, flies to her with it, spreads his wings over her, and genteelly puts it into her mouth. And if a rival or an enemy appear, his courage in attack soon proves the ardour of his love. [Sidenote: The mocking-bird and snake] During incubation, the female is no less the object of his solicitude; as birds have many enemies, the males feel that it is their duty to watch over and protect their mates and young ones. I had every waking hour opportunities of witnessing their courage, frequently seeing very small birds attack the black snake, darting at its head, and pecking the eyes till they either killed or drove away that enemy to their brood. When these contests became doubtful, the females would leave their nests, and hasten to the scene of action to render their mates assistance. The mocking-bird seldom fails to kill the snake single-handed, instantly afterwards mounting the bush, to pour forth a torrent of song in token of victory. These birds mount and descend as their song swells or dies away; at times darting up with the celerity of an arrow, as if to recover or recall the last strain of expiring melody. While the mocking-bird thus exerts himself, a bystander, destitute of sight, would suppose that the whole of the feathered tribes had assembled to vie with each other in singing and in deceiving the sportsman, by imitating the birds of which he was in pursuit. Their talent at imitation is so extraordinary, that they can call the mates of almost every other bird around them at pleasure. The fascinating power ascribed to the black snake is an error. When a snake is discovered in the vicinity of a nest, the male bird mounts a spray, and in great agitation flutters his wings in a threatening manner, till an opportunity offers of flying down to the attack. In these encounters the snake sometimes succeeds in biting the bird, and in injecting its venom, when the effect of the poison is so sudden, as to paralyse the further efforts of the latter; hence has arisen the supposed power of fascination, and the story of birds flying into the snake's jaws. Instances of this nature I have witnessed, and if I had not followed up my observations further, might have fallen into the popular error of supposed fascination: but my experience informs me, that when the bird is said to be spellbound, it is preparing to destroy an enemy, in which encounter it generally comes off victorious. Birds, as a class, possess as much intelligence, and more courage than any of God's creatures lower in the scale of animals than man. The instincts, or the propensities and precautions of animals, as in birds developed, are as multifarious and as striking, if not more so, as in other animals, not excepting the elephant and dog. A thrush that I caught in a trap used to catch wasps, and after plucking the wings off to prevent their escape, pressed the abdomen with his bill, to force out the poison of the sting before he swallowed it. I have frequently seen birds seize mice and reptiles, and after examination reject them. In all such cases I have found that the prey thus cast aside was sickly, or infested with lice. The birds seem to reason thus: "If I take this sickly thing to my nest, I shall not only carry my young ones unwholesome food, but shall carry a nuisance to them, also." Another bird I had in my aviary, would carry food that was too hard for his taste to his water, and there let it remain till it was soaked to his palate. [Sidenote: Departure from the cave] Looking over my notched calendar, and transferring it in weeks and months to another stick I was suddenly struck with the length of time I had been shut out of society, and how wonderfully the Almighty had preserved me. It then occurred to me that I had not exerted myself as I ought to have done, to free myself from the intricate mazes of the forest. Then, reflecting on the regular inundations of the morass, I thought it was probable that the waters might come from a river, or the sea; and as they had just then retired, I determined to start off immediately, and pursue the margin to its source. Hitherto, security at night had induced me to linger about favourite spots; I had now surmounted childish fears; still I was sensible of the great risk I should run of sleeping, night after night, in the open air; and this reflection for a time deterred me from carrying out my plan. At length I thought of the gipsies I had seen in the green lanes in England, and then set to work to manufacture a substitute for the covers they use to throw over the hooped sticks at night, with which they were wont to form low booths. This I effected by platting and weaving long dried grass, and when it was completed, I cut some poles of the lacaria; but still doubting my own resolution to break up my establishment, I one day, with a kind of spasmodic effort, liberated all my newly-collected domestic friends and companions, some of which accepted of freedom rather reluctantly. My attachments being thus dissolved, the following morning I commenced my lonely journey, on the second day of which I made a fire near to some shallow water, and was broiling a jay I had killed for my supper, when the earth on which I sat began to move, and instantly afterwards the embers were scattered about. Starting to my feet with alarm, a crocodile about four feet long showed itself as it plunged a few yards further off into a pool of mud and water. The place on which I had lighted my fire, was a part of the swamp, crusted over, probably, by the heat of that day's sun only. Every hour, indeed, now brought me in contact with enemies, and exposed me to privations I had avoided by making a home in one spot. But then I had an object to attain, and I persevered for twenty days, at the end of which I had the mortification to find that I had, like many others in the world, progressed not a step, having travelled in a circle, which brought me to the very threshold of my recent home. My chagrin was so poignant, that I thought the very trees waved in derision at my folly; and the same day I set out in another direction, which proved to be directly south. Every step I took informed me that I was a trespasser; the scene that I had quitted appeared to have been ceded to me by the inhabitants of the forest, who were willing for me to occupy it without molesting me, or exhibiting any signs of alarm; but, as I moved from place to place, all seemed in arms against me. My insatiable curiosity, too, was everywhere offensive; nothing escaped my prying propensity, and I even regretted that I had suffered the crocodile to escape that I might have intercepted, had I been cool, and have driven to the land for examination; I often, indeed, pushed my inquiries beyond the line of prudence. [Sidenote: An unpleasant nocturnal visitor] One moonlight night I was favoured with a splendid view of the jaguar under the influence of a hungry stomach, and in that state I saw him seize his prey. I had spread my matting at the lower end of a tree that had been torn up by the roots, between which I could creep and hide myself; at the other end the branches extended into a small glade or open space; when about midnight I was awaked by a tremendous roar. Alarmed for my own safety. I crept between the roots of the tree, pulling the covering after me, and in this situation raised my head so as to look along the shaft of the fallen timber, about ten yards from the end of which I could distinctly discern the jaguar, pacing up and down, in a space of not more than thirty yards. His step was quick and hurried, but so light that he appeared not to touch the ground; his swollen and stiffened tail swept the ground, as it moved from side to side. I instantly became anxious to ascertain whether his eyes were directed towards any particular object, and more especially in the direction where I was hid. I had the satisfaction of seeing their fierce glance furtively cast in every direction but towards me; indeed, I must have been invisible to him through the broken branches and roots, at the distance he was from the tree, and amid the shade that surrounded me. The spot he had chosen for his nocturnal promenade was, I have no doubt, a deer track, on which he had before in all probability snatched many meals. His impatience evidently increased as his expectations were delayed; he quickened, if possible, his step at every turn, till at length he suddenly paused, and assumed a most exciting attitude. His tail for a moment stood out perfectly horizontal, in a line with his back; making gentle sweeps, as if of immediate expectation. Suddenly he crouched on his belly, still moving his tail very gently; at length the moment arrived: he gave one roar of horrid delight, and the next, a deer was in his jaws, and growling, he seized and dispatched it by twisting the head downwards with his paw. Finally he gave the deer a shake, as if to assure himself that life was extinct, and then, with a fling of the head threw the dead animal across his back, and was lost in the thicket, depriving me of the satisfaction of witnessing his manner of finishing the repast. Strong in my resolution to arrive if possible at the extremity of the forest, I continued to proceed, as I thought, in the same direction; but I could not travel every day, being compelled sometimes to watch through the night, and being frequently unable, while moving forward, to obtain a sufficiency of nutritious food. When, therefore, I met with a convenient retreat, I stayed and refreshed myself till I acquired strength to undertake new labours. Some scenes would irresistibly detain me, and if any one express surprise that they should do so when journeying to seek the society of my fellow-creatures, I reply that I did not at any time abandon the hope of success; yet when the uncertainty of my course, without a compass or guide, is considered, I never had a right to be very sanguine in my expectations, use whatever efforts I might. In a journey of such a doubtful nature, oftentimes worn down with fatigue of body and despair of mind, it was natural to linger on and to rest in an oasis longer than in a desert. In a hot climate, cool retreats have peculiar charms, such as are unappreciable by those who live in cold countries. The mere topographical traveller may measure a lake, or a river, give the height and angle of a projecting rock, describe the rush of falling waters into an estuary, and trace the course of rivers from their rise to their mouth, but he is unable to give the living tints of nature, together with all their form and colour. [Sidenote: Beauties of the forest] Neither the pen nor the pencil can describe the feelings of those who sympathize with nature in her secret homes of grandeur. When I first entered the forest, the effect of the sublimity of the scene was astonishment, in which the beauties were lost; but as surprise wore off, these beauties, one by one, stood out to view; and operating on the senses, produced pleasure in its highest state of enjoyment. In scenes where bignonias, passifloras, and a thousand other flowers presented an unceasing display throughout the year, surrounded with birds and insects of surpassing beauty, who, possessed of sympathy of soul, or an ear for the sweet sounds of nature, would not for a time forget mortality and live in imaginary eternal bliss; for the charm of such scenes is only dispelled by awakening to the wants and necessities of the corporeal man. My existence was of such a nature,--one of alternate enjoyment in communing with lonely and enchanting scenes, and of fears lest I should fall a sacrifice to the dangers that environed my everyday movements. Sometimes I sallied forth to face dangers, and again paused to breathe, and, for a time, escape them. At length I reached a new scene, consisting of sand-hills, out of which issued springs of water, uniting at a short distance, where they formed a stream, which appeared to wind over an open country. In comparison with my solitude in the woods, this was a cheering change; and recollecting the geographical axiom in my school-books, that all springs and rivers ultimately find their way into the sea, I rejoiced at the chance I had of being extricated from the labyrinth in which I had been so long bewildered. [Sidenote: Following the stream] It is the fate of mortals to see the birth of pleasure only to witness her destruction. Her commencement is always very nearly connected with her end. The instant that gives her birth is generally the same in which she expires. I had not proceeded far before the waters spread themselves over the land, and were lost to the sight. In one or two places their course terminated as if they were cut off with a knife, one edge being visible and the other in obscurity, exhibiting the phenomenon of rivers which suddenly take a subterraneous course, to rise again at another point, leaving the space between perfectly dry. Being now in an open country, I ascertained that the course I had travelled was directly southward, or towards that part of the horizon which was cut by the sun's culminating, or meridian line; and this course I continued to pursue. A day and a half again brought me to the stream, for, as yet, it was not entitled to be called a river. It now, however, took a direction leading into the wood, among the foliage of which it was lost to the eye. The emancipation from the forest had given me the greatest possible delight, I therefore could not but hesitate before I again entered it; yet it was my only certain source of subsistence in the open country. I suffered both from hunger and thirst. I had, therefore, no alternative but to follow the stream; and on I went, its course winding so much that I began to fear I was traversing another circle. At length, after giving me much wearisome toil, it was lost in an impenetrable thicket of wood. I was now constrained to make a very considerable and extended _détour_, in the hope of again reaching its banks at some merging point. Three days I journeyed round an impervious mass of wood, so closely matted that I could at no point obtain an entrance. At the end of that time, I suddenly lighted upon the spot where I supposed the waters met in one broad reservoir. Various tributary streams flowed into this spot, and continued their meandering course for many miles. I hailed the sight of it with considerable delight, as I had begun to be fearful that I was about to lose sight of its course altogether. CHAPTER V. I WITNESS A GRAND CONVULSION IN NATURE, OF WHICH I HAVE A WONDERFUL ESCAPE--AM RESCUED IN THE LAST EXTREMITY, AND ADMITTED INTO A TRIBE OF INDIANS. "Look round and see How Providence bestows on all alike Sunshine and rain, to bless the fruitful year Of different nations, all different faiths; And though by several names and titles worshipp'd, Heav'n takes the various tribute of their praise. Since all agree to own, at least to mean, One best, one greatest, and one Lord of all." [Sidenote: A useful hollow tree] When I arrived at the confluence, as I took it to be, of the streams, it was Saturday night,--that is, according to my new calendar. As I did not think it lawful to travel on the Sunday, I sought for an eligible place of security, where I might rest, and start thoroughly refreshed on the Monday, to solve the problem of the opposing currents. With this view I ascended an isolated blasted tree, where I might seat myself, and find protection from insidious enemies. I was delighted to find that the trunk was hollow, the only entrance being from the top. The tree leaned to the horizon at about an angle of 45 degrees. After carefully examining it, I thought I had satisfied myself that it was not pre-occupied by any obnoxious inhabitant; I then dropped into it, as it were, down a chimney. Crouching, I was out of sight, but when I stood erect I had a view of my own desolate situation. A species of frogs had just commenced to send forth their peculiar noise, which resembles the sound from a stonemason's yard, when I was annoyed by a number of green frogs, such as dwell in trees; and endeavouring to brush these from my immediate locality, I discovered a number of the _scolopendra_, or centipedes, from five to eight inches in length. Perceiving a hole in the side of the tree, I proceeded to expel these formidable insects with my stick, by which means I disturbed, in the pulpy part of the decayed wood, a nest of _scorpions_. Things in motion soon catch my eye, and in another second I had regained the earth. Indisposed, however, to give up such a comfortable apartment, I cleared out the whole of the interior, and then regained the top of the tree, where I sat for a considerable time in doubt whether I should retire to rest or keep watch through the night. It was a beautiful evening, and the air was strongly impregnated with the aromatic fragrance of the different species of the _rubiaceæ_, the _andiocera_, and _ænothera_. Moonlight is a thoughtful period in all climates. I had almost, while watching my own shadow, forgotten the process of time, when suddenly Cynthia extinguished her lamp. Wearied, both in a mental and physical sense, I again, reckless of consequences, dropped into my cylindrical apartment. How long I slept I cannot tell; I was, however, awaked to scenes as remarkable as they were terrible and rapid in succession. A flood of light was streaming into my skylight, and I became conscious of a rocking sensation. For a moment I concluded that I was again seized with the vertigo in my head. A violent sound of rushing waters soon roused me to a sense of my real danger, and, standing erect, I beheld all the firm earth, on which but a few hours previously I had stood, now covered with water. An immense number of aquatic birds were floating on its surface, while others were springing up to branches of the trees above, to escape from the enormous serpents, and other monsters of the deep, that infest temporary lakes caused by sudden inundations. [Sidenote: An inundation] As I surveyed the scene the waters were still rising, and the tree on which I sat rose with them in an upright position. Presently it became stationary, and the water began, gradually to cover its trunk. I have said that it was an isolated spot: it was a small area in the midst of the wood, which appeared to have been cleared by the blast of lightning, the nearest tree being fifty yards, or more, distant. Among other things struggling for life was a fawn, which swam beneath me, and was seized by a cayman; while as another monster of the same species, at least thirty feet long, paused to survey me, with my feet then nearly touching the water, I impulsively raised my stick in self-defence, and at this juncture the trunk of the tree suddenly swung round, and by its action nearly threw me off into the jaws of the cayman. The principal part of the roots were torn from the earth, but most providentially the only remaining branch on the tree remained uppermost, which presented me with the opportunity of climbing five or six feet higher. Still, as I could not now turn round with facility, I remained for a full hour, every moment expecting the monster would seize me from behind; for the cayman continued to show himself at intervals, as if certain, in the end, of his prey. At length the roots of the decayed tree parted entirely from the earth, and it was carried forward with the current. Fortunately the branch, which was my only chance of escape, still remained elevated. The cayman did not abandon his intended victim till my bark conveyed me among the standing trees, when I seized the opportunity of climbing up one of considerable height. Up to this period all other dangers had been merged in the immediate dread of the monster of the deep, but I was now at liberty to take a more extended view of the scene, from a fixed position, and I found myself in the midst of congregated wild beasts and powerful reptiles. In the next tree to the one I occupied was an ant-bear, and a little farther off I could discern several others. Monkeys and apes were swinging and chattering over my head in large numbers; serpents, from five to thirty feet long, were crawling on the branches and round the trunks of trees, to escape from the flood; tiger-cats, beautifully striped, were springing from branch to branch of the green and purple-heart trees, which here grew to the height of seventy feet; lizards were seen in such numbers as in many places literally to cover the branches of the trees. All the birds were sending forth sounds of dissonance, as if stricken with terror; while the shrill voice of the bird called the pi-pi-yo roused me to the consciousness that the hour of noon had arrived. The lofty _panax_, _Bignonia_, _copaiva_, rising to a hundred feet in height, were peopled with living things, all in apparent consternation at the sudden changes of the scene. It was a grand, though an awful sight for a human being to behold. Animals of various natures, habits, and antipathies, were all crowded together in one common place of refuge, shaken by the wind, and dreading contact with each other, as the violent rushing of the waters bore on their surface numberless proofs of the havoc made, and still threatening to sweep away and swallow up every vestige of animal and vegetable creation. [Sidenote: Hope in desolation] But let the soul be set on the highest mount of distress, and view the most spacious prospect of misery, if the eye be turned towards God comfort may be found beyond the horizon, when human strength is vain. I lifted up my voice in the wilderness, and lo! God was there, and I took courage, exclaiming, "The Almighty is the architect of all I see, His power stretches over the whole earth and the empty space; He hangs the earth and all the ethereal globes upon nothing; and is He not able to save me?" "I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness," saith the Lord. "The hand which fixes the stars and guides the planets in their courses is stretched out to preserve His children." With these reflections did I trust in my position, and bid my soul to take courage and rely on divine succour. Fortunately, I had the remains of a cooked bird in my wallet, which always hung at my back; and _murucuja_, fruit of one of the passion-flowers, was within my reach, which I gathered and ate. The fish also forsook their ordinary food, for I could plainly see them feeding on the fruit and berries of shrubs through which they swam. At length night overtook me, and the moon, I thought, rose with a more speaking yet angry countenance than usual, frowning blood-coloured rays on the surface of the water and through the foliage of the wood, still rendering my fellow-lodgers immediately around me visible, while the vampire and other species of bats flitted wildly round, like spirits of the air; and occasional splashings beneath indicated that the larger tyrants of the flood were making prey of the weaker inhabitants, or the latter were exerting themselves to escape from the jaws of the former. The terrestrial animals seemed, for the most part, in providing for their own safety, to have suspended all operations of warfare, the scene above the flood in the evening wearing much the same appearance as throughout the day, excepting that the reptiles were not so numerous, the serpents and lizards having found hiding-places in the holes of the trees or under thick foliage. After a few hours the moon went down and left me "In the populous solitude of bees and birds, And fairy-form'd and many-colour'd things." It was now that, like Job, I had to "gird up my loins like a man;" for, as darkness shrouded me, my thoughts naturally reverted to the bear in the next tree; I could not but speculate on his movements, and the probability of his descending and swimming to invade my territory. Impressed with this fear, the master one of the hour, I took up a position to command the trunk of the tree, where, armed with my stick, I might oppose him to an advantage. [Sidenote: A night on the water] It would be futile were I to attempt to describe my sensations during the night. Could words be found expressive enough for the purpose, they should have been penned at the instant they were felt; feelings under such extraordinary circumstances cannot be recalled, or appreciated only at the time they were excited. Words, in description, stand for general ideas in Nature's chart; ten thousand sensations and forms enter of themselves into the sanctuary of the mind. I can only say that I spent the night in prayer for the coming morn. It, however, passed without involving me in any encounter. "Now, men see not the bright light which is in the clouds; but the wind passeth and cleareth them away." I thought it was an interminable night, and long before morning dawned, as the first glimmer of light tinged the eastern horizon, I strained my eyes to assure myself of its actual approach; yet what hope could it bring me?--none, in prospect; notwithstanding which, latent hope was not wholly extinct. A vague idea possessed me that I might find some floating tree to carry me to the nearest shore. At length, indolently, as I thought, the morning did appear, rendering surrounding objects visible. The bear was still in the tree, coiled up like a cat, in a forked branch, apparently asleep. His bearship had not even the politeness to pass the compliment of the day by noticing me; and noon again arrived, bringing with it utter despair. For some time I had been watching a log of timber, in the hope that it would float within my reach, when I distinctly heard the sound of human voices. My heart leaped up with joy; and the coincidence of the appearance of a rainbow at the same instant, operated like a reprieve to a malefactor in the hands of the executioner. I was so much elated, that I actually should have neglected to have called out for assistance, had not the same voices again addressed my ear more distinctly, when I used my vocal powers with all my might; but I had no response, and my heart was again, sinking within me, when I observed a canoe approaching. It contained two Indians; one was using the paddle, the other directing his attention to the spot from whence my voice proceeded. A few seconds brought them under the tree, and an invitation, by signs, for me to descend, and accept of my emancipation from their hands. [Sidenote: The charms of solitude] Notwithstanding all the terrors and privations of my wild life, there was a charm in it which is inexplicable; and I paused ere I parted with it. Men whose whole life has been identified with civilization may not understand this feeling; but long association with nature in her own scenes of unlimited grandeur and profuse bounty, cannot be broken off without a struggle. In return for all the blessings nature bestows on her children of the woods, she requires no sacrifice of liberty; free and unconstrained she permits them to roam throughout her domains; to robe or unrobe, as their taste may dictate; to rest when fatigued, and to rise when refreshed. Nature does not mask misery with the face of happiness, nor dress misfortune in the guise of prosperity; free and uncontrolled, her children are invited to help themselves at her munificent board; while in the narrow paths of civilized life, even the boasted reason of man is incapable of conferring happiness on society. But with the green grass and soft moss for a carpet, umbrageous trees for a shade, the murmuring stream for the ear, together with the sound of the breeze amongst the leaves to woo reflection, the syrens of vicious pleasure may be avoided, and the disquietudes of life be forgotten. Like a true citizen of the world, I had become enamoured with liberty, and with the instinct of a denizen of the forest, I shrank from the presence of man. My situation was perilous, death being inevitable if I remained in the tree; for in a short time sleep must overcome me, and in that state, I must fall into the waters beneath. Reluctantly, therefore, I dropped into the canoe, with the feelings of a bird who darts into a cage to escape the talons of the hawk--an incident, by the way, which once brought both the fugitive and the hawk into my trap. No captured African slave could feel the loss of liberty more than I did when the Indians assigned me a seat in the canoe, which proceeded to join a company consisting of eleven persons. They were a fishing party that had left their wonted haunts to avail themselves of the flood, a period when their efforts were generally rewarded with great success. One canoe was nearly filled with the product of the first draught, and they were in the act of drawing another as I appeared amongst them. They were all well-grown men, nearly naked, like myself, very placid in their demeanour, and showed great anxiety to relieve my distress, offering me food and drink. Indeed, their manners were so urbane and pleasing, that in a very short time I recovered from my depression of spirits, and congratulated myself on my good fortune in falling into their company. They wore large grass-platted hats to defend the head from the heat of the sun, and had each a hammock made of the same materials, which as night approached, they slung from the branches of trees, and calmly laid themselves down to survey the confusion of nature which the sudden inundation had occasioned. With the party was a youth about my own age, who at once attached himself to me; he manifested his disappointment and concern that he could not make himself understood by words, and in a very short time intimated his intention of undertaking my education by showing me the implements in use and calling them by name, till I not only recollected them, but acquired accuracy of pronunciation. [Sidenote: The Indian village] Two days subsequently to my rescue from the tree, I was taken to the Indian village, about ten miles from the border of the forest. It consisted of fifteen huts on an elevated spot, distant a half-mile from a fine river, which ebbed and flowed with the tide. It was this circumstance that had occasioned my embarrassment when following the stream and suddenly meeting with a contrary current. On my arrival at the village I was struck with the absence of curiosity or surprise which a stranger from another race generally excites, even in civilized localities. Neither men, women, or children appeared to bestow on me any peculiar notice, nor did they, as far as I could learn, express any desire to know how I came amongst them, or from whence I came. No overseer or other parish officer was called in to provide me with food and then dispute my right to eat. I was at once led to the hut of the father of my young friend, and received as one of the family, in which there were two wives and two families--one mother with three, and another with four children. Plurality of wives was the custom of this Indian community, and yet they lived in perfect harmony; there were no jealousies or bickerings; the progeny of each shared alike the affection and care of both mothers, who laboured with equal zeal in the culture of cassava or manioc, the roots of which they grated and made into bread. There were numerous tribes of these Indians, but they all spoke the same language. The tribe I was with were called Galibis; they were remarkable alike for their humanity and intelligence. Indeed, they possessed all the moral qualities of civilized society, without its forms and most of its vices, especially the one of coveting their neighbours' goods. [Sidenote: Habits of the Indians] During the time I was with them, a period of eighteen months, I never heard of a charge of theft. Land was as plentiful as air and water; there could not, therefore, be any motive to steal, if we except idleness,--a vice which prevails more in cities than in the wilds of nature. Numerous families sometimes live in one common large hut; yet there are no quarrels to disturb their harmony; and such is their hospitality that he who is fatigued with hunting may always depend on repose in the nearest dwelling. Their language is peculiarly harmonious, rich with synonyms, and is represented by those who have studied its grammatical construction, to be complicated and ingenious in syntax. Intelligent as they are, they have at all times rejected the arts and all instruction, from their great love of independence. The countenances of all are stereotyped with benevolence, and their conversation is fraught with maxims that inculcate the practice of charity to all the human race. They are not without a sense of pride, yet discourage it in practice. It requires no broker to make a written catalogue of their household furniture: their weapons are bows and arrows, and a short dart which they force through a reed with the breath, bringing down birds on the wing with surprising dexterity. A flat stone on which the women bake bread, and a rough one on which to grate the root of cassava; a hammock, a hatchet, a comb, and a broken piece of looking-glass in a rude frame, comprise the whole of their furniture. What few vessels they had were ill made,--not any improvement on those I formed from clay for the use of my aviary when in the woods. They have no code of laws, nor have they a word in the language by which to convey the idea of laws; yet they have the same word as in Hebrew to express God, by which they understand supreme master. They have a magistrate or elder, to whom any matter of disputation is referred, and by him summarily and finally settled. Fire they obtain by rubbing two pieces of wood together; and for cooking, this is made on the ground, over which they suspend their vessels in the rudest manner. Although these people wear no clothes, properly so called, they are very fond of ornaments; as amulets and charms, those obtained from the ivory-billed woodpecker were most in vogue. No people in the world, perhaps, are more remarkable for acute observation. If you name any kind of bird, or other animal, to them, that is to be found in this part of the globe, instantly they imitate its action and tones of voice. The notes of birds they give with surprising accuracy. They are very expert swimmers, and some of the women and children spend the chief of their time in the water. The men fish, and hunt, and when not so employed, which happens three or four days in the week, they remain in their hammocks, and amuse themselves with their implements, in the repairs of which, and in conversation, all their leisure is spent. They possess all the qualities to form good sportsmen, and to take the command of others--having great presence of mind and promptitude of action. I know not which most to admire, their skill in discovering game, or their manner of taking it. They entertain the loftiest sentiments of chivalrous honour, and their courage always rises with increasing difficulty; it "smiles in danger stern and wild," and is superior to circumstances. On the fourth day after my emancipation from the loneliness of the forest I accompanied a fishing party to the same spot from whence I had been taken. It was a favourite locality for hunting the ant-bear, and when the waters were out, for taking crabs and oysters, which were caught in large numbers among the trees and shrubs that were more or less covered by the flood. [Sidenote: The Great Spirit of the Indians] Under the assiduous tuition of my young friend, whose name was _Pecoe_, I rapidly progressed in a knowledge of his language, and could not refrain from making many reflections on his method of teaching as compared with my European schoolmaster's. Pecoe, I considered, had adopted a natural mode of instruction, while the system of the other was wholly artificial, and tedious in practice. My teacher was as anxious to be taught himself as to teach me, and when we were able to converse, asked ten thousand questions relative to my country and the state of society in it. Whether my long residence in the woods had disqualified me to be an advocate for the cause of civilization I know not, but at all my descriptions of it, Pecoe shook his head, and was evidently under an impression that my countrymen must be a very unhappy race of people. On one occasion, when conversing on our difference of colour, and on the human races generally, he said, "I will tell you how it happened: you know that there are three great spirits, all good, though each is greater than the other. The great spirit of all one day said to the lowest spirit, 'make a man, and let me see him.' The spirit took some clay and made a man; but when the Great Spirit saw him, he shook his head, and said he was too white. He then ordered the spirit next to himself in goodness to make a man, who tried his skill with charcoal--burnt wood; but the Great Spirit again shook his head, and said he was too black. The Great Spirit then determined to try himself, and taking some red earth, made the Indians, which pleased him very much." When I told him that the Great Spirit in his great goodness had so ordered it that every one should think his own colour the best, he replied, that it was not possible for either a black or a white man to be so stupid as to be satisfied with the colour of his skin, stigmatized as he, Pecoe, thought both races were, by barbarities. When I explained to him the various grades of civilized society, his quick apprehension broke out in the most indignant terms, denouncing the system as one dictated by a demon. Rich and poor! "What good," he asked, "could arise from allowing one to take all, and giving nothing to the other?" [Sidenote: Pecoe's ideas of society] I replied, that the wisdom of the Great Spirit (God) was recognised in his anticipation of the wisdom of man, by providing him with original principles of his own, which were given to regulate, not excite desires. Thus the sense of property is germinated in very early childhood, which sense I maintained generated a moral feeling, and a principle of justice and equity. My young friend, after a moment's thoughtful pause, stoutly gave the negative to my premises,--that the sense of property was developed in early life; he argued that the desire exhibited by children to handle things, and which we erroneously call a desire to possess them, is nothing more than a natural desire to exercise the physical senses on objects of the external world, through which only could they educate the powers of the body for healthful and manly purposes of life. Those things which some call children's playthings, he held to be _bonâ fide_ tools, without which, whether they were wooden horses, paper boats, a doll's head, or a piece of stick, they could no more rise out of a state of childhood than a man could go to sea without a canoe. He therefore denied the inference, that because children manifest a disposition to snatch or handle everything they can reach, it is an indication of natural acquisitiveness. The mind, he said, was wholly disengaged from these matters at an early age; employment for the organs of the five senses, together with an instinctive desire to promote their development, were the true causes of children quarrelling for possessions. He instanced their having no abiding attachment for any one particular toy, however expensive or attractively constructed, always casting away one thing to handle another, the various forms of which gave exercise to different muscles, and imparted new sensations of pleasure. The object I have in presenting my readers with a few of Pecoe's opinions is to illustrate the different ideas elicited in the minds of men by diverse circumstances of life and education. I scarcely need inform them that, in committing to paper my friend's notions, I have dressed them up in my own language. On this occasion Pecoe closed the conversation by remarking that the nature of society, such as I had depicted in England, appeared to charge the Great Spirit with having at some early period thrown upon the earth all His gifts in a heap, for a general scramble, on the condition that the posterity of those who succeeded in first picking them up should for ever live in idleness, and become the masters of the posterity of those whose ancestors had been unsuccessful in snatching from their fellow-men more than their own share. He continued: "It was hard to believe such a state of society could exist, and thought the Evil Spirit must have put it into my head;" meaning that I had drawn upon my own imagination for the sketch. The incomprehensible part of the system to Pecoe was, that some could be luxuriating in plenty and others be starving at the same time in one country. Warfare was unknown to his race, because the practice of good-will and the friendly offices of mutual assistance were universal among them, and annihilated every motive to aggrandisement, and consequently the disposition was never brought out. Bear in mind, reader, that I am describing no Utopia. When, therefore, I spoke of our numerous wars, and explained that it was those who had been unfortunate at the first general scramble, as he designated it, who risked their lives in battle, fighting for their wealthy masters, his incredulity rose so high as to doubt my veracity, and for some time subsequently I thought he seemed to shun my society, appearing very pensive and lonely in his habits. [Sidenote: Pecoe as a nurse] About a fortnight after the above conversation I was suddenly taken with violent symptoms of fever, when Pecoe was immediately by my side, assiduously attending to all my wants with the tenderness of a nurse. The physician, or pee-ay-man, was applied to, who offered up prayers to the Bad Spirit for my recovery;--for it is a part of their creed that the Good Spirit is too good to do any one harm, and therefore it is the Malicious Spirit that must be conciliated. For this purpose a number of incantations were performed, after which the physician continued to parade from hut to hut, howling and performing another series of incantations throughout the night, at intervals calling to see if any improvement had taken place in the health of his patient. As it was the practice of every family to burn a fire through the night, I could from my hammock see this juggler stalking to and fro, looking more like a demon than a minister of comfort in sickness. Pecoe proved the best physician. He never left me, continuing to administer comfort to me in every possible way and manner. Among other services he relieved me, at my request, from the mummeries of the pee-ay-man, aptly urging that, as the spirits of my country were not the same as theirs, he might by his interference make them angry instead of conciliating them. But the women, who really felt an interest in my fate, were not so easily satisfied, they placed implicit reliance on the skill of the pee-ay-man, and were angry with Pecoe for sending him away. "Never mind," said he, coolly, to some remarks that censured his conduct, "I am as good a doctor as he is; and if I am hot, don't the Great Spirit brush away the flies from the animal without a tail?" My disease grew worse, and rapidly hastened to its crisis. Pecoe in every stage sought for new sources of comfort: he collected silk-grass, and daily made new pillows for my head, when they were wetted with the cold water he applied to my temples. He constantly moistened my lips with slices of pineapple, only occasionally leaving me, to go in search of the jelly cocoa-nut, which in an unripe state has but a thin skin, but contains more liquor. As the fever subsided, these grateful draughts contributed much towards my recovery, and without doubt hastened the period of final restoration to health, when I said to my friend, "You may now set up as physician to the tribe, and supersede the pee-ay-man." The remark brought a smile from his lips, as he replied, "I have not such a mean spirit as to endure to be laughed at by all the people. Do you, then, really believe that these pretenders to superior knowledge are esteemed, or that any in the place have faith in their arts?" "If not," said I, "why tolerate them, and why not apply to the Great and Good Spirits themselves for help?" [Sidenote: Pecoe's prudence] "Why!" rejoined Pecoe, "because too many like deception more than honesty, and prefer listening to falsehood rather than to truth. My father and all his friends have secretly laughed at the impostor all their days, yet in public give him countenance, and also frown on the children who would doubt the efficacy of his tricks, or his ability to solve dreams and foretell events. I myself," he continued, "sometimes doubt my right to disregard the proffered services of these men. This arises, perhaps, from the general countenance they have from all the tribes, and the force of custom; for I seldom give myself the trouble to investigate their claim to respect; I endure their arts, because the majority patronise them, though I never open my lips in their defence. It is an ungracious task to make yourself more wise than your neighbours; even if you should be successful, you must inevitably make enemies without gaining new friends, people do not like to be told that they have been in error all their lives, or to believe that their forefathers were foolishly credulous." CHAPTER VI. FURTHER ACCOUNT OF THE INDIANS--I ARRIVE AT MY FATHER'S FARM. "What fancied zone can circumscribe the soul, Who, conscious of the source from whence she springs, By Reason's light, or Resolution's wings, Spite of her frail companion, dauntless goes O'er Libya's deserts, and through Zembla's snows? She bids each slumb'ring energy awake,-- Another touch, another temper take; Suspends th' inferior laws that rule o'er clay. The stubborn elements confess her sway; Man's little wants his low desires refine, And raise the mortal to a height divine." Notwithstanding the darkness in which my friend Pecoe had been brought up, I was impressed with the notion that his soul was sufficiently alive to receive the great truths of Christianity. I therefore resolved again to introduce the subject, and make an effort to engross his attention. I commenced by impressing on his mind that my countrymen were a race acknowledged to be inferior to none other, and that they worshipped only One Great Spirit, the Maker of the heavens and the earth, together with all things visible and invisible. He surprised me by admitting that these things had engaged much of his attention, and that his mind was now made up on the question; his conviction being that the heavens and the earth had existed from eternity, and would continue the same to eternity. I explained to him that nothing endured for ever but the power of God; that all things were constantly undergoing a process of change; that the globe we inhabited had a beginning, and, consequently, like inferior bodies, would have an end; that God permitted the dissolution of one body, and the birth of another, at periods appointed, to the end that the whole of his designs might arrive at perfection, and no absolute loss be sustained. Pecoe heard me out with great patience, then shook his head, and enquired how it came that my father should know better than his? When, however, I spoke of the existence of the soul in another and better world, and endeavoured to illustrate that certainty by saying, in the dissolution of bodies nothing perished but their forms, and that the soul when it abdicated its decaying vessel, the body, was translated to another, and a purer state of existence, he evidently looked on me as being insane. [Sidenote: Attempts at conversion] I was disappointed,--was vexed at my inability to awaken him to a sense of what all mankind, more or less, in some form, have acknowledged, namely, a future state of existence. I now urged that all human beings were sensible of relations not subject to the senses, and therefore possessed sensibilities distinct from the body. That they could compare, and therefore had judgment; that they retained, and therefore have memory; that they possessed freedom of choice, and therefore have will. I then said, if to these we add instinct, there are five faculties of the soul; adding, Reason compares those ideas immediately transmitted to the memory; imagination is the same faculty exercised on the same objects differently combined, having no similitude in nature. "These," replied Pecoe, "are all your own thoughts." Having from early infancy been accustomed, both morning and evening, to offer up my prayers to God, and having, when in the wilds of nature, found in this practice much solace, I did not fail while with the Indians to continue the custom; yet none of the people had hitherto taken any notice of my devotion. At length Pecoe inquired my motives, asking what I expected to gain by the practice. I replied, that we had all daily wants, and that in the morning I petitioned the Great Spirit--my God---to supply them, and that in the evening I returned thanks for the protection and supplies I had received. I further explained, that prayer was the voice of sin to Him who alone can pardon it; that it was the petition of poverty, the prostration of humility, the confidence of trust, the feeling of helplessness, and the compunctions of the soul. All this I put in the most simple form of language, and I have reason to think that he fully understood the feeling I endeavoured to convey. Notwithstanding, he asked me whether I had not food enough to eat, and what it was the Evil Spirit had made me do that troubled me so much? [Sidenote: Conversation on prayer] In vain did I labour to impress his mind with a sense of the necessity there is for all to worship the Giver of life and all other blessings, and that by intreating the One God to protect us, the value of his gifts was enhanced, and that there was an inexpressible delight in committing ourselves to the care and guidance of one who is infinitely able to protect us in the right path. "The Spirit," said he, "is good, and will do nothing wrong--he will not listen to what you tell him." I replied by saying that we could not tell God of anything that he did not already know, and that prayer and thanksgiving were due from us all to one so beneficent. I then explained to him that his condition of darkness in religious matters was once the condition of all mankind, and that it was only by reflection, and the intercommunication of minds, that the little light our forefathers possessed was obtained, until at length God sent his only Son to reveal the truth to us. I then repeated the Lord's Prayer, and promised to teach it to him in his own language if he would use it. He replied that he must have time to consider of it. A few days after he requested that I would not talk in that way any more to him, adding, that they were all my own sayings, meaning they were things of my own invention. "You have consulted your father," said I. He acknowledged that he had, laughing at the same time, as if I had been a subject of their ridicule. Up to that moment I had flattered myself that I should have been spiritually of service to him, and perhaps through him, to more of his race. His father, however, was an enemy to civilized man, and inimical to innovations of every kind. It appeared from a traditional story, which Pecoe subsequently related me, that at some former period these people had been visited by a party of missionaries, the particulars of which I an induced to give, as a caution to gentlemen who labour in such arduous undertakings as those of converting heathens to Christianity. "Some white men," said Pecoe, "came here a long time since, and brought strange talk about the Great Spirit and his Son, (that is, about our blessed Saviour), to which our people agreed to listen, upon condition, that every time they attended they should receive a bottle of rum. They did attend," continued Pecoe, "but in a short time the white men wanted them to come and listen for nothing, and so broke their contract." Scrupulously punctual to their own engagements, the Indians, immediately on the withholding of the rum, took a prejudice against the missionaries, which no subsequent conduct on the part of the latter could remove, or perhaps will ever efface from the memory of the former. Thus has a stumblingblock been placed in the way of all future adventurers among them in the cause of Christianity. As soon as I was made acquainted with these particulars, I resolved to undertake the defence of the missionaries' conduct, and at least, lessen the prejudice against them. With this view, I availed myself of the first large assemblage of the natives, and opened the subject by inquiring how long it was since the white men had visited them, which way they came, and lastly, by what road they returned? suggesting, that perhaps the same road might lead me to a European colony, where I might have a chance of hearing from my friends. [Sidenote: Defence of the missionaries] An aged Indian replied to these inquiries, adding, that he had no great opinion of the white men who came there; and on asking how they had conducted themselves, he related the story in nearly the same words as I had heard it from Pecoe. I then explained the good intentions of the persons who subscribed money to spread the truths of the gospel, and the great sacrifices made by those who consented to give up the charms of civilized life for the good of the poor unenlightened heathen. I then went on to say, that with respect to the presents of rum, it was natural, after the missionaries had taken the trouble to study their language, and to travel so far, to adopt any means to secure a hearing, without which, no good could possibly accrue to the objects of their mission. Although, I continued, they might at first hold out some inducement to be heard, yet it was unreasonable to expect that persons so far away from home and their resources could continue to find the means of making repeated presents in order to tempt persons to their own good. When I had finished, some of the Indians laughed, others shook their heads, indicating disapprobation, and a hint that I had better be silent. Upon the whole, though I pushed the matter somewhat strongly, I failed in making any impression on the auditors. With regard to natural objects, I question if there be a more acute and observing people in the whole world; yet they are wholly a people of feelings, being evidently deficient in intellect. Their imagination and understanding are both at a low ebb, as I could never extend their ideas beyond their own path of life. At times I gave Pecoe credit for possessing a more lively imagination than others of his tribe; but as I knew more of him, this impression died away. In the highly cultivated walks of society, manhood is the period when the feelings are predominant. Imagination prevails in youth, and the understanding in old age. These people are in the middle stage of progress; and as they possess the purest moral notions of right and wrong, cannot be incapable of receiving the truths of revealed religion. The highest degree of moral elevation can only be attained by carefully cherishing the more benevolent and kindlier feelings of nature; that is, by cultivating the good passions, and throwing into disuse the bad ones. The Indians with whom I lived, effected these objects in a very high degree; for I never saw an instance of any violent exhibition of temper among them, and it was always a matter of astonishment to me to see how exceeding tractable their children were without severity on the part of the parents. In the moral sense of the word, they were good; and if they had been Christians, would have been deemed examples for more refined nations. "A good man, and an angel! these between, How thin the barrier? What divides their fate? Perhaps a moment, or perhaps a year; Or, if an age, it is a moment still." The following anecdote will not only illustrate the kind feelings of the Indian's heart, but also exhibit his delicacy in bestowing a favour. I had for some time been uneasy at not being able to contribute, by my exertions, a fair share towards the provisions of the common stock of those with whom I resided; and this uneasiness was frequently expressed to Pecoe, the principal difficulty being the want of a canoe--for these vessels were not constructed in general to carry more than one person; I was thus precluded from sharing in the daily excursions on the water. [Sidenote: Gift of a canoe] Pecoe, as I have said, knew that I felt this want, and one morning surprised and delighted me, after a walk in the woods, where he pointed out the silk cotton tree as the material out of which they made canoes. "Why," exclaimed he, as he took a turn towards an inlet of the great river, "here is a canoe already made for you; come, help me to launch it, and let us see how it fits you when afloat." I had recently, for several long intervals, missed him, and having, when inquiring the cause of his absence, received equivocal replies, I thought it was occasioned by some duty connected with his family, and had in consequence forborne to notice it again. He had, however, been in the wood, fashioning a canoe for my use, being the most valuable present he could, at that juncture, have made me; and the manner in which he conducted the matter, considerably enhanced its value. I was now as rich in property as any of the natives, whose ambition seldom soars beyond the possession of a canoe and a stock of hunting and fishing implements, which my friend Pecoe did not forget to provide with the canoe. My health being perfectly restored, I now joined in all the sports followed by the natives, having previously, at Pecoe's earnest solicitation, learned to swim. Time ran on smoothly, the morning invited me to the woods (my natural home) to hunt for game. "On a sweet shining morning, thus drawn out, It seem'd what man was made for, to look round And trace the full brook, that, with clamorous route, O'er fallen trees and roots, black curling, wound Through glens, with wild brakes scatter'd all about." The days did not linger in their progress, nor did night arrive too soon, the changes being all attended with enjoyments. "Night bringeth sleep To the forest deep, The forest bird to its nest, To care, bright hours, And dreams of flowers, And that balm to the weary--rest." Discontent is man's great enemy. I believe that, constitutionally, I was fitted to enjoy any station to which the Almighty, in his wisdom, might call me; yet even contentment may be carried to an extreme, and degenerate into apathy, or the want of a healthful spirit into indolence. Soft leisure hath her charms, and the bliss of her votaries is to bask in summer rays through the day under the greenwood tree; but however soothing or pleasant this may be to the reflective mind, the common duties of life should not be neglected. I had parents, relations, and friends, all of whom had more or less been rendered unhappy by my loss in the woods; and I now became impressed with a notion that I had not been sufficiently active in using means for my restoration. I had indeed escaped the mazes of the forest by the inundation--an event in which the hand of Providence was conspicuous; for had not the flood-gates of the firmament been opened, I might still have remained in my forest prison. I now asked myself why I did not stir and exert all the energies the same Providence had bestowed on me, to reach the nearest European colony and seek advice as to the proper mode of proceeding to discover the home of my parents. All my moments of leisure were now filled up with self-reproaches. The deep solitude of the woods, I thought, had enchanted me, and now the wild charm of a free and roving life was weaning me from duty. These were errors which, I thought, demanded a rigid retribution; yet at intervals I was in no want of excuses to extenuate my conduct. I reflected on the extraordinary flexibility of our nature, which accommodates and adapts itself to all circumstances; and, that the reality of our existence is the present moment, the exigencies of which are inimical to prudent resolutions. Of man's generic character there is much yet to be written; the change of climate, food, scenery, society, together with a thousand contingent circumstances that follow in their train, all produce effects unappreciable by those whose lives have been bounded by one circle. Of all animals, man best endures the changes of food and climate. It therefore follows that his physical construction is more changeable; but in proportion as the body undergoes a change, and adapts itself to the circumstances of its situation, so will the feelings, temper, and mind also undergo some change, and more or less affect the character of the individual. [Sidenote: Forgetfulness of home] In reference to my own case, and the experience derived from it, this is the best solution I can give of the passive submission with which I accommodated myself to the manner of life into which my waywardness had cast me. If we pass from man to the influence of climate on other animals, the effect on dogs is very remarkable. In Kamtschatka, instead of the dog being faithful and attached to his master, he is full of deceit and treachery; he does not bark in the hot parts of Africa, nor in the extreme cold countries of the north; in Greenland he loses his fitness for hunting and his character for docility. If this subject were pursued, it might be added that the African slaves, when removed from their own country to the West Indies, undergo a marked change of character. The American settlers too, have changed in character since their first settlement in that country, as also have the Anglo-New Hollanders. The temperate zones appear to be the most favoured regions for the full development of the human powers, whether physical or moral, especially of the principle of sympathy, that vicegerent of the divine benevolence in our world, which is capable of binding up all the wounds that sin and death have introduced into it. As we are all, however, too much swayed by the considerations of pleasure and pain, it is probable, that had I been cast into regions subject to a rigorous winter, I should have been more anxious to have escaped from the forest. Perpetual summer, however, beguiled me from my resolution, and being unprovided with a defence against ease and indolence, years passed on while I was only dreaming of home and friends. The hand of Providence, notwithstanding, continued over me, and in a miraculous manner took me from savage life. The sun's departing red rays were shining on the surface of the river, as Pecoe, myself, and three other youths were hastening in our canoes to reach home before night should set in, when I heard the stroke of oars, that indicated the approach of a boat's crew. I have before said that an inexplicable feeling came over me whenever I thought that I was in approximation with those who might be the means of conveying me again into civilized life. On this occasion I was for the moment paralysed. Pausing to assure myself of the reality of the sounds, I heard Pecoe and his companions calling to me to pull towards the opposite shore, from whence the sounds proceeded, and turning round to ascertain the direction they were pursuing, I caught sight of a long-boat, manned with ten sailors, just turning a point of land which had hitherto screened them from my view. The Indians were still calling to me, but it was too late. With the usual celerity of British sailors, the boat in a few seconds was abreast of my canoe. The officer who commanded the crew pulled my canoe aft, and after scrutinizing my countenance, ejaculated, "The boatswain is right--an European; but not, as he supposed, a runaway convict; it's the wrong latitude for that kind of fish;" continuing, "Come, young man, step into our boat: we are in want of some information with which you may furnish us." [Sidenote: Impressed on board an English ship] I hesitated, then made some reply in English, when one of the sailors exclaimed, "I told Tom that he was a Briton." "I am glad I have met with a countryman," resumed the officer, who held the canoe fast as he offered his hand to assist me into his own boat; but as I still hesitated, he affected to stumble, and in the action drew me over the bow of the canoe, which constrained me either to jump into the ship's boat or fall into the river. When seated beside the lieutenant, I had in some measure recovered from my surprise; I inquired whether the practice of pressing in the British navy was revived. "It is not," replied the lieutenant, "but I shall feel myself justified in detaining you until I have the particulars of your history, and learn especially what brought you into this part of the world." All this time the boat was proceeding down the river, and had carried me out of sight of my Indian friends. When I informed the officer that I had been lost when a boy, he replied-- "Then you are now found; but have you a knowledge of this river?" "From hence upwards I have," said I. "having accompanied the Indians in their farthest migrations." "Make your mind easy," rejoined the officer, "I shall introduce you to the captain of our brig." It appeared that the boat had been sent out by a government brig which was on a survey in the river Amazon, to ascertain the course of one of its tributaries. Late in the evening of the following day we reached the ship, and when my story had been heard by the captain, he at once determined on taking me with him, saying that he should find means of sending me to Berbice, the point, he judged, from which my father had started, and to which place he thought it probable my father would in the first instance transmit an account of my having been lost; and where also it was likely some arrangement had been made for providing me with the means of finding my way to his residence. The brig remained two months on the survey, and then sailed for Halifax, crossing the Mexican bay, where I had an opportunity of witnessing the extraordinary phenomena produced by a large body of fish that at one time surrounded the vessel. The sea was like one field of fireworks, all sparkling with serpents and silver spangles; the mind, when contemplating such scenes, is lost in amazement at the prodigious number of living things the regions of the sea contain. But whether the naturalist turns to the woods and the water, or explores the cloud-capt mountains, the sequestered cave, or the rocky cliffs, he will at first be embarrassed at the sight of the variety of objects that claim his attention; and it is only by learning how to distinguish them in a methodical manner that the mind can be brought to contemplate them in detail. On board the vessel I was supplied with a sailor's dress, but the force of habit was so strong that for a considerable time I could not wear it with any comfort to myself. The captain was faithful to his promise, and from Halifax sent me in a merchant vessel to Demerara, with a letter addressed to the British consul at that station. On my arrival I presented myself before that authority, who the next day produced a colonial newspaper in which I had seven years previously been advertised, and a reward offered for my recovery, and in which also the name of an agent was mentioned who would defray any costs incurred on the occasion. [Sidenote: Return to society] Fortunately that gentleman was still in the colony, who, after satisfying himself of my identity, promised to avail himself of the earliest opportunity to restore me to my family. The location of my father's property was on the remote banks of a branch of the Amazon river, to which few vessels traded, there was therefore no possibility of reaching it otherwise than overland, as the family had previously done. For some time after my arrival in Demerara, I found myself an object of interest, receiving invitations from most of the respectable inhabitants; while my appearance in the streets excited a sensation. Although I was much pleased with the opportunity of attending public worship, where I might collect and concentrate the scattered ideas I retained of my father's faith, yet the ceremonies and forms of society appeared ridiculous to me, and were very irksome. [Sidenote: First sight of home] [Sidenote: The brother and sister] [Sidenote: Rengal] I received marked attention and kindness from the gentleman who had been advertised as my father's agent, and an opportunity soon occurred for him to place me under safe escort to my home. Two gentlemen were about to journey near to where my father resided, and they kindly undertook my safe conveyance. They were entrusted with a letter from the agent to my father, which was to be delivered into no other hands but his own. I can scarcely describe my delight when all was in readiness for our departure and we set out on our journey. My feelings of impatience grew more uncontrollable every day. The thoughts of home and the prospect of again beholding all I held dear on earth made my passage appear a lifetime;--tedious and protracted as it was I shall pass it over now, as it had no incident that was at all attractive to me--until we arrived at the Amazon River, whose clear surface I hailed with indescribable delight, as I knew then we were not far from my father's estate. Following its course for a day we arrived towards the afternoon at a plantation of cotton, the proprietor of which informed me that we were within two miles of my father's house. He had heard the particulars of my absence, but declined to comply with my request to go and inform the family of my arrival. The reason he assigned was that he had lately been engaged in a dispute with my father, and therefore could not undertake my mission--adding that the alteration in my appearance, living as I had from the age of thirteen to twenty in the wilderness, would be sufficient to prevent them from recognising me at first. I then inquired for my uncles, and was informed that one had sold his land and returned to England, and that the other (the widower) was dead. This unchristian man also informed me that, in his opinion, I had been given up as entirely lost by my family. As the day was advancing, I waited no longer to hold converse with him, but abruptly turned away, disgusted with his apathy and want of feeling. As we proceeded towards my home, I consulted with the two gentlemen who were my guides what course to adopt in breaking the intelligence of my return, to my family, as I felt a dread of presenting myself too precipitately after so long an absence, being naturally fearful that the shock would be more than my mother could sustain. We deemed it prudent, therefore, to send the letter by one of my guides, while I waited the result close by. Our precautions, however, were not carried into effect, as an incident occurred which rendered them unnecessary. I had arrived in sight of my father's habitation, and paused on a slight eminence to contemplate with mingled feelings of surprise, delight, and fear, the spot made sacred by the affections which were centred there, with all the ties which bound me to the world--that spot which, from the meanest to the noblest in every land, is the only haven of refuge from the troubles and travail in this life, and which finds a ready response in every heart by the one magic word--home! I had not felt its cheering influence for now more than six years. An outcast and a wanderer for that period, how often in the loneliness of my forest life had I yearned to be again restored to it, and to find, like the dove of old, a place of refuge and rest--an ark, and a covenant. But now, as the fruition of my hopes appeared to be realized, I paused, spell-bound and overpowered by the many conflicting feelings which the sight of it had conjured up. The memory of all the incidents of my early life--the days of childhood--the school-boy troubles--the many acts of parental kindness evinced in a thousand ways--were all pictured to my sight in one rapid glance. And then the terrible foreboding presented itself, that I might not find my family circle as I had left them--alive and in health. In the history of the world six years is but a speck of time; but with individuals the case is widely different. I had lost one uncle, and the fear came across me that my loss might not be ended thus. I almost dreaded to make the inquiry, as I felt incapable of bearing such a calamity. It was a beautiful mansion which lay before me. The large and well-built house, surrounded with thick foliage--the carefully cultivated grounds surrounding it--the broad and extensive landscape beyond of richly wooded hill and dale--the wide and meandering river by whose banks I had been guided thither--gave to the scene a lofty grandeur. While standing thus irresolute, a young man of some five or six and twenty was advancing towards us; he had on his arm a female, with whom he appeared to be chatting familiarly. I watched them as they came near us, and from the young man's appearance judged him to be one of the settlers here. As they approached, I heard their voices more distinctly. That of the female fell upon my ear in well remembered tones. There could be no mistaking them, I knew it to be the voice of my sister. But ah! how changed she was. The laughing merry girl had grown into a staid and matronly woman. I could hardly believe it possible; but to assure myself, I inquired of her companion if that was the residence of Mr. Howard. My sister started as I spoke, turned pale, and looked at me intently. I suppose I was changed; indeed, there was but little doubt of that--but changed as I was, she could not be deceived. She trembled, and would have fallen, had I not caught her in my arms in a fond embrace. The first surprise over, she laughed and cried by turns, and overwhelmed me with caresses. Then the numberless inquiries she had to make! One after the other in such rapid succession, without waiting for replies. I know not what the three spectators of the scene must have thought; but no doubt they deemed her frantic, and, indeed, for the time, I believe she was. My first inquiry was about my parents. They were both well. She had left them a few minutes previously. Her companion she introduced to me as her husband. She told me, also, that she had two children, a little boy and girl. We arranged our plan, if it could be called arrangement, where all was mad delight; she insisted that my two guides should go home with her husband for that evening, as his house was close by, and deliver the letter in the morning, while she and myself went home to our parents. When we had arrived at the house, I detained her from entering until I had peeped in at the window to take a glance at its inmates. There was a light in the interior, and I could observe all distinctly. I saw my father seated in a comfortable apartment, quite unconscious of any one observing them. My father was reading aloud one of the local papers. He wore spectacles; I remember to have been struck with this, otherwise, my mother and he were not at all changed. The same as I had left them--the old familiar faces, remembered from earliest childhood--the old familiar faces, it made a child of me again to gaze on them. Presently my sister entered, and from her hurried manner and sudden return, they seemed surprised. She said something, I did not know what, but my father rose, and hastily throwing down the paper, gazed wonderingly on my sister. I waited no longer--another moment--I was on my knees before my mother, buried in her embrace. She wept over me, her truant boy, tears of joy. Who of us has not felt the depth and purity of a mother's love? Who hath not found, be his errors what they might, that there was one gentle spirit to turn to, ever ready to pardon, protect, and solace? I felt the force of this doubly then. And now, when past the meridian of my life, I look back through the long vista of the past, the self-devotedness of a mother's love shines forth as something "which lighted up my way of life," never to be forgotten. My father could scarcely find utterance, from excess of joy at my return. I recounted to him a brief summary of all I had gone through since I had been lost, and half that night was passed in the details of my story. My sister did not return to her own home till the following morning, when I accompanied her. Another surprise awaited me. I saw Rengal and his father working on our estate. They had become devoted and trustworthy servants of the family, being employed as free labourers. It seemed that my father had instituted a vigorous search for me, and had engaged them many months for that purpose, believing their acquaintance with the country would be of infinite service in the undertaking. Their labours, however, proved fruitless, as my reader already knows. Ultimately, pleased with their faithful conduct, and evident anxiety to accomplish my restoration, he engaged them as assistants on his farm, where they had remained ever since. Their surprise and extravagant delight when I made myself known, exceeded all bounds; and although, perhaps, I compromised my dignity, I was obliged, in spite of myself, to burst out into a fit of immoderate laughter. There was a degree of comicality about these people which was perfectly irresistible, the more so, as they could not at all comprehend it themselves. The old negro informed me that he had discovered his daughter, and my sister's husband had purchased her freedom, and engaged her as a domestic in his house. * * * * * Many years have rolled on since the incidents described in this narrative occurred. Time has been busy with his ceaseless works and wondrous changes. Our little settlement has now sprung up into a large and thriving city, in whose streets are seen a throng of busy men. Our river bears upon its bosom many argosies freighted with the merchandise of every clime. Our meadows are ploughed into furrows by the hand of the skilful husbandman, and returning autumn sees them laden with the products of cultivated nature. The giant, steam, is made a slave to man. and is seen at work on the mill--the mine--the forge--and rail; and everywhere marks of the master spirit, industry, are visible in our town. For myself, I am rich in the possession of all the blessings of domestic life, with an amiable and loving partner and dutiful children. I am respected as a thriving merchant, and I hope as a worthy friend. My parents, I am happy to say, still cheer me with their presence and advice; and if this, the narrative of my earlier years, should awaken the youthful mind to a sense of self-reliance and dependence under all trials and vicissitudes, and make manifest the bounteous providence of a wise and beneficent Creator, my labours will not have been spent in vain. THE END. [Transcriber's note: In this etext, the source book's variant page headings have been converted to sidenotes and positioned where most logical.] 
21721	----	THE CORAL ISLAND, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. CHAPTER ONE. BEGINNING--MY EARLY LIFE AND CHARACTER--I THIRST FOR ADVENTURE IN FOREIGN LANDS, AND GO TO SEA. Roving has always been, and still is, my ruling passion, the joy of my heart, the very sunshine of my existence. In childhood, in boyhood, and in man's estate I have been a rover; not a mere rambler among the woody glens and upon the hill-tops of my own native land, but an enthusiastic rover throughout the length and breadth of the wide, wide world. It was a wild, black night of howling storm, the night on which I was born on the foaming bosom of the broad Atlantic Ocean. My father was a sea-captain; my grandfather was a sea-captain; my great-grandfather had been a marine. Nobody could tell positively what occupation _his_ father had followed; but my dear mother used to assert that he had been a midshipman, whose grandfather, on the mother's side, had been an admiral in the Royal Navy. At any rate, we knew that as far back as our family could be traced, it had been intimately connected with the great watery waste. Indeed, this was the case on both sides of the house; for my mother always went to sea with my father on his long voyages, and so spent the greater part of her life upon the water. Thus it was, I suppose, that I came to inherit a roving disposition. Soon after I was born, my father, being old, retired from a seafaring life, purchased a small cottage in a fishing village on the west coast of England, and settled down to spend the evening of his life on the shores of that sea which had for so many years been his home. It was not long after this that I began to show the roving spirit that dwelt within me. For some time past my infant legs had been gaining strength, so that I came to be dissatisfied with rubbing the skin off my chubby knees by walking on them, and made many attempts to stand up and walk like a man--all of which attempts, however, resulted in my sitting down violently and in sudden surprise. One day I took advantage of my dear mother's absence to make another effort; and, to my joy, I actually succeeded in reaching the doorstep, over which I tumbled into a pool of muddy water that lay before my father's cottage door. Ah, how vividly I remember the horror of my poor mother when she found me sweltering in the mud amongst a group of cackling ducks, and the tenderness with which she stripped off my dripping clothes and washed my dirty little body! From this time forth my rambles became more frequent and, as I grew older, more distant, until at last I had wandered far and near on the shore and in the woods around our humble dwelling, and did not rest content until my father bound me apprentice to a coasting-vessel and let me go to sea. For some years I was happy in visiting the seaports, and in coasting along the shores, of my native land. My Christian name was Ralph; and my comrades added to this the name of Rover, in consequence of the passion which I always evinced for travelling. Rover was not my real name; but as I never received any other, I came at last to answer to it as naturally as to my proper name. And as it is not a bad one, I see no good reason why I should not introduce myself to the reader as Ralph Rover. My shipmates were kind, good-natured fellows, and they and I got on very well together. They did, indeed, very frequently make game of and banter me, but not unkindly; and I overheard them sometimes saying that Ralph Rover was a "queer, old-fashioned fellow." This, I must confess, surprised me much; and I pondered the saying long, but could come at no satisfactory conclusion as to that wherein my old-fashionedness lay. It is true I was a quiet lad, and seldom spoke except when spoken to. Moreover, I never could understand the jokes of my companions even when they were explained to me, which dulness in apprehension occasioned me much grief. However, I tried to make up for it by smiling and looking pleased when I observed that they were laughing at some witticism which I had failed to detect. I was also very fond of inquiring into the nature of things and their causes, and often fell into fits of abstraction while thus engaged in my mind. But in all this I saw nothing that did not seem to be exceedingly natural, and could by no means understand why my comrades should call me "an old-fashioned fellow." Now, while engaged in the coasting trade I fell in with many seamen who had travelled to almost every quarter of the globe; and I freely confess that my heart glowed ardently within me as they recounted their wild adventures in foreign lands--the dreadful storms they had weathered, the appalling dangers they had escaped, the wonderful creatures they had seen both on the land and in the sea, and the interesting lands and strange people they had visited. But of all the places of which they told me, none captivated and charmed my imagination so much as the Coral Islands of the Southern Seas. They told me of thousands of beautiful, fertile islands that had been formed by a small creature called the coral insect, where summer reigned nearly all the year round, where the trees were laden with a constant harvest of luxuriant fruit, where the climate was almost perpetually delightful; yet where, strange to say, men were wild, bloodthirsty savages, excepting in those favoured isles to which the Gospel of our Saviour had been conveyed. These exciting accounts had so great an effect upon my mind that, when I reached the age of fifteen, I resolved to make a voyage to the South Seas. I had no little difficulty, at first, in prevailing on my dear parents to let me go; but when I urged on my father that he would never have become a great captain had he remained in the coasting trade, he saw the truth of what I said and gave his consent. My dear mother, seeing that my father had made up his mind, no longer offered opposition to my wishes. "But, oh Ralph!" she said on the day I bade her adieu, "come back soon to us, my dear boy; for we are getting old now, Ralph, and may not have many years to live." I will not take up my readers' time with a minute account of all that occurred before I took my final leave of my dear parents. Suffice it to say that my father placed me under the charge of an old messmate of his own, a merchant captain, who was on the point of sailing to the South Seas in his own ship, the _Arrow_. My mother gave me her blessing and a small Bible; and her last request was that I would never forget to read a chapter every day and say my prayers, which I promised, with tears in my eyes, that I would certainly do. Soon afterwards I went on board the _Arrow_, which was a fine, large ship, and set sail for the islands of the Pacific Ocean. CHAPTER TWO. THE DEPARTURE--THE SEA--MY COMPANIONS--SOME ACCOUNT OF THE WONDERFUL SIGHTS WE SAW ON THE GREAT DEEP--A DREADFUL STORM AND A FRIGHTFUL WRECK. It was a bright, beautiful, warm day when our ship spread her canvas to the breeze and sailed for the regions of the south. Oh, how my heart bounded with delight as I listened to the merry chorus of the sailors while they hauled at the ropes and got in the anchor! The captain shouted; the men ran to obey; the noble ship bent over to the breeze, and the shore gradually faded from my view; while I stood looking on, with a kind of feeling that the whole was a delightful dream. The first thing that struck me as being different from anything I had yet seen during my short career on the sea, was the hoisting of the anchor on deck and lashing it firmly down with ropes, as if we had now bid adieu to the land for ever and would require its services no more. "There, lass!" cried a broad-shouldered jack-tar, giving the fluke of the anchor a hearty slap with his hand after the housing was completed--"there, lass, take a good nap now, for we sha'n't ask you to kiss the mud again for many a long day to come!" And so it was. That anchor did not "kiss the mud" for many long days afterwards; and when at last it did, it was for the last time! There were a number of boys in the ship, but two of them were my special favourites. Jack Martin was a tall, strapping, broad-shouldered youth of eighteen, with a handsome, good-humoured, firm face. He had had a good education, was clever and hearty and lion-like in his actions, but mild and quiet in disposition. Jack was a general favourite, and had a peculiar fondness for me. My other companion was Peterkin Gay. He was little, quick, funny, decidedly mischievous, and about fourteen years old. But Peterkin's mischief was almost always harmless, else he could not have been so much beloved as he was. "Hallo, youngster!" cried Jack Martin, giving me a slap on the shoulder the day I joined the ship, "come below and I'll show you your berth. You and I are to be messmates; and I think we shall be good friends, for I like the look o' you." Jack was right. He and I, and Peterkin afterwards, became the best and staunchest friends that ever tossed together on the stormy waves. I shall say little about the first part of our voyage. We had the usual amount of rough weather and calm; also we saw many strange fish rolling in the sea, and I was greatly delighted one day by seeing a shoal of flying-fish dart out of the water and skim through the air about a foot above the surface. They were pursued by dolphins, which feed on them; and one flying-fish, in its terror, flew over the ship, struck on the rigging, and fell upon the deck. Its wings were just fins elongated; and we found that they could never fly far at a time, and never mounted into the air like birds, but skimmed along the surface of the sea. Jack and I had it for dinner, and found it remarkably good. When we approached Cape Horn, at the southern extremity of America, the weather became very cold and stormy, and the sailors began to tell stories about the furious gales and the dangers of that terrible cape. "Cape Horn," said one, "is the most horrible headland I ever doubled. I've sailed round it twice already, and both times the ship was a'most blow'd out o' the water." "I've been round it once," said another; "an' that time the sails were split, and the ropes frozen in the blocks so that they wouldn't work, and we wos all but lost." "An' I've been round it five times," cried a third; "an' every time wos wuss than another, the gales wos so tree-mendous!" "And I've been round it, no times at all," cried Peterkin with an impudent wink in his eye, "an' that time I wos blow'd inside out!" Nevertheless we passed the dreaded cape without much rough weather, and in the course of a few weeks afterwards were sailing gently, before a warm tropical breeze, over the Pacific Ocean. Thus we proceeded on our voyage--sometimes bounding merrily before a fair breeze; at other times floating calmly on the glassy wave and fishing for the curious inhabitants of the deep, all of which, although the sailors thought little of them, were strange, and interesting, and very wonderful to me. At last we came among the Coral Islands of the Pacific; and I shall never forget the delight with which I gazed--when we chanced to pass one--at the pure white, dazzling shores, and the verdant palm-trees, which looked bright and beautiful in the sunshine. And often did we three long to be landed on one, imagining that we should certainly find perfect happiness there! Our wish was granted sooner than we expected. One night, soon after we entered the tropics, an awful storm burst upon our ship. The first squall of wind carried away two of our masts, and left only the foremast standing. Even this, however, was more than enough, for we did not dare to hoist a rag of sail on it. For five days the tempest raged in all its fury. Everything was swept off the decks, except one small boat. The steersman was lashed to the wheel lest he should be washed away, and we all gave ourselves up for lost. The captain said that he had no idea where we were, as we had been blown far out of our course; and we feared much that we might get among the dangerous coral reefs which are so numerous in the Pacific. At daybreak on the sixth morning of the gale we saw land ahead; it was an island encircled by a reef of coral, on which the waves broke in fury. There was calm water within this reef, but we could see only one narrow opening into it. For this opening we steered; but ere we reached it a tremendous wave broke on our stern, tore the rudder completely off, and left us at the mercy of the winds and waves. "It's all over with us now, lads!" said the captain to the men. "Get the boat ready to launch; we shall be on the rocks in less than half-an-hour." The men obeyed in gloomy silence, for they felt that there was little hope of so small a boat living in such a sea. "Come, boys," said Jack Martin, in a grave tone, to me and Peterkin, as we stood on the quarter-deck awaiting our fate--"come, boys; we three shall stick together. You see it is impossible that the little boat can reach the shore, crowded with men. It will be sure to upset, so I mean rather to trust myself to a large oar. I see through the telescope that the ship will strike at the tail of the reef, where the waves break into the quiet water inside; so if we manage to cling to the oar till it is driven over the breakers, we may perhaps gain the shore. What say you? Will you join me?" We gladly agreed to follow Jack, for he inspired us with confidence-- although I could perceive, by the sad tone of his voice, that he had little hope; and indeed, when I looked at the white waves that lashed the reef and boiled against the rocks as if in fury, I felt that there was but a step between us and death. My heart sank within me; but at that moment my thoughts turned to my beloved mother, and I remembered those words, which were among the last that she said to me: "Ralph, my dearest child, always remember, in the hour of danger, to look to your Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. He alone is both able and willing to save your body and your soul." So I felt much comforted when I thought thereon. The ship was now very near the rocks. The men were ready with the boat, and the captain beside them giving orders, when a tremendous wave came towards us. We three ran towards the bow to lay hold of our oar, and had barely reached it when the wave fell on the deck with a crash like thunder. At the same moment the ship struck; the foremast broke off close to the deck and went over the side, carrying the boat and men along with it. Our oar got entangled with the wreck, and Jack seized an axe to cut it free; but owing to the motion of the ship, he missed the cordage and struck the axe deep into the oar. Another wave, however, washed it clear of the wreck. We all seized hold of it, and the next instant we were struggling in the wild sea. The last thing I saw was the boat whirling in the surf, and all the sailors tossed into the foaming waves. Then I became insensible. On recovering from my swoon I found myself lying on a bank of soft grass, under shelter of an overhanging rock, with Peterkin on his knees by my side, tenderly bathing my temples with water, and endeavouring to stop the blood that flowed from a wound in my forehead. CHAPTER THREE. THE CORAL ISLAND--OUR FIRST COGITATIONS AFTER LANDING AND THE RESULT OF THEM--WE CONCLUDE THAT THE ISLAND IS UNINHABITED. There is a strange and peculiar sensation experienced in recovering from a state of insensibility which is almost indescribable: a sort of dreamy, confused consciousness; a half-waking, half-sleeping condition, accompanied with a feeling of weariness, which, however, is by no means disagreeable. As I slowly recovered, and heard the voice of Peterkin inquiring whether I felt better, I thought that I must have overslept myself, and should be sent to the masthead for being lazy; but before I could leap up in haste, the thought seemed to vanish suddenly away, and I fancied that I must have been ill. Then a balmy breeze fanned my cheek; and I thought of home, and the garden at the back of my father's cottage with its luxuriant flowers, and the sweet-scented honeysuckle that my dear mother trained so carefully upon the trellised porch. But the roaring of the surf put these delightful thoughts to flight, and I was back again at sea, watching the dolphins and the flying-fish, and reefing topsails off the wild and stormy Cape Horn. Gradually the roar of the surf became louder and more distinct. I thought of being wrecked far, far away from my native land, and slowly opened my eyes to meet those of my companion Jack, who, with a look of intense anxiety, was gazing into my face. "Speak to us, my dear Ralph!" whispered Jack tenderly. "Are you better now?" I smiled and looked up, saying, "Better! Why, what do you mean, Jack? I'm quite well." "Then what are you shamming for, and frightening us in this way?" said Peterkin, smiling through his tears; for the poor boy had been really under the impression that I was dying. I now raised myself on my elbow, and putting my hand to my forehead, found that it had been cut pretty severely, and that I had lost a good deal of blood. "Come, come, Ralph," said Jack, pressing me gently backward, "lie down, my boy; you're not right yet. Wet your lips with this water; it's cool and clear as crystal. I got it from a spring close at hand. There, now, don't say a word--hold your tongue," he said, seeing me about to speak. "I'll tell you all about it, but you must not utter a syllable till you have rested well." "Oh, don't stop him from speaking, Jack!" said Peterkin, who, now that his fears for my safety were removed, busied himself in erecting a shelter of broken branches in order to protect me from the wind--which, however, was almost unnecessary, for the rock beside which I had been laid completely broke the force of the gale. "Let him speak, Jack; it's a comfort to hear that he's alive after lying there stiff and white and sulky for a whole hour, just like an Egyptian mummy.--Never saw such a fellow as you are, Ralph--always up to mischief. You've almost knocked out all my teeth and more than half-choked me, and now you go shamming dead! It's very wicked of you, indeed it is." While Peterkin ran on in this style my faculties became quite clear again, and I began to understand my position. "What do you mean by saying I half-choked you, Peterkin?" said I. "What do I mean? Is English not your mother-tongue? or do you want me to repeat it in French by way of making it clearer? Don't you remember?" "I remember nothing," said I, interrupting him, "after we were thrown into the sea." "Hush, Peterkin!" said Jack; "you're exciting Ralph with your nonsense.--I'll explain it to you. You recollect that, after the ship struck, we three sprang over the bow into the sea? Well, I noticed that the oar struck your head and gave you that cut on the brow which nearly stunned you, so that you grasped Peterkin round the neck without knowing apparently what you were about. In doing so, you pushed the telescope-- which you clung to as if it had been your life--against Peterkin's mouth--" "Pushed it against his mouth!" interrupted Peterkin; "say crammed it down his throat! Why, there's a distinct mark of the brass rim on the back of my gullet at this moment!" "Well, well, be that as it may," continued Jack, "you clung to him, Ralph, till I feared you really would choke him. But I saw that he had a good hold of the oar; so I exerted myself to the utmost to push you towards the shore, which we luckily reached without much trouble, for the water inside the reef is quite calm." "But the captain and crew, what of them?" I inquired anxiously. Jack shook his head. "Are they lost?" "No, they are not lost, I hope; but, I fear, there is not much chance of their being saved. The ship struck at the very tail of the island on which we are cast. When the boat was tossed into the sea it fortunately did not upset, although it shipped a good deal of water, and all the men managed to scramble into it; but before they could get the oars out, the gale carried them past the point and away to leeward of the island. After we landed I saw them endeavouring to pull towards us; but as they had only one pair of oars out of the eight that belonged to the boat, and as the wind was blowing right in their teeth, they gradually lost ground. Then I saw them put about and hoist some sort of sail--a blanket, I fancy, for it was too small for the boat--and in half-an-hour they were out of sight." "Poor fellows!" I murmured sorrowfully. "But the more I think about it I've better hope of them," continued Jack in a more cheerful tone. "You see, Ralph, I've read a great deal about these South Sea Islands, and I know that in many places they are scattered about in thousands over the sea, so they're almost sure to fall in with one of them before long." "I'm sure I hope so," said Peterkin earnestly. "But what has become of the wreck, Jack? I saw you clambering up the rocks there while I was watching Ralph. Did you say she had gone to pieces?" "No, she has not gone to pieces; but she has gone to the bottom," replied Jack. "As I said before, she struck on the tail of the island and stove in her bow; but the next breaker swung her clear, and she floated away to leeward. The poor fellows in the boat made a hard struggle to reach her, but long before they came near her she filled and went down. It was after she had foundered that I saw them trying to pull to the island." There was a long silence after Jack had ceased speaking, and I have no doubt that each was revolving in his mind our extraordinary position. For my part, I cannot say that my reflections were very agreeable. I knew that we were on an island, for Jack had said so; but whether it was inhabited or not, I did not know. If it should be inhabited, I felt certain, from all I had heard of South Sea Islanders, that we should be roasted alive and eaten. If it should turn out to be uninhabited, I fancied that we should be starved to death. "Oh," thought I, "if the ship had only struck on the rocks we might have done pretty well, for we could have obtained provisions from her, and tools to enable us to build a shelter; but now--alas! alas! we are lost!" These last words I uttered aloud in my distress. "Lost, Ralph!" exclaimed Jack, while a smile overspread his hearty countenance. "Saved, you should have said. Your cogitations seem to have taken a wrong road, and led you to a wrong conclusion." "Do you know what conclusion I have come to?" said Peterkin. "I have made up my mind that it's capital--first-rate--the best thing that ever happened to us, and the most splendid prospect that ever lay before three jolly young tars. We've got an island all to ourselves. We'll take possession in the name of the king. We'll go and enter the service of its black inhabitants. Of course we'll rise, naturally, to the top of affairs: white men always do in savage countries. You shall be king, Jack; Ralph, prime minister; and I shall be--" "The court-jester," interrupted Jack. "No," retorted Peterkin; "I'll have no title at all. I shall merely accept a highly responsible situation under government; for you see, Jack, I'm fond of having an enormous salary and nothing to do." "But suppose there are no natives?" "Then we'll build a charming villa, and plant a lovely garden round it, stuck all full of the most splendiferous tropical flowers; and we'll farm the land, plant, sow, reap, eat, sleep, and be merry." "But to be serious," said Jack, assuming a grave expression of countenance--which, I observed, always had the effect of checking Peterkin's disposition to make fun of everything--"we are really in rather an uncomfortable position. If this is a desert island, we shall have to live very much like the wild beasts; for we have not a tool of any kind--not even a knife." "Yes, we have _that_," said Peterkin, fumbling in his trousers pocket, from which he drew forth a small penknife with only one blade, and that was broken. "Well, that's better than nothing.--But come," said Jack, rising; "we are wasting our time in _talking_ instead of _doing_.--You seem well enough to walk now, Ralph.--Let us see what we have got in our pockets; and then let us climb some hill and ascertain what sort of island we have been cast upon, for, whether good or bad, it seems likely to be our home for some time to come." CHAPTER FOUR. WE EXAMINE INTO OUR PERSONAL PROPERTY, AND MAKE A HAPPY DISCOVERY--OUR ISLAND DESCRIBED--JACK PROVES HIMSELF TO BE LEARNED AND SAGACIOUS ABOVE HIS FELLOWS--CURIOUS DISCOVERIES--NATURAL LEMONADE! We now seated ourselves upon a rock, and began to examine into our personal property. When we reached the shore after being wrecked, my companions had taken off part of their clothes and spread them out in the sun to dry; for although the gale was raging fiercely, there was not a single cloud in the bright sky. They had also stripped off most part of my wet clothes and spread them also on the rocks. Having resumed our garments, we now searched all our pockets with the utmost care, and laid their contents out on a flat stone before us; and now that our minds were fully alive to our condition, it was with no little anxiety that we turned our several pockets inside out in order that nothing might escape us. When all was collected together, we found that our worldly goods consisted of the following articles: First, a small penknife with a single blade, broken off about the middle and very rusty, besides having two or three notches on its edge. (Peterkin said of this, with his usual pleasantry, that it would do for a saw as well as a knife, which was a great advantage.) Second, an old German-silver pencil-case without any lead in it. Third, a piece of whip-cord about six yards long. Fourth, a sailmaker's needle of a small size. Fifth, a ship's telescope, which I happened to have in my hand at the time the ship struck, and which I had clung to firmly all the time I was in the water; indeed, it was with difficulty that Jack got it out of my grasp when I was lying insensible on the shore. I cannot understand why I kept such a firm hold of this telescope. They say that a drowning man will clutch at a straw. Perhaps it may have been some such feeling in me, for I did not know that it was in my hand at the time we were wrecked. However, we felt some pleasure in having it with us now-- although we did not see that it could be of much use to us, as the glass at the small end was broken to pieces. Our sixth article was a brass ring which Jack always wore on his little finger. I never understood why he wore it; for Jack was not vain of his appearance, and did not seem to care for ornaments of any kind. Peterkin said, "it was in memory of the girl he left behind him!" But as he never spoke of this girl to either of us, I am inclined to think that Peterkin was either jesting or mistaken. In addition to these articles, we had a little bit of tinder and the clothes on our backs. These last were as follows: Each of us had on a pair of stout canvas trousers and a pair of sailors' thick shoes. Jack wore a red flannel shirt, a blue jacket, and a red Kilmarnock bonnet or nightcap, besides a pair of worsted socks, and a cotton pocket-handkerchief with sixteen portraits of Lord Nelson printed on it and a union-jack in the middle. Peterkin had on a striped flannel shirt--which he wore outside his trousers and belted round his waist, after the manner of a tunic--and a round black straw hat. He had no jacket, having thrown it off just before we were cast into the sea; but this was not of much consequence, as the climate of the island proved to be extremely mild--so much so, indeed, that Jack and I often preferred to go about without our jackets. Peterkin had also a pair of white cotton socks and a blue handkerchief with white spots all over it. My own costume consisted of a blue flannel shirt, a blue jacket, a black cap, and a pair of worsted socks, besides the shoes and canvas trousers already mentioned. This was all we had, and besides these things we had nothing else; but when we thought of the danger from which we had escaped, and how much worse off we might have been had the ship struck on the reef during the night, we felt very thankful that we were possessed of so much, although, I must confess, we sometimes wished that we had had a little more. While we were examining these things and talking about them, Jack suddenly started and exclaimed: "The oar! We have forgotten the oar!" "What good will that do us?" said Peterkin. "There's wood enough on the island to make a thousand oars." "Ay, lad," replied Jack; "but there's a bit of hoop-iron at the end of it, and that may be of much use to us." "Very true," said I; "let us go fetch it." And with that we all three rose and hastened down to the beach. I still felt a little weak from loss of blood, so that my companions soon began to leave me behind; but Jack perceived this, and, with his usual considerate good-nature, turned back to help me. This was now the first time that I had looked well about me since landing, as the spot where I had been laid was covered with thick bushes, which almost hid the country from our view. As we now emerged from among these and walked down the sandy beach together, I cast my eyes about, and truly my heart glowed within me and my spirits rose at the beautiful prospect which I beheld on every side. The gale had suddenly died away, just as if it had blown furiously till it dashed our ship upon the rocks, and had nothing more to do after accomplishing that. The island on which we stood was hilly, and covered almost everywhere with the most beautiful and richly coloured trees, bushes, and shrubs, none of which I knew the names of at that time--except, indeed, the cocoa-nut palms, which I recognised at once from the many pictures that I had seen of them before I left home. A sandy beach of dazzling whiteness lined this bright-green shore, and upon it there fell a gentle ripple of the sea. This last astonished me much, for I recollected that at home the sea used to fall in huge billows on the shore long after a storm had subsided. But on casting my glance out to sea the cause became apparent. About a mile distant from the shore I saw the great billows of the ocean rolling like a green wall, and falling with a long, loud roar upon a low coral reef, where they were dashed into white foam and flung up in clouds of spray. This spray sometimes flew exceedingly high, and every here and there a beautiful rainbow was formed for a moment among the falling drops. We afterwards found that this coral reef extended quite round the island, and formed a natural breakwater to it. Beyond this, the sea rose and tossed violently from the effects of the storm; but between the reef and the shore it was as calm and as smooth as a pond. My heart was filled with more delight than I can express at sight of so many glorious objects, and my thoughts turned suddenly to the contemplation of the Creator of them all. I mention this the more gladly, because at that time, I am ashamed to say, I very seldom thought of my Creator, although I was constantly surrounded by the most beautiful and wonderful of His works. I observed, from the expression of my companion's countenance, that he too derived much joy from the splendid scenery, which was all the more agreeable to us after our long voyage on the salt sea. There the breeze was fresh and cold; but here it was delightfully mild, and when a puff blew off the land it came laden with the most exquisite perfume that can be imagined. While we thus gazed we were startled by a loud "Huzza!" from Peterkin, and on looking towards the edge of the sea we saw him capering and jumping about like a monkey, and ever and anon tugging with all his might at something that lay upon the shore. "What an odd fellow he is, to be sure!" said Jack, taking me by the arm and hurrying forward. "Come, let us hasten to see what it is." "Here it is, boys--hurrah! Come along! Just what we want!" cried Peterkin as we drew near, still tugging with all his power. "First-rate; just the very ticket!" I need scarcely say to my readers that my companion Peterkin was in the habit of using very remarkable and peculiar phrases. And I am free to confess that I did not well understand the meaning of some of them-- such, for instance, as "the very ticket;" but I think it my duty to recount everything relating to my adventures with a strict regard to truthfulness in as far as my memory serves me, so I write, as nearly as possible, the exact words that my companions spoke. I often asked Peterkin to explain what he meant by "ticket," but he always answered me by going into fits of laughter. However, by observing the occasions on which he used it, I came to understand that it meant to show that something was remarkably good or fortunate. On coming up we found that Peterkin was vainly endeavouring to pull the axe out of the oar into which, it will be remembered, Jack struck it while endeavouring to cut away the cordage among which it had become entangled at the bow of the ship. Fortunately for us, the axe had remained fast in the oar, and even now all Peterkin's strength could not draw it out of the cut. "Ah, that is capital indeed!" cried Jack, at the same time giving the axe a wrench that plucked it out of the tough wood. "How fortunate this is! It will be of more value to us than a hundred knives, and the edge is quite new and sharp." "I'll answer for the toughness of the handle, at any rate!" cried Peterkin; "my arms are nearly pulled out of the sockets. But see here, our luck is great. There is iron on the blade." He pointed to a piece of hoop-iron as he spoke, which had been nailed round the blade of the oar to prevent it from splitting. This also was a fortunate discovery. Jack went down on his knees, and with the edge of the axe began carefully to force out the nails. But as they were firmly fixed in, and the operation blunted our axe, we carried the oar up with us to the place where we had left the rest of our things, intending to burn the wood away from the iron at a more convenient time. "Now, lads," said Jack after we had laid it on the stone which contained our little all, "I propose that we should go to the tail of the island, where the ship struck, which is only a quarter of a mile off; and see if anything else has been thrown ashore. I don't expect anything, but it is well to see. When we get back here it will be time to have our supper and prepare our beds." "Agreed!" cried Peterkin and I together, as, indeed, we would have agreed to any proposal that Jack made; for, besides his being older and much stronger and taller than either of us, he was a very clever fellow, and, I think, would have induced people much older than himself to choose him for their leader, especially if they required to be led on a bold enterprise. Now as we hastened along the white beach, which shone so brightly in the rays of the setting sun that our eyes were quite dazzled by its glare, it suddenly came into Peterkin's head that we had nothing to eat except the wild berries which grew in profusion at our feet. "What shall we do, Jack?" said he with a rueful look. "Perhaps they may be poisonous!" "No fear," replied Jack confidently. "I have observed that a few of them are not unlike some of the berries that grow wild on our own native hills. Besides, I saw one or two strange birds eating them just a few minutes ago, and what won't kill the birds won't kill us. But look up there, Peterkin," continued Jack, pointing to the branched head of a cocoa-nut palm. "There are nuts for us in all stages." "So there are!" cried Peterkin, who, being of a very unobservant nature, had been too much taken up with other things to notice anything so high above his head as the fruit of a palm-tree. But whatever faults my young comrade had, he could not be blamed for want of activity or animal spirits. Indeed, the nuts had scarcely been pointed out to him when he bounded up the tall stem of the tree like a squirrel, and in a few minutes returned with three nuts, each as large as a man's fist. "You had better keep them till we return," said Jack. "Let us finish our work before eating." "So be it, captain; go ahead!" cried Peterkin, thrusting the nuts into his trousers pocket. "In fact, I don't want to eat just now; but I would give a good deal for a drink. Oh, that I could find a spring! but I don't see the smallest sign of one hereabouts. I say, Jack, how does it happen that you seem to be up to everything? You have told us the names of half-a-dozen trees already, and yet you say that you were never in the South Seas before." "I'm not up to everything, Peterkin, as you'll find out ere long," replied Jack with a smile; "but I have been a great reader of books of travel and adventure all my life, and that has put me up to a good many things that you are, perhaps, not acquainted with." "Oh, Jack, that's all humbug! If you begin to lay everything to the credit of books, I'll quite lose my opinion of you," cried Peterkin with a look of contempt. "I've seen a lot o' fellows that were _always_ poring over books, and when they came to try to _do_ anything, they were no better than baboons!" "You are quite right," retorted Jack; "and I have seen a lot of fellows, who never looked into books at all, who knew nothing about anything except the things they had actually seen, and very little they knew even about these. Indeed, some were so ignorant that they did not know that cocoa-nuts grew on cocoa-nut trees!" I could not refrain from laughing at this rebuke, for there was much truth in it as to Peterkin's ignorance. "Humph! maybe you're right," answered Peterkin; "but I would not give _tuppence_ for a man of books if he had nothing else in him." "Neither would I," said Jack; "but that's no reason why you should run books down, or think less of me for having read them. Suppose, now, Peterkin, that you wanted to build a ship, and I were to give you a long and particular account of the way to do it, would not that be very useful?" "No doubt of it," said Peterkin, laughing. "And suppose I were to write the account in a letter instead of telling you in words, would that be less useful?" "Well--no, perhaps not." "Well, suppose I were to print it and send it to you in the form of a book, would it not be as good and useful as ever?" "Oh, bother! Jack, you're a philosopher, and that's worse than anything!" cried Peterkin with a look of pretended horror. "Very well, Peterkin, we shall see," returned Jack, halting under the shade of a cocoa-nut tree. "You said you were thirsty just a minute ago. Now jump up that tree and bring down a nut--not a ripe one; bring a green, unripe one." Peterkin looked surprised, but seeing that Jack was in earnest, he obeyed. "Now cut a hole in it with your penknife and clap it to your mouth, old fellow," said Jack. Peterkin did as he was directed, and we both burst into uncontrollable laughter at the changes that instantly passed over his expressive countenance. No sooner had he put the nut to his mouth, and thrown back his head in order to catch what came out of it, than his eyes opened to twice their ordinary size with astonishment, while his throat moved vigorously in the act of swallowing. Then a smile and a look of intense delight overspread his face, except, indeed, the mouth, which, being firmly fixed to the hole in the nut, could not take part in the expression; but he endeavoured to make up for this by winking at us excessively with his right eye. At length he stopped, and drawing a long breath, exclaimed: "Nectar! perfect nectar!--I say, Jack, you're a Briton--the best fellow I ever met in my life--Only taste that!" said he, turning to me and holding the nut to my mouth. I immediately drank, and certainly I was much surprised at the delightful liquid that flowed copiously down my throat. It was extremely cool, and had a sweet taste, mingled with acid; in fact, it was the likest thing to lemonade I ever tasted, and was most grateful and refreshing. I handed the nut to Jack, who, after tasting it, said, "Now, Peterkin, you unbeliever! I never saw or tasted a cocoa-nut in my life before, except those sold in shops at home; but I once read that the green nuts contain that stuff; and you see it is true." "And, pray," asked Peterkin, "what sort of `stuff' does the ripe nut contain?" "A hollow kernel," answered Jack, "with a liquid like milk in it; but it does not satisfy thirst so well as hunger. It is very wholesome food, I believe." "Meat and drink on the same tree!" cried Peterkin; "washing in the sea, lodging on the ground--and all for nothing! My dear boys, we're set up for life! It must be the ancient Paradise--hurrah!" and Peterkin tossed his straw hat in the air and ran along the beach, hallooing like a madman with delight. We afterwards found, however, that these lovely islands were very unlike Paradise in many things. But more of this in its proper place. We had now come to the point of rocks on which the ship had struck, but did not find a single article, although we searched carefully among the coral rocks, which at this place jutted out so far as nearly to join the reef that encircled the island. Just as we were about to return, however, we saw something black floating in a little cove that had escaped our observation. Running forward, we drew it from the water, and found it to be a long, thick, leather boot, such as fishermen at home wear; and a few paces farther on, we picked up its fellow. We at once recognised these as having belonged to our captain, for he had worn them during the whole of the storm in order to guard his legs from the waves and spray that constantly washed over our decks. My first thought on seeing them was that our dear captain had been drowned; but Jack soon put my mind more at rest on that point by saying that if the captain had been drowned with the boots on, he would certainly have been washed ashore along with them, and that he had no doubt whatever he had kicked them off while in the sea that he might swim more easily. Peterkin immediately put them on; but they were so large that, as Jack said, they would have done for boots, trousers, and vest too. I also tried them; but although I was long enough in the legs for them, they were much too large in the feet for me. So we handed them to Jack, who was anxious to make me keep them; but as they fitted his large limbs and feet as if they had been made for him, I would not hear of it, so he consented at last to use them. I may remark, however, that Jack did not use them often, as they were extremely heavy. It was beginning to grow dark when we returned to our encampment; so we put off our visit to the top of a hill till next day, and employed the light that yet remained to us in cutting down a quantity of boughs and the broad leaves of a tree of which none of us knew the name. With these we erected a sort of rustic bower, in which we meant to pass the night. There was no absolute necessity for this, because the air of our island was so genial and balmy that we could have slept quite well without any shelter; but we were so little used to sleeping in the open air that we did not quite relish the idea of lying down without any covering over us. Besides, our bower would shelter us from the night-dews or rain, if any should happen to fall. Having strewed the floor with leaves and dry grass, we bethought ourselves of supper. But it now occurred to us, for the first time, that we had no means of making a fire. "Now, there's a fix! What shall we do?" said Peterkin, while we both turned our eyes to Jack, to whom we always looked in our difficulties. Jack seemed not a little perplexed. "There are flints enough, no doubt, on the beach," said he; "but they are of no use at all without a steel. However, we must try." So saying, he went to the beach, and soon returned with two flints. On one of these he placed the tinder, and endeavoured to ignite it; but it was with great difficulty that a very small spark was struck out of the flints, and the tinder, being a bad, hard piece, would not catch. He then tried the bit of hoop-iron, which would not strike fire at all; and after that the back of the axe, with no better success. During all these trials Peterkin sat with his hands in his pockets, gazing with a most melancholy visage at our comrade, his face growing longer and more miserable at each successive failure. "Oh dear!" he sighed; "I would not care a button for the cooking of our victuals--perhaps they don't need it--but it's so dismal to eat one's supper in the dark, and we have had such a capital day that it's a pity to finish off in this glum style. Oh, I have it!" he cried, starting up: "the spy-glass--the big glass at the end is a burning-glass!" "You forget that we have no sun," said I. Peterkin was silent. In his sudden recollection of the telescope he had quite overlooked the absence of the sun. "Ah, boys, I've got it now!" exclaimed Jack, rising and cutting a branch from a neighbouring bush, which he stripped of its leaves. "I recollect seeing this done once at home. Hand me the bit of whip-cord." With the cord and branch Jack soon formed a bow. Then he cut a piece about three inches long off the end of a dead branch, which he pointed at the two ends. Round this he passed the cord of the bow, and placed one end against his chest, which was protected from its point by a chip of wood; the other point he placed against the bit of tinder, and then began to saw vigorously with the bow, just as a blacksmith does with his drill while boring a hole in a piece of iron. In a few seconds the tinder began to smoke; in less than a minute it caught fire; and in less than a quarter of an hour we were drinking our lemonade and eating cocoa-nuts round a fire that would have roasted an entire sheep, while the smoke, flames, and sparks flew up among the broad leaves of the overhanging palm-trees, and cast a warm glow upon our leafy bower. That night the starry sky looked down through the gently rustling trees upon our slumbers, and the distant roaring of the surf upon the coral reef was our lullaby. CHAPTER FIVE. MORNING, AND COGITATIONS CONNECTED THEREWITH--WE LUXURIATE IN THE SEA, TRY OUR DIVING POWERS, AND MAKE ENCHANTING EXCURSIONS AMONG THE CORAL GROVES AT THE BOTTOM OF THE OCEAN--THE WONDERS OF THE DEEP ENLARGED UPON. What a joyful thing it is to awaken on a fresh, glorious morning, and find the rising sun staring into your face with dazzling brilliancy! to hear the birds twittering in the bushes, and to hear the murmuring of a rill, or the soft, hissing ripples as they fall upon the seashore! At any time, and in any place, such sights and sounds are most charming; but more especially are they so when one awakens to them, for the first time, in a novel and romantic situation, with the soft, sweet air of a tropical climate mingling with the fresh smell of the sea, and stirring the strange leaves that flutter overhead and around one, or ruffling the plumage of the stranger birds that fly inquiringly around as if to demand what business we have to intrude uninvited on their domains. When I awoke on the morning after the shipwreck, I found myself in this most delightful condition; and as I lay on my back upon my bed of leaves, gazing up through the branches of the cocoa-nut trees into the clear blue sky, and watched the few fleecy clouds that passed slowly across it, my heart expanded more and more with an exulting gladness, the like of which I had never felt before. While I meditated, my thoughts again turned to the great and kind Creator of this beautiful world, as they had done on the previous day when I first beheld the sea and the coral reef, with the mighty waves dashing over it into the calm waters of the lagoon. While thus meditating, I naturally bethought me of my Bible, for I had faithfully kept the promise which I gave at parting to my beloved mother--that I would read it every morning; and it was with a feeling of dismay that I remembered I had left it in the ship. I was much troubled about this. However, I consoled myself with reflecting that I could keep the second part of my promise to her--namely, that I should never omit to say my prayers. So I rose quietly lest I should disturb my companions, who were still asleep, and stepped aside into the bushes for this purpose. On my return I found them still slumbering, so I again lay down to think over our situation. Just at that moment I was attracted by the sight of a very small parrot, which Jack afterwards told me was called a paroquet. It was seated on a twig that overhung Peterkin's head, and I was speedily lost in admiration of its bright-green plumage, which was mingled with other gay colours. While I looked I observed that the bird turned its head slowly from side to side and looked downwards, first with the one eye and then with the other. On glancing downwards I observed that Peterkin's mouth was wide open, and that this remarkable bird was looking into it. Peterkin used to say that I had not an atom of fun in my composition, and that I never could understand a joke. In regard to the latter, perhaps he was right; yet I think that, when they were explained to me, I understood jokes as well as most people. But in regard to the former, he must certainly have been wrong, for this bird seemed to me to be extremely funny; and I could not help thinking that if it should happen to faint, or slip its foot, and fall off the twig into Peterkin's mouth, he would perhaps think it funny too! Suddenly the paroquet bent down its head and uttered a loud scream in his face. This awoke him, and with a cry of surprise, he started up, while the foolish bird flew precipitately away. "Oh, you monster!" cried Peterkin, shaking his fist at the bird. Then he yawned, and rubbed his eyes, and asked what o'clock it was. I smiled at this question, and answered that, as our watches were at the bottom of the sea, I could not tell, but it was a little past sunrise. Peterkin now began to remember where we were. As he looked up into the bright sky, and snuffed the scented air, his eyes glistened with delight, and he uttered a faint "Hurrah!" and yawned again. Then he gazed slowly round, till, observing the calm sea through an opening in the bushes, he started suddenly up as if he had received an electric shock, uttered a vehement shout, flung off his garments, and rushing over the white sands, plunged into the water. The cry awoke Jack, who rose on his elbow with a look of grave surprise; but this was followed by a quiet smile of intelligence on seeing Peterkin in the water. With an energy that he only gave way to in moments of excitement, Jack bounded to his feet, threw off his clothes, shook back his hair, and with a lion-like spring, dashed over the sands and plunged into the sea with such force as quite to envelop Peterkin in a shower of spray. Jack was a remarkably good swimmer and diver, so that after his plunge we saw no sign of him for nearly a minute, after which he suddenly emerged, with a cry of joy, a good many yards out from the shore. My spirits were so much raised by seeing all this that I, too, hastily threw off my garments and endeavoured to imitate Jack's vigorous bound; but I was so awkward that my foot caught on a stump, and I fell to the ground. Then I slipped on a stone while running over the sand and nearly fell again, much to the amusement of Peterkin, who laughed heartily and called me a "slow coach;" while Jack cried out, "Come along, Ralph, and I'll help you!" However, when I got into the water I managed very well; for I was really a good swimmer and diver too. I could not, indeed, equal Jack, who was superior to any Englishman I ever saw; but I infinitely surpassed Peterkin, who could only swim a little, and could not dive at all. While Peterkin enjoyed himself in the shallow water and in running along the beach, Jack and I swam out into the deep water and occasionally dived for stones. I shall never forget my surprise and delight on first beholding the bottom of the sea. As I have before stated, the water within the reef was as calm as a pond; and as there was no wind, it was quite clear from the surface to the bottom, so that we could see down easily even at a depth of twenty or thirty yards. When Jack and I dived into shallower water we expected to have found sand and stones, instead of which we found ourselves in what appeared really to be an enchanted garden. The whole of the bottom of the lagoon, as we called the calm water within the reef, was covered with coral of every shape, size, and hue. Some portions were formed like large mushrooms; others appeared like the brain of a man, having stalks or necks attached to them; but the most common kind was a species of branching coral, and some portions were of a lovely pale-pink colour, others were pure white. Among this there grew large quantities of seaweed of the richest hues imaginable, and of the most graceful forms; while innumerable fishes--blue, red, yellow, green, and striped--sported in and out amongst the flower-beds of this submarine garden, and did not appear to be at all afraid of our approaching them. On darting to the surface for breath after our first dive, Jack and I rose close to each other. "Did you ever in your life, Ralph, see anything so lovely?" said Jack as he flung the spray from his hair. "Never," I replied. "It appears to me like fairy realms. I can scarcely believe that we are not dreaming." "Dreaming!" cried Jack. "Do you know, Ralph, I'm half-tempted to think that we really are dreaming! But if so, I am resolved to make the most of it and dream another dive; so here goes--down again, my boy!" We took the second dive together, and kept beside each other while under water; and I was greatly surprised to find that we could keep down much longer than I ever recollect having done in our own seas at home. I believe that this was owing to the heat of the water, which was so warm that we afterwards found we could remain in it for two and three hours at a time without feeling any unpleasant effects such as we used to experience in the sea at home. When Jack reached the bottom, he grasped the coral stems and crept along on his hands and knees, peeping under the seaweed and among the rocks. I observed him, also, pick up one or two large oysters and retain them in his grasp, as if he meant to take them up with him; so I also gathered a few. Suddenly he made a grasp at a fish with blue and yellow stripes on its back, and actually touched its tail, but did not catch it. At this he turned towards me and attempted to smile; but no sooner had he done so than he sprang like an arrow to the surface, where, on following him, I found him gasping and coughing and spitting water from his mouth. In a few minutes he recovered, and we both turned to swim ashore. "I declare, Ralph," said he, "that I actually tried to laugh under water!" "So I saw," I replied; "and I observed that you very nearly caught that fish by the tail. It would have done capitally for breakfast, if you had." "Breakfast enough here," said he, holding up the oysters as we landed and ran up the beach.--"Hallo, Peterkin! Here you are, boy! split open these fellows while Ralph and I put on our clothes. They'll agree with the cocoa-nuts excellently, I have no doubt." Peterkin, who was already dressed, took the oysters and opened them with the edge of our axe, exclaiming, "Now, that's capital! There's nothing I'm so fond of." "Ah! that's lucky," remarked Jack. "I'll be able to keep you in good order now, Master Peterkin. You know you can't dive any better than a cat. So, sir, whenever you behave ill you shall have no oysters for breakfast." "I'm very glad that our prospect of breakfast is so good," said I, "for I'm very hungry." "Here, then, stop your mouth with that, Ralph," said Peterkin, holding a large oyster to my lips. I opened my mouth and swallowed it in silence, and really it was remarkably good. We now set ourselves earnestly about our preparations for spending the day. We had no difficulty with the fire this morning as our burning-glass was an admirable one; and while we roasted a few oysters and ate our cocoa-nuts, we held a long, animated conversation about our plans for the future. What those plans were, and how we carried them into effect, the reader shall see hereafter. CHAPTER SIX. AN EXCURSION INTO THE INTERIOR IN WHICH WE MAKE MANY VALUABLE AND INTERESTING DISCOVERIES--WE GET A DREADFUL FRIGHT--THE BREAD-FRUIT TREE--WONDERFUL PECULIARITY OF SOME OF THE FRUIT-TREES--SIGNS OF FORMER INHABITANTS. Our first care, after breakfast, was to place the few articles we possessed in the crevice of a rock at the farther end of a small cave which we discovered near our encampment. This cave, we hoped, might be useful to us afterwards as a storehouse. Then we cut two large clubs off a species of very hard tree which grew near at hand. One of these was given to Peterkin, the other to me, and Jack armed himself with the axe. We took these precautions because we purposed to make an excursion to the top of the mountains of the interior, in order to obtain a better view of our island. Of course we knew not what dangers might befall us by the way, so thought it best to be prepared. Having completed our arrangements and carefully extinguished our fire, we sallied forth and walked a short distance along the sea-beach till we came to the entrance of a valley, through which flowed the rivulet before mentioned. Here we turned our backs on the sea and struck into the interior. The prospect that burst upon our view on entering the valley was truly splendid. On either side of us there was a gentle rise in the land, which thus formed two ridges, about a mile apart, on each side of the valley. These ridges--which, as well as the low grounds between them, were covered with trees and shrubs of the most luxuriant kind--continued to recede inland for about two miles, when they joined the foot of a small mountain. This hill rose rather abruptly from the head of the valley, and was likewise entirely covered, even to the top, with trees-- except on one particular spot near the left shoulder, where was a bare and rocky place of a broken and savage character. Beyond this hill we could not see, and we therefore directed our course up the banks of the rivulet towards the foot of it, intending to climb to the top, should that be possible--as, indeed, we had no doubt it was. Jack, being the wisest and boldest among us, took the lead, carrying the axe on his shoulder. Peterkin, with his enormous club, came second, as he said he should like to be in a position to defend me if any danger should threaten. I brought up the rear; but having been more taken up with the wonderful and curious things I saw at starting than with thoughts of possible danger, I had very foolishly left my club behind me. Although, as I have said, the trees and bushes were very luxuriant, they were not so thickly crowded together as to hinder our progress among them. We were able to wind in and out, and to follow the banks of the stream quite easily, although, it is true, the height and thickness of the foliage prevented us from seeing far ahead. But sometimes a jutting-out rock on the hillsides afforded us a position whence we could enjoy the romantic view and mark our progress towards the foot of the hill. I was particularly struck, during the walk, with the richness of the undergrowth in most places, and recognised many berries and plants that resembled those of my native land, especially a tall, elegantly formed fern, which emitted an agreeable perfume. There were several kinds of flowers, too; but I did not see so many of these as I should have expected in such a climate. We also saw a great variety of small birds of bright plumage, and many paroquets similar to the one, that awoke Peterkin so rudely in the morning. Thus we advanced to the foot of the hill without encountering anything to alarm us, except, indeed, once, when we were passing close under a part of the hill which was hidden from our view by the broad leaves of the banana-trees, which grew in great luxuriance in that part. Jack was just preparing to force his way through this thicket when we were startled and arrested by a strange pattering or rumbling sound, which appeared to us quite different from any of the sounds we had heard during the previous part of our walk. "Hallo!" cried Peterkin, stopping short, and grasping his club with both hands; "what's that?" Neither of us replied; but Jack seized his axe in his right hand, while with the other he pushed aside the broad leaves and endeavoured to peer amongst them. "I can see nothing," he said after a short pause. "I think it--" Again the rumbling sound came, louder than before, and we all sprang back and stood on the defensive. For myself, having forgotten my club, and not having taken the precaution to cut another, I buttoned my jacket, doubled my fists, and threw myself into a boxing attitude. I must say, however, that I felt somewhat uneasy; and my companions afterwards confessed that their thoughts at this moment had been instantly filled with all they had ever heard or read of wild beasts and savages, torturings at the stake, roastings alive, and such-like horrible things. Suddenly the pattering noise increased with tenfold violence. It was followed by a fearful crash among the bushes, which was rapidly repeated, as if some gigantic animal were bounding towards us. In another moment an enormous rock came crashing through the shrubbery, followed by a cloud of dust and small stones, and flew close past the spot where we stood, carrying bushes and young trees along with it. "Pooh! is that all?" exclaimed Peterkin, wiping the perspiration off his forehead. "Why, I thought it was all the wild men and beasts in the South Sea Islands, galloping on in one grand charge to sweep us off the face of the earth, instead of a mere stone tumbling down the mountain-side!" "Nevertheless," remarked Jack, "if that same stone had hit any of us it would have rendered the charge you speak of quite unnecessary, Peterkin." This was true, and I felt very thankful for our escape. On examining the spot more narrowly, we found that it lay close to the foot of a very rugged precipice, from which stones of various sizes were always tumbling at intervals. Indeed, the numerous fragments lying scattered all round might have suggested the cause of the sound had we not been too suddenly alarmed to think of anything. We now resumed our journey, resolving that, in our future excursions into the interior, we would be careful to avoid this dangerous precipice. Soon afterwards we arrived at the foot of the hill, and prepared to ascend it. Here Jack made a discovery which caused us all very great joy. This was a tree of a remarkably beautiful appearance, which Jack confidently declared to be the celebrated bread-fruit tree. "Is it celebrated?" inquired Peterkin with a look of great simplicity. "It is," replied Jack. "That's odd, now," rejoined Peterkin; "I never heard of it before." "Then it's not so celebrated as I thought it was," returned Jack, quietly squeezing Peterkin's hat over his eyes; "but listen, you ignorant boobie! and hear of it now." Peterkin readjusted his hat, and was soon listening with as much interest as myself while Jack told us that this tree is one of the most valuable in the islands of the south; that it bears two, sometimes three, crops of fruit in the year; that the fruit is very like wheaten bread in appearance, and that it constitutes the principal food of many of the islanders. "So," said Peterkin, "we seem to have everything ready prepared to our hands in this wonderful island--lemonade ready bottled in nuts, and loaf-bread growing on the trees!" Peterkin, as usual, was jesting; nevertheless, it is a curious fact that he spoke almost the literal truth. "Moreover," continued Jack, "the bread-fruit tree affords a capital gum, which serves the natives for pitching their canoes; the bark of the young branches is made by them into cloth; and of the wood, which is durable and of a good colour, they build their houses. So you see, lads, that we have no lack of material here to make us comfortable, if we are only clever enough to use it." "But are you sure that that's it?" asked Peterkin. "Quite sure," replied Jack; "for I was particularly interested in the account I once read of it, and I remember the description well. I am sorry, however that I have forgotten the descriptions of many other trees which I am sure we have seen to-day, if we could but recognise them. So you see, Peterkin, I'm not up to everything yet." "Never mind, Jack," said Peterkin with a grave, patronising expression of countenance, patting his tall companion on the shoulder--"never mind, Jack; you know a good deal for your age. You're a clever boy, sir--a promising young man; and if you only go on as you have begun, sir, you will--" The end of this speech was suddenly cut short by Jack tripping up Peterkin's heels and tumbling him into a mass of thick shrubs, where, finding himself comfortable, he lay still, basking in the sunshine, while Jack and I examined the bread-fruit tree. We were much struck with the deep, rich green colour of its broad leaves, which were twelve or eighteen inches long, deeply indented, and of a glossy smoothness, like the laurel. The fruit, with which it was loaded, was nearly round, and appeared to be about six inches in diameter, with a rough rind, marked with lozenge-shaped divisions. It was of various colours, from light pea-green to brown and rich yellow. Jack said that the yellow was the ripe fruit. We afterwards found that most of the fruit-trees on the island were evergreens, and that we might, when we wished, pluck the blossom and the ripe fruit from the same tree. Such a wonderful difference from the trees of our own country surprised us not a little. The bark of the tree was rough and light-coloured; the trunk was about two feet in diameter, and it appeared to be twenty feet high, being quite destitute of branches up to that height, where it branched off into a beautiful and umbrageous head. We noticed that the fruit hung in clusters of twos and threes on the branches; but as we were anxious to get to the top of the hill, we refrained from attempting to pluck any at that time. Our hearts were now very much cheered by our good fortune, and it was with light and active steps that we clambered up the steep sides of the hill. On reaching the summit a new, and if possible a grander, prospect met our gaze. We found that this was not the highest part of the island, but that another hill lay beyond, with a wide valley between it and the one on which we stood. This valley, like the first, was also full of rich trees--some dark and some light green, some heavy and thick in foliage, and others light, feathery, and graceful, while the beautiful blossoms on many of them threw a sort of rainbow tint over all, and gave to the valley the appearance of a garden of flowers. Among these we recognised many of the bread-fruit trees, laden with yellow fruit, and also a great many cocoa-nut palms. After gazing our fill we pushed down the hillside, crossed the valley, and soon began to ascend the second mountain. It was clothed with trees nearly to the top; but the summit was bare, and in some places broken. While on our way up we came to an object which filled us with much interest. This was the stump of a tree that had evidently been cut down with an axe! So, then, we were not the first who had viewed this beautiful isle. The hand of man had been at work there before us. It now began to recur to us again that perhaps the island was inhabited, although we had not seen any traces of man until now. But a second glance at the stump convinced us that we had not more reason to think so now than formerly; for the surface of the wood was quite decayed and partly covered with fungus and green matter, so that it must have been cut many years ago. "Perhaps," said Peterkin, "some ship or other has touched here long ago for wood, and only taken one tree." We did not think this likely, however, because, in such circumstances, the crew of a ship would cut wood of small size and near the shore; whereas this was a large tree, and stood near the top of the mountain. In fact, it was the highest large tree on the mountain, all above it being wood of very recent growth. "I can't understand it," said Jack, scratching the surface of the stump with his axe. "I can only suppose that the savages have been here and cut it for some purpose known only to themselves. But, hallo! what have we here?" As he spoke Jack began carefully to scrape away the moss and fungus from the stump, and soon laid bare three distinct traces of marks, as if some inscription or initials had been cut thereon. But although the traces were distinct, beyond all doubt, the exact form of the letters could not be made out. Jack thought they looked like JS, but we could not be certain. They had apparently been carelessly cut, and long exposure to the weather had so broken them up that we could not make out what they were. We were exceedingly perplexed at this discovery, and stayed a long time at the place conjecturing what these marks could have been, but without avail; so, as the day was advancing, we left it, and quickly reached the top of the mountain. We found this to be the highest point of the island, and from it we saw our kingdom lying, as it were, like a map around us. As I have always thought it impossible to get a thing properly into one's understanding without comprehending it, I shall beg the reader's patience for a little while I describe our island, thus, shortly: It consisted of two mountains: the one we guessed at five hundred feet; the other, on which we stood, at one thousand. Between these lay a rich, beautiful valley, as already said. This valley crossed the island from one end to the other, being high in the middle and sloping on each side towards the sea. The large mountain sloped, on the side farthest from where we had been wrecked, gradually towards the sea; but although, when viewed at a glance, it had thus a regular sloping appearance, a more careful observation showed that it was broken up into a multitude of very small vales--or, rather, dells and glens--intermingled with little rugged spots and small but abrupt precipices here and there, with rivulets tumbling over their edges and wandering down the slopes in little white streams, sometimes glistening among the broad leaves of the bread-fruit and cocoa-nut trees, or hiding altogether beneath the rich underwood. At the base of this mountain lay a narrow bright-green plain or meadow, which terminated abruptly at the shore. On the other side of the island, whence we had come, stood the smaller hill, at the foot of which diverged three valleys--one being that which we had ascended, with a smaller vale on each side of it, and separated from it by the two ridges before mentioned. In these smaller valleys there were no streams, but they were clothed with the same luxuriant vegetation. The diameter of the island seemed to be about ten miles, and as it was almost circular in form, its circumference must have been thirty miles-- perhaps a little more, if allowance be made for the numerous bays and indentations of the shore. The entire island was belted by a beach of pure white sand, on which laved the gentle ripples of the lagoon. We now also observed that the coral reef completely encircled the island; but it varied its distance from it here and there--in some places being a mile from the beach, in others a few hundred yards, but the average distance was half-a-mile. The reef lay very low, and the spray of the surf broke quite over it in many places. This surf never ceased its roar; for, however calm the weather might be, there is always a gentle swaying motion in the great Pacific, which, although scarce noticeable out at sea, reaches the shore at last in a huge billow. The water within the lagoon, as before said, was perfectly still. There were three narrow openings in the reef: one opposite each end of the valley which I have described as crossing the island; the other opposite our own valley, which we afterwards named the Valley of the Wreck. At each of these openings the reef rose into two small green islets, covered with bushes, and having one or two cocoa-nut palms on each. These islets were very singular, and appeared as if planted expressly for the purpose of marking the channel into the lagoon. Our captain was making for one of these openings the day we were wrecked--and would have reached it, too, I doubt not, had not the rudder been torn away. Within the lagoon were several pretty, low coral islands, just opposite our encampment; and immediately beyond these, out at sea, lay about a dozen other islands, at various distances, from half-a-mile to ten miles--all of them, as far as we could discern, smaller than ours and apparently uninhabited. They seemed to be low coral islands, raised but little above the sea, yet covered with cocoa-nut trees. All this we noted, and a great deal more, while we sat on the top of the mountain. After we had satisfied ourselves we prepared to return; but here, again, we discovered traces of the presence of man. These were a pole or staff, and one or two pieces of wood which had been squared with an axe. All of these were, however, very much decayed, and they had evidently not been touched for many years. Full of these discoveries, we returned to our encampment. On the way we fell in with the traces of some four-footed animal, but whether old or of recent date none of us were able to guess. This also tended to raise our hopes of obtaining some animal food on the island; so we reached home in good spirits, quite prepared for supper, and highly satisfied with our excursion. After much discussion, in which Peterkin took the lead, we came to the conclusion that the island was uninhabited, and went to bed. CHAPTER SEVEN. JACK'S INGENUITY--WE GET INTO DIFFICULTIES ABOUT FISHING, AND GET OUT OF THEM BY A METHOD WHICH GIVES US A COLD BATH--HORRIBLE ENCOUNTER WITH A SHARK. For several days after the excursion related in the last chapter we did not wander far from our encampment, but gave ourselves up to forming plans for the future and making our present abode comfortable. There were various causes that induced this state of comparative inaction. In the first place, although everything around us was so delightful, and we could without difficulty obtain all that we required for our bodily comfort, we did not quite like the idea of settling down here for the rest of our lives, far away from our friends and our native land. To set energetically about preparations for a permanent residence seemed so like making up our minds to saying adieu to home and friends for ever that we tacitly shrank from it, and put off our preparations, for one reason and another, as long as we could. Then there was a little uncertainty still as to there being natives on the island, and we entertained a kind of faint hope that a ship might come and take us off. But as day after day passed, and neither savages nor ships appeared, we gave up all hope of an early deliverance, and set diligently to work at our homestead. During this time, however, we had not been altogether idle. We made several experiments in cooking the cocoa-nut, most of which did not improve it. Then we removed our goods and took up our abode in the cave, but found the change so bad that we returned gladly to the bower. Besides this, we bathed very frequently, and talked a great deal--at least Jack and Peterkin did; I listened. Among other useful things, Jack, who was ever the most active and diligent, converted about three inches of the hoop-iron into an excellent knife. First, he beat it quite flat with the axe; then he made a rude handle, and tied the hoop-iron to it with our piece of whip-cord, and ground it to an edge on a piece of sandstone. When it was finished he used it to shape a better handle, to which he fixed it with a strip of his cotton handkerchief--in which operation he had, as Peterkin pointed out, torn off one of Lord Nelson's noses. However, the whip-cord, thus set free, was used by Peterkin as a fishing-line. He merely tied a piece of oyster to the end of it. This the fish were allowed to swallow, and then they were pulled quickly ashore. But as the line was very short and we had no boat, the fish we caught were exceedingly small. One day Peterkin came up from the beach, where he had been angling, and said in a very cross tone, "I'll tell you what, Jack, I'm not going to be humbugged with catching such contemptible things any longer. I want you to swim out with me on your back, and let me fish in deep water!" "Dear me, Peterkin!" replied Jack; "I had no idea you were taking the thing so much to heart, else I would have got you out of that difficulty long ago. Let me see;" and Jack looked down at a piece of timber, on which he had been labouring, with a peculiar gaze of abstraction which he always assumed when trying to invent or discover anything. "What say you to building a boat?" he inquired, looking up hastily. "Take far too long," was the reply; "can't be bothered waiting. I want to begin at once!" Again Jack considered. "I have it!" he cried. "We'll fell a large tree and launch the trunk of it in the water, so that when you want to fish you've nothing to do but to swim out to it." "Would not a small raft do better?" said I. "Much better; but we have no ropes to bind it together with. Perhaps we may find something hereafter that will do as well, but in the meantime let us try the tree." This was agreed on; so we started off to a spot, not far distant, where we knew of a tree that would suit us which grew near the water's edge. As soon as we reached it Jack threw off his coat, and wielding the axe with his sturdy arms, hacked and hewed at it for a quarter of an hour without stopping. Then he paused, and while he sat down to rest I continued the work. Then Peterkin made a vigorous attack on it; so that when Jack renewed his powerful blows, a few minutes' cutting brought it down with a terrible crash. "Hurrah! Now for it!" cried Jack. "Let us off with its head!" So saying, he began to cut through the stem again at about six yards from the thick end. This done, he cut three strong, short poles or levers from the stout branches, with which to roll the log down the beach into the sea; for, as it was nearly two feet thick at the large end, we could not move it without such helps. With the levers, however, we rolled it slowly into the sea. Having been thus successful in launching our vessel, we next shaped the levers into rude oars or paddles, and then attempted to embark. This was easy enough to do; but after seating ourselves astride the log, it was with the utmost difficulty we kept it from rolling round and plunging us into the water. Not that we minded that much; but we preferred, if possible, to fish in dry clothes. To be sure, our trousers were necessarily wet, as our legs were dangling in the water on each side of the log; but as they could be easily dried, we did not care. After half-an-hour's practice, we became expert enough to keep our balance pretty steadily. Then Peterkin laid down his paddle, and having baited his line with a whole oyster, dropped it into deep water. "Now, then, Jack," said he, "be cautious; steer clear o' that seaweed. There! that's it; gently, now--gently. I see a fellow at least a foot long down there coming to--Ha! that's it! Oh bother! he's off!" "Did he bite?" said Jack, urging the log onwards a little with his paddle. "Bite? Ay! he took it into his mouth, but the moment I began to haul he opened his jaws and let it out again." "Let him swallow it next time," said Jack, laughing at the melancholy expression of Peterkin's visage. "There he's again!" cried Peterkin, his eyes flashing with excitement. "Look out! Now, then! No! Yes! No! Why, the brute _won't_ swallow it!" "Try to haul him up by the mouth, then!" cried Jack. "Do it gently." A heavy sigh and a look of blank despair showed that poor Peterkin had tried and failed again. "Never mind, lad," said Jack in a voice of sympathy; "we'll move on and offer it to some other fish." So saying, Jack plied his paddle; but scarcely had he moved from the spot when a fish with an enormous head and a little body darted from under a rock and swallowed the bait at once. "Got him this time--that's a fact!" cried Peterkin, hauling in the line. "He's swallowed the bait right down to his tail, I declare! Oh, what a thumper!" As the fish came struggling to the surface we leaned forward to see it, and overbalanced the log. Peterkin threw his arms round the fish's neck, and in another instant we were all floundering in the water! A shout of laughter burst from us as we rose to the surface, like three drowned rats, and seized hold of the log. We soon recovered our position, and sat more warily; while Peterkin secured the fish, which had well-nigh escaped in the midst of our struggles. It was little worth having, however. But, as Peterkin remarked, it was better than the smouts he had been catching for the last two or three days; so we laid it on the log before us, and having re-baited the line, dropped it in again for another. Now, while we were thus intent upon our sport, our attention was suddenly attracted by a ripple on the sea, just a few yards away from us. Peterkin shouted to us to paddle in that direction, as he thought it was a big fish and we might have a chance of catching it. But Jack, instead of complying, said, in a deep, earnest tone of voice, which I never before heard him use, "Haul up your line, Peterkin; seize your paddle. Quick--it's a shark!" The horror with which we heard this may well be imagined; for it must be remembered that our legs were hanging down in the water, and we could not venture to pull them up without upsetting the log. Peterkin instantly hauled up the line, and grasping his paddle, exerted himself to the utmost, while we also did our best to make for shore. But we were a good way off, and the log being, as I have before said, very heavy, moved but slowly through the water. We now saw the shark quite distinctly swimming round and round us, its sharp fin every now and then protruding above the water. From its active and unsteady motions, Jack knew it was making up its mind to attack us; so he urged us vehemently to paddle for our lives, while he himself set us the example. Suddenly he shouted, "Look out! there he comes!" and in a second we saw the monstrous fish dive close under us and turn half-over on his side. But we all made a great commotion with our paddles, which, no doubt, frightened it away for that time, as we saw it immediately after circling round us as before. "Throw the fish to him!" cried Jack in a quick, suppressed voice; "we'll make the shore in time yet if we can keep him off for a few minutes." Peterkin stopped one instant to obey the command, and then plied his paddle again with all his might. No sooner had the fish fallen on the water than we observed the shark to sink. In another second we saw its white breast rising; for sharks always turn over on their sides when about to seize their prey, their mouths being not at the point of their heads like those of other fish, but, as it were, under their chins. In another moment his snout rose above the water; his wide jaws, armed with a terrific double row of teeth, appeared; the dead fish was engulfed, and the shark sank out of sight. But Jack was mistaken in supposing that it would be satisfied. In a very few minutes it returned to us, and its quick motions led us to fear that it would attack us at once. "Stop paddling!" cried Jack suddenly. "I see it coming up behind us. Now, obey my orders _quickly_. Our lives may depend on it. Ralph-- Peterkin--do your best to _balance the log_. Don't look out for the shark. Don't glance behind you. Do nothing but balance the log." Peterkin and I instantly did as we were ordered, being only too glad to do anything that afforded us a chance or a hope of escape, for we had implicit confidence in Jack's courage and wisdom. For a few seconds, that seemed long minutes to my mind, we sat thus silently; but I could not resist glancing backward, despite the orders to the contrary. On doing so, I saw Jack sitting rigid like a statue, with his paddle raised, his lips compressed, and his eyebrows bent over his eyes, which glared savagely from beneath them down into the water. I also saw the shark, to my horror, quite close under the log, in the act of darting towards Jack's foot. I could scarce suppress a cry on beholding this. In another moment the shark rose. Jack drew his leg suddenly from the water and threw it over the log. The monster's snout rubbed against the log as it passed, and revealed its hideous jaws, into which Jack instantly plunged the paddle and thrust it down its throat. So violent was this act that Jack rose to his feet in performing it; the log was thereby rolled completely over, and we were once more plunged into the water. We all rose, spluttering and gasping, in a moment. "Now, then, strike out for shore!" cried Jack.--"Here, Peterkin, catch hold of my collar, and kick out with a will!" Peterkin did as he was desired, and Jack struck out with such force that he cut through the water like a boat; while I, being free from all encumbrance, succeeded in keeping up with him. As we had by this time drawn pretty near to the shore, a few minutes more sufficed to carry us into shallow water; and finally, we landed in safety, though very much exhausted, and not a little frightened, by our terrible adventure. CHAPTER EIGHT. THE BEAUTIES OF THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA TEMPT PETERKIN TO DIVE--HOW HE DID IT--MORE DIFFICULTIES OVERCOME--THE WATER GARDEN--CURIOUS CREATURES OF THE SEA--THE TANK--CANDLES MISSED VERY MUCH, AND THE CANDLE-NUT TREE DISCOVERED--WONDERFUL ACCOUNT OF PETERKIN'S FIRST VOYAGE--CLOTH FOUND GROWING ON A TREE--A PLAN PROJECTED, AND ARMS PREPARED FOR OFFENCE AND DEFENCE--A DREADFUL CRY. Our encounter with the shark was the first great danger that had befallen us since landing on this island; and we felt very seriously affected by it, especially when we considered that we had so often unwittingly incurred the same danger before while bathing. We were now forced to take to fishing again in the shallow water until we should succeed in constructing a raft. What troubled us most, however, was that we were compelled to forego our morning swimming-excursions. We did, indeed, continue to enjoy our bathe in the shallow water; but Jack and I found that one great source of our enjoyment was gone when we could no longer dive down among the beautiful coral groves at the bottom of the lagoon. We had come to be so fond of this exercise, and to take such an interest in watching the formations of coral and the gambols of the many beautiful fish amongst the forest of red and green seaweeds, that we had become quite familiar with the appearance of the fish and the localities that they chiefly haunted. We had also become expert divers. But we made it a rule never to stay long under water at a time. Jack told me that to do so often was bad for the lungs, and instead of affording us enjoyment, would ere long do us a serious injury. So we never stayed at the bottom as long as we might have done, but came up frequently to the top for fresh air, and dived down again immediately. Sometimes, when Jack happened to be in a humorous frame, he would seat himself at the bottom of the sea on one of the brain-corals, as if he were seated on a large paddock-stool, and then make faces at me in order, if possible, to make me laugh under water. At first, when he took me unawares, he nearly succeeded, and I had to shoot to the surface in order to laugh; but afterwards I became aware of his intentions, and being naturally of a grave disposition, I had no difficulty in restraining myself. I used often to wonder how poor Peterkin would have liked to be with us; and he sometimes expressed much regret at being unable to join us. I used to do my best to gratify him, poor fellow, by relating all the wonders that we saw; but this, instead of satisfying, seemed only to whet his curiosity the more, so one day we prevailed on him to try to go down with us. But although a brave boy in every other way, Peterkin was very nervous in the water; and it was with difficulty we got him to consent to be taken down, for he could never have managed to push himself down to the bottom without assistance. But no sooner had we pulled him down a yard or so into the deep, clear water than he began to struggle and kick violently; so we were forced to let him go, when he rose out of the water like a cork, gave a loud gasp and a frightful roar, and struck out for the land with the utmost possible haste. Now all this pleasure we were to forego, and when we thought thereon, Jack and I felt very much depressed in our spirits. I could see, also, that Peterkin grieved and sympathised with us; for, when talking about this matter, he refrained from jesting and bantering us upon it. As, however, a man's difficulties usually set him upon devising methods to overcome them, whereby he often discovers better things than those he may have lost, so this our difficulty induced us to think of searching for a large pool among the rocks, where the water should be deep enough for diving, yet so surrounded by rocks as to prevent sharks from getting at us. And such a pool we afterwards found, which proved to be very much better than our most sanguine hopes anticipated. It was situated not more than ten minutes' walk from our camp, and was in the form of a small, deep bay or basin, the entrance to which, besides being narrow, was so shallow that no fish so large as a shark could get in--at least, not unless he should be a remarkably thin one. Inside of this basin, which we called our Water Garden, the coral formations were much more wonderful, and the seaweed plants far more lovely and vividly coloured, than in the lagoon itself. And the water was so clear and still that, although very deep, you could see the minutest object at the bottom. Besides this, there was a ledge of rock which overhung the basin at its deepest part, from which we could dive pleasantly, and whereon Peterkin could sit and see not only all the wonders I had described to him, but also see Jack and me creeping amongst the marine shrubbery at the bottom, like--as he expressed it--"two great white sea-monsters." During these excursions of ours to the bottom of the sea we began to get an insight into the manners and customs of its inhabitants, and to make discoveries of wonderful things, the like of which we never before conceived. Among other things, we were deeply interested with the operations of the little coral insect, which, I was informed by Jack, is supposed to have entirely constructed many of the numerous islands in the Pacific Ocean. And certainly, when we considered the great reef which these insects had formed round the island on which we were cast, and observed their ceaseless activity in building their myriad cells, it did at first seem as if this might be true; but then, again, when I looked at the mountains of the island, and reflected that there were thousands of such (many of them much higher) in the South Seas, I doubted that there must be some mistake here. But more of this hereafter. I also became much taken up with the manners and appearance of the anemones, and starfish, and crabs, and sea-urchins, and such-like creatures; and was not content with watching those I saw during my dives in the Water Garden, but I must needs scoop out a hole in the coral rock close to it, which I filled with salt water, and stocked with sundry specimens of anemones and shell-fish, in order to watch more closely how they were in the habit of passing their time. Our burning-glass, also, now became a great treasure to me, as it enabled me to magnify, and so to perceive more clearly, the forms and actions of these curious creatures of the deep. Having now got ourselves into a very comfortable condition, we began to talk of a project which we had long had in contemplation--namely, to travel entirely round the island, in order, first, to ascertain whether it contained any other productions which might be useful to us; and, second, to see whether there might be any place more convenient and suitable for our permanent residence than that on which we were now encamped. Not that we were in any degree dissatisfied with it. On the contrary, we entertained quite a home-feeling to our bower and its neighbourhood; but if a better place did exist, there was no reason why we should not make use of it. At any rate, it would be well to know of its existence. We had much earnest talk over this matter. But Jack proposed that, before undertaking such an excursion, we should supply ourselves with good defensive arms; for, as we intended not only to go round all the shore, but to descend most of the valleys, before returning home, we should be likely to meet in with--he would not say _dangers_--but at least with everything that existed on the island, whatever that might be. "Besides," said Jack, "it won't do for us to live on cocoa-nuts and oysters always. No doubt they are very excellent in their way, but I think a little animal food now and then would be agreeable as well as good for us; and as there are many small birds among the trees, some of which are probably very good to eat, I think it would be a capital plan to make bows and arrows, with which we could easily knock them over." "First-rate!" cried Peterkin. "You will make the bows, Jack, and I'll try my hand at the arrows. The fact is, I'm quite tired of throwing stones at the birds. I began the very day we landed, I think, and have persevered up to the present time, but I've never hit anything yet." "You forget," said I, "you hit me one day on the shin." "Ah, true!" replied Peterkin; "and a precious shindy you kicked up in consequence. But you were at least four yards away from the impudent paroquet I aimed at, so you see what a horribly bad shot I am." "But, Jack," said I, "you cannot make three bows and arrows before to-morrow; and would it not be a pity to waste time, now that we have made up our minds to go on this expedition?--Suppose that you make one bow and arrow for yourself, and we can take our clubs?" "That's true, Ralph. The day is pretty far advanced, and I doubt if I can make even one bow before dark. To be sure, I might work by firelight after the sun goes down." We had, up to this time, been in the habit of going to bed with the sun, as we had no pressing call to work o' nights; and, indeed, our work during the day was usually hard enough--what between fishing, and improving our bower, and diving in the Water Garden, and rambling in the woods--so that when night came we were usually very glad to retire to our beds. But now that we had a desire to work at night, we felt a wish for candles. "Won't a good blazing fire give you light enough?" inquired Peterkin. "Yes," replied Jack, "quite enough; but then it will give us a great deal more than enough of heat in this warm climate of ours." "True," said Peterkin; "I forgot that. It would roast us." "Well, as you're always doing that at any rate," remarked Jack, "we could scarcely call it a change. But the fact is, I've been thinking over this subject before. There is a certain nut growing in these islands which is called the candle-nut, because the natives use it instead of candles; and I know all about it, and how to prepare it for burning--" "Then why don't you do it?" interrupted Peterkin. "Why have you kept us in the dark so long, you vile philosopher?" "Because," said Jack, "I have not seen the tree yet, and I'm not sure that I should know either the tree or the nuts if I did see them. You see, I forget the description." "Ah! that's just the way with me," said Peterkin with a deep sigh. "I never could keep in my mind for half-an-hour the few descriptions I ever attempted to remember. The very first voyage I ever made was caused by my mistaking a description--or forgetting it, which is the same thing. And a horrible voyage it was. I had to fight with the captain the whole way out, and made the homeward voyage by swimming!" "Come, Peterkin," said I, "you can't get even _me_ to believe that." "Perhaps not, but it's true notwithstanding," returned Peterkin, pretending to be hurt at my doubting his word. "Let us hear how it happened," said Jack, while a good-natured smile overspread his face. "Well, you must know," began Peterkin, "that the very day before I went to sea I was greatly taken up with a game at hockey, which I was playing with my old school-fellows for the last time before leaving them.--You see I was young then, Ralph." Peterkin gazed, in an abstracted and melancholy manner, out to sea.--"Well, in the midst of the game, my uncle, who had taken all the bother and trouble of getting me bound 'prentice and rigged out, came and took me aside, and told me that he was called suddenly away from home, and would not be able to see me aboard, as he had intended. `However,' said he, `the captain knows you are coming, so that's not of much consequence; but as you'll have to find the ship yourself, you must remember her name and description. D'ye hear, boy?' I certainly did hear, but I'm afraid I did not understand; for my mind was so taken up with the game, which I saw my side was losing, that I began to grow impatient, and the moment my uncle finished his description of the ship and bade me good-bye I bolted back to my game, with only a confused idea of three masts, and a green-painted taffrail, and a gilt figurehead of Hercules with his club at the bow. Next day I was so much cast down with everybody saying good-bye, and a lot o' my female friends cryin' horribly over me, that I did not start for the harbour, where the ship was lying among a thousand others, till it was almost too late. So I had to run the whole way. When I reached the pier, there were so many masts, and so much confusion, that I felt quite humble-bumbled in my faculties. `Now,' said I to myself, `Peterkin, you're in a fix.' Then I fancied I saw a gilt figurehead and three masts belonging to a ship just about to start; so I darted on board, but speedily jumped on shore again when I found that two of the masts belonged to another vessel and the figurehead to a third! At last I caught sight of what I made sure was it--a fine large vessel just casting off her moorings. The taffrail was green. Three masts--yes, that must be it--and the gilt figurehead of Hercules. To be sure, it had a three-pronged pitchfork in its hand instead of a club; but that might be my uncle's mistake, or perhaps Hercules sometimes varied his weapons. `Cast off!' roared a voice from the quarter-deck. `Hold on!' cried I, rushing frantically through the crowd. `Hold on! hold on!' repeated some of the bystanders, while the men at the ropes delayed for a minute. This threw the captain into a frightful rage; for some of his friends had come down to see him off, and having his orders contradicted so flatly was too much for him. However, the delay was sufficient. I took a race and a good leap; the ropes were cast off; the steam-tug gave a puff, and we started. Suddenly the captain walks up to me: `Where did you come from, you scamp, and what do you want here?' "`Please, sir,' said I, touching my cap, `I'm your new 'prentice come aboard.' "`New 'prentice!' said he, stamping; `I've got no new 'prentice. My boys are all aboard already. This is a trick, you young blackguard! You've run away, you have!' And the captain stamped about the deck and swore dreadfully; for, you see, the thought of having to stop the ship and lower a boat and lose half-an-hour, all for the sake of sending a small boy ashore, seemed to make him very angry. Besides, it was blowin' fresh outside the harbour, so that to have let the steamer alongside to put me into it was no easy job. Just as we were passing the pier-head, where several boats were rowing into the harbour, the captain came up to me. "`You've run away, you blackguard!' he said, giving me a box on the ear. "`No, I haven't!' said I angrily, for the box was by no means a light one. "`Hark'ee, boy, can you swim?' "`Yes,' said I. "`Then do it!' and seizing me by my trousers and the nape of my neck, he tossed me over the side into the sea. The fellows in the boats at the end of the pier backed their oars on seeing this; but observing that I could swim, they allowed me to make the best of my way to the pier-head.--So you see, Ralph, that I really did swim my first homeward voyage." Jack laughed, and patted Peterkin on the shoulder. "But tell us about the candle-nut tree," said I. "You were talking about it." "Very true," said Jack; "but I fear I can remember little about it. I believe the nut is about the size of a walnut; and I think that the leaves are white, but I am not sure." "Eh! ha! hum!" exclaimed Peterkin; "I saw a tree answering to that description this very day." "Did you?" cried Jack. "Is it far from this?" "No, not half-a-mile." "Then lead me to it," said Jack, seizing his axe. In a few minutes we were all three pushing through the underwood of the forest, headed by Peterkin. We soon came to the tree in question, which, after Jack had closely examined it, we concluded must be the candle-nut tree. Its leaves were of a beautiful silvery white, and formed a fine contrast to the dark-green foliage of the surrounding trees. We immediately filled our pockets with the nuts, after which Jack said: "Now, Peterkin, climb that cocoa-nut tree and cut me one of the long branches." This was soon done; but it cost some trouble, for the stem was very high, and as Peterkin usually pulled nuts from the younger trees, he was not much accustomed to climbing the high ones. The leaf or branch was a very large one, and we were surprised at its size and strength. Viewed from a little distance, the cocoa-nut tree seems to be a tall, straight stem, without a single branch except at the top, where there is a tuft of feathery-looking leaves that seem to wave like soft plumes in the wind. But when we saw one of these leaves or branches at our feet, we found it to be a strong stalk, about fifteen feet long, with a number of narrow, pointed leaflets ranged alternately on each side. But what seemed to us the most wonderful thing about it was a curious substance resembling cloth, which was wrapped round the thick end of the stalk where it had been cut from the tree. Peterkin told us that he had the greatest difficulty in separating the branch from the stem on account of this substance, as it was wrapped quite round the tree, and, he observed, round all the other branches, thus forming a strong support to the large leaves while exposed to high winds. When I call this substance cloth I do not exaggerate. Indeed, with regard to all the things I saw during my eventful career in the South Seas, I have been exceedingly careful not to exaggerate, or in any way to mislead or deceive my readers. This cloth, I say, was remarkably like to coarse brown cotton cloth. It had a seam or fibre down the centre of it, from which diverged other fibres, about the size of a bristle. There were two layers of these fibres, very long and tough, the one layer crossing the other obliquely, and the whole was cemented together with a still finer fibrous and adhesive substance. When we regarded it attentively, we could with difficulty believe that it had not been woven by human hands. This remarkable piece of cloth we stripped carefully off, and found it to be above two feet long by a foot broad, and we carried it home with us as a great prize. Jack now took one of the leaflets, and cutting out the central spine or stalk, hurried back with it to our camp. Having made a small fire, he baked the nuts slightly and then peeled off the husks. After this he wished to bore a hole in them, which, not having anything better at hand at the time, he did with the point of our useless pencil-case. Then he strung them on the cocoa-nut spine, and on putting a light to the topmost nut we found, to our joy, that it burned with a clear, beautiful flame, upon seeing which Peterkin sprang up and danced round the fire for at least five minutes in the excess of his satisfaction. "Now, lads," said Jack, extinguishing our candle, "the sun will set in an hour, so we have no time to lose. I shall go and cut a young tree to make my bow out of, and you had better each of you go and select good strong sticks for clubs, and we'll set to work at them after dark." So saying, he shouldered his axe and went off; followed by Peterkin; while I took up the piece of newly discovered cloth, and fell to examining its structure. So engrossed was I in this that I was still sitting in the same attitude and occupation when my companions returned. "I told you so!" cried Peterkin with a loud laugh.--"Oh Ralph, you're incorrigible! See, there's a club for you. I was sure, when we left you looking at that bit of stuff, that we would find you poring over it when we came back, so I just cut a club for you as well as for myself." "Thank you, Peterkin," said I. "It was kind of you to do that instead of scolding me for a lazy fellow, as I confess I deserve." "Oh, as to that," returned Peterkin, "I'll blow you up yet if you wish it; only it would be of no use if I did, for you're a perfect mule!" As it was now getting dark we lighted our candle, and placing it in a holder made of two crossing branches inside of our bower, we seated ourselves on our leafy beds and began to work. "I intend to appropriate the bow for my own use," said Jack, chipping the piece of wood he had brought with his axe. "I used to be a pretty fair shot once.--But what's that you're doing?" he added, looking at Peterkin, who had drawn the end of a long pole into the tent, and was endeavouring to fit a small piece of the hoop-iron to the end of it. "I'm going to enlist into the Lancers," answered Peterkin. "You see, Jack, I find the club rather an unwieldy instrument for my delicately formed muscles, and I flatter myself I shall do more execution with a spear." "Well, if length constitutes power," said Jack, "you'll certainly be invincible." The pole which Peterkin had cut was full twelve feet long, being a very strong but light and tough young tree, which merely required thinning at the butt to be a serviceable weapon. "That's a very good idea," said I. "Which--this?" inquired Peterkin, pointing to the spear. "Yes," I replied. "Humph!" said he; "you'd find it a pretty tough and matter-of-fact idea if you had it stuck through your gizzard, old boy!" "I mean the idea of making it is a good one," said I, laughing. "And, now I think of it, I'll change my plan too. I don't think much of a club, so I'll make me a sling out of this piece of cloth. I used to be very fond of slinging, ever since I read of David slaying Goliath the Philistine, and I was once thought to be expert at it." So I set to work to manufacture a sling. For a long time we all worked very busily without speaking. At length Peterkin looked up. "I say, Jack, I'm sorry to say I must apply to you for another strip of your handkerchief to tie on this rascally head with. It's pretty well torn at any rate, so you won't miss it." Jack proceeded to comply with this request, when Peterkin suddenly laid his hand on his arm and arrested him. "Hist, man!" said he; "be tender! You should never be needlessly cruel if you can help it. Do try to shave past Lord Nelson's mouth without tearing it, if possible! Thanks. There are plenty more handkerchiefs on the cocoa-nut trees." Poor Peterkin! with what pleasant feelings I recall and record his jests and humorous sayings now! While we were thus engaged we were startled by a distant, but most strange and horrible, cry. It seemed to come from the sea, but was so far away that we could not clearly distinguish its precise direction. Rushing out of our bower, we hastened down to the beach and stayed to listen. Again it came, quite loud and distinct on the night air--a prolonged, hideous cry, something like the braying of an ass. The moon had risen, and we could see the islands in and beyond the lagoon quite plainly; but there was no object visible to account for such a cry. A strong gust of wind was blowing from the point whence the sound came, but this died away while we were gazing out to sea. "What can it be?" said Peterkin in a low whisper, while we all involuntarily crept closer to each other. "Do you know," said Jack, "I have heard that mysterious sound twice before, but never so loud as to-night. Indeed, it was so faint that I thought I must have merely fancied it; so, as I did not wish to alarm you, I said nothing about it." We listened for a long time for the sound again; but as it did not come, we returned to the bower and resumed our work. "Very strange!" said Peterkin quite gravely.--"Do you believe in ghosts, Ralph?" "No," I answered, "I do not. Nevertheless, I must confess that strange, unaccountable sounds, such as we have just heard, make me feel a little uneasy." "What say you to it, Jack?" "I neither believe in ghosts nor feel uneasy," he replied. "I never saw a ghost myself, and I never met with any one who had; and I have generally found that strange and unaccountable things have almost always been accounted for, and found to be quite simple, on close examination. I certainly can't imagine what _that_ sound is; but I'm quite sure I shall find out before long, and if it's a ghost I'll--I'll--" "Eat it!" cried Peterkin. "Yes, I'll eat it!--Now, then, my bow and two arrows are finished; so, if you're ready, we had better turn in." By this time Peterkin had thinned down his spear, and tied an iron point very cleverly to the end of it; I had formed a sling, the lines of which were composed of thin strips of the cocoa-nut cloth, plaited; and Jack had made a stout bow, nearly five feet long, with two arrows, feathered with two or three large plumes which some bird had dropped. They had no barbs; but Jack said that if arrows were well feathered they did not require iron points, but would fly quite well if merely sharpened at the point, which I did not know before. "A feathered arrow without a barb," said he, "is a good weapon, but a barbed arrow without feathers is utterly useless." The string of the bow was formed of our piece of whip-cord, part of which, as he did not like to cut it, was rolled round the bow. Although thus prepared for a start on the morrow we thought it wise to exercise ourselves a little in the use of our weapons before starting, so we spent the whole of the next day in practising. And it was well we did so, for we found that our arms were very imperfect, and that we were far from perfect in the use of them. First, Jack found that the bow was much too strong, and he had to thin it. Also the spear was much too heavy, and so had to be reduced in thickness, although nothing would induce Peterkin to have it shortened. My sling answered very well; but I had fallen so much out of practice that my first stone knocked off Peterkin's hat, and narrowly missed making a second Goliath of him. However, after having spent the whole day in diligent practice, we began to find some of our former expertness returning, at least Jack and I did. As for Peterkin, being naturally a neat-handed boy, he soon handled his spear well, and could run full tilt at a cocoa-nut, and hit it with great precision once out of every five times. But I feel satisfied that we owed much of our rapid success to the unflagging energy of Jack, who insisted that since we had made him captain, we should obey him; and he kept us at work from morning till night, perseveringly, at the same thing. Peterkin wished very much to run about and stick his spear into everything he passed; but Jack put up a cocoa-nut, and would not let him leave off running at that for a moment except when he wanted to rest. We laughed at Jack for this, but we were both convinced that it did us much good. That night we examined and repaired our arms ere we lay down to rest, although we were much fatigued, in order that we might be in readiness to set out on our expedition at daylight on the following morning. CHAPTER NINE. PREPARE FOR A JOURNEY ROUND THE ISLAND--SAGACIOUS REFLECTIONS-- MYSTERIOUS APPEARANCES AND STARTLING OCCURRENCES. Scarcely had the sun shot its first ray across the bosom of the broad Pacific when Jack sprang to his feet, and hallooing in Peterkin's ear to awaken him, ran down the beach to take his customary dip in the sea. We did not, as was our wont, bathe that morning in our Water Garden, but in order to save time, refreshed ourselves in the shallow water just opposite the bower. Our breakfast was also despatched without loss of time, and in less than an hour afterwards all our preparations for the journey were completed. In addition to his ordinary dress, Jack tied a belt of cocoa-nut cloth round his waist, into which he thrust the axe. I was also advised to put on a belt and carry a short cudgel or bludgeon in it, for, as Jack truly remarked, the sling would be of little use if we should chance to come to close quarters with any wild animal. As for Peterkin, notwithstanding that he carried such a long and, I must add, frightful-looking spear over his shoulder, we could not prevail on him to leave his club behind; "for," said he, "a spear at close quarters is not worth a button." I must say that it seemed to me that the club was, to use his own style of language, not worth a button-hole; for it was all knotted over at the head, something like the club which I remember to have observed in picture-books of Jack the Giant-killer, besides being so heavy that he required to grasp it with both hands in order to wield it at all. However, he took it with him, and in this manner we set out upon our travels. We did not consider it necessary to carry any food with us, as we knew that wherever we went we should be certain to fall in with cocoa-nut trees--having which we were amply supplied, as Peterkin said, with meat and drink and pocket-handkerchiefs! I took the precaution, however, to put the burning-glass into my pocket lest we should want fire. The morning was exceedingly lovely. It was one of that very still and peaceful sort which made the few noises that we heard seem to be quiet noises (I know no other way of expressing this idea)--noises which, so far from interrupting the universal tranquillity of earth, sea, and sky, rather tended to reveal to us how quiet the world round us really was. Such sounds as I refer to were the peculiar, melancholy--yet, it seemed to me, cheerful--plaint of sea-birds floating on the glassy waters or sailing in the sky; also the subdued twittering of little birds among the bushes, the faint ripples on the beach, and the solemn boom of the surf upon the distant coral reef. We felt very glad in our hearts as we walked along the sands, side by side. For my part, I felt so deeply overjoyed that I was surprised at my own sensations, and fell into a reverie upon the causes of happiness. I came to the conclusion that a state of profound peace and repose, both in regard to outward objects and within the soul, is the happiest condition in which man can be placed; for although I had many a time been most joyful and happy when engaged in bustling, energetic, active pursuits or amusements, I never found that such joy or satisfaction was so deep or so pleasant to reflect upon as that which I now experienced. And I was the more confirmed in this opinion when I observed--and, indeed, as told by himself--that Peterkin's happiness was also very great; yet he did not express this by dancing, as was his wont, nor did he give so much as a single shout, but walked quietly between us with his eye sparkling and a joyful smile upon his countenance. My reader must not suppose that I thought all this in the clear and methodical manner in which I have set it down here. These thoughts did indeed pass through my mind; but they did so in a very confused and indefinite manner, for I was young at that time and not much given to deep reflections. Neither did I consider that the peace whereof I write is not to be found in this world--at least in its perfection--although I have since learned that, by religion, a man may attain to a very great degree of it. I have said that Peterkin walked along the sands between us. We had two ways of walking together about our island. When we travelled through the woods we always did so in single file, as by this method we advanced with greater facility, the one treading in the other's footsteps. In such cases Jack always took the lead, Peterkin followed, and I brought up the rear. But when we travelled along the sands, which extended almost in an unbroken line of glistening white round the island, we marched abreast, as we found this method more sociable and every way more pleasant. Jack, being the tallest, walked next the sea, and Peterkin marched between us, as by this arrangement either of us could talk to him or he to us, while if Jack and I happened to wish to converse together we could conveniently do so over Peterkin's head. Peterkin used to say, in reference to this arrangement, that had he been as tall as either of us, our order of march might have been the same; for, as Jack often used to scold him for letting everything we said to him pass in at one ear and out at the other, his head could, of course, form no interruption to our discourse. We were now fairly started. Half-a-mile's walk conveyed us round a bend in the land which shut out our bower from view, and for some time we advanced at a brisk pace without speaking, though our eyes were not idle, but noted everything--in the woods, on the shore, or in the sea-- that was interesting. After passing the ridge of land that formed one side of our valley--the Valley of the Wreck--we beheld another small vale lying before us in all the luxuriant loveliness of tropical vegetation. We had indeed seen it before from the mountain-top, but we had no idea that it would turn out to be so much more lovely when we were close to it. We were about to commence the exploration of this valley when Peterkin stopped us, and directed our attention to a very remarkable appearance in advance along the shore. "What's yon, think you?" said he, levelling his spear as if he expected an immediate attack from the object in question, though it was full half-a-mile distant. As he spoke, there appeared a white column above the rocks, as if of steam or spray. It rose upwards to a height of several feet, and then disappeared. Had this been near the sea, we would not have been so greatly surprised, as it might in that case have been the surf, for at this part of the coast the coral reef approached so near to the island that in some parts it almost joined it. There was, therefore, no lagoon between, and the heavy surf of the ocean beat almost up to the rocks. But this white column appeared about fifty yards inland. The rocks at the place were rugged, and they stretched across the sandy beach into the sea. Scarce had we ceased expressing our surprise at this sight when another column flew upwards for a few seconds, not far from the spot where the first had been seen, and disappeared; and so, at long, irregular intervals, these strange sights recurred. We were now quite sure that the columns were watery, or composed of spray; but what caused them we could not guess, so we determined to go and see. In a few minutes we gained the spot, which was very rugged and precipitous, and, moreover, quite damp with the falling of the spray. We had much ado to pass over dry-shod. The ground, also, was full of holes here and there. Now, while we stood anxiously waiting for the reappearance of these waterspouts, we heard a low, rumbling sound near us, which quickly increased to a gurgling and hissing noise, and a moment afterwards a thick spout of water burst upwards from a hole in the rock and spouted into the air with much violence, and so close to where Jack and I were standing that it nearly touched us. We sprang aside, but not before a cloud of spray descended and drenched us both to the skin. Peterkin, who was standing farther off; escaped with a few drops, and burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter on beholding our miserable plight. "Mind your eye!" he shouted eagerly; "there goes another!" The words were scarcely out of his mouth when there came up a spout from another hole, which served us exactly in the same manner as before. Peterkin now shrieked with laughter; but his merriment was abruptly put a stop to by the gurgling noise occurring close to where he stood. "Where'll it spout this time, I wonder?" he said, looking about with some anxiety and preparing to run. Suddenly there came a loud hiss or snort; a fierce spout of water burst up between Peterkin's legs, blew him off his feet, enveloped him in its spray, and hurled him to the ground. He fell with so much violence that we feared he must have broken some of his bones, and ran anxiously to his assistance; but fortunately he had fallen on a clump of tangled herbage, in which he lay sprawling in a most deplorable condition. It was now our turn to laugh; but as we were not yet quite sure that he was unhurt, and as we knew not when or where the next spout might arise, we assisted him hastily to jump up and hurry from the spot. I may here add that, although I am quite certain that the spout of water was very strong, and that it blew Peterkin completely off his legs, I am not quite certain of the exact height to which it lifted him, being somewhat startled by the event, and blinded partially by the spray, so that my power of observation was somewhat impaired for the moment. "What's to be done now?" asked Peterkin ruefully. "Make a fire, lad, and dry ourselves," replied Jack. "And here is material ready to our hand," said I, picking up a dried branch of a tree as we hurried up to the woods. In about an hour after this mishap our clothes were again dried. While they were hanging up before the fire we walked down to the beach, and soon observed that these curious spouts took place immediately after the fall of a huge wave, never before it; and, moreover, that the spouts did not take place excepting when the billow was an extremely large one. From this we concluded that there must be a subterraneous channel in the rock into which the water was driven by the larger waves, and finding no way of escape except through these small holes, was thus forced up violently through them. At any rate, we could not conceive any other reason for these strange waterspouts, and as this seemed a very simple and probable one, we forthwith adopted it. "I say, Ralph, what's that in the water? Is it a shark?" said Jack just as we were about to quit the place. I immediately ran to the overhanging ledge of rock, from which he was looking down into the sea, and bent over it. There I saw a very faint, pale object of a greenish colour, which seemed to move slightly while I looked at it. "It's like a fish of some sort," said I. "Hallo, Peterkin!" cried Jack. "Fetch your spear; here's work for it!" But when we tried to reach the object, the spear proved to be too short. "There, now," said Peterkin with a sneer; "you were always telling me it was too long." Jack now drove the spear forcibly towards the object, and let go his hold. But although it seemed to be well aimed, he must have missed, for the handle soon rose again; and when the spear was drawn up, there was the pale-green object in exactly the same spot, slowly moving its tail. "Very odd!" said Jack. But although it was undoubtedly very odd, and although Jack and all of us plunged the spear at it repeatedly, we could neither hit it nor drive it away, so we were compelled to continue our journey without discovering what it was. I was very much perplexed at this strange appearance in the water, and could not get it out of my mind for a long time afterwards. However, I quieted myself by resolving that I would pay a visit to it again at some more convenient season. CHAPTER TEN. MAKE DISCOVERY OF MANY EXCELLENT ROOTS AND FRUITS--THE RESOURCES OF THE CORAL ISLAND GRADUALLY UNFOLDED--THE BANYAN TREE--ANOTHER TREE WHICH IS SUPPORTED BY NATURAL PLANKS--WATER-FOWL FOUND--A VERY REMARKABLE DISCOVERY, AND A VERY PECULIAR MURDER--WE LUXURIATE ON THE FAT OF THE LAND. Our examination of the little valley proved to be altogether most satisfactory. We found in it not only similar trees to those we had already seen in our own valley, but also one or two others of a different species. We had also the satisfaction of discovering a peculiar vegetable, which, Jack concluded, must certainly be that of which he had read as being very common among the South Sea Islanders, and which was named taro. Also we found a large supply of yams, and another root like a potato in appearance. As these were all quite new to us, we regarded our lot as a most fortunate one, in being thus cast on an island which was so prolific and so well stored with all the necessaries of life. Long afterwards we found out that this island of ours was no better in these respects than thousands of other islands in those seas. Indeed, many of them were much richer and more productive; but that did not render us the less grateful for our present good fortune. We each put one of these roots in our pocket, intending to use them for our supper--of which more hereafter. We also saw many beautiful birds here, and traces of some four-footed animal again. Meanwhile the sun began to descend; so we returned to the shore and pushed on, round the spouting rocks, into the next valley. This was that valley of which I have spoken as running across the entire island. It was by far the largest and most beautiful that we had yet looked upon. Here were trees of every shape and size and hue which it is possible to conceive of, many of which we had not seen in the other valleys; for, the stream in this valley being larger, and the mould much richer than in the Valley of the Wreck, it was clothed with a more luxuriant growth of trees and plants. Some trees were dark, glossy green; others of a rich and warm hue, contrasting well with those of a pale, light green, which were everywhere abundant. Among these we recognised the broad, dark heads of the bread-fruit, with its golden fruit; the pure, silvery foliage of the candle-nut, and several species which bore a strong resemblance to the pine; while here and there, in groups and in single trees, rose the tall forms of the cocoa-nut palms, spreading abroad, and waving their graceful plumes high above all the rest, as if they were a superior race of stately giants keeping guard over these luxuriant forests. Oh, it was a most enchanting scene! and I thanked God for having created such delightful spots for the use of man. Now, while we were gazing around us in silent admiration, Jack uttered an exclamation of surprise, and pointing to an object a little to one side of us, said: "That's a banyan tree." "And what's a banyan tree?" inquired Peterkin as we walked towards it. "A very curious one, as you shall see presently," replied Jack. "It is called the _aoa_ here, if I recollect rightly, and has a wonderful peculiarity about it. What an enormous one it is, to be sure!" "_It_!" repeated Peterkin. "Why, there are dozens of banyans here! What do you mean by talking bad grammar? Is your philosophy deserting you, Jack?" "There is but one tree here of this kind," returned Jack, "as you will perceive if you will examine it." And, sure enough, we did find that what we had supposed was a forest of trees was in reality only one. Its bark was of a light colour, and had a shining appearance, the leaves being lance-shaped, small, and of a beautiful pea-green. But the wonderful thing about it was that the branches, which grew out from the stem horizontally, sent down long shoots or fibres to the ground, which, taking root, had themselves become trees, and were covered with bark like the tree itself. Many of these fibres had descended from the branches at various distances, and thus supported them on natural pillars, some of which were so large and strong that it was not easy at first to distinguish the offspring from the parent stem. The fibres were of all sizes and in all states of advancement, from the pillars we have just mentioned to small cords which hung down and were about to take root, and thin brown threads still far from the ground, which swayed about with every motion of wind. In short, it seemed to us that, if there were only space afforded to it, this single tree would at length cover the whole island. Shortly after this we came upon another remarkable tree, which, as its peculiar formation afterwards proved extremely useful to us, merits description. It was a splendid chestnut, but its proper name Jack did not know. However, there were quantities of fine nuts upon it, some of which we put in our pockets. But its stem was the most wonderful part of it. It rose to about twelve feet without a branch, and was not of great thickness; on the contrary, it was remarkably slender for the size of the tree. But to make up for this, there were four or five wonderful projections in this stem, which I cannot better describe than by asking the reader to suppose that five planks of two inches thick and three feet broad had been placed round the trunk of the tree, with their _edges_ closely fixed to it, from the ground up to the branches, and that these planks had been covered over with the bark of the tree and incorporated with it. In short, they were just natural buttresses, without which the stem could not have supported its heavy and umbrageous top. We found these chestnuts to be very numerous. They grew chiefly on the banks of the stream, and were of all sizes. While we were examining a small tree of this kind Jack chipped a piece off a buttress with his axe, and found the wood to be firm and easily cut. He then struck the axe into it with all his force, and very soon split it off close to the tree--first, however, having cut it across transversely above and below. By this means he satisfied himself that we could now obtain short planks, as it were all ready sawn, of any size and thickness that we desired, which was a very great discovery indeed-- perhaps the most important we had yet made. We now wended our way back to the coast, intending to encamp near the beach, as we found that the mosquitoes were troublesome in the forest. On our way we could not help admiring the birds which flew and chirped around us. Among them we observed a pretty kind of paroquet, with a green body, a blue head, and a red breast; also a few beautiful turtle-doves, and several flocks of wood-pigeons. The hues of many of these birds were extremely vivid--bright green, blue, and scarlet being the prevailing tints. We made several attempts throughout the day to bring down one of these, both with the bow and the sling--not for mere sport, but to ascertain whether they were good for food. But we invariably missed, although once or twice we were very near hitting. As evening drew on however, a flock of pigeons flew past. I slung a stone into the midst of them at a venture, and had the good fortune to kill one. We were startled soon after by a loud whistling noise above our heads, and on looking up, saw a flock of wild ducks making for the coast. We watched these, and observing where they alighted, followed them up until we came upon a most lovely blue lake, not more than two hundred yards long, embosomed in verdant trees. Its placid surface, which reflected every leaf and stem as if in a mirror, was covered with various species of wild ducks, feeding among the sedges and broad-leaved water-plants which floated on it, while numerous birds like water-hens ran to and fro most busily on its margin. These all, with one accord, flew tumultuously away the instant we made our appearance. While walking along the margin we observed fish in the water, but of what sort we could not tell. Now, as we neared the shore, Jack and I said we would go a little out of our way to see if we could procure one of those ducks; so, directing Peterkin to go straight to the shore and kindle a fire, we separated, promising to rejoin him speedily. But we did not find the ducks, although we made a diligent search for half-an-hour. We were about to retrace our steps when we were arrested by one of the strangest sights that we had yet beheld. Just in front of us, at the distance of about ten yards, grew a superb tree, which certainly was the largest we had yet seen on the island. Its trunk was at least five feet in diameter, with a smooth, grey bark; above this the spreading branches were clothed with light-green leaves, amid which were clusters of bright-yellow fruit, so numerous as to weigh down the boughs with their great weight. This fruit seemed to be of the plum species, of an oblong form, and a good deal larger than the magnum bonum plum. The ground at the foot of this tree was thickly strewn with the fallen fruit, in the midst of which lay sleeping, in every possible attitude, at least twenty hogs of all ages and sizes, apparently quite surfeited with a recent banquet. Jack and I could scarce restrain our laughter as we gazed at these coarse, fat, ill-looking animals while they lay groaning and snoring heavily amid the remains of their supper. "Now, Ralph," said Jack in a low whisper, "put a stone in your sling--a good big one--and let fly at that fat fellow with his back toward you. I'll try to put an arrow into yon little pig." "Don't you think we had better put them up first?" I whispered. "It seems cruel to kill them while asleep." "If I wanted _sport_, Ralph, I would certainly set them up; but as we only want _pork_, we'll let them lie. Besides, we're not sure of killing them; so, fire away." Thus admonished, I slung my stone with so good aim that it went bang against the hog's flank as if against the head of a drum; but it had no other effect than that of causing the animal to start to its feet, with a frightful yell of surprise, and scamper away. At the same instant Jack's bow twanged, and the arrow pinned the little pig to the ground by the ear. "I've missed, after all!" cried Jack, darting forward with uplifted axe; while the little pig uttered a loud squeal, tore the arrow from the ground, and ran away with it, along with the whole drove, into the bushes and disappeared, though we heard them screaming long afterwards in the distance. "That's very provoking, now," said Jack, rubbing the point of his nose. "Very," I replied, stroking my chin. "Well, we must make haste and rejoin Peterkin," said Jack; "it's getting late." And without further remark, we threaded our way quickly through the woods towards the shore. When we reached it we found wood laid out, the fire lighted and beginning to kindle up, with other signs of preparation for our encampment; but Peterkin was nowhere to be found. We wondered very much at this; but Jack suggested that he might have gone to fetch water, so he gave a shout to let him know that we had arrived, and sat down upon a rock, while I threw off my jacket and seized the axe, intending to split up one or two billets of wood. But I had scarce moved from the spot when, in the distance, we heard a most appalling shriek, which was followed up by a chorus of yells from the hogs, and a loud hurrah. "I do believe," said I, "that Peterkin has met with the hogs." "When Greek meets Greek," said Jack, soliloquising, "then comes the tug of--" "Hurrah!" shouted Peterkin in the distance. We turned hastily towards the direction whence the sound came, and soon descried Peterkin walking along the beach towards us with a little pig transfixed on the end of his long spear! "Well done, my boy!" exclaimed Jack, slapping him on the shoulder when he came up. "You're the best shot amongst us." "Look here, Jack!" cried Peterkin as he disengaged the animal from his spear. "Do you recognise that hole?" said he, pointing to the pig's ear; "and are you familiar with this arrow, eh?" "Well, I declare!" said Jack. "Of course you do," interrupted Peterkin; "but, pray, restrain your declarations at this time, and let's have supper--for I'm uncommonly hungry, I can tell you. And it's no joke to charge a whole herd of swine with their great-grandmother bristling like a giant porcupine, at the head of them!" We now set about preparing supper; and, truly, a good display of viands we made when all was laid out on a flat rock in the light of the blazing fire. There was, first of all, the little pig; then there were the taro-root, and the yam, and the potato, and six plums; and lastly, the wood-pigeon. To these Peterkin added a bit of sugar-cane, which he had cut from a little patch of that plant which he had found not long after separating from us; "and," said he, "the patch was somewhat in a square form, which convinces me it must have been planted by man." "Very likely," replied Jack. "From all we have seen, I'm inclined to think that some of the savages must have dwelt here long ago." We found no small difficulty in making up our minds how we were to cook the pig. None of us had ever cut up one before, and we did not know exactly how to begin; besides, we had nothing but the axe to do it with, our knife having been forgotten. At last Jack started up and said: "Don't let us waste more time talking about it, boys.--Hold it up, Peterkin. There, lay the hind leg on this block of wood--so;" and he cut it off; with a large portion of the haunch, at a single blow of the axe. "Now the other--that's it." And having thus cut off the two hind legs, he made several deep gashes in them, thrust a sharp-pointed stick through each, and stuck them up before the blaze to roast. The wood-pigeon was then split open, quite flat, washed clean in salt water, and treated in a similar manner. While these were cooking we scraped a hole in the sand and ashes under the fire, into which we put our vegetables and covered them up. The taro-root was of an oval shape, about ten inches long and four or five thick. It was of a mottled-grey colour, and had a thick rind. We found it somewhat like an Irish potato, and exceedingly good. The yam was roundish, and had a rough brown skin. It was very sweet and well flavoured. The potato, we were surprised to find, was quite sweet and exceedingly palatable, as also were the plums--and, indeed, the pork and pigeon too--when we came to taste them. Altogether, this was decidedly the most luxurious supper we had enjoyed for many a day. Jack said it was out-of-sight better than we ever got on board ship; and Peterkin said he feared that if we should remain long on the island he would infallibly become a glutton or an epicure, whereat Jack remarked that he need not fear that, for he was both already! And so, having eaten our fill, not forgetting to finish off with a plum, we laid ourselves comfortably down to sleep, upon a couch of branches, under the overhanging ledge of a coral rock. CHAPTER ELEVEN. EFFECTS OF OVEREATING, AND REFLECTIONS THEREON--HUMBLE ADVICE REGARDING COLD WATER--THE "HORRIBLE CRY" ACCOUNTED FOR--THE CURIOUS BIRDS CALLED PENGUINS--PECULIARITY OF THE COCOA-NUT PALM--QUESTIONS ON THE FORMATION OF CORAL ISLANDS--MYSTERIOUS FOOTSTEPS--STRANGE DISCOVERIES AND SAD SIGHTS. When we awoke on the following morning we found that the sun was already a good way above the horizon, so I came to the conclusion that a heavy supper is not conducive to early rising. Never-the-less, we felt remarkably strong and well, and much disposed to have our breakfast. First, however, we had our customary morning bathe, which refreshed us greatly. I have often wondered very much in after years that the inhabitants of my own dear land did not make more frequent use of this most charming element, water--I mean in the way of cold bathing. Of course, I have perceived that it is not convenient for them to go into the sea or the rivers in winter, as we used to do on the Coral Island; but then I knew from experience that a large washing-tub and a sponge do form a most pleasant substitute. The feelings of freshness, of cleanliness, of vigour, and extreme hilarity that always followed my bathes in the sea-- and even, when in England, my ablutions in the wash-tub--were so delightful that I would sooner have gone without my breakfast than without my bathe in cold water. My readers will forgive me for asking whether they are in the habit of bathing thus every morning; and if they answer "No", they will pardon me for recommending them to begin at once. Of late years, since retiring from the stirring life of adventure which I have led so long in foreign climes, I have heard of a system called the cold-water cure. Now, I do not know much about that system; so I do not mean to uphold it, neither do I intend to run it down. Perhaps, in reference to it, I may just hint that there may be too much of a good thing--I know not. But of this I am quite certain, that there may also be too little of a good thing; and the great delight I have had in cold bathing during the course of my adventurous career inclines me to think that it is better to risk taking too much than to content one's self with too little. Such is my opinion, derived from much experience; but I put it before my readers with the utmost diffidence and with profound modesty, knowing that it may possibly jar with their feelings of confidence in their own ability to know and judge as to what is best and fittest in reference to their own affairs. But to return from this digression, for which I humbly crave forgiveness. We had not advanced on our journey much above a mile or so, and were just beginning to feel the pleasant glow that usually accompanies vigorous exercise, when, on turning a point that revealed to us a new and beautiful cluster of islands, we were suddenly arrested by the appalling cry which had so alarmed us a few nights before. But this time we were by no means so much alarmed as on the previous occasion, because, whereas at that time it was night, now it was day; and I have always found, though I am unable to account for it, that daylight banishes many of the fears that are apt to assail us in the dark. On hearing the sound, Peterkin instantly threw forward his spear. "Now, what can it be?" said he, looking round at Jack. "I tell you what it is: if we are to go on being pulled up in a constant state of horror and astonishment, as we have been for the last week, the sooner we're out o' this island the better, notwithstanding the yams and lemonade, and pork and plums!" Peterkin's remark was followed by a repetition of the cry, louder than before. "It comes from one of these islands," said Jack. "It must be the ghost of a jackass, then," said Peterkin, "for I never heard anything so like." We all turned our eyes towards the cluster of islands, where, on the largest, we observed curious objects moving on the shore. "Soldiers they are--that's flat!" cried Peterkin, gazing at them in the utmost amazement. And, in truth, Peterkin's remark seemed to me to be correct; for at the distance from which we saw them, they appeared to be an army of soldiers. There they stood, rank and file, in lines and in squares, marching and counter-marching, with blue coats and white trousers. While we were looking at them the dreadful cry came again over the water, and Peterkin suggested that it must be a regiment sent out to massacre the natives in cold blood. At this remark Jack laughed and said: "Why, Peterkin, they are penguins!" "Penguins?" repeated Peterkin. "Ay, penguins, Peterkin, penguins--nothing more or less than big sea-birds, as you shall see one of these days when we pay them a visit in our boat, which I mean to set about building the moment we return to our bower." "So, then, our dreadful yelling ghosts and our murdering army of soldiers," remarked Peterkin, "have dwindled down to penguins--big sea-birds! Very good. Then I propose that we continue our journey as fast as possible, lest our island should be converted into a dream before we get completely round it." Now, as we continued on our way, I pondered much over this new discovery and the singular appearance of these birds, of which Jack could only give us a very slight and vague account; and I began to long to commence our boat, in order that we might go and inspect them more narrowly. But by degrees these thoughts left me, and I began to be much taken up again with the interesting peculiarities of the country which we were passing through. The second night we passed in a manner somewhat similar to the first--at about two-thirds of the way round the island, as we calculated--and we hoped to sleep on the night following at our bower. I will not here note so particularly all that we said and saw during the course of this second day, as we did not make any further discoveries of great importance. The shore along which we travelled, and the various parts of the woods through which we passed, were similar to those which have been already treated of. There were one or two observations that we made, however, and these were as follows: We saw that, while many of the large fruit-bearing trees grew only in the valleys, and some of them only near the banks of the streams, where the soil was peculiarly rich, the cocoa-nut palm grew in every place whatsoever--not only on the hillsides, but also on the seashore, and even, as has been already stated, on the coral reef itself, where the soil, if we may use the name, was nothing better than loose sand mingled with broken shells and coral rock. So near to the sea, too, did this useful tree grow, that in many places its roots were washed by the spray from the breakers. Yet we found the trees growing thus on the sands to be quite as luxuriant as those growing in the valleys, and the fruit as good and refreshing also. Besides this, I noticed that on the summit of the high mountain, which we once more ascended at a different point from our first ascent, were found abundance of shells and broken coral formations, which, Jack and I agreed, proved either that this island must have once been under the sea, or that the sea must once have been above the island: in other words, that as shells and coral could not possibly climb to the mountain-top, they must have been washed upon it while the mountain-top was on a level with the sea. We pondered this very much; and we put to ourselves the question, "What raised the island to its present height above the sea?" But to this we could by no means give to ourselves a satisfactory reply. Jack thought it might have been blown up by a volcano; and Peterkin said he thought it must have jumped up of its own accord! We also noticed, what had escaped us before, that the solid rocks of which the island was formed were quite different from the live coral rocks on the shore, where, the wonderful little insects were continually working. They seemed, indeed, to be of the same material--a substance like limestone; but while the coral rocks were quite full of minute cells in which the insects lived, the other rocks inland were hard and solid, without the appearance of cells at all. Our thoughts and conversations on this subject were sometimes so profound that Peterkin said we should certainly get drowned in them at last, even although we were such good divers! Nevertheless, we did not allow his pleasantry on this and similar points to deter us from making our notes and observations as we went along. We found several more droves of hogs in the woods, but abstained from killing any of them, having more than sufficient for our present necessities. We saw, also, many of their footprints in this neighbourhood. Among these we also observed the footprints of a smaller animal, which we examined with much care, but could form no certain opinion as to them. Peterkin thought they were those of a little dog, but Jack and I thought differently. We became very curious on this matter, the more so that we observed these footprints to lie scattered about in one locality, as if the animal which had made them was wandering round about in a very irregular manner and without any object in view. Early in the forenoon of our third day we observed these footprints to be much more numerous than ever, and in one particular spot they diverged off into the woods in a regular beaten track, which was, however, so closely beset with bushes that we pushed through it with difficulty. We had now become so anxious to find out what animal this was, and where it went to, that we determined to follow the track and, if possible, clear up the mystery. Peterkin said, in a bantering tone, that he was sure it would be cleared up, as usual, in some frightfully simple way, and prove to be no mystery at all! The beaten track seemed much too large to have been formed by the animal itself, and we concluded that some larger animal had made it, and that the smaller one made use of it. But everywhere the creeping plants and tangled bushes crossed our path, so that we forced our way along with some difficulty. Suddenly, as we came upon an open space, we heard a faint cry, and observed a black animal standing in the track before us. "A wild cat!" cried Jack, fitting an arrow to his bow, and discharging it so hastily that he missed the animal, and hit the earth about half-a-foot to one side of it. To our surprise, the wild cat did not fly, but walked slowly towards the arrow and snuffed at it. "That's the most comical wild cat I ever saw!" cried Jack. "It's a tame wild cat, I think," said Peterkin, levelling his spear to make a charge. "Stop!" cried I, laying my hand on his shoulder. "I do believe the poor beast is blind. See, it strikes against the branches as it walks along. It must be a very old one;" and I hastened towards it. "Only think," said Peterkin with a suppressed laugh, "of a superannuated wild cat!" We now found that the poor cat was not only blind, or nearly so, but extremely deaf, as it did not hear our footsteps until we were quite close behind it. Then it sprang round, and, putting up its back and tail, while the black hair stood all on end, uttered a hoarse mew and a fuff. Poor thing said Peterkin, gently extending his hand and endeavouring to pat the cat's head. "Poor pussy! chee, chee, chee! puss, puss, puss! cheetie pussy!" No sooner did the cat hear these sounds than all signs of anger fled, and advancing eagerly to Peterkin, it allowed itself to be stroked, and rubbed itself against his legs, purring loudly all the time, and showing every symptom of the most extreme delight. "It's no more a wild cat than I am!" cried Peterkin, taking it in his arms; "it's quite tame.--Poor pussy! cheetie pussy!" We now crowded around Peterkin, and were not a little surprised--and, to say truth, a good deal affected--by the sight of the poor animal's excessive joy. It rubbed its head against Peterkin's cheek, licked his chin, and thrust its head almost violently into his neck, while it purred more loudly than I ever heard a cat purr before, and appeared to be so much overpowered by its feelings that it occasionally mewed and purred almost in the same breath. Such demonstrations of joy and affection led us at once to conclude that this poor cat must have known man before, and we conjectured that it had been left either accidentally or by design on the island many years ago, and was now evincing its extreme joy at meeting once more with human beings. While we were fondling the cat and talking about it, Jack glanced round the open space in the midst of which we stood. "Hallo!" exclaimed he; "this looks something like a clearing. The axe has been at work here. Just look at these tree-stumps." We now turned to examine these, and without doubt we found trees that had been cut down here and there, also stumps and broken branches--all of which, however, were completely covered over with moss, and bore evidence of having been in this condition for some years. No human footprints were to be seen either on the track or among the bushes, but those of the cat were found everywhere. We now determined to follow up the track as far as it went, and Peterkin put the cat down; but it seemed to be so weak, and mewed so very pitifully, that he took it up again and carried it in his arms, where in a few minutes it fell sound asleep. About ten yards farther on, the felled trees became more numerous, and the track, diverging to the right, followed for a short space the banks of a stream. Suddenly we came to a spot where once must have been a rude bridge, the stones of which were scattered in the stream, and those on each bank entirely covered over with moss. In silent surprise and expectancy we continued to advance, and a few yards farther on, beheld, under the shelter of some bread-fruit trees, a small hut or cottage. I cannot hope to convey to my readers a very correct idea of the feelings that affected us on witnessing this unexpected sight. We stood for a long time in silent wonder, for there was a deep and most melancholy stillness about the place that quite overpowered us; and when we did at length speak, it was in subdued whispers, as if we were surrounded by some awful or supernatural influence. Even Peterkin's voice, usually so quick and lively on all occasions, was hushed now; for there was a dreariness about this silent, lonely, uninhabited cottage--so strange in its appearance, so far away from the usual dwellings of man, so old, decayed, and deserted in its aspect that fell upon our spirits like a thick cloud, and blotted out as with a pall the cheerful sunshine that had filled us since the commencement of our tour round the island. The hut or cottage was rude and simple in its construction. It was not more than twelve feet long by ten feet broad, and about seven or eight feet high. It had one window, or rather a small frame in which a window might perhaps once have been, but which was now empty. The door was exceedingly low, and formed of rough boards, and the roof was covered with broad cocoa-nut and plantain leaves. But every part of it was in a state of the utmost decay. Moss and green matter grew in spots all over it. The woodwork was quite perforated with holes; the roof had nearly fallen in, and appeared to be prevented from doing so altogether by the thick matting of creeping plants and the interlaced branches which years of neglect had allowed to cover it almost entirely; while the thick, luxuriant branches of the bread-fruit and other trees spread above it, and flung a deep, sombre shadow over the spot, as if to guard it from the heat and the light of day. We conversed long and in whispers about this strange habitation ere we ventured to approach it; and when at length we did so, it was, at least on my part, with feelings of awe. At first Jack endeavoured to peep in at the window; but from the deep shadow of the trees already mentioned, and the gloom within, he could not clearly discern objects, so we lifted the latch and pushed open the door. We observed that the latch was made of iron, and almost eaten away with rust. In the like condition were also the hinges, which creaked as the door swung back. On entering, we stood still and gazed around us, while we were much impressed with the dreary stillness of the room. But what we saw there surprised and shocked us not a little. There was no furniture in the apartment save a little wooden stool and an iron pot, the latter almost eaten through with rust. In the corner farthest from the door was a low bedstead, on which lay two skeletons, embedded in a little heap of dry dust. With beating hearts we went forward to examine them. One was the skeleton of a man; the other that of a dog, which was extended close beside that of the man, with its head resting on his bosom. Now we were very much concerned about this discovery, and could scarce refrain from tears on beholding these sad remains. After some time we began to talk about what we had seen, and to examine in and around the hut, in order to discover some clue to the name or history of this poor man, who had thus died in solitude, with none to mourn his loss save his cat and his faithful dog. But we found nothing--neither a book nor a scrap of paper. We found, however, the decayed remnants of what appeared to have been clothing, and an old axe. But none of these things bore marks of any kind, and indeed they were so much decayed as to convince us that they had lain in the condition in which we found them for many years. This discovery now accounted to us for the tree-stump at the top of the mountain with the initials cut on it; also for the patch of sugar-cane and other traces of man which we had met with in the course of our rambles over the island. And we were much saddened by the reflection that the lot of this poor wanderer might possibly be our own, after many years' residence on the island, unless we should be rescued by the visit of some vessel or the arrival of natives. Having no clue whatever to account for the presence of this poor human being in such a lonely spot, we fell to conjecturing what could have brought him there. I was inclined to think that he must have been a shipwrecked sailor, whose vessel had been lost here, and all the crew been drowned except himself and his dog and cat. But Jack thought it more likely that he had run away from his vessel, and had taken the dog and cat to keep him company. We were also much occupied in our minds with the wonderful difference between the cat and the dog. For here we saw that while the one perished like a loving friend by its master's side, with its head resting on his bosom, the other had sought to sustain itself by prowling abroad in the forest, and had lived in solitude to a good old age. However, we did not conclude from this that the cat was destitute of affection, for we could not forget its emotions on first meeting with us; but we saw from this that the dog had a great deal more of generous love in its nature than the cat, because it not only found it impossible to live after the death of its master, but it must needs, when it came to die, crawl to his side and rest its head upon his lifeless breast. While we were thinking on these things, and examining into everything about the room, we were attracted by an exclamation from Peterkin. "I say, Jack," said he, "here is something that will be of use to us." "What is it?" said Jack, hastening across the room. "An old pistol," replied Peterkin, holding up the weapon, which he had just pulled from under a heap of broken wood and rubbish that lay in a corner. "That, indeed, might have been useful," said Jack, examining it, "if we had any powder; but I suspect the bow and the sling will prove more serviceable." "True, I forgot that," said Peterkin; "but we may as well take it with us, for the flint will serve to strike fire with when the sun does not shine." After having spent more than an hour at this place without discovering anything of further interest, Peterkin took up the old cat, which had lain very contentedly asleep on the stool whereon he had placed it, and we prepared to take our departure. In leaving the hut, Jack stumbled heavily against the door-post, which was so much decayed as to break across, and the whole fabric of the hut seemed ready to tumble about our ears. This put it into our heads that we might as well pull it down, and so form a mound over the skeleton. Jack, therefore, with his axe, cut down the other door-post, which, when it was done, brought the whole hut in ruins to the ground, and thus formed a grave to the bones of the poor recluse and his dog. Then we left the spot, having brought away the iron pot, the pistol, and the old axe, as they might be of much use to us hereafter. During the rest of this day we pursued our journey, and examined the other end of the large valley, which we found to be so much alike to the parts already described that I shall not recount the particulars of what we saw in this place. I may, however, remark that we did not quite recover our former cheerful spirits until we arrived at our bower, which we did late in the evening, and found everything just in the same condition as we had left it three days before. CHAPTER TWELVE. SOMETHING WRONG WITH THE TANK--JACK'S WISDOM AND PETERKIN'S IMPERTINENCE--WONDERFUL BEHAVIOUR OF A CRAB--GOOD WISHES FOR THOSE WHO DWELL FAR FROM THE SEA--JACK COMMENCES TO BUILD A LITTLE BOAT. Rest is sweet, as well for the body as for the mind. During my long experience, amid the vicissitudes of a chequered life, I have found that periods of profound rest at certain intervals, in addition to the ordinary hours of repose, are necessary to the well-being of man. And the nature, as well as the period, of this rest varies according to the different temperaments of individuals and the peculiar circumstances in which they may chance to be placed. To those who work with their minds, bodily labour is rest; to those who labour with the body, deep sleep is rest; to the downcast, the weary, and the sorrowful, joy and peace are rest. Nay, further, I think that to the gay, the frivolous, the reckless, when sated with pleasures that cannot last, even sorrow proves to be rest of a kind, although, perchance, it were better that I should call it relief than rest. There is, indeed, but one class of men to whom rest is denied--there is no rest to the wicked. At this I do but hint, however, as I treat not of that rest which is spiritual, but more particularly of that which applies to the mind and to the body. Of this rest we stood much in need on our return home, and we found it exceedingly sweet when we indulged in it after completing the journey just related. It had not, indeed, been a very long journey; nevertheless, we had pursued it so diligently that our frames were not a little prostrated. Our minds were also very much exhausted in consequence of the many surprises, frequent alarms, and much profound thought to which they had been subjected; so that when we lay down, on the night of our return, under the shelter of the bower, we fell immediately into very deep repose. I can state this with much certainty; for Jack afterwards admitted the fact, and Peterkin, although he stoutly denied it, I heard snoring loudly at least two minutes after lying down. In this condition we remained all night and the whole of the following day without awaking once, or so much as moving our positions. When we did awake it was near sunset, and we were all in such a state of lassitude that we merely rose to swallow a mouthful of food. As Peterkin remarked, in the midst of a yawn, we took breakfast at tea-time, and then went to bed again, where we lay till the following forenoon. After this we arose very greatly refreshed, but much alarmed lest we had lost count of a day. I say we were much alarmed on this head; for we had carefully kept count of the days, since we were cast upon our island, in order that we might remember the Sabbath-day, which day we had hitherto, with one accord, kept as a day of rest, and refrained from all work whatsoever. However, on considering the subject, we all three entertained the same opinion as to how long we had slept, and so our minds were put at ease. We now hastened to our Water Garden to enjoy a bathe, and to see how did the animals which I had placed in the tank. We found the garden more charming, pellucid, and inviting than ever; and Jack and I plunged into its depths and gambolled among its radiant coral groves, while Peterkin wallowed at the surface, and tried occasionally to kick us as we passed below. Having dressed, I then hastened to the tank; but what was my surprise and grief to find nearly all the animals dead, and the water in a putrid condition! I was greatly distressed at this, and wondered what could be the cause of it. "Why, you precious humbug!" said Peterkin, coming up to me, "how could you expect it to be otherwise? When fishes are accustomed to live in the Pacific Ocean, how can you expect them to exist in a hole like that?" "Indeed, Peterkin," I replied, "there seems to be truth in what you say. Nevertheless, now I think of it, there must be some error in your reasoning; for if I put in but a few very small animals, they will bear the same proportion to this pond that the millions of fish bear to the ocean." "I say, Jack!" cried Peterkin, waving his hand; "come here, like a good fellow. Ralph is actually talking philosophy. Do come to our assistance, for he's out o' sight beyond me already!" "What's the matter?" inquired Jack, coming up, while he endeavoured to scrub his long hair dry with a towel of cocoa-nut cloth. I repeated my thoughts to Jack, who, I was happy to find, quite agreed with me. "The best plan," he said, "will be to put very few animals at first into your tank, and add more as you find it will bear them. And look here," he added, pointing to the sides of the tank, which, for the space of two inches above the water-level, were encrusted with salt, "you must carry your philosophy a little further, Ralph. That water has evaporated so much that it is too salt for anything to live in. You will require to add _fresh_ water now and then, in order to keep it at the same degree of saltness as the sea." "Very true, Jack; that never struck me before," said I. "And, now I think of it," continued Jack, "it seems to me that the surest way of arranging your tank so as to get it to keep pure and in good condition will be to _imitate_ the ocean in it; in fact, make it a miniature Pacific. I don't see how you can hope to succeed unless you do that." "Most true," said I, pondering what my companion said. "But I fear that that will be very difficult." "Not at all," cried Jack, rolling his towel up into a ball and throwing it into the face of Peterkin, who had been grinning and winking at him during the last five minutes--"not at all. Look here. There is water of a certain saltness in the sea; well, fill your tank with sea-water, and keep it at that saltness by marking the height at which the water stands on the sides. When it evaporates a little, pour in _fresh_ water from the brook till it comes up to the mark, and then it will be right, for the salt does not evaporate with the water. Then there's lots of seaweed in the sea; well, go and get one or two bits of seaweed and put them into your tank. Of course the weed must be alive, and growing to little stones; or you can chip a bit off the rocks with the weed sticking to it. Then, if you like, you can throw a little sand and gravel into your tank, and the thing's complete." "Nay, not quite," said Peterkin, who had been gravely attentive to this off-hand advice--"not quite. You must first make three little men to dive in it before it can be said to be perfect; and that would be rather difficult, I fear, for two of them would require to be philosophers. But hallo! what's this?--I say, Ralph, look here! There's one o' your crabs up to something uncommon. It's performing the most remarkable operation for a crab I ever saw--taking off its coat, I do believe, before going to bed!" We hastily stooped over the tank, and certainly were not a little amused at the conduct of one of the crabs which still survived its companions. It was one of the common small crabs, like to those that are found running about everywhere on the coast of England. While we gazed at it we observed its back to split away from the lower part of its body, and out of the gap thus formed came a soft lump which moved and writhed unceasingly. This lump continued to increase in size until it appeared like a bunch of crab's legs; and, indeed, such it proved in a very few minutes to be, for the points of the toes were at length extricated from the hole in its back, the legs spread out, the body followed, and the crab walked away quite entire, even to the points of its nipper-claws, leaving a perfectly entire shell behind it, so that, when we looked, it seemed as though there were two complete crabs instead of one. "Well," exclaimed Peterkin, drawing a long breath, "I've _heard_ of a man jumping out of his skin and sitting down in his skeleton in order to cool himself, but I never expected to _see_ a crab do it!" We were, in truth, much amazed at this spectacle, and the more so when we observed that the new crab was larger than the crab that it came out of. It was also quite soft, but by next morning its skin had hardened into a good shell. We came thus to know that crabs grow in this way, and not by the growing of their shells, as we had always thought before we saw this wonderful operation. Now I considered well the advice which Jack had given me about preparing my tank, and the more I thought of it the more I came to regard it as very sound and worthy of being acted on. So I forthwith put his plan in execution, and found it to answer excellently well--indeed, much beyond my expectation; for I found that after a little experience had taught me the proper proportion of seaweed and animals to put into a certain amount of water, the tank needed no further attendance. And, moreover, I did not require ever afterwards to renew or change the sea-water, but only to add a very little fresh water from the brook, now and then, as the other evaporated. I therefore concluded that if I had been suddenly conveyed, along with my tank, into some region where there was no salt sea at all, my little sea and my sea-fish would have continued to thrive and to prosper notwithstanding. This made me greatly to desire that those people in the world who live far inland might know of my wonderful tank, and by having materials like to those of which it was made conveyed to them, thus be enabled to watch the habits of those most mysterious animals that reside in the sea, and examine with their own eyes the wonders of the great deep. For many days after this, while Peterkin and Jack were busily employed in building a little boat out of the curious natural planks of the chestnut-tree, I spent much of my time in examining with the burning-glass the marvellous operations that were constantly going on in my tank. Here I saw those anemones which cling, like little red, yellow, and green blobs of jelly, to the rocks, put forth, as it were, a multitude of arms and wait till little fish or other small animalcules unwarily touched them, when they would instantly seize them, fold arm after arm round their victims, and so engulf them in their stomachs. Here I saw the ceaseless working of those little coral insects whose efforts have encrusted the islands of the Pacific with vast rocks, and surrounded them with enormous reefs; and I observed that many of these insects, though extremely minute, were very beautiful, coming out of their holes in a circle of fine threads, and having the form of a shuttlecock. Here I saw curious little barnacles opening a hole in their backs and constantly putting out a thin, feathery hand, with which, I doubt not, they dragged their food into their mouths. Here, also, I saw those crabs which have shells only on the front of their bodies, but no shell whatever on their remarkably tender tails, so that, in order to find a protection to them, they thrust them into the empty shells of whelks, or some such fish, and when they grow too big for one, change into another. But, most curious of all, I saw an animal which had the wonderful power, when it became ill, of casting its stomach and its teeth away from it, and getting an entirely new set in the course of a few months! All this I saw, and a great deal more, by means of my tank and my burning-glass; but I refrain from setting down more particulars here, as I have still much to tell of the adventures that befell us while we remained on this island. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. NOTABLE DISCOVERY AT THE SPOUTING CLIFFS--THE MYSTERIOUS GREEN MONSTER EXPLAINED--WE ARE THROWN INTO UNUTTERABLE TERROR BY THE IDEA THAT JACK IS DROWNED--THE DIAMOND CAVE. "Come, Jack," cried Peterkin one morning about three weeks after our return from our long excursion, "let's be jolly to-day, and do something vigorous. I'm quite tired of hammering and bammering, hewing and screwing, cutting and butting at that little boat of ours, that seems as hard to build as Noah's ark. Let us go on an excursion to the mountain-top, or have a hunt after the wild ducks, or make a dash at the pigs. I'm quite flat--flat as bad ginger-beer--flat as a pancake; in fact, I want something to rouse me--to toss me up, as it were. Eh! what do you say to it?" "Well," answered Jack, throwing down the axe with which he was just about to proceed towards the boat, "if that's what you want, I would recommend you to make an excursion to the waterspouts. The last one we had to do with tossed you up a considerable height; perhaps the next will send you higher--who knows?--if you're at all reasonable or moderate in your expectations!" "Jack, my dear boy," said Peterkin gravely, "you are really becoming too fond of jesting. It's a thing I don't at all approve of; and if you don't give it up, I fear that, for our mutual good, we shall have to part." "Well, then, Peterkin," replied Jack with a smile, "what would you have?" "Have?" said Peterkin. "I would _have_ nothing. I didn't say I wanted to _have_; I said that I wanted to _do_." "By the bye," said I, interrupting their conversation, "I am reminded by this that we have not yet discovered the nature of yon curious appearance that we saw near the waterspouts on our journey round the island. Perhaps it would be well to go for that purpose." "Humph!" ejaculated Peterkin, "I know the nature of it well enough." "What was it?" said I. "It was of a _mysterious_ nature, to be sure!" said he with a wave of his hand, while he rose from the log on which he had been sitting and buckled on his belt, into which he thrust his enormous club. "Well, then, let us away to the waterspouts," cried Jack, going up to the bower for his bow and arrows.--"And bring your spear, Peterkin; it may be useful." We now, having made up our minds to examine into this matter, sallied forth eagerly in the direction of the waterspout rocks, which, as I have before mentioned, were not far from our present place of abode. On arriving there we hastened down to the edge of the rocks and gazed over into the sea, where we observed the pale-green object still distinctly visible, moving its tail slowly to and fro in the water. "Most remarkable!" said Jack. "Exceedingly curious!" said I. "Beats everything!" said Peterkin.--"Now, Jack," he added, "you made such a poor figure in your last attempt to stick that object that I would advise you to let me try it. If it has got a heart at all, I'll engage to send my spear right through the core of it; if it hasn't got a heart, I'll send it through the spot where its heart ought to be." "Fire away, then, my boy," replied Jack with a laugh. Peterkin immediately took the spear, poised it for a second or two above his head, then darted it like an arrow into the sea. Down it went straight into the centre of the green object, passed quite through it, and came up immediately afterwards, pure and unsullied, while the mysterious tail moved quietly as before! "Now," said Peterkin gravely, "that brute is a heartless monster; I'll have nothing more to do with it." "I'm pretty sure now," said Jack, "that it is merely a phosphoric light; but I must say I'm puzzled at its staying always in that exact spot." I also was much puzzled, and inclined to think with Jack that it must be phosphoric light, of which luminous appearance we had seen much while on our voyage to these seas. "But," said I, "there is nothing to hinder us from diving down to it, now that we are sure it is not a shark." "True," returned Jack, stripping off his clothes. "I'll go down, Ralph, as I'm better at diving than you are.--Now, then, Peterkin, out o' the road!" Jack stepped forward, joined his hands above his head, bent over the rocks, and plunged into the sea. For a second or two the spray caused by his dive hid him from view; then the water became still, and we saw him swimming far down in the midst of the green object. Suddenly he sank below it, and vanished altogether from our sight! We gazed anxiously down at the spot where he had disappeared for nearly a minute, expecting every moment to see him rise again for breath; but fully a minute passed and still he did not reappear. Two minutes passed! and then a flood of alarm rushed in upon my soul when I considered that, during all my acquaintance with him, Jack had never stayed under water more than a minute at a time--indeed, seldom so long. "Oh Peterkin!" I said in a voice that trembled with increasing anxiety, "something has happened. It is more than three minutes now." But Peterkin did not answer; and I observed that he was gazing down into the water with a look of intense fear mingled with anxiety, while his face was overspread with a deadly paleness. Suddenly he sprang to his feet and rushed about in a frantic state, wringing his hands, and exclaiming, "Oh Jack! Jack! He is gone! It must have been a shark, and he is gone for ever!" For the next five minutes I know not what I did; the intensity of my feelings almost bereft me of my senses. But I was recalled to myself by Peterkin seizing me by the shoulders and staring wildly into my face, while he exclaimed, "Ralph! Ralph! perhaps he has only fainted! Dive for him, Ralph!" It seemed strange that this did not occur to me sooner. In a moment I rushed to the edge of the rocks, and without waiting to throw off my garments, was on the point to spring into the waves when I observed something black rising up through the green object. In another moment Jack's head rose to the surface, and he gave a wild shout, flinging back the spray from his locks, as was his wont after a dive. Now we were almost as much amazed at seeing him reappear, well and strong, as we had been at first at his non-appearance; for, to the best of our judgment, he had been nearly ten minutes under water--perhaps longer--and it required no exertion of our reason to convince us that this was utterly impossible for mortal man to do and retain his strength and faculties. It was, therefore, with a feeling akin to superstitious awe that I held down my hand and assisted him to clamber up the steep rocks. But no such feeling affected Peterkin. No sooner did Jack gain the rocks and seat himself on one, panting for breath, than he threw his arms round his neck and burst into a flood of tears. "Oh Jack! Jack!" said he, "where were you? What kept you so long?" After a few moments Peterkin became composed enough to sit still and listen to Jack's explanation, although he could not restrain himself from attempting to wink every two minutes at me in order to express his joy at Jack's safety. I say he attempted to wink, but I am bound to add that he did not succeed; for his eyes were so much swollen with weeping that his frequent attempts only resulted in a series of violent and altogether idiotical contortions of the face, that were very far from expressing what he intended. However, I knew what the poor fellow meant by it; so I smiled to him in return, and endeavoured to make believe that he was winking. "Now, lads," said Jack when we were composed enough to listen to him, "yon green object is not a shark; it is a stream of light issuing from a cave in the rocks. Just after I made my dive, I observed that this light came from the side of the rock above which we are now sitting; so I struck out for it, and saw an opening into some place or other that appeared to be luminous within. For one instant I paused to think whether I ought to venture. Then I made up my mind and dashed into it; for you see, Peterkin, although I take some time to tell this, it happened in the space of a few seconds, so that I knew I had wind enough in me to serve to bring me out o' the hole and up to the surface again. Well, I was just on the point of turning--for I began to feel a little uncomfortable in such a place--when it seemed to me as if there was a faint light right above me. I darted upwards, and found my head out of water. This relieved me greatly, for I now felt that I could take in air enough to enable me to return the way I came. Then it all at once occurred to me that I might not be able to find the way out again; but on glancing downwards, my mind was put quite at rest by seeing the green light below me streaming into the cave, just like the light that we had seen streaming out of it, only what I now saw was much brighter. "At first I could scarcely see anything as I gazed around me, it was so dark; but gradually my eyes became accustomed to it, and I found that I was in a huge cave, part of the walls of which I observed on each side of me. The ceiling just above me was also visible, and I fancied that I could perceive beautiful, glittering objects there; but the farther end of the cave was shrouded in darkness. While I was looking around me in great wonder, it came into my head that you two would think I was drowned; so I plunged down through the passage again in a great hurry, rose to the surface, and--here I am!" When Jack concluded his recital of what he had seen in this remarkable cave, I could not rest satisfied till I had dived down to see it; which I did, but found it so dark, as Jack had said, that I could scarcely see anything. When I returned we had a long conversation about, it, during which I observed that Peterkin had a most lugubrious expression on his countenance. "What's the matter, Peterkin?" said I. "The matter?" he replied. "It's all very well for you two to be talking away like mermaids about the wonders of this cave; but you know I must be content to hear about it, while you are enjoying yourselves down there like mad dolphins. It's really too bad!" "I'm very sorry for you, Peterkin--indeed I am," said Jack; "but we cannot help you. If you would only learn to dive--" "Learn to fly, you might as well say!" retorted Peterkin in a very sulky tone. "If you would only consent to keep still," said I, "we would take you down with us in ten seconds." "Hum!" returned Peterkin; "suppose a salamander was to propose to you `only to keep still' and he would carry you through a blazing fire in a few seconds, what would you say?" We both laughed and shook our heads, for it was evident that nothing was to be made of Peterkin in the water. But we could not rest satisfied till we had seen more of this cave; so, after further consultation, Jack and I determined to try if we could take down a torch with us, and set fire to it in the cavern. This we found to be an undertaking of no small difficulty, but we accomplished it at last by the following means: First, we made a torch of a very inflammable nature out of the bark of a certain tree, which we cut into strips, and after twisting, cemented together with a kind of resin or gum, which we also obtained from another tree; neither of which trees, however, was known by name to Jack. This, when prepared, we wrapped up in a great number of plies of cocoa-nut cloth, so that we were confident it could not get wet during the short time it should be under water. Then we took a small piece of the tinder, which we had carefully treasured up lest we should require it, as before said, when the sun should fail us; also, we rolled up some dry grass and a few chips, which, with a little bow and drill, like those described before, we made into another bundle and wrapped it up in cocoa-nut cloth. When all was ready we laid aside our garments, with the exception of our trousers, which, as we did not know what rough scraping against the rocks we might be subjected to, we kept on. Then we advanced to the edge of the rocks--Jack carrying one bundle, with the torch; I the other, with the things for producing fire. "Now don't weary for us, Peterkin, should we be gone some time," said Jack. "We'll be sure to return in half-an-hour at the very latest, however interesting the cave should be, that we may relieve your mind." "Farewell!" said Peterkin, coming up to us with a look of deep but pretended solemnity, while he shook hands and kissed each of us on the cheek--"farewell! And while you are gone I shall repose my weary limbs under the shelter of this bush, and meditate on the changefulness of all things earthly, with special reference to the forsaken condition of a poor shipwrecked sailor-boy!" So saying, Peterkin waved his hand, turned from us, and cast himself upon the ground with a look of melancholy resignation, which was so well feigned that I would have thought it genuine had he not accompanied it with a gentle wink. We both laughed, and springing from the rocks together, plunged head first into the sea. We gained the interior of the submarine cave without difficulty, and on emerging from the waves, supported ourselves for some time by treading water, while we held the two bundles above our heads. This we did in order to let our eyes become accustomed to the obscurity. Then, when we could see sufficiently, we swam to a shelving rock, and landed in safety. Having wrung the water from our trousers, and dried ourselves as well as we could under the circumstances, we proceeded to ignite the torch. This we accomplished without difficulty in a few minutes; and no sooner did it flare up than we were struck dumb with the wonderful objects that were revealed to our gaze. The roof of the cavern just above us seemed to be about ten feet high, but grew higher as it receded into the distance until it was lost in darkness. It seemed to be made of coral, and was supported by massive columns of the same material. Immense icicles (as they appeared to us) hung from it in various places. These, however, were formed, not of ice, but of a species of limestone, which seemed to flow in a liquid form towards the point of each, where it became solid. A good many drops fell, however, to the rock below, and these formed little cones, which rose to meet the points above. Some of them had already met, and thus we saw how the pillars were formed, which at first seemed to us as if they had been placed there by some human architect to support the roof. As we advanced farther in we saw that the floor was composed of the same material as the pillars, and it presented the curious appearance of ripples such as are formed on water when gently ruffled by the wind. There were several openings on either hand in the walls that seemed to lead into other caverns, but these we did not explore at this time. We also observed that the ceiling was curiously marked in many places, as if it were the fretwork of a noble cathedral; and the walls, as well as the roof, sparkled in the light of our torch, and threw back gleams and flashes as if they were covered with precious stones. Although we proceeded far into this cavern, we did not come to the end of it; and we were obliged to return more speedily than we would otherwise have done, as our torch was nearly expended. We did not observe any openings in the roof, or any indications of places whereby light might enter; but near the entrance to the cavern stood an immense mass of pure-white coral rock, which caught and threw back the little light that found an entrance through the cave's mouth, and thus produced, we conjectured, the pale-green object which had first attracted our attention. We concluded, also, that the reflecting power of this rock was that which gave forth the dim light that faintly illumined the first part of the cave. Before diving through the passage again we extinguished the small piece of our torch that remained, and left it in a dry spot--conceiving that we might possibly stand in need of it if, at any future time, we should chance to wet our torch while diving into the cavern. As we stood for a few minutes after it was out, waiting till our eyes became accustomed to the gloom, we could not help remarking the deep, intense stillness and the unutterable gloom of all around us; and as I thought of the stupendous dome above, and the countless gems that had sparkled in the torchlight a few minutes before, it came into my mind to consider how strange it is that God should make such wonderful and exquisitely beautiful works never to be seen at all--except, indeed, by chance visitors such as ourselves. I afterwards found that there were many such caverns among the islands of the South Seas, some of them larger and more beautiful than the one I have just described. "Now, Ralph, are you ready?" said Jack in a low voice, that seemed to echo up into the dome above. "Quite ready." "Come along, then," said he; and plunging off the ledge of the rock into the water, we dived through the narrow entrance. In a few seconds we were panting on the rocks above, and receiving the congratulations of our friend Peterkin. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. STRANGE PECULIARITY OF THE TIDES--ALSO OF THE TWILIGHT--PETERKIN'S REMARKABLE CONDUCT IN EMBRACING A LITTLE PIG AND KILLING A BIG SOW--SAGE REMARKS ON JESTING--ALSO ON LOVE. It was quite a relief to us to breathe the pure air and to enjoy the glad sunshine after our long ramble in the Diamond Cave, as we named it; for although we did not stay more than half-an-hour away, it seemed to us much longer. While we were dressing, and during our walk home, we did our best to satisfy the curiosity of poor Peterkin, who seemed to regret, with lively sincerity, his inability to dive. There was no help for it, however, so we condoled with him as we best could. Had there been any great rise or fall in the tide of these seas, we might perhaps have found it possible to take him down with us at low water; but as the tide never rose or fell more than eighteen inches or two feet, this was impossible. This peculiarity of the tide--its slight rise and fall--had not attracted our observation till some time after our residence on the island. Neither had we observed another curious circumstance until we had been some time there. This was the fact that the tide rose and fell with constant regularity, instead of being affected by the changes of the moon as in our own country, and as it is in most other parts of the world--at least, in all those parts with which I am acquainted. Every day and every night, at twelve o'clock precisely, the tide is at the full; and at six o'clock, every morning and evening, it is ebb. I can speak with much confidence on this singular circumstance, as we took particular note of it, and never found it to alter. Of course I must admit we had to guess the hour of twelve midnight, and I think we could do this pretty correctly; but in regard to twelve noon we are quite positive, because we easily found the highest point that the sun reached in the sky by placing ourselves at a certain spot whence we observed the sharp summit of a cliff resting against the sky, just where the sun passed. Jack and I were surprised that we had not noticed this the first few days of our residence here, and could only account for it by our being so much taken up with the more obvious wonders of our novel situation. I have since learned, however, that this want of observation is a sad and very common infirmity of human nature, there being hundreds of persons before whose eyes the most wonderful things are passing every day who nevertheless, are totally ignorant of them. I therefore have to record my sympathy with such persons, and to recommend to them a course of conduct which I have now for a long time myself adopted--namely, the habit of forcing my attention upon all things that go on around me, and of taking some degree of interest in them whether I feel it naturally or not. I suggest this the more earnestly, though humbly, because I have very frequently come to know that my indifference to a thing has generally been caused by my ignorance in regard to it. We had much serious conversation on this subject of the tides; and Jack told us, in his own quiet, philosophical way, that these tides did great good to the world in many ways, particularly in the way of cleansing the shores of the land, and carrying off the filth that was constantly poured into the sea therefrom--which, Peterkin suggested, was remarkably tidy of it to do. Poor Peterkin could never let slip an opportunity to joke, however inopportune it might be, which at first we found rather a disagreeable propensity, as it often interrupted the flow of very agreeable conversation--and, indeed, I cannot too strongly record my disapprobation of this tendency in general; but we became so used to it at last that we found it no interruption whatever. Indeed, strange to say, we came to feel that it was a necessary part of our enjoyment (such is the force of habit), and found the sudden outbursts of mirth, resulting from his humorous disposition, quite natural and refreshing to us in the midst of our more serious conversations. But I must not misrepresent Peterkin. We often found, to our surprise, that he knew many things which we did not; and I also observed that those things which he learned from experience were never forgotten. From all these things I came at length to understand that things very opposite and dissimilar in themselves, when united, do make an agreeable whole; as, for example, we three on this our island, although most unlike in many things, when united, made a trio so harmonious that I question if there ever met before such an agreeable triumvirate. There was, indeed, no note of discord whatever in the symphony we played together on that sweet Coral Island; and I am now persuaded that this was owing to our having been all tuned to the same key--namely, that of _love_! Yes, we loved one another with much fervency while we lived on that island; and, for the matter of that, we love each other still. And while I am on this subject, or rather the subject that just preceded it--namely, the tides--I may here remark on another curious natural phenomenon. We found that there was little or no twilight in this island. We had a distinct remembrance of the charming long twilight at home, which some people think the most delightful part of the day-- though, for my part, I have always preferred sunrise; and when we first landed, we used to sit down on some rocky point or eminence, at the close of our day's work, to enjoy the evening breeze, but no sooner had the sun sunk below the horizon than all became suddenly dark. This rendered it necessary that we should watch the sun when we happened to be out hunting; for to be suddenly left in the dark while in the woods was very perplexing, as, although the stars shone with great beauty and brilliancy, they could not pierce through the thick umbrageous boughs that interlaced above our heads. But to return. After having told all we could to Peterkin about the Diamond Cave under Spouting Cliff, as we named the locality, we were wending our way rapidly homewards when a grunt and a squeal were borne down by the land breeze to our ears. "That's the ticket!" was Peterkin's remarkable exclamation as he started convulsively and levelled his spear. "Hist!" cried Jack; "these are your friends, Peterkin. They must have come over expressly to pay you a friendly visit, for it is the first time we have seen them on this side of the island." "Come along!" cried Peterkin, hurrying towards the wood; while Jack and I followed, smiling at his impatience. Another grunt and half-a-dozen squeals, much louder than before, came down the valley. At this time we were just opposite the small vale which lay between the Valley of the Wreck and Spouting Cliff. "I say, Peterkin!" cried Jack in a hoarse whisper. "Well, what is't?" "Stay a bit, man! These grunters are just up there on the hillside. If you go and stand with Ralph in the lee of yon cliff I'll cut round behind and drive them through the gorge, so that you'll have a better chance of picking out a good one. Now, mind you pitch into a fat young pig, Peterkin!" added Jack as he sprang into the bushes. "Won't I, just!" said Peterkin, licking his lips, as we took our station beside the cliff. "I feel quite a tender affection for young pigs in my heart. Perhaps it would be more correct to say in my tum--" "There they come!" cried I as a terrific yell from Jack sent the whole herd screaming down the hill. Now Peterkin, being unable to hold back, crept a short way up a very steep grassy mound in order to get a better view of the hogs before they came up; and just as he raised his head above its summit, two little pigs, which had outrun their companions, rushed over the top with the utmost precipitation. One of these brushed close past Peterkin's ear; the other, unable to arrest its headlong flight, went, as Peterkin himself afterwards expressed it, `bash' into his arms with a sudden squeal, which was caused more by the force of the blow than the will of the animal, and both of them rolled violently down to the foot of the mound. No sooner was this reached than the little pig recovered its feet, tossed up its tail, and fled shrieking from the spot. But I slung a large stone after it, which, being fortunately well aimed, hit it behind the ear and felled it to the earth. "Capital, Ralph! that's your sort!" cried Peterkin, who, to my surprise and great relief, had risen to his feet apparently unhurt, though much dishevelled. He rushed frantically towards the gorge, which the yells of the hogs told us they were now approaching. I had made up my mind that I would abstain from killing another, as, if Peterkin should be successful, two were more than sufficient for our wants at the present time. Suddenly they all burst forth--two or three little round ones in advance, and an enormous old sow with a drove of hogs at her heels. "Now, Peterkin," said I, "there's a nice little fat one; just spear it." But Peterkin did not move; he allowed it to pass unharmed. I looked at him in surprise, and saw that his lips were compressed and his eyebrows knitted, as if he were about to fight with some awful enemy. "What is it?" I inquired with some trepidation. Suddenly he levelled his spear, darted forward, and with a yell that nearly froze the blood in my veins, stabbed the old sow to the heart. Nay, so vigorously was it done that the spear went in at one side and came out at the other! "Oh Peterkin!" said I, going up to him, "what have you done?" "Done? I've killed their great-great-grandmother, that's all," said he, looking with a somewhat awestruck expression at the transfixed animal. "Hallo! what's this?" said Jack as he came up. "Why, Peterkin, you must be fond of a tough chop. If you mean to eat this old hog, she'll try your jaws, I warrant. What possessed you to stick _her_, Peterkin?" "Why, the fact is, I want a pair of shoes." "What have your shoes to do with the old hog?" said I, smiling. "My present shoes have certainly nothing to do with her," replied Peterkin; "nevertheless, she will have a good deal to do with my future shoes. The fact is, when I saw you floor that pig so neatly, Ralph, it struck me that there was little use in killing another. Then I remembered all at once that I had long wanted some leather or tough substance to make shoes of, and this old grandmother seemed so tough that I just made up my mind to stick her--and you see I've done it!" "That you certainly have, Peterkin," said Jack as he was examining the transfixed animal. We now considered how we were to carry our game home, for, although the distance was short, the hog was very heavy. At length we hit on the plan of tying its four feet together, and passing the spear-handle between them. Jack took one end on his shoulder, I took the other on mine, and Peterkin carried the small pig. Thus we returned in triumph to our bower, laden, as Peterkin remarked, with the glorious spoils of a noble hunt. As he afterwards spoke in similarly glowing terms in reference to the supper that followed, there is every reason to believe that we retired that night to our leafy beds in a high state of satisfaction. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. BOAT-BUILDING EXTRAORDINARY--PETERKIN TRIES HIS HAND AT COOKERY, AND FAILS MOST SIGNALLY--THE BOAT FINISHED--CURIOUS CONVERSATION WITH THE CAT, AND OTHER MATTERS. For many days after this, Jack applied himself with unremitting assiduity to the construction of our boat, which at length began to look something like one. But those only who have had the thing to do can entertain a right idea of the difficulty involved in such an undertaking, with no other implements than an axe, a bit of hoop-iron, a sail-needle, and a broken penknife. But Jack did it. He was of that disposition which _will_ not be conquered. When he believed himself to be acting rightly, he overcame all obstacles. I have seen Jack, when doubtful whether what he was about to do were right or wrong, as timid and vacillating as a little girl; and I honour him for it! As this boat was a curiosity in its way, a few words here relative to the manner of its construction may not be amiss. I have already mentioned the chestnut-tree with its wonderful buttresses or planks. This tree, then, furnished us with the chief part of our material. First of all, Jack sought out a limb of a tree of such a form and size as, while it should form the keel, a bend at either end should form the stem and stern-posts. Such a piece, however, was not easy to obtain; but at last he procured it by rooting up a small tree which had a branch growing at the proper angle about ten feet up its stem, with two strong roots growing in such a form as enabled him to make a flat-sterned boat. This placed, he procured three branching roots of suitable size, which he fitted to the keel at equal distances, thus forming three strong ribs. Now the squaring and shaping of these, and the cutting of the grooves in the keel, was an easy enough matter, as it was all work for the axe, in the use of which Jack was become wonderfully expert; but it was quite a different affair when he came to nailing the ribs to the keel, for we had no instrument capable of boring a large hole, and no nails to fasten them with. We were, indeed, much perplexed here; but Jack at length devised an instrument that served very well. He took the remainder of our hoop-iron and beat it into the form of a pipe or cylinder, about as thick as a man's finger. This he did by means of our axe and the old rusty axe we had found at the house of the poor man at the other side of the island. This, when made red hot, bored slowly through the timbers; and the better to retain the heat, Jack shut up one end of it and filled it with sand. True, the work was very slowly done; but it mattered not--we had little else to do. Two holes were bored in each timber, about an inch and a half apart, and also down into the keel, but not quite through. Into these were placed stout pegs made of a tree called iron-wood, and when they were hammered well home, the timbers were as firmly fixed as if they had been nailed with iron. The gunwales, which were very stout, were fixed in a similar manner. But besides the wooden nails, they were firmly lashed to the stem and stern-posts and ribs by means of a species of cordage which we had contrived to make out of the fibrous husk of the cocoa-nut. This husk was very tough, and when a number of the threads were joined together they formed excellent cordage. At first we tied the different lengths together; but this was such a clumsy and awkward complication of knots that we contrived, by careful interlacing of the ends together before twisting, to make good cordage of any size or length we chose. Of course it cost us much time and infinite labour; but Jack kept up our spirits when we grew weary, and so all that we required was at last constructed. Planks were now cut off the chestnut-trees of about an inch thick. These were dressed with the axe--but clumsily, for an axe is ill-adapted for such work. Five of these planks on each side were sufficient; and we formed the boat in a very rounded, barrel-like shape, in order to have as little twisting of the planks as possible, for although we could easily bend them, we could not easily twist them. Having no nails to rivet the planks with, we threw aside the ordinary fashion of boat-building and adopted one of our own. The planks were therefore placed on each other's edges, and sewed together with the tough cordage already mentioned; they were also thus sewed to the stem, the stern, and the keel. Each stitch or tie was six inches apart, and was formed thus: Three holes were bored in the upper plank and three in the lower, the holes being above each other--that is, in a vertical line. Through these holes the cord was passed, and when tied, formed a powerful stitch of three-ply. Besides this, we placed between the edges of the planks layers of cocoa-nut fibre, which, as it swelled when wetted, would, we hoped, make our little vessel water-tight. But in order further to secure this end, we collected a large quantity of pitch from the bread-fruit tree, with which, when boiled in our old iron pot, we paid the whole of the inside of the boat, and while it was yet hot, placed large pieces of cocoa-nut cloth on it, and then gave it another coat above that. Thus the interior was covered with a tough, water-tight material; while the exterior, being uncovered, and so exposed to the swelling action of the water, was, we hoped, likely to keep the boat quite dry. I may add that our hopes were not disappointed. While Jack was thus engaged, Peterkin and I sometimes assisted him; but as our assistance was not much required, we more frequently went a-hunting on the extensive mud-flats at the entrance of the long valley which lay nearest to our bower. Here we found large flocks of ducks of various kinds, some of them bearing so much resemblance to the wild ducks of our own country that I think they must have been the same. On these occasions we took the bow and the sling, with both of which we were often successful, though I must confess that I was the least so. Our suppers were thus pleasantly varied, and sometimes we had such a profusion spread out before us that we frequently knew not with which of the dainties to begin. I must also add that the poor old cat which we had brought home had always a liberal share of our good things; and so well was it looked after, especially by Peterkin, that it recovered much of its former strength, and seemed to improve in sight as well as hearing. The large flat stone, or rock of coral, which stood just in front of the entrance to our bower, was our table. On this rock we had spread out the few articles we possessed the day we were shipwrecked; and on the same rock, during many a day afterwards, we spread out the bountiful supply with which we had been blessed on our Coral Island. Sometimes we sat down at this table to a feast consisting of hot rolls--as Peterkin called the newly baked bread-fruit--a roast pig, roast duck, boiled and roasted yams, cocoa-nuts, taro, and sweet potatoes; which we followed up with a dessert of plums, apples, and plantains--the last being a large-sized and delightful fruit, which grew on a large shrub or tree not more than twelve feet high, with light-green leaves of enormous length and breadth. These luxurious feasts were usually washed down with cocoa-nut lemonade. Occasionally Peterkin tried to devise some new dish--"a conglomerate," as he used to say; but these generally turned out such atrocious compounds that he was ultimately induced to give up his attempts in extreme disgust--not forgetting, however, to point out to Jack that his failure was a direct contradiction to the proverb which he (Jack) was constantly thrusting down his throat--namely, that "where there's a will there's a way." For he had a great will to become a cook, but could by no means find a way to accomplish that end. One day, while Peterkin and I were seated beside our table, on which dinner was spread, Jack came up from the beach, and flinging down his axe, exclaimed: "There, lads, the boat's finished at last! So we've nothing to do now but shape two pair of oars, and then we may put to sea as soon as we like." This piece of news threw us into a state of great joy; for although we were aware that the boat had been gradually getting near its completion, it had taken so long that we did not expect it to be quite ready for at least two or three weeks. But Jack had wrought hard and said nothing, in order to surprise us. "My dear fellow," cried Peterkin, "you're a perfect trump! But why did you not tell us it was so nearly ready? Won't we have a jolly sail to-morrow, eh?" "Don't talk so much, Peterkin," said Jack; "and, pray, hand me a bit of that pig." "Certainly, my dear," cried Peterkin, seizing the axe. "What part will you have? A leg, or a wing, or a piece of the breast--which?" "A hind leg, if you please," answered Jack; "and, pray, be so good as to include the tail." "With all my heart," said Peterkin, exchanging the axe for his hoop-iron knife, with which he cut off the desired portion. "I'm only too glad, my dear boy, to see that your appetite is so wholesale, and there's no chance whatever of its dwindling down into re-tail again--at least, in so far as this pig is concerned.--Ralph, lad, why don't you laugh, eh?" he added, turning suddenly to me with a severe look of inquiry. "Laugh!" said I. "What at, Peterkin? Why should I laugh?" Both Jack and Peterkin answered this inquiry by themselves laughing so immoderately that I was induced to believe I had missed noticing some good joke, so I begged that it might be explained to me; but as this only produced repeated roars of laughter, I smiled and helped myself to another slice of plantain. "Well, but," continued Peterkin, "I was talking of a sail to-morrow. Can't we have one, Jack?" "No," replied Jack, "we can't have a sail; but I hope we shall have a row, as I intend to work hard at the oars this afternoon, and if we can't get them finished by sunset, we'll light our candle-nuts, and turn them out of hands before we turn into bed." "Very good," said Peterkin, tossing a lump of pork to the cat, who received it with a mew of satisfaction. "I'll help you, if I can." "Afterwards," continued Jack, "we will make a sail out of the cocoa-nut cloth, and rig up a mast; and then we shall be able to sail to some of the other islands, and visit our old friends the penguins." The prospect of being so soon in a position to extend our observations to the other islands, and enjoy a sail over the beautiful sea, afforded us much delight, and after dinner we set about making the oars in good earnest. Jack went into the woods and blocked them roughly out with the axe, and I smoothed them down with the knife, while Peterkin remained in the bower spinning, or rather twisting, some strong, thick cordage with which to fasten them to the boat. We worked hard and rapidly, so that when the sun went down Jack and I returned to the bower with four stout oars, which required little to be done to them save a slight degree of polishing with the knife. As we drew near we were suddenly arrested by the sound of a voice. We were not a little surprised at this--indeed, I may almost say alarmed; for although Peterkin was undoubtedly fond of talking, we had never, up to this time, found him talking to himself. We listened intently, and still heard the sound of a voice as if in conversation. Jack motioned me to be silent, and advancing to the bower on tiptoe, we peeped in. The sight that met our gaze was certainly not a little amusing. On the top of a log which we sometimes used as a table sat the black cat with a very demure expression on its countenance, and in front of it, sitting on the ground with his legs extended on either side of the log, was Peterkin. At the moment we saw him he was gazing intently into the cat's face, with his nose about four inches from it, his hands being thrust into his breeches pockets. "Cat," said Peterkin, turning his head a little on one side, "I love you!" There was a pause, as if Peterkin awaited a reply to this affectionate declaration. But the cat said nothing. "Do you hear me?" cried Peterkin sharply. "I love you--I do! Don't you love me?" To this touching appeal the cat said "mew" faintly. "Ah, that's right! You're a jolly old rascal! Why did you not speak at once, eh?" and Peterkin put forward his mouth and kissed the cat on the nose! "Yes," continued Peterkin after a pause, "I love you. D'you think I'd say so if I didn't, you black villain? I love you because I've got to take care of you, and to look after you, and to think about you, and to see that you don't die--" "Mew, me-a-w!" said the cat. "Very good," continued Peterkin; "quite true, I have no doubt. But you've no right to interrupt me, sir. Hold your tongue till I have done speaking. Moreover, cat, I love you because you came to me the first time you ever saw me, and didn't seem to be afraid, and appeared to be fond of me, though you didn't know that I wasn't going to kill you. Now that was brave, that was bold, and very jolly, old boy, and I love you for it--I do!" Again there was a pause of a few minutes, during which the cat looked placid, and Peterkin dropped his eyes upon its toes as if in contemplation. Suddenly he looked up. "Well, cat, what are you thinking about now? Won't speak, eh? Now tell me: don't you think it's a monstrous shame that those two scoundrels, Jack and Ralph, should keep us waiting for our supper so long?" Here the cat arose, put up its back and stretched itself, yawned slightly, and licked the point of Peterkin's nose! "Just so, old boy; you're a clever fellow.--I really do believe the brute understands me!" said Peterkin, while a broad grin overspread his face as he drew back and surveyed the cat. At this point Jack burst into a loud fit of laughter. The cat uttered an angry fuff and fled, while Peterkin sprang up and exclaimed: "Bad luck to you, Jack! You've nearly made the heart jump out of my body, you have!" "Perhaps I have," replied Jack, laughing, as we entered the bower; "but as I don't intend to keep you or the cat any longer from your supper, I hope that you'll both forgive me." Peterkin endeavoured to turn this affair off with a laugh. But I observed that he blushed very deeply at the time we discovered ourselves, and he did not seem to relish any allusion to the subject afterwards; so we refrained from remarking on it ever after, though it tickled us not a little at the time. After supper we retired to rest, and to dream of wonderful adventures in our little boat and distant voyages upon the sea. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. THE BOAT LAUNCHED--WE VISIT THE CORAL REEF--THE GREAT BREAKER THAT NEVER GOES DOWN--CORAL INSECTS--THE WAY IN WHICH CORAL ISLANDS ARE MADE--THE BOATS SAIL--WE TAX OUR INGENUITY TO FORM FISH-HOOKS--SOME OF THE FISH WE SAW--AND A MONSTROUS WHALE--WONDERFUL SHOWER OF LITTLE FISH-- WATERSPOUTS. It was a bright, clear, beautiful morning when we first launched our little boat and rowed out upon the placid waters of the lagoon. Not a breath of wind ruffled the surface of the deep. Not a cloud spotted the deep-blue sky. Not a sound that was discordant broke the stillness of the morning, although there were many sounds--sweet, tiny, and melodious--that mingled in the universal harmony of nature. The sun was just rising from the Pacific's ample bosom, and tipping the mountain-tops with a red glow. The sea was shining like a sheet of glass, yet heaving with the long, deep swell that, all the world round, indicates the life of Ocean; and the bright seaweeds and the brilliant corals shone in the depths of that pellucid water, as we rowed over it, like rare and precious gems. Oh, it was a sight fitted to stir the soul of man to its profoundest depths! and if he owned a heart at all, to lift that heart in adoration and gratitude to the great Creator of this magnificent and glorious universe! At first, in the strength of our delight, we rowed hither and thither without aim or object. But after the effervescence of our spirits was abated, we began to look about us and to consider what we should do. "I vote that we row to the reef," cried Peterkin. "And I vote that we visit the islands within the lagoon," said I. "And I vote we do both," cried Jack; "so pull away, boys!" As I have already said, we had made four oars; but our boat was so small that only two were necessary. The extra pair were reserved in case any accident should happen to the others. It was therefore only needful that two of us should row, while the third steered by means of an oar-- and relieved the rowers occasionally. First we landed on one of the small islands and ran all over it, but saw nothing worthy of particular notice. Then we landed on a larger island, on which were growing a few cocoa-nut trees. Not having eaten anything that morning, we gathered a few of the nuts and breakfasted. After this we pulled straight out to sea, and landed on the coral reef. This was indeed a novel and interesting sight to us. We had now been so long on shore that we had almost forgotten the appearance of breakers, for there were none within the lagoon. But now, as we stood beside the foam-crested billow of the open sea, all the enthusiasm of the sailor was awakened in our breasts; and as we gazed on the widespread ruin of that single magnificent breaker that burst in thunder at our feet, we forgot the Coral Island behind us, we forgot our bower and the calm repose of the scented woods, we forgot all that had passed during the last few months, and remembered nothing but the storms, the calms, the fresh breezes, and the surging billows of the open sea. This huge, ceaseless breaker, to which I have so often alluded, was a much larger and more sublime object than we had at all imagined it to be. It rose many yards above the level of the sea, and could be seen approaching at some distance from the reef. Slowly and majestically it came on, acquiring greater volume and velocity as it advanced, until it assumed the form of a clear watery arch, which sparkled in the bright sun. On it came with resistless and solemn majesty, the upper edge lipped gently over, and it fell with a roar that seemed as though the heart of Ocean were broken in the crash of tumultuous water, while the foam-clad coral reef appeared to tremble beneath the mighty shock! We gazed long and wonderingly at this great sight, and it was with difficulty we could tear ourselves away from it. As I have once before mentioned, this wave broke in many places over the reef and scattered some of its spray into the lagoon; but in most places the reef was sufficiently broad and elevated to receive and check its entire force. In many places the coral rocks were covered with vegetation--the beginning, as it appeared to us, of future islands. Thus, on this reef, we came to perceive how most of the small islands of those seas are formed. On one part we saw the spray of the breaker washing over the rocks, and millions of little, active, busy creatures continuing the work of building up this living rampart. At another place, which was just a little too high for the waves to wash over it, the coral insects were all dead; for we found that they never did their work above water. They had faithfully completed the mighty work which their Creator had given them to do, and they were now all dead. Again, in other spots the ceaseless lashing of the sea had broken the dead coral in pieces, and cast it up in the form of sand. Here sea-birds had alighted, little pieces of seaweed and stray bits of wood had been washed up, seeds of plants had been carried by the wind, and a few lovely blades of bright green had already sprung up, which, when they died, would increase the size and fertility of these emeralds of Ocean. At other places these islets had grown apace, and were shaded by one or two cocoa-nut trees, which grew literally in the sand, and were constantly washed by the ocean spray--yet, as I have before remarked, their fruit was most refreshing and sweet to our taste. Again, at this time Jack and I pondered the formation of the large coral islands. We could now understand how the low ones were formed; but the larger islands cost us much consideration, yet we could arrive at no certain conclusion on the subject. Having satisfied our curiosity, and enjoyed ourselves during the whole day in our little boat, we returned, somewhat wearied, and withal rather hungry, to our bower. "Now," said Jack, "as our boat answers so well we will get a mast and sail made immediately." "So we will!" cried Peterkin as we all assisted to drag the boat above high-water mark. "We'll light our candle and set about it this very night. Hurrah, my boys, pull away!" As we dragged our boat, we observed that she grated heavily on her keel; and as the sands were in this place mingled with broken coral rocks, we saw portions of the wood being scraped off. "Hallo!" cried Jack on seeing this, "that won't do. Our keel will be worn off in no time at this rate." "So it will," said I, pondering deeply as to how this might be prevented. But I am not of a mechanical turn naturally, so I could conceive no remedy save that of putting a plate of iron on the keel; but as we had no iron, I knew not what was to be done. "It seems to me, Jack," I added, "that it is impossible to prevent the keel being worn off thus." "Impossible?" cried Peterkin. "My dear Ralph, you are mistaken; there is nothing so easy." "How?" I inquired in some surprise. "Why, by not using the boat at all!" replied Peterkin. "Hold your impudent tongue, Peterkin!" said Jack as he shouldered the oars. "Come along with me, and I'll give you work to do. In the first place, you will go and collect coca-nut fibre, and set to work to make sewing-twine with it--" "Please, captain," interrupted Peterkin, "I've got lots of it made already--more than enough, as a little friend of mine used to be in the habit of saying every day after dinner." "Very well," continued Jack; "then you'll help Ralph to collect cocoa-nut cloth and cut it into shape, after which we'll make a sail of it. I'll see to getting the mast and the gearing; so let's to work." And to work we went right busily, so that in three days from that time we had set up a mast and sail, with the necessary rigging, in our little boat. The sail was not, indeed, very handsome to look at, as it was formed of a number of oblong patches of cloth; but we had sewed it well by means of our sail-needle, so that it was strong, which was the chief point.--Jack had also overcome the difficulty about the keel by pinning to it a _false_ keel. This was a piece of tough wood, of the same length and width as the real keel, and about five inches deep. He made it of this depth because the boat would be thereby rendered not only much more safe, but more able to beat against the wind--which, in a sea where the trade-winds blow so long and so steadily in one direction, was a matter of great importance. This piece of wood was pegged very firmly to the keel; and we now launched our boat with the satisfaction of knowing that when the false keel should be scraped off we could easily put on another,--whereas, should the real keel have been scraped away, we could not have renewed it without taking our boat to pieces, which Peterkin said made his "marrow quake to think upon." The mast and sail answered excellently; and we now sailed about in the lagoon with great delight, and examined with much interest the appearance of our island from a distance. Also, we gazed into the depths of the water, and watched for hours the gambols of the curious and bright-coloured fish among the corals and seaweed. Peterkin also made a fishing-line; and Jack constructed a number of hooks, some of which were very good, others remarkably bad. Some of these hooks were made of iron-wood--which did pretty well, the wood being extremely hard--and Jack made them very thick and large. Fish there are not particular. Some of the crooked bones in fish-heads also answered for this purpose pretty well. But that which formed our best and most serviceable hook was the brass finger-ring belonging to Jack. It gave him not a little trouble to manufacture it. First he cut it with the axe, then twisted it into the form of a hook. The barb took him several hours to cut. He did it by means of constant sawing with the broken penknife. As for the point, an hour's rubbing on a piece of sandstone made an excellent one. It would be a matter of much time and labour to describe the appearance of the multitudes of fish that were day after day drawn into our boat by means of the brass hook. Peterkin always caught them--for we observed that he derived much pleasure from fishing--while Jack and I found ample amusement in looking on, also in gazing down at the coral groves, and in baiting the hook. Among the fish that we saw, but did not catch, were porpoises and swordfish, whales and sharks. The porpoises came frequently into our lagoon in shoals, and amused us not a little by their bold leaps into the air and their playful gambols in the sea. The swordfish were wonderful creatures--some of them apparently ten feet in length, with an ivory spear six or eight feet long projecting from their noses. We often saw them darting after other fish, and no doubt they sometimes killed them with their ivory swords. Jack remembered having heard once of a swordfish attacking a ship, which seemed strange indeed; but as they are often in the habit of attacking whales, perhaps it mistook the ship for one. This swordfish ran against the vessel with such force that it drove its sword quite through the thick planks; and when the ship arrived in harbour, long afterwards, the sword was found still sticking in it! Sharks did not often appear; but we took care never again to bathe in deep water without leaving one of our number in the boat, to give us warning if he should see a shark approaching. As for the whales, they never came into our lagoon; but we frequently saw them spouting in the deep water beyond the reef. I shall never forget my surprise the first day I saw one of these huge monsters close to me. We had been rambling about on the reef during the morning, and were about to re-embark in our little boat to return home, when a loud blowing sound caused us to wheel rapidly round. We were just in time to see a shower of spray falling, and the flukes or tail of some monstrous fish disappear in the sea a few hundred yards off. We waited some time to see if he would rise again. As we stood, the sea seemed to open up at our very feet; an immense spout of water was sent with a snort high into the air, and the huge, blunt head of a sperm-whale rose before us. It was so large that it could easily have taken our little boat, along with ourselves, into its mouth! It plunged slowly back into the sea, like a large ship foundering, and struck the water with its tail so forcibly as to cause a sound like a cannon-shot. We also saw a great number of flying-fish, although we caught none; and we noticed that they never flew out of the water except when followed by their bitter foe the dolphin, from whom they thus endeavoured to escape. But of all the fish that we saw, none surprised us so much as those that we used to find in shallow pools after a shower of rain; and this not on account of their appearance, for they were ordinary-looking and very small, but on account of their having descended in a shower of rain! We could account for them in no other way, because the pools in which we found these fish were quite dry before the shower, and at some distance above high-water mark. Jack, however, suggested a cause which seemed to me very probable. We used often to see waterspouts in the sea. A waterspout is a whirling body of water, which rises from the sea like a sharp-pointed pillar. After rising a good way, it is met by a long tongue, which comes down from the clouds; and when the two have joined, they look something like an hour-glass. The waterspout is then carried by the wind--sometimes gently, sometimes with violence--over the sea, sometimes up into the clouds; and then, bursting asunder, it descends in a deluge. This often happens over the land as well as over the sea; and it sometimes does much damage, but frequently it passes gently away. Now, Jack thought that the little fish might perhaps have been carried up in a waterspout, and so sent down again in a shower of rain. But we could not be certain as to this point, yet we thought it likely. During these delightful fishing and boating excursions we caught a good many eels, which we found to be very good to eat. We also found turtles among the coral rocks, and made excellent soup in our iron kettle. Moreover, we discovered many shrimps and prawns, so that we had no lack of variety in our food; and, indeed, we never passed a week without making some new and interesting discovery of some sort or other, either on the land or in the sea. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. A MONSTER WAVE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES--THE BOAT LOST AND FOUND--PETERKIN'S TERRIBLE ACCIDENT--SUPPLIES OF FOOD FOR A VOYAGE IN THE BOAT--WE VISIT PENGUIN ISLAND, AND ARE AMAZED BEYOND MEASURE--ACCOUNT OF THE PENGUINS. One day, not long after our little boat was finished, we were sitting on the rocks at Spouting Cliff, and talking of an excursion which we intended to make to Penguin Island the next day. "You see," said Peterkin, "it might be all very well for a stupid fellow like me to remain here and leave the penguins alone; but it would be quite inconsistent with your characters as philosophers to remain any longer in ignorance of the habits and customs of these birds, so the sooner we go the better." "Very true," said I. "There is nothing I desire so much as to have a closer inspection of them." "And I think," said Jack, "that you had better remain at home, Peterkin, to take care of the cat; for I'm sure the hogs will be at it in your absence, out of revenge for your killing their great-grandmother so recklessly." "Stay at home!" cried Peterkin. "My dear fellow, you would certainly lose your way, or get upset, if I were not there to take care of you." "Ah, true!" said Jack gravely; "that did not occur to me. No doubt you must go. Our boat does require a good deal of ballast; and all that you say, Peterkin, carries so much weight with it that we won't need stones if you go." Now, while my companions were talking, a notable event occurred, which, as it is not generally known, I shall be particular in recording here. While we were talking, as I have said, we noticed a dark line, like a low cloud or fog-bank, on the seaward horizon. The day was a fine one, though cloudy, and a gentle breeze was blowing; but the sea was not rougher, or the breaker on the reef higher, than usual. At first we thought that this looked like a thundercloud, and as we had had a good deal of broken weather of late, accompanied by occasional peals of thunder, we supposed that a storm must be approaching. Gradually, however, this line seemed to draw nearer without spreading up over the sky, as would certainly have been the case if it had been a storm-cloud. Still nearer it came, and soon we saw that it was moving swiftly towards the island; but there was no sound till it reached the islands out at sea. As it passed these islands we observed, with no little anxiety, that a cloud of white foam encircled them, and burst in spray into the air; it was accompanied by a loud roar. This led us to conjecture that the approaching object was an enormous wave of the sea; but we had no idea how large it was till it came near to ourselves. When it approached the outer reef, however, we were awestruck with its unusual magnitude; and we sprang to our feet, and clambered hastily up to the highest point of the precipice, under an indefinable feeling of fear. I have said before that the reef opposite Spouting Cliff was very near to the shore, while just in front of the bower it was at a considerable distance out to sea. Owing to this formation, the wave reached the reef at the latter point before it struck at the foot of Spouting Cliff. The instant it touched the reef we became aware, for the first time, of its awful magnitude. It burst completely over the reef at all points with a roar that seemed louder to me than thunder, and this roar continued for some seconds while the wave rolled gradually along towards the cliff on which we stood. As its crest reared before us we felt that we were in great danger, and turned to flee; but we were too late. With a crash that seemed to shake the solid rock, the gigantic billow fell, and instantly the spouting-holes sent up a gush of waterspouts with such force that they shrieked on issuing from their narrow vents. It seemed to us as if the earth had been blown up with water. We were stunned and confused by the shock, and so drenched and blinded with spray that we knew not for a few moments whither to flee for shelter. At length we all three gained an eminence beyond the reach of the water. But what a scene of devastation met our gaze as we looked along the shore! This enormous wave not only burst over the reef, but continued its way across the lagoon, and fell on the sandy beach of the island with such force that it passed completely over it and dashed into the woods, levelling the smaller trees and bushes in its headlong course. On seeing this, Jack said he feared our bower must have been swept away, and that the boat, which was on the beach, must have been utterly destroyed. Our hearts sank within us as we thought of this, and we hastened round through the woods towards our home. On reaching it we found, to our great relief of mind, that the force of the wave had been expended just before reaching the bower; but the entrance to it was almost blocked up by the torn-up bushes and tangled heaps of seaweed. Having satisfied ourselves as to the bower, we hurried to the spot where the boat had been left; but no boat was there. The spot on which it had stood was vacant, and no sign of it could we see on looking around us. "It may have been washed up into the woods," said Jack, hurrying up the beach as he spoke. Still no boat was to be seen, and we were about to give ourselves over to despair when Peterkin called to Jack and said: "Jack, my friend, you were once so exceedingly sagacious and wise as to make me acquainted with the fact that cocoa-nuts grow upon trees. Will you now be so good as to inform me what sort of fruit that is growing on the top of yonder bush? for I confess to being ignorant, or at least doubtful, on the point." We looked towards the bush indicated, and there, to our surprise, beheld our little boat snugly nestled among the leaves. We were very much overjoyed at this, for we would have suffered any loss rather than the loss of our boat. We found that the wave had actually borne the boat on its crest from the beach into the woods, and there launched it into the heart of this bush, which was extremely fortunate; for had it been tossed against a rock or a tree, it would have been dashed to pieces, whereas it had not received the smallest injury. It was no easy matter, however, to get it out of the bush and down to the sea again. This cost us two days of hard labour to accomplish. We had also much ado to clear away the rubbish from before the bower, and spent nearly a week in constant labour ere we got the neighbourhood to look as clean and orderly as before; for the uprooted bushes and seaweed that lay on the beach formed a more dreadfully confused-looking mass than one who had not seen the place after the inundation could conceive. Before leaving the subject I may mention, for the sake of those who interest themselves in the curious natural phenomena of our world, that this gigantic wave occurs regularly on some of the islands of the Pacific once, and sometimes twice, in the year. I heard this stated by the missionaries during my career in those seas. They could not tell me whether it visited all of the islands, but I was certainly assured that it occurred periodically in some of them. After we had got our home put to rights, and cleared of the debris of the inundation, we again turned our thoughts to paying the penguins a visit. The boat was therefore overhauled and a few repairs done. Then we prepared a supply of provisions, for we intended to be absent at least a night or two--perhaps longer. This took us some time to do; for, while Jack was busy with the boat, Peterkin was sent into the woods to spear a hog or two, and had to search long, sometimes, ere he found them. Peterkin was usually sent on this errand when we wanted a pork chop (which was not seldom), because he was so active and could run so wonderfully fast that he found no difficulty in overtaking the hogs; but being dreadfully reckless, he almost invariably tumbled over stumps and stones in the course of his wild chase, and seldom returned home without having knocked the skin off his shins. Once, indeed, a more serious accident happened to him. He had been out all the morning alone, and did not return at the usual time to dinner. We wondered at this, for Peterkin was always very punctual at the dinner-hour. As supper-time drew near we began to be anxious about him, and at length sallied forth to search the woods. For a long time we sought in vain; but a little before dark we came upon the tracks of the hogs, which we followed up until we came to the brow of a rather steep bank or precipice. Looking over this, we beheld Peterkin lying in a state of insensibility at the foot, with his cheek resting on the snout of a little pig, which was pinned to the earth by the spear. We were dreadfully alarmed, but hastened to bathe his forehead with water, and had soon the satisfaction of seeing him revive. After we had carried him home, he related to us how the thing had happened. "You must know," said he, "I walked about all the forenoon, till I was as tired as an old donkey, without seeing a single grunter--not so much as a track of one; but as I was determined not to return empty-handed, I resolved to go without my dinner, and--" "What!" exclaimed Jack, "did you _really_ resolve to do that?" "Now, Jack, hold your tongue," returned Peterkin. "I say that I resolved to forego my dinner and to push to the head of the small valley, where I felt pretty sure of discovering the hogs. I soon found that I was on the right scent, for I had scarcely walked half-a-mile in the direction of the small plum-tree we found there the other day when a squeak fell on my ear. `Ho, ho,' said I, `there you go, my boys;' and I hurried up the glen. I soon started them, and singling out a fat pig, ran tilt at him. In a few seconds I was up with him, and stuck my spear right through his dumpy body. Just as I did so, I saw that we were on the edge of a precipice--whether high or low, I knew not; but I had been running at such a pace that I could not stop, so the pig and I gave a howl in concert and went plunging over together. I remembered nothing more after that till I came to my senses, and found you bathing my temples, and Ralph wringing his hands over me." But although Peterkin was often unfortunate in the way of getting tumbles, he was successful on the present occasion in hunting, and returned before evening with three very nice little hogs. I also was successful in my visit to the mud-flats, where I killed several ducks. So that when we launched and loaded our boat at sunrise the following morning, we found our store of provisions to be more than sufficient. Part had been cooked the night before, and on taking note of the different items, we found the account to stand thus: 10 Bread-fruits (two baked, eight unbaked). 20 Yams (six roasted, the rest raw). 6 Taro-roots. 50 Fine large plums. 6 Cocoa-nuts, ripe. 6 Ditto, green (for drinking). 4 Large ducks and two small ones, raw. 3 Cold roast pigs, with stuffing. I may here remark that the stuffing had been devised by Peterkin specially for the occasion. He kept the manner of its compounding a profound secret, so I cannot tell what it was; but I can say, with much confidence, that we found it to be atrociously bad, and after the first tasting, scraped it carefully out and threw it overboard. We calculated that this supply would last us for several days; but we afterwards found that it was much more than we required, especially in regard to the cocoa-nuts, of which we found large supplies wherever we went. However, as Peterkin remarked, it was better to have too much than too little, as we knew not to what straits we might be put during our voyage. It was a very calm, sunny morning when we launched forth and rowed over the lagoon towards the outlet in the reef, and passed between the two green islets that guarded the entrance. We experienced some difficulty and no little danger in passing the surf of the breaker, and shipped a good deal of water in the attempt; but once past the billow, we found ourselves floating placidly on the long, oily swell that rose and fell slowly as it rolled over the wide ocean. Penguin Island lay on the other side of our own island, at about a mile beyond the outer reef, and we calculated that it must be at least twenty miles distant by the way we should have to go. We might, indeed, have shortened the way by coasting round our island inside of the lagoon, and going out at the passage in the reef nearly opposite to Penguin Island; but we preferred to go by the open sea--first, because it was more adventurous, and secondly, because we should have the pleasure of again feeling the motion of the deep, which we all loved very much, not being liable to sea-sickness. "I wish we had a breeze," said Jack. "So do I," cried Peterkin, resting on his oar and wiping his heated brow; "pulling is hard work. Oh dear, if we could only catch a hundred or two of these gulls, tie them to the boat with long strings, and make them fly as we want them, how capital it would be!" "Or bore a hole through a shark's tail and reeve a rope through it, eh?" remarked Jack. "But, I say, it seems that my wish is going to be granted, for here comes a breeze. Ship your oar, Peterkin.--Up with the mast, Ralph; I'll see to the sail. Mind your helm; look out for squalls!" This last speech was caused by the sudden appearance of a dark-blue line on the horizon, which, in an incredibly short space of time, swept down on us, lashing up the sea in white foam as it went. We presented the stern of the boat to its first violence, and in a few seconds it moderated into a steady breeze, to which we spread our sail and flew merrily over the waves. Although the breeze died away soon afterwards, it had been so stiff while it lasted that we were carried over the greater part of our way before it fell calm again; so that when the flapping of the sail against the mast told us that it was time to resume the oars, we were not much more than a mile from Penguin Island. "There go the soldiers!" cried Peterkin as we came in sight of it. "How spruce their white trousers look this morning! I wonder if they will receive us kindly?--D'you think they are hospitable, Jack?" "Don't talk, Peterkin, but pull away, and you shall see shortly." As we drew near to the island, we were much amused by the manoeuvres and appearance of these strange birds. They seemed to be of different species: for some had crests on their heads, while others had none; and while some were about the size of a goose, others appeared nearly as large as a swan. We also saw a huge albatross soaring above the heads of the penguins. It was followed and surrounded by numerous flocks of sea-gulls. Having approached to within a few yards of the island, which was a low rock, with no other vegetation on it than a few bushes, we lay on our oars and gazed at the birds with surprise and pleasure, they returning our gaze with interest. We now saw that their soldierlike appearance was owing to the stiff erect manner in which they sat on their short legs--"bolt-upright," as Peterkin expressed it. They had black heads, long, sharp beaks, white breasts, and bluish backs. Their wings were so short that they looked more like the fins of a fish, and indeed we soon saw that they used them for the purpose of swimming under water. There were no quills on these wings, but a sort of scaly feathers, which also thickly covered their bodies. Their legs were short, and placed so far back that the birds, while on land, were obliged to stand quite upright in order to keep their balance; but in the water they floated like other water-fowl. At first we were so stunned with the clamour which they and other sea-birds kept up around us that we knew not which way to look, for they covered the rocks in thousands; but as we continued to gaze, we observed several quadrupeds (as we thought) walking in the midst of the penguins. "Pull in a bit," cried Peterkin, "and let's see what these are. They must be fond of noisy company to consort with such creatures." To our surprise, we found that these were no other than penguins which had gone down on all fours, and were crawling among the bushes on their feet and wings, just like quadrupeds. Suddenly one big old bird, that had been sitting on a point very near to us, gazing in mute astonishment, became alarmed, and scuttling down the rocks, plumped or fell, rather than ran, into the sea. It dived in a moment, and, a few seconds afterwards, came out of the water far ahead with such a spring, and such a dive back into the sea again, that we could scarcely believe it was not a fish that had leaped in sport. "That beats everything!" said Peterkin, rubbing his nose, and screwing up his face with an expression of exasperated amazement. "I've heard of a thing being neither fish, flesh, nor fowl; but I never did expect to live to see a brute that was all three together--at once--in one! But look there!" he continued, pointing with a look of resignation to the shore--"look there! there's no end to it. What has that brute got under its tail?" We turned to look in the direction pointed out, and there saw a penguin walking slowly and very sedately along the shore with an egg under its tail. There were several others, we observed, burdened in the same way; and we found afterwards that these were a species of penguin that always carried their eggs so. Indeed, they had a most convenient cavity for the purpose, just between the tail and the legs. We were very much impressed with the regularity and order of this colony. The island seemed to be apportioned out into squares, of which each penguin possessed one, and sat in stiff solemnity in the middle of it, or took a slow march up and down the spaces between. Some were hatching their eggs, but others were feeding their young ones in a manner that caused us to laugh not a little. The mother stood on a mound or raised rock, while the young one stood patiently below her on the ground. Suddenly the mother raised her head and uttered a series of the most discordant cackling sounds. "She's going to choke," cried Peterkin. But this was not the case, although, I confess, she looked like it. In a few seconds she put down her head and opened her mouth, into which the young one thrust its beak and seemed to suck something from her throat. Then the cackling was renewed, the sucking continued, and so the operation of feeding was carried on till the young one was satisfied; but what she fed her little one with we could not tell. "Now, just look yonder!" said Peterkin in an excited tone. "If that isn't the most abominable piece of maternal deception I ever saw! That rascally old lady penguin has just pitched her young one into the sea, and there's another about to follow her example." This indeed seemed to be the case, for on the top of a steep rock close to the edge of the sea we observed an old penguin endeavouring to entice her young one into the water; but the young one seemed very unwilling to go, and notwithstanding the enticements of its mother, moved very slowly towards her. At last she went gently behind the young bird and pushed it a little towards the water, but with great tenderness, as much as to say, "Don't be afraid, darling; I won't hurt you, my pet!" But no sooner did she get it to the edge of the rock, where it stood looking pensively down at the sea, than she gave it a sudden and violent push, sending it headlong down the slope into the water, where its mother left it to scramble ashore as it best could. We observed many of them employed in doing this, and we came to the conclusion that this is the way in which old penguins teach their children to swim. Scarcely had we finished making our remarks on this, when we were startled by about a dozen of the old birds hopping in the most clumsy and ludicrous manner towards the sea. The beach here was a sloping rock, and when they came to it some of them succeeded in hopping down in safety, but others lost their balance and rolled and scrambled down the slope in the most helpless manner. The instant they reached the water, however, they seemed to be in their proper element. They dived, and bounded out of it and into it again with the utmost agility; and so, diving and bounding and sputtering--for they could not fly--they went rapidly out to sea. On seeing this, Peterkin turned with a grave face to us and said, "It's my opinion that these birds are all stark, staring mad, and that this is an enchanted island. I therefore propose that we should either put about ship and fly in terror from the spot, or land valorously on the island and sell our lives as dearly as we can." "I vote for landing; so pull in, lads!" said Jack, giving a stroke with his oar that made the boat spin. In a few seconds we ran the boat into a little creek, where we made her fast to a projecting piece of coral, and running up the beach, entered the ranks of the penguins, armed with our cudgels and our spear. We were greatly surprised to find that instead of attacking us, or showing signs of fear at our approach, these curious birds did not move from their places until we laid hands on them, and merely turned their eyes on us in solemn, stupid wonder as we passed. There was one old penguin, however, that began to walk slowly towards the sea; and Peterkin took it into his head that he would try to interrupt its progress, so he ran between it and the sea and brandished his cudgel in its face. But this proved to be a resolute old bird. It would not retreat; nay, more, it would not cease to advance, but battled with Peterkin bravely, and drove him before it until it reached the sea. Had Peterkin used his club he could easily have felled it, no doubt; but as he had no wish to do so cruel an act merely out of sport, he let the bird escape. We spent fully three hours on this island in watching the habit of these curious birds; but when we finally left them, we all three concluded, after much consultation, that they were the most wonderful creatures we had ever seen, and further, we thought it probable that they were the most wonderful creatures in the world! CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. AN AWFUL STORM AND ITS CONSEQUENCES--NARROW ESCAPE--A ROCK PROVES A SURE FOUNDATION--A FEARFUL NIGHT AND A BRIGHT MORNING--DELIVERANCE FROM DANGER. It was evening before we left the island of the penguins. As we had made up our minds to encamp for the night on a small island whereon grew a few cocoa-nut trees, which was about two miles off, we lay-to our oars with some energy. But a danger was in store for us which we had not anticipated. The wind, which had carried us so quickly to Penguin Island, freshened as evening drew on to a stiff breeze, and before we had made half the distance to the small island, it became a regular gale. Although it was not so directly against us as to prevent our rowing in the course we wished to go, yet it checked us very much; and although the force of the sea was somewhat broken by the island, the waves soon began to rise and to roll their broken crests against our small craft, so that she began to take in water, and we had much ado to keep ourselves afloat. At last the wind and sea together became so violent that we found it impossible to make the island; so Jack suddenly put the head of the boat round, and ordered Peterkin and me to hoist a corner of the sail, intending to run back to Penguin Island. "We shall at least have the shelter of the bushes," he said as the boat flew before the wind, "and the penguins will keep us company." As Jack spoke, the wind suddenly shifted and blew so much against us that we were forced to hoist more of the sail in order to beat up for the island, being by this change thrown much to leeward of it. What made matters worse was that the gale came in squalls, so that we were more than once nearly upset. "Stand by, both of you!" cried Jack in a quick, earnest tone. "Be ready to deuce the sail. I very much fear we won't make the island after all." Peterkin and I were so much in the habit of trusting everything to Jack that we had fallen into the way of not considering things, especially such things as were under Jack's care. We had, therefore, never doubted for a moment that all was going well, so that it was with no little anxiety that we heard him make the above remark. However, we had no time for question or surmise, for at the moment he spoke a heavy squall was bearing down upon us, and as we were then flying with our lee gunwale dipping occasionally under the waves, it was evident that we should have to lower our sail altogether. In a few seconds the squall struck the boat; but Peterkin and I had the sail down in a moment, so that it did not upset us. But when it was past we were more than half-full of water. This I soon bailed out, while Peterkin again hoisted a corner of the sail. But the evil which Jack had feared came upon us. We found it quite impossible to make Penguin Island. The gale carried us quickly past it towards the open sea, and the terrible truth flashed upon us that we should be swept out and left to perish miserably in a small boat in the midst of the wide ocean. This idea was forced very strongly upon us, because we saw nothing in the direction whither the wind was blowing us save the raging billows of the sea; and indeed we trembled as we gazed around us, for we were now beyond the shelter of the islands, and it seemed as though any of the huge billows, which curled over in masses of foam, might swallow us up in a moment. The water also began to wash in over our sides, and I had to keep constantly bailing; for Jack could not quit the helm, nor Peterkin the sail, for an instant, without endangering our lives. In the midst of this distress Jack uttered an exclamation of hope, and pointed towards a low island or rock which lay directly ahead. It had been hitherto unobserved, owing to the dark clouds that obscured the sky and the blinding spray that seemed to fill the whole atmosphere. As we neared this rock we observed that it was quite destitute of trees and verdure, and so low that the sea broke completely over it. In fact, it was nothing more than the summit of one of the coral formations, which rose only a few feet above the level of the water, and was, in stormy weather, all but invisible. Over this island the waves were breaking in the utmost fury, and our hearts sank within us as we saw that there was not a spot where we could thrust our little boat without its being dashed to pieces. "Show a little bit more sail!" cried Jack as we swept past the weather side of the rock with fearful speed. "Ay, ay!" answered Peterkin, hoisting about a foot more of our sail. Little though the addition was, it caused the boat to lie over and creak so loudly, as we cleft the foaming waves, that I expected to be upset every instant; and I blamed Jack in my heart for his rashness. But I did him injustice; for although during two seconds the water rushed inboard in a torrent, he succeeded in steering us sharply round to the leeward side of the rock, where the water was comparatively calm and the force of the breeze broken. "Out your oars now, lads! That's well done! Give way!" We obeyed instantly. The oars splashed into the waves together. One good, hearty pull, and we were floating in a comparatively calm creek that was so narrow as to be barely able to admit our boat. Here we were in perfect safety, and as we leaped on shore and fastened our cable to the rocks, I thanked God in my heart for our deliverance from so great danger. But although I have said we were now in safety, I suspect that few of my readers would have envied our position. It is true we had no lack of food; but we were drenched to the skin; the sea was foaming round us, and the spray flying over our heads, so that we were completely enveloped, as it were, in water; the spot on which we had landed was not more than twelve yards in diameter, and from this spot we could not move without the risk of being swept away by the storm. At the upper end of the creek was a small hollow or cave in the rock, which sheltered us from the fury of the winds and waves; and as the rock extended in a sort of ledge over our heads, it prevented the spray from falling upon us. "Why," said Peterkin, beginning to feel cheery again, "it seems to me that we have got into a mermaid's cave, for there is nothing but water all round us; and as for earth and sky, they are things of the past." Peterkin's idea was not inappropriate, for what with the sea roaring in white foam up to our very feet, and the spray flying in white sheets continually over our heads, and the water dripping heavily from the ledge above like a curtain in front of our cave, it did seem to us very much more like being below than above water. "Now, boys," cried Jack, "bestir yourselves, and let's make ourselves comfortable.--Toss out our provisions, Peterkin; and here, Ralph, lend a hand to haul up the boat. Look sharp!" "Ay, ay, captain!" we cried as we hastened to obey, much cheered by the hearty manner of our comrade. Fortunately the cave, although not very deep, was quite dry, so that we succeeded in making ourselves much more comfortable than could have been expected. We landed our provisions, wrung the water out of our garments, spread our sail below us for a carpet, and after having eaten a hearty meal, began to feel quite cheerful. But as night drew on our spirits sank again, for with the daylight all evidence of our security vanished away. We could no longer see the firm rock on which we lay, while we were stunned with the violence of the tempest that raged around us. The night grew pitchy dark as it advanced, so that we could not see our hands when we held them up before our eyes, and were obliged to feel each other occasionally to make sure that we were safe, for the storm at last became so terrible that it was difficult to make our voices audible. A slight variation of the wind, as we supposed, caused a few drops of spray ever and anon to blow into our faces; and the eddy of the sea, in its mad boiling, washed up into our little creek until it reached our feet and threatened to tear away our boat. In order to prevent this latter calamity, we hauled the boat farther up and held the cable in our hands. Occasional flashes of lightning shone with a ghastly glare through the watery curtains around us, and lent additional horror to the scene. Yet we longed for those dismal flashes, for they were less appalling than the thick blackness that succeeded them. Crashing peals of thunder seemed to tear the skies in twain, and fell upon our ears through the wild yelling of the hurricane as if it had been but a gentle summer breeze; while the billows burst upon the weather side of the island until we fancied that the solid rock was giving way, and in our agony we clung to the bare ground, expecting every moment to be whirled away and whelmed in the black, howling sea. Oh, it was a night of terrible anxiety! and no one can conceive the feelings of intense gratitude and relief with which we at last saw the dawn of day break through the vapoury mists around us. For three days and three nights we remained on this rock, while the storm continued to rage with unabated fury. On the morning of the fourth day it suddenly ceased, and the wind fell altogether; but the waves still ran so high that we did not dare to put off in our boat. During the greater part of this period we scarcely slept above a few minutes at a time; but on the third night we slept soundly, and awoke early on the fourth morning to find the sea very much down, and the sun shining brightly again in the clear blue sky. It was with light hearts that we launched forth once more in our little boat and steered away for our island home, which, we were overjoyed to find, was quite visible on the horizon, for we had feared that we had been blown out of sight of it altogether. As it was a dead calm, we had to row during the greater part of the day; but towards the afternoon a fair breeze sprang up, which enabled us to hoist our sail. We soon passed Penguin Island and the other island which we had failed to reach on the day the storm commenced; but as we had still enough of provisions, and were anxious to get home, we did not land--to the great disappointment of Peterkin, who seemed to entertain quite an affection for the penguins. Although the breeze was pretty fresh for several hours, we did not reach the outer reef of our island till nightfall; and before we had sailed more than a hundred yards into the lagoon, the wind died away altogether, so that we had to take to our oars again. It was late, and the moon and stars were shining brightly when we arrived opposite the bower and leaped upon the strand. So glad were we to be safe back again on our beloved island that we scarcely took time to drag the boat a short way up the beach, and then ran up to see that all was right at the bower. I must confess, however, that my joy was mingled with a vague sort of fear lest our home had been visited and destroyed during our absence; but on reaching it we found everything just as it had been left, and the poor black cat curled up, sound asleep, on the coral table in front of our humble dwelling. CHAPTER NINETEEN. SHOEMAKING--THE EVEN TENOR OF OUR WAY SUDDENLY INTERRUPTED--AN UNEXPECTED VISIT AND AN APPALLING BATTLE--WE ALL BECOME WARRIORS, AND JACK PROVES HIMSELF TO BE A HERO. For many months after this we continued to live on our island in uninterrupted harmony and happiness. Sometimes we went out a-fishing in the lagoon, and sometimes went a-hunting in the woods, or ascended to the mountain-top by way of variety, although Peterkin always asserted that we went for the purpose of hailing any ship that might chance to heave in sight. But I am certain that none of us wished to be delivered from our captivity, for we were extremely happy; and Peterkin used to say that as we were very young, we should not feel the loss of a year or two. Peterkin, as I have said before, was thirteen years of age, Jack eighteen, and I fifteen. But Jack was very tall, strong, and manly for his age, and might easily have been mistaken for twenty. The climate was so beautiful that it seemed to be a perpetual summer, and as many of the fruit-trees continued to bear fruit and blossom all the year round, we never wanted for a plentiful supply of food. The hogs, too, seemed rather to increase than diminish, although Peterkin was very frequent in his attacks on them with his spear. If at any time we failed in finding a drove, we had only to pay a visit to the plum-tree before mentioned, where we always found a large family of them asleep under its branches. We employed ourselves very busily during this time in making various garments of cocoa-nut cloth, as those with which we had landed were beginning to be very ragged. Peterkin also succeeded in making excellent shoes out of the skin of the old hog in the following manner: He first cut a piece of the hide, of an oblong form, a few inches longer than his foot. This he soaked in water, and while it was wet he sewed up one end of it so as to form a rough imitation of that part of the heel of a shoe where the seam is. This done, he bored a row of holes all round the edge of the piece of skin, through which a tough line was passed. Into the sewed-up part of this shoe he thrust his heel; then, drawing the string tight, the edges rose up and overlapped his foot all round. It is true there were a great many ill-looking puckers in these shoes; but we found them very serviceable notwithstanding, and Jack came at last to prefer them to his long boots. We also made various other useful articles, which added to our comfort, and once or twice spoke of building us a house; but we had so great an affection for the bower, and withal found it so serviceable, that we determined not to leave it, nor to attempt the building of a house, which in such a climate might turn out to be rather disagreeable than useful. We often examined the pistol that we had found in the house on the other side of the island, and Peterkin wished much that we had powder and shot, as it would render pig-killing much easier; but, after all, we had become so expert in the use of our sling and bow and spear that we were independent of more deadly weapons. Diving in the Water Garden also continued to afford us as much pleasure as ever, and Peterkin began to be a little more expert in the water from constant practice. As for Jack and me, we began to feel as if water were our native element, and revelled in it with so much confidence and comfort that Peterkin said he feared we would turn into fish some day and swim off and leave him, adding that he had been for a long time observing that Jack was becoming more and more like a shark every day. Whereupon Jack remarked that if he (Peterkin) were changed into a fish, he would certainly turn into nothing better or bigger than a shrimp. Poor Peterkin did not envy us our delightful excursions under water-- except, indeed, when Jack would dive down to the bottom of the Water Garden, sit down on a rock, and look up and make faces at him. Peterkin did feel envious then, and often said he would give anything to be able to do that. I was much amused when Peterkin said this; for if he could only have seen his own face when he happened to take a short dive, he would have seen that Jack's was far surpassed by it--the great difference being, however, that Jack made faces on purpose, Peterkin couldn't help it! Now, while we were engaged with these occupations and amusements, an event occurred one day which was as unexpected as it was exceedingly alarming and very horrible. Jack and I were sitting, as we were often wont to do, on the rocks at Spouting Cliff, and Peterkin was wringing the water from his garments, having recently fallen by accident into the sea--a thing he was constantly doing--when our attention was suddenly arrested by two objects which appeared on the horizon. "What are yon, think you?" I said, addressing Jack. "I can't imagine," answered he. "I've noticed them for some time, and fancied they were black sea-gulls; but the more I look at them, the more I feel convinced they are much larger than gulls." "They seem to be coming towards us," said I. "Hallo! what's wrong?" inquired Peterkin, coming up. "Look there," said Jack. "Whales!" cried Peterkin, shading his eyes with his hand. "No--eh--can they be boats, Jack?" Our hearts beat with excitement at the very thought of seeing human faces again. "I think you are about right, Peterkin. But they seem to me to move strangely for boats," said Jack in a low tone, as if he were talking to himself. I noticed that a shade of anxiety crossed Jack's countenance as he gazed long and intently at the two objects, which were now nearing us fast. At last he sprang to his feet. "They are canoes, Ralph! whether war-canoes or not, I cannot tell; but this I know--that all the natives of the South Sea Islands are fierce cannibals, and they have little respect for strangers. We must hide if they land here, which I earnestly hope they will not do." I was greatly alarmed at Jack's speech; but I confess I thought less of what he said than of the earnest, anxious manner in which he said it, and it was with very uncomfortable feelings that Peterkin and I followed him quickly into the woods. "How unfortunate," said I as we gained the shelter of the bushes, "that we have forgotten our arms!" "It matters not," said Jack; "here are clubs enough and to spare." As he spoke, he laid his hand on a bundle of stout poles of various sizes, which Peterkin's ever-busy hands had formed, during our frequent visits to the cliff, for no other purpose, apparently, than that of having something to do. We each selected a stout club according to our several tastes and lay down behind a rock, whence we could see the canoes approach without ourselves being seen. At first we made an occasional remark on their appearance; but after they entered the lagoon and drew near the beach, we ceased to speak, and gazed with intense interest at the scene before us. We now observed that the foremost canoe was being chased by the other, and that it contained a few women and children as well as men--perhaps forty souls altogether--while the canoe which pursued it contained only men. They seemed to be about the same in number, but were better armed, and had the appearance of being a war-party. Both crews were paddling with all their might, and it seemed as if the pursuers exerted themselves to overtake the fugitives ere they could land. In this, however, they failed. The foremost canoe made for the beach close beneath the rocks behind which we were concealed. Their short paddles flashed like meteors in the water, and sent up a constant shower of spray. The foam curled from the prow, and the eyes of the rowers glistened in their black faces as they strained every muscle of their naked bodies. Nor did they relax their efforts till the canoe struck the beach with a violent shock; then, with a shout of defiance, the whole party sprang, as if by magic, from the canoe to the shore. Three women, two of whom carried infants in their arms, rushed into the woods; and the men crowded to the water's edge, with stones in their hands, spears levelled, and clubs brandished, to resist the landing of their enemies. The distance between the two canoes had been about half-a-mile, and at the great speed they were going, this was soon passed. As the pursuers neared the shore, no sign of fear or hesitation was noticeable. On they came, like a wild charger--received, but recked not of, a shower of stones. The canoe struck, and with a yell that seemed to issue from the throats of incarnate fiends, they leaped into the water and drove their enemies up the beach. The battle that immediately ensued was frightful to behold. Most of the men wielded clubs of enormous size and curious shapes, with which they dashed out each other's brains. As they were almost entirely naked, and had to bound, stoop, leap, and run in their terrible hand-to-hand encounters, they looked more like demons than human beings. I felt my heart grow sick at the sight of this bloody battle, and would fain have turned away; but a species of fascination seemed to hold me down and glue my eyes upon the combatants. I observed that the attacking party was led by a most extraordinary being, who, from his size and peculiarity, I concluded was a chief. His hair was frizzed out to an enormous extent, so that it resembled a large turban. It was of a light-yellow hue, which surprised me much, for the man's body was as black as coal, and I felt convinced that the hair must have been dyed. He was tattooed from head to foot; and his face, besides being tattooed, was besmeared with red paint and streaked with white. Altogether, with his yellow turban-like hair, his Herculean black frame, his glittering eyes, and white teeth, he seemed the most terrible monster I ever beheld. He was very active in the fight, and had already killed four men. Suddenly the yellow-haired chief was attacked by a man quite as strong and large as himself. He flourished a heavy club, something like an eagle's beak at the point. For a second or two these giants eyed each other warily, moving round and round, as if to catch each other at a disadvantage; but seeing that nothing was to be gained by this caution, and that the loss of time might effectually turn the tide of battle either way, they apparently made up their minds to attack at the same instant, for, with a wild shout and simultaneous spring, they swung their heavy clubs, which met with a loud report. Suddenly the yellow-haired savage tripped, his enemy sprang forward, the ponderous club was swung; but it did not descend, for at that moment the savage was felled to the ground by a stone from the hand of one who had witnessed his chief's danger. This was the turning-point in the battle. The savages who landed first turned and fled towards the bush on seeing the fall of their chief. But not one escaped; they were all overtaken and felled to the earth. I saw, however, that they were not all killed. Indeed, their enemies, now that they were conquered, seemed anxious to take them alive; and they succeeded in securing fifteen, whom they bound hand and foot with cords, and carrying them up into the woods, laid them down among the bushes. Here they left them, for what purpose I knew not, and returned to the scene of the late battle, where the remnant of the party were bathing their wounds. Out of the forty blacks that composed the attacking party only twenty-eight remained alive, two of whom were sent into the bush to hunt for the women and children. Of the other party, as I have said, only fifteen survived, and these were lying bound and helpless on the grass. Jack and Peterkin and I now looked at each other, and whispered our fears that the savages might clamber up the rocks to search for fresh water, and so discover our place of concealment; but we were so much interested in watching their movements that we agreed to remain where we were--and indeed we could not easily have risen without exposing ourselves to detection. One of the savages now went up to the woods and soon returned with a bundle of firewood, and we were not a little surprised to see him set fire to it by the very same means used by Jack the time we made our first fire--namely, with the bow and drill. When the fire was kindled, two of the party went again to the woods and returned with one of the bound men. A dreadful feeling of horror crept over my heart as the thought flashed upon me that they were going to burn their enemies. As they bore him to the fire my feelings almost overpowered me. I gasped for breath, and seizing my club, endeavoured to spring to my feet; but Jack's powerful arm pinned me to the earth. Next moment one of the savages raised his club and fractured the wretched creature's skull. He must have died instantly; and, strange though it may seem, I confess to a feeling of relief when the deed was done, because I now knew that the poor savage could not be burned alive. Scarcely had his limbs ceased to quiver when the monsters cut slices of flesh from his body, and after roasting them slightly over the fire, devoured them. Suddenly there arose a cry from the woods, and in a few seconds the two savages hastened towards the fire, dragging the three women and their two infants along with them. One of these women was much younger than her companions, and we were struck with the modesty of her demeanour and the gentle expression of her face, which, although she had the flattish nose and thick lips of the others, was of a light-brown colour, and we conjectured that she must be of a different race. She and her companions wore short petticoats, and a kind of tippet on their shoulders. Their hair was jet black, but instead of being long, was short and curly--though not woolly--somewhat like the hair of a young boy. While we gazed with interest and some anxiety at these poor creatures, the big chief advanced to one of the elder females and laid his hand upon the child. But the mother shrank from him, and clasping the little one to her bosom, uttered a wail of fear. With a savage laugh, the chief tore the child from her arms and tossed it into the sea. A low groan burst from Jack's lips as he witnessed this atrocious act and heard the mother's shriek as she fell insensible on the sand. The rippling waves rolled the child on the beach, as if they refused to be a party in such a foul murder, and we could observe that the little one still lived. The young girl was now brought forward, and the chief addressed her; but although we heard his voice and even the words distinctly, of course we could not understand what he said. The girl made no answer to his fierce questions, and we saw by the way in which he pointed to the fire that he threatened her life. "Peterkin," said Jack in a hoarse whisper, "have you got your knife?" "Yes," replied Peterkin, whose face was pale as death. "That will do. Listen to me, and do my bidding quick.--Here is the small knife, Ralph. Fly, both of you, through the bush, cut the cords that bind the prisoners, and set them free! There! quick, ere it be too late!" Jack sprang up and seized a heavy but short bludgeon, while his strong frame trembled with emotion, and large drops rolled down his forehead. At this moment the man who had butchered the savage a few minutes before advanced towards the girl with his heavy club. Jack uttered a yell that rang like a death-shriek among the rocks. With one bound he leaped over a precipice full fifteen feet high, and before the savages had recovered from their surprise, was in the midst of them, while Peterkin and I dashed through the bushes towards the prisoners. With one blow of his staff Jack felled the man with the club; then turning round with a look of fury he rushed upon the big chief with the yellow hair. Had the blow which Jack aimed at his head taken effect, the huge savage would have needed no second stroke; but he was agile as a cat, and avoided it by springing to one side, while at the same time he swung his ponderous club at the head of his foe. It was now Jack's turn to leap aside; and well was it for him that the first outburst of his blind fury was over, else he had become an easy prey to his gigantic antagonist. But Jack was cool now. He darted his blows rapidly and well, and the superiority of his light weapon was strikingly proved in this combat; for while he could easily evade the blows of the chief's heavy club, the chief could not so easily evade those of his light one. Nevertheless, so quick was he, and so frightfully did he fling about the mighty weapon, that although Jack struck him almost every blow, the strokes had to be delivered so quickly that they wanted force to be very effectual. It was lucky for Jack that the other savages considered the success of their chief in this encounter to be so certain that they refrained from interfering. Had they doubted it, they would have probably ended the matter at once by felling him. But they contented themselves with awaiting the issue. The force which the chief expended in wielding his club now began to be apparent. His movements became slower, his breath hissed through his clenched teeth, and the surprised savages drew nearer in order to render assistance. Jack observed this movement. He felt that his fate was sealed, and resolved to cast his life upon the next blow. The chief's club was again about to descend on his head. He might have evaded it easily, but instead of doing so, he suddenly shortened his grasp of his own club, rushed in under the blow, struck his adversary right between the eyes with all his force, and fell to the earth, crushed beneath the senseless body of the chief. A dozen clubs flew high in air, ready to descend on the head of Jack; but they hesitated a moment, for the massive body of the chief completely covered him. That moment saved his life. Ere the savages could tear the chief's body away, seven of their number fell prostrate beneath the clubs of the prisoners whom Peterkin and I had set free, and two others fell under our own hand. We could never have accomplished this had not our enemies been so engrossed with the fight between Jack and their chief that they had failed to observe us until we were upon them. They still outnumbered our party by three; but we were flushed with victory, while they were taken by surprise and dispirited by the fall of their chief. Moreover, they were awestruck by the sweeping fury of Jack, who seemed to have lost his senses altogether, and had no sooner shaken himself free of the chief's body than he rushed into the midst of them, and in three blows equalised our numbers. Peterkin and I flew to the rescue, the savages followed us, and in less than ten minutes the whole of our opponents were knocked down or made prisoners, bound hand and foot, and extended side by side upon the seashore. CHAPTER TWENTY. INTERCOURSE WITH THE SAVAGES--CANNIBALISM PREVENTED--THE SLAIN ARE BURIED AND THE SURVIVORS DEPART, LEAVING US AGAIN ALONE ON OUR CORAL ISLAND. After the battle was over, the savages crowded round us and gazed at us in surprise, while they continued to pour upon us a flood of questions, which, being wholly unintelligible, of course we could not answer. However, by way of putting an end to it, Jack took the chief (who had recovered from the effects of his wound) by the hand and shook it warmly. No sooner did the blacks see that this was meant to express good-will than they shook hands with us all round. After this ceremony was gone through Jack went up to the girl, who had never once moved from the rock where she had been left, but had continued an eager spectator of all that had passed. He made signs to her to follow him, and then, taking the chief by the hand, was about to conduct him to the bower when his eye fell on the poor infant which had been thrown into the sea and was still lying on the shore. Dropping the chief's hand he hastened towards it, and, to his great joy, found it to be still alive. We also found that the mother was beginning to recover slowly. "Here, get out o' the way," said Jack, pushing us aside as we stooped over the poor woman and endeavoured to restore her; "I'll soon bring her round." So saying, he placed the infant on her bosom and laid its warm cheek on hers. The effect was wonderful. The woman opened her eyes, felt the child, looked at it, and with a cry of joy, clasped it in her arms, at the same time endeavouring to rise--for the purpose, apparently, of rushing into the woods. "There, that's all right," said Jack, once more taking the chief by the hand.--"Now, Ralph and Peterkin, make the women and these fellows follow me to the bower. We'll entertain them as hospitably as we can." In a few minutes the savages were all seated on the ground in front of the bower, making a hearty meal off a cold roast pig, several ducks, and a variety of cold fish, together with an unlimited supply of cocoa-nuts, bread-fruits, yams, taro, and plums--with all of which they seemed to be quite familiar and perfectly satisfied. Meanwhile we three, being thoroughly knocked up with our day's work, took a good draught of cocoa-nut lemonade, and throwing ourselves on our beds, fell fast asleep. The savages, it seems, followed our example, and in half-an-hour the whole camp was buried in repose. How long we slept I cannot tell; but this I know--that when we lay down the sun was setting, and when we awoke it was high in the heavens. I awoke Jack, who started up in surprise, being unable at first to comprehend our situation. "Now, then," said he, springing up, "let's see after breakfast.--Hallo, Peterkin, lazy fellow! how long do you mean to lie there?" Peterkin yawned heavily. "Well," said he, opening his eyes and looking up after some trouble, "if it isn't to-morrow morning, and me thinking it was to-day all this time--Hallo, Venus! where did you come from? You seem tolerably at home, anyhow. Bah! might as well speak to the cat as to you--better, in fact, for it understands me, and you don't." This remark was called forth by the sight of one of the elderly females, who had seated herself on the rock in front of the bower, and having placed her child at her feet, was busily engaged in devouring the remains of a roast pig. By this time the natives outside were all astir, and breakfast in an advanced state of preparation. During the course of it we made sundry attempts to converse with the natives by signs, but without effect. At last we hit upon a plan of discovering their names. Jack pointed to his breast and said "Jack" very distinctly; then he pointed to Peterkin and to me, repeating our names at the same time. Then he pointed to himself again and said "Jack," and laying his finger on the breast of the chief, looked inquiringly into his face. The chief instantly understood him, and said "Tararo" twice distinctly. Jack repeated it after him, and the chief, nodding his head approvingly, said "Chuck," on hearing which Peterkin exploded with laughter. But Jack turned, and with a frown rebuked him, saying, "I must look even more indignantly at you than I feel, Peterkin, you rascal, for these fellows don't like to be laughed at." Then turning towards the youngest of the women, who was seated at the door of the bower, he pointed to her; whereupon the chief said "Avatea," and pointing towards the sun, raised his finger slowly towards the zenith, where it remained steadily for a minute or two. "What can that mean, I wonder?" said Jack, looking puzzled. "Perhaps," said Peterkin, "the chief means she is an angel come down to stay here for a while. If so, she's an uncommonly black one!" We did not feel quite satisfied with this explanation, so Jack went up to her and said "Avatea." The woman smiled sadly and nodded her head, at the same time pointing to her breast and then to the sun in the same manner as the chief had done. We were much puzzled to know what this could signify; but as there was no way of solving our difficulty, we were obliged to rest content. Jack now made signs to the natives to follow him, and taking up his axe, he led them to the place where the battle had been fought. Here we found the prisoners, who had passed the night on the beach, having been totally forgotten by us, as our minds had been full of our guests, and were ultimately overcome by sleep. They did not seem the worse for their exposure, however, as we judged by the hearty appetite with which they devoured the breakfast that was soon after given to them. Jack then began to dig a hole in the sand, and after working a few seconds, he pointed to it and to the dead bodies that lay exposed on the beach. The natives immediately perceived what he wanted, and running for their paddles, dug a hole in the course of half-an-hour that was quite large enough to contain all the bodies of the slain. When it was finished, they tossed their dead enemies into it with so much indifference that we felt assured they would not have put themselves to this trouble had we not asked them to do so. The body of the yellow-haired chief was the last thrown in. This wretched man would have recovered from the blow with which Jack felled him, and indeed he did endeavour to rise during the _melee_ that followed his fall; but one of his enemies, happening to notice the action, dealt him a blow with his club that killed him on the spot. While they were about to throw the sand over this chief, one of the savages stooped over him, and with a knife, made apparently of stone, cut a large slice of flesh from his thigh. We knew at once that he intended to make use of this for food, and could not repress a cry of horror and disgust. "Come, come, you blackguard!" cried Jack, starting up and seizing the man by the arm, "pitch that into the hole. Do you hear?" The savage, of course, did not understand the command; but he perfectly understood the look of disgust with which Jack regarded the flesh, and his fierce gaze as he pointed towards the hole. Nevertheless, he did not obey. Jack instantly turned to Tararo and made signs to him to enforce obedience. The chief seemed to understand the appeal; for he stepped forward, raised his club, and was on the point of dashing out the brains of his offending subject when Jack sprang forward and caught his uplifted arm. "Stop, you blockhead!" he shouted. "I don't want you to kill the man!" He then pointed again to the flesh and to the hole. The chief uttered a few words, which had the desired effect; for the man threw the flesh into the hole, which was immediately filled up. This man was of a morose, sulky disposition, and during all the time he remained on the island, regarded us--especially Jack--with a scowling visage. His name, we found, was Mahine. The next three or four days were spent by the savages in mending their canoe, which had been damaged by the violent shock it had sustained on striking the shore. This canoe was a very curious structure. It was about thirty feet long, and had a high, towering stern. The timbers of which it was partly composed were fastened much in the same way as those of our little boat were put together; but the part that seemed most curious to us was a sort of outrigger, or long plank, which was attached to the body of the canoe by means of two stout cross-beams. These beams kept the plank parallel with the canoe, but not in contact with it, for it floated in the water with an open space between--thus forming a sort of double canoe. This, we found, was intended to prevent the upsetting of the canoe, which was so narrow that it could not have maintained an upright position without the outrigger. We could not help wondering both at the ingenuity and the clumsiness of this contrivance. When the canoe was ready, we assisted the natives to carry the prisoners into it, and helped them to load it with provisions and fruit. Peterkin also went to the plum-tree for the purpose of making a special onslaught upon the hogs, and killed no less than six of them. These we baked and presented to our friends, on the day of their departure. On that day Tararo made a great many energetic signs to us, which, after much consideration, we came to understand were proposals that we should go away with him to his island; but having no desire to do so, we shook our heads very decidedly. However, we consoled him by presenting him with our rusty axe, which we thought we could spare, having the excellent one which had been so providentially washed ashore to us the day we were wrecked. We also gave him a piece of wood with our names carved on it, and a piece of string to hang it round his neck as an ornament. In a few minutes more we were all assembled on the beach. Being unable to speak to the savages, we went through the ceremony of shaking hands, and expected they would depart; but before doing so, Tararo went up to Jack and rubbed noses with him, after which he did the same with Peterkin and me! Seeing that this was their mode of salutation, we determined to conform to their custom; so we rubbed noses heartily with the whole party, women and all! The only disagreeable part of the process was when we came to rub noses with Mahine; and Peterkin afterwards said that when he saw his wolfish eyes glaring so close to his face, he felt much more inclined to _bang_ than to _rub_ his nose. Avatea was the last to take leave of us, and we experienced a feeling of real sorrow when she approached to bid us farewell. Besides her modest air and gentle manners, she was the only one of the party who exhibited the smallest sign of regret at parting from us. Going up to Jack, she put out her flat little nose to be rubbed, and thereafter paid the same compliment to Peterkin and me. An hour later the canoe was out of sight; and we, with an indefinable feeling of sadness creeping round our hearts, were seated in silence beneath the shadow of our bower, meditating on the wonderful events of the last few days. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. SAGACIOUS AND MORAL REMARKS IN REGARD TO LIFE--A SAIL!--AN UNEXPECTED SALUTE--THE END OF THE BLACK CAT--A TERRIBLE DIVE--AN INCAUTIOUS PROCEEDING AND A FRIGHTFUL CATASTROPHE. Life is a strange compound. Peterkin used to say of it that it beat a druggist's shop all to sticks; for whereas the first is a compound of good and bad, the other is a horrible compound of all that is utterly detestable. And indeed the more I consider it, the more I am struck with the strange mixture of good and evil that exists, not only in the material earth, but in our own natures. In our own Coral Island we had experienced every variety of good that a bountiful Creator could heap on us. Yet on the night of the storm we had seen how almost, in our case-- and altogether, no doubt, in the case of others less fortunate--all this good might be swept away for ever. We had seen the rich fruit-trees waving in the soft air, the tender herbs shooting upwards under the benign influence of the bright sun; and the next day we had seen these good and beautiful trees and plants uprooted by the hurricane, crushed and hurled to the ground in destructive devastation. We had lived for many months in a clime, for the most part, so beautiful that we had often wondered whether Adam and Eve had found Eden more sweet; and we had seen the quiet solitudes of our paradise suddenly broken in upon by ferocious savages, and the white sands stained with blood and strewed with lifeless forms, yet among these cannibals we had seen many symptoms of a kindly nature. I pondered these things much, and while I considered them there recurred to my memory those words which I had read in my Bible: "The works of God are wonderful, and His ways past finding out." After these poor savages had left us we used to hold long and frequent conversations about them, and I noticed that Peterkin's manner was now much altered. He did not, indeed, jest less heartily than before, but he did so less frequently; and often there was a tone of deep seriousness in his manner, if not in his words, which made him seem to Jack and me as if he had grown two years older within a few days. But indeed I was not surprised at this when I reflected on the awful realities which we had witnessed so lately. We could by no means shake off a tendency to gloom for several weeks afterwards; but as time wore away, our usual good spirits returned somewhat, and we began to think of the visit of the savages with feelings akin to those with which we recall a terrible dream. One day we were all enjoying ourselves in the Water Garden preparatory to going on a fishing excursion, for Peterkin had kept us in such constant supply of hogs that we had become quite tired of pork and desired a change. Peterkin was sunning himself on the ledge of rock, while we were creeping among the rocks below. Happening to look up, I observed Peterkin cutting the most extraordinary capers and making violent gesticulations for us to come up; so I gave Jack a push and rose immediately. "A sail! a sail--Ralph, look--Jack, away on the horizon there, just over the entrance to the lagoon!" cried Peterkin as we scrambled up the rocks. "So it is--and a schooner, too!" said Jack as he proceeded hastily to dress. Our hearts were thrown into a terrible flutter by this discovery, for if it should touch at our island, we had no doubt the captain would be happy to give us a passage to some of the civilised islands, where we could find a ship sailing for England or some other part of Europe. Home, with all its associations, rushed in upon my heart like a flood; and much though I loved the Coral Island and the bower which had now been our home so long, I felt that I could have quitted all at that moment without a sigh. With joyful anticipations we hastened to the highest point of rock near our dwelling and awaited the arrival of the vessel, for we now perceived that she was making straight for the island under a steady breeze. In less than an hour she was close to the reef, where she rounded-to and backed her topsails in order to survey the coast. Seeing this, and fearing that they might not perceive us, we all three waved pieces of cocoa-nut cloth in the air, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing them beginning to lower a boat and bustle about the decks as if they meant to land. Suddenly a flag was run up to the peak, a little cloud of white smoke rose from the schooner's side, and before we could guess their intentions, a cannon-shot came crashing through the bushes, carried away several cocoa-nut trees in its passage, and burst in atoms against the cliff a few yards below the spot on which we stood. With feelings of terror we now observed that the flag at the schooner's peak was black, with a Death's-head and cross-bones upon it. As we gazed at each other in blank amazement, the word "pirate" escaped our lips simultaneously. "What is to be done?" cried Peterkin as we observed a boat shoot from the vessel's side and make for the entrance of the reef. "If they take us off the island, it will either be to throw us overboard for sport or to make pirates of us." I did not reply, but looked at Jack, as being our only resource in this emergency. He stood with folded arms, and his eyes fixed with a grave, anxious expression on the ground. "There is but one hope," said he, turning with a sad expression of countenance to Peterkin. "Perhaps, after all, we may not have to resort to it. If these villains are anxious to take us, they will soon overrun the whole island. But come, follow me." Stopping abruptly in his speech, Jack bounded into the woods, and led us by a circuitous route to Spouting Cliff. Here he halted, and advancing cautiously to the rocks, glanced over their edge. We were soon by his side, and saw the boat, which was crowded with armed men, just touching the shore. In an instant the crew landed, formed line, and rushed up to our bower. In a few seconds we saw them hurrying back to the boat, one of them swinging the poor cat round his head by the tail. On reaching the water's edge he tossed it far into the sea, and joined his companions, who appeared to be holding a hasty council. "You see what we may expect," said Jack bitterly. "The man who will wantonly kill a poor brute for sport will think little of murdering a fellow-creature. Now, boys, we have but one chance left--the Diamond Cave." "The Diamond Cave!" cried Peterkin. "Then my chance is a poor one, for I could not dive into it if all the pirates on the Pacific were at my heels." "Nay, but," said I, "we will take you down, Peterkin, if you will only trust us." As I spoke, we observed the pirates scatter over the beach, and radiate, as if from a centre, towards the woods and along shore. "Now, Peterkin," said Jack in a solemn tone, "you must make up your mind to do it, or we must make up our minds to die in your company." "Oh Jack, my dear friend!" cried Peterkin, turning pale, "leave me; I don't believe they'll think it worth while to kill me. Go, you and Ralph, and dive into the cave." "That will not I," answered Jack quietly, while he picked up a stout cudgel from the ground.--"So now, Ralph, we must prepare to meet these fellows. Their motto is `No quarter.' If we can manage to floor those coming in this direction, we may escape into the woods for a while." "There are five of them," said I; "we have no chance." "Come, then!" cried Peterkin, starting up and grasping Jack convulsively by the arm; "let us dive. I will go." Those who are not naturally expert in the water know well the feelings of horror that overwhelm them, when in it, at the bare idea of being held down even for a few seconds--that spasmodic, involuntary recoil from compulsory immersion which has no connection whatever with cowardice; and they will understand the amount of resolution that it required in Peterkin to allow himself to be dragged down to a depth of ten feet, and then, through a narrow tunnel, into an almost pitch-dark cavern. But there was no alternative. The pirates had already caught sight of us, and were now within a short distance of the rocks. Jack and I seized Peterkin by the arms. "Now, keep quite still--no struggling," said Jack, "or we are lost!" Peterkin made no reply; but the stern gravity of his marble features, and the tension of his muscles, satisfied us that he had fully made up his mind to go through with it. Just as the pirates gained the foot of the rocks, which hid us for a moment from their view, we bent over the sea and plunged down together, head foremost. Peterkin behaved like a hero. He floated passively between us like a log of wood, and we passed the tunnel and rose into the cave in a shorter space of time than I had ever done it before. Peterkin drew a long, deep breath on reaching the surface, and in a few seconds we were all standing on the ledge of rock in safety. Jack now searched for the tinder and torch which always lay in the cave. He soon found them, and lighting the torch, revealed to Peterkin's wondering gaze the marvels of the place. But we were too wet to waste much time in looking about us. Our first care was to take off our clothes and wring them as dry as we could. This done, we proceeded to examine into the state of our larder, for, as Jack truly remarked, there was no knowing how long the pirates might remain on the island. "Perhaps," said Peterkin, "they may take it into their heads to stop here altogether, and so we shall be buried alive in this place." "Don't you think, Peterkin, that it's the nearest thing to being drowned alive that you ever felt?" said Jack with a smile. "But I have no fear of that. These villains never stay long on shore. The sea is their home, so you may depend upon it that they won't stay more than a day or two at the furthest." We now began to make arrangements for spending the night in the cavern. At various periods Jack and I had conveyed cocoa-nuts and other fruits, besides rolls of cocoa-nut cloth, to this submarine cave, partly for amusement, and partly from a feeling that we might possibly be driven one day to take shelter here from the savages. Little did we imagine that the first savages who would drive us into it would be white savages--perhaps our own countrymen! We found the cocoa-nuts in good condition, and the cooked yams; but the bread-fruits were spoiled. We also found the cloth where we had left it, and on opening it out, there proved to be sufficient to make a bed--which was important, as the rock was damp. Having collected it all together, we spread out our bed, placed our torch in the midst of us, and ate our supper. It was indeed a strange chamber to feast in; and we could not help remarking on the cold, ghastly appearance of the walls, and the black water at our side with the thick darkness beyond, and the sullen sound of the drops that fell at long intervals from the roof of the cavern into the still water, and the strong contrast between all this and our bed and supper, which, with our faces, were lit up with the deep-red flame of the torch. We sat long over our meal, talking together in subdued voices, for we did not like the dismal echoes that rang through the vault above when we happened to raise them. At last the faint light that came through the opening died away, warning us that it was night and time for rest. We therefore put out our torch and lay down to sleep. On awaking, it was some time ere we could collect our faculties so as to remember where we were, and we were in much uncertainty as to whether it was early or late. We saw by the faint light that it was day, but could not guess at the hour; so Jack proposed that he should dive out and reconnoitre. "No, Jack," said I; "do you rest here. You've had enough to do during the last few days. Rest yourself now, and take care of Peterkin, while I go out to see what the pirates are about. I'll be very careful not to expose myself, and I'll bring you word again in a short time." "Very well, Ralph," answered Jack; "please yourself. But don't be long. And if you'll take my advice, you'll go in your clothes; for I would like to have some fresh cocoa-nuts, and climbing trees without clothes is uncomfortable--to say the least of it." "The pirates will be sure to keep a sharp lookout," said Peterkin; "so, pray, be careful." "No fear," said I. "Good-bye." "Good-bye," answered my comrades. And while the words were yet sounding in my ears, I plunged into the water, and in a few seconds found myself in the open air. On rising, I was careful to come up gently and to breathe softly, while I kept close in beside the rocks; but as I observed no one near me, I crept slowly out and ascended the cliff, a step at a time, till I obtained a full view of the shore. No pirates were to be seen--even their boat was gone; but as it was possible they might have hidden themselves, I did not venture too boldly forward. Then it occurred to me to look out to sea, when, to my surprise, I saw the pirate schooner sailing away almost hull down on the horizon! On seeing this I uttered a shout of joy. Then my first impulse was to dive back to tell my companions the good news; but I checked myself, and ran to the top of the cliff in order to make sure that the vessel I saw was indeed the pirate schooner. I looked long and anxiously at her, and giving vent to a deep sigh of relief, said aloud, "Yes, there she goes; the villains have been balked of their prey this time at least!" "Not so sure of that!" said a deep voice at my side, while at the same moment a heavy hand grasped my shoulder and held it as if in a vice. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. I FALL INTO THE HANDS OF PIRATES--HOW THEY TREATED ME, AND WHAT I SAID TO THEM--THE RESULT OF THE WHOLE ENDING IN A MELANCHOLY SEPARATION AND IN A MOST UNEXPECTED GIFT. My heart seemed to leap into my throat at the words; and turning round, I beheld a man of immense stature and fierce aspect regarding me with a smile of contempt. He was a white man--that is to say, he was a man of European blood, though his face, from long exposure to the weather, was deeply bronzed. His dress was that of a common seaman, except that he had on a Greek skull-cap, and wore a broad shawl of the richest silk round his waist. In this shawl were placed two pairs of pistols and a heavy cutlass. He wore a beard and moustache, which, like the locks on his head, were short, curly, and sprinkled with grey hairs. "So, youngster," he said with a sardonic smile, while I felt his grasp tighten on my shoulder, "the villains have been balked of their prey, have they? We shall see--we shall see. Now, you whelp, look yonder!" As he spoke, the pirate uttered a shrill whistle. In a second or two it was answered, and the pirate boat rowed round the point at the Water Garden and came rapidly towards us. "Now, go make a fire on that point; and hark'ee, youngster, if you try to run away I'll send a quick and sure messenger after you," and he pointed significantly at his pistols. I obeyed in silence; and as I happened to have the burning-glass in my pocket, a fire was speedily kindled, and a thick smoke ascended into the air. It had scarcely appeared for two minutes when the boom of a gun rolled over the sea, and looking up, I saw that the schooner was making for the island again. It now flashed across me that this was a ruse on the part of the pirates, and that they had sent their vessel away, knowing that it would lead us to suppose that they had left altogether. But there was no use of regret now. I was completely in their power; so I stood helplessly beside the pirate, watching the crew of the boat as they landed on the beach. For an instant I contemplated rushing over the cliff into the sea; but this, I saw, I could not now accomplish, as some of the men were already between me and the water. There was a good deal of jesting at the success of their scheme, as the crew ascended the rocks and addressed the man who had captured me by the title of "Captain". They were a ferocious set of men, with shaggy beards and scowling brows. All of them were armed with cutlasses and pistols, and their costumes were, with trifling variations, similar to that of the captain. As I looked from one to the other, and observed the low, scowling brows that never unbent even when the men laughed, and the mean, rascally expression that sat on each face, I felt that my life hung by a hair. "But where are the other cubs?" cried one of the men with an oath that made me shudder. "I'll swear to it there were three at least, if not more." "You hear what he says, whelp: where are the other dogs?" said the captain. "If you mean my companions," said I in a low voice, "I won't tell you." A loud laugh burst from the crew at this answer. The pirate captain looked at me in surprise. Then drawing a pistol from his belt, he cocked it and said, "Now, youngster, listen to me. I've no time to waste here. If you don't tell me all you know, I'll blow your brains out! Where are your comrades?" For an instant I hesitated, not knowing what to do in this extremity. Suddenly a thought occurred to me. "Villain," said I, shaking my clenched fist in his face, "to blow my brains out would make short work of me, and be soon over; death by drowning is as sure, and the agony prolonged. Yet I tell you to your face, if you were to toss me over yonder cliff into the sea, I would not tell you where my companions are; and I dare you to try me!" The pirate captain grew white with rage as I spoke. "Say you so?" cried he, uttering a fierce oath.--"Here, lads, take him by the legs and heave him in--quick!" The men, who were utterly silenced with surprise at my audacity, advanced and seized me; and as they carried me towards the cliff, I congratulated myself not a little on the success of my scheme, for I knew that once in the water I should be safe, and could rejoin Jack and Peterkin in the cave. But my hopes were suddenly blasted by the captain crying out, "Hold on, lads, hold on! We'll give him a taste of the thumb-screws before throwing him to the sharks. Away with him into the boat. Look alive! the breeze is freshening." The men instantly raised me shoulder-high, and hurrying down the rocks, tossed me into the bottom of the boat, where I lay for some time stunned with the violence of my fall. On recovering sufficiently to raise myself on my elbow, I perceived that we were already outside the coral reef and close alongside the schooner, which was of small size and clipper-built. I had only time to observe this much when I received a severe kick on the side from one of the men, who ordered me, in a rough voice, to jump aboard. Rising hastily, I clambered up the side. In a few minutes the boat was hoisted on deck, the vessel's head put close to the wind, and the Coral Island dropped slowly astern as we beat up against a head sea. Immediately after coming aboard, the crew were too busily engaged in working the ship and getting in the boat to attend to me; so I remained leaning against the bulwarks close to the gangway, watching their operations. I was surprised to find that there were no guns or carronades of any kind in the vessel, which had more the appearance of a fast-sailing trader than a pirate. But I was struck with the neatness of everything. The brass-work of the binnacle and about the tiller, as well as the copper belaying-pins, were as brightly polished as if they had just come from the foundry. The decks were pure white and smooth. The masts were clean-scraped and varnished, except at the cross-trees and truck, which were painted black. The standing and running rigging was in the most perfect order, and the sails white as snow. In short, everything, from the single narrow red stripe on her low, black hull to the trucks on her tapering masts, evinced an amount of care and strict discipline that would have done credit to a ship of the Royal Navy. There was nothing lumbering or unseemly about the vessel, excepting, perhaps, a boat, which lay on the deck with its keel up between the fore and main masts. It seemed disproportionately large for the schooner; but when I saw that the crew amounted to between thirty and forty men, I concluded that this boat was held in reserve in case of any accident compelling the crew to desert the vessel. As I have before said, the costumes of the men were similar to that of the captain. But in head-gear they differed, not only from him, but from each other--some wearing the ordinary straw hat of the merchant service, while others wore cloth caps and red worsted nightcaps. I observed that all their arms were sent below, the captain only retaining his cutlass and a single pistol in the folds of his shawl. Although the captain was the tallest and most powerful man in the ship, he did not strikingly excel many of his men in this respect; and the only difference that an ordinary observer would have noticed was a certain degree of open candour, straightforward daring, in the bold, ferocious expression of his face, which rendered him less repulsive than his low-browed associates, but did not by any means induce the belief that he was a hero. This look was, however, the indication of that spirit which gave him the pre-eminence among the crew of desperadoes who called him captain. He was a lion-like villain, totally devoid of personal fear, and utterly reckless of consequences, and therefore a terror to his men, who individually hated him, but unitedly felt it to be to their advantage to have him at their head. But my thoughts soon reverted to the dear companions whom I had left on shore; and as I turned towards the Coral Island, which was now far away to leeward, I sighed deeply, and the tears rolled slowly down my cheeks as I thought that I might never see them more. "So you're blubbering, are you, you obstinate whelp?" said the deep voice of the captain as he came up and gave me a box on the ear that nearly felled me to the deck. "I don't allow any such weakness aboard o' this ship. So clap a stopper on your eyes, or I'll give you something to cry for." I flushed with indignation at this rough and cruel treatment, but felt that giving way to anger would only make matters worse; so I made no reply, but took out my handkerchief and dried my eyes. "I thought you were made of better stuff," continued the captain angrily. "I'd rather have a mad bulldog aboard than a water-eyed puppy. But I'll cure you, lad, or introduce you to the sharks before long. Now go below, and stay there till I call you." As I walked forward to obey, my eye fell on a small keg standing by the side of the mainmast, on which the word _gunpowder_ was written in pencil. It immediately flashed across me that as we were beating up against the wind, anything floating in the sea would be driven on the reef encircling the Coral Island. I also recollected--for thought is more rapid than the lightning--that my old companions had a pistol. Without a moment's hesitation, therefore, I lifted the keg from the deck and tossed it into the sea! An exclamation of surprise burst from the captain and some of the men who witnessed this act of mine. Striding up to me, and uttering fearful imprecations, the captain raised his hand to strike me, while he shouted, "Boy! whelp! what mean you by that?" "If you lower your hand," said I in a loud voice, while I felt the blood rush to my temples, "I'll tell you. Until you do so, I'm dumb." The captain stepped back and regarded me with a look of amazement. "Now," continued I, "I threw that keg into the sea because the wind and waves will carry it to my friends on the Coral Island, who happen to have a pistol but no powder. I hope that it will reach them soon; and my only regret is that the keg was not a bigger one. Moreover, pirate, you said just now that you thought I was made of better stuff. I don't know what stuff I am made of--I never thought much about that subject; but I'm quite certain of this--that I am made of such stuff as the like of you shall never tame, though you should do your worst!" To my surprise, the captain, instead of flying into a rage, smiled, and thrusting his hand into the voluminous shawl that encircled his waist, turned on his heel and walked aft, while I went below. Here, instead of being rudely handled, as I had expected, the men received me with a shout of laughter; and one of them, patting me on the back, said, "Well done, lad! You're a brick, and I have no doubt will turn out a rare cove. Bloody Bill there was just such a fellow as you are, and he's now the biggest cut-throat of us all." "Take a can of beer, lad," cried another, "and wet your whistle after that speech o' your'n to the captain. If any one o' us had made it, youngster, he would have had no whistle to wet by this time." "Stop your clapper, Jack!" vociferated a third. "Give the boy a junk o' meat. Don't you see he's a'most goin' to kick the bucket?" "And no wonder," said the first speaker with an oath, "after the tumble you gave him into the boat! I guess it would have broke your neck if you had got it." I did indeed feel somewhat faint, which was owing, doubtless, to the combined effects of ill-usage and hunger; for it will be recollected that I had dived out of the cave that morning before breakfast, and it was now near midday. I therefore gladly accepted a plate of boiled pork and a yam, which were handed to me by one of the men from the locker on which some of the crew were seated eating their dinner. But I must add that the zest with which I ate my meal was much abated in consequence of the frightful oaths and the terrible language that flowed from the lips of these godless men, even in the midst of their hilarity and good-humour. The man who had been alluded to as Bloody Bill was seated near me, and I could not help wondering at the moody silence he maintained among his comrades. He did indeed reply to their questions in a careless, off-hand tone, but he never volunteered a remark. The only difference between him and the others was his taciturnity and his size, for he was nearly, if not quite, as large a man as the captain. During the remainder of the afternoon I was left to my own reflections, which were anything but agreeable; for I could not banish from my mind the threat about the thumbscrews, of the nature and use of which I had a vague but terrible conception. I was still meditating on my unhappy fate when, just after nightfall, one of the watch on deck called down the hatchway: "Hallo, there! One o' you tumble up and light the cabin lamp, and send that boy aft to the captain--sharp!" "Now, then, do you hear, youngster? the captain wants you. Look alive!" said Bloody Bill, raising his huge frame from the locker on which he had been asleep for the last two hours. He sprang up the ladder, and I instantly followed him, and going aft, was shown into the cabin by one of the men, who closed the door after me. A small silver lamp which hung from a beam threw a dim, soft light over the cabin, which was a small apartment, and comfortably but plainly furnished. Seated on a camp-stool at the table, and busily engaged in examining a chart of the Pacific, was the captain, who looked up as I entered, and in a quiet voice bade me be seated, while he threw down his pencil, and rising from the table, stretched himself on a sofa at the upper end of the cabin. "Boy," said he, looking me full in the face, "what is your name?" "Ralph Rover," I replied. "Where did you come from, and how came you to be on that island? How many companions had you on it? Answer me, now, and mind you tell no lies." "I never tell lies," said I firmly. The captain received this reply with a cold, sarcastic smile, and bade me answer his questions. I then told him the history of myself and my companions from the time we sailed till the day of his visit to the island--taking care, however, to make no mention of the Diamond Cave. After I had concluded, he was silent for a few minutes; then looking up, he said, "Boy, I believe you." I was surprised at this remark, for I could not imagine why he should not believe me. However, I made no reply. "And what," continued the captain, "makes you think that this schooner is a pirate?" "The black flag," said I, "showed me what you are; and if any further proof were wanting, I have had it in the brutal treatment I have received at your hands." The captain frowned as I spoke; but, subduing his anger, he continued, "Boy, you are too bold. I admit that we treated you roughly, but that was because you made us lose time and gave us a good deal of trouble. As to the black flag, that is merely a joke that my fellows play off upon people sometimes in order to frighten them. It is their humour, and does no harm. I am no pirate, boy, but a lawful trader--a rough one, I grant you; but one can't help that in these seas, where there are so many pirates on the water and such murderous blackguards on the land. I carry on a trade in sandal-wood with the Feejee Islands; and if you choose, Ralph, to behave yourself and be a good boy, I'll take you along with me and give you a good share of the profits. You see, I'm in want of an honest boy like you to look after the cabin, and keep the log, and superintend the traffic on shore sometimes. What say you, Ralph: would you like to become a sandal-wood trader?" I was much surprised by this explanation, and a good deal relieved to find that the vessel, after all, was not a pirate; but instead of replying, I said, "If it be as you state, then why did you take me from my island, and why do you not now take me back?" The captain smiled as he replied, "I took you off in anger, boy, and I'm sorry for it. I would even now take you back, but we are too far away from it. See, there it is," he added, laying his finger on the chart; "and we are now here--fifty miles, at least. It would not be fair to my men to put about now, for they have all an interest in the trade." I could make no reply to this; so, after a little more conversation, I agreed to become one of the crew--at least, until we could reach some civilised island where I might be put ashore. The captain assented to this proposition; and after thanking him for the promise, I left the cabin and went on deck with feelings that ought to have been lighter, but which were, I could not tell why, marvellously heavy and uncomfortable still. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. BLOODY BILL--DARK SURMISES--A STRANGE SAIL, AND A STRANGE CREW, AND A STILL STRANGER CARGO--NEW REASONS FOR FAVOURING MISSIONARIES--A MURDEROUS MASSACRE, AND THOUGHTS THEREON. Three weeks after the conversation narrated in the last chapter I was standing on the quarter-deck of the schooner, watching the gambols of a shoal of porpoises that swam round us. It was a dead calm--one of those still, hot, sweltering days so common in the Pacific, when nature seems to have gone to sleep, and the only thing in water or in air that proves her still alive is her long, deep breathing in the swell of the mighty sea. No cloud floated in the deep blue above, no ripple broke the reflected blue below. The sun shone fiercely in the sky, and a ball of fire blazed with almost equal power from out the bosom of the water. So intensely still was it, and so perfectly transparent was the surface of the deep, that had it not been for the long swell already alluded to, we might have believed the surrounding universe to be a huge, blue, liquid ball, and our little ship the one solitary material speck in all creation floating in the midst of it. No sound broke on our ears save the soft puff now and then of a porpoise, the slow creak of the masts as we swayed gently on the swell, the patter of the reef-points, and the occasional flap of the hanging sails. An awning covered the fore and after parts of the schooner, under which the men composing the watch on deck lolled in sleepy indolence, overcome with excessive heat. Bloody Bill, as the men invariably called him, was standing at the tiller; but his post for the present was a sinecure, and he whiled away the time by alternately gazing in dreamy abstraction at the compass in the binnacle and by walking to the taffrail in order to spit into the sea. In one of these turns he came near to where I was standing, and leaning over the side, looked long and earnestly down into the blue wave. This man, although he was always taciturn and often surly, was the only human being on board with whom I had the slightest desire to become better acquainted. The other men, seeing that I did not relish their company, and knowing that I was a protege of the captain, treated me with total indifference. Bloody Bill, it is true, did the same; but as this was his conduct to every one else, it was not peculiar in reference to me. Once or twice I tried to draw him into conversation, but he always turned away after a few cold monosyllables. As he now leaned over the taffrail, close beside me, I said to him: "Bill, why is it that you are so gloomy? Why do you never speak to any one?" Bill smiled slightly as he replied, "Why, I s'pose it's because I hain't got nothin' to say!" "That's strange," said I musingly. "You look like a man that could think, and such men can usually speak." "So they can, youngster," rejoined Bill somewhat sternly; "and I could speak too if I had a mind to, but what's the use o' speakin' here? The men only open their mouths to curse and swear, and they seem to find it entertainin'; but I don't, so I hold my tongue." "Well, Bill, that's true, and I would rather not hear you speak at all than hear you speak like the other men. But I don't swear, Bill; so you might talk to me sometimes, I think. Besides, I'm weary of spending day after day in this way, without a single soul to say a pleasant word to. I've been used to friendly conversation, Bill, and I really would take it kind if you would talk with me a little now and then." Bill looked at me in surprise, and I thought I observed a sad expression pass across his sunburned face. "An' where have you been used to friendly conversation?" said Bill, looking down again into the sea. "Not on that Coral Island, I take it?" "Yes, indeed," said I energetically. "I have spent many of the happiest months in my life on that Coral Island;" and without waiting to be further questioned, I launched out into a glowing account of the happy life that Jack and Peterkin and I had spent together, and related minutely every circumstance that befell us while on the island. "Boy, boy," said Bill in a voice so deep that it startled me, "this is no place for you!" "That's true," said I. "I am of little use on board, and I don't like my comrades; but I can't help it, and at any rate I hope to be free again soon." "Free?" said Bill, looking at me in surprise. "Yes, free," returned I. "The captain said he would put me ashore after this trip was over." "_This trip_! Hark'ee, boy," said Bill, lowering his voice, "what said the captain to you the day you came aboard?" "He said that he was a trader in sandal-wood, and no pirate, and told me that if I would join him for this trip he would give me a good share of the profits, or put me on shore in some civilised island if I chose." Bill's brows lowered savagely as he muttered, "Ay, he said truth when he told you he was a sandal-wood trader, but he lied when--" "Sail ho!" shouted the lookout at the masthead. "Where away?" cried Bill, springing to the tiller; while the men, startled by the sudden cry, jumped up and gazed round the horizon. "On the starboard quarter, hull down, sir," answered the lookout. At this moment the captain came on deck, and mounting into the rigging, surveyed the sail through the glass. Then sweeping his eye round the horizon, he gazed steadily at the particular point. "Take in topsails!" shouted the captain, swinging himself down on the deck by the main-back stay. "Take in topsails!" roared the first mate. "Ay, ay, sir-r-r!" answered the men as they sprang into the rigging and went aloft like cats. Instantly all was bustle on board the hitherto quiet schooner. The topsails were taken in and stowed, the men stood by the sheets and halyards, and the captain gazed anxiously at the breeze, which was now rushing towards us like a sheet of dark blue. In a few seconds it struck us. The schooner trembled, as if in surprise at the sudden onset, while she fell away; then, bending gracefully to the wind, as though in acknowledgment of her subjection, she cut through the waves with her sharp prow like a dolphin, while Bill directed her course towards the strange sail. In half-an-hour we neared her sufficiently to make out that she was a schooner, and from the clumsy appearance of her masts and sails we judged her to be a trader. She evidently did not like our appearance, for the instant the breeze reached her she crowded all sail and showed us her stern. As the breeze had moderated a little, our topsails were again shaken out; and it soon became evident--despite the proverb, "A stern chase is a long one"--that we doubled her speed, and would overhaul her speedily. When within a mile we hoisted British colours, but receiving no acknowledgment, the captain ordered a shot to be fired across her bows. In a moment, to my surprise, a large portion of the bottom of the boat amidships was removed, and in the hole thus exposed appeared an immense brass gun. It worked on a swivel, and was elevated by means of machinery. It was quickly loaded and fired. The heavy ball struck the water a few yards ahead of the chase, and ricochetting into the air, plunged into the sea a mile beyond it. This produced the desired effect. The strange vessel backed her topsails and hove-to, while we ranged up and lay-to about a hundred yards off. "Lower the boat!" cried the captain. In a second the boat was lowered and manned by a part of the crew, who were all armed with cutlasses and pistols. As the captain passed me to get into it he said, "Jump into the stern-sheets, Ralph; I may want you." I obeyed, and in ten minutes more we were standing on the stranger's deck. We were all much surprised at the sight that met our eyes. Instead of a crew of such sailors as we were accustomed to see, there were only fifteen blacks, standing on the quarter-deck, and regarding us with looks of undisguised alarm. They were totally unarmed, and most of them unclothed. One or two, however, wore portions of European attire. One had on a pair of duck trousers, which were much too large for him, and stuck out in a most ungainly manner; another wore nothing but the common, scanty, native garment round the loins and a black beaver hat; but the most ludicrous personage of all, and one who seemed to be chief, was a tall, middle-aged man, of a mild, simple expression of countenance, who wore a white cotton shirt, a swallow-tailed coat, and a straw hat, while his black, brawny legs were totally uncovered below the knees. "Where's the commander of this ship?" inquired our captain, stepping up to this individual. "I is cap'in," he answered, taking off his straw hat and making a low bow. "You!" said our captain in surprise. "Where do you come from, and where are you bound? What cargo have you aboard?" "We is come," answered the man with the swallow-tail, "from Aitutaki; we was go for Rarotonga. We is native miss'nary ship; our name is de _Olive Branch_; an' our cargo is two tons cocoa-nuts, seventy pigs, twenty cats, and de Gosp'l." This announcement was received by the crew of our vessel with a shout of laughter, which, however, was peremptorily checked by the captain, whose expression instantly changed from one of severity to that of frank urbanity as he advanced towards the missionary and shook him warmly by the hand. "I am very glad to have fallen in with you," said he, "and I wish you much success in your missionary labours. Pray take me to your cabin, as I wish to converse with you privately." The missionary immediately took him by the hand, and as he led him away I heard him saying, "me most glad to find you trader; we t'ought you be pirate. You very like one 'bout the masts." What conversation the captain had with this man I never heard; but he came on deck again in a quarter of an hour, and shaking hands cordially with the missionary, ordered us into our boat and returned to the schooner, which was immediately put before the wind. In a few minutes the _Olive Branch_ was left far behind us. That afternoon, as I was down below at dinner, I heard the men talking about this curious ship. "I wonder," said one, "why our captain looked so sweet on yon swallow-tailed supercargo o' pigs and Gospels? If it had been an ordinary trader, now, he would have taken as many o' the pigs as he required and sent the ship with all on board to the bottom." "Why, Dick, you must be new to these seas if you don't know that!" cried another. "The captain cares as much for the Gospel as you do (an' that's precious little); but he knows, and everybody knows, that the only place among the southern islands where a ship can put in and get what she wants in comfort is where the Gospel has been sent to. There are hundreds o' islands, at this blessed moment, where you might as well jump straight into a shark's maw as land without a band o' thirty comrades armed to the teeth to back you." "Ay," said a man with a deep scar over his right eye. "Dick's new to the work. But if the captain takes us for a cargo o' sandal-wood to the Feejees, he'll get a taste o' these black gentry in their native condition. For my part, I don't know, and I don't care, what the Gospel does to them; but I know that when any o' the islands chance to get it, trade goes all smooth and easy. But where they ha'n't got it, Beelzebub himself could hardly desire better company." "Well, you ought to be a good judge," cried another, laughing, "for you've never kept any company but the worst all your life!" "Ralph Rover!" shouted a voice down the hatchway; "captain wants you, aft." Springing up the ladder, I hastened to the cabin, pondering as I went the strange testimony borne by these men to the effect of the Gospel on savage natures--testimony which, as it was perfectly disinterested, I had no doubt whatever was strictly true. On coming again on deck I found Bloody Bill at the helm, and as we were alone together, I tried to draw him into conversation. After repeating to him the conversation in the forecastle about the missionaries, I said: "Tell me, Bill: is this schooner really a trader in sandal-wood?" "Yes, Ralph, she is; but she's just as really a pirate. The black flag you saw flying at the peak was no deception." "Then how can you say she's a trader?" asked I. "Why, as to that, she trades when she can't take by force; but she takes by force when she can, in preference. Ralph," he added, lowering his voice, "if you had seen the bloody deeds that I have witnessed done on these decks, you would not need to ask if we were pirates. But you'll find it out soon enough. As for the missionaries, the captain favours them because they are useful to him. The South Sea Islanders are such incarnate fiends that they are the better of being tamed, and the missionaries are the only men who can do it." Our track after this lay through several clusters of small islets, among which we were becalmed more than once. During this part of our voyage the watch on deck and the lookout at the masthead were more than usually vigilant, as we were not only in danger of being attacked by the natives (who, I learned from the captain's remarks, were a bloody and deceitful tribe at this group), but we were also exposed to much risk from the multitudes of coral reefs that rose up in the channels between the islands--some of them just above the surface, others a few feet below it. Our precautions against the savages, I found, were indeed necessary. One day we were becalmed among a group of small islands, most of which appeared to be uninhabited. As we were in want of fresh water, the captain sent the boat ashore to bring off a cask or two. But we were mistaken in thinking there were no natives; for scarcely had we drawn near to the shore when a band of naked blacks rushed out of the bush and assembled on the beach, brandishing their clubs and spears in a threatening manner. Our men were well armed, but refrained from showing any signs of hostility, and rowed nearer in order to converse with the natives; and I now found that more than one of the crew could imperfectly speak dialects of the language peculiar to the South Sea Islanders. When within forty yards of the shore we ceased rowing, and the first mate stood up to address the multitude; but instead of answering us, they replied with a shower of stones, some of which cut the men severely. Instantly our muskets were levelled, and a volley was about to be fired when the captain hailed us in a loud voice from the schooner, which lay not more than five or six hundred yards off the shore. "Don't fire!" he shouted angrily. "Pull off to the point ahead of you!" The men looked surprised at this order, and uttered deep curses as they prepared to obey; for their wrath was roused, and they burned for revenge. Three or four of them hesitated, and seemed disposed to mutiny. "Don't distress yourselves, lads," said the mate, while a bitter smile curled his lip. "Obey orders. The captain's not the man to take an insult tamely. If Long Tom does not speak presently, I'll give myself to the sharks." The men smiled significantly as they pulled from the shore, which was now crowded with a dense mass of savages, amounting probably to five or six hundred. We had not rowed off above a couple of hundred yards when a loud roar thundered over the sea, and the big brass gun sent a withering shower of grape point-blank into the midst of the living mass, through which a wide lane was cut; while a yell, the like of which I could not have imagined, burst from the miserable survivors as they fled to the woods. Amongst the heaps of dead that lay on the sand just where they had fallen, I could distinguish mutilated forms writhing in agony; while ever and anon one and another rose convulsively from out the mass, endeavoured to stagger towards the wood, and ere they had taken a few steps, fell and wallowed on the bloody sand. My blood curdled within me as I witnessed this frightful and wanton slaughter; but I had little time to think, for the captain's deep voice came again over the water towards us: "Pull ashore, lads, and fill your water-casks!" The men obeyed in silence, and it seemed to me as if even their hard hearts were shocked by the ruthless deed. On gaining the mouth of the rivulet at which we intended to take in water, we found it flowing with blood; for the greater part of those who were slain had been standing on the banks of the stream, a short way above its mouth. Many of the wretched creatures had fallen into it; and we found one body, which had been carried down, jammed between two rocks, with the staring eyeballs turned towards us, and his black hair waving in the ripples of the blood-red stream. No one dared to oppose our landing now, so we carried our casks to a pool above the murdered group, and having filled them, returned on board. Fortunately a breeze sprang up soon afterwards, and carried us away from the dreadful spot; but it could not waft me away from the memory of what I had seen. "And this," thought I, gazing in horror at the captain, who, with a quiet look of indifference, leaned upon the taffrail, smoking a cigar and contemplating the fertile green islets as they passed like a lovely picture before our eyes--"this is the man who favours the missionaries because they are useful to him and can tame the savages better than any one else can do it!" Then I wondered in my mind whether it were possible for any missionary to tame _him_! CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. BLOODY BILL IS COMMUNICATIVE AND SAGACIOUS--UNPLEASANT PROSPECTS-- RETROSPECTIVE MEDITATIONS INTERRUPTED BY VOLCANIC AGENCY--THE PIRATES NEGOTIATE WITH A FEEJEE CHIEF--VARIOUS ETCETERAS THAT ARE CALCULATED TO SURPRISE AND HORRIFY. It was many days after the events just narrated ere I recovered a little of my wonted spirits. I could not shake off the feeling for a long time that I was in a frightful dream, and the sight of our captain filled me with so much horror that I kept out of his way as much as my duties about the cabin would permit. Fortunately he took so little notice of me that he did not observe my changed feelings towards him, otherwise it might have been worse for me. But I was now resolved that I would run away the very first island we should land at, and commit myself to the hospitality of the natives rather than remain an hour longer than I could help in the pirate schooner. I pondered this subject a good deal, and at last made up my mind to communicate my intention to Bloody Bill; for during several talks I had had with him of late, I felt assured that he too would willingly escape if possible. When I told him of my design he shook his head. "No, no, Ralph," said he; "you must not think of running away here. Among some of the groups of islands you might do so with safety; but if you tried it here, you would find that you had jumped out of the fryin'-pan into the fire." "How so, Bill?" said I. "Would the natives not receive me?" "That they would, lad; but they would eat you too." "Eat me!" said I in surprise. "I thought the South Sea Islanders never ate anybody except their enemies." "Humph!" ejaculated Bill. "I 'spose 'twas yer tender-hearted friends in England that put that notion into your head. There's a set o' soft-hearted folk at home that I knows on who don't like to have their feelin's ruffled; and when you tell them anything they don't like--that shocks them, as they call it--no matter how true it be, they stop their ears and cry out, `Oh, that is _too_ horrible! We can't believe that!' An' they say truth. They can't believe it, 'cause they won't believe it. Now, I believe there's thousands o' the people in England who are sich born drivellin' _won't believers_ that they think the black fellows hereaways, at the worst, eat an enemy only now an' then out o' spite; whereas I know for certain, and many captains of the British and American navies know as well as me, that the Feejee Islanders eat not only their enemies but one another--and they do it not for spite, but for pleasure. It's a _fact_ that they prefer human flesh to any other. But they don't like white men's flesh so well as black; they say it makes them sick." "Why, Bill," said I, "you told me just now that they would eat _me_ if they caught me!" "So I did, and so I think they would. I've only heard some o' them say they don't like white men _so well_ as black; but if they was hungry they wouldn't be particular. Anyhow, I'm sure they would kill you. You see, Ralph, I've been a good while in them parts, and I've visited the different groups of islands oftentimes as a trader. And thorough-goin' blackguards some o' them traders are--no better than pirates, I can tell you. One captain that I sailed with was not a chip better than the one we're with now. He was trading with a friendly chief one day aboard his vessel. The chief had swam off to us with the things for trade tied atop of his head, for them chaps are like otters in the water. Well, the chief was hard on the captain, and would not part with some o' his things. When their bargainin' was over they shook hands, and the chief jumped overboard to swim ashore; but before he got forty yards from the ship, the captain seized a musket and shot him dead. He then hove up anchor and put to sea, and as we sailed along the shore he dropped six black fellows with his rifle, remarkin' that `that would spoil the trade for the next-comers.' But, as I was sayin', I'm up to the ways o' these fellows. One o' the laws o' the country is that every shipwrecked person who happens to be cast ashore, be he dead or alive, is doomed to be roasted and eaten. There was a small tradin' schooner wrecked off one of these islands when we were lyin' there in harbour during a storm. The crew was lost--all but three men, who swam ashore. The moment they landed, they were seized by the natives and carried up into the woods. We knew pretty well what their fate would be; but we could not help them, for our crew was small, and if we had gone ashore they would likely have killed us all. We never saw the three men again. But we heard frightful yelling and dancing and merrymaking that night; and one of the natives, who came aboard to trade with us next day, told us that the _long pigs_, as he called the men, had been roasted and eaten, and their bones were to be converted into sail-needles. He also said that white men were bad to eat, and that most o' the people on shore were sick." I was very much shocked and cast down in my mind at this terrible account of the natives, and asked Bill what he would advise me to do. Looking round the deck to make sure that we were not overheard, he lowered his voice and said, "There are two or three ways that we might escape, Ralph, but none o' them's easy. If the captain would only sail for some o' the islands near Tahiti we might run away there well enough, because the natives are all Christians; an' we find that wherever the savages take up with Christianity they always give over their bloody ways, and are safe to be trusted. I never cared for Christianity myself," he continued in a soliloquising voice, "and I don't well know what it means; but a man with half-an-eye can see what it does for these black critters. However, the captain always keeps a sharp lookout after us when we get to these islands, for he half-suspects that one or two o' us are tired of his company. Then we might manage to cut the boat adrift some fine night when it's our watch on deck, and clear off before they discovered that we were gone. But we would run the risk o' bein' caught by the blacks. I wouldn't like to try that plan. But you and I will think over it, Ralph, and see what's to be done. In the meantime it's our watch below, so I'll go and turn in." Bill then bade me good-night and went below, while a comrade took his place at the helm; but feeling no desire to enter into conversation with him, I walked aft, and leaning over the stern, looked down into the phosphorescent waves that gurgled around the rudder, and streamed out like a flame of blue light in the vessel's wake. My thoughts were very sad, and I could scarce refrain from tears as I contrasted my present wretched position with the happy, peaceful time I had spent on the Coral Island with my dear companions. As I thought upon Jack and Peterkin, anxious forebodings crossed my mind, and I pictured to myself the grief and dismay with which they would search every nook and corner of the island in a vain attempt to discover my dead body; for I felt assured that if they did not see any sign of the pirate schooner or boat when they came out of the cave to look for me, they would never imagine that I had been carried away. I wondered, too, how Jack would succeed in getting Peterkin out of the cave without my assistance; and I trembled when I thought that he might lose presence of mind, and begin to kick when he was in the tunnel! These thoughts were suddenly interrupted and put to flight by a bright-red blaze, which lighted up the horizon to the southward and cast a crimson glow far over the sea. This appearance was accompanied by a low growling sound, as of distant thunder, and at the same time the sky above us became black, while a hot, stifling wind blew around us in fitful gusts. The crew assembled hastily on deck, and most of them were under the belief that a frightful hurricane was pending; but the captain, coming on deck, soon explained the phenomena. "It's only a volcano," said he. "I knew there was one hereabouts, but thought it was extinct.--Up, there, and furl topgallant sails! We'll likely have a breeze, and it's well to be ready." As he spoke, a shower began to fall, which, we quickly observed, was not rain, but fine ashes. As we were many miles distant from the volcano, these must have been carried to us from it by the wind. As the captain had predicted, a stiff breeze soon afterwards sprang up, under the influence of which we speedily left the volcano far behind us; but during the greater part of the night we could see its lurid glare and hear its distant thunder. The shower did not cease to fall for several hours, and we must have sailed under it for nearly forty miles--perhaps farther. When we emerged from the cloud, our decks and every part of the rigging were completely covered with a thick coat of ashes. I was much interested in this, and recollected that Jack had often spoken of many of the islands of the Pacific as being volcanoes, either active or extinct, and had said that the whole region was more or less volcanic, and that some scientific men were of opinion that the islands of the Pacific were nothing more or less than the mountain-tops of a huge continent which had sunk under the influence of volcanic agency. Three days after passing the volcano, we found ourselves a few miles to windward of an island of considerable size and luxuriant aspect. It consisted of two mountains, which seemed to be nearly four thousand feet high. They were separated from each other by a broad valley, whose thick-growing trees ascended a considerable distance up the mountain-sides; and rich, level plains or meadow-land spread round the base of the mountains, except at the point immediately opposite the large valley, where a river seemed to carry the trees, as it were, along with it down to the white, sandy shore. The mountain-tops, unlike those of our Coral Island, were sharp, needle-shaped, and bare, while their sides were more rugged and grand in outline than anything I had yet seen in those seas. Bloody Bill was beside me when the island first hove in sight. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "I know that island well. They call it Emo." "Have you been there before, then?" I inquired. "Ay, that I have, often, and so has this schooner. 'Tis a famous island for sandal-wood. We have taken many cargoes of it already--and have paid for them, too, for the savages are so numerous that we dared not try to take it by force. But our captain has tried to cheat them so often that they're beginnin' not to like us overmuch now. Besides, the men behaved ill the last time we were here, and I wonder the captain is not afraid to venture. But he's afraid o' nothin' earthly, I believe." We soon ran inside the barrier coral reef, and let go our anchor in six fathoms water, just opposite the mouth of a small creek, whose shores were densely covered with mangroves and tall umbrageous trees. The principal village of the natives lay about half-a-mile from this point. Ordering the boat out, the captain jumped into it, and ordered me to follow him. The men, fifteen in number, were well armed; and the mate was directed to have Long Tom ready for emergencies. "Give way, lads!" cried the captain. The oars fell into the water at the word, the boat shot from the schooner's side, and in a few minutes reached the shore. Here, contrary to our expectation, we were met with the utmost cordiality by Romata, the principal chief of the island, who conducted us to his house and gave us mats to sit upon. I observed in passing that the natives, of whom there were two or three thousand, were totally unarmed. After a short preliminary palaver, a feast of baked pigs and various roots was spread before us, of which we partook sparingly, and then proceeded to business. The captain stated his object in visiting the island, regretted that there had been a slight misunderstanding during the last visit, and hoped that no ill-will was borne by either party, and that a satisfactory trade would be accomplished. Romata answered that he had forgotten there had been any differences between them, protested that he was delighted to see his friends again, and assured them they should have every assistance in cutting and embarking the wood. The terms were afterwards agreed on, and we rose to depart. All this conversation was afterwards explained to me by Bill, who understood the language pretty well. Romata accompanied us on board, and explained that a great chief from another island was then on a visit to him, and that he was to be ceremoniously entertained on the following day. After begging to be allowed to introduce him to us, and receiving permission, he sent his canoe ashore to bring him off. At the same time he gave orders to bring on board his two favourites, a cock and a paroquet. While the canoe was gone on this errand, I had time to regard the savage chief attentively. He was a man of immense size, with massive but beautifully moulded limbs and figure, only parts of which--the broad chest and muscular arms--were uncovered; for although the lower orders generally wore no other clothing than a strip of cloth called _maro_ round their loins, the chief, on particular occasions, wrapped his person in voluminous folds of a species of native cloth made from the bark of the Chinese paper-mulberry. Romata wore a magnificent black beard and moustache, and his hair was frizzed out to such an extent that it resembled a large turban, in which was stuck a long wooden pin! I afterwards found that this pin served for scratching the head, for which purpose the fingers were too short without disarranging the hair. But Romata put himself to much greater inconvenience on account of his hair; for we found that he slept with his head resting on a wooden pillow, in which was cut a hollow for the neck, so that the hair of the sleeper might not be disarranged. In ten minutes the canoe returned, bringing the other chief, who certainly presented a most extraordinary appearance, having painted one half of his face red and the other half yellow, besides ornamenting it with various designs in black! Otherwise he was much the same in appearance as Romata, though not so powerfully built. As this chief had never seen a ship before--except, perchance, some of the petty traders that at long intervals visit these remote islands--he was much taken up with the neatness and beauty of all the fittings of the schooner. He was particularly struck with a musket which was shown to him, and asked where the white men got hatchets hard enough to cut the tree of which the barrel was made! While he was thus engaged, his brother-chief stood aloof, talking with the captain, and fondling a superb cock and a little blue-headed paroquet--the favourites of which I have before spoken. I observed that all the other natives walked in a crouching posture while in the presence of Romata. Before our guests left us, the captain ordered the brass gun to be uncovered and fired for their gratification; and I have every reason to believe he did so for the purpose of showing our superior power, in case the natives should harbour any evil designs against us. Romata had never seen this gun before, as it had not been uncovered on previous visits, and the astonishment with which he viewed it was very amusing. Being desirous of knowing its power, he begged that the captain would fire it; so a shot was put into it. The chiefs were then directed to look at a rock about two miles out at sea, and the gun was fired. In a second the top of the rock was seen to burst asunder, and to fall in fragments into the sea. Romata was so delighted with the success of this shot that he pointed to a man who was walking on the shore, and begged the captain to fire at him, evidently supposing that his permission was quite sufficient to justify the captain in such an act. He was therefore surprised, and not a little annoyed, when the captain refused to fire at the native and ordered the gun to be housed. Of all the things, however, that afforded matter of amusement to these savages, that which pleased Romata's visitor most was the ship's pump. He never tired of examining it and pumping up the water. Indeed, so much was he taken up with this pump that he could not be prevailed on to return on shore, but sent a canoe to fetch his favourite stool, on which he seated himself, and spent the remainder of the day in pumping the bilge-water out of the ship! Next day the crew went ashore to cut sandal-wood, while the captain, with one or two men, remained on board, in order to be ready, if need be, with the brass gun, which was unhoused and conspicuously elevated, with its capacious muzzle directed point-blank at the chief's house. The men were fully armed, as usual; and the captain ordered me to go with them, to assist in the work. I was much pleased with this order, for it freed me from the captain's company, which I could not now endure, and it gave me an opportunity of seeing the natives. As we wound along in single file through the rich, fragrant groves of banana, cocoa-nut, bread-fruit, and other trees, I observed that there were many of the plum and banyan trees, with which I had become familiar on the Coral Island. I noticed, also, large quantities of taro--roots, yams, and sweet potatoes growing in enclosures. On turning into an open glade of the woods, we came abruptly upon a cluster of native houses. They were built chiefly of bamboos, and were thatched with the large, thick leaves of the pandanus; but many of them had little more than a sloping roof and three sides with an open front, being the most simple shelter from the weather that could well be imagined. Within these and around them were groups of natives--men, women, and children--who all stood up to gaze at us as we marched along, followed by the party of men whom the chief had sent to escort us. About half-a-mile inland we arrived at the spot where the sandal-wood grew, and while the men set to work I clambered up an adjoining hill to observe the country. About midday the chief arrived with several followers, one of whom carried a baked pig on a wooden platter, with yams and potatoes on several plantain leaves, which he presented to the men, who sat down under the shade of a tree to dine. The chief sat down to dine also; but, to my surprise, instead of feeding himself, one of his wives performed that office for him! I was seated beside Bill, and asked him the reason of this. "It is beneath his dignity, I believe, to feed himself," answered Bill; "but I dare say he's not particular, except on great occasions. They've a strange custom among them, Ralph, which is called _tabu_, and they carry it to great lengths. If a man chooses a particular tree for his god, the fruit o' that tree is tabued to him; and if he eats it, he is sure to be killed by his people--and eaten, of course, for killing means eating hereaway. Then, you see that great mop o' hair on the chief's head? Well, he has a lot o' barbers to keep it in order; and it's a law that whoever touches the head of a living chief or the body of a dead one, his hands are tabued. So in that way the barbers' hands are always tabued, and they daren't use them for their lives, but have to be fed like big babies--as they are, sure enough!" "That's odd, Bill. But look there," said I, pointing to a man whose skin was of a much lighter colour than the generality of the natives. "I've seen a few of these light-skinned fellows among the Feejeeans. They seem to me to be of quite a different race." "So they are," answered Bill. "These fellows come from the Tongan Islands, which lie a long way to the eastward. They come here to build their big war-canoes; and as these take two, and sometimes four, years to build, there's always some o' the brown-skins among the black sarpents o' these islands." "By the way, Bill," said I, "your mentioning serpents reminds me that I have not seen a reptile of any kind since I came to this part of the world." "No more there are any," said Bill, "if ye except the niggers themselves. There's none on the islands but a lizard or two, and some sich harmless things; but I never seed any myself. If there's none on the land, however, there's more than enough in the water; and that reminds me of a wonderful brute they have here. But come, I'll show it to you." So saying, Bill arose, and leaving the men still busy with the baked pig, led me into the forest. After proceeding a short distance we came upon a small pond of stagnant water. A native lad had followed us, to whom we called and beckoned him to come to us. On Bill saying a few words to him, which I did not understand, the boy advanced to the edge of the pond and gave a low, peculiar whistle. Immediately the water became agitated, and an enormous eel thrust its head above the surface and allowed the youth to touch it. It was about twelve feet long, and as thick round the body as a man's thigh. "There!" said Bill, his lip curling with contempt; "what do you think of that for a god, Ralph? This is one o' their gods, and it has been fed with dozens o' livin' babies already. How many more it'll get afore it dies is hard to say." "Babies!" said I with an incredulous look. "Ay, babies," returned Bill. "Your soft-hearted folk at home would say, `Oh, horrible! Impossible!' to that, and then go away as comfortable and unconcerned as if their sayin' `Horrible! impossible!' had made it a lie. But I tell you, Ralph, it's a _fact_. I've seed it with my own eyes the last time I was here; an' mayhap, if you stop awhile at this accursed place and keep a sharp lookout, you'll see it too. They don't feed it regularly with livin' babies, but they give it one now and then as a treat.--Bah, you brute!" cried Bill in disgust, giving the reptile a kick on the snout with his heavy boot that sent it sweltering back in agony into its loathsome pool. I thought it lucky for Bill--indeed for all of us--that the native youth's back happened to be turned at the time, for I am certain that if the poor savages had come to know that we had so rudely handled their god we should have had to fight our way back to the ship. As we retraced our steps I questioned my companion further on this subject. "How comes it, Bill, that the mothers allow such a dreadful thing to be done?" "Allow it? the mothers _do_ it! It seems to me that there's nothing too fiendish or diabolical for these people to do. Why, in some of the islands they have an institution called the _Areoi_, and the persons connected with that body are ready for any wickedness that mortal man can devise. In fact, they stick at nothing; and one o' their customs is to murder their infants the moment they are born. The mothers agree to it, and the fathers do it. And the mildest ways they have of murdering them is by sticking them through the body with sharp splinters of bamboo, strangling them with their thumbs, or burying them alive and stamping them to death while under the sod." I felt sick at heart while my companion recited these horrors. "But it's a curious fact," he continued after a pause, during which we walked in silence towards the spot where we had left our comrades--"it's a curious fact that wherever the missionaries get a footin' all these things come to an end at once, an' the savages take to doin' each other good and singin' psalms, just like Methodists." "God bless the missionaries," said I, while a feeling of enthusiasm filled my heart so that I could speak with difficulty. "God bless and prosper the missionaries till they get a footing in every island of the sea!" "I would say Amen to that prayer, Ralph, if I could," said Bill, in a deep, sad voice; "but it would be a mere mockery for a man to ask a blessing for others who dare not ask one for himself. But, Ralph," he continued, "I've not told you half o' the abominations I have seen durin' my life in these seas. If we pull long together, lad, I'll tell you more; and if times have not changed very much since I was here last, it's like that you'll have a chance o' seeing a little for yourself before long." CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. THE SANDAL-WOOD PARTY--NATIVE CHILDREN'S GAMES SOMEWHAT SURPRISING-- DESPERATE AMUSEMENTS SUDDENLY AND FATALLY BROUGHT TO A CLOSE--AN OLD FRIEND RECOGNISED--NEWS--ROMATA'S MAD CONDUCT. Next day the wood-cutting party went ashore again, and I accompanied them as before. During the dinner-hour I wandered into the woods alone, being disinclined for food that day. I had not rambled far when I found myself unexpectedly on the seashore, having crossed a narrow neck of land which separated the native village from a large bay. Here I found a party of the islanders busy with one of their war-canoes, which was almost ready for launching. I stood for a long time watching this party with great interest, and observed that they fastened the timbers and planks to each other very much in the same way in which I had seen Jack fasten those of our little boat. But what surprised me most was its immense length, which I measured carefully, and found to be a hundred feet long; and it was so capacious that it could have held three hundred men. It had the unwieldy outrigger and enormously high stern-posts which I had remarked on the canoe that came to us while I was on the Coral Island. Observing some boys playing at games a short way along the beach, I resolved to go and watch them; but as I turned from the natives who were engaged so busily and cheerfully at their work, I little thought of the terrible event that hung on the completion of that war-canoe. Advancing towards the children, who were so numerous that I began to think this must be the general playground of the village, I sat down on a grassy bank under the shade of a plantain-tree to watch them. And a happier or more noisy crew I have never seen. There were at least two hundred of them, both boys and girls, all of whom were clad in no other garments than their own glossy little black skins, except the maro, or strip of cloth, round the loins of the boys, and a very short petticoat or kilt on the girls. They did not all play at the same game, but amused themselves in different groups. One band was busily engaged in a game exactly similar to our blind man's buff. Another set were walking on stilts, which raised the children three feet from the ground. They were very expert at this amusement, and seldom tumbled. In another place I observed a group of girls standing together, and apparently enjoying themselves very much; so I went up to see what they were doing, and found that they were opening their eyelids with their fingers till their eyes appeared of an enormous size, and then thrusting pieces of straw between the upper and lower lids, across the eyeball, to keep them in that position! This seemed to me, I must confess, a very foolish as well as dangerous amusement. Nevertheless, the children seemed to be greatly delighted with the hideous faces they made. I pondered this subject a good deal, and thought that if little children knew how silly they seemed to grown-up people when, they make faces, they would not be so fond of doing it. In another place were a number of boys engaged in flying kites; and I could not help wondering that some of the games of those little savages should be so like to our own, although they had never seen us at play. But the kites were different from ours in many respects, being of every variety of shape. They were made of very thin cloth, and the boys raised them to a wonderful height in the air by means of twine made from the cocoa-nut husk. Other games there were, some of which showed the natural depravity of the hearts of these poor savages, and made me wish fervently that missionaries might be sent out to them. But the amusement which the greatest number of the children of both sexes seemed to take chief delight in was swimming and diving in the sea, and the expertness which they exhibited was truly amazing. They seemed to have two principal games in the water, one of which was to dive off a sort of stage which had been erected near a deep part of the sea, and chase each other in the water. Some of them went down to an extraordinary depth; others skimmed along the surface, or rolled over and over like porpoises, or diving under each other, came up unexpectedly and pulled each other down by a leg or an arm. They never seemed to tire of this sport, and from the great heat of the water in the South Seas, they could remain in it nearly all day without feeling chilled. Many of these children were almost infants, scarce able to walk; yet they staggered down the beach, flung their round, fat little black bodies fearlessly into deep water, and struck out to sea with as much confidence as ducklings. The other game to which I have referred was swimming in the surf. But as this is an amusement in which all engage, from children of ten to grey-headed men of sixty, and as I had an opportunity of witnessing it in perfection the day following, I shall describe it more minutely. I suppose it was in honour of their guest that this grand swimming-match was got up, for Romata came and told the captain that they were going to engage in it, and begged him to "come and see." "What sort of amusement is this surf-swimming?" I inquired of Bill as we walked together to a part of the shore on which several thousands of the natives were assembled. "It's a very favourite lark with these 'xtr'or'nary critters," replied Bill, giving a turn to the quid of tobacco that invariably bulged out of his left cheek. "Ye see, Ralph, them fellows take to the water as soon a'most as they can walk, an' long before they can do that anything respectably, so that they are as much at home in the sea as on the land. Well, ye see, I 'spose they found swimmin' for miles out to sea, and divin' fathoms deep, wasn't excitin' enough, so they invented this game o' swimmin' on the surf. Each man and boy, as you see, has got a short board or plank, with which he swims out for a mile or more to sea, and then, gettin' on the top o' yon thunderin' breaker, they come to shore on the top of it, yellin' and screechin' like fiends. It's a marvel to me that they're not dashed to shivers on the coral reef, for sure an' sart'in am I that if any o' us tried it, we wouldn't be worth the fluke of a broken anchor after the wave fell. But there they go!" As he spoke, several hundreds of the natives, amongst whom we were now standing, uttered a loud yell, rushed down the beach, plunged into the surf, and were carried off by the seething foam of the retreating wave. At the point where we stood, the encircling coral reef joined the shore, so that the magnificent breakers, which a recent stiff breeze had rendered larger than usual, fell in thunder at the feet of the multitudes who lined the beach. For some time the swimmers continued to strike out to sea, breasting over the swell like hundreds of black seals. Then they all turned, and watching an approaching billow, mounted its white crest, and each laying his breast on the short, flat board, came rolling towards the shore, careering on the summit of the mighty wave, while they and the onlookers shouted and yelled with excitement. Just as the monster wave curled in solemn majesty to fling its bulky length upon the beach, most of the swimmers slid back into the trough behind; others, slipping off their boards, seized them in their hands, and plunging through the watery waste, swam out to repeat the amusement; but a few, who seemed to me the most reckless, continued their career until they were launched upon the beach and enveloped in the churning foam and spray. One of these last came in on the crest of the wave most manfully, and landed with a violent bound almost on the spot where Bill and I stood. I saw by his peculiar head-dress that he was the chief whom the tribe entertained as their guest. The sea-water had removed nearly all the paint with which his face had been covered, and as he rose panting to his feet, I recognised, to my surprise, the features of Tararo, my old friend of the Coral Island! Tararo at the same moment recognised me, and advancing quickly, took me round the neck and rubbed noses, which had the effect of transferring a good deal of the moist paint from his nose to mine. Then, recollecting that this was not the white man's mode of salutation, he grasped me by the hand and shook it violently. "Hallo, Ralph!" cried Bill in surprise, "that chap seems to have taken a sudden fancy to you, or he must be an old acquaintance." "Right, Bill," I replied; "he is indeed an old acquaintance." And I explained, in a few words, that he was the chief whose party Jack and Peterkin and I had helped to save. Tararo having thrown away his surf-board, entered into an animated conversation with Bill, pointing frequently during the course of it to me, whereby I concluded he must be telling him about the memorable battle and the part we had taken in it. When he paused I begged of Bill to ask him about the woman Avatea, for I had some hope that she might have come with Tararo on this visit. "And ask him," said I, "who she is, for I am persuaded she is of a different race from the Feejeeans." On the mention of her name the chief frowned darkly, and seemed to speak with much anger. "You're right, Ralph," said Bill when the chief had ceased to talk; "she's not a Feejee girl, but a Samoan. How she ever came to this place the chief does not very clearly explain; but he says she was taken in war, and that he got her three years ago, an' kept her as his daughter ever since. Lucky for her, poor girl, else she'd have been roasted and eaten like the rest." "But why does Tararo frown and look so angry?" said I. "Because the girl's somewhat obstinate, like most o' the sex, an' won't marry the man he wants her to. It seems that a chief of some other island came on a visit to Tararo and took a fancy to her; but she wouldn't have him on no account, bein' already in love, and engaged to a young chief whom Tararo hates, and she kicked up a desperate shindy. So, as he was goin' on a war-expedition in his canoe, he left her to think about it, sayin' he'd be back in six months or so, when he hoped she wouldn't be so obstropolous. This happened just a week ago; an' Tararo says that if she's not ready to go, when the chief returns, as his bride, she'll be sent to him as a _long pig_." "As a long pig!" I exclaimed in surprise. "Why, what does he mean by that?" "He means somethin' very unpleasant," answered Bill with a frown. "You see, these blackguards eat men an' women just as readily as they eat pigs; and as baked pigs and baked men are very like each other in appearance, they call men _long_ pigs. If Avatea goes to this fellow as a long pig, it's all up with her, poor thing!" "Is she on the island now?" I asked eagerly. "No; she's at Tararo's island." "And where does it lie?" "About fifty or sixty miles to the south'ard o' this," returned Bill; "but I--" At this moment we were startled by the cry of "mao! mao--a shark! a shark!" which was immediately followed by a shriek that rang clear and fearfully loud above the tumult of cries that arose from the savages in the water and on the land. We turned hastily towards the direction whence the cry came, and had just time to observe the glaring eyeballs of one of the swimmers as he tossed his arms in the air. Next instant he was pulled under the waves. A canoe was instantly launched, and the hand of the drowning man was caught; but only half of his body was dragged from the maw of the monster, which followed the canoe until the water became so shallow that it could scarcely swim. The crest of the next billow was tinged with red as it rolled towards the shore. In most countries of the world this would have made a deep impression on the spectators; but the only effect it had upon these islanders was to make them hurry with all speed out of the sea, lest a similar fate should befall some of the others. But so utterly reckless were they of human life that it did not for a moment suspend the progress of their amusements. It is true the surf-swimming ended for that time somewhat abruptly, but they immediately proceeded with other games. Bill told me that sharks do not often attack the surf-swimmers, being frightened away by the immense numbers of men and boys in the water, and by the shouting and splashing that they make. "But," said he, "such a thing as you have seen just now don't frighten them much. They'll be at it again to-morrow or next day, just as if there wasn't a single shark between Feejee and Nova Zembla." After this the natives had a series of wrestling and boxing matches; and being men of immense size and muscle, they did a good deal of injury to each other, especially in boxing, in which not only the lower orders but several of the chiefs and priests engaged. Each bout was very quickly terminated; for they did not pretend to a scientific knowledge of the art, and wasted, no time in sparring, but hit straight out at each other's heads, and their blows were delivered with great force. Frequently one of the combatants was knocked down with a single blow, and one gigantic fellow hit his adversary so severely that he drove the skin entirely off his forehead. This feat was hailed with immense applause by the spectators. During these exhibitions, which were very painful to me, though I confess I could not refrain from beholding them, I was struck with the beauty of many of the figures and designs that were tattooed on the persons of the chiefs and principal men. One figure, that seemed to me very elegant, was that of a palm-tree tattooed on the back of a man's leg, the roots rising, as it were, from under his heel, the stem ascending the tendon of the ankle, and the graceful head branching out upon the calf. I afterwards learned that this process of tattooing is very painful, and takes long to do, commencing at the age of ten, and being continued at intervals up to the age of thirty. It is done by means of an instrument made of bone, with a number of sharp teeth, with which the skin is punctured. Into these punctures a preparation made from the kernel of the candle-nut, mixed with cocoa-nut oil, is rubbed, and the mark thus made is indelible. The operation is performed by a class of men whose profession it is, and they tattoo as much at a time as the person on whom they are operating can bear, which is not much, the pain and inflammation caused by tattooing being very great-- sometimes causing death. Some of the chiefs were tattooed with an ornamental stripe down the legs, which gave them the appearance of being clad in tights; others had marks round the ankles and insteps, which looked like tight-fitting and elegant boots. Their faces were also tattooed, and their breasts were very profusely marked with every imaginable species of device--muskets, dogs, birds, pigs, clubs, and canoes, intermingled with lozenges, squares, circles, and other arbitrary figures. The women were not tattooed so much as the men, having only a few marks on their feet and arms. But I must say, however objectionable this strange practice may be, it nevertheless had this good effect--that it took away very much from their appearance of nakedness. Next day, while we were returning from the woods to our schooner, we observed Romata rushing about in the neighbourhood of his house, apparently mad with passion. "Ah!" said Bill to me, "there he's at his old tricks again. That's his way when he gets drink. The natives make a sort of drink o' their own, and it makes him bad enough; but when he gets brandy he's like a wild tiger. The captain, I suppose, has given him a bottle, as usual, to keep him in good-humour. After drinkin' he usually goes to sleep, and the people know it well, and keep out of his way for fear they should waken him. Even the babies are taken out of earshot; for when he's waked up he rushes out, just as you see him now, and spears or clubs the first person he meets." It seemed at the present time, however, that no deadly weapon had been in his way, for the infuriated chief was raging about without one. Suddenly he caught sight of an unfortunate man who was trying to conceal himself behind a tree. Rushing towards him, Romata struck him a terrible blow on the head, which knocked out the poor man's eye and also dislocated the chief's finger. The wretched creature offered no resistance; he did not even attempt to parry the blow. Indeed, from what Bill said, I found that he might consider himself lucky in having escaped with his life, which would certainly have been forfeited had the chief been possessed of a club at the time. "Have these wretched creatures no law among themselves," said I, "which can restrain such wickedness?" "None," replied Bill. "The chief's word is law. He might kill and eat a dozen of his own subjects any day for nothing more than his own pleasure, and nobody would take the least notice of it." This ferocious deed took place within sight of our party as we wended our way to the beach, but I could not observe any other expression on the faces of the men than that of total indifference or contempt. It seemed to me a very awful thing that it should be possible for men to come to such hardness of heart and callousness to the sight of bloodshed and violence; but, indeed, I began to find that such constant exposure to scenes of blood was having a slight effect upon myself, and I shuddered when I came to think that I too was becoming callous. I thought upon this subject much that night while I walked up and down the deck during my hours of watch, and I came to the conclusion that if I, who hated, abhorred, and detested such bloody deeds as I had witnessed within the last few weeks, could so soon come to be less sensitive about them, how little wonder that these poor, ignorant savages, who were born and bred in familiarity therewith, should think nothing of them at all, and should hold human life in so very slight esteem! CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. MISCHIEF BREWING--MY BLOOD IS MADE TO RUN COLD--EVIL CONSULTATIONS AND WICKED RESOLVES--BLOODY BILL ATTEMPTS TO DO GOOD, AND FAILS--THE ATTACK--WHOLESALE MURDER--THE FLIGHT--THE ESCAPE. Next morning I awoke with a feverish brow and a feeling of deep depression at my heart; and the more I thought on my unhappy fate, the more wretched and miserable did I feel. I was surrounded on all sides by human beings of the most dreadful character, to whom the shedding of blood was mere pastime. On shore were the natives, whose practices were so horrible that I could not think of them without shuddering. On board were none but pirates of the blackest dye, who, although not cannibals, were foul murderers, and more blameworthy even than the savages, inasmuch as they knew better. Even Bill, with whom I had, under the strange circumstances of my lot, formed a kind of intimacy, was so fierce in his nature as to have acquired the title of "Bloody" from his vile companions. I felt very much cast down the more I considered the subject and the impossibility of delivery, as it seemed to me--at least, for a long time to come. At last, in my feeling of utter helplessness, I prayed fervently to the Almighty that He would deliver me out of my miserable condition; and when I had done so I felt some degree of comfort. When the captain came on deck, before the hour at which the men usually started for the woods, I begged of him to permit me to remain aboard that day, as I did not feel well; but he looked at me angrily, and ordered me, in a surly tone, to get ready to go on shore as usual. The fact was that the captain had been out of humour for some time past. Romata and he had had some differences, and high words had passed between them, during which the chief had threatened to send a fleet of his war-canoes, with a thousand men, to break up and burn the schooner; whereupon the captain smiled sarcastically, and going up to the chief, gazed sternly in his face while he said, "I have only to raise my little finger just now, and my big gun will blow your whole village to atoms in five minutes!" Although the chief was a bold man, he quailed before the pirate's glance and threat, and made no reply; but a bad feeling had been raised, and old sores had been opened. I had, therefore, to go with the woodcutters that day. Before starting, however, the captain called me into the cabin and said: "Here, Ralph; I've got a mission for you, lad. That blackguard Romata is in the dumps, and nothing will mollify him but a gift; so do you go up to his house and give him these whale's teeth, with my compliments. Take with you one of the men who can speak the language." I looked at the gift in some surprise, for it consisted of six white whale's teeth, and two of the same dyed bright red, which seemed to me very paltry things. However, I did not dare to hesitate, or to ask any questions; so gathering them up, I left the cabin, and was soon on my way to the chief's house, accompanied by Bill. On expressing my surprise at the gift, he said: "They're paltry enough to you or me, Ralph, but they're considered of great value by them chaps. They're a sort o' cash among them. The red ones are the most prized, one of them bein' equal to twenty o' the white ones. I suppose the only reason for their bein' valuable is that there ain't many of them, and they're hard to be got." On arriving at the house we found Romata sitting on a mat, in the midst of a number of large bales of native cloth and other articles, which had been brought to him as presents from time to time by inferior chiefs. He received us rather haughtily; but on Bill explaining the nature of our errand, he became very condescending, and his eyes glistened with satisfaction when he received the whale's teeth, although he laid them aside with an assumption of kingly indifference. "Go," said he with a wave of the hand--"go tell your captain that he may cut wood to-day, but not to-morrow. He must come ashore; I want to have a palaver with him." As we left the house to return to the woods, Bill shook his head. "There's mischief brewin' in that black rascal's head. I know him of old. But what comes here?" As he spoke, we heard the sound of laughter and shouting in the wood, and presently there issued from it a band of savages, in the midst of whom were a number of men bearing burdens on their shoulders. At first I thought that these burdens were poles with something rolled round them, the end of each pole resting on a man's shoulder; but on a nearer approach I saw that they were human beings, tied hand and foot, and so lashed to the poles that they could not move. I counted twenty of them as they passed. "More murder!" said Bill in a voice that sounded between a hoarse laugh and a groan. "Surely they are not going to murder them?" said I, looking anxiously into Bill's face. "I don't know, Ralph," replied Bill, "what they're goin' to do with them; but I fear they mean no good when they tie fellows up in that way." As we continued our way towards the woodcutters, I observed that Bill looked anxiously over his shoulder in the direction where the procession had disappeared. At last he stopped, and turning abruptly on his heel, said: "I tell ye what it is, Ralph: I must be at the bottom o' that affair. Let us follow these black scoundrels and see what they're goin' to do." I must say I had no wish to pry further into their bloody practices; but Bill seemed bent on it, so I turned and went. We passed rapidly through the bush, being guided in the right direction by the shouts of the savages. Suddenly there was a dead silence, which continued for some time, while Bill and I involuntarily quickened our pace until we were running at the top of our speed across the narrow neck of land previously mentioned. As we reached the verge of the wood we discovered the savages surrounding the large war-canoe, which they were apparently on the point of launching. Suddenly the multitude put their united strength to the canoe; but scarcely had the huge machine begun to move when a yell, the most appalling that ever fell upon my ear, rose high above the shouting of the savages. It had not died away when another and another smote upon my throbbing ear, and then I saw that these inhuman monsters were actually launching their canoe over the living bodies of their victims. But there was no pity in the breasts of these men. Forward they went in ruthless indifference, shouting as they went, while high above their voices rang the dying shrieks of those wretched creatures as, one after another, the ponderous canoe passed over them, burst the eyeballs from their sockets, and sent the life-blood gushing from their mouths. Oh reader, this is no fiction! I would not, for the sake of thrilling you with horror, invent so terrible a scene. It was witnessed. It is true--true as that accursed sin which has rendered the human heart capable of such diabolical enormities! When it was over I turned round and fell upon the grass with a deep groan; but Bill seized me by the arm, and lifting me up as if I had been a child, cried: "Come along, lad; let's away!" And so, staggering and stumbling over the tangled underwood, we fled from the fatal spot. During the remainder of that day I felt as if I were in a horrible dream. I scarce knew what was said to me, and was more than once blamed by the men for idling my time. At last the hour to return aboard came. We marched down to the beach, and I felt relief for the first time when my feet rested on the schooner's deck. In the course of the evening I overheard part of a conversation between the captain and the first mate, which startled me not a little. They were down in the cabin, and conversed in an undertone; but the skylight being off; I overhead every word that was said. "I don't half-like it," said the mate. "It seems to me that we'll only have hard fightin' and no pay." "No pay!" repeated the captain in a voice of suppressed anger. "Do you call a good cargo all for nothing no pay?" "Very true," returned the mate; "but we've got the cargo aboard. Why not cut your cable and take French leave o' them? What's the use o' tryin' to kill the blackguards when it'll do us no manner o' good?" "Mate," said the captain in a low voice, "you talk like a fresh-water sailor. I can only attribute this shyness to some strange delusion, for surely,"--his voice assumed a slightly sneering tone as he said this--"surely I am not to suppose that you have become soft-hearted! Besides, you are wrong in regard to the cargo being aboard; there's a good quarter of it lying in the woods, and that blackguard chief knows it, and won't let me take it off. He defied us to do our worst yesterday." "Defied us! did he?" cried the mate with a bitter laugh. "Poor, contemptible thing!" "And yet he seems not so contemptible but that you are afraid to attack him." "Who said I was afraid?" growled the mate sulkily. "I'm as ready as any man in the ship. But, captain, what is it that you intend to do?" "I intend to muffle the sweeps and row the schooner up to the head of the creek there, from which point we can command the pile of sandal-wood with our gun. Then I shall land with all the men except two, who shall take care of the schooner and be ready with the boat to take us off. We can creep through the woods to the head of the village, where these cannibals are always dancing round their suppers of human flesh; and if the carbines of the men are loaded with a heavy charge of buck-shot, we can drop forty or fifty at the first volley. After that the thing will be easy enough. The savages will take to the mountains in a body, and we shall take what we require, up anchor, and away." To this plan the mate at length agreed. As he left the cabin, I heard the captain say: "Give the men an extra glass of grog, and don't forget the buck-shot." The reader may conceive the horror with which I heard this murderous conversation. I immediately repeated it to Bill, who seemed much perplexed about it. At length he said: "I'll tell you what I'll do, Ralph. I'll swim ashore after dark and fix a musket to a tree not far from the place where we'll have to land, and I'll tie a long string to the trigger, so that when our fellows cross it they'll let it off, and so alarm the village in time to prevent an attack, but not in time to prevent us gettin' back to the boat.--So, Master Captain," added Bill with a smile that, for the first time, seemed to me to be mingled with good-natured cheerfulness, "you'll be balked at least for once in your life by Bloody Bill." After it grew dark, Bill put this resolve in practice. He slipped over the side with a musket in his left hand, while with his right he swam ashore and entered the woods. He soon returned, having accomplished his purpose, and got on board without being seen, I being the only one on deck. When the hour of midnight approached, the men were mustered on deck, the cable was cut, and the muffled sweeps got out. These sweeps were immensely large oars, each requiring a couple of men to work it. In a few minutes we entered the mouth of the creek, which was indeed the mouth of a small river, and took about half-an-hour to ascend it, although the spot where we intended to land was not more than six hundred yards from the mouth, because there was a slight current against us, and the mangroves which narrowed the creek impeded the rowers in some places. Having reached the spot, which was so darkened by overhanging trees that we could see with difficulty, a small kedge-anchor attached to a thin line was let softly down over the stern. "Now, lads," whispered the captain as he walked along the line of men, who were all armed to the teeth, "don't be in a hurry, aim low, and don't waste your first shots." He then pointed to the boat, into which the men crowded in silence. There was no room to row; but oars were not needed, as a slight push against the side of the schooner sent the boat gliding to the shore. "There's no need of leaving two in the boat," whispered the mate as the men stepped out; "we shall want all our hands. Let Ralph stay." The captain assented, and ordered me to stand in readiness with the boat-hook, to shove ashore at a moment's notice if they should return, or to shove off if any of the savages should happen to approach. He then threw his carbine into the hollow of his arm, and glided through the bushes, followed by his men. With a throbbing heart I awaited the result of our plan. I knew the exact locality where the musket was placed, for Bill had described it to me, and I kept my straining eyes fixed upon the spot. But no sound came, and I began to fear that either they had gone in another direction or that Bill had not fixed the string properly. Suddenly I heard a faint click, and observed one or two bright sparks among the bushes. My heart immediately sank within me, for I knew at once that the trigger had indeed been pulled, but that the priming had not caught. The plan, therefore, had utterly failed. A feeling of dread now began to creep over me as I stood in the boat, in that dark, silent spot, awaiting the issue of this murderous expedition. I shuddered as I glanced at the water that glided past like a dark reptile. I looked back at the schooner; but her hull was just barely visible, while her tapering masts were lost among the trees which overshadowed her. Her lower sails were set, but so thick was the gloom that they were quite invisible. Suddenly I heard a shot. In a moment a thousand voices raised a yell in the village; again the cry rose on the night air, and was followed by broken shouts as of scattered parties of men bounding into the woods. Then I heard another shout, loud and close at hand; it was the voice of the captain cursing the man who had fired the premature shot. Then came the order, "Forward!" followed by a wild hurrah of our men as they charged the savages. Shots now rang in quick succession, and at last a loud volley startled the echoes of the woods. It was followed by a multitude of wild shrieks, which were immediately drowned in another hurrah from the men, the distance of the sound proving that they were driving their enemies before them towards the sea. While I was listening intently to these sounds, which were now mingled in confusion, I was startled by the rustling of the leaves not far from me. At first I thought it was a party of savages who had observed the schooner, but I was speedily undeceived by observing a body of natives-- apparently several hundreds, as far as I could guess in the uncertain light--bounding through the woods towards the scene of battle. I saw at once that this was a party who had outflanked our men, and would speedily attack them in the rear. And so it turned out; for in a short time the shouts increased tenfold, and among them I thought I heard a death-cry uttered by voices familiar to my ear. At length the tumult of battle ceased, and from the cries of exultation that now arose from the savages, I felt assured that our men had been conquered. I was immediately thrown into dreadful consternation. What was I now to do? To be taken by the savages was too horrible to be thought of; to flee to the mountains was hopeless, as I should soon be discovered; and to take the schooner out of the creek without assistance was impossible. I resolved, however, to make the attempt, as being my only hope, and was on the point of pushing off, when my hand was stayed and my blood chilled by an appalling shriek, in which I recognised the voice of one of the crew. It was succeeded by a shout from the savages. Then came another and another shriek of agony, making my ears to tingle, as I felt convinced they were murdering the pirate crew in cold blood. With a bursting heart and my brain whirling as if on fire, I seized the boat-hook to push from shore when a man sprang from the bushes. "Stop! Ralph, stop! There, now, push off!" he cried, and bounded into the boat so violently as nearly to upset her. It was Bill's voice! In another moment we were on board--the boat made fast, the line of the anchor cut, and the sweeps run out. At the first stroke of Bill's giant arm the schooner was nearly pulled ashore, for in his haste he forgot that I could scarcely move the unwieldy oar. Springing to the stern, he lashed the rudder in such a position as that, while it aided me, it acted against him, and so rendered the force of our strokes nearly equal. The schooner now began to glide quickly down the creek; but before we reached its mouth, a yell from a thousand voices on the bank told that we were discovered. Instantly a number of the savages plunged into the water and swam towards us; but we were making so much way that they could not overtake us. One, however, an immensely powerful man, succeeded in laying hold of the cut rope that hung from the stern, and clambered quickly upon deck. Bill caught sight of him the instant his head appeared above the taffrail. But he did not cease to row, and did not appear even to notice the savage until he was within a yard of him; then dropping the sweep, he struck him a blow on the forehead with his clenched fist that felled him to the deck. Lifting him up, he hurled him overboard, and resumed the oar. But now a greater danger awaited us; for the savages had outrun us on the bank, and were about to plunge into the water ahead of the schooner. If they succeeded in doing so, our fate was sealed. For one moment Bill stood irresolute. Then drawing a pistol from his belt, he sprang to the brass gun, held the pan of his pistol over the touch-hole, and fired. The shot was succeeded by the hiss of the cannon's priming; then the blaze and the crashing thunder of the monstrous gun burst upon the savages with such deafening roar that it seemed as if their very mountains had been rent asunder. This was enough. The moment of surprise and hesitation caused by the unwonted sound gave us time to pass the point; a gentle breeze, which the dense foliage had hitherto prevented us from feeling, bulged out our sails; the schooner bent before it, and the shouts of the disappointed savages grew fainter and fainter in the distance as we were slowly wafted out to sea. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. REFLECTIONS--THE WOUNDED MAN--THE SQUALL--TRUE CONSOLATION--DEATH. There is a power of endurance in human beings, both in their bodies and in their minds, which, I have often thought, seems to be wonderfully adapted and exactly proportioned to the circumstances in which individuals may happen to be placed--a power which, in most cases, is sufficient to carry a man through and over every obstacle that may happen to be thrown in his path through life, no matter how high or how steep the mountain may be, but which often forsakes him the moment the summit is gained, the point of difficulty passed, and leaves him prostrated, with energies gone, nerves unstrung, and a feeling of incapacity pervading the entire frame that renders the most trifling effort almost impossible. During the greater part of that day I had been subjected to severe mental and much physical excitement, which had almost crushed me down by the time I was relieved from duty in the course of the evening. But when the expedition whose failure has just been narrated was planned, my anxieties and energies had been so powerfully aroused that I went through the protracted scenes of that terrible night without a feeling of the slightest fatigue. My mind and body were alike active and full of energy. No sooner was the last thrilling fear of danger past, however, than my faculties were utterly relaxed; and when I felt the cool breezes of the Pacific playing around my fevered brow, and heard the free waves rippling at the schooner's prow, as we left the hated island behind us, my senses forsook me, and I fell in a swoon upon the deck. From this state I was quickly aroused by Bill, who shook me by the arm, saying: "Hallo, Ralph, boy! Rouse up, lad; we're safe now! Poor thing! I believe he's fainted." And raising me in his arms he laid me on the folds of the gaff-topsail, which lay upon the deck near the tiller. "Here, take a drop o' this; it'll do you good, my boy," he added in a voice of tenderness which I had never heard him use before, while he held a brandy-flask to my lips. I raised my eyes gratefully as I swallowed a mouthful; next moment my head sank heavily upon my arm, and I fell fast asleep. I slept long, for when I awoke the sun was a good way above the horizon. I did not move on first opening my eyes, as I felt a delightful sensation of rest pervading me, and my eyes were riveted on and charmed with the gorgeous splendour of the mighty ocean that burst upon my sight. It was a dead calm; the sea seemed a sheet of undulating crystal, tipped and streaked with the saffron hues of sunrise, which had not yet merged into the glowing heat of noon; and there was a deep calm in the blue dome above that was not broken even by the usual flutter of the sea-fowl. How long I would have lain in contemplation of this peaceful scene I know not, but my mind was recalled suddenly and painfully to the past and the present by the sight of Bill, who was seated on the deck at my feet, with his head reclining, as if in sleep, on his right arm, which rested on the tiller. As he seemed to rest peacefully, I did not mean to disturb him; but the slight noise I made in raising myself on my elbow caused him to start and look round. "Well, Ralph, awake at last, my boy? You have slept long and soundly," he said, turning towards me. On beholding his countenance I sprang up in anxiety. He was deadly pale, and his hair, which hung in dishevelled locks over his face, was clotted with blood. Blood also stained his hollow cheeks and covered the front of his shirt, which, with the greater part of his dress, was torn and soiled with mud. "Oh Bill!" said I with deep anxiety, "what is the matter with you? You are ill. You must have been wounded." "Even so, lad," said Bill in a deep, soft voice, while he extended his huge frame on the couch from which I had just risen. "I've got an ugly wound, I fear; and I've been waiting for you to waken to ask you to get me a drop o' brandy and a mouthful o' bread from the cabin lockers. You seemed to sleep so sweetly, Ralph, that I didn't like to disturb you. But I don't feel up to much just now." I did not wait till he had done talking, but ran below immediately, and returned in a few seconds with a bottle of brandy and some broken biscuit. He seemed much refreshed after eating a few morsels and drinking a long draught of water mingled with a little of the spirits. Immediately afterwards he fell asleep, and I watched him anxiously until he awoke, being desirous of knowing the nature and extent of his wound. "Ha!" he exclaimed on awaking suddenly, after a slumber of an hour; "I'm the better of that nap, Ralph. I feel twice the man I was;" and he attempted to rise, but sank back again immediately with a deep groan. "Nay, Bill, you must not move, but lie still while I look at your wound. I'll make a comfortable bed for you here on deck, and get you some breakfast. After that you shall tell me how you got it. Cheer up, Bill!" I added, seeing that he turned his head away; "you'll be all right in a little, and I'll be a capital nurse to you, though I'm no doctor." I then left him, and lighted a fire in the caboose. While it was kindling, I went to the steward's pantry and procured the materials for a good breakfast, with which, in little more than half-an-hour, I returned to my companion. He seemed much better, and smiled kindly on me as I set before him a cup of coffee and a tray with several eggs and some bread on it. "Now, then, Bill," said I cheerfully, sitting down beside him on the deck, "let's fall to. I'm very hungry myself, I can tell you. But--I forgot--your wound," I added, rising; "let me look at it." I found that the wound was caused by a pistol-shot in the chest. It did not bleed much, and as it was on the right side, I was in hopes that it might not be very serious. But Bill shook his head. "However," said he, "sit down, Ralph, and I'll tell you all about it. "You see, after we left the boat an' began to push through the bushes, we went straight for the line of my musket, as I had expected. But by some unlucky chance it didn't explode, for I saw the line torn away by the men's legs, and heard the click o' the lock; so I fancy the priming had got damp and didn't catch. I was in a great quandary now what to do, for I couldn't concoct in my mind, in the hurry, any good reason for firin' off my piece. But they say necessity's the mother of invention; so just as I was giving it up and clinchin' my teeth to bide the worst o't and take what should come, a sudden thought came into my head. I stepped out before the rest, seemin' to be awful anxious to be at the savages, tripped my foot on a fallen tree, plunged head foremost into a bush, an' ov coorse my carbine exploded! Then came such a screechin' from the camp as I never heard in all my life. I rose at once, and was rushin' on with the rest when the captain called a halt. "`You did that a purpose, you villain!' he said with a tremendous oath, and drawin' a pistol from his belt, let fly right into my breast. I fell at once, and remembered no more till I was startled and brought round by the most awful yell I ever heard in my life--except, maybe, the shrieks o' them poor critters that were crushed to death under yon big canoe. Jumpin' up, I looked round, and through the trees saw a fire gleamin' not far off; the light of which showed me the captain and men tied hand and foot, each to a post, and the savages dancin' round them like demons. I had scarce looked for a second when I saw one o' them go up to the captain flourishing a knife, and before I could wink he plunged it into his breast, while another yell, like the one that roused me, rang upon my ear. I didn't wait for more, but bounding up, went crashing through the bushes into the woods. The black fellows caught sight of me, however, but not in time to prevent me jumpin' into the boat, as you know." Bill seemed to be much exhausted after this recital, and shuddered frequently during the narrative; so I refrained from continuing the subject at that time, and endeavoured to draw his mind to other things. "But now, Bill," said I, "it behoves us to think about the future, and what course of action we shall pursue. Here we are, on the wide Pacific, in a well-appointed schooner, which is our own--at least, no one has a better claim to it than we have--and the world lies before us. Moreover, here comes a breeze, so we must make up our minds which way to steer." "Ralph, boy," said my companion, "it matters not to me which way we go. I fear that my time is short now. Go where you will; I'm content." "Well, then, Bill, I think we had better steer to the Coral Island and see what has become of my dear old comrades, Jack and Peterkin. I believe the island has no name, but the captain once pointed it out to me on the chart, and I marked it afterwards; so, as we know pretty well our position just now, I think I can steer to it. Then, as to working the vessel, it is true I cannot hoist the sails single-handed, but luckily we have enough of sail set already; and if it should come on to blow a squall, I could at least drop the peaks of the main and fore sails, and clew them up partially without help, and throw her head close into the wind, so as to keep her all shaking till the violence of the squall is past. And if we have continued light breezes, I'll rig up a complication of blocks and fix them to the topsail halyards, so that I shall be able to hoist the sails without help. 'Tis true I'll require half-a-day to hoist them, but we don't need to mind that. Then I'll make a sort of erection on deck to screen you from the sun, Bill; and if you can only manage to sit beside the tiller and steer for two hours every day, so as to let me get a nap, I'll engage to let you off duty all the rest of the twenty-four hours. And if you don't feel able for steering, I'll lash the helm and heave-to while I get you your breakfasts and dinners; and so we'll manage famously, and soon reach the Coral Island." Bill smiled faintly as I ran on in this strain. "And what will you do," said he, "if it comes on to blow a storm?" This question silenced me, while I considered what I should do in such a case. At length I laid my hand on his arm and said, "Bill, when a man has done all that he can do, he ought to leave the rest to God." "Oh Ralph," said my companion in a faint voice, looking anxiously into my face, "I wish that I had the feelin's about God that you seem to have, at this hour. I'm dyin', Ralph; yet I, who have braved death a hundred times, am afraid to die. I'm afraid to enter the next world. Something within tells me there will be a reckoning when I go there. But it's all over with me, Ralph. I feel that there's no chance o' my bein' saved." "Don't say that, Bill," said I in deep compassion; "don't say that. I'm quite sure there's hope even for you, but I can't remember the words of the Bible that make me think so. Is there not a Bible on board, Bill?" "No; the last that was in the ship belonged to a poor boy that was taken aboard against his will. He died, poor lad--I think through ill-treatment and fear. After he was gone, the captain found his Bible and flung it overboard." I now reflected, with great sadness and self-reproach, on the way in which I had neglected my Bible, and it flashed across me that I was actually, in the sight of God, a greater sinner than this blood-stained pirate; for, thought I, he tells me that he never read the Bible and was never brought up to care for it, whereas I was carefully taught to read it by my own mother, and had read it daily as long as I possessed one, yet to so little purpose that I could not now call to mind a single text that would meet this poor man's case and afford him the consolation he so much required. I was much distressed, and taxed my memory for a long time. At last a text did flash into my mind, and I wondered much that I had not thought of it before. "Bill," said I in a low voice, "`Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.'" "Ay, Ralph, I've heard the missionaries say that before now; but what good can it do me? It's not for me, that; it's not for the likes o' me." I knew not now what to say, for although I felt sure that that word was for him as well as for me, I could not remember any other word whereby I could prove it. After a short pause, Bill raised his eyes to mine and said, "Ralph, I've led a terrible life. I've been a sailor since I was a boy, and I've gone from bad to worse ever since I left my father's roof. I've been a pirate three years now. It is true I did not choose the trade, but I was inveigled aboard this schooner and kept here by force till I became reckless and at last joined them. Since that time my hand has been steeped in human blood again and again. Your young heart would grow cold if I--But why should I go on? 'Tis of no use, Ralph; my doom is fixed." "Bill," said I, "`Though your sins be red like crimson, they shall be white as snow.' Only believe." "Only believe!" cried Bill, starting up on his elbow. "I've heard men talk o' believing as if it was easy. Ha! 'tis easy enough for a man to point to a rope and say, `I believe that would bear my weight;' but 'tis another thing for a man to catch hold o' that rope and swing himself by it over the edge of a precipice!" The energy with which he said this, and the action with which it was accompanied, were too much for Bill. He sank back with a deep groan. As if the very elements sympathised with this man's sufferings, a low moan came sweeping over the sea. "Hist, Ralph!" said Bill, opening his eyes; "there's a squall coming, lad! Look alive, boy! Clew up the foresail! Drop the mainsail peak! Them squalls come quick sometimes." I had already started to my feet, and saw that a heavy squall was indeed bearing down on us. It had hitherto escaped my notice, owing to my being so much engrossed by our conversation. I instantly did as Bill desired, for the schooner was lying motionless on the glassy sea. I observed with some satisfaction that the squall was bearing down on the larboard bow, so that it would strike the vessel in the position in which she would be best able to stand the shock. Having done my best to shorten sail, I returned aft, and took my stand at the helm. "Now, boy," said Bill in a faint voice, "keep her close to the wind." A few seconds afterwards he said, "Ralph, let me hear those two texts again." I repeated them. "Are ye sure, lad, ye saw them in the Bible?" "Quite sure," I replied. Almost before the words had left my lips the wind burst upon us, and the spray dashed over our decks. For a time the schooner stood it bravely, and sprang forward against the rising sea like a war-horse. Meanwhile clouds darkened the sky, and the sea began to rise in huge billows. There was still too much sail on the schooner, and as the gale increased, I feared that the masts would be torn out of her or carried away, while the wind whistled and shrieked through the strained rigging. Suddenly the wind shifted a point, a heavy sea struck us on the bow, and the schooner was almost laid on her beam-ends, so that I could scarcely keep my legs. At the same moment Bill lost his hold of the belaying-pin which had served to steady him, and he slid with stunning violence against the skylight. As he lay on the deck close beside me, I could see that the shock had rendered him insensible; but I did not dare to quit the tiller for an instant, as it required all my faculties, bodily and mental, to manage the schooner. For an hour the blast drove us along, while, owing to the sharpness of the vessel's bow and the press of canvas, she dashed through the waves instead of breasting over them, thereby drenching the decks with water fore and aft. At the end of that time the squall passed away, and left us rocking on the bosom of the agitated sea. My first care, the instant I could quit the helm, was to raise Bill from the deck and place him on the couch. I then ran below for the brandy-bottle, and rubbed his face and hands with it, and endeavoured to pour a little down his throat. But my efforts, although I continued them long and assiduously, were of no avail; as I let go the hand which I had been chafing, it fell heavily on the deck. I laid my hand over his heart, and sat for some time quite motionless; but there was no flutter there--the pirate was dead! CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. ALONE ON THE DEEP--NECESSITY THE MOTHER OF INVENTION--A VALUABLE BOOK DISCOVERED--NATURAL PHENOMENON--A BRIGHT DAY IN MY HISTORY. It was with feelings of awe, not unmingled with fear, that I now seated myself on the cabin skylight and gazed upon the rigid features of my late comrade, while my mind wandered over his past history and contemplated with anxiety my present position. Alone in the midst of the wide Pacific, having a most imperfect knowledge of navigation, and in a schooner requiring at least eight men as her proper crew! But I will not tax the reader's patience with a minute detail of my feelings and doings during the first few days that followed the death of my companion. I will merely mention that I tied a cannon-ball to his feet, and with feelings of the deepest sorrow, consigned him to the deep. For fully a week after that a steady breeze blew from the east, and as my course lay west and by north, I made rapid progress towards my destination. I could not take an observation, which I very much regretted, as the captain's quadrant was in the cabin; but from the day of setting sail from the island of the savages I had kept a dead reckoning, and as I knew pretty well now how much leeway the schooner made, I hoped to hit the Coral Island without much difficulty. In this I was the more confident that I knew its position on the chart--which, I understood, was a very good one--and so had its correct bearings by compass. As the weather seemed now quite settled and fine, and as I had got into the trade-winds, I set about preparations for hoisting the topsails. This was a most arduous task, and my first attempts were complete failures, owing, in a great degree, to my reprehensible ignorance of mechanical forces. The first error I made was in applying my apparatus of blocks and pulleys to a rope which was too weak, so that the very first heave I made broke it in two, and sent me staggering against the after-hatch, over which I tripped, and striking against the main-boom, tumbled down the companion-ladder into the cabin. I was much bruised and somewhat stunned by this untoward accident. However, I considered it fortunate that I was not killed. In my next attempt I made sure of not coming by a similar accident, so I unreeved the tackling and fitted up larger blocks and ropes. But although the principle on which I acted was quiet correct, the machinery was now so massive and heavy that the mere friction and stiffness of the thick cordage prevented me from moving it at all. Afterwards, however, I came to proportion things more correctly; but I could not avoid reflecting at the time how much better it would have been had I learned all this from observation and study, instead of waiting till I was forced to acquire it through the painful and tedious lessons of experience. After the tackling was prepared and in good working order, it took me the greater part of a day to hoist the main topsail. As I could not steer and work at this at the same time, I lashed the helm in such a position that, with a little watching now and then, it kept the schooner in her proper course. By this means I was enabled, also, to go about the deck and down below for things that I wanted as occasion required; also to cook and eat my victuals. But I did not dare to trust to this plan during the three hours of rest that I allowed myself at night, as the wind might have shifted, in which case I should have been blown far out of my course ere I awoke. I was, therefore, in the habit of heaving-to during those three hours--that is, fixing the rudder and the sails in such a position as that, by acting against each other, they would keep the ship stationary. After my night's rest, therefore, I had only to make allowance for the leeway she had made, and so resume my course. Of course I was, to some extent, anxious lest another squall should come; but I made the best provision I could in the circumstances, and concluded that by letting go the weather-braces of the topsails and the topsail halyards at the same time, I should thereby render these sails almost powerless. Besides this, I proposed to myself to keep a sharp lookout on the barometer in the cabin; and if I observed at any time a sudden fall in it, I resolved that I would instantly set about my multiform appliances for reducing sail, so as to avoid being taken unawares. Thus I sailed prosperously for two weeks, with a fair wind, so that I calculated I must be drawing near to the Coral Island, at the thought of which my heart bounded with joyful expectation. The only book I found on board, after a careful search, was a volume of Captain Cook's voyages. This, I suppose, the pirate captain had brought with him in order to guide him, and to furnish him with information regarding the islands of these seas. I found this a most delightful book indeed; and I not only obtained much interesting knowledge about the sea in which I was sailing, but I had many of my own opinions, derived from experience, corroborated, and not a few of them corrected. Besides the reading of this charming book, and the daily routine of occupations, nothing of particular note happened to me during this voyage--except once, when on rising one night, after my three hours' nap, while it was yet dark, I was amazed and a little alarmed to find myself floating in what appeared to be a sea of blue fire! I had often noticed the beautiful appearance of phosphorescent light, but this far exceeded anything of the sort I ever saw before. The whole sea appeared somewhat like milk, and was remarkably luminous. I rose in haste, and letting down a bucket into the sea, brought some of the water on board and took it down to the cabin to examine it; but no sooner did I approach the light than the strange appearance disappeared, and when I removed the cabin lamp the luminous light appeared again. I was much puzzled with this, and took up a little of the water in the hollow of my hand and then let it run off, when I found that the luminous substance was left behind on my palm. I ran with it to the lamp, but when I got there it was gone. I found, however, that when I went into the dark my hand shone again; so I took the large glass of the ship's telescope and examined my hand minutely, when I found that there were on it one or two small patches of a clear, transparent substance like jelly, which were so thin as to be almost invisible to the naked eye. Thus I came to know that the beautiful phosphoric light, which I had so often admired before, was caused by animals; for I had no doubt that these were of the same kind as the medusa or jelly-fish, which are seen in all parts of the world. On the evening of my fourteenth day I was awakened out of a nap into which I had fallen by a loud cry, and starting up, I gazed around me. I was surprised and delighted to see a large albatross soaring majestically over the ship. I immediately took it into my head that this was the albatross I had seen at Penguin Island. I had, of course, no good reason for supposing this; but the idea occurred to me, I know not why, and I cherished it, and regarded the bird with as much affection as if he had been an old friend. He kept me company all that day, and left me as night fell. Next morning, as I stood motionless and with heavy eyes at the helm--for I had not slept well--I began to weary anxiously for daylight, and peered towards the horizon, where I thought I observed something like a black cloud against the dark sky. Being always on the alert for squalls, I ran to the bow. There could be no doubt it was a squall, and as I listened I thought I heard the murmur of the coming gale. Instantly I began to work might and main at my cumbrous tackle for shortening sail, and in the course of an hour and a half had the most of it reduced--the topsail yards down on the caps, the topsails clewed up, the sheets hauled in, the main and fore peaks lowered, and the flying-jib down. While thus engaged, the dawn advanced, and I cast an occasional furtive glance ahead in the midst of my labour. But now that things were prepared for the worst, I ran forward again and looked anxiously over the bow. I now heard the roar of the waves distinctly; and as a single ray of the rising sun gleamed over the ocean, I saw-- what! could it be that I was dreaming?--that magnificent breaker with its ceaseless roar--that mountain-top! Yes, once more I beheld the Coral Island! CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. THE EFFECT OF A CANNON-SHOT--A HAPPY REUNION OF A SOMEWHAT MOIST NATURE--RETROSPECT AND EXPLANATIONS--AN AWFUL DIVE--NEW PLANS--THE LAST OF THE CORAL ISLAND. I almost fell upon the deck with the tumult of mingled emotions that filled my heart as I gazed ardently towards my beautiful island. It was still many miles away, but sufficiently near to enable me to trace distinctly the well-remembered outlines of the two mountains. My first impulse was to utter an exclamation of gratitude for being carried to my former happy home in safety; my second, to jump up, clap my hands, shout, and run up and down the deck, with no other object in view than that of giving vent to my excited feelings. Then I went below for the telescope, and spent nearly ten minutes of the utmost impatience in vainly trying to get a focus, and in rubbing the skin nearly off my eyes, before I discovered that having taken off the large glass to examine the phosphoric water with, I had omitted to put it on again. After that I looked up impatiently at the sails, which I now regretted having lowered so hastily, and for a moment thought of hoisting the main topsail again; but recollecting that it would take me full half-a-day to accomplish, and that, at the present rate of sailing, two hours would bring me to the island, I immediately dismissed the idea. The remainder of the time I spent in making feverish preparations for arriving and seeing my dear comrades. I remembered that they were not in the habit of rising before six, and as it was now only three, I hoped to arrive before they were awake. Moreover, I set about making ready to let go the anchor, resolving in my own mind that as I knew the depth of water in the passage of the reef and within the lagoon, I would run the schooner in and bring up opposite the bower. Fortunately the anchor was hanging at the cat-head, otherwise I should never have been able to use it. Now I had only to cut the tackling, and it would drop of its own weight. After searching among the flags, I found the terrible black one, which I ran up to the peak. While I was doing this a thought struck me. I went to the powder-magazine, brought up a blank cartridge, and loaded the big brass gun, which, it will be remembered, was unhoused when we set sail; and as I had no means of housing it, there it had stood, bristling alike at fair weather and foul all the voyage. I took care to grease its mouth well, and before leaving the fore part of the ship, thrust the poker into the fire. All was now ready. A steady five-knot breeze was blowing, so that I was now not more than quarter of a mile from the reef. I was soon at the entrance; and as the schooner glided quickly through, I glanced affectionately at the huge breaker as if it had been the same one I had seen there when I bade adieu, as I feared for ever, to the island. On coming opposite the Water Garden, I put the helm hard down. The schooner came round with a rapid, graceful bend, and lost way just opposite the bower. Running forward, I let go the anchor, caught up the red-hot poker, applied it to the brass gun, and saluted the mountains with a _bang_ such as had only once before broke their slumbering echoes! Effective although it was, however, it was scarcely equal to the bang with which, instantly after, Peterkin bounded from the bower, in scanty costume, his eyeballs starting from his head with surprise and terror. One gaze he gave, one yell, and then fled into the bushes like a wild cat. The next moment Jack went through exactly the same performance, the only difference being that his movements were less like those of Jack-in-the-box, though not less vigorous and rapid than those of Peterkin. "Hallo!" I shouted, almost mad with joy. "What ho! Peterkin! Jack! hallo! it's _me_!" My shout was just in time to arrest them. They halted and turned round, and the instant I repeated the cry I saw that they recognised my voice by both of them running at full speed towards the beach. I could no longer contain myself. Throwing off my jacket, I jumped overboard at the same moment that Jack bounded into the sea. In other moment we met in deep water, clasped each other round the neck, and sank, as a matter of course, to the bottom! We were well-nigh choked, and instantly struggled to the surface, where Peterkin was spluttering about like a wounded duck, laughing and crying by turns, and choking himself with salt water! It would be impossible to convey to my reader, by description, an adequate conception of the scene that followed my landing on the beach, as we stood embracing each other indiscriminately in our dripping garments, and giving utterance to incoherent rhapsodies, mingled with wild shouts. It can be more easily imagined than described; so I will draw a curtain over this part of my history, and carry the reader forward over an interval of three days. During the greater part of that period Peterkin did nothing but roast pigs, taro, and bread-fruit, and ply me with plantains, plums, potatoes, and cocoa-nuts, while I related to him and Jack the terrible and wonderful adventures I had gone through since we last met. After I had finished the account, they made me go all over it again; and when I had concluded the second recital I had to go over it again, while they commented upon it piecemeal. They were much affected by what I told them of the probable fate of Avatea, and Peterkin could by no means brook the idea of the poor girl being converted into a _long pig_! As for Jack, he clenched his teeth, and shook his fist towards the sea, saying at the same time that he was sorry he had not broken Tararo's head, and he only hoped that one day he should be able to plant his knuckles on the bridge of that chief's nose! After they had `pumped me dry,' as Peterkin said, I begged to be informed of what had happened to them during my long absence, and particularly as to how they got out of the Diamond Cave. "Well, you must know," began Jack, "after you had dived out of the cave, on the day you were taken away from us, we waited very patiently for half-an-hour, not expecting you to return before the end of that time. Then we began to upbraid you for staying so long when you knew we would be anxious; but when an hour passed we became alarmed, and I resolved at all hazards to dive out and see what had become of you, although I felt for poor Peterkin, because, as he truly said, `If you never come back, I'm shut up here for life.' However, I promised not to run any risk, and he let me go--which, to say truth, I thought very courageous of him!" "I should just think it was," interrupted Peterkin, looking at Jack over the edge of a monstrous potato which he happened to be devouring at the time. "Well," continued Jack, "you may guess my consternation when you did not answer to my halloo. At first I imagined that the pirates must have killed you, and left you in the bush or thrown you into the sea; then it occurred to me that this would have served no end of theirs, so I came to the conclusion that they must have carried you away with them. As this thought struck me, I observed the pirate schooner standing away to the nor'ard, almost hull down on the horizon, and I sat down on the rocks to watch her as she slowly sank from my sight. And I tell you, Ralph, my boy, that I shed more tears that time at losing you than I have done, I verily believe, all my life before--" "Pardon me, Jack, for interrupting," said Peterkin; "surely you must be mistaken in that. You've often told me that when you were a baby you used to howl and roar from morning to--" "Hold your tongue, Peterkin!" cried Jack.--"Well, after the schooner had disappeared, I dived back into the cave, much to Peterkin's relief, and told him what I had seen. We sat down and had a long talk over this matter, and then we agreed to make a regular, systematic search through the woods, so as to make sure at least that you had not been killed. But now we thought of the difficulty of getting out of the cave without your help. Peterkin became dreadfully nervous when he thought of this; and I must confess I felt some alarm, for, of course, I could not hope alone to take him out so quickly as we two together had brought him in. And he himself vowed that if we had been a moment longer with him that time, he would have had to take a breath of salt water. However, there was no help for it, and I endeavoured to calm his fears as well as I could; `for,' said I, `you can't live here, Peterkin,' to which he replied, `Of course not, Jack; I can only die here, and as that's not at all desirable, you had better propose something.' So I suggested that he should take a good, long breath, and trust himself to me. "`Might we not make a large bag of cocoa-nut cloth, into which I could shove my head, and tie it tight round my neck?' he asked with a haggard smile. `It might let me get one breath under water!' "`No use,' said I; `it would fill in a moment and suffocate you. I see nothing for it, Peterkin, if you really can't keep your breath so long, but to let me knock you down, and carry you out while in a state of insensibility.' "But Peterkin didn't relish this idea. He seemed to fear that I would not be able to measure the exact force of the blow, and might, on the one hand, hit him so softly as to render a second or third blow necessary, which would be very uncomfortable; or, on the other hand, give him such a smash as would entirely spoil his figurehead, or mayhap knock the life out of him altogether! At last I got him persuaded to try to hold his breath, and commit himself to me; so he agreed, and down we went. But I had not got half-way through when he began to struggle and kick like a wild bull, burst from my grasp, and hit against the roof of the tunnel. I was therefore obliged to force him violently back into the cave again, where he, rose panting to the surface. In short, he had lost his presence of mind, and--" "Nothing of the sort!" cried Peterkin indignantly; "I only lost my wind, and if I had not had presence of mind enough to kick as I did, I should have bu'st in your arms!" "Well, well, so be it," resumed Jack with a smile.--"But the upshot of it was that we had to hold another consultation on the point; and I really believe that had it not been for a happy thought of mine, we should have been consulting there yet." "I wish we had!" again interrupted Peterkin with a sigh.--"I'm sure, Ralph, if I had thought that you were coming back again I would willingly have awaited your return for months rather than have endured the mental agony which I went through.--But proceed." "The thought was this," continued Jack--"that I should tie Peterkin's hands and feet with cords, and then lash him firmly to a stout pole about five feet long, in order to render him quite powerless and keep him straight and stiff. You should have seen his face of horror, Ralph, when I suggested this! But he came to see that it was his only chance, and told me to set about it as fast as I could; `for,' said he, `this is no jokin', Jack, _I_ can tell you, and the sooner it's done the better.' I soon procured the cordage and a suitable pole, with which I returned to the cave, and lashed him as stiff and straight as an Egyptian mummy; and, to say truth, he was no bad representation of what an English mummy would be, if there were such things, for he was as white as a dead man. "`Now,' said Peterkin in a tremulous voice, `swim with me as near to the edge of the hole as you can before you dive; then let me take a long breath; and as I sha'n't be able to speak after I've taken it, you'll watch my face, and the moment you see me wink--dive! And oh,' he added earnestly, `pray don't be long!' "I promised to pay the strictest attention to his wishes, and swam with him to the outlet of the cave. Here I paused. `Now, then,' said I, `pull away at the wind, lad.' "Peterkin drew in a breath so long that I could not help thinking of the frog in the fable, that wanted to swell itself as big as the ox. Then I looked into his face earnestly. Slap went the lid of his right eye; down went my head, and up went my heels. We shot through the passage like an arrow, and rose to the surface of the open sea before you could count twenty. "Peterkin had taken in such an awful load of wind that, on reaching the free air, he let it out with a yell loud enough to have been heard a mile off; and then the change in his feelings was so sudden and great that he did not wait till we landed, but began, tied up as he was, to shout and sing for joy as I supported him with my left arm to the shore. However, in the middle of a laugh that a hyena might have envied, I let him accidentally slip, which extinguished him in a moment. "After this happy deliverance, we immediately began our search for your dead body, Ralph; and you have no idea how low our hearts sank as we set off; day after day, to examine the valleys and mountain-sides with the utmost care. In about three weeks we completed the survey of the whole island, and had at least the satisfaction of knowing that you had not been killed. But it occurred to us that you might have been thrown into the sea; so we examined the sands and the lagoon carefully, and afterwards went all round the outer reef. One day, while we were upon the reef, Peterkin espied a small, dark object lying among the rocks, which seemed to be quite different from the surrounding stones. We hastened towards the spot, and found it to be a small keg. On knocking out the head we discovered that it was gunpowder." "It was I who sent you that, Jack," said I with a smile. "Fork out!" cried Peterkin energetically, starting to his feet and extending his open hand to Jack. "Down with the money, sir, else I'll have you shut up for life in a debtor's prison the moment we return to England!" "I'll give you an I.O.U. in the meantime," returned Jack, laughing, "so sit down and be quiet.--The fact is, Ralph, when we discovered this keg of powder Peterkin immediately took me a bet of a thousand pounds that you had something to do with it, and I took him a bet of ten thousand that you had not." "Peterkin was right, then," said I, explaining how the thing had occurred. "Well, we found it very useful," continued Jack, "although some of it had got a little damp; and we furbished up the old pistol, with which Peterkin is a crack shot now. But to continue. We did not find any other vestige of you on the reef, and finally gave up all hope of ever seeing you again. After this the island became a dreary place to us, and we began to long for a ship to heave in sight and take us off. But now that you're back again, my dear fellow, it looks as bright and cheerful as it used to do, and I love it as much as ever. "And now," continued Jack, "I have a great desire to visit some of the other islands of the South Seas. Here we have a first-rate schooner at our disposal, so I don't see what should hinder us." "Just the very thing I was going to propose!" cried Peterkin. "I vote for starting at once." "Well, then," said Jack, "it seems to me that we could not do better than shape our course for the island on which Avatea lives, and endeavour to persuade Tararo to let her marry the black fellow to whom she is engaged instead of making a `long pig' of her. If he has a spark of gratitude in him, he'll do it. Besides, having become champions for this girl once before, it behoves us, as true knights, not to rest until we set her free; at least, all the heroes in all the story-books I have ever read would count it foul disgrace to leave such a work unfinished." "I'm sure I don't know or care what your knights in story-books would do," said Peterkin; "but I'm certain that it would be capital fun, so I'm your man whenever you want me." This plan of Jack's was quite in accordance with his romantic, impulsive nature; and having made up his mind to save this black girl, he could not rest until the thing was commenced. "But there may be great danger in this attempt," he said at the end of a long consultation on the subject. "Will you, lads, go with me in spite of this?" "Go with you!" we repeated in the same breath. "Can you doubt it?" said I. "For a moment?" added Peterkin. I need scarcely say that having made up our minds to go on this enterprise, we lost no time in making preparations to quit the island; and as the schooner was well laden with stores of every kind for a long cruise, we had little to do except to add to our abundant supply a quantity of cocoa-nuts, bread-fruit, taro, yams, plums, and potatoes, chiefly with the view of carrying the fragrance of our dear island along with us as long as we could. When all was ready, we paid a farewell visit to the different familiar spots where most of our time had been spent. We ascended the mountain-top, and gazed for the last time at the rich green foliage in the valleys, the white sandy beach, the placid lagoon, and the barrier coral reef with its crested breakers. Then we descended to Spouting Cliff, and looked down at the pale-green monster which we had made such fruitless efforts to spear in days gone by. From this we hurried to the Water Garden, and took a last dive into its clear waters and a last gambol amongst its coral groves. I hurried out before my companions, and dressed in haste, in order to have a long examination of my tank, which Peterkin, in the fulness of his heart, had tended with the utmost care, as being a vivid remembrancer of me rather than out of love for natural history. It was in superb condition: the water as clear and pellucid as crystal; the red and green seaweed of the most brilliant hues; the red, purple, yellow, green, and striped anemones fully expanded, and stretching out their arms as if to welcome and embrace their former master; the starfish, zoophytes, sea-pens, and other innumerable marine insects, looking fresh and beautiful; and the crabs, as Peterkin said, looking as wide-awake, impertinent, rampant, and pugnacious as ever. It was, indeed, so lovely and so interesting that I would scarcely allow myself to be torn away from it. Last of all, we returned to the bower and collected the few articles we possessed--such as the axe, the pencil-case, the broken telescope, the penknife, the hook made from the brass ring, and the sail-needle, with which we had landed on the island; also the long boots and the pistol, besides several curious articles of costume which we had manufactured from time to time. These we conveyed on board in our little boat, after having carved our names on a chip of iron-wood, thus: JACK MARTIN RALPH ROVER PETERKIN GAY This we fixed up inside of the bower. The boat was then hoisted on board and the anchor weighed, which latter operation cost us great labour and much time, as the anchor was so heavy that we could not move it without the aid of my complex machinery of blocks and pulleys. A steady breeze was blowing off-shore when we set sail, at a little before sunset. It swept us quickly past the reef and out to sea. The shore grew rapidly more indistinct as the shades of evening fell, while our clipper bark bounded lightly over the waves. Slowly the mountain-top sank on the horizon until it became a mere speck. In another moment the sun and the Coral Island sank together into the broad bosom of the Pacific. CHAPTER THIRTY. THE VOYAGE--THE ISLAND, AND A CONSULTATION IN WHICH DANGER IS SCOUTED AS A THING UNWORTHY OF CONSIDERATION--RATS AND CATS--THE NATIVE TEACHER-- AWFUL REVELATIONS--WONDERFUL EFFECTS OF CHRISTIANITY. Our voyage during the next two weeks was most interesting and prosperous. The breeze continued generally fair, and at all times enabled us to lie our course; for being, as I have said before, clipper-built, the pirate schooner could lie very close to the wind and make little leeway. We had no difficulty now in managing our sails, for Jack was heavy and powerful, while Peterkin was active as a kitten. Still, however, we were a very insufficient crew for such a vessel; and if any one had proposed to us to make such a voyage in it before we had been forced to go through so many hardships from necessity, we would have turned away with pity from the individual making such proposal as from a madman. I pondered this a good deal, and at last concluded that men do not know how much they are capable of doing till they try, and that we should never give way to despair in any undertaking, however difficult it may seem--always supposing, however, that our cause is a good one, and that we can ask the Divine blessing on it. Although, therefore, we could now manage our sails easily, we nevertheless found that my pulleys were of much service to us in some things, though Jack did laugh heartily at the uncouth arrangement of ropes and blocks, which had, to a sailor's eye, a very lumbering and clumsy appearance. But I will not drag my reader through the details of this voyage. Suffice it to say that, after an agreeable sail of about three weeks, we arrived off the island of Mango, which I recognised at once from the description that the pirate Bill had given me of it during one of our conversations. As soon as we came within sight of it, we hove the ship to and held a council of war. "Now, boys," said Jack as we seated ourselves beside him on the cabin skylight, "before we go further in this business we must go over the pros and cons of it; for although you have so generously consented to stick by me through thick and thin, it would be unfair did I not see that you thoroughly understand the danger of what we are about to attempt." "Oh, bother the danger!" cried Peterkin. "I wonder to hear you, Jack, talk of danger! When a fellow begins to talk about it, he'll soon come to magnify it to such a degree that he'll not be fit to face it when it comes--no more than a suckin' baby." "Nay, Peterkin," replied Jack gravely, "I won't be jested out of it. I grant you that when we've once resolved to act, and have made up our minds what to do, we should think no more of danger. But before we have so resolved, it behoves us to look it straight in the face, and examine into it, and walk round it; for if we flinch at a distant view, we're sure to run away when the danger is near.--Now, I understand from you, Ralph, that the island is inhabited by thorough-going, out-and-out cannibals, whose principal law is, `Might is right, and the weakest goes to the wall?'" "Yes," said I; "so Bill gave me to understand. He told me, however, that at the southern side of it the missionaries had obtained a footing amongst an insignificant tribe. A native teacher had been sent there by the Wesleyans, who had succeeded in persuading the chief at that part to embrace Christianity. But instead of that being of any advantage to our enterprise, it seems the very reverse; for the chief Tararo is a determined heathen, and persecutes the Christians--who are far too weak in numbers to offer any resistance--and looks with dislike upon all white men, whom he regards as propagators of the new faith." "'Tis a pity," said Jack, "that the Christian tribe is so small, for we shall scarcely be safe under their protection, I fear. If Tararo takes it into his head to wish for our vessel, or to kill ourselves, he could take us from them by force. You say that the native missionary talks English?" "So I believe." "Then, what I propose is this," said Jack. "We will run round to the south side of the island, and cast anchor off the Christian village. We are too far away just now to have been descried by any of the savages, so we shall get there unobserved, and have time to arrange our plans before the heathen tribes know of our presence. But in doing this we run the risk of being captured by the ill-disposed tribes, and being very ill-used, if not--a--" "Roasted alive and eaten!" cried Peterkin. "Come, out with it, Jack! According to your own showing, it's well to look the danger straight in the face." "Well, that _is_ the worst of it, certainly. Are you prepared, then, to take your chance of that?" "I've been prepared and had my mind made up long ago," cried Peterkin, swaggering about the deck with his hands thrust into his breeches pockets. "The fact is, Jack, I don't believe that Tararo will be so ungrateful as to eat us, and I'm quite sure that he'll be too happy to grant us whatever we ask; so the sooner we go in and win the better." Peterkin was wrong, however, in his estimate of savage gratitude, as the sequel will show. The schooner was now put before the wind, and after making a long run to the southward, we put about and beat up for the south side of Mango, where we arrived before sunset, and hove-to off the coral reef. Here we awaited the arrival of a canoe, which immediately put off on our rounding-to. When it arrived, a mild-looking native, of apparently forty years of age, came on board, and taking off his straw hat, made us a low bow. He was clad in a respectable suit of European clothes; and the first words he uttered, as he stepped up to Jack and shook hands with him, were: "Good-day, gentlemen. We are happy to see you at Mango. You are heartily welcome." After returning his salutation, Jack exclaimed, "You must be the native missionary teacher of whom I have heard--are you not?" "I am. I have the joy to be a servant of the Lord Jesus at this station." "You're the very man I want to see, then," replied Jack; "that's lucky. Come down to the cabin, friend, and have a glass of wine. I wish particularly to speak with you. My men there"--pointing to Peterkin and me--"will look after your people." "Thank you," said the teacher as he followed Jack to the cabin; "I do not drink wine or any strong drink." "Oh! then there's lots of water, and you can have biscuit." "Now, 'pon my word, that's cool!" said Peterkin; "his _men_, forsooth! Well, since we are to be men, we may as well come it as strong over these black chaps as we can.--Hallo, there!" he cried to the half-dozen of natives who stood upon the deck, gazing in wonder at all they saw, "here's for you;" and he handed them a tray of broken biscuit and a can of water. Then thrusting his hands into his pockets, he walked up and down the deck with an enormous swagger, whistling vociferously. In about half-an-hour Jack and the teacher came on deck, and the latter, bidding us a cheerful good-evening, entered his canoe and paddled to the shore. When he was gone, Peterkin stepped up to Jack, and touching his cap, said: "Well, captain, have you any communications to make to your _men_?" "Yes," cried Jack: "ready about, mind the helm, and clew up your tongue, while I con the schooner through the passage in the reef. The teacher, who seems a first-rate fellow, says it's quite deep, and good anchorage within the lagoon close to the shore." While the vessel was slowly advancing to her anchorage, under a light breeze, Jack explained to us that Avatea was still on the island, living amongst the heathens; that she had expressed a strong desire to join the Christians; but Tararo would not let her, and kept her constantly in close confinement. "Moreover," continued Jack, "I find that she belongs to one of the Samoan Islands, where Christianity had been introduced long before her capture by the heathens of a neighbouring island; and the very day after she was taken she was to have joined the church which had been planted there by that excellent body, the London Missionary Society. The teacher tells me, too, that the poor girl has fallen in love with a Christian chief, who lives on an island some fifty miles or so to the south of this one, and that she is meditating a desperate attempt at escape. So, you see, we have come in the nick of time.--I fancy that this chief is the fellow whom you heard of, Ralph, at the island of Emo.--Besides all this, the heathen savages are at war among themselves, and there's to be a battle fought the day after to-morrow, in which the principal leader is Tararo; so that we'll not be able to commence our negotiations with the rascally chief till the day after." The village off which we anchored was beautifully situated at the head of a small bay, from the margin of which trees of every description peculiar to the tropics rose in the richest luxuriance to the summit of a hilly ridge, which was the line of demarcation between the possessions of the Christians and those of the neighbouring heathen chief. The site of the settlement was an extensive plot of flat land, stretching in a gentle slope from the sea to the mountain. The cottages stood several hundred yards from the beach, and were protected from the glare of the sea by the rich foliage of rows of large Barringtonia and other trees which girt the shore. The village was about a mile in length, and perfectly straight, with a wide road down the middle, on either side of which were rows of the tufted-topped ti-tree, whose delicate and beautiful blossoms, hanging beneath their plume-crested tops, added richness to the scene. The cottages of the natives were built beneath these trees, and were kept in the most excellent order, each having a little garden in front, tastefully laid out and planted, while the walks were covered with black and white pebbles. Every house had doors and Venetian windows, painted partly with lamp-black made from the candle-nut, and partly with red ochre, which contrasted powerfully with the dazzling coral lime that covered the walls. On a prominent position stood a handsome church, which was quite a curiosity in its way. It was a hundred feet long by fifty broad, and was seated throughout to accommodate upwards of two thousand persons. It had six large folding-doors, and twelve windows with Venetian blinds; and although a large and substantial edifice, it had been built, we were told by the teacher: in the space of two months! There was not a single iron nail in the fabric, and the natives had constructed it chiefly with their stone and bone axes and other tools, having only one or two axes or tools of European manufacture. Everything around this beautiful spot wore an aspect of peace and plenty; and as we dropped our anchor within a stone's-cast of the substantial coral wharf, I could not avoid contrasting it with the wretched village of Emo, where I had witnessed so many frightful scenes. When the teacher afterwards told me that the people of this tribe had become converts only a year previous to our arrival, and that they had been living before that in the practice of the most bloody system of idolatry, I could not refrain from exclaiming, "What a convincing proof that Christianity is of God!" On landing from our little boat we were received with a warm welcome by the teacher and his wife, the latter being also a native, clothed in a simple European gown and a straw bonnet. The shore was lined with hundreds of natives, whose persons were all more or less clothed with native cloth. Some of the men had on a kind of poncho formed of this cloth, their legs being uncovered; others wore clumsily fashioned trousers, and no upper garment except hats made of straw and cloth. Many of the dresses, both of women and men, were grotesque enough, being very bad imitations of the European garb; but all wore a dress of some sort or other. They seemed very glad to see us, and crowded round us as the teacher led the way to his dwelling, where we were entertained, in the most sumptuous manner, on baked pig and all the varieties of fruits and vegetables that the island produced. We were much annoyed, however, by the rats: they seemed to run about the house like domestic animals. As we sat at table, one of them peeped up at us over the edge of the cloth, close to Peterkin's elbow, who floored it with a blow on the snout from his knife, exclaiming as he did so: "I say, Mister Teacher, why don't you set traps for these brutes? Surely you are not fond of them!" "No," replied the teacher with a smile. "We would be glad to get rid of them if we could; but if we were to trap all the rats on the island, it would occupy our whole time." "Are they, then, so numerous?" inquired Jack. "They swarm everywhere. The poor heathens on the north side eat them, and think them very sweet. So did my people formerly; but they do not eat so many now, because the missionary who was last here expressed disgust at it. The poor people asked if it was wrong to eat rats; and he told them that it was certainly not wrong, but that the people of England would be much disgusted were they asked to eat rats." We had not been an hour in the house of this kind-hearted man when we were convinced of the truth of his statement as to their numbers; for the rats ran about the floors in dozens, and during our meal two men were stationed at the table to keep them off! "What a pity you have no cats!" said Peterkin; and he aimed a blow at another reckless intruder, and missed it. "We would indeed be glad to have a few," rejoined the teacher, "but they are difficult to be got. The hogs, we find, are very good rat-killers; but they do not seem to be able to keep the numbers down. I have heard that they are better than cats." As the teacher said this, his good-natured black face was wrinkled with a smile of merriment. Observing that I had noticed it, he said: "I smiled just now when I remembered the fate of the first cat that was taken to Rarotonga. This is one of the stations of the London Missionary Society. It, like our own, is infested with rats, and a cat was brought at last to the island. It was a large black one. On being turned loose, instead of being content to stay among men, the cat took to the mountains and lived in a wild state, sometimes paying visits during the night to the houses of the natives; some of whom, living at a distance from the settlement, had not heard of the cat's arrival, and were dreadfully frightened in consequence, calling it a `monster of the deep,' and flying in terror away from it. One night the cat--feeling a desire for company, I suppose--took its way to the house of a chief who had recently been converted to Christianity, and had begun to learn to read and pray. The chief's wife, who was sitting awake at his side while he slept, beheld with horror two fires glistening in the doorway, and heard with surprise a mysterious voice. Almost petrified with fear, she awoke her husband, and began to upbraid him for forsaking his old religion and burning his god, who, she declared, was now come to be avenged of them. `Get up and pray! get up and pray!' she cried. The chief arose, and on opening his eyes, beheld the same glaring lights and heard the same ominous sound. Impelled by the extreme urgency of the case, he commenced, with all possible vehemence, to vociferate the alphabet, as a prayer to God to deliver them from the vengeance of Satan! On hearing this, the cat, as much alarmed as themselves, fled precipitately away, leaving the chief and his wife congratulating themselves on the efficacy of their prayer." We were much diverted with this anecdote, which the teacher related in English so good that we certainly could not have supposed him a native but for the colour of his face and the foreign accent in his tone. Next day we walked out with this interesting man, and were much entertained and instructed by his conversation as we rambled through the cool, shady groves of bananas, citrons, limes, and other trees, or sauntered among the cottages of the natives, and watched them while they laboured diligently in the taro-beds or manufactured the tapa, or native cloth. To some of these Jack put questions, through the medium of the missionary; and the replies were such as to surprise us at the extent of their knowledge. Indeed, Peterkin very truly remarked that "they seemed to know a considerable deal more than Jack himself!" Among other pieces of interesting information that we obtained was the following, in regard to coral formations: "The islands of the Pacific," said our friend, "are of three different kinds or classes. Those of the first class are volcanic, mountainous, and wild--some shooting their jagged peaks into the clouds at an elevation of ten and fifteen thousand feet. Those of the second class are of crystallised limestone, and vary in height from one hundred to five hundred feet. The hills on these are not so wild or broken as those of the first class, but are richly clothed with vegetation, and very beautiful. I have no doubt that the Coral Island on which you were wrecked was one of this class. They are supposed to have been upheaved from the bottom of the sea by volcanic agency; but they are not themselves volcanic in their nature, neither are they of coral formation. Those of the third class are the low coralline islands, usually having lagoons of water in their midst. They are very numerous. "As to the manner in which coral islands and reefs are formed, there are various opinions on this point. I will give you what seems to me the most probable theory--a theory, I may add, which is held by some of the good and scientific missionaries. It is well known that there is much lime in salt water; it is also known that coral is composed of lime. It is supposed that the polypes, or coral insects, have the power of attracting this lime to their bodies, and with this material they build their little cells or habitations. They choose the summit of a volcano, or the top of a submarine mountain, as a foundation on which to build, for it is found that they never work at any great depth below the surface. On this they work. The polypes on the mountain-top, of course, reach the surface first; then those at the outer edges reach the top sooner than the others between them and the centre, thus forming the coral reef surrounding the lagoon of water and the central island. After that, the insects within the lagoon cease working. When the surface of the water is reached, these myriads of wonderful creatures die. Then birds visit the spot, and seeds are thus conveyed thither, which take root and spring up and flourish. Thus are commenced those coralline islets of which you have seen so many in these seas. The reefs round the large islands are formed in a similar manner. When we consider," added the missionary, "the smallness of the architects used by our heavenly Father in order to form those lovely and innumerable islands, we are filled with much of that feeling which induced the ancient king to exclaim, `How manifold, O Lord, are Thy works! in wisdom hast Thou made them all.'" We all heartily agreed with the missionary in this sentiment, and felt not a little gratified to find that the opinions which Jack and I had been led to form, from personal observation on our Coral Island, were thus to a great extent corroborated. The missionary also gave us an account of the manner in which Christianity had been introduced among them. He said: "When missionaries were first sent here, three years ago, a small vessel brought them; and the chief, who is now dead, promised to treat well the two native teachers who were left with their wives on the island. But scarcely had the boat which landed them returned to the ship than the natives began to maltreat their guests, taking away all they possessed, and offering them further violence, so that when the boat was sent in haste to fetch them away, the clothes of both men and women were torn nearly off their backs. "Two years after this the vessel visited them again, and I, being in her, volunteered to land alone, without any goods whatever, begging that my wife might be brought to me the following year--that is, _this_ year; and, as you see, she is with me. But the surf was so high that the boat could not land me; so with nothing on but my trousers and shirt, and with a few catechisms and a Bible, besides some portions of the Scripture translated into the Mango tongue, I sprang into the sea, and swam ashore on the crest of a breaker. I was instantly dragged up the beach by the natives; who, on finding I had nothing worth having upon me, let me alone. I then made signs to my friends in the ship to leave me, which they did. At first the natives listened to me in silence, but laughed at what I said while I preached the Gospel of our blessed Saviour Jesus Christ to them. Afterwards they treated me ill, sometimes; but I persevered, and continued to dwell among them, and dispute, and exhort them to give up their sinful ways of life, burn their idols, and come to Jesus. "About a month after I landed, I heard that the chief was dead. He was the father of the present chief, who is now a most consistent member of the Church. It is a custom here that when a chief dies his wives are strangled and buried with him. Knowing this, I hastened to his house to endeavour to prevent such cruelty if possible. When I arrived, I found two of the wives had already been killed, while another was in the act of being strangled. I pleaded hard for her, but it was too late; she was already dead. I then entreated the son to spare the fourth wife, and after much hesitation, my prayer was granted; but in half-an-hour afterwards this poor woman repented of being unfaithful, as she termed it, to her husband, and insisted on being strangled, which was accordingly done. "All this time the chief's son was walking up and down before his father's house with a brow black as thunder. When he entered I went in with him, and found, to my surprise, that his father was _not_ dead! The old man was sitting on a mat in a corner, with an expression of placid resignation on his face. "`Why,' said I, `have you strangled your father's wives before he is dead?' "To this the son replied, `He is dead. That is no longer my father. He is as good as dead now. He is to be _buried alive_.' "I now remembered having heard that it is a custom among the Feejee Islanders that when the reigning chief grows old and infirm, the heir to the chieftainship has a right to depose his father, in which case he is considered as dead, and is buried alive. The young chief was now about to follow this custom, and despite my earnest entreaties and pleadings, the old chief was buried that day before my eyes in the same grave with his four strangled wives! Oh, my heart groaned when I saw this! and I prayed to God to open the hearts of these poor creatures, as He had already opened mine, and pour into them the light and the love of the Gospel of Jesus. My prayer was answered very soon. A week afterwards the son, who was now chief of the tribe, came to me, bearing his god on his shoulders, and groaning beneath its weight. Flinging it down at my feet, he desired me to burn it! "You may conceive how overjoyed I was at this. I sprang up and embraced him, while I shed tears of joy. Then we made a fire and burned the god to ashes, amid an immense concourse of the people, who seemed terrified at what was being done, and shrank back when we burned the god, expecting some signal vengeance to be taken upon us; but seeing that nothing happened, they changed their minds, and thought that our God must be the true one after all. From that time the mission prospered steadily; and now, while there is not a single man in the tribe who has not burned his household gods and become a convert to Christianity, there are not a few, I hope, who are true followers of the Lamb, having been plucked as brands from the burning by Him who can save unto the uttermost. I will not tell you more of our progress at this time; but you see," he said, waving his hand around him, "the village, and the church did not exist a year ago!" We were indeed much interested in this account, and I could not help again in my heart praying to God to prosper those missionary societies that send such inestimable blessings to these islands of dark and bloody idolatry. The teacher also added that the other tribes were very indignant at this one for having burned its gods, and threatened to destroy it altogether; but they had done nothing yet. "And if they should," said the teacher, "the Lord is on our side; of whom shall we be afraid?" "Have the missionaries many stations in these seas?" inquired Jack. "Oh yes. The London Missionary Society have a great many in the Tahiti group, and other islands in that quarter. Then the Wesleyans have the Feejee Islands all to themselves, and the Americans have many stations in other groups. But still, my friend, there are hundreds of islands here, the natives of which have never heard of Jesus, or the good word of God, or the Holy Spirit; and thousands are living and dying in the practice of those terrible sins and bloody murders of which you have already heard.--I trust, my friends," he added, looking earnestly into our faces--"I trust that if you ever return to England, you will tell your Christian friends that the horrors which they hear of in regard to these islands are _literally true_, and that when they have heard the worst, the `_half has not been told them_;' for there are perpetrated here foul deeds of darkness of which man may not speak. You may also tell them," he said, looking around with a smile, while a tear of gratitude trembled in his eye and rolled down his coal-black cheek--"tell them of the blessings that the Gospel has wrought _here_!" We assured our friend that we would certainly not forget his request. On returning towards the village, about noon, we remarked on the beautiful whiteness of the cottages. "That is owing to the lime with which they are plastered," said the teacher. "When the natives were converted, as I have described, I set them to work to build cottages for themselves, and also this handsome church which you see. When the framework and other parts of the house were up, I sent the people to fetch coral from the sea. They brought immense quantities. Then I made them cut wood, and piling the coral above it, set it on fire. "`Look! look!' cried the poor people in amazement; `what wonderful people the Christians are! He is roasting stones! We shall not need taro or bread-fruit any more; we may eat stones!' "But their surprise was still greater when the coral was reduced to a fine, soft, white powder. They immediately set up a great shout, and mingling the lime with water, rubbed their faces and their bodies all over with it, and ran through the village screaming with delight. They were also much surprised at another thing they saw me do. I wished to make some household furniture, and constructed a turning-lathe to assist me. The first thing that I turned was the leg of a sofa, which was no sooner finished than the chief seized it with wonder and delight, and ran through the village exhibiting it to the people, who looked upon it with great admiration. The chief then, tying a string to it, hung it round his neck as an ornament! He afterwards told me that if he had seen it before he became a Christian, he would have made it his god!" As the teacher concluded this anecdote we reached his door. Saying that he had business to attend to, he left us to amuse ourselves as we best could. "Now, lads," said Jack, turning abruptly towards us, and buttoning up his jacket as he spoke, "I'm off to see the battle. I've no particular fondness for seein' bloodshed; but I must find out the nature o' these fellows and see their customs with my own eyes, so that I may be able to speak of it again, if need be, authoritatively. It's only six miles off, and we don't run much more risk than that of getting a rap with a stray stone or an overshot arrow. Will you go?" "To be sure we will," said Peterkin. "If they chance to see us, we'll cut and run for it," added Jack. "Dear me!" cried Peterkin; "_you_ run! I thought you would scorn to run from any one." "So I would, if it were my duty to fight," returned Jack coolly; "but as I don't want to fight, and don't intend to fight, if they offer to attack us I'll run away, like the veriest coward that ever went by the name of Peterkin. So come along." CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. A STRANGE AND BLOODY BATTLE--THE LION BEARDED IN HIS DEN--FRIGHTFUL SCENES OF CRUELTY, AND FEARS FOR THE FUTURE. We had ascertained from the teacher the direction to the spot on which the battle was to be fought, and after a walk of two hours, reached it. The summit of a bare hill was the place chosen; for, unlike most of the other islanders, who are addicted to bush-fighting, those of Mango are in the habit of meeting on open ground. We arrived before the two parties had commenced the deadly struggle, and creeping as close up as we dared among the rocks, we lay and watched them. The combatants were drawn up face to face, each side ranged in rank four deep. Those in the first row were armed with long spears; the second with clubs to defend the spearmen; the third row was composed of young men with slings; and the fourth consisted of women, who carried baskets of stones for the slingers, and clubs and spears with which to supply the warriors. Soon after we arrived, the attack was made with great fury. There was no science displayed. The two bodies of savages rushed headlong upon each other and engaged in a general melee, and a more dreadful set of men I have never seen. They wore grotesque war-caps, made of various substances and decorated with feathers. Their faces and bodies were painted so as to make them look as frightful as possible; and as they brandished their massive clubs, leaped, shouted, yelled, and dashed each other to the ground, I thought I had never seen men look so like demons before. We were much surprised at the conduct of the women, who seemed to be perfect furies, and hung about the heels of their husbands in order to defend them. One stout young woman we saw, whose husband was hard pressed and about to be overcome: she lifted a large stone, and throwing it at his opponent's head, felled him to the earth. But the battle did not last long. The band most distant from us gave way and were routed, leaving eighteen of their comrades dead upon the field. These the victors brained as they lay; and putting some of their brains on leaves, went off with them, we were afterwards informed, to their temples to present them to their gods as an earnest of the human victims who were soon to be brought there. We hastened back to the Christian village with feelings of the deepest sadness at the sanguinary conflict which we had just witnessed. Next day, after breakfasting with our friend the teacher, we made preparations for carrying out our plan. At first the teacher endeavoured to dissuade us. "You do not know," said he, turning to Jack, "the danger you run in venturing amongst these ferocious savages. I feel much pity for poor Avatea; but you are not likely to succeed in saving her, and you may die in the attempt." "Well," said Jack quietly, "I am not afraid to die in a good cause." The teacher smiled approvingly at him as he said this, and after a little further conversation, agreed to accompany us as interpreter-- saying that although Tararo was unfriendly to him, he had hitherto treated him with respect. We now went on board the schooner, having resolved to sail round the island and drop anchor opposite the heathen village. We manned her with natives, and hoped to overawe the savages by displaying our brass gun to advantage. The teacher soon after came on board, and setting our sails, we put to sea. In two hours more we made the cliffs reverberate with the crash of the big gun, which we fired by way of salute, while we ran the British ensign up to the peak and cast anchor. The commotion on shore showed us that we had struck terror into the hearts of the natives; but seeing that we did not offer to molest them, a canoe at length put off and paddled cautiously towards us. The teacher showed himself, and explaining that we were friends and wished to palaver with the chief, desired the native to go and tell him to come on board. We waited long and with much impatience for an answer. During this time the native teacher conversed with us again, and told us many things concerning the success of the Gospel among those islands; and perceiving that we were by no means so much gratified as we ought to have been at the hearing of such good news, he pressed us more closely in regard to our personal interest in religion, and exhorted us to consider that our souls were certainly in as great danger as those of the wretched heathen whom we pitied so much if we had not already found salvation in Jesus Christ. "Nay, further," he added, "if such be your unhappy case, you are, in the sight of God, much worse than these savages--forgive me, my young friends, for saying so--for they have no knowledge, no light, and do not profess to believe; while you, on the contrary, have been brought up in the light of the blessed Gospel and call yourselves Christians. These poor savages are indeed the enemies of our Lord; but you, if ye be not true believers, are traitors!" I must confess that my heart condemned me while the teacher spoke in this earnest manner, and I knew not what to reply. Peterkin, too, did not seem to like it, and, I thought, would willingly have escaped. But Jack seemed deeply impressed, and wore an anxious expression on his naturally grave countenance, while he assented to the teacher's remarks, and put to him many earnest questions. Meanwhile the natives who composed our crew, having nothing particular to do, had squatted down on the deck and taken out their little books containing the translated portions of the New Testament, along with hymns and spelling-books, and were now busily engaged--some vociferating the alphabet, others learning prayers off by heart, while a few sang hymns--all of them being utterly unmindful of our presence. The teacher soon joined them, and soon afterwards they all engaged in a prayer, which was afterwards translated to us, and proved to be a petition for the success of our undertaking and for the conversion of the heathen. While we were thus engaged a canoe put off from shore, and several savages leaped on deck, one of whom advanced to the teacher and informed him that Tararo could not come on board that day, being busy with some religious ceremonies before the gods, which could on no account be postponed. He was also engaged with a friendly chief, who was about to take his departure from the island, and therefore begged that the teacher and his friends would land and pay a visit to him. To this the teacher returned answer that we would land immediately. "Now, lads," said Jack as we were about to step into our little boat, "I'm not going to take any weapons with me, and I recommend you to take none either. We are altogether in the power of these savages; and the utmost we could do, if they were to attack us, would be to kill a few of them before we were ourselves overpowered. I think that our only chance of success lies in mild measures. Don't you think so?" To this I assented gladly; and Peterkin replied by laying down a huge bell-mouthed blunderbuss, and divesting himself of a pair of enormous horse-pistols, with which he had purposed to overawe the natives! We then jumped into our boat and rowed ashore. On reaching the beach we were received by a crowd of naked savages, who shouted a rude welcome, and conducted us to a house or shed where a baked pig and a variety of vegetables were prepared for us. Having partaken of these, the teacher begged to be conducted to the chief; but there seemed some hesitation, and after some consultation among themselves, one of the men stood forward and spoke to the teacher. "What says he?" inquired Jack when the savage had concluded. "He says that the chief is just going to the temple of his god, and cannot see us yet; so we must be patient, my friend." "Well," cried Jack, rising, "if he won't come to see me, I'll e'en go and see him. Besides, I have a great desire to witness their proceedings at this temple of theirs. Will you go with me, friend?" "I cannot," said the teacher, shaking his head. "I must not go to the heathen temples and witness their inhuman rites, except for the purpose of condemning their wickedness and folly." "Very good," returned Jack; "then I'll go alone, for I cannot condemn their doings till I have seen them." Jack arose, and we, having determined to go also, followed him through the banana-groves to a rising ground immediately behind the village, on the top of which stood the Bure, or temple, under the dark shade of a group of iron-wood trees. As we went through the village I was again led to contrast the rude huts and sheds, and their almost naked, savage-looking inhabitants, with the natives of the Christian village, who, to use the teacher's scriptural expression, were now "clothed and in their right mind." As we turned into a broad path leading towards the hill, we were arrested by the shouts of an approaching multitude in the rear. Drawing aside into the bushes, we awaited their coming up; and as they drew near, we observed that it was a procession of the natives, many of whom were dancing and gesticulating in the most frantic manner. They had an exceedingly hideous aspect, owing to the black, red, and yellow paints with which their faces and naked bodies were bedaubed. In the midst of these came a band of men carrying three or four planks, on which were seated, in rows, upwards of a dozen men. I shuddered involuntarily as I recollected the sacrifice of human victims at the island of Emo, and turned with a look of fear to Jack as I said: "Oh Jack! I have a terrible dread that they are going to commit some of their cruel practices on these wretched men. We had better not go to the temple. We shall only be horrified without being able to do any good, for I fear they are going to kill them." Jack's face wore an expression of deep compassion as he said in a low voice, "No fear, Ralph; the sufferings of these poor fellows are over long ago." I turned with a start as he spoke, and glancing at the men, who were now quite near to the spot where we stood, saw that they were all dead. They were tied firmly with ropes in a sitting posture on the planks, and seemed, as they bent their sightless eyeballs and grinning mouths over the dancing crew below, as if they were laughing in ghastly mockery at the utter inability of their enemies to hurt them now. These, we discovered afterwards, were the men who had been slain in the battle of the previous day, and were now on their way to be first presented to the gods and then eaten. Behind these came two men leading between them a third, whose hands were pinioned behind his back. He walked with a firm step, and wore a look of utter indifference on his face as they led him along, so that we concluded he must be a criminal who was about to receive some slight punishment for his faults. The rear of the procession was brought up by a shouting crowd of women and children, with whom we mingled and followed to the temple. Here we arrived in a few minutes. The temple was a tall, circular building, open at one side. Around it were strewn heaps of human bones and skulls. At a table inside sat the priest, an elderly man with a long grey beard. He was seated on a stool, and before him lay several knives, made of wood, bone, and splinters of bamboo, with which he performed his office of dissecting dead bodies. Farther in lay a variety of articles that had been dedicated to the god, and among them were many spears and clubs. I observed among the latter some with human teeth sticking in them, where the victims had been clubbed in their mouths. Before this temple the bodies, which were painted with vermilion and soot, were arranged in a sitting posture; and a man called a "dan-vosa" (orator) advanced, and laying his hands on their heads, began to chide them, apparently, in a low, bantering tone. What he said we knew not, but as he went on he waxed warm, and at last shouted to them at the top of his lungs, and finally finished by kicking the bodies over and running away, amid the shouts and laughter of the people, who now rushed forward. Seizing the bodies by a leg or an arm, or by the hair of the head, they dragged them over stumps and stones and through sloughs until they were exhausted. The bodies were then brought back to the temple and dissected by the priest, after which they were taken out to be baked. Close to the temple a large fire was kindled, in which stones were heated red hot. When ready these were spread out on the ground, and a thick coating of leaves strewn over them to slack the heat. On this "lovo," or oven, the bodies were then placed, covered over, and left to bake. The crowd now ran with terrible yells towards a neighbouring hill or mound, on which we observed the framework of a house lying ready to be erected. Sick with horror, yet fascinated by curiosity, we staggered after them mechanically, scarce knowing where we were going or what we did, and feeling a sort of impression that all we saw was a dreadful dream. Arrived at the place, we saw the multitude crowding round a certain spot. We pressed forward, and obtained a sight of what they were doing. A large wooden beam or post lay on the ground, beside the other parts of the framework of the house, and close to the end of it was a hole about seven feet deep and upwards of two feet wide. While we looked, the man whom we had before observed with his hands pinioned was carried into the circle. His hands were now free, but his legs were tightly strapped together. The post of the house was then placed in the hole, and the man put in beside it. His head was a good way below the surface of the hole, and his arms were clasped round the post. Earth was now thrown in until all was covered over and stamped down; and this, we were afterwards told, was a ceremony usually performed at the dedication of a new temple or the erection of a chief's house! "Come, come," cried Jack on beholding this horrible tragedy; "we have seen enough, enough--far more than enough! Let us go." Jack's face looked ghastly pale and haggard as we hurried back to rejoin the teacher; and I have no doubt that he felt terrible anxiety when he considered the number and ferocity of the savages, and the weakness of the few arms which were ready indeed to essay, but impotent to effect, Avatea's deliverance from these ruthless men. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. AN UNEXPECTED DISCOVERY, AND A BOLD, RECKLESS DEFIANCE, WITH ITS CONSEQUENCES--PLANS OF ESCAPE, AND HEROIC RESOLVES. When we returned to the shore and related to our friend what had passed, he was greatly distressed, and groaned in spirit; but we had not sat long in conversation when we were interrupted by the arrival of Tararo on the beach, accompanied by a number of followers bearing baskets of vegetables and fruits on their heads. We advanced to meet him, and he expressed, through our interpreter, much pleasure in seeing us. "And what, is it that my friends wish to say to me?" he inquired. The teacher explained that we came to beg that Avatea might be spared. "Tell him," said Jack, "that I consider that I have a right to ask this of him, having not only saved the girl's life, but the lives of his own people also; and say that I wish her to be allowed to follow her own wishes, and join the Christians." While this was being translated the chief's brow lowered, and we could see plainly that our request met with no favourable reception. He replied with considerable energy and at some length. "What says he?" inquired Jack. "I regret to say that he will not listen to the proposal. He says he has pledged his word to his friend that the girl shall be sent to him, and a deputy even now on this island awaiting the fulfilment of the pledge." Jack bit his lip in suppressed anger. "Tell Tararo," he exclaimed with a flashing eye, "that if he does not grant my demand it will be worse for him. Say I have a big gun on board my schooner that will blow his village into the sea if he does not give up the girl." "Nay, my friend," said the teacher gently, "I will not tell him that. We must `overcome evil with good.'" "What does my friend say?" inquired the chief, who seemed nettled by Jack's looks of defiance. "He is displeased," replied the teacher. Tararo turned away with a smile of contempt, and walked towards the men who carried the baskets of vegetables, and who had now emptied the whole on the beach in an enormous pile. "What are they doing there?" I inquired. "I think that they are laying out a gift which they intend to present to some one," said the teacher. At this moment a couple of men appeared, leading a young girl between them, and going towards the heap of fruits and vegetables, placed her on top of it. We started with surprise and fear, for in the young female before us we recognised the Samoan girl, Avatea. We stood rooted to the earth with surprise and thick-coming fears. "Oh my dear young friend!" whispered the teacher in a voice of deep emotion; while he seized Jack by the arm, "she is to be made a sacrifice even now!" "Is she?" cried Jack with a vehement shout, spurning the teacher aside, and dashing over two natives who stood in his way, while he rushed towards the heap, sprang up its side, and seized Avatea by the arm. In another moment he dragged her down, placed her back to a large tree, and wrenching a war-club from the hand of a native who seemed powerless and petrified with surprise, whirled it above his head, and yelled, rather than shouted, while his face blazed with fury, "Come on, the whole nation of you, an ye like it, and do your worst!" It seemed as though the challenge had been literally accepted; for every savage on the ground ran precipitately at Jack with club and spear, and doubtless would speedily have poured out his brave blood on the sod had not the teacher rushed in between them, and raising his voice to its utmost, cried: "Stay your hands, warriors! It is not your part to judge in this matter! It is for Tararo, the chief, to say whether or not the young man shall live or die!" The natives were arrested; and I know not whether it was the gratifying acknowledgment of his superiority thus made by the teacher, or some lingering feeling of gratitude for Jack's former aid in time of need, that influenced Tararo, but he stepped forward, and waving his hand, said to his people, "Desist. The young man's life is mine." Then turning to Jack, he said, "You have forfeited your liberty and life to me. Submit yourself, for we are more numerous than the sand upon the shore. You are but one: why should you die?" "Villain!" exclaimed Jack passionately. "I may die, but assuredly I shall not perish alone! I will not submit until you promise that this girl shall not be injured!" "You are very bold," replied the chief haughtily, "but very foolish. Yet I will say that Avatea shall not be sent away--at least, for three days." "You had better accept these terms," whispered the teacher entreatingly. "If you persist in this mad defiance, you will be slain and Avatea will be lost. Three days are worth having." Jack hesitated a moment, then lowered his club, and throwing it moodily to the ground, crossed his arms on his breast and hung down his head in silence. Tararo seemed pleased by his submission, and told the teacher to say that he did not forget his former services, and therefore would leave him free as to his person, but that the schooner would be detained till he had further considered the matter. While the teacher translated this, he approached as near to where Avatea was standing as possible without creating suspicion, and whispered to her a few words in the native language. Avatea, who, during the whole of the foregoing scene, had stood leaning against the tree perfectly passive, and seemingly quite uninterested in all that was going on, replied by a single rapid glance of her dark eye, which was instantly cast down again on the ground at her feet. Tararo now advanced, and taking the girl by the hand, led her unresistingly away; while Jack, Peterkin, and I returned with the teacher on board the schooner. On reaching the deck we went down to the cabin, where Jack threw himself, in a state of great dejection, on a couch; but the teacher seated himself by his side, and laying his hand upon his shoulder, said: "Do not give way to anger, my young friend. God has given us three days, and we must use the means that are in our power to free this poor girl from slavery. We must not sit in idle disappointment; we must act--" "Act!" cried Jack, raising himself and tossing back his hair wildly. "It is mockery to talk of acting when one is bound hand and foot. How can I act? I cannot fight a whole nation of savages single-handed. Yes," he said with a bitter smile, "I _can_ fight them; but I cannot conquer them, or save Avatea." "Patience, my friend: your spirit is not a good one just now. You cannot expect that blessing which alone can ensure success unless you are more submissive. I will tell you my plans if you will listen." "Listen!" cried Jack eagerly. "Of course I will, my good fellow! I did not know you had any plans. Out with them! I only hope you will show me how I can get the girl on board of this schooner, and I'd up anchor and away in no time. But proceed with your plans." The teacher smiled sadly. "Ah, my friend, if one fathom of your anchor-chain were to rattle as you drew it in, a thousand warriors would be standing on your deck! No, no; that could not be done. Even now your ship would be taken from you were it not that Tararo has some feeling of gratitude towards you. But I know Tararo well. He is a man of falsehood, as all the unconverted savages are. The chief to whom he has promised this girl is very powerful, and Tararo _must_ fulfil his promise. He has told you that he would do nothing to the girl for three days, but that is because the party who are to take her away will not be ready to start for three days. Still, as he might have made you a prisoner during those three days, I say that God has given them to us." "Well, but what do you propose to do?" said Jack impatiently. "My plan involves much danger; but I see no other, and I think you have courage to brave it. It is this. There is an island about fifty miles to the south of this, the natives of which are Christians, and have been so for two years or more, and the principal chief is Avatea's lover. Once there, Avatea would be safe. Now, I suggest that you should abandon your schooner. Do you think that you can make so great a sacrifice?" "Friend," replied Jack, "when I make up my mind to go through with a thing of importance, I can make any sacrifice." The teacher smiled. "Well, then, the savages could not conceive it possible that for the sake of a girl you would voluntarily lose your fine vessel; therefore, as long as she lies here, they think they have you all safe. So I suggest that we get a quantity of stores conveyed to a sequestered part of the shore, provide a small canoe, put Avatea on board, and you three would paddle to the Christian island." "Bravo!" cried Peterkin, springing up and seizing the teacher's hand. "Missionary, you're a regular brick! I didn't think you had so much in you!" "As for me," continued the teacher, "I will remain on board till they discover that you are gone. Then they will ask me where you are gone to, and I will refuse to tell." "And what'll be the result of that?" inquired Jack. "I know not. Perhaps they will kill me; but," he added, looking at Jack with a peculiar smile, "I too am not afraid to die in a good cause!" "But how are we to get hold of Avatea?" inquired Jack. "I have arranged with her to meet us at a particular spot, to which I will guide you to-night. We shall then arrange about it. She will easily manage to elude her keepers, who are not very strict in watching her, thinking it impossible that she could escape from the island. Indeed, I am sure that such an idea will never enter their heads. But, as I have said, you run great danger. Fifty miles in a small canoe, on the open sea, is a great voyage to make. You may miss the island, too, in which case there is no other in that direction for a hundred miles or more; and if you lose your way and fall among other heathens, you know the law of Feejee--a castaway who gains the shore is doomed to die. You must count the cost, my young friend." "I have counted it," replied Jack. "If Avatea consents to run the risk, most certainly I will; and so will my comrades also. Besides," added Jack, looking seriously into the teacher's face, "your Bible--our Bible--tells of ONE who delivers those who call on Him in the time of trouble; who holds the winds in His fists, and the waters in the hollow of His hand." We now set about active preparations for the intended voyage: collected together such things as we should require, and laid out on the deck provisions sufficient to maintain us for several weeks, purposing to load the canoe with as much as she could hold consistently with speed and safety. These we covered with a tarpaulin, intending to convey them to the canoe only a few hours before starting. When night spread her sable curtain over the scene, we prepared to land; but first kneeling along with the natives and the teacher, the latter implored a blessing on our enterprise. Then we rowed quietly to the shore and followed our sable guide, who led us by a long detour in order to avoid the village, to the place of rendezvous. We had not stood more than five minutes under the gloomy shade of the thick foliage when a dark figure glided noiselessly up to us. "Ah, here you are!" said Jack as Avatea approached.--"Now, then, tell her what we've come about, and don't waste time." "I understan' leetl' English," said Avatea in a low voice. "Why, where did you pick up English?" exclaimed Jack in amazement. "You were dumb as a stone when I saw you last." "She has learned all she knows of it from me," said the teacher, "since she came to the island." We now gave Avatea a full explanation of our plans, entering into all the details, and concealing none of the danger, so that she might be fully aware of the risk she ran. As we had anticipated, she was too glad of the opportunity thus afforded her to escape from her persecutors to think of the danger or risk. "Then you're willing to go with us, are you?" said Jack. "Yis, I willing to go." "And you're not afraid to trust yourself out on the deep sea so far?" "No, I not 'fraid to go. Safe with Christian." After some further consultation the teacher suggested that it was time to return, so we bade Avatea good-night; and having appointed to meet at the cliff where the canoe lay on the following night, just after dark, we hastened away--we to row back to the schooner with muffled oars, Avatea to glide back to her prison-hut among the Mango savages. CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. THE FLIGHT--THE PURSUIT--DESPAIR AND ITS RESULTS--THE LION BEARDED IN HIS DEN AGAIN--AWFUL DANGER THREATENED AND WONDERFULLY AVERTED--A TERRIFIC STORM. As the time for our meditated flight drew near, we became naturally very fearful lest our purpose should be discovered, and we spent the whole of the following day in a state of nervous anxiety. We resolved to go ashore and ramble about the village, as if to observe the habits and dwellings of the people, as we thought that an air of affected indifference to the events of the previous day would be more likely than any other course of conduct to avert suspicion as to our intentions. While we were thus occupied, the teacher remained on board with the Christian natives, whose powerful voices reached us ever and anon as they engaged in singing hymns or in prayer. At last the long and tedious day came to a close, the sun sank into the sea, and the short-lived twilight of those regions, to which I have already referred, ended abruptly in a dark night. Hastily throwing a few blankets into our little boat, we stepped into it, and whispering farewell to the natives in the schooner, rowed gently over the lagoon, taking care to keep as near to the beach as possible. We rowed in the utmost silence and with muffled oars, so that had any one observed us at the distance of a few yards, he might have almost taken us for a phantom boat or a shadow on the dark water. Not a breath of air was stirring; but fortunately the gentle ripple of the sea upon the shore, mingled with the soft roar of the breaker on the distant reef, effectually drowned the slight plash that we unavoidably made in the water by the dipping of our oars. A quarter of an hour sufficed to bring us to the overhanging cliff under whose black shadow our little canoe lay, with her bow in the water, ready to be launched, and most of her cargo already stowed away. As the keel of our little boat grated on the sand, a hand was laid upon the bow, and a dim form was seen. "Ha!" said Peterkin in a whisper as he stepped upon the beach; "is that you, Avatea?" "Yis, it am me," was the reply. "All right--Now, then, gently--Help me to shove off the canoe," whispered Jack to the teacher.--"And, Peterkin, do you shove these blankets aboard; we may want them before long.--Avatea, step into the middle: that's right." "Is all ready?" whispered the teacher. "Not quite," replied Peterkin.--"Here, Ralph, lay hold o' this pair of oars, and stow them away if you can. I don't like paddles. After we're safe away, I'll try to rig up rowlocks for them." "Now, then, in with you and shove off!" One more earnest squeeze of the kind teacher's hand, and with his whispered blessing yet sounding in our ears, we shot like an arrow from the shore, sped over the still waters of the lagoon, and paddled as swiftly as strong arms and willing hearts could urge us over the long swell of the open sea. All that night and the whole of the following day we plied our paddles in almost total silence and without a halt, save twice to recruit our failing energies with a mouthful of food and a draught of water. Jack had taken the bearing of the island just after starting, and laying a small pocket-compass before him, kept the head of the canoe due south, for our chance of hitting the island depended very much on the faithfulness of our steersman in keeping our tiny bark exactly and constantly on its proper course. Peterkin and I paddled in the bow, and Avatea worked untiringly in the middle. As the sun's lower limb dipped on the gilded edge of the sea Jack ceased working, threw down his paddle, and called a halt. "There!" he cried, heaving a deep, long-drawn sigh; "we've put a considerable breadth of water between us and these black rascals, so now we'll have a hearty supper and a sound sleep." "Hear, hear!" cried Peterkin. "Nobly spoken, Jack!--Hand me a drop of water, Ralph.--Why, girl, what's wrong with you? You look just like a black owl blinking in the sunshine!" Avatea smiled. "I sleepy," she said; and as if to prove the truth of this, she laid her head on the edge of the canoe and fell fast asleep. "That's uncommon sharp practice," said Peterkin with a broad grin. "Don't you think we should awake her to make her eat something first? Or perhaps," he added with a grave, meditative look--"perhaps we might put some food in her mouth, which is so elegantly open at the present moment, and see if she'd swallow it while asleep.--If so, Ralph, you might come round to the front here and feed her quietly, while Jack and I are tucking into the victuals. It would be a monstrous economy of time." I could not help smiling at Peterkin's idea, which indeed, when I pondered it, seemed remarkably good in theory; nevertheless, I declined to put it in practice, being fearful of the result should the victuals chance to go down the wrong throat. But on suggesting this to Peterkin, he exclaimed: "Down the wrong throat, man! Why, a fellow with half-an-eye might see that if it went down Avatea's throat it could not go down the wrong throat!--unless, indeed, you have all of a sudden become inordinately selfish, and think that all the throats in the world are wrong ones except your own. However, don't talk so much, and hand me the pork before Jack finishes it. I feel myself entitled to at least one minute morsel." "Peterkin, you're a villain--a paltry little villain!" said Jack quietly as he tossed the hind legs (including the tail) of a cold roast pig to his comrade; "and I must again express my regret that unavoidable circumstances have thrust your society upon me, and that necessity has compelled me to cultivate your acquaintance. Were it not that you are incapable of walking upon the water, I would order you, sir, out of the canoe!" "There! you've awakened Avatea with your long tongue," retorted Peterkin, with a frown, as the girl gave vent to a deep sigh. "No," he continued, "it was only a snore. Perchance she dreameth of her black Apollo.--I say, Ralph, do leave just one little slice of that yam! Between you and Jack I run a chance of being put on short allowance, if not--yei-a-a-ow!" Peterkin's concluding remark was a yawn of so great energy that Jack recommended him to postpone the conclusion of his meal till next morning--a piece of advice which he followed so quickly that I was forcibly reminded of his remark, a few minutes before, in regard to the sharp practice of Avatea. My readers will have observed, probably, by this time, that I am much given to meditation: they will not, therefore, be surprised to learn that I fell into a deep reverie on the subject of sleep, which was continued without intermission into the night, and prolonged without interruption into the following morning. But I cannot feel assured that I actually slept during that time, although I am tolerably certain that I was not awake. Thus we lay, like a shadow, on the still bosom of the ocean, while the night closed in, and all around was calm, dark, and silent. A thrilling cry of alarm from Peterkin startled us in the morning, just as the grey dawn began to glimmer in the east. "What's wrong?" cried Jack, starting up. Peterkin replied by pointing, with a look of anxious dread, towards the horizon; and a glance sufficed to show us that one of the largest-sized war-canoes was approaching us! With a groan of mingled despair and anger, Jack seized his paddle, glanced at the compass, and in a suppressed voice commanded us to "Give way!" But we did not require to be urged. Already our four paddles were glancing in the water, and the canoe bounded over the glassy sea like a dolphin, while a shout from our pursuers told that they had observed our motions. "I see something like land ahead," said Jack in a hopeful tone. "It seems impossible that we could have made the island yet; still, if it is so, we may reach it before these fellows can catch us, for our canoe is light and our muscles are fresh." No one replied; for, to say truth, we felt that in a long chase we had no chance whatever with a canoe which held nearly a hundred warriors. Nevertheless, we resolved to do our utmost to escape, and paddled with a degree of vigour that kept us well in advance of our pursuers. The war-canoe was so far behind us that it seemed but a little speck on the sea, and the shouts to which the crew occasionally gave vent came faintly towards us on the morning breeze. We therefore hoped that we should be able to keep in advance for an hour or two, when we might perhaps reach the land ahead. But this hope was suddenly crushed by the supposed land, not long after, rising up into the sky, thus proving itself to be a fog-bank! A bitter feeling of disappointment filled each heart, and was expressed on each countenance, as we beheld this termination to our hopes. But we had little time to think of regret. Our danger was too great and imminent to permit of a moment's relaxation from our exertions. No hope now animated our bosoms; but a feeling of despair, strange to say, lent us power to work, and nerved our arms with such energy that it was several hours ere the savages overtook us. When we saw that there was indeed no chance of escape, and that paddling any longer would only serve to exhaust our strength without doing any good, we turned the side of our canoe towards the approaching enemy and laid down our paddles. Silently, and with a look of bitter determination on his face, Jack lifted one of the light boat-oars that we had brought with us, and resting it on his shoulder, stood up in an attitude of bold defiance. Peterkin took the other oar and also stood up, but there was no anger visible on his countenance: when not sparkling with fun, it usually wore a mild, sad expression, which was deepened on the present occasion as he glanced at Avatea, who sat with her face resting in her hands upon her knees. Without knowing very well what I intended to do, I also arose and grasped my paddle with both hands. On came the large canoe like a war-horse of the deep, with the foam curling from its sharp bow, and the spear-heads of the savages glancing in the beams of the rising sun. Perfect silence was maintained on both sides; and we could hear the hissing water, and see the frowning eyes of the warriors, as they came rushing on. When about twenty yards distant, five or six of the savages in the bow rose, and laying aside their paddles, took up their spears. Jack and Peterkin raised their oars, while, with a feeling of madness whirling in my brain, I grasped my paddle and prepared for the onset. But before any of us could strike a blow, the sharp prow of the war-canoe struck us like a thunderbolt on the side and hurled us into the sea! What occurred after this I cannot tell, for I was nearly drowned; but when I recovered from the state of insensibility into which I had been thrown, I found myself stretched on my back, bound hand and foot, between Jack and Peterkin, in the bottom of the large canoe. In this condition we lay the whole day, during which time the savages only rested one hour. When night came they rested again for another hour, and appeared to sleep just as they sat. But we were neither unbound nor allowed to speak to each other during the voyage, nor was a morsel of food or a draught of water given to us. For food, however, we cared little; but we would have given much for a drop of water to cool our parched lips. And we would have been glad, too, had they loosened the cords that bound us; for they were tightly fastened, and occasioned us much pain. The air, also, was unusually hot--so much so that I felt convinced that a storm was brewing. This also added to our sufferings. However, these were at length relieved by our arrival at the island from which we had fled. While we were being led ashore, we caught a glimpse of Avatea, who was seated in the hinder part of the canoe. She was not fettered in any way. Our captors now drove us before them towards the hut of Tararo, at which we speedily arrived, and found the chief seated with an expression on his face that boded us no good. Our friend the teacher stood beside him, with a look of anxiety on his mild features. "How comes it," said Tararo, turning to the teacher, "that these youths have abused our hospitality?" "Tell him," replied Jack, "that we have not abused his hospitality, for his hospitality has not been extended to us. I came to the island to deliver Avatea, and my only regret is that I have failed to do so. If I get another chance, I will try to save her yet." The teacher shook his head. "Nay, my young friend, I had better not tell him that: it will only incense him." "I care not," replied Jack. "If you don't tell him that, you'll tell him nothing, for I won't say anything softer." On hearing Jack's speech, Tararo frowned, and his eye flashed with anger. "Go, presumptuous boy!" he said. "My debt to you cancelled. You and your companions shall die!" As he spoke he rose and signed to several of attendants, who seized Jack and Peterkin and violently by the collars, and dragging us from the house of the chief, led us through the wood to the outskirts of the village. Here they thrust us into a species of natural cave in a cliff, and having barricaded the entrance, left us in total darkness. After feeling about for some time--for our legs were unshackled, although our wrists were still bound with thongs--we found a low ledge of rock running along one side of the cavern. On this we seated ourselves, and for a long time maintained unbroken silence. At last I could restrain my feelings no longer. "Alas! dear Jack and Peterkin," said I, "what is to become of us? I fear that we are doomed to die." "I know not," replied Jack in a tremulous voice--"I know not. Ralph, I regret deeply the hastiness of my violent temper, which, I must confess, has been the chief cause of our being brought to this sad condition. Perhaps the teacher may do something for us. But I have little hope." "Ah no!" said Peterkin with a heavy sigh; "I am sure he can't help us. Tararo doesn't care more for him than for one of his dogs." "Truly," said I, "there seems no chance of deliverance, unless the Almighty puts forth His arm to save us. Yet I must say I have great hope, my comrades; for we have come to this dark place by no fault of ours--unless it be a fault to try to succour a woman in distress." I was interrupted in my remarks by a noise at the entrance to the cavern, which was caused by the removal of the barricade. Immediately after three men entered, and taking us by the collars of our coats, led us away through the forest. As we advanced we heard much shouting and beating of native drums in the village, and at first we thought that our guards were conducting us to the hut of Tararo again. But in this we were mistaken. The beating of drums gradually increased, and soon after we observed a procession of the natives coming towards us. At the head of this procession we were placed, and then we all advanced together towards the temple where human victims were wont to be sacrificed! A thrill of horror ran through my heart as I recalled to mind the awful scenes that I had before witnessed at that dreadful spot. But deliverance came suddenly from a quarter whence we little expected it. During the whole of that day there had been an unusual degree of heat in the atmosphere, and the sky assumed that lurid aspect which portends a thunderstorm. Just as we were approaching the horrid temple, a growl of thunder burst overhead, and heavy drops of rain began to fall. Those who have not witnessed gales and storms in tropical regions can form but a faint conception of the fearful hurricane that burst upon the island of Mango at this time. Before we reached the temple the storm burst upon us with a deafening roar; and the natives, who knew too well the devastation that was to follow, fled right and left through the woods in order to save their property, leaving us alone in the midst of the howling storm. The trees around us bent before the blast like willows, and we were about to flee in order to seek shelter when the teacher ran toward us with a knife in his hand. "Thank the Lord," he said, cutting our bonds, "I am in time! Now, seek the shelter of the nearest rock." This we did without a moment's hesitation, for the whistling wind burst, ever and anon, like thunderclaps among the trees, and tearing them from their roots, hurled them with violence to the ground. Rain cut across the land in sheets, and lightning played like forked serpents in the air, while high above the roar of the hissing tempest the thunder crashed and burst and rolled in awful majesty. In the village the scene was absolutely appalling. Roofs were blown completely off the houses in many cases, and in others the houses themselves were levelled with the ground. In the midst of this the natives were darting to and fro--in some instances saving their goods, but in many others seeking to save themselves from the storm of destruction that whirled around them. But terrific although the tempest was on land, it was still more tremendous on the mighty ocean. Billows sprang, as it were, from the great deep, and while their crests were absolutely scattered into white mist, they fell upon the beach with a crash that seemed to shake the solid land. But they did not end there. Each successive wave swept higher and higher on the beach until the ocean lashed its angry waters among the trees and bushes, and at length, in a sheet of white, curdled foam, swept into the village and upset and carried off, or dashed into wreck, whole rows of the native dwellings! It was a sublime, an awful scene, calculated, in some degree at least, to impress the mind of beholders with the might and majesty of God. We found shelter in a cave that night and all the next day, during which time the storm raged in fury. But on the night following, it abated somewhat; and in the morning we went to the village to seek for food, being so famished with hunger that we lost all feeling of danger and all wish to escape in our desire to satisfy the cravings of nature. But no sooner had we obtained food than we began to wish that we had rather endeavoured to make our escape into the mountains. This we attempted to do soon afterwards; but the natives were now able to look after us, and on our showing a disposition to avoid observation and make towards the mountains, we were seized by three warriors, who once more bound our wrists and thrust us into our former prison. It is true Jack made a vigorous resistance, and knocked down the first savage who seized him with a well-directed blow of his fist, but he was speedily overpowered by others. Thus we were again prisoners, with the prospect of torture and a violent death before us. CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. IMPRISONMENT--SINKING HOPES--UNEXPECTED FREEDOM TO MORE THAN ONE, AND IN MORE SENSES THAN ONE. For a long, long month we remained in our dark and dreary prison, during which dismal time we did not see the face of a human being except that of the silent savage who brought us our daily food. There have been one or two seasons in my life during which I have felt as if the darkness of sorrow and desolation that crushed my inmost heart could never pass away until death should make me cease to feel. The present was such a season. During the first part of our confinement we felt a cold chill at our hearts every time we heard a footfall near the cave, dreading lest it should prove to be that of our executioner. But as time dragged heavily on we ceased to feel this alarm, and began to experience such a deep, irrepressible longing for freedom that we chafed and fretted in our confinement like tigers. Then a feeling of despair came over us, and we actually longed for the time when the savages would take us forth to die. But these changes took place very gradually, and were mingled sometimes with brighter thoughts; for there were times when we sat, in that dark cavern on our ledge of rock, and conversed almost pleasantly about the past until we well-nigh forgot the dreary present. But we seldom ventured to touch upon the future. A few decayed leaves and boughs formed our bed, and a scanty supply of yams and taro, brought to us once a day, constituted our food. "Well, Ralph, how have you slept?" said Jack in a listless tone on rising one morning from his humble couch. "Were you much disturbed by the wind last night?" "No," said I. "I dreamed of home all night, and I thought that my mother smiled upon me and beckoned me to go to her; but I could not, for I was chained." "And I dreamed too," said Peterkin; "but it was of our happy home on the Coral Island. I thought we were swimming in the Water Garden. Then the savages gave a yell, and we were immediately in the cave at Spouting Cliff, which, somehow or other changed into this gloomy cavern; and I awoke to find it true." Peterkin's tone was so much altered by the depressing influence of his long imprisonment that, had I not known it was he who spoke, I should scarcely have recognised it, so sad was it, and so unlike to the merry, cheerful voice we had been accustomed to hear. I pondered this much, and thought of the terrible decline of happiness that may come on human beings in so short a time; how bright the sunshine in the sky at one time, and in a short space bow dark the overshadowing cloud! I had no doubt that the Bible would have given me much light and comfort on this subject if I had possessed one, and I once more had occasion to regret deeply having neglected to store my memory with its consoling truths. While I meditated thus, Peterkin again broke the silence of the cave by saying, in a melancholy tone, "Oh, I wonder if we shall ever see our dear island more!" His voice trembled, and covering his face with both hands, he bent down his head and wept. It was an unusual sight for me to see our once joyous companion in tears, and I felt a burning desire to comfort him; but, alas! what could I say? I could hold out no hope; and although I essayed twice to speak, the words refused to pass my lips. While I hesitated Jack sat down beside him and whispered a few words in his ear, while Peterkin threw himself on his friend's breast and rested his head on his shoulder. Thus we sat for some time in deep silence. Soon after we heard footsteps at the entrance of the cave, and immediately our jailer entered. We were so much accustomed to his regular visits, however, that we paid little attention to him, expecting that he would set down our meagre fare as usual and depart. But, to our surprise, instead of doing so, he advanced towards us with a knife in his hand, and going up to Jack, he cut the thongs that bound his wrists; then he did the same to Peterkin and me! For fully five minutes we stood in speechless amazement, with our freed hands hanging idly by our sides. The first thought that rushed into my mind was that the time had come to put us to death; and although, as I have said before, we actually wished for death in the strength of our despair, now that we thought it drew really near I felt all the natural love of life revive in my heart, mingled with a chill of horror at the suddenness of our call. But I was mistaken. After cutting our bonds the savage pointed to the cave's mouth, and we marched, almost mechanically, into the open air. Here, to our surprise, we found the teacher standing under a tree, with his hands clasped before him, and the tears trickling down his dark cheeks. On seeing Jack, who came out first, he sprang towards him, and clasping him in his arms, exclaimed: "Oh my dear young friend, through the great goodness of God you are free!" "Free?" cried Jack. "Ay, free!" repeated the teacher, shaking us warmly by the hands again and again--"free to go and come as you will. The Lord has unloosed the bonds of the captive, and set the prisoners free. A missionary has been sent to us, and Tararo has embraced the Christian religion! The people are even now burning their gods of wood! Come, my dear friends, and see the glorious sight!" We could scarcely credit our senses. So long had we been accustomed, in our cavern, to dream of deliverance, that we imagined for a moment this must surely be nothing more than another vivid dream. Our eyes and minds were dazzled, too, by the brilliant sunshine, which almost blinded us after our long confinement to the gloom of our prison, so that we felt giddy with the variety of conflicting emotions that filled our throbbing bosoms; but as we followed the footsteps of our sable friend, and beheld the bright foliage of the trees, and heard the cries of the paroquets, and smelt the rich perfume of the flowering shrubs, the truth--that we were really delivered from prison and from death--rushed with overwhelming power into our souls, and with one accord, while tears sprang to our eyes, we uttered a loud, long cheer of joy. It was replied to by a shout from a number of the natives who chanced to be near. Running towards us, they shook us by the hand with every demonstration of kindly feeling. They then fell behind, and forming a sort of procession, conducted us to the dwelling of Tararo. The scene that met our eyes here was one that I shall never forget. On a rude bench in front of his house sat the chief. A native stood on his left hand, who from his dress seemed to be a teacher. On his right stood an English gentleman, who I at once, and rightly, concluded was a missionary. He was tall, thin, and apparently past forty, with a bald forehead and thin grey hair. The expression of his countenance was the most winning I ever saw, and his clear grey eyes beamed with a look that was frank, fearless, loving, and truthful. In front of the chief was an open space, in the centre of which lay a pile of wooden idols, ready to be set on fire; and around these were assembled thousands of natives, who had come to join in or to witness the unusual sight. A bright smile overspread the missionary's face as he advanced quickly to meet us, and he shook us warmly by the hands. "I am overjoyed to meet you, my dear young friends," he said. "My friend and _your_ friend, the teacher, has told me your history; and I thank our Father in heaven with all my heart, that He has guided me to this island and made me the instrument of saving you." We thanked the missionary most heartily, and asked him, in some surprise, how he had succeeded in turning the heart of Tararo in our favour. "I will tell you that at a more convenient time," he answered, "meanwhile we must not forget the respect due to the chief. He waits to receive you." In the conversation that immediately followed between us and Tararo, the latter said that the light of the Gospel of Jesus Christ had been sent to the island, and that to it we were indebted for our freedom. Moreover, he told us that we were at liberty to depart in our schooner whenever we pleased, and that we should be supplied with as much provision as we required. He concluded by shaking hands with us warmly, and performing the ceremony of rubbing noses. This was indeed good news to us, and we could hardly find words to express our gratitude to the chief and to the missionary. "And what of Avatea?" inquired Jack. The missionary replied by pointing to a group of natives, in the midst of whom the girl stood. Beside her was a tall, strapping fellow, whose noble mien and air of superiority bespoke him a chief of no ordinary kind. "That youth is her lover. He came this very morning in his war-canoe to treat with Tararo for Avatea. He is to be married in a few days, and afterwards returns to his island home with his bride." "That's capital!" said Jack as he stepped up to the savage and gave him a hearty shake of the hand. "I wish you joy, my lad!--And you too, Avatea!" As Jack spoke, Avatea's lover took him by the hand and led him to the spot where Tararo and the missionary stood, surrounded by most of the chief men of the tribe. The girl herself followed and stood on his left hand, while her lover stood on his right, and commanding silence, made the following speech, which was translated by the missionary: "Young friend, you have seen few years, but your head is old. Your heart, also, is large and very brave. I and Avatea are your debtors; and we wish, in the midst of this assembly, to acknowledge our debt, and to say that it is one which we can never repay. You have risked your life for one who was known to you only for a few days. But she was a woman in distress, and that was enough to secure to her the aid of a Christian man. We, who live in these islands of the sea, know that the true Christians always act thus. Their religion is one of love and kindness. We thank God that so many Christians have been sent here: we hope many more will come. Remember that I and Avatea will think of you, and pray for you and your brave comrades, when you are far away." To this kind speech Jack returned a short, sailor-like reply, in which he insisted that he had only done for Avatea what he would have done for any woman under the sun. But Jack's forte did not lie in speech-making, so he terminated rather abruptly by seizing the chief's hand and shaking it violently, after which he made a hasty retreat. "Now, then, Ralph and Peterkin," said Jack as we mingled with the crowd, "it seems to me that, the object we came here for having been satisfactorily accomplished, we have nothing more to do but get ready for sea as fast as we can, and hurrah for old England!" "That's my idea precisely," said Peterkin, endeavouring to wink; but he had wept so much of late, poor fellow, that he found it difficult. "However, I'm not going away till I see these fellows burn their gods." Peterkin had his wish, for in a few minutes afterwards fire was put to the pile, the roaring flames, ascended, and amid the acclamations of the assembled thousands, the false gods of Mango were reduced to ashes! CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. CONCLUSION. To part is the lot of all mankind. The world is a scene of constant leave-taking, and the hands that grasp in cordial greeting to-day are doomed ere long to unite for the last time when the quivering lips pronounce the word "Farewell." It is a sad thought, but should we on that account exclude it from our minds? May not a lesson worth learning be gathered in the contemplation of it? May it not, perchance, teach us to devote our thoughts more frequently and attentively to that land where we meet but part no more? How many do we part from in this world with a light good-bye whom we never see again! Often do I think, in my meditations on this subject, that if we realised more fully the shortness of the fleeting intercourse that we have in this world with many of our fellow-men, we would try more earnestly to do them good, to give them a friendly smile, as it were, in passing (for the longest intercourse on earth is little more than a passing word and glance), and show that we have sympathy with them in the short, quick struggle of life by our kindly words and looks and actions. The time soon drew near when we were to quit the islands of the South Seas; and strange though it may appear, we felt deep regret at parting with the natives of the island of Mango, for after they embraced the Christian faith, they sought, by showing us the utmost kindness, to compensate for the harsh treatment we had experienced at their hands. And we felt a growing affection for the native teachers and the missionary, and especially for Avatea and her husband. Before leaving we had many long and interesting conversations with the missionary, in one of which he told us that he had been making for the island of Rarotonga when his native-built sloop was blown out of its course, during a violent gale, and driven to this island. At first the natives refused to listen to what he had to say; but after a week's residence among them, Tararo came to him and said that he wished to become a Christian and would burn his idols. He proved himself to be sincere, for, as we have seen, he persuaded all his people to do likewise. I use the word "persuaded" advisedly, for, like all the other Feejee chiefs, Tararo was a despot, and might have commanded obedience to his wishes; but he entered so readily into the spirit of the new faith that he perceived at once the impropriety of using constraint in the propagation of it. He set the example, therefore; and that example was followed by almost every man of the tribe. During the short time that we remained at the island repairing our vessel and getting her ready for sea, the natives had commenced building a large and commodious church under the superintendence of the missionary, and several rows of new cottages were marked out; so that the place bid fair to become, in a few months, as prosperous and beautiful as the Christian village at the other end of the island. After Avatea was married, she and her husband were sent away loaded with presents, chiefly of an edible nature. One of the native teachers went with them, for the purpose of visiting still more distant islands of the sea, and spreading, if possible, the light of the glorious Gospel there. As the missionary intended to remain for several weeks longer in order to encourage and confirm his new converts, Jack and Peterkin and I held a consultation in the cabin of our schooner--which we found just as we had left her, for everything that had been taken out of her was restored. We now resolved to delay our departure no longer. The desire to see our beloved native land was strong upon us, and we could not wait. Three natives volunteered to go with us to Tahiti, where we thought it likely that we should be able to procure a sufficient crew of sailors to man our vessel; so we accepted their offer gladly. It was a bright, clear morning when we hoisted the snow-white sails of the pirate schooner and left the shores of Mango. The missionary and thousands of the natives came down to bid us God-speed and to see us sail away. As the vessel bent before a light, fair wind, we glided quickly over the lagoon under a cloud of canvas. Just as we passed through the channel in the reef the natives gave us a loud cheer; and as the missionary waved his hat, while he stood on a coral rock with his grey hairs floating in the wind, we heard the single word "Farewell" borne faintly over the sea. That night, as we sat on the taffrail gazing out upon the wide sea and up into the starry firmament, a thrill of joy, strangely mixed with sadness, passed through our hearts; for we were at length "homeward bound" and were gradually leaving far behind us the beautiful, bright-green coral islands of the Pacific Ocean. 
55683	----	book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Books project.) Transcriber's Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal signs=. [Illustration: LAUNCHING THE YAWL.] _THE GO-AHEAD SERIES._ GO-AHEAD; OR, THE FISHER-BOY'S MOTTO BY HARRY CASTLEMON, AUTHOR OF "THE GUN-BOAT SERIES," "THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES," ETC. [Illustration] PHILADELPHIA: PORTER & COATES. CINCINNATI, O.: R. W. CARROLL & CO. FAMOUS CASTLEMON BOOKS. =GUNBOAT SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. Illustrated. 6 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold. FRANK THE YOUNG NATURALIST. FRANK ON A GUNBOAT. FRANK IN THE WOODS. FRANK BEFORE VICKSBURG. FRANK ON THE LOWER MISSISSIPPI. FRANK ON THE PRAIRIE. =ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. Illustrated. 3 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold. FRANK AMONG THE RANCHEROS. FRANK AT DON CARLOS' RANCHO. FRANK IN THE MOUNTAINS. =SPORTSMAN'S CLUB SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. Illustrated. 3 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold. THE SPORTSMAN'S CLUB IN THE SADDLE. THE SPORTSMAN'S CLUB AFLOAT. THE SPORTSMAN'S CLUB AMONG THE TRAPPERS. =GO-AHEAD SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. Illustrated. 3 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold. TOM NEWCOMBE. GO-AHEAD. NO MOSS. =FRANK NELSON SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. Illustrated. 3 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold. SNOWED UP. FRANK IN THE FORECASTLE. BOY TRADERS. =BOY TRAPPER SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. Illustrated. 3 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold. THE BURIED TREASURE; OR, OLD JORDAN'S HAUNT. THE BOY TRAPPER; OR, HOW DAVE FILLED THE ORDER. THE MAIL-CARRIER. =ROUGHING IT SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. Illustrated. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold. GEORGE IN CAMP. _Other Volumes in Preparation._ Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by R. W. CARROLL & CO., In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. A RAGAMUFFIN, 5 II. A LIBERAL PASSENGER, 19 III. FISHERTOWN IN COUNCIL, 28 IV. TOM NEWCOMBE'S PLAN, 36 V. SAM BARTON'S REVENGE, 49 VI. GOING IN DEBT, 58 VII. TOM ORDERS A NEW BOAT, 70 VIII. THE GO AHEAD NO. 2, 80 IX. CRUSOE AND HIS MEN, 94 X. ANOTHER FAILURE, 107 XI. TOM'S NEW YACHT, 122 XII. TOM LOSES A DINNER, 136 XIII. MR. NEWCOMBE'S PRESENT, 147 XIV. BOB MAKES A DISCOVERY, 159 XV. BOB A PRISONER, 175 XVI. BOB FIGHTS FOR HIS LIBERTY, 185 XVII. PREPARATIONS FOR THE VOYAGE, 201 XVIII. THE ATTACK ON THE YACHT, 221 XIX. CRUSOE AFLOAT, 236 XX. THE TABLES TURNED, 251 XXI. HARRY'S REPORT, 263 XXII. CONCLUSION, 276 GO AHEAD; OR, THE FISHER-BOY'S MOTTO. CHAPTER I. A RAGAMUFFIN. "Bad luck again to-day," said Bob Jennings, as he reluctantly drew in his line and glanced at his empty basket, which he had hoped to take home full of fish, "I've been here since seven o'clock this morning, and haven't had a single bite. If it is true that 'Fortune favors the brave', it seems to me she is a long time in finding out that there is such a fellow as Bob Jennings in the world, for the harder I work, the worse I get along." As the fisher-boy spoke, he pulled up his anchor, hoisted a small tattered sail in the bow of his boat, and filled away for home, as poor as when he set out in the morning. It was no wonder that Bob felt somewhat disheartened, for he was but twelve cents better off at that moment than he had been the day before. He had ferried six ship-carpenters across the harbor that morning, and then pulled five miles up the bay, to his fishing-grounds, only to return empty-handed. And that was not the worst of it, for a "streak of bad luck," as he called it, had attended him during the entire week. It was then Friday; and since Monday morning he had earned just a dollar and a quarter. Fishing had been unprofitable, and the ship-carpenters seemed to have taken a sudden dislike to his boat, for, of late, he had never been able to secure more than half a load, and his ferrying did not yield him twenty cents a day. He had worked hard, but luck was against him, and, in spite of all his exertions, he had not been able to earn enough to pay the week's expenses; and that morning his mother had told him that she would soon be obliged to use a portion of the fifteen dollars which Bob had managed to save as part of the sum necessary to support the family while he was gone on his first voyage at sea. Bob had been expecting this; and it was the worst part of his week's "streak of bad luck," for that fifteen dollars had been saved for a special purpose, and he did not want to see it used for any thing else. He had staked all his hopes upon the result of this day's work, and thus far he had earned but twelve cents. Some boys, perhaps, would have thought fifteen dollars a very insignificant sum to be troubled about, but Bob looked upon it as quite a respectable fortune. There were not many fisher-boys about Newport who could boast that, during the last six months, they had fed and clothed a family of four persons, and saved money besides. Bob was the only one among them who ever laid by a penny for a rainy day; but, unless his luck soon changed, he would be as poor as the rest of them--his fortune would melt away, and his first voyage be indefinitely postponed. The fisher-boy was not in the habit of grumbling because every thing did not work as smoothly as he desired, but, under such circumstances, he found it almost impossible to keep up a cheerful heart. He was willing to work, but he wanted to see that he was making some headway in the world. When fortune favored him, and he could give his mother fifty, or even twenty-five, cents every evening, there was not a happier boy in Newport than Bob Jennings. He felt rich; and it is probable that he would even have hesitated about changing places with his friend Tom Newcombe, whom he sometimes envied. But when luck went against him--as had been the case during the week that had just passed--Bob could not help getting downhearted, for it seemed to him that every failure he made placed the object of his ambition farther beyond his reach. He wanted to become the master of a fine vessel, but he could not go to sea leaving his mother unprovided for; and thirty dollars would be sufficient to insure her against want during his absence. After nearly six months' hard work, he had saved half the amount required, and he had begun to hope that, by the time the spring arrived, he could give up fishing and ferrying, turn his scow over to his brother, and enter upon his career as a sailor. But Bob's hopes had been ruined more than once by a "streak of bad luck," and now it seemed as if misfortune was again about to overtake him. "I don't want to see that fifteen dollars broken in upon," said the fisher-boy, taking a firmer grasp of the oar with which he was steering his clumsy craft, as if to indicate that he had determined to hold on to his fortune as long as possible; "I've worked hard for it, through storm and sunshine, have gone about my work ragged and barefooted, and now, if I lose it, I shall almost believe that I was born to be a fisherman, and that it's no use for me to try to be any thing else. If this money goes, it will be the third time I have been bankrupt. After mother agreed to let me go to sea if I would save thirty dollars, I went to work, and, at the end of three months, I had seven dollars in the bank. I was making money fast, and I thought that, at the end of the year, I should have more than thirty dollars laid by. But I had a streak of bad luck; the fish wouldn't bite, I couldn't make a dime a day ferrying, and four dollars out of the seven had to go to feed the family. After awhile, my luck changed again, and, in four months, I had saved twelve dollars and a half. Then I began to fall behind a second time, and every red cent of my twelve dollars was gone before I knew it. Then came a streak of good luck, which lasted almost six months, and, during that time, I saved just fifteen dollars. If that goes like the rest, I shall begin to believe that I am very unlucky. Now, there's Sam Barton! He doesn't work half as hard as I do, but he makes more money. I wish I had been in his place night before last." Bob was not the only one who envied Sam Barton, for he was the most fortunate ferry-boy about the village. His companions all looked upon him with a great deal of respect; and the reason was because Sam owned the best boat, and could boast of more "regular customers" than any other boys about the harbor. On Wednesday evening, after the workmen had all been taken across, and the ferry-boys were seated in their boats, counting their money, and getting ready to start for home, a gentleman, who was standing on the wharf talking to an acquaintance, accidentally slipped off into the water. A dozen boats at once started to his assistance; but Sam was foremost, and, reaching the gentleman just as he was sinking for the last time, he seized him and lifted him into his boat. The man soon recovered from the effects of his involuntary bath, and, on being assisted on to the wharf, he thrust his hand into his pocket, and, pulling out a large roll of bills, tossed it to Sam; after which, he stepped into a carriage and was driven off. The ferry-boys, who had been interested spectators of all that had taken place, crowded up around Sam's boat; and when the latter had counted the money, he found himself the proud possessor of a hundred dollars--a much larger sum than he had ever owned before. The idea of a reward must have entered Sam's head the moment he saw the gentleman struggling in the water, for, after he had put the money carefully away in his pocket, he turned to Bob, who had been close beside him all the while, and coolly remarked: "You're a purty good hand with an oar, Bobby Jennings, an' I'll allow that you can make that ar ole scow of your'n fly through the water amazin' fast, but it wasn't no use fur you to think of beatin' me in this race, 'cause I was pullin' fur money--I was. I knowed the ole chap would give a feller a dime or two fur haulin' him out of the water, fur I seed he couldn't swim the minute he fell in." "So did I," said Bob, "but I never thought of a reward; I only wanted to save the man's life." "I s'pose, then," said Sam, "that if you had been first, an' had pulled that feller into your boat, an' he had said 'Thank you, Bobby,' you would have been satisfied?" "Certainly, I would!" replied the fisher-boy. "Well," continued Sam, thrusting his hand into his pocket to satisfy himself that his money was safe, "mebbe that's a good principle to go on, but it won't bring you much bread an' butter--not more'n you can eat, any how. I believe a feller has a right to make all he can. In course, he oughter work, 'cause he'll soon starve if he don't; but when he sees a chance to make a few dollars easy, he oughtn't to let it slip. The world owes us ferry-boys a livin', an' the easier we make it, the smarter we be. But, 'pears to me, if I was a rich man, an' should fall into the harbor, an' couldn't swim a stroke, I'd give the feller that pulled me out more'n a hundred dollars." The next day, when Sam came among his companions, the appearance of himself and boat excited the wonder and admiration of every ferry-boy in the harbor. His yawl had received a fresh coat of paint outside; and the thwarts were supplied with cushions, so that his passengers might have the benefit of easy seats. Sam was rigged out in a brand-new suit of clothes, and he sculled about among the ferry-boys as if he felt himself to be very important. "What do you think of me an' my yawl, now, Bobby Jennings?" asked Sam, as he dashed up along-side the fisher-boy, who was seated in his scow watching the wharves on both sides of the harbor, in the hope of discovering a passenger. "Ain't we gay? That hundred dollars came in handy, I tell you." "Your boat looks very nice," replied Bob, glancing first at the clean, dry yawl, and then at his own unpainted, leaky craft. "She's a great deal better than mine." "That's to be expected," said Sam; "you see, I've got capital to go on, and I know how to use it. I was onct as poor as you be; the boat I had was a'most as leaky an' dirty as that ar craft of your'n, and I never could make enough to pay expenses, 'cause the ship-carpenters an' the fine gentlemen who have business across the harbor wouldn't have nothing to do with me. One day, my old man said to me: 'Sammy, a coward an' a poor man are the two meanest things in the world. They are a disgrace to society. If you ever want to be respected, go to work an' make some money.' I thought that was good advice, and I follered it. Now look at me! I've got two good boats--the other a nice little skiff that I want to sell to some feller who has twenty dollars to pay for it--I wear good clothes, I've got more regular customers than any two other boys in the harbor, an' every night I take home at least a dollar and a half. I'm makin' money; an' the reason is, I know how to do it. During two years' ferryin' on this harbor, I have learned that the only way to get custom is to have a nice, clean boat----Yes, sir; comin', sir!" Sam Barton was a boy who could do two things at once--that is, he could talk and keep a bright lookout for passengers at the same time--and he had just discovered a man standing on the wharf, waving his handkerchief--a sign that he wanted to cross the harbor. Bob saw him at the same moment, and, by the time Sam had got his oar out, the fisher-boy was well under way, and Sam began to fear that the two cents he had hoped to earn would find their way into the pockets of his rival. "First come, first served," was the law in force among the ferry-boys, and the one who could handle his oar the best got the most passengers. There was not a boy in the harbor who could beat Bob sculling, and although he had a heavy, unwieldy boat to manage, he generally came off first best in his races. He certainly did in this instance, for, when he reached the wharf where the passenger was standing, Sam was a long way behind. "Jump in, sir," said Bob. The man looked down at the scow, which, on account of its numerous leaks, could not be kept very clean, then at his well-blacked boots, and shook his head. "O, she'll take you over safely, sir," said Bob; "I've carried fifteen men in her many a time." "Sheer off there, Bobby Jennings!" shouted Sam Barton, bringing his handsome yawl along-side the wharf at this moment; "here's the boat the gentleman's been a-waitin' fur. He wants a neat, tidy craft, wi' cushions to sit down on. Jump in, sir." The idea Sam had advanced but a few moments before--that a nice, clean boat was necessary to secure patronage--received confirmation now, for the man climbed down into the yawl, and Bob saw his rival pocket the passage-money. The fisher-boy thought over these incidents, as he sat in the stern-sheets of his scow sailing slowly homeward from his fishing-grounds; and, although Sam Barton had, at first, fallen very low in his estimation, by accepting a reward for saving a man's life, he was now ready to wish that he had been in Sam's place. "If I could only think of some honest way to earn a hundred dollars, how proud I should feel!" said the fisher-boy. "It would support the family in fine style for a year to come, and would buy a good many articles of furniture that we need in the house. It would send me to sea, too, and I would then be in a situation to make a man of myself. I might, some day, become the captain of one of Mr. Newcombe's fine ships." At this point in his meditations, when the fisher-boy was imagining how grand he would feel when he should walk the quarter-deck of his own vessel, he was suddenly startled with the shout: "Look out there, you ragamuffin! Out of the way, or we'll run you down!" And the next moment, a beautiful little schooner, filled with boys about his own age, dashed by, under a full press of canvas. "Ship ahoy!" shouted the boy who held the helm of the schooner; "What ship is that?" "Why, that's the 'Go Ahead,'" said one of his companions, reading the name which was painted in rude letters on the stern of Bob's scow. "So it is!" said another. "But I don't think the name is appropriate, for she don't seem to go ahead at all." The boys in the schooner laughed loudly at this exhibition of wit, and the little vessel dashed on, leaving Bob sitting in the stern of his scow, silent and thoughtful. This incident had brought him back to earth again. The gallant ship, of which he had imagined himself the proud commander, faded before his eyes, and he found himself seated at the helm of his leaky boat, with its tattered sail and empty fish-basket staring him in the face. The trim, swift-sailing little schooner, which had so nearly run him down, and which was now bounding gayly over the waves of the bay, with its load of merry, thoughtless boys, presented a strange contrast to his own clumsy craft, and, but for one simple thing, Bob would have been more disheartened than ever. But one of the boys had called him a "ragamuffin;" while the others had made sport of his boat and the odd name she bore, and this aroused the fisher-boy's spirit. "They don't know what they were talking about," said Bob to himself. "I didn't give my scow that name on account of her sailing qualities, for no one who knows any thing about a boat would expect a tub like this to sail fast. I call her the 'Go Ahead' because that's part of my motto, and I want it where I can see it when I get down-hearted." Bob hesitated, and even looked as if he felt ashamed of himself as he said this, for he remembered that but a few moments before he had been sadly discouraged, and had never once thought of his motto. It was strange that he had forgotten it, for the words "Go Ahead," painted in huge capitals, stared at him from every part of the boat to which he could direct his gaze. On the thwarts, the gunwales, the oar with which he was steering, and even on the bottom, where the water stood three inches deep, appeared the mysterious words, which, under ordinary circumstances, never failed to prove a sure source of cheerfulness and contentment to the fisher-boy. "They called me a ragamuffin," continued Bob, looking down at his patched garments, "and perhaps I am; but I know one thing, and that is, a ragged coat has covered the back of many an honest man. I believe I am honest, for I never, knowingly, cheated a man out of a cent. My customers are not afraid to trust me, for they believe just what I say, and never look at the scales when I am weighing out the fish. Sam Barton says, that poor men and cowards ought not to be allowed to live in the world; but mother says, poverty is no disgrace if a person works hard and tries to better his condition. I won't always be a ragamuffin, now I tell you! I'll own a sail-boat one of these days that will make that schooner ashamed of herself. How will I get it?" added Bob aloud, as if some invisible person had just asked him the question. "How will I get it? I'll work for it; that's the way I'll get it. I'll stick to my ferrying and fishing until something better turns up, and then I'll make a man of myself." As the fisher-boy said this, he gave one parting glance at the schooner, and then turned his attention to the management of his scow. His feelings now were very different from what they had been when he began his voyage homeward, for the sneering remarks of the schooner's crew had aroused his pride and indignation. He was willing to admit that he was a ragamuffin, but he was determined that he would not always remain one. He was ambitious to be something better; and, like a sensible boy, he knew there was but one way for him to accomplish his object, and that was to work hard for it. During the voyage homeward, Bob thought over his situation, and revolved in his mind numerous plans for future operations; but the only conclusion he could come to was, to "stick to his business" and do the best he could. He might have accepted a situation in some store; in fact, one or two had been offered him--for Bob, like every other honest, industrious boy, had plenty of friends--but that would not better his condition as far as money was concerned. His wages would amount to but a dollar and a half or two dollars a week, and at that rate he could not save a cent. Even fishing and ferrying were generally more profitable; for, although some weeks he would make scarcely enough to pay expenses, he would, at other times, clear three and four dollars, so that his mother could lay by something to increase their little fortune. His present "streak of bad luck" could not last always; it would soon change in his favor, and, until then, he would work on and hope for the best. There were numerous obstacles and discouragements in his way, and the greatest of them was the want of a good boat. The Go Ahead had done him considerable service, but she was so old and shaky that, with the exception of Bob, there was scarcely a boy in Newport who was brave enough to trust himself very far from shore in her. It was no wonder, then, that the ship-carpenters gave the fisher-boy a wide berth, and preferred Sam Barton's staunch yawl to his leaky scow. The question, How should he get a new boat? had troubled him for three months, and he was not yet able to answer it. At first he had thought of building one; but he had no money to buy the necessary material, and the planks and boards that got loose in the harbor were always picked up before Bob knew they were there. He could not buy a boat, for such a one as he wanted would cost twenty or thirty dollars; and where could he obtain so much money? This question perplexed Bob greatly, and now it seemed to trouble him more than ever. He did not recover his usual spirits again that afternoon, and, when he ran his scow upon the beach in front of his humble home, he wore an exceedingly long face, which told the family, as plainly as words, that his day's work had not been a profitable one. "How many, Bobby?" asked his mother, appearing at the door. "So many!" replied the fisher boy, inverting his basket, to show that it was empty. "I hope I shall have better luck to-morrow." Bob threw his basket on the beach, pulled down his sail, and, after rolling it up, carried it around behind the house, and put it in its accustomed place. He then walked round to the other side of the cabin, and eagerly read some rude characters which he had cut in the boards, close up under the eaves. This was, no doubt, an unusual way to raise one's spirits, but it seemed to have that effect upon Bob, for he shook his head and whispered to himself: "I'm not discouraged yet. If a boy lives up to that motto, he'll make a man of himself, I don't care how poor he is." This was not the first time the fisher-boy had drawn encouragement and consolation from this same mysterious source, for, every day, after he returned from his fishing grounds, he would steal around behind the house to read his motto. If he had been unlucky, he did it to raise his spirits; and if he had been successful, he read it with a renewed determination to "stick to it." What it was that served to encourage him, no one about the house knew except himself. His mother had often seen the characters cut in the boards, but she could not read them, for they were so rudely executed that they bore but very little resemblance to the letters of the alphabet. Bob could use a pen or pencil very well, but he had never learned the art of engraving, and that was the reason no one could read the words he had cut in the boards. "Yes, sir!" repeated Bob, "that motto will make a man of me yet, if I live up to it." "Did you ever hear of a person who became rich by it?" asked one of his brothers, who had followed him behind the house. "No, but still I believe it will work wonders." "Perhaps it will; but it don't seem to be working wonders just now. You have not caught a single fish to-day, and mother says that, if you don't earn thirty cents to-night, she will have to use part of your fifteen dollars." Thirty cents! That was a small amount to stand between Bob and his fortune, but it might as well have been as many dollars, for he had no idea that he should be able to secure a load of fifteen ship-carpenters that evening. He thought of his leaky scow, then of Sam Barton's fine boat, and wished that he was able to own one exactly like it. But wishing did no good. It would not bring him another boat, or change the Go Ahead into a handsome yawl, with cushioned seats; so Bob, after another glance at the letters under the eaves, dismissed all thoughts of Sam Barton and his boat, and turned his attention to bailing out his scow. In half an hour the boat had been emptied of the water, and wiped dry, after which the fisher-boy pushed off from the beach, and sculled toward the harbor. CHAPTER II. A LIBERAL PASSENGER. The fisher-boy's home, as we have said, was built upon the beach, and was but one of a dozen similar abodes, where dwelt as many boys, who, like Bob, earned their living by fishing and ferrying. They all made it a point to be in the harbor at half-past six in the morning, and at five in the evening; and, when Bob pushed off from the beach, he soon found himself in the midst of a small fleet of boats, of all sizes and descriptions, whose ragged crews were bent on the same mission as himself. These boys were mostly the sons of sailors and fishermen; some of them, like Bob, looking forward to the day when they should be the masters of fine vessels; while the majority, with no care for the morrow, were content to follow the occupations of their fathers, and were willing to remain fishermen all their lives. Bob was, perhaps, the poorest one among them, as fortunes were reckoned in Fishertown--which was the name given to that part of the village where the fishermen lived. Their boats constituted their only wealth, and a boy's fortune was measured by the size and condition of his craft. The boys were all good judges of boats, and there was not one among them who did not laugh whenever Bob made his appearance in the harbor. On the evening in question, when he came up with the little fleet, he was greeted with a chorus of shouts and yells that would have made most boys angry. "Here comes Bobby Jennings in his washing-tub!" shouted one of the ferry-boys, as Bob sculled slowly past him. "Clear the track!" Although the term "washing-tub" does not give one a very good idea of the appearance of the fisher-boy's scow, it was, perhaps, the most appropriate name that could have been applied to her, for she bore but very little resemblance to any thing in the shape of a boat that had ever been seen about the village. She was built of heavy planks, which Bob had picked up at the upper end of the harbor; and, having no plane with which to dress them down to an equal thickness, he had been obliged to use the boards as he found them; consequently, one side of the scow was heavier than the other; and this made her "tip" considerably, as if she was always on the point of capsizing. The fisher-boy had made an attempt to shape the stem and stern exactly alike, but, having nothing but a dull ax to work with, he had only succeeded in giving the Go Ahead a very homely model, for the bow was long and slanting, and the stern stood almost straight up and down in the water. Of the planks that formed the bottom, some were thick and others thin, and the joints were caulked with rags and bits of rope which Bob had picked up about the wharves. This unwieldy craft was propelled by an oar worked over the stern; and, although she made but poor headway under sail, she could be pushed through the water at an astonishing rate of speed, especially when the sight of a passenger on the wharf induced the fisher-boy to put forth all his power of muscle. "Yes, sir!" shouted another of the ferry-boys, "here comes Jennings and his lumber-yard!" "Well," said the fisher-boy, good-naturedly, "if you think you can beat this lumber-yard, this is a first-rate chance to try it." But the boy very wisely declined to accept the challenge. He had seen the Go Ahead make remarkably fast time, and he did not like to risk the disgrace of being beaten. As the boats were all moving along leisurely, Bob soon took the lead, and presently he rounded the pier, and entered the harbor. "Every body I meet has something to say about my boat!" said he to himself. "I don't wonder that the workmen refuse to patronize me, for she is a rough-looking craft, that's a fact. If I couldn't swim like a duck, I should almost be afraid to get into her myself; for she looks as if she was just about to turn over. The water that runs in through the bottom doesn't trouble me any, because I go barefooted; but, if I was rich, and could afford to wear fine boots, I believe I should hesitate about taking passage in a craft like this. I really begin to believe that it was more by good luck than good management, that I ever made a cent with her. I must think up a plan to get a new boat; now, that's settled." Bob sculled slowly to the middle of the harbor, where he stopped and sat down in his scow to wait for a passenger. A short distance from him was a steamer, which was just getting ready to start on her regular trip to Boston. The first bell had been rung, and the gang-plank was crowded with passengers who were hurrying on board, and with visitors, who were making haste to get ashore. As the fisher-boy sat watching the steamer, his oar idly dangling in the water, and his thoughts busy with the question which, for the last three months, had been uppermost in his mind, he happened to glance toward the opposite side of the harbor, and saw a gentleman walking uneasily up and down the wharf, stopping now and then to wave his hat, to attract the attention of some of the ferry-boys. "Yes, sir; comin', sir! Be there directly, sir!" shouted a voice behind the fisher-boy, which the latter knew belonged to Sam Barton. "I'm comin' like a steamboat, sir!" The words were hardly out of Sam's mouth, however, before he became aware that his old rival was ready to contest the ownership of the two cents' passage money, which the gentleman was waiting to pay to the boy who should carry him across the harbor; for Bob had jumped to his feet, and was sending his clumsy scow through the water at a rate of speed that soon left Sam behind. The latter, however, never once thought of giving up the race, for he was one who tried to profit by his experience. He had told the fisher-boy that he had learned that a nice, clean boat would go a long way toward securing custom, and he was in hopes that when the passenger on the wharf saw his fine yawl, drawn up along-side Bob's scow, he would do as others had done--take passage with him, and leave the fisher-boy to look elsewhere. This was a favorite trick of Sam's, and by it he gained a great deal of custom. "Jump in, sir!" said Bob, as he ran the Go Ahead along-side the wharf. "Out o' the way, there, Bobby Jennings!" shouted Sam. "Here comes the boat the gentleman's been a waitin' for. He wants cushions to set down on." But the man's actions indicated that he had not been waiting for Sam Barton, for, without a moment's hesitation, he sprang down into Bob's scow, exclaiming: "I'll give you a silver half-dollar if you will put me on board that steamer before she leaves the wharf. Do your best, now." The fisher-boy did not need any orders to "do his best," after his passenger had promised him a half dollar for putting him on board the steamer. He opened his eyes in astonishment at the mention of so large a reward, and so did Sam Barton, who wondered that the gentleman should choose a leaky, dirty craft, when he might just as well have had a clean, dry boat, with "cushions to set down on." Bob lost no time in pushing off from the wharf, and when he got fairly started, he sent the Go Ahead through the water in a way that made the ferry-boys wonder. But the harbor was wide, and when the fisher-boy was half way across, the steamer's bell rang for the second time. "Hurry up, boy!" said the passenger, nervously. "I must go out on that boat. Catch her, and I'll give you a dollar." Bob drew in a long breath, shook off his hat, and redoubled his exertions at the oar, and, to his delight, he succeeded in running under the stern of the steamer, and drawing up along-side the wharf, just as the last bell was ringing, and the order had been given to haul in the gang-plank. "Here you are, boy," exclaimed the passenger. "You are a capital oarsman, and the next time I come to Newport and want a ferry-boy, I shall remember you." As he spoke, he thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out some money, which he handed to Bob. "Hurrah for me!" said the fisher-boy, "my fortune is safe." Being deeply interested in the success of his passenger, he did not examine his fare, but stood with one hand holding the Go Ahead along-side the wharf, and the other clutching the two pieces of money. He saw the gentleman spring upon the gang-plank just as the sailors had begun to haul it in. Reaching the steamer in safety, he turned and gave Bob an approving nod, and then disappeared up the stairs that led to the deck. "He's all right," said the fisher-boy, wiping his forehead with his shirt sleeve, "and so am I. If I could get a passenger like that every day, it wouldn't be long before I would go to sea." Bob seated himself in the stern of his scow, panting hard after his long race, and jingled the money in his closed hand. He had not yet looked at it, but he knew that the gentleman had kept his promise, for he could feel the two half-dollars with his fingers. He had not owned a great deal of money of that description, and he did not think he could be deceived. "How much did he give you, Bobby?" inquired Sam Barton, pulling up along-side the scow. "A feller can't scare up a passenger like that every day, an' I'm sorry I didn't beat you in the race." "I am not," said Bob, "you don't know how much good this dollar will do me!" "A dollar!" exclaimed Sam. "Did he give you a whole dollar?" "Yes, sir, two silver half-dollars. See there!" said Bob, opening his hand. "Don't they look--" The fisher-boy suddenly paused, and gazed first at the money, and then at his companion, who stood with eyes and mouth open, the very picture of astonishment. Instead of two silver half-dollars, Bob held in his hand two twenty-dollar gold pieces. "Bobby Jennings!" exclaimed Sam, who was the first to recover from his surprise, "ain't me an' you the luckiest boys in Newport? I got a hundred dollars fur haulin' a feller out of the water, an' now you get forty dollars in gold, fur bringin' a passenger across the harbor. You can throw away that ar ole scow now, Bobby, an' buy my skiff. I'll sell her to you fur twenty dollars, an' any body who has seed her, will tell you that she's cheap at that. Is it a bargain?" The fisher-boy did not answer; indeed, he did not seem to be aware that Sam was speaking to him. He sat looking at the two bright pieces of gold, as if he had suddenly lost all power to turn his eyes from them. "I say, Bobby, is it a bargain?" repeated Sam. This question seemed to bring the fisher-boy to his senses. He hastily put the money into his pocket, shoved the Go Ahead from the wharf, and catching up his oar, he started in hot pursuit of the steamer, which was now moving slowly down the harbor. He very soon discovered, however, that it was useless to think of overtaking her, and seeing his passenger walking up and down the deck, he dropped his oar, and began to shout and swing his hat around his head to attract the man's attention. In this he was successful; for the passenger waved his hand in reply, as if he thought that Bob was congratulating him on reaching the steamer in time. "Hold on!" screamed the fisher-boy. "Come back here, sir! You have paid me too much!" and he pulled the money out of his pocket and held it up, as if he hoped that, even at that distance, the man could see and recognize it. But the latter evidently could not be made to understand, for he again waved his hand, and then resumed his walk; while Bob stood in his scow and watched the steamer as she rounded the pier, and shaped her course down the bay. Sam Barton had watched all these movements in surprise. When he saw that Bob was endeavoring to overtake the steamer, in order to return the money which his passenger had paid to him by mistake, he caught up his oar and followed after him, urging him to keep silent. If Bob heard him, he did not heed his advice, for not until he became convinced that it was impossible to catch the steamer, or to make the man understand him, did he cease to pull and shout with all his might. "Bobby Jennings, have you gone clean crazy?" demanded Sam, as he sculled up along-side the fisher-boy, who stood gazing after the steamer, as if he hoped she might yet come back, and give him an opportunity to return the gold pieces. "What do you want to give that ar money back fur?" "Why, it isn't mine," answered Bob. "It ain't your'n!" repeated Sam. "I'd like to know what's the reason. Didn't that feller give it to you with his own hands? In course he did; an' that's why it belongs to you." "But he made a mistake," said Bob. "That's his own lookout, an' not your'n," returned Sam. "Keep it, say nothin' to nobody, throw away that ar ole scow, an' buy my skiff. Then you'll be well fixed, an' can begin to make money. That feller will never miss it, 'cause when you see a man who carries twenty dollar gold-pieces loose in his pockets, these hard times, it's a sure sign that he knows where to get more when they are gone. Where be you goin'?" he added, as the fisher-boy got out his oar, and sculled away from the spot. "I am going home," was the answer. "I am going to give this money to mother, before I lose it." "Well, now, Bobby Jennings," exclaimed Sam, "if ever I see a feller who was clean crazy, I see one now. You'll always be a fisherman, you'll always live in a little shantee on the beach, an' you don't deserve nothin' better. The world owes you a livin', an' the easier you make it the smarter you be. You'll never have another chance like this." "I can't help that!" replied Bob. "I've always been honest, and I always intend to be." Sam could not stop longer to remonstrate, for he saw one of his "regular customers" standing on the wharf. He sculled off to attend to him, muttering to himself: "Never mind, Bobby Jennings! I want one of them gold pieces, an' I'm bound to get it." CHAPTER III. FISHERTOWN IN COUNCIL. It is very probable that the fisher-boy did not overhear Sam's threat; if he did he was not frightened from his purpose, for, true to his determination, he carried the money home, and gave it to his mother for safe keeping. "The gentleman told me that he would come back to Newport," said Bob, when he had related his story, "and that he would hunt me up when he wanted a ferry-boy; so I know that I shall have a chance to return the money to him. But I wish he hadn't made that mistake, mother. It will be six o'clock before I can get back to the wharf, and I am almost certain that I can't earn money enough to save my fifteen dollars. It is very hard to be poor." "Yes, it is hard, sometimes," replied his mother; "but dishonesty is worse than poverty." After the fisher-boy had seen the money put carefully away, he hurried back to his scow, and, pulled toward the harbor. When he arrived there, he found that most of the workmen had already been ferried across, and he secured only one solitary passenger, who, upon being placed safely upon the wharf, drew in a long breath and exclaimed: "I bless my lucky stars that I am on solid ground once more. A man had better take a few lessons in swimming, before he risks his life in a tub like that." Bob received his two cents' passage money without making any reply, and then sculled slowly toward the place where the ferry-boys had congregated, to count their cash, and compare notes. He was the most unfortunate one among them. Sam Barton was feeling very jubilant over a dollar and a half he had earned since morning; and the smallest boy in the harbor was proudly exhibiting forty cents to his admiring companions--the proceeds of his day's work. "How much have you got, Bobby?" called one of the boys. "I had only one passenger to-night," was the reply. "Serves you jest right!" exclaimed Sam Barton. "I sha'n't feel the least bit sorry fur you, if you never get another customer. A chap who will throw away such a chance as you had to-day, hadn't ought to make any money. He took a feller across the harbor," added Sam, turning to his companions, "an' got forty dollars in gold fur it. He might jest as well have kept the money as not; but he had to take it home and give it to his mother! Never mind, Bobby Jennings! I'll be even with you one of these days." "You'll be even with me!" repeated the fisher-boy. "What have I done to you?" "You had oughter give me one of them pieces of gold for my skiff," returned Sam; "but you didn't do it. I'll pay you off for that. I'll take every passenger away from you that I can." "I can't help that. The harbor is as free to you as it is to me." "If you'll buy my skiff," continued Sam, "I'll let you alone. If I see you goin' fur a customer, I won't trouble you." "I can't buy your boat, because I havn't got the money. Those gold pieces do not belong to me." "They do, too!" exclaimed Sam. "That's only an excuse of your'n for keepin' 'em. If you don't pay me twenty dollars fur my skiff, you sha'n't run any craft on this yere harbor." Bob was a good deal astonished at this declaration, but he made no reply, for Sam was a bully, and he did not wish to irritate him. As to running any boat besides Sam's skiff on the harbor, the fisher-boy thought he should do as he pleased about that, although he knew that, if his rival chose to do so, he could make him a great deal of trouble. If the forty dollars in gold had belonged to him, he would gladly have given half of it for the skiff; but the money had been paid to him by mistake, and he had no right to use it. "What do you say, Bobby Jennings?" demanded Sam, as he picked up his oar and sculled slowly away from the spot. "I'll give you one more chance, an' if you don't make a bargain with me, you'll always be sorry for it. I am listenin' with all the ears I've got." "Well, if you are," exclaimed the fisher-boy, springing up in his scow, and extending his hand toward Sam, as if to give more emphasis to his words, "you can hear me repeat what I have already said to you a half-a-dozen times, that I have no right to touch that money, and I'm not going to do it. I've always been honest, and I always intend to be; so, you'll have to look somewhere else for a customer. I hope I have spoken plainly enough this time." "All right," replied Sam. "If you ever git rich by actin' the dunce that ar way, jest let me know it. Let's go home, fellers." The fisher-boy did not feel called upon to make any reply to these remarks. He got out his oar and followed slowly after his companions, wondering how a boy could be so unreasonable as Sam had shown himself to be, and trying his best to determine what the bully would decide to do in the matter. Being well acquainted with him, Bob knew that he was not above doing a mean action, and he was afraid that, assisted by some of his particular friends, he might attempt to take revenge on him. Sam had every thing pretty much his own way in the harbor. Besides being a great fighting character, ready, at a moment's warning, to thrash any of the ferry-boys who acted contrary to his desires, he was an excellent oarsman, and any boy against whom he cherished a grudge found it up-hill work to make ferrying a paying business. On the other hand, his particular friends always secured plenty of customers. If Sam saw a passenger standing upon the wharf, instead of attending to his wants himself, he would say to one of his companions: "There's a chance fur you to make some money. Be lively, now, an' I'll see that nobody troubles, you;" and in this way, when the bully felt particularly good-natured and generous, he could put coppers into the pockets of any of the ferry-boys. Bob Jennings very seldom received any such favors at Sam's hands. Indeed, from some cause or another, he was not a favorite in Fishertown. The ferry-boys, as a general thing, were a "hard set," and Bob's feelings and aspirations were so different from theirs, that he did not care to associate with them any more than was necessary. This led the ferry-boys to believe that he thought himself better than they were--that he was very much "stuck-up," and that he needed "bringing down a peg or two." More than that, the fisher-boy did not believe in the principles which Sam pumped into him at every possible opportunity. He had had several stormy debates with the bully, on these points, and he had always been beaten. Sam could talk faster than Bob, and, besides, he always had ready an unanswerable argument. "Bobby Jennings," the bully would say, "look at you, an' then look at me. You believe that a feller hadn't oughter take any thing that he don't make by hard work, while I say that he had oughter use his wits, an' make his livin' the easiest way he can; an' the easier he makes it, the smarter he is. Now, who's the best off in the world? You've got only that leaky ole scow, that I wouldn't give fifteen cents fur, an' I own this yawl, which is painted up nice, and furnished with cushions fur my passengers to set down on. It's worth every cent of sixty dollars. Then I've got a skiff worth twenty dollars more. Now, who's the richest man? I am, in course; an' that's what comes of bein' sharp." The fisher-boy did not know how to answer this argument, but still his faith in the old saying, which he had so often heard repeated by his mother--that "Honesty is the best policy"--was not shaken. He knew that, with Sam, being "sharp" meant being dishonest. It meant slipping around in a boat, of a dark night, and picking up any little thing that happened to be lying on the wharf, such as lumber, pieces of cordage, bits of iron, and even articles of freight, if any were exposed. That was what Sam meant by "being sharp;" but Bob, who had been taught to call things by their right names, pronounced it stealing. This, of course, made the bully very angry, and it was one reason why he so cordially disliked the fisher-boy. The latter, however, could get along very well without any assistance from Sam Barton. He had established a reputation, and he determined to render himself worthy of it. If he told one of his customers that a fish weighed five pounds exactly, and that it was fresh, the man never stopped to inquire: "Are you sure that you are not trying to cheat me, now?" but paid his money, took his fish, and went away satisfied. If there was any thing Bob was proud of, besides his skill as an oarsman, it was this reputation for honesty. His companions might make sport of his boat, or call him a ragamuffin, and he would bear it all good-naturedly, but let one of them hint that he was a poor boatman, or that he was not as honest as he ought to be, and the fisher-boy was aroused in an instant. This was the reason he had spoken so sharply to Sam, when the latter proposed that Bob should buy his skiff. He was angry; and he was troubled, too--not by the threats the bully had made, but by the thought that Sam Barton, or any one else, should, for an instant, have believed him mean enough to make use of the money which had come into his possession by accident. "No, sir," said Bob to himself, "I won't do it. My motto hits this case exactly; and I'll stick to it, if I never get a better boat than this old scow." Sam Barton was troubled also; but his feelings were very different from Bob's. He was angry with the fisher-boy because he had refused to give him one of the twenty-dollar gold pieces for his skiff, and, having promised to "get even" with him, he was thinking how he should go to work to put his threat into execution. By the time he reached home, he had decided upon a course of action, and when he had run the bow of his yawl upon the beach, and the fisher-boy had passed on out of hearing, he intimated to his companions that he had something very important to say to them. As soon as their boats had been secured, the ferry-boys gathered about their leader and waited for him to speak. They were a rough-looking set of fellows--ragged and dirty, barefooted and sunburned--and if Bob could have seen them at that moment, it might have induced the belief that Sam was really in earnest when he threatened to be revenged upon him. "That ar Bobby Jennings has played me a mean trick," said the bully, "an' I jest aint a-goin' to stand it: he's goin' to give back them gold pieces as soon as he sees that man ag'in, when he knows all the while that I want to sell him my skiff. Now, aint that a mean trick, boys?" "In course!" answered all the boys at once; but it is difficult to see how they reached this conclusion, unless it was because they were afraid of Sam. "So do I call it a mean trick," continued the latter, shaking his fists in the air, and growing angrier every moment. "I say that ar Bobby Jennings is the meanest feller on this ere beach. He's so stuck up that he won't go round with us of nights, an' we aint a-goin' to let no feller stay here who thinks himself better than we be. We're goin' to run him away from here, now; we'll make Fishertown too hot to hold him." "How will we do it?" asked one of the boys. "Easy enough. In the first place, I want all you fellers to watch him, an' take every passenger, away from him that you can. Don't let him take a man across the harbor from this time on. In the next place, that ole scow of his'n is the only thing he's got to make a livin' with, an' some dark night we'll slip up to his shantee, run her out into the bay, an' sink her." "Then he'll get another, somewhere." "That's jest what I want him to do. Can't you see through a ladder? He can't live without a boat, no more'n he could live without his head, and when he finds that his ole scow is gone, mebbe he'll buy my skiff. If he does, we'll let him alone. Remember, now: watch him close, an' take all his passengers." Sam, having nothing further to say just then, dismissed his companions, who walked off threatening vengeance against the fisher-boy. CHAPTER IV. TOM NEWCOMBE'S PLAN. When Bob arrived within sight of his home, he saw a boy standing on the beach waiting for him. It was none other than our old acquaintance Tom Newcombe, who, as it afterward proved, had found "another idea," and had come down to reveal it to the fisher-boy, and to ask his assistance in carrying it out. Tom had remained at the military academy until the close of the term; not because he wished to do so, but for the reason that he could not help himself, and was not given another opportunity to take "French leave." During these five months he had not improved in any particular. On the contrary, he seemed to have gone down hill very rapidly in the estimation of his companions, for, when he came out of the academy, he found, to his astonishment and indignation, that every one of his friends had deserted him; that the organization of which he had so long been the honored chief had ceased to exist, and that another society had been formed, with new signs and passwords. The office of grand commander of the council had been abolished, and when Tom made application to join the new society, he was rejected without ceremony. The reason for this was, that when questioned during the court-martial that had been held at the academy, the grand commander, forgetting all the solemn promises he had made not to reveal any of the society's secrets, had exposed every thing, and thus broken up the organization of Night-hawks. This fact had come to the ears of the village boys, and they were very angry about it. "Why did you answer them, Tom?" asked Johnny Harding, indignantly. "You have broken up the best society that ever existed in this village!" "O, now, I couldn't help it," drawled Tom. (He still held to his old, lazy way of talking.) "If I hadn't answered them, the colonel would have shut me up in the guard-house, and fed me on bread and water." "That makes no difference," said Johnny. "I would have stayed in the guard-house until I was gray-headed, before I would have broken my promises." "Then some one else would have told him," whined Tom. "There were thirteen other fellows up before the court-martial." "That makes no difference either. Your business was to hold your tongue, but you didn't do it. You can't be trusted, Newcombe, that's easy enough to be seen, and for that reason, it would not be safe for us to admit you into our new society. We don't want traitors among us." Tom urged and plead in vain. The boys were firm in their determination that the rules should not be suspended, even in the case of the son of the richest man in Newport, and the grand commander finally left them in disgust, mentally resolving that he would never speak to them again as long as he lived. "I'll study up a plan to fix them for that," said he, to himself. "The first thing those fellows know, I'll start a society of my own; and every time I catch one of them in my end of the village, I'll see that he don't get off without a good beating." Tom had so long been allowed to hold prominent positions among his companions, that the idea that they could get along without him had never once entered his head. He believed that in a few days the boys would see how necessary he was to them, and that then they would think better of their decision, receive him into their new society, and bestow upon him an office equal in rank to the one he had held among the Night-hawks. "Suppose they should want to make 'Squire Thompson another present," soliloquized Tom, "who would pull the wagon out of the barn-yard, and go into the pasture to catch the horse? Or, what if some of them should take it into their heads to go to sea on their own hook! Is there one among them who could manage affairs as nicely as I did, when we academy fellows run away in the Swallow? I was the strongest and bravest boy in that society, and we'll see how they will get along without me. They will be after me in a few days." But, contrary to his expectations, two weeks had passed away without bringing any overtures from the boys, and during this time Tom had been as miserable as can well be imagined. When he left the academy, his father had taken him into the office, so that he might have him always under his eye; and, at first, this arrangement had pleased Tom exceedingly. He was free from the strict discipline of the military school; there was no orderly sergeant to keep an eye on all his movements; no boy officers to trouble him; no teacher to scold him for inattention to his duties; and during his first day's experience in the office, Tom thought it was just the place for him. He suddenly took it into his head that he would like to be a commission merchant. He resolved that he would pay strict attention to his work, so that in a few weeks he would be promoted to book-keeper. Then his troubles would all be over. He would have nothing to do but stand at his desk all day, and that was the easiest work in the world. At the end of the second day, however, Tom began to take less interest in his duties, and before a week had passed away, he had become thoroughly disgusted with his situation. He heartily wished himself at the military academy, at sea, on a farm with Mr. Hayes and his big boys--in fact, anywhere in the world, rather than in his father's office. He was obliged to build fires and run errands--two things that he did not like to do. Tom thought he could not live long if he was required to do such work, and he straightway came to the determination to get out of the office as soon as possible. In order to accomplish his object, it was necessary that he should decide upon some other business; and he finally resolved to try his hand at trading again. The question then arose, How should he get a suitable vessel? He intended to go into business on a grand scale this time, and he wanted a boat exactly like the Swallow, which would cost him two or three hundred dollars. Then he would want at least a hundred dollars more to invest in produce. Tom knew that it would take him a long time to save so much money, for his wages amounted to only five dollars a week, and the forty-eight dollars he had earned by his voyage in the Savannah had slipped through his fingers, one by one, until he had not a cent remaining. But he had thought the matter over thoroughly, and he had come to the conclusion that if he only "kept his eyes open," he could make money besides his wages. Tom was busy for several days turning this matter over in his mind, and so completely wrapped up was he in his financial schemes that he had no time to waste in studying up a plan to revenge himself on the Night-hawks, and but very little to devote to his duties in the office. To the no small astonishment of his father, he spent the greater portion of each day in poring over the columns of newspapers; and so interested did he appear to be in them, that the merchant began to be encouraged. But Tom was not looking for news; he was reading the advertisements; and one day he was seen to cut out a piece of a newspaper and put it carefully away in his pocket. What it was no one knew or cared to ask; but all the clerks in the office noticed that, from that day, Tom was one of the happiest fellows they had ever seen. The secret was, he imagined that he had at last discovered the very thing he had been looking for so long--the road to fortune. It was something that has deceived more than one grown person, but still a sensible boy of fifteen ought not to have paid any attention to it. But then, Tom was different from almost any body else, and those who were acquainted with him were not surprised at any thing he did. It gave him something to think about, and when he had got his plans all matured he paid a visit to Fishertown, for the purpose of laying the matter before Bob Jennings. "Now, then," he exclaimed, as the fisher-boy ran the bow of his scow upon the beach, "come ashore, quick. I've got something to tell you that will make you open your eyes." "What is it?" asked Bob. "Well, you come with me, and I'll tell you. It's too good for every body to hear." Bob made the Go Ahead fast to the wharf and followed Tom, who walked down the beach until he was certain that there was no possible chance of his being overheard, when he stopped, and said in a whisper: "Bob Jennings, our fortune's made." "Our fortune!" echoed the fisher-boy. "Don't talk so loud! Yes, sir, _our_ fortune--yours and mine. I came down here to-night to see if I could engage you to ship as first mate of the Storm King." "The Storm King!" repeated Bob. "What boat is that? I have never heard of her before." "I know you haven't," said Tom, mysteriously, "but you'll hear a great deal about her before you are many weeks older: you'll hear that she is the prettiest little vessel that ever sailed out of Newport harbor, and that she can beat any thing in the shape of a sloop that was ever put together. It is the name of a vessel I am going to build in less than a month. She is to be exactly the size and model of the Swallow, only I shall have her cabin fitted up more expensively. Can I engage you, Bob? I'll give you a dollar a day." The fisher-boy hardly knew what reply to make to this proposition, for he was, at first, inclined to believe that Tom had got another wild scheme into his head, which would end in smoke, like all the rest of his bright ideas. But the latter seemed to understand his subject so well, and spoke with such confidence, that, after reflecting a little, Bob began to think that perhaps Mr. Newcombe had promised to assist his son in carrying out his new plan. "Are you sure that you are going to get this boat?" inquired the fisher-boy. "I am just as certain of it as I am that I am now standing on this beach," replied Tom, emphatically. "I know as well as you do, Bob, that a good many of my calculations have been knocked in the head, but this one can't fail. I know I have hit the right thing at last; all I ask is a little assistance from you." "Is your father going to give you the vessel?" "Ah, that's the best part of the whole business! No, sir! he's not going to give me the boat. I'm not going to him for a red cent. I know right where I can get more money than I would dare ask him for. Just look here!" As Tom said this, he pulled out his pocket-book, and after glancing up and down the beach, to make sure that no one was observing his movements, he produced a piece of paper and handed it to the fisher-boy. It proved to be a newspaper advertisement, and read as follows: "For a Fortune, write to "E. H. HARRIS & CO., "_Baltimore, Md._" Bob read these mysterious words over several times, but failed to understand them. "I don't exactly see through it," said he. "Don't you?" exclaimed Tom. "Well, I do. It's simple enough: it means that if you want to make a rich man of yourself, all you have to do is to write to those gentlemen in Baltimore. I answered their advertisement, and see here what they sent me in reply." Tom again looked up and down the beach--for he was very much afraid that some one might approach them unobserved, and thus gain a knowledge of his secret--and then produced a letter from his pocket-book. It must have contained some very valuable information, for, as he slowly unfolded it, he became so excited that he could scarcely stand still. "Just think of it, Bob!" he exclaimed, in a suppressed whisper: "here we are, two boys, only fifteen years' old, and rich already. We have made it all ourselves, too." "_We!_" repeated the fisher-boy, in surprise. "Am I rich?" "Of course you are! You'll bear half the expenses, and I'll divide the profits with you." Bob shook his head. "If there are any expenses about it," said he, "you might as well count me out. Fifteen dollars are all I have in the world. I've worked hard for that, and I can't spend it foolishly." "Now, just look here, Bob!" said Tom, placing his hands behind him, and turning his head on one side, as he had often seen his father do when arguing with a person, "who asked you to spend your money foolishly? You'll never make a business man in the world, if you act this way. You have never worked in a commission office, but I have, and I ought to know something. If you were certain that, by investing five of your fifteen dollars, you could make--make--let me see! A half of five thousand is how much?" "Twenty-five hundred," said Bob. "Well, if you knew that, by risking five dollars, you could make two thousand five hundred in less than two weeks, would you hesitate to do it?" "No, I wouldn't, if it was honest." "O, it's perfectly honest! In this letter I am promised five thousand dollars, if I will assist these men in Baltimore in extending their business. Listen to this:" and Tom straightened himself up and read as follows: "'Our doubts are traitors, And make us lose the good we oft would win, By fearing to attempt.'" "That means," he added, seeing that the fisher-boy did not quite understand it, "that we ought not to pay any attention to our doubts; that if we don't risk any thing, we certainly will never gain any thing. I have often heard my father say so, and it's my opinion exactly. Now here's what they say in the letter. Listen with all your ears, Bob, for it will astonish you:" [CONFIDENTIAL.] BALTIMORE, MD., May 31, 18--. DEAR SIR: Being desirous of increasing our business in your part of the country, we have decided that you are a proper person to act as our agent. We are the managers of the Maryland Lottery--an institution known all over the United States and Europe as being the most reliable one in existence. It is authorized by the State, and incorporated by special act of Congress, and its patrons are to be found in every civilized country on the globe. Of course, with such an immense business, we require a multitude of agents, and, in order to secure your services, we make you the following proposition: On receipt of ten dollars, we will send you a package of tickets, which we will guarantee to draw one of the capital prizes in our splendid scheme. When you remit the money, please state whether or not you are willing to act as our agent, and we will send you the tickets by return mail. When you receive the prize, all we ask of you is to show it to your friends and acquaintances, and tell them that you drew it at our office. We will select the lucky package for you, and we faithfully promise you that, if it does not draw a prize of FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS, over and above all expenses, we will give you a package of tickets in one of our magnificent special lotteries for nothing. We can afford to make you this generous offer, because we shall all gain by it: you will be benefited by receiving a nice little fortune, while our business will be greatly increased by the extra amount of orders for tickets which we shall expect to receive from your neighborhood. We venture the assertion that this is the best offer you ever received, and that you will never have another like it as long as you live. Remember that "There is a tide in the affairs of men Which, if taken at the flood, Leads on to fortune." We have made it a rule never to take notice of any communications, unless the necessary amount is inclosed; so send on the ten dollars, and we will forward you the tickets at once. Bear in mind that this offer is made to you confidentially. Your friends and well-wishers, E. H. HARRIS & CO. "There!" exclaimed Tom, when he had finished reading this precious document, "isn't that a splendid offer?" Now, Bob had never heard of a lottery before, and he did not know that there are men in the world who, being too lazy to work for a living, find employment in sending letters of this description all over the country, without the least intention of answering any they receive in reply. He did not know that this "honest business" was a swindle, and that his friend Tom was not the first, and probably will not be the last, who has been deceived by just such "generous offers!" He had not yet learned that Tom carried bad luck with him wherever he went, and that any one who listened to his propositions was certain to get into trouble sooner or later. If he had known all these things, and had been able to look far enough into the future to see what would be the result of Tom's new idea, he would not have been long in deciding what answer to give him. To tell the truth, he was greatly interested in this splendid scheme; but he was quick-witted, and, after thinking the matter over for a moment, he exclaimed: "I'll tell you what to do! Suppose you write to those men, telling them to select the lucky package for you, and that if it draws a prize, they can keep their ten dollars out of it, and send you the remainder. In that way you will stand just as good a chance of drawing the five thousand dollars as you do now; and besides, you will not risk any of your own money." "O, now, that's no way to do business!" drawled Tom. "Don't you see that they have made it a rule never to take notice of any letters unless they contain money?" "They will not run any risk," replied Bob, "for the cash is in their own hands." "It's against their rules," said Tom, emphatically; "and even if it wasn't I would not ask them to do that, for it would look as though I was afraid to trust them. Don't you see what they say about 'our doubts being traitors?' Now, Bob, I want to know if you will go into this business with me? I've got just five dollars of my own, and if you will advance the rest I'll divide the profits with you. Besides, I'll give you a dollar a day to ship as mate of the Storm King." "I wouldn't want that job if I had twenty-five hundred dollars," said the fisher-boy; "I would go to sea in less than a week." "Well, that's another reason why you ought to give me five dollars to send on with mine. It will make a rich man of you, and you can begin the life of a sailor at once." "But if I use any of my money I want to buy a skiff with it. I need one badly." "O, go in debt for it," said Tom. "Go to Mr. Graves, the boat-builder, tell him that you want a nice little skiff, the finest one he has on hand, and that you will pay him for it in one month. You may safely do that, for in less than a week you will be rich enough to buy out his whole ship-yard." This was something entirely new to the fisher-boy. He had never thought of such a thing before, and, perhaps, the reason was because he had never dreamed that there was a single person in the village who would be willing to trust him. He saw in an instant--or rather, _imagined_ he saw--that if he could induce Mr. Graves to give him one of his fine skiffs on his promise to pay for it in one month, it would be an immense advantage to him. "There's no harm in it," said Tom, seeing that the fisher-boy hesitated. "It is done every day, right here in Newport, by our best business men. My father does it, so it can't be wrong." Bob thought so too. Mr. Newcombe was a great man in his estimation, and he might safely follow in his lead. The conversation continued for half an hour longer, Tom laboring faithfully to convince the fisher-boy that, if he assisted him in his grand scheme, he would be rich in a very short space of time, and he finally carried his point; for Bob was deeply impressed, more by Tom's eloquence than by any thing else, and he promised to think the matter over, and to be ready with his answer on the following evening. Tom, as usual, was impatient to begin operations at once; but he was afraid to urge the matter, and he finally took leave of the fisher-boy, after obliging him to promise, over and over again, that he would keep all that had passed between them a profound secret. CHAPTER V. SAM BARTON'S REVENGE. The fisher-boy slept very little that night. He was thinking of Tom's new plan, and the more he turned the matter over in his mind, the nearer he came to a determination to give a favorable answer on the following evening. He was deeply interested in the lottery, and remembering how confidently Tom had spoken of his success, he could not help giving full sway to his fancy, and picturing to himself a host of pleasant things that would happen when he should come into possession of his share of the prize. In the first place, their humble cabin on the beach could be exchanged for a nice little cottage in a more respectable part of the village; he could turn the Go Ahead adrift in the harbor, and buy a nice little schooner, like the one he had met on his voyage home from his fishing-grounds; he and his brothers could throw away their ragged clothes, and dress as well as any boys in the village; and, after all these things had been done, there would still be enough left to support the family in fine style while he was at sea. For the first time in his life, Bob's imagination ran wild with him, and he became so excited that he could not lie still. There was only one obstacle in his way that he could discover, but that was one that could not be easily got over. He had always been in the habit of giving every cent he earned to his mother for safe keeping, and he did not know how to go to work to get the five dollars to invest in the lottery. If he asked his mother for the money, she would, no doubt, want to know what use he intended to make of it; and that was a question that Bob would not have cared to answer. This ought to have been sufficient to convince him that Tom's scheme was not altogether right, and that he ought to have nothing whatever to do with it. But the fisher-boy did not think of that. He had been carried away by Tom's arguments, and it was very easy for him to believe that, even if he was obliged to make use of a little deception in order to secure his twenty-five hundred dollars, there would be no harm in it. Bob arose the next morning at six o'clock, unrefreshed, and as sleepy as when he went to bed the night before. After a hasty breakfast he started for the harbor, and taking up a position opposite to his pier, he sat down in his boat to wait for a passenger. The Go Ahead was comparatively dry; for, during the previous evening, the fisher-boy had hauled her out upon the beach and carefully caulked all the seams and cracks, and he hoped that her improved appearance would enable him to secure one or two extra passengers. Of course Tom's scheme was still uppermost in his mind, and, as he sat in his scow thinking it over, he happened to cast his eye toward the upper end of the harbor, and saw Sam Barton and several of his particular friends in their boats, holding a consultation. Presently they separated and took up their positions near the middle of the harbor, Sam and two other good oarsmen stationing themselves near the fisher-boy. Bob understood the meaning of all these movements, for he had often seen the same thing done before, when Sam happened to get into a quarrel with any of the ferry-boys. He knew that if he wished to earn any money that morning he must work hard for it; for it was the bully's intention to prevent him from taking any passengers across the harbor. The fisher-boy, however, was not at all alarmed. Pulling off his hat, he put it carefully away under one of the thwarts, rolled up his sleeves, and standing up in his boat, kept a firm hold of his oar. "You're goin' to fight for it, are you, Bobby Jennings?" asked Sam, who had observed all these movements. "Better look out!" "I am looking out," replied the fisher-boy. "I am keeping my eyes open for passengers, and I'm going to get as many as I can. You may depend upon that." "Well, I'll bet you a dollar that all the customers you'll get this mornin' won't make you rich," returned Sam. "An' now look a-here, Bobby Jennings! we've seed you in this harbor often enough; we don't want you here; and, if you would get out of Fishertown by sunset, you would make us mighty glad----Yes, sir; comin', sir!" But Sam, as usual, was just a minute too late. As was generally the case, Bob's scow made good her name, for she went ahead of the bully's fine yawl very easily; and then began a most exciting race, which was witnessed by three men who were waiting to be carried across the harbor. In obedience to the instructions they had received the evening before, every ferry-boy who believed he stood the least chance of reaching the wharf first started for the passengers, each of them intent on "cutting out that ar Bobby Jennings." A single glance showed the fisher-boy the state of affairs, and, although his chances for winning were very poor indeed, as some of the boats were nearer to the wharf than his own, he bent to his oar with the determination to beat them all, and to show the bully and his friends that, if they intended to drive him off the harbor by taking his passengers away from him, they had something of a task before them. The majority of the boats were very soon overtaken and left behind, and then the contest was between Bob and his old rival. Both had resolved to win, and the men who were standing upon the wharf began to get excited. "Half a dollar to the boy who reaches the wharf first!" shouted one of them, putting his hand into his pocket. "Give way strong, you little fellow in that clumsy scow." Bob heard the words of encouragement, and from that moment he believed the race was his. The men on the wharf sympathized with him, and wanted him to win, and he was bound to do it. It was of no use for Sam to redouble his efforts, for the Go Ahead left him behind so rapidly that it seemed as if the fisher-boy had only been playing with him thus far, and was now going to show him how badly he could beat him. He did not reach the wharf until Bob was about to shove off with his passengers, and then he came up with his usual cry: "Here's the boat you've been a-waitin fur; you want cushions to set down on." "No, we don't," replied one of the men; "we're goin' to take passage with the best oarsman in the harbor. Clear the track with that old tub of yours! Here's your half a dollar, boy," he added, handing the money to Bob, and patting him on the back. Before the fisher-boy put his fare into his pocket, he could not help holding it up to the view of Sam and the rest of his rivals, who stood up in their boats wiping their faces and foaming with rage. Sam made no remark, but he shook his head threateningly, and Bob knew that the matter was far from being settled. This did not trouble him, however, for he was an independent sort of a fellow, and the bully was a boy whose friendship he cared nothing about. Besides, he thought that, if Sam was foolish enough to get angry because he had been beaten in a fair race, he might take his own time to get pleased again. The fisher-boy landed his passengers safely upon the opposite wharf, and, as he pulled toward the middle of the harbor again, he saw that Sam and his friends were holding another consultation. The bully was shaking his fists in the air and talking loudly, and Bob was almost certain that they would change their tactics, and attempt to gratify their revenge by giving him a good beating, and treating him to a bath in the harbor. "I shall call it a mean trick, if they try to thrash me," said Bob, pulling his oar out of the water and balancing it in his hand. "This piece of hickory is pretty tough, and, if they pitch into me, I think they will find that I am about as hard to whip as any boy they have got hold of lately." The fisher-boy, knowing that he had as much right in the harbor as any one, had determined to stand his ground as long as possible; but, with all his courage and confidence in his ability to beat his rivals at their own game, he could not help feeling a little anxiety when he thought what might be the result of this second council of war. He was very much relieved to see that, when the meeting broke up, they did not advance toward him in a body, as he had expected they would, but quietly took up their stations as before. At length, half a dozen ship-carpenters appeared upon the wharf, and, in an instant, the ferry-boats were in motion. In spite of all they could do to prevent it, Bob again took the lead, and a short distance behind him came Sam Barton, shaking his head and muttering to himself, and moving his oar viciously about in the water, as if he had determined to vent all his spite upon it. Bob reached the wharf first, and, flushed with excitement, and proud of his second triumph over the bully, turned to look at Sam. He saw the latter give one glance over his shoulder, and then come on like the wind--the sharp bow of his heavy yawl cutting the water like a knife. In an instant, Bob's exultant smile gave way to a look of astonishment and alarm. "Hold on, there!" he shouted, with all the strength of his lungs; "you'll run me down!" "Out of the way, there, Bobby Jennings," yelled Sam, never once slackening his speed or turning from his course; "here comes the boat the gentlemen's seen." "Sheer off, there, Sam Barton!" shouted the fisher-boy again, seizing his oar and attempting to scull his boat out of the way. But it was too late; the yawl came on with all the speed the bully's practiced arms could give it, and, striking the scow fair in the side, it smashed in the planks as if they had been pipe-stems, and, before Bob could tell what was going on, he found himself floating about in the cold waters of the harbor. [Illustration: THE WRECK OF THE GO AHEAD. (Page 55.)] With an appearance of amazement that was well assumed, Sam, with one sweep of his oar, brought his yawl broadside to the wharf, and gazed at the wreck he had made; then, discovering the fisher-boy floating about in the water, he exclaimed: "Why, Bobby Jennings, is that you?" "I don't think there is any need of your asking that question," returned the fisher-boy, angrily; "I hope you are satisfied, now!" "Why, Bobby, I had no idea that I was so clost to you," said Sam, who could scarcely conceal his exultation from the men on the wharf. "Here! ketch hold of this oar, an' I'll haul you in." "I can take care of myself," was the reply. "Why, Bobby, may I be sunk in the harbor this very minute, if I"----. "That will do, Sam," exclaimed the fisher-boy, striking out for a vessel that lay along-side the wharf, a little distance off. "You need not talk to me; I know all about it." The bully, anxious to conceal the real facts of the case from the ship-carpenters, loudly protested that it was all an accident--that he was innocent of any intention to disable the scow--and he even followed Bob as he swam toward the vessel; but the latter would not listen to him; he knew that Sam had sunk his boat on purpose, and he did not wish to speak to him again, if he could avoid it. There was a staging moored along-side the vessel which had been placed there by some caulkers, who were then about to begin their day's work, and Bob crawled upon it, climbed up the ropes to the deck, and so reached the wharf. He walked to the spot where the collision had occurred, but nothing was to be seen of the Go Ahead. She had brought in her last load of fish, finished her work of carrying passengers across the harbor, and her wreck was at that moment lying beneath the waters which had so often been the scenes of her triumphs. Clumsy and leaky as she was, she had been of great service to the fisher-boy, and he felt her loss severely. He had built her himself, had sailed many a long mile in her up and down the bay, and it was no wonder that the tears started to his eyes when he gazed at the spot where she had disappeared. Sam Barton stood in his yawl, which lay at a little distance from the wharf, watching the movements of his discomfited rival, and, now that there was no one near to observe him, or to overhear what he had to say, he did not seem to be so very sorry for what he had done; on the contrary, he smiled grimly, and said, in an insulting tone: "What did I tell you, Bobby Jennings? Didn't I say that you shouldn't run no craft, except my skiff, in this ere harbor? I guess you won't go round beatin' fellers an' winnin' half-dollars now. If you want to make friends with me, you know where I live." So saying, the bully started off to hunt up a passenger, leaving the fisher-boy gazing thoughtfully down into the water. He had scarcely heard what Sam was saying, for he was trying to think up some plan for raising the Go Ahead. Wouldn't it be a glorious triumph for him if he could coax her to the surface of the water again, repair her, and take her back into the harbor to trouble Sam Barton and the rest of his rivals? If he only had a rope made fast to her, he could, with a little assistance, haul her upon the wharf; and he was confident that, in one day's time, he could fix her up as good as new. But, after thinking the matter over, Bob was forced to come to the conclusion that he might as well try to hit upon the best plan for pulling the earth up to the sun, for the one was, to him, almost as hard a feat to accomplish as the other. The water was much too deep for him to dive down with a rope; and, even if he had a line made fast to her, where could he raise force enough to hoist her upon the wharf? Certainly not among the ferry-boys, for they had all sided with Sam against him. Beyond a doubt, he had seen the last of the Go Ahead; and, as he came to this conclusion, the tears started to his eyes again, and he walked hastily away from the spot. CHAPTER VI. GOING IN DEBT. The fisher-boy would have been very different from most youngsters of his age, if he had not felt angry at Sam Barton for what he had done. He thought it was a cowardly way of taking revenge upon a rival, and if the bully had been upon the wharf at that moment, he might have discovered, to his cost, that Bob's muscles were very strong, and his fists very hard. But a boy who can be guilty of so mean a trick is never possessed of a great deal of courage, and Sam was wise enough to keep out of the fisher-boy's way. If Tom Newcombe could have been a witness of what had just taken place in the harbor, he would have been immensely delighted. It was a strong argument in his favor, and it went further toward gaining the fisher-boy's assistance in carrying out his plans, then any thing he could have said or done. It is true, that the loss of his boat did not compel Bob to invest in the lottery--indeed, he had once or twice almost decided that he would have nothing to do with it; that if any part of his fifteen dollars was used, it should go toward paying for a new skiff. He had several times been on the point of coming to the sensible conclusion that Tom's scheme was a humbug, and that if he ever hoped to become a rich man he must labor faithfully and save every cent of his money. But Bob had a hard lesson to learn. Before he was an hour older all these good resolutions were forgotten, and Tom had carried his point. It was all the result of the loss of the Go Ahead. As Sam Barton had told his companions the evening before, Bob could not live without a boat, and now the question that had been troubling him so long must be answered, and that very speedily. He might have built another scow--for there happened to be plenty of lumber floating about at the upper end of the harbor--but he was a very poor ship-carpenter, and by the time his craft could be completed, his fifteen dollars would all be gone. Besides, the boat would, no doubt, be quite as clumsy and leaky as the Go Ahead had been; and he knew, by experience, that with such a craft, he could not make ferrying a paying business. He must have a boat as good as any in the harbor, or he could not hope to secure custom. Such a one he could not build; he had no money to buy it, and his only alternative was to follow Tom's suggestion, and "go in debt for it." This was the conclusion Bob came to as he walked toward his home thinking the matter over; and, after a moment's hesitation, he turned and bent his steps toward Mr. Graves's ship-yard. He was now about to add a new chapter to his experience, and he hardly knew how to begin operations. He had never asked a man to credit him, and his first hard work must be to decide upon the words he ought to use to introduce his business with Mr. Graves. But his wits seemed to have wandered to the ends of the earth; for, when he reached the ship-yard, he was as badly puzzled as ever to know what he ought to say to the boat-builder. He glanced in at the gate and saw the proprietor of the yard walking about among his men, and in the bay beyond he saw a little fleet of skiffs, with any one of which he was certain he could very soon double his fortune. Bob stepped inside the gate, but there his courage failed him, and he turned and walked out again. For ten minutes he stood leaning against the fence, sometimes almost resolved to walk boldly into the yard and settle his business at once, but oftener on the point of starting for Fishertown as fast as his legs could carry him; and every one who passed him, turned and looked at his dripping garments, no doubt wondering why he did not go home and change them. But the truth of the matter was, Bob had no dry ones to put on. The clothes he had at that moment on his back were all he possessed in the world, and, just then, the probabilities were that, if he did not soon take some decided step he would never be any better off. The fisher-boy thought of this, and once more glancing in at the gate, he saw that Mr. Graves had left his workmen, and was walking toward his office. Now was his time, if ever. Drawing in a long breath, and calling all his courage to his aid, he entered the yard and approached the boat-builder, who stopped and looked at him in astonishment. "Why, Bob," said he, "have you been in swimming with your clothes on?" "Yes, sir," was the reply, "but I couldn't help it. Sam Barton sunk my boat for me." "He did! The young rascal! That boy is going to State's prison by the lightning express train. I wouldn't have any thing to do with him, Bob. You have no boat now, I suppose?" "No, sir," replied the fisher-boy, sorrowfully; and when he thought of the Go Ahead, he could not keep back his tears. "Never mind," said Mr. Graves, kindly, "you have not lost much." "I have lost a great deal, sir," replied Bob. "I can't live without a boat." "Of course you can't," said Mr. Graves, briskly. "You must get another. Now, perhaps I can sell you one of my nice little skiffs. They are very cheap, and warranted fast. Better take one of 'em, Bob, and then you can pay off Sam Barton by taking all his passengers away from him. Wouldn't that be glorious?" The boat-builder evidently became excited as he said this, for he punched Bob in the ribs with his fingers, and laughed so loudly that he was heard all over the ship-yard. "I'd like to have one of them," said the fisher-boy, "but I've got no money to pay for it now." "Ah!" said Mr. Graves, drawing back and stroking his whiskers--"that's bad--a person can't buy any thing without money; that's been my experience." As he said this, he looked out over the bay and began to whistle, as if he had nothing further to say on the subject. This greatly discouraged Bob, for he saw that Mr. Graves had suddenly lost all interest in his affairs. "He knows that I am going to ask him to trust me!" thought the fisher-boy, and he had hit the mark exactly. The boat-builder was like a great many other men; he could afford to offer his sympathy to any one in distress, because it did not cost him any thing. He had spoken so kindly to Bob, because he thought he had come there to buy one of his boats, and was ready to pay the money as soon as the bargain could be concluded; but when he learned that the fisher-boy's pockets were empty, his feelings changed instantly. If Bob could have paid the cash for his boat, he would have left the ship-yard firm in his belief that Mr. Graves was one of the kindest men in the world; as it was, he began to believe him to be the most hard-hearted. For a moment the fisher-boy stood looking down at the ground in great perplexity. He scarcely knew what to say next, but he finally decided that the best course he could pursue would be to state his business at once. He wanted it settled one way or the other, for he did not like to be kept in suspense. "Mr. Graves," said he, with a desperate effort, "I came here to ask you if you would sell me one of your skiffs on time. I'll pay you for it in three months." (He was at first going to say one month, as Tom had suggested; but what if the lottery scheme should fail? He did not believe that any such disappointment was in store for him, but still, it was best to be on the safe side). The fisher-boy was astonished at himself. He had not believed that he possessed the courage to ask the question he had just propounded, and the words had scarcely passed his lips before he was sorry that he had ever uttered them. He was certain that he had lowered himself in Mr. Graves's estimation, and that gentleman's conduct gave him reason for this belief. He opened his eyes in amazement, and looked the fisher-boy very hard in the face, as if he could hardly believe that he was in earnest. For the first time in his life, Bob had met a man he could not look fairly and squarely in the eye. He hung his head as if he had been guilty of a very mean action, and almost expected to hear the ship-builder order him out of the yard. He waited impatiently for his answer, but it was not given immediately, for Mr. Graves picked up a stick and began to whittle it with his knife, at the same time running his eye over his little fleet of skiffs with a sort of affectionate look, as if they stood very high in his estimation, and he was not willing to sell any of them "on time." At length, to the fisher-boy's immense relief, he threw away the stick, and asked: "How do I know that you will pay me at the end of three months?" "I promise you that I will work day and night to raise the money," answered Bob. "Besides, I will give you my note." Mr. Graves laughed loudly. "I am afraid your note would not be worth much," said he. "But I have always heard you spoken of as an honest, hard-working boy, and I am willing to give you a little assistance. Come with me!" Bob could scarcely credit his ears. He followed the boat-builder like one in a dream; and not until Mr. Graves stepped into a yawl and pushed off toward the spot where the skiffs were anchored, did he believe that it was all a reality, and that he was soon to be the owner of one of the finest boats in the harbor. "Now, then," said Mr. Graves, pulling up along-side one of the skiffs--"how will the Sea Gull suit you?" The boat in question was one of the most beautiful little things Bob had ever seen. She was painted white inside and out, her bow and stern were shaped alike, and both were as sharp as a knife. She was intended for a fast boat, and the name which was painted on her bows suited her exactly, for she sat on the water as lightly as a feather. "What is she worth?" asked the fisher-boy. "Twenty-five dollars," was the reply; "and that pays for a sail and a pair of strong oars." "Very well!" said Bob, who was so overjoyed and excited that he could scarcely stand still, "there is no need of looking any farther. I'll take her if you will paint out that name and give her another." "I'll do it," replied the boat-builder; "but I shall have to charge you an extra dollar for it." The fisher-boy had seen the time that this would have made him hesitate. Heretofore he had always looked upon a dollar as quite a respectable sum of money, and one well worth saving; but now, from some cause or other, it did not look so large in his eyes, and he was willing to pay it for having a new name painted on his boat. "All right," said he. "I want to call her the 'Go Ahead No. 2.' I'd like to have you get her ready as soon as possible, for I am in a hurry to get to work with her." "You shall have her to-night at five o'clock," said Mr. Graves, pushing the yawl toward the shore, "and I want you to go straight to the harbor and settle up with Sam Barton. Don't let him take a single passenger across if you can help it. But remember, Bob, I must have my money at the end of three months." "I promise you that it shall be ready for you," said the fisher-boy promptly, as if twenty-six dollars was a very insignificant sum of money in his estimation, and he could raise it at any moment. "I think, in fact I know, that I shall be able to pay you in four weeks from to-day." As Bob said this, he thought of the lottery. As soon as the yawl reached the shore the fisher-boy took leave of Mr. Graves, and left the ship-yard with a much lighter heart than he had brought into it. The question that had been troubling him so long was settled at last, and he was the owner of a boat that he believed to be far superior to any craft of the kind about the village. Although he did not feel any better natured toward Sam Barton, he could not help laughing when he thought how astonished the bully would be when he saw the rival whom he imagined he had so effectually disabled sail into the harbor in a boat as good, if not better, than his own. Bob did not believe that, reckless as he knew him to be, he would dare attempt the destruction of his skiff, for by such a proceeding he would render himself liable to prosecution before a court of law. The fisher-boy, however, was not yet acquainted with Sam Barton. The bully, when he had determined upon his course, always exhibited a great deal of resolution in carrying it out; and, having decided that Bob had lived in Fishertown long enough, it was not his intention to allow him a moment's peace until he had been driven out of the harbor, and compelled to take up his abode somewhere else. The result of this contest was doubtful. The fisher-boy was not wanting in courage, and when he became fairly aroused he was rather an unpleasant fellow to have about. He was very independent, he did not believe in privileged classes, and knowing that he had as much right in the harbor as any body, it was very likely that he would stand his ground as long as possible. Just at that moment he would not have been afraid of a dozen Sam Bartons. He had a nice boat, and he was satisfied. There was one thing, however, that marred his happiness, and that was the thought that perhaps his mother would not approve of what he had done. He had often heard her say that when a person was in debt he was in danger; but now, Bob thought differently. He did not see how he could get himself into trouble, simply because he had gone in debt for a boat worth twenty-six dollars. Even if the lottery scheme failed--an event which he now imagined to be impossible--he would have no difficulty in settling the note when it fell due, for, if fishing did not pay him, ferrying would; and, if business in the harbor should become dull, he would devote all his time to fishing. It is true he could remember that sometimes fishing and ferrying had both proved very unprofitable; but the reason was, because he had nothing but a clumsy old scow to work with; now the case would be different, because he was the owner of a splendid little skiff. In short, Bob really believed that the fish, which had refused to bite at his bait when it dangled over the side of his leaky scow, would be utterly unable to resist the temptation when his line was thrown from the stern of the Go Ahead No. 2. How he reached this conclusion was best known to himself. Perhaps it was because his conscience troubled him, and he was obliged to make use of all the arguments he could think of to quiet it. There was another matter, besides the payment of his debt, that weighed heavily on his mind, in spite of all he could do to prevent it. It intruded itself upon him with every step he made toward his home, and, although he tried to dismiss it with an impatient, "I know it will come out all right, and mother will never know the difference," he could not rid his mind of the thought, that, to say the least, he was about to be guilty of a very mean action. The nearer he got to Fishertown the slower he walked; but he reached his home at last, and his appearance without his boat caused a great commotion in the house. Without waiting to be questioned, the fisher-boy began his story. His brothers listened with looks of amazement and indignation, but Bob saw that his mother was troubled. She was, no doubt, wondering how the family was to be supported, now that the Go Ahead was gone. "O, it's all right," said Bob, cheerfully. "I've got another boat that can't be beaten by any thing about Newport. I'd like to see Sam Barton smash her!" "Where did you get your new boat?" asked his mother. "From Mr. Graves. She cost me twenty-six dollars, too." "How did you earn so much money?" "I haven't paid for her yet," replied the fisher-boy. "I am to settle with Mr. Graves in ninety days. He said that I was an honest, hard-working boy, and he would give me a lift." Bob did not like to see that troubled look on his mother's face, and he was in hopes that this announcement would drive it away; but, contrary to his expectations, it seemed to increase it. "I am glad that Mr. Graves has so good an opinion of you," said his mother; "and I don't want you to lose it. For that reason, I am very sorry that you went in debt to him. Suppose you are not able to pay for your boat at the end of three months?" "Now, mother," said Bob, "there's no need of supposing any thing of the kind. I'll work night and day, and I know that, with that nice boat I can earn twenty-six dollars in less than ninety days. If I can't, I had better shut up shop. I tell you, mother, it isn't every ferry-boy that can go to Mr. Graves and get trusted for a skiff. I've got a good reputation, and I mean to keep it. And I'll tell you another thing," he added, mysteriously, "we are not going to live in this tumble-down shantee much longer. In a very short time we'll be living in a nice little house in the upper end of the village, among respectable people, these two youngsters will be going to school, and I shall be at sea, leaving behind me more than money enough to support you while I am gone. What do you think of that?" (Tom Newcombe's ideas were gaining ground rapidly.) Bob's mother did not know what to think of it. She had never listened to such a speech before, and she could not imagine what had got into Bob to raise his spirits so wonderfully. However, she did not give that much thought, for she could not forget the debt of twenty-six dollars, which must be paid before they could leave Fishertown and take up their abode in a "nice little house in the upper end of the village." But she said nothing more in regard to it, thinking, no doubt, that as the mischief had been done, the less said about it the better. Besides, she had almost unlimited confidence in Bob, and, knowing that he possessed a great deal of energy, and was not easily discouraged, she hoped that he might, after all, succeed in raising the money by the time agreed upon. If she had any fears on the subject, she kept them to herself. The fisher-boy brightened up when he saw that his mother was not disposed to find fault with him for what he had done, but his face instantly clouded up again when he thought of something very disagreeable he had yet to perform. His mother noticed it, and asked him what was the matter. "Nothing much!" replied Bob, "only you don't seem to be very glad that I have got a new boat." "I should be delighted if it was paid for," said his mother. "Well," said the fisher-boy, putting his hand into his pocket and pulling out the money he had earned that morning, "if I pay some on it now, I won't have so much to pay by and by. You can spare five dollars, can't you?" His mother replied that he could have the money if he wanted it, and taking her purse out of her pocket she began to count out the bills. She noticed that her son was very uneasy, that he could not stand still, but kept walking backward and forward over the floor; and if she had looked at him, she would have been astonished to see that his face was very red, and that he looked as if he had been caught in doing something which he knew to be wrong. Bob did indeed feel like a criminal; but he took the bills his mother handed him, and thrusting them into his pocket, he hastily left the house, leaving his mother to suppose that he was going to give them to Mr. Graves. Whether or not he did so, remains to be seen. CHAPTER VII. TOM ORDERS A NEW BOAT. For the first time in his life, Bob had deceived his mother, and, as may be imagined, he did not feel very happy over it. His first thought was to get as far away from her as possible; and with this determination he bent his steps toward the wharf, where he sat down to think the matter over. He had never been taught to measure every act of his life by a moral standard, but, heretofore, when any thing had been proposed to him, he had always asked himself the question: Is it honorable and manly, or is it mean and cowardly? This test was applied to the matter in hand, and Bob was, of course, compelled to decide that he had been guilty of an act with which he would not like to have every one in the world acquainted. He knew that he ought to pay the five dollars to Mr. Graves, or, what would have been still better, take it back to his mother, make a clean breast of the whole matter, and be governed by her advice. Once he even got up from the coil of rope on which he was sitting, and started off as if he had resolved to follow this course of conduct; but he had made scarcely half a dozen steps before some of Tom's arguments flashed through his mind. He stopped, hesitated, and finally returned to his seat. We believe that all boys are more or less inclined to build air-castles. They love to go off alone where there will be no one to disturb them, and spend hour after hour picturing to themselves innumerable pleasant things that will be sure to happen if some of their pet schemes can only be carried out. Some boys keep these dreamings to themselves, while others, like Tom Newcombe, can not rest easy until they have communicated them to some of their particular friends; and when there is one such boy in a neighborhood he sometimes does a great deal of mischief. Tom, for instance, had completely upset the fisher-boy. We know what good resolutions Bob made while he was sailing home from his fishing-grounds, on the previous day, and, no doubt, he would have held to them, if he could have avoided that unfortunate interview with Tom Newcombe. But he had listened to his arguments, been carried away by his eloquence, doubted at first, then believed, and finally ended by becoming as certain of success as was Tom himself. This led him to take two steps in the wrong direction. He had gone in debt for a boat, when he knew all the time that his mother would not approve of it, and then, by leading her to believe that he wanted to pay part of the money down, he had got the five dollars to invest in the lottery. It was no wonder his conscience troubled him. It kept him in a very unpleasant frame of mind, and the arguments he made use of to pacify it ought to have made him ashamed of himself. "I didn't tell mother that I was honestly and truly going to pay this money to Mr. Graves," said the fisher-boy to himself. "I only said that _if_ I paid some on the boat now, I wouldn't have so much to pay by and by. Wasn't that the truth? Of course it was. I never told a lie in my life, and I never will. I'm in a bad fix," he added, rising to his feet, and walking up and down the wharf, "and this is the only way I can see to get out of it. I must save fifty-six dollars before I can go to sea--twenty-six to pay for my boat, and thirty to support the family while I am gone; and, at the rate I have been making money for the last year, I never will be able to lay by half that sum. I'll have to be a fisherman as long as I live, if I can't find other ways to make something. Now, here's a chance for me to get rich; and wouldn't I be foolish to throw it away? If it fails--but Tom says it can't, and I believe it--I shall be only five dollars out of pocket, and not much worse off than I am now. If it succeeds, and I get half of the five thousand dollars, what can I not do with it? I'll pay for my boat at once; then I'll buy mother a nice house; I'll get some good clothes for myself; I'll send my brothers to school--perhaps the military academy would be the best place for them--then I'll be off to sea. I'll do it; that's settled. I'll find Tom and give him this money before I am five minutes older." Without stopping to reconsider the matter, the fisher-boy started on a keen run down the wharf, and presently found himself at the door of Mr. Newcombe's office. Tom was seated in his father's arm-chair, his feet upon the desk, a newspaper in his hand, and a pen behind his ear. He happened to be looking out the door as Bob came up, and throwing down his paper, he hurried out to meet him. "Let's hear what you've got to say!" said he, in a whisper. "Yes or no!" "Yes," replied the fisher-boy. "Here's the money." "Hurrah for you," exclaimed Tom, as he took the bills. "Our fortune's made, sure enough;" and catching Bob by the arm, he danced him about the wharf as if he had suddenly lost his wits. "I knew you wouldn't let this splendid chance slip through your fingers!" he continued, leading the fisher-boy off on one side, so that they might converse without fear of being overheard. "When the money comes I'll divide with you honestly. You are not afraid to trust me?" "O no!" was the reply. "But are you _sure_ those men will send you that prize?" (The fisher-boy knew what Tom's answer would be. All he wanted was encouragement.) "Certainty I am!" said Tom, emphatically. "If I didn't know it, do you suppose I would risk my money in it? Didn't they make the offer themselves, and don't they say that they have agents in every civilized country on the globe? Do you suppose that men known all over the world as they are would dare cheat any body? You need not be afraid. They are business men. I know that, because this letter-paper is printed, just like father's; and they will not injure their reputation by making false promises. They have too much at stake. I knew you would give me a favorable answer, and so I wrote to them." As Tom spoke he pulled a letter out of his pocket and handed it to the fisher-boy. It conveyed to E. H. Harris and Company the information that Tom was perfectly willing to act as their agent, and that if they would keep their promise, and send him the five thousand dollars, he would show it to every man, woman, and child in Newport. He told them that they would find him to be the most faithful and obliging man in their employ. (Tom said _man_, because he was afraid the gentlemen might withdraw their offer, if they should learn that he was only a boy fifteen years of age.) He further informed them, that he was clerk in the largest commission house in the village, and that he was well enough acquainted with business to know that an agent could not hope to secure customers, unless he was very polite and accommodating; consequently, they might rest assured that he would always treat their patrons with the greatest kindness. All this, and a great deal more, did Tom say to the proprietors of the lottery; but his letter, besides being pretty well mixed up, was so badly written and spelled that it is doubtful if the men to whom it was addressed ever got at the sense of it. When the fisher-boy had finished reading the letter he handed it back to Tom, who placed it in an envelope along with the ten dollars--five of his own money, and the five Bob had brought him--and carefully sealed it, saying as he did so, "You see that I put the money in the letter, don't you? Now, come with me to the post-office." The fisher-boy would have been willing to entrust the business entirely in Tom's hands; but, to satisfy him, he saw the letter dropped into the box, and then took leave of his companion, who hurried back to the office. He found very little to be done there, and after loitering about for half an hour, put on his cap and went out again. He was highly elated at the success of his plans thus far, and he found it exceedingly difficult to control himself. Sometimes he was tempted to hunt up some of his acquaintances and reveal to them his secret; but he could not forget that they had turned him out of the society of Night-hawks, without giving him an opportunity to say a word in his defense, and refused him admittance into their new organization. In his estimation, these were offenses that ought not to be forgiven. "I told them I would make them sorry for that," said he to himself, "and I wasn't joking. The Storm King will be just the thing for fishing parties and moonlight excursions, but not one of those fellows shall ever put a foot on her deck, until they are willing to apologize for what they have done. I heard one of them say that they would like to visit Block Island and rob some of the melon patches over there, if they only had a boat. Now, perhaps, when they see the Storm King, they will want her! They sha'n't have her; they may look somewhere else for a boat! Won't they be surprised when they learn that I am the captain and owner of the finest little craft in the village? How they will all envy me! That's the way I shall get even with them." Tom laughed outright as these thoughts passed through his mind, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, he started off with a "hop, skip, and a jump," and finally turned down the street that led to Mr. Graves's boat-yard. He found the proprietor in his office, and, hardly waiting to return his polite greeting, Tom seated himself in the nearest chair, and began business at once. "Mr. Graves," said he, "you built the Swallow, I believe! What did she cost?" "Two hundred and fifty dollars!" was the answer. "Then I suppose the boat I want will cost at least a hundred dollars more?" said Tom. "That, of course, depends upon circumstances," replied Mr. Graves, who was not at all surprised at these questions, for this was not the first time Tom had talked with him on this same subject. "If you want a vessel finished off in first-class style, with a nice little cabin, two state-rooms finely furnished, a galley forward, with stove and every thing complete, and bunks for three or four hands--in short, a magnificent little yacht--" "That's just it!" exclaimed Tom, excited by his description. "That's what I want!" "I know it," said Mr. Graves, "for you and I have talked this matter over before. I suppose your father has at last given you permission to build a boat of this kind?" "Now, never mind my father," said Tom, impatiently. "Isn't it enough for you to know that your money will be ready the moment the boat is finished? What will a craft like that cost?" Mr. Graves looked intently at the floor for a moment, stroked his whiskers, and replied: "Four hundred dollars!" "Whew!" exclaimed Tom. "That's rather steep, I should say. However, I must have a vessel, and I don't care what she costs. Now listen to me! In the first place, I want this boat called the Storm King. She must be sloop-rigged, carrying as much canvas as can safely be put on her. Her hull must be painted black on the outside, and the cabin must be finished off with black walnut, and supplied with the finest kind of furniture; and, last of all, she must be warranted to beat every vessel of her size about the village." "Exactly!" exclaimed Mr. Graves, who, believing that he had got a paying customer this time, listened attentively to all Tom had to say. "And remember, also," continued Tom, "that I want her finished as soon as possible--the sooner the better. As I told you before, your money will be ready the moment I accept the vessel. If she doesn't suit me, I shall not take her." "Of course not!" said the boat-builder. "But what are you going to do with her, Tom?" "I'm going to be a trader. I expect soon to make my fortune." "Certainly you will! What's to prevent it, I'd like to know? A boat of that description would make any man independently rich. I have a strong force," added Mr. Graves, as Tom arose to go, "and I'll promise to have her finished alow and aloft in fine style, by three weeks from to-day. Will that suit you?" Tom replied that it would. He then took leave of the boat-builder, who, true to his promise, called in one of his workmen, and gave him some instructions in regard to building the sloop, which he intended should be the finest little vessel that had ever been launched at his yard. He had not the slightest suspicion that every thing was not just as it should be, for Tom had more than once assured him that some day he would gain his father's consent to a certain little plan, and that then he wanted a boat that would throw all the other yachts about the village completely into the shade. The boat-builder never imagined that Tom would dare enter into such an agreement without the permission of Mr. Newcombe, for what could a boy of his age do to earn four hundred dollars in three weeks? But then Mr. Graves knew nothing about the lottery. Meanwhile the fisher-boy was loitering about the wharf, scarcely knowing what to do with himself. If the loss of the Go Ahead had occurred two days before, Bob would not have been long in deciding how he ought to pass the time away, for he would have employed himself in doing odd jobs about the village, and thus earned a few dimes to increase his little fortune. But now, he had no idea of doing any thing of the sort; for when Mr. Henry asked him if he did not want to earn a quarter of a dollar, by carrying in a cord of wood, that was piled on the wharf at the back of the store, Bob replied that he did not, that he was not looking for work. It is true he regretted his decision a moment afterward, but then it was too late, for Mr. Henry had hired some one else. "Never mind," said the fisher-boy to himself. "I haven't lost much. Twenty-five cents for two hours' hard work is small pay. I've seen the day that I would have been glad to take all such jobs, but I'm better off in the world now; at least I soon will be." All that forenoon, Bob walked up and down the wharf, watching the men at work about him, wishing that five o'clock would come, so that he might take possession of his new boat, and all the while wondering why it was that he was so miserable, while every one around him seemed to be so supremely happy. Again and again did he try to silence his conscience by saying to himself that his mother would never know any thing about the deception of which he had been guilty. Tom's plan would certainly succeed, and when he had his twenty-five hundred dollars in his pocket, he would pay for his boat, and then he would never go in debt or deceive his mother again. But these promises of better behavior in future did not quiet his feelings, for, in spite of all he could do to prevent it, the knowledge of the fact that he had abused the confidence his mother had reposed in him, would force itself upon his mind, and when twelve o'clock came the fisher-boy had become so thoroughly disgusted with himself that he did not want to go home to his dinner. He felt like an outlaw; and he could almost bring himself to believe that, if he should make his appearance at the door of his home, he would be refused admittance. But, knowing that if he remained away all day it would occasion surprise, and might arouse suspicion, the fisher-boy endeavored to dismiss all his unpleasant thoughts, tried hard to assume a cheerful look, and rather reluctantly started for home. To his surprise, he found that the cloud had vanished from his mother's face, and that she appeared to be as happy and contented as ever. She made no allusions to any thing that had transpired that morning, and Bob began to gain courage. CHAPTER VIII. THE GO AHEAD NO. 2. The dinner hour passed off as usual, and one to have seen Bob as he arose from the table and bade his mother good-by before returning to the wharf, would have thought him the very last boy who could have been guilty of a mean or dishonorable action. But he had changed wonderfully during the last twelve hours; and having deceived his mother once, it was easier to do it a second time. Although there was no necessity for it, he left a false impression on her mind by saying: "Perhaps I shall see a chance to earn half a dollar or so, during the afternoon." This led her to believe that her son intended to hold himself in readiness to accept any offer of work that might be made him; while Bob himself knew that he had no such idea. He said what he did simply because he wanted an excuse to get away from home. The fact was, Bob was totally unfit for labor of any kind. He had made so many calculations concerning the twenty-five hundred dollars, which he was certain he should receive in a week or ten days at the very farthest, and he was so impatient to hear from the money he had just sent off, that any thing which would have turned his thoughts into other and more profitable channels was distasteful to him. He wanted to do nothing but think over his plans for the future; so he returned to the wharf, where for four hours and a half he walked listlessly about with his hands in his pockets, his eyes bent upon the ground, and his thoughts busy with his new boat, and his prospective fortune. During the middle of the day the ferry-boys had very little business to attend to, and, from where Bob stood, he could see them lounging in their boats in the shade of the piers, on both sides of the harbor. Among them he saw Sam Barton, who, seated in his fine yawl in the midst of his friends, was delivering some very amusing discourse, judging by the peals of laughter that came from that direction. The fisher-boy soon became aware of the fact that he was the subject of Sam's remarks, for every now and then he could see the bully rise up in his boat and shake his fist at him. Bob, however, very wisely made no reply to these demonstrations. He had the satisfaction of knowing that the triumph which the bully was then enjoying was destined to be of short duration, and that his turn would come next. There was another boy who was very restless all that afternoon, and who, being unable to decide upon any better way of passing the time, kept trotting up and down the wharf. It was Tom Newcombe. To save his life he could not remain in the office more than ten minutes at a time, and it was only by an unusual exercise of will that he kept from telling his secret, confidentially of course, to every one he met. In one of his rounds he came across the fisher-boy; and knowing that he could sympathize with him, he kept him company during the rest of the afternoon. "O how I do wish this week was gone," Tom would say, almost every five minutes, "and that we had an answer to that letter! I am in a great hurry to begin trading. I tell you, Bob, all the boys in the village will wish themselves in my boots when they see my new yacht." To the fisher-boy's immense relief, half-past four came at last, and, bidding Tom good-by, he started for Mr. Graves's boat-yard. The proprietor was standing in the door of his office, and when he saw Bob he called out-- "Go and get her! She is all ready for you, and I think when you have tried her you will say that she is the finest boat you ever saw. Now, if you don't ruin Sam Barton by taking every one of his passengers away from him, I shall be sorry that I let you have her." "If he wants customers he must work for them," replied Bob. "And now, Mr. Graves, if you will furnish me pen and paper, I'll give you my note." The boat-builder laughed, and more to satisfy the fisher-boy than any thing else, he gave him a chair at his desk, and looked over his shoulder, as he dashed off the note in regular business style; promising, in ninety days from date, to pay James H. Graves twenty-six dollars, for value received. "There!" said Bob, throwing the ink off his pen, and rising from the desk; "I think you will find that all right." Mr. Graves put the note into his pocket, and conducted his customer to the place where the skiffs were anchored; and the first object upon which Bob's eyes rested was the Go Ahead No. 2, gracefully riding the little swells, and pulling at her moorings as if impatient to be off. A pair of strong oars, and a sail neatly rolled up, lay upon the thwarts, and her painter, which was long enough to serve as an anchor rope, was laid down in Flemish coil in the bow. "Now, remember," said Mr. Graves, as Bob stepped into his skiff and began to hoist the sail, "your note will fall due in three months from to-day, and then I shall want the money." "You need have no fears," replied the fisher-boy, promptly. "I promise you that every cent shall be paid up long before that time." As the fisher-boy spoke, he cast off the line with which the Go Ahead was made fast to the beach, got out one of his oars to serve as a rudder, and, thanking the boat-builder for his repeated wishes for unbounded success, filled away for his pier. A strong breeze was blowing directly down the harbor, and this gave Bob a splendid opportunity to judge of the sailing qualities of his new craft. All of Mr. Graves's boats were warranted fast, but Bob soon came to the conclusion that never had a skiff been launched at his yard that could be compared to the Go Ahead No. 2. Her sail was as large as she could conveniently carry; and, when she had got fairly started, she took a "bone in her teeth," and moved down the harbor at a rate of speed that delighted her young skipper. The fisher-boy was in his element; and the only thing that kept him from shouting at the top of his lungs, was the fear of attracting the attention of the people on the wharves. So overjoyed was he that he could scarcely sit still. He kept looking over every part of his boat, first up at the sail, then at the clean thwarts and dry bottom, so different from his old scow, and then he would say to himself: "Is she really mine? I never thought I should be able to own a boat like this! But she does belong to me, and no mistake; for I remember writing out a note for Mr. Graves. Now, Sam Barton, bring on your clumsy old yawl." This last remark, although uttered for the benefit of the bully, did not reach his ears, for he was too far off to hear it, and besides, he was busy. A party of half a dozen persons were standing upon the wharf, and Sam was sculling leisurely across to attend to their wants. Now, that Bob Jennings, as he imagined, had been disposed of, he had nothing to fear from rivals, and he was taking his own time in getting across the harbor. This did not seem to suit the gentlemen on the wharf, for they several times requested him to "hurry up," an invitation which Sam, being too lazy to heed, pretended that he did not hear. He moved his oar slowly about in the water, expending just strength enough upon it to keep his yawl in motion, and his eyes, probably from the force of long habit, were wandering up and down the harbor, as if in search of more customers. "Come, boy, make haste, there!" shouted one of the men. "We don't intend to stand here in this hot sun much longer." Sam, however, did not arouse himself in the least. On the contrary, he stopped sculling entirely, and stood looking up the harbor at a trim little craft that was coming directly toward him. He did not remember of having seen her before, but he could have recognized her skipper as far as he could see him. "Well, now, if this yere don't beat all the world!" said Sam to himself, stooping down and shading his eyes with his hand to obtain a better view of the approaching boat. "If I hadn't seed Bobby Jennings sunk this mornin', I should say that that was him. But where could he get a tidy little vessel like that? I declare; if she aint the purtiest little--" Sam's admiration for the approaching craft ceased very suddenly, as he noticed her somewhat singular movements, and began to understand their meaning. When he first discovered her, her bow was pointed toward the wharf, as if her skipper intended to make an attempt to take his passengers away from him; but now she was headed directly down the harbor, and was coming toward him like an arrow from a bow. She was laying almost on her side, the spray was dashing wildly about her sharp bows, and her skipper's face wore an expression that Sam did not like to see. He remembered what he had done that morning, and, believing that the fisher-boy was about to take ample revenge upon him, he turned and sculled down the harbor with all the speed he could command. But in spite of all his exertions, the skiff gained rapidly, and the bully, seeing that escape was impossible, became so terrified that his face grew pale, and his heart thumped against his ribs like a trip-hammer. "Hallo, Bobby!" he called out in a trembling voice, as soon as his rival came within hearing; "what a nice boat you've got, Bobby!" An angry shake of the head was the only reply he received, and the skiff came on as fast as ever. "I'm glad to see you out again, Bobby," continued Sam, who was so frightened that he was almost ready to cry. "An' I hope--hold on, there, Bobby, please don't run into me--" The skiff was now close upon him, and the bully held his breath in suspense; but, just as he was expecting to feel the shock of the collision, and to see the sides of his fine yawl smashed in by the sharp bow of his rival's boat, Bob, with one sweep of his oar, turned aside, passing so close to the yawl that he could have jumped into her had he felt so disposed, and ran alongside the wharf to attend to the passengers, whom Sam, in his surprise and alarm, had forgotten. "Why didn't you sink him?" asked one of the men, climbing down into the skiff. "He has kept us here for fully a quarter of an hour, and we told him that we were in a great hurry." "I wouldn't like to sink him," replied the fisher-boy, as he pulled down the sail and got out the oars. "I had my boat sunk under me this morning, and I know how it feels." Bob was now given an opportunity to test the speed of his new boat when propelled by the "white ash breeze," and the result was all he could have desired. The Go Ahead skimmed over the water as lightly as a duck, in spite of the additional weight of her half dozen passengers, and by the time the fisher-boy reached the opposite side of the harbor, he had ceased to regret the loss of his scow, and was almost willing to believe that the serious injury which Sam had tried to inflict upon him would prove to be a blessing in disguise. Meanwhile the bully, who stood in his boat watching Bob as he rowed across the harbor and landed his passengers, had been allowed ample time to recover from the fright his rival had given him. The other ferry-boys were no less surprised than Sam had been, and now they began to gather around him, to hear what he had to say about it. "Do you see that new craft Jennings has got?" asked one. "Do I see it?" repeated the bully, sharply. "Haven't I got a pair of eyes, and didn't he sail by within two foot of me? He's a thief, as well as a mean feller, 'cause he's used one of them gold pieces to buy that boat. Never mind! It won't do him no good!" Sam, assisted by some of his particular friends, at once set about arranging matters to render Bob's new boat perfectly useless to him. As before, they scattered their forces all over the harbor, some on one side, and some on the other, Sam pointing out the position he wished each boy to occupy. When he had got every thing fixed to his satisfaction, he sculled slowly toward the fisher-boy, who was standing up in his boat, watching all these movements, as if they did not interest him in the least. "How do you feel now, Bobby?" asked the bully, with a laugh. "O, I am in excellent spirits," returned Bob, pleasantly. "I feel much better than I did when you sunk my boat this morning." "That's an amazin' fine little skiff of your'n, Bobby," continued Sam; "but I don't see what you're goin' to do with it here." "Don't you? Well, you wait until I see a passenger, and I'll show you." "Not that we knows of, you won't," said the bully, savagely. "Didn't I tell you this mornin' that you had been here just long enough?" "You did, but it doesn't trouble me any. Now, Sam, let me tell you something! If you, or any of your friends, beat me in a fair race, I shall not grumble; but if you try to take any mean advantage of me, I won't stand it. I'll clear the harbor!" "You'll do what?" exclaimed Sam. "I'll take charge of this harbor," repeated Bob. "I'll drive every one of you under the piers." "Hallo!" said Sam. "That's big talk for a small boy!" The sight of a passenger on the wharf put a stop to the conversation, and the rivals once more found themselves engaged in an exciting race. Bob had a decided advantage, having a much lighter boat, and two oars to Sam's one, and he would have beaten him very easily, had not one of the bully's friends sculled up and intercepted him. This occasioned a delay--for Bob was obliged to stop in order to avoid a collision--and by the time he got started again, another of Sam's right-hand men had run alongside the wharf and secured the passenger. This convinced the fisher-boy that his enemies were not disposed to allow him "fair play," and being determined not to yield to them an inch, he pulled in his oars and began to hoist his sail. "Look out there now, Sam Barton!" said he, "I'm coming after you." "Eh!" ejaculated the bully. "What are you going to do?" "If you wait until I get this sail hoisted you'll find out!" was the reply. "Clear the track, now, if you don't want to get hurt! Jack Bennett, if you want your scow sent to the bottom of the harbor, just run athwart my hawse again!" Sam needed no second warning. He comprehended Bob's plan in an instant, and seeing that the sail began to draw, and that the skiff's bow was slowly veering round toward him, he caught up his oar and pulled for the shelter of the pier as if his life depended upon the issue. "Run, run, fellers!" he exclaimed. "That ar Bobby Jennings'll sink the last one of you." The ferry-boys, believing that they had at last succeeded in arousing an ugly customer, scattered in all directions; and Bob, thinking it a capital opportunity to show them that he was in earnest, and that it was not his intention to allow himself to be imposed upon any longer, started in hot pursuit of Sam, who was doing his best to keep out of harm's way. Had the fisher-boy succeeded in overtaking him, it is hard to tell what he might have done in his excitement. He might have allowed Sam to escape after frightening him thoroughly, as he had done before, but fortunately his forbearance was not put to the test. Fear infused new strength into the bully's arms, and he succeeded in running under the wharf, where the skiff could not follow him. During the remainder of the afternoon Bob had that part of the harbor all to himself. Keeping his sail hoisted, he moved swiftly about in all directions, picking up a passenger here and there, and all the while watching the movements of Sam Barton, who hardly dared to stir from his place of refuge. He was not idle, however, for, calling together some of his friends, he tried to induce them to join him in an attack upon the fisher-boy. They were all highly enraged, and there was not one among them who would have been sorry to see Bob and his new boat sunk out of sight in the waters of the harbor; but none of them could muster up courage enough to make an assault upon him. The little skiff moved with a rapidity that threatened instant destruction to any thing that came in her path, and not wishing to have their boats sent to the bottom, the ferry-boys all concluded that the safest plan was to allow Bob a clear field. The latter did not fail to make the most of his time. The neat appearance of his boat brought him a goodly number of passengers, and when he counted his money that night before going home, he found that he had earned just sixty cents. He was well satisfied with the Go Ahead No. 2. "You're all a pack of cowards!" said Sam to his companions, when he saw the fisher-boy fill away for home, after taking the last passenger across the harbor. "All cowards, every one of you! If you had obeyed my orders, Bobby Jennings wouldn't now be settin' in that new boat of his'n like he was lord an' master of all of us. A good duckin' in the harbor would help him powerful, an' he must have it." Bob having taken his departure, Sam was no longer obliged to remain under the pier. He came out, looking very crest-fallen, and joined his companions, who, as they sculled slowly toward home, talked over the incidents of the afternoon, and debated upon the best plan to punish the fisher-boy for what he had done. Sam, almost too angry to speak, took no part in the conversation. His desire to "get even" with the fisher-boy was now stronger than ever; for not only had the latter, as he believed, made use of one of the twenty dollar gold pieces to purchase his new boat, but he had actually beaten the bully at his own game, and fully demonstrated his ability to hold the harbor against the combined attacks of Sam and all his friends. This did not look much like driving him out of Fishertown; on the contrary, it appeared that if Bob chose to push matters, he could hold every one of his enemies at bay. "He wouldn't give me one of them gold pieces fur my skiff," said Sam to himself. "He said he was too honest for that, but he has paid 'em to somebody else fur that new boat of his'n, an' I won't stand no such nonsense. I bet he'll be astonished when he gets up to-morrow morning." If Sam had decided upon any thing new, he said nothing about it just then. He kept behind his companions all the way, and when he arrived at the beach he secured his yawl and went directly to his own home. As soon as it grew dark, however, he began to bestir himself. He walked about among the cabins, and presently collected four of his friends--the only ones among the dozen boys in Fishertown who could be trusted in every emergency--and after a few moments' whispered consultation, they again separated. For a quarter of an hour Sam strolled about, stopping now and then to say a few words to some of the ferry-boys he chanced to meet, until, believing that his four followers had been allowed ample time to obey his orders, he bent his steps toward the spot where he had left his yawl. He was very cautions in his movements--for he did not want every one about Fishertown to know what was going on--and when he reached his boat he stepped into it, quickly cast off the painter, and shoved away from the beach. "Are you all there, fellers?" he asked, in a whisper. "Yes," replied a voice from under the thwarts. "All here!" Sam gave way on the oar, and in a few moments the boat entered the harbor, and shaped its course toward Mr. Newcombe's warehouse. Several vessels were lying alongside the pier, but Sam ran by them without attracting the attention of any of the watch, and finally the yawl disappeared among the spiles that supported the wharf. Here it was as dark as midnight; but Sam, who seemed to understand what he was about, pulled in his oar, and by pushing against the spiles, worked his way along until the boat reached the extreme end of the wharf. "Now then, Friday!" he whispered, "strike a light!" The boy addressed crawled out from under the thwarts, and presently the light of a small lantern flashed among the spiles. They were now directly under the warehouse, which was built, not upon the ground, but upon a pier that projected out into the harbor. It was supported by timbers which had been driven into the mud, and so close together, that there was hardly room for the yawl to go between them. The boat had been run alongside of what appeared to be an abrupt bank, about four feet high, and as soon as the lantern had been lighted, one of the boys sprang ashore and made the painter fast to the timbers; while another removed a board which had been placed close up under the pier, and revealed a narrow opening which seemed to run back under the street. "How is it. Jack?" asked Sam, in a whisper. Jack took the lantern, thrust his head into the opening, and, after a hurried survey of the interior, replied: "All right! Nobody's been here!" "Jump ashore, then," continued Sam. "Be lively, fur we don't want to keep this light out here much longer. Somebody might be on the watch." The crew of the yawl sprang out, and one by one squeezed themselves through the opening; and Sam, who was the last one to enter, pulled the board back to its place. CHAPTER IX. CRUSOE AND HIS MEN. Almost every boy who is able to read at all has read Robinson Crusoe, and probably nine out of ten have been foolish enough to wish they had been in his place. Perhaps they would not be willing to undergo the dangers of a shipwreck that they might be cast upon a desert island, for it is by no means certain they would be so fortunate as to escape, or that the winds would be accommodating enough to blow the wreck close in to the shore so that they might visit her, and bring away such articles as they needed to enable them to go to housekeeping. What we mean to say is, that there are restless, discontented boys in the world who are never satisfied, and who believe that if they could only hit upon a plan to transport themselves to some out-of-the-way part of the world, and could surround themselves with all the comforts Crusoe is said to have possessed, they would be supremely happy. Some boys content themselves with _playing_ Robinson Crusoe. A shed built in the back yard answers the purpose of cave and tent, and there they spend hour after hour, living over Crusoe-life as it is related in the story. Imaginary foot-prints are discovered, a make-believe man Friday is rescued from blood-thirsty cannibals, and numerous attacks of savages are repulsed with terrible slaughter. Then come the finding of the Spaniard and Friday's father, the release of the English captain, and the recovery of the vessel that is to take Robinson from the island, and there the game ends; for, by the time all these things are done, the day is generally far spent, and some of the young actors are obliged to return to their homes. We do not suppose that any of these make-believe hermits ever thought seriously of hunting up an uninhabited island in the ocean and living Crusoe-life in sober earnest? There was one boy, however, who was bold enough to conceive of such an idea, and that was Sam Barton. He had read the story, believed every word of it, and was so well pleased with it that he decided to become a Crusoe himself. If Sam possessed a single good trait, it was a love of reading. He never thought of investing any of his money in books, but every piece of printed paper that he picked up in the streets was read and re-read until it was completely worn out. One morning, while passing by a store, he saw a book swept out upon the sidewalk. He never allowed a prize like that to slip through his fingers, and pouncing upon it, he carried it off in triumph. It proved to be a copy of Robinson Crusoe. It had evidently received very rough usage, for it was soiled and badly torn; but there was enough of it left to make Sam thoroughly disgusted with the life of a ferry-boy, and to put some very foolish notions into his head. Considering the story as altogether too good to be kept to himself, he took his four friends into his confidence, and, during the three weeks following, Robinson Crusoe received the best part of their attention. When the book was finished its hero was declared to be a "jolly old feller," and Sam startled his companions by wondering if they couldn't have a splendid time if they should camp out on Block Island, and live as he had done! This gave them something to think and talk about, and the matter was discussed every time they could get together. They very speedily came to an understanding on one point, and that was, that during the coming summer, they would bid farewell to Newport and turn Crusoes. This being settled, the question then arose, where should they go? Block Island would not answer their purpose, because it was in a civilized country. True, they had often seen goats there, but they belonged to the farmers, who would not consent to have them shot at or chased by dogs. There were grapes in abundance on the island, but they grew in gardens and vineyards, and were claimed by persons who would not permit the young Crusoes to gather them at pleasure, even though they did want to cure them for raisins. There were no savages in that region to visit the island with their prisoners, and there would be but a poor prospect for fights, unless it was with the farmers, or with their parents, who would, no doubt, attempt to bring them home again. This question troubled them for three or four days; and then Sam, who was the acknowledged leader of the enterprise, proposed that they should put to sea in his yawl, and "keep going," until they found a place that suited them, a suggestion to which all the boys at once agreed. The next thing they talked about was their supplies. They _might_ be fortunate enough to find the wreck of a vessel somewhere, but, after all, the prospect was not very flattering; so it was decided that every thing of which they imagined they would stand in need should be procured before leaving the village. They would require pieces of cable with which to build the wall in front of their cave, canvas for their tent, an adze to cut out boards, a crowbar with which to make their cave larger after the tent was put up, a dog to chase the goats, lead for bullets, and guns to shoot the bullets after they were made; in short, every thing that Crusoe possessed they were determined to have; and, in order to be sure on this point, Sam, with infinite trouble, made out a list of articles from the book. No sooner was it settled to their satisfaction that their plans could be carried out, than each boy began to exert himself to procure his share of the provisions and equipment. A certain portion of the money they earned was paid into the hands of Jack Bennett, the treasurer (who, by the way, was once soundly whipped by Sam, because he spent two cents of the public funds for pea-nuts), and articles of every description that were found about the streets and wharves, especially old horseshoes, and scraps of copper, were speedily taken in charge by the enthusiastic members of the Crusoe band. In a very short space of time they had a large stock of useless material on hand, and then they began to feel the want of a suitable hiding-place for it. This proved to be another source of trouble to them, until, one day, Jack Bennett, while cruising about under Mr. Newcombe's wharf, in the hope of finding something that would be of value to him, conceived the idea of a cave. This plan being hailed with delight by the others, work was begun upon it that very night; and at the end of two weeks, the cave was completed, and all the articles they had gathered were conveyed to it for safe keeping. A better hiding-place could not have been devised. It was located under the street which ran in front of the warehouse, and, when assembled there to hold their secret meetings, the boys could hear the wagons rattling over their heads. The entrance to their place of retreat was, as we have said, under the wharf, where no one, not even the ferry-boys, ever thought of going. Even in the day-time it was very dark under there, but to make "assurance doubly sure" the door had been concealed so that there was little probability that it would ever be discovered. The interior of their hiding-place was finished off according to the description they had read of Crusoe's cave, with props in the center to keep it from falling in upon them, and shelves on the left hand side of the entrance, upon which were stowed a variety of useful things. Against the walls were arranged the heavier articles, such as bits of cable, scraps of iron, lead, and copper, pieces of canvas, a small grind-stone, a hatchet or two, several pairs of oars, some carpenter's tools, and two or three boxes containing wheat and rice, which were to be planted as soon as they reached their island. Opposite the entrance, reposing upon a comfortable bed of straw, was a ferocious looking bull-dog, which had come to Sam in much the same way that Crusoe's dog came to him; not from a wreck, of course, but from a schooner which was discharging her cargo at Mr. Newcombe's wharf. Sam had often seen and admired the animal, and believing that he was just the dog they wanted to hunt goats with, he had scraped an acquaintance with him by throwing him pieces of bread and meat, when none of the crew of the vessel happened to be looking at him. In a short time he and the dog became excellent friends, and one day, by exhibiting a tempting piece of beef, he induced the animal to jump overboard and follow him under the wharf, where he was captured and put into the cave, to remain until his master was ready to start on his voyage. Upon the walls, at the right hand of the entrance, hung five single-barrel shot-guns, each of which had cost the would-be Crusoes two dollars and a half. Below them hung their powder-horns, shot-bags and hunting knives. A flour barrel, turned bottom up, answered the purpose of a table, and upon it, protected from the damp and dirt by a piece of canvas, was the dilapidated copy of Robinson Crusoe, which was to Sam and his friends what the chart and compass are to the mariner. The members of the Crusoe band had chosen the names of their favorite heroes; and when holding their meetings in the cave, they dropped their true names, and answered only to their assumed ones. Sam, of course, was Robinson Crusoe. He was the leader of the band while they remained on shore, and he was to be the captain of the vessel during the voyage, and the governor of the island when they found it. The names of the others were Jack Spaniard, Friday, Will Atkins, and Xury. (Sam did not know how to pronounce this last name correctly. He always called it Exury.) "Now, then," said the chief, pulling off his cap and seating himself on a dry goods box beside the flour barrel, "we're ready to begin business. Friday, put that lantern on the table. Have any of you any thing to offer?" "Yes," replied Will Atkins, "I've got something we had oughter take along. It's a watch." "A watch!" repeated the chief. "It sha'n't go!" "Hold on till you see it, governor!" said Atkins, fumbling in his pockets, and finally producing a huge brass time-piece, which ticked so loudly that it could be heard by every one in the cave. "It's a thing a feller can't get every day." "I don't care, I don't want to see it," replied Sam. "Here's the thing we go by," he added, picking up the list he had made out. "Read that, an' then read the book, an' see if you can find any thing about a watch in either of them. Crusoe didn't have no time-piece, an' we ain't a goin' to have none, neither." "I say he did have a watch!" insisted Atkins. "Don't the book say that after he eat his dinner, he lay down an' slept till two o'clock? How did he know when to get up if he didn't have a watch?" "I don't know nothin' about that! If he'd had a watch the book would have said so." "But what shall I do with this? I give a sail an' a pair of good oars fur it, an' the feller said he wouldn't never trade back!" "You can pitch it in the harbor, if you have a mind to," said Sam. "It sha'n't go on this expedition so long as I'm governor." "I think this is a purty how-de-do," said Atkins. "If I can't have things my way sometimes I won't go. I don't believe there ever was such a cove as Robinson Crusoe, nohow." "Eh!" exclaimed Sam, in astonishment. "Do you mean to say that Crusoe never lived on that island all by himself fur so many years? Who writ this yere book, then?" "Some feller made it up all out of his own head!" said Atkins, boldly. This declaration, according to the laws of the Crusoe band, was treason, and it created an uproar in an instant. The boys all sprung to their feet, and Atkins, seeing that he got himself into trouble, seized an oar and backed into the farthest corner of the cave; while the dog, thinking that something unusual was going on, barked and whined furiously. It is very probable that the traitor would have been severely handled, had not the governor interfered in his behalf. "Hold on there, men!" he exclaimed. "Jack Spaniard, you and Friday come back here an' set down. Exury, kick that dog and make him hush up. Will Atkins, put down that ar oar an' behave yourself, like a man had oughter do!" The traitor hesitated. "Atkins, I say, you'd better drop that ar oar an' come here an' set down," repeated the governor. "If I take a hand in this muss, I'll make you open your eyes!" The culprit evidently feared the chief more than all the rest of the band, for, without further parley, he put the oar back in its place and resumed his seat. "Now, Will Atkins," continued the governor, "don't you never say agin what you said a minute ago--that there never was no such feller as Robinson Crusoe--'cause I know there was. He writ this yere book himself; a blind man could see that, an' I aint agoin' to have no feller say he didn't. You've got the best name of any of us! Will Atkins made them fellers in Robinson's island a heap of trouble, an' you're tryin' to do the same thing by us. Now, I'm different from what they were, an' I won't stand much nonsense. You can just bear that in mind. As fur that ar ole watch of your'n, if Crusoe had had one, I wouldn't say a word. But the book don't say nothin' about it, an' so I know he didn't have none. We aint agoin' to take nothin' with us that he didn't have, so I say again, that the watch sha'n't go. Shall it, fellers?" Jack Spaniard, Friday, and Xury, being highly enraged at the traitor, sustained the chief in his decision, and Atkins was compelled to swallow his disappointment as best he could. Strange as it may appear, however, this incident did not disturb the harmony of the meeting. Atkins was at first held in check by fear of the governor; but when a pocketful of fish-hooks and lines which he had offered to increase the general stock was accepted, it had the effect of restoring him to his usual spirits. After this business had been transacted, the governor entered upon a discussion of the subject which was just then occupying the most of his thoughts. He began by repeating what he had told his companions a hundred times before--that Bobby Jennings was the meanest fellow he had seen for many a day, too mean to be permitted to live longer in Fishertown; that he had repeatedly refused to give him one of the twenty-dollar gold pieces for his skiff, and had then gone off and paid one, and perhaps both, of them for the Go Ahead No. 2; and, finally, that he had shown a determination to do as he pleased in the harbor, and that was something they could not stand. "He must have gone to bed by this time," continued the governor; "so we'll jest slip up to his shantee an' capture that fine craft of his'n. He can't live without a boat, an' we'll see where he'll get another." "What will we do with her?" asked Friday. "Burn her?" "O, no!" replied the chief; "that would be throwing away money: we'll bring her down here and hide her." "That's dangerous," said Atkins. "Bob'll make a powerful fuss when he finds out that his boat is gone; an' if we should be diskivered"----. Atkins finished the sentence by shrugging his shoulders, and shaking his head significantly. "We'd best burn her, or sink her in the bay," said Jack Spaniard, "an' then nobody can't prove nothin' agin us." "That'll only be throwin' away money fur nothin'," repeated the governor. "No one in the village knows any thing about this yere cave, an' so they won't think of lookin' here fur her. When the fuss has kinder died out, we'll paint the boat over, give her a new name, an' sell her to somebody an' divide the profits. In that way, we can raise a few dollars to help along the expedition, you know." This last remark decided the argument in Sam's favor. The members of the band all had the good of the expedition at heart, and any thing that promised to advance its interests, no matter how much danger it might bring to themselves, was heartily supported. They spent a few moments in talking over the details of their plan, especially the course they ought to adopt to secure the skiff without arousing any of the inmates of the fisher-boy's cabin, and then, blowing out the light, they crawled out of the cave, stepped into the yawl, and pulled for the beach. The governor, being the best oarsman, again assumed the management of the boat, while the others, as before, stretched themselves out under the thwarts. This precaution was always adopted in going to and from the cave, for they wisely reasoned that if five boys should be seen making nightly visits to Mr. Newcombe's wharf, it might attract attention, which would lead to an investigation, and the discovery of their hiding-place. Under the chief's skillful guidance, the yawl passed through the shipping and cleared the harbor in safety; and, in accordance with the plans they had decided upon before leaving the cave, Sam kept the boat headed out to sea until the cabins on the beach were lost to view in the darkness; then he turned, and pursued a course parallel with the shore for about a quarter of a mile, when he again headed the yawl toward the village. By these maneuvers, he hoped to reach the fisher-boy's wharf without attracting the notice of any persons who might happen to be walking on the beach. Long experience had made Sam a capital hand to manage expeditions of this kind, and, knowing that it was not best to be in too great a hurry, he became more cautious than ever in his movements. He kept the yawl moving very slowly, and so silently that even the four boys who were crouching in the bow could not detect the slightest splashing in the water. In half an hour they came within sight of Bob's home, which was shrouded in total darkness. In front of the cabin they saw the Go Ahead No. 2 made fast to what the fisher-boy called his wharf, which was nothing more nor less than a heavy stake driven into the sand. A few more silent sweeps of the oar brought them to the beach, and Sam turned the yawl around until the stems of both boats were so close together that the boys could step from one to the other. "Now, Jack Bennett," he whispered, "make fast to the skiff. Bill Stevens, jump ashore and cast off. Don't make too much noise." The boys addressed began to bestir themselves, and, while Jack got out a rope with which to make fast to their prize, Bill climbed over the stern of the yawl into the skiff, and thence to the shore, where he discovered a difficulty at once: one end of a heavy chain was made fast to the skiff's bow by a staple, and the other was wound around the stake and confined by a padlock. "Sam," he whispered, "she's chained up tighter'n a brick!" "Pull up the stake, then," replied Sam. Bill did his best to obey this order, but the fisher-boy had put the stake there to stay, and he could not move it an inch. "Hurry up, there," whispered the chief, impatiently, "an' be careful how you rattle that chain. If that ar Bobby Jennings should hear us"----. "Send more men ashore," interrupted Bill; "it's a little bigger job than I can do, all by myself." The three boys who remained in the yawl were ordered out to Bill's assistance; but, for a long time, the post resisted their efforts, and remained firmly fixed in its bed. Finally, however, by pulling it first one way, and then another, and scraping away the sand, they succeeded in loosening it, so that, by one united effort, they lifted it out and placed it carefully in the skiff. "All clear!" whispered Bill; and, in a moment more, Crusoe and his men, with their prize, had disappeared in the darkness. CHAPTER X. ANOTHER FAILURE. In spite of the late hours they had kept the night before, Sam and his four friends made their appearance in the harbor bright and early. They were all in the best of spirits, for they believed that at last they had succeeded in disposing of "that ar Bobby Jennings;" but still they could not help casting frequent and anxious glances toward the bay, as if they every moment expected to see the fisher-boy sail into the harbor in a boat as far superior to the Go Ahead No. 2 as she was better than the scow Sam had sunk the day before. The bully knew that his rival had a great many friends, and he was afraid that, after all, he might be able to hold his own, in spite of all his efforts to disable him. The fear of being punished for what they had done did not trouble the members of the Crusoe band in the least; they knew that their chief had managed the affair so carefully that nothing could be proved against them. The hours wore slowly away, and finally those of the ferry-boys who knew nothing of what had taken place during the night began to make inquiries concerning the fisher-boy, who was generally one of the first to make his appearance in the harbor. No one had seen him that morning, and it seemed to be the general impression that he was afraid to trust his fine boat among his rivals again--an idea that was confirmed by Sam and all the members of his band. "I've been a-lookin' an' waitin' fur him," said the bully, "an' I'm mighty sorry he don't come, fur I've got a trick fixed fur him. I told him we had seed him here jest often enough, an' may be he's goin' to quit ferryin'." Sam would willingly have given every cent he expected to earn that day to know what Bob thought about it, and what he was going to do; and once he even thought seriously of making some excuse for calling upon him. But, upon reflection, he came to the conclusion that his safest plan was to keep away from his rival, and await the issue of events with as much patience as he could command. He was not kept long in suspense, however, for about ten o'clock he was given an opportunity to learn all he wanted to know. He was on the point of starting across the harbor with a load of passengers, when the village constable, accompanied by the fisher-boy, suddenly appeared upon the wharf and ordered him to stop. "Gentlemen," said the officer, addressing the passengers, "you'll have to go across in some other boat. I want this ferry-boy." Sam comprehended the situation in an instant; and he was smart enough to know that every thing depended upon the manner in which he behaved himself during the next few minutes. He had all the while been satisfied that the fisher-boy would make a "powerful fuss," as soon as he discovered his loss, and Sam had so often gone over the part he intended to perform, that he could act it quite naturally. Upon hearing the words uttered by the constable, he looked up with an expression of astonishment and alarm that would have staggered almost any one; and which went a long way toward convincing the officer that he had got hold of the wrong man, and that he would be obliged to look further for the culprit. "Come ashore with that boat, Sam," said the constable. "I am in a great hurry!" "Do you want me, Mr. Grimes?" asked the bully, with well-feigned amazement. "What have I been a doin'?" "No nonsense, now, but come ashore with that boat," repeated the officer, sternly. Sam did not carry matters too far, as a great many guilty boys would have done, but without further parley, he brought his yawl alongside the wharf, and assisted his passengers to climb out. Then turning to one of the ferry-boys, and requesting to keep an eye on his boat during his absence, he clambered upon the wharf and stood before the constable. The latter looked him squarely in the eye for a moment, as if trying to read his very thoughts, and then said, slowly: "You're a nice boy, aint you?" "Now, why don't you tell me what I've been a doin'?" asked Sam, never once flinching before the officer's steady gaze. "I haint been a doin' nothin'!" "You know better," said the constable, savagely. "Where's that boat you stole from Bob Jennings last night? What have you done with it?" Upon hearing this question, Sam stepped back as suddenly as if the constable had aimed a blow at him, and, opening his eyes and puffing out his cheeks, he stood looking at the officer as if he could scarcely believe that he had heard aright. Then he turned and looked at Bob; and one short glance was sufficient to convince him that his last night's work had ruined the fisher-boy as completely as he could have desired. Bob's face was very pale, and wore such a hopeless, despairing expression, that Sam could scarcely refrain from manifesting his exultation. "O, now, you needn't look so mightily astonished," said Mr. Grimes. "I know all about it." "What have I done with it?" repeated Sam, as if he just began to comprehend the officer's previous question. "Why, Bobby, has somebody stole your skiff--that nice little craft of your'n, that new one?" "That's played out!" said the constable. "You're acting pretty well, Sam, but you can't pull the wool over my eyes. I'm too old a hand at this business, you know. If you won't tell me what you have done with that boat, I'll take you before the 'squire, and have you put in jail." "In jail!" echoed Sam, now beginning to be really alarmed. "Yes, sir, in jail, in the lock-up, and from there to State's prison." "Well, I can't help it," whined Sam, drawing down the corners of his mouth, and rubbing his knuckles in his eyes. "I don't know nothing about that ar boat! You don't 'spose I'd be mean enough to steal that nice little craft of your'n, do you, Bobby?" "Come along, then," said the officer, without giving the fisher-boy time to reply. "I'll see if the 'squire can't find means to make you tell what we want to know. You might as well own up at once, and save trouble! You didn't see me watching you last night, did you?" "No I didn't," replied Sam; "an' I know you wasn't a watchin' me, 'cause if you had been, you wouldn't arrest me now. You would know that I was in bed." The constable was trying to frighten Sam into making a confession, but he failed completely. On the way to the 'squire's office, the bully repeatedly protested his innocence; assured the officer that Bob could not point to a firmer friend in the village than he had always shown himself to be, and he even had the impudence to appeal to the fisher-boy to substantiate all he said. But Bob declined to have any thing to say to him. He was as firmly convinced of Sam's guilt as if he had seen him take the skiff; and he did not believe that a boy who could deliberately perform so mean an act ought to be noticed by any respectable person. Sam had been arrested by the advice of Mr. Graves, to whom Bob had told his story as soon as he discovered his loss. The boat-builder, being alarmed for the safety of his money, knowing, as he did, that Bob could never raise the funds to pay off the note, unless he had a boat to earn it with, had interested himself in the case, and hired a lawyer to manage it for him. The affair having become noised abroad by this time, the court-room was crowded, and when Sam was brought in by the constable, he had the satisfaction of seeing that he had very few friends among the spectators. Nearly every one had a kind word for the fisher-boy, while if they took any notice at all of Sam, it was only to scowl at him very savagely. Tom Newcombe was there, and he was one of the first to offer consolation and encouragement. "Don't look so down-hearted, Bob," he whispered. "I can't help it," replied the fisher-boy, sorrowfully. "I am utterly ruined!" "Ruined!" repeated Tom, "I can't see it. Have you forgotten the ten dollars we sent off yesterday?" "No; but I am almost afraid it won't amount to any thing." "Nonsense!" exclaimed Tom. "Do you suppose that if there was any chance for failure I would have invested my money in it? Let the skiff go. In a week you will be able to buy a better one." "Order in the court-room!" commanded the 'squire, and this put a stop to the conversation. Sam Barton seated himself on a table that stood in one corner of the room, and settling into a comfortable position, patiently waited to hear what the judge had to say to him. A stranger would have thought him a spectator rather than a prisoner. The air of solemnity with which every thing was conducted, and the look of sternness assumed by the 'squire, did not trouble him in the least. Upon being questioned, he declared himself innocent of the charge, and defied the constable, Bob Jennings, or any body else, to prove that he had ever laid a hand upon the boat. Unfortunately for the fisher-boy, and the cause of justice, this was the difficulty; for what little evidence offered was all in Sam's favor. True, Bob repeated all the threats the bully had made about driving him out of the harbor, and away from Fishertown, but that did not prove that he had stolen the boat, for Sam's father testified that his son was in bed and fast asleep at eight o'clock. This convinced some of the spectators that Sam was innocent; for the fisher-boy said that he had seen the Go Ahead No. 2 lying safe at her wharf at nine o'clock. The truth of the matter was, that as late as eleven, Sam Barton was wide awake and full of mischief, having never been near his bed that night. But Mr. Barton did not know this, and he had told only what he believed to be the truth. Sam slept in a shed adjoining the house, and when he had any thing unusual on hand for the night, he always made a great show of going to bed; and then, when every thing was quiet, he would slip out and join his companions. The culprit was cross-questioned by the lawyers for half an hour, but all to no purpose. He stoutly denied all knowledge of the boat, and, besides, he could not be made to contradict himself. Finally, after a long consultation with the constable and Mr. Graves, the 'squire dismissed him, telling him that he was satisfied, and that he was sorry to have caused him so much trouble. "That's all mighty nice," said the bully, to himself, when he reached the street. "Mr. Grimes said I couldn't pull the wool over his eyes, an' I guess he'll find that he can't pull none over mine, neither. I'm sharper'n they think fur. I'll jest keep watch of that constable an' Bobby Jennings, fur I know what they're up to as well as they do." "I am sorry that we can't do any thing for you, Bob," said Mr. Graves, as soon as Sam had taken his departure. "So am I," replied the fisher-boy; "but, after all, it might have been worse. I never allow a little thing like this to discourage me, and I'll soon show Sam Barton that it is not in his power to trouble me long!" This remark was made in the presence of several persons, who had lingered about the court-room to talk the matter over, and there was not one among them who did not believe that Bob was the spunkiest fellow he had ever seen. The fisher-boy's vanity was flattered by several remarks he happened to overhear; such as, "You can't discourage him. He will make his mark in the world one of these days!" "Yes," said another, "he is all grit. He will succeed in any thing he undertakes." Now, these men supposed that Bob was relying upon himself; but, had they known any thing about the lottery, and been aware of the fact that it was his intention to wait for his twenty-five hundred dollars, before he made a single effort to extricate himself from his difficulties, they might not have been so lavish in their praise. During the next two weeks there were three boys in the village who lived in a state of constant fear and excitement. Bob Jennings was totally unfit for work; indeed, he grew more and more indolent every day he lived. He spent the most of his time in wandering about the wharves, watching Sam Barton, and living over, in imagination, the life he intended to lead as soon as his fortune arrived. He was not half so much troubled by the loss of his fine skiff as by the fear that something would happen to destroy all his bright hopes. The letter, in which he had sent his money to those gentlemen in Baltimore, might miscarry, or the whole thing might turn out to be a humbug, and then what would become of him? With a debt of twenty-six dollars hanging over him, with not a cent in his purse with which to supply his present necessities, and without a boat to carry on his business, what could he do? The fisher-boy would become frightened when he took this view of the situation, and then he would hunt up his friend Tom Newcombe, to make inquiries concerning the expected letter, and to listen to his words of encouragement. "Isn't it time that money was here?" he would ask. "Yes; and I'm looking for a letter every day. But don't be in a hurry. Those gentlemen are, no doubt, full of business, and they will write to us just as soon as they can find the time." Bob always departed satisfied, and with renewed hopes that in a day or two, at the very farthest, his bright dreams would all be realized. Sam Barton was also in a fever of excitement. He was not ignorant of the fact that every move he made, both night and day, was closely watched by his rival, and it kept him in constant fear. Of course he was obliged to give the cave a wide berth; but every night one of the members of the band visited their hiding-place, with provisions for the dog, and to stow away any new articles that were collected during the day. Their outfit was now complete, and some of the boys thought it high time they were beginning their cruise; but how should they elude the vigilance of Bob Jennings? This question was discussed by the band every day for two weeks, without reaching any satisfactory conclusion. Tom Newcombe was another very uneasy boy. He spent a small portion of his time in attending to his business, and wasted many an hour in running to the post-office to make inquiries concerning the letter that was to bring him a check for five thousand dollars. But the postmaster's invariable answer was-- "Nothing for you yet!" "O, now, there ought to be," Tom would say. "Please look again." "Your father's box is empty," the postmaster would reply. "If you are really in want of a letter, and can not possibly do without it, I'll write you one myself." Whenever the postmaster said this, Tom would leave the office in a terrible rage. In fact, he was very cross at all times; and, if every thing did not work to his entire satisfaction, he would storm and scold at a great rate. From the post-office he would go to the ship-yard and look at his yacht. A strong force of men were at work upon her, and under their skillful hands Tom saw the little vessel grow into shape, until, at last, he found before him what he considered to be the very perfection of marine architecture. He soon found that he was not the only one who admired her, for the report having been circulated through the village that Mr. Graves was building the most magnificent little vessel that had ever been seen about Newport, crowds of boys visited the ship-yard to satisfy themselves of the truth of the story. Johnny Harding, especially, spent an hour or two there every day, watching the progress of the work, and trying in vain to ascertain who was to be the happy owner of the yacht; but Mr. Graves never said any thing on this point, for Tom thought it best to keep the affair very quiet; and Johnny, to his great disappointment, could learn nothing positive. He had his suspicions, however, and, under the circumstances, that was not to be wondered at. Every time he visited the yard, he saw Tom strutting about, examining every thing with a critical eye, and the very dignified manner in which he treated all his attempts to enter into conversation with him convinced Johnny that there was "something up." More than that, Tom could not help hinting, very mysteriously that those of his acquaintances who had deserted him so shamefully would soon have occasion to repent of what they had done; and Johnny would have been dull indeed, if he had not been able to understand that something unusual was going on. The nearer the yacht approached completion, the more impatient Tom became to receive some tidings from the gentlemen in Baltimore. Every mail that arrived found him at the post-office, from which he always came away disappointed. He was becoming desperate. In a few more days the Storm King would be ready for her trial trip, and then Mr. Graves would want his money. If he did not have it ready for him--But Tom would not allow himself to look upon the dark side of the picture, or to think of what would be the consequences if his prize did not arrive in time to enable him to keep the promise he had made to the boat-builder. With his usual obstinacy, he clung to the belief that he had found the road to fortune, and that the "something," which he had waited for so long had at last "turned up." "I am afraid we are in a bad scrape!" said the fisher-boy to him, one day. "I don't believe those men are honest. Your father doesn't generally allow business letters to go unanswered for two or three weeks, does he?" "Well, no!" replied Tom. "But, then, you see his business is not so extensive as that of the men in Baltimore. Just think what an army of agents they must have; and how many letters they must receive every day! I'll drop them a line, requesting them to hurry up." Tom went to work at once, and that same evening a long letter was dispatched to the proprietors of the lottery, containing the information that Tom had sent them ten dollars for the lucky package of tickets that was to draw a prize of five thousand dollars over and above all expenses, and that he would be greatly obliged to them if they would send on the money at once. He further informed them that they were losing a great deal of business by their delay; but that was something he could not help, for he could not begin to act as their agent until he should be able to show the prize. This letter was sent off on Saturday. On the Monday following, Mr. Graves came to the office, when Tom, for a wonder, happened to be at work, and beckoned him out. "The Storm King will be ready for sea one week from to-day," said he, "and I would like to know if you intend to invite any of your friends to accompany you on the trial trip; if you do, I'll see that the provisions are supplied for the occasion." "O, no," replied Tom, quickly. "I have my reasons for wishing to keep the whole thing a secret for a few days longer." "I didn't know but your father might want to see the boat before he buys her," began Mr. Graves. "O, now, never mind my father," drawled Tom. "He's got nothing to do with it! I am bossing this job myself! When the yacht is ready for sea, you can man her with a crew of your own, and I'll go with you to see how she behaves. If she suits me, I'll pay you for her and take charge of her at once." "O, I know you will be pleased with her," said the boat-builder. "She is the finest little craft about the village, if I do say it myself." Mr. Graves went back to his ship-yard, and Tom slowly and thoughtfully returned to the office. He was a good deal annoyed to learn that his father had watched him very closely while he was talking to the boat-builder. He looked at Tom curiously as he came in, and said: "You and Mr. Graves are getting to be great friends lately. What is going on?" "O, nothing particular!" drawled Tom, in reply. "I was talking to him about a boat." "I think you have had enough to do with boats," said the merchant. "It is time you were turning a little of your attention to something more profitable, if you ever intend to be any body in the world." "O, yes, that's always the way!" muttered Tom, as he seated himself at his desk. "I always was the most unlucky boy in the whole world. Every thing I do is foolish and unprofitable. But just wait until the Storm King is paid for, and I'll show father that some folks can make money as well as others." Four days more passed, and Tom's nervousness increased to such a degree that it began to attract the attention of Mr. Newcombe, who wondered if the confinement of the office was not injuring his son's health. Bob Jennings was in much the same predicament; and on Friday evening he came to Tom with a very long face, and told him that the last cent of his ten dollars had been used to feed the family, and that if the prize did not arrive that night he would be utterly ruined; no provisions on hand, and no boat with which to earn money to buy any. "Now, don't talk about being ruined," said Tom, impatiently. "You're always croaking, and I can't see the use of it. We'll get a letter this very night. It _must_ come; because when those gentlemen in Baltimore find out that they are losing business every day by neglecting us, they will begin to bestir themselves." Four o'clock, the hour at which the evening mail arrived, found them at the post-office; and to their intense delight the postmaster handed out the long expected letter. Tom knew it was the one he wanted, for he could see that it had been mailed at Baltimore. He could not speak, for his heart was too full for utterance; but he gave Bob a knowing wink, and started for the wharf on a keen run. As he was passing by the ship-yard, he ran against Mr. Graves. "How's the yacht?" asked Tom. "Finished from main truck to kelson," was the reply. "I am two days ahead of time. You can go to sea in her to-morrow if you wish." "All right!" answered Tom. "You may expect me at nine o'clock. I've got your money in my pocket." Tom being in a great hurry to read his letter, left Mr. Graves very unceremoniously, and kept on to the wharf, followed by the fisher-boy, who now looked more like the Bob Jennings of old than he had done for many a day. Tom never once slackened his pace until he reached an unfrequented part of the wharf, where he sat down and pulled the letter out of his pocket. "What did I tell you, Bob?" he asked, in a husky whisper, for he was so excited that he could scarcely speak plainly. "Here's our fortune at last. You are not sorry now that you risked your five dollars, are you?" "Of course not," replied Bob, in the same excited whisper. "I'm glad of it." "It takes me to get up schemes, don't it?" continued Tom. "Now, there isn't another boy in Newport who would have thought of this." "Open the letter," interrupted Bob; "I am in a great hurry to see that money!" "O, you open it," replied Tom, handing the letter to the fisher-boy, and throwing himself at full length on the wharf. "I can enjoy it so much better if you read it." Bob tore open the envelope, and took out the letter, expecting, of course, that the first thing that met his eye would be the check for five thousand dollars. But to his astonishment, no such document appeared. A few words were scrawled upon half a sheet of soiled note paper, and Bob read them aloud, as follows: We have made every effort to ascertain the whereabouts of your letter containing the ten dollars, but without success. We are sorry to say that it has, no doubt, miscarried. Send on ten dollars more for the lucky package. Tom started up and looked at Bob without speaking. CHAPTER XI. TOM'S NEW YACHT. Had a thunderbolt fallen upon the wharf and burst at their very feet, Tom could not have been more astonished than he was when these words fell upon his ear. A great lump seemed to be rising up in his throat, his eyes were blinded with tears he could not choke back, and it was only after a desperate effort that he recovered the use of his tongue. "O, now, Bob, you haven't read that letter right," he almost gasped. "Yes, I have!" replied the fisher-boy, whose amazement and consternation were fully equal to Tom's. "I read every word of it just as it is written. Here's the letter; read it yourself!" "O, now, I won't do it!" drawled Tom, who, suddenly losing all his self-control, and forgetting, in his excitement, that people were constantly passing up and down the wharf in plain view, threw himself spitefully down upon the boards and cried aloud. "I always was the most unlucky boy in the whole world!" he sobbed, "and something is always happening to bother me. I never can do any thing like other fellows. I knew all the time just how it would turn out!" "You did!" exclaimed Bob. "Then why did you urge me to spend my money so foolishly?" "O, now, I don't know!" Tom almost yelled. "I'll jump in the harbor!" "Don't talk so loud," said the fisher-boy, who, although quite as much affected as Tom, succeeded in controlling himself. "There are some men looking at us." "I don't care!" replied Tom, recklessly. "It will be all over the village by this time to-morrow. I've been the biggest kind of a dunce!" "So have I, in more ways than one. I'm ruined now, and I have a good mind to jump into the harbor myself. Here's your letter!" "O, I don't want to see it! Take it away! Throw it overboard! Tear it up!" cried Tom, his tears bursting out afresh. "I wish I had ten dollars more, to send on for that lucky package." "It would only be money wasted," said Bob. "The whole thing is a humbug!" "I know better," shouted Tom. "You'll never be a rich man so long as you allow your doubts to stand in your way. What will all the fellows say when they find out that I ordered that splendid little yacht, and then couldn't pay for her?" Tom cried harder than ever as he asked this question, which excited a serious train of reflections in the mind of the fisher-boy. What would his mother say to him when she learned that he had squandered five dollars of his money, and told her a falsehood besides? "O, get away from me, now, Bob Jennings!" roared Tom, whose disappointment seemed to have turned his brain. "I don't want you or any body else near me." "Good by!" said the fisher-boy. "If you are going to keep up that howling you had better get away from here yourself. You'll raise the town in five minutes more!" As Bob spoke he gave one more glance at the letter which, from the very pinnacle of hope and joy, had plunged them into the lowest depths of despair, and then walked slowly away. Neither of these two boys was in an enviable position just then; but bad as was Tom's condition, the fisher-boy's was infinitely worse. Deeply in debt, his boat and money gone, the family entirely destitute of provisions, it was no wonder that Bob thought his lot in life a hard one, and that he should feel utterly discouraged. It seemed to him that the last three weeks of his life had been a dream. It had certainly been a pleasant one, for he had lived in a little world of his own creation, and had been free from all cares and troubles. The loss of his fine skiff--a misfortune which, had he been in his sober senses, would have alarmed him--he had regarded as something scarcely worth thinking about. He had been so fully occupied in contemplating the bright future which his imagination had pictured for him, that matters to which he should have given his immediate attention were deemed unworthy of notice. But just when he imagined himself on the eve of seeing all his glorious anticipations realized, he had been suddenly and rudely awakened, only to find himself still a fisher-boy, and, what was worse, the poorest one in the village. He had good reason for feeling down-hearted. The failure of Tom's splendid scheme was a serious matter for him, and it was a long time before he could recover from the shock which the reading of the letter had given him. For two or three hours he walked listlessly about, scarcely knowing where he was, or what he was doing, and it was not until it began to grow dark, and the wharves were deserted, that he was able to muster up courage enough to think the matter over calmly. His disappointment, although he thought it a very severe blow, was just what he needed. It did away with his delusion and his ideas about acquiring riches without labor, destroyed every one of the foolish notions Tom had put into his head, and, from that hour, Bob Jennings was himself again. He knew that, before he made any attempt to get out of his difficulties, he ought to try to make some amends for what he had done. He knew, also, right where he ought to begin; and, better than all, he had the moral courage to do what he believed to be right in the matter. He went home at a more rapid pace than he had exhibited for many a day, and found his mother engaged in sewing by the light of a solitary candle. While Bob had been idling away his time, and waiting for fortune to come to him, she had worked early and late to earn the money to buy the food he ate. She had used very sparingly of his little fortune, never spending a cent of it unless it was absolutely necessary, while he had, at one time, deliberately thrown away five dollars of it; or, what was the same thing, given it to support a couple of professional swindlers in their idleness. The fisher-boy did not waste time in thinking how he ought to begin the conversation, for a single glance at his mother's pale, patient face made the load on his conscience heavier than ever, and he was anxious to get rid of it as soon as possible. With tears of genuine repentance, and repeated promises of amendment, Bob told the story of his mistake, and of the deception of which he had been guilty. He did not try to defend himself by making excuses, but was manly enough to make a clean breast of the whole matter; he freely confessed his fault, and begged her forgiveness. Then he felt a great deal better; and, for the first time in three weeks, he was able to look his mother in the face. During those weeks of inactivity she had had no word of fault to find with Bob, and she had none now; but she had some good advice to give him, and the fisher-boy, having been thoroughly convinced by his recent experience that his mother's knowledge of the world was superior to his own, listened attentively to every word of it, and mentally resolved that he would never take a step in any direction without first asking her permission and advice. It was midnight before the conversation ceased, and Bob, who did not feel at all sleepy just then, took a sharp-pointed case-knife from the cupboard and went out. He walked around behind the house, and by the light of the moon, which was shining brightly, read over his motto. "I'll never forget it again," said he. "If I had only been wise enough to keep it in mind, I never would have been in this miserable scrape." Having given utterance to this opinion, Bob went to work with his knife, and at the end of an hour, another motto had been cut in the boards under the first. He then went to bed, well satisfied with what he had done, and believing that he had taken the first step toward extricating himself from his difficulties. The next morning he was up with the sun, and, shouldering a saw-horse, he set out for Mr. Henry's store. "Have you hired a man to saw that wood?" he asked of the grocer. "No," was the reply, and it sent a thrill of gladness through the heart of the fisher-boy. "If you want the job, I'll give you seventy-five cents a cord for sawing and splitting it." Bob accepted the offer, and in five minutes more, he had begun the work of retrieving his fortune. Meanwhile Tom Newcombe was stepping gayly about the office, performing his duties with more than usual alacrity; and one, to have seen him, would have little imagined that he had passed the most miserable night of his existence. He had never once closed his eyes in sleep; for, while he tossed uneasily about on his bed, he kept his brain busy trying to study up some plan to get himself out of his troubles. He could not bear the thought of giving up that splendid little vessel, after she had been built according to his orders, and he had so faithfully promised to be on hand with the money as soon as she was completed. He had so confidently expected to own and sail her himself, that he was sure that it would be a death-blow to him if he should see her pass into the possession of any one else. He knew that the matter could not be kept a secret much longer, for when Mr. Graves found out that he had no money to pay for the yacht, he would very likely take the trouble to call upon Mr. Newcombe. That would be a calamity indeed; for Tom knew that if the facts of the case came to his father's ears, he might bid good-by to all hopes of ever owning the vessel. He had believed that his twenty-five hundred dollars would come to hand so that he could settle with the boat-builder before his father should hear of what was going on; and, possession being nine points of law, he hoped that the merchant would raise no objection to his keeping the Storm King. But he had been disappointed in receiving the prize, and now he was trying to decide upon some plan to raise the four hundred dollars, or, at least, to secure possession of the vessel. This was, by far, the most difficult task he had yet undertaken; and for a long time it proved to be more than he could manage. But Tom was fruitful in expedients, and about midnight he suddenly sprung up in his bed and clapped his hands for joy. He had at last discovered a way out of his difficulties. "That's it!" said Tom to himself, after he had thought the matter over. "I'll have that yacht yet! It takes just me to get up schemes. I'm all right, and now I'll go to sleep." But that was easier said than done. He was intensely excited over his new project, and it kept him as wide-awake as his trouble had done before. Contrary to his usual custom he answered the breakfast bell promptly, and, in spite of the sleepless night he had passed, appeared at the table as bright as a lark. After eating a very light breakfast, he went down to the office, where he performed his duties in a very short space of time. Then he caught up his cap and ran out upon the wharf, where he found the fisher-boy at work at his wood-pile. "You're just the very man I am looking for!" said Tom. "Quit that job and come with me!" "What's up now?" asked Bob. "You seem to be in good spirits this morning!" "I should say I was!" replied Tom, snapping his fingers, and stepping gayly about the wharf; "and why shouldn't I be? We are all right now!" "Are we?" exclaimed Bob, eagerly. "Has our money come, after all?" "No, not yet! I'm going to send for it again in a week or two. But I own the Storm King, Bob! That's one settled fact!" "You do! Have you raised the four hundred dollars?" "That's my business! I've got her; she belongs to me, individually; and now I want to hire a crew. Will you ship as first mate?" "I think not!" said the fisher-boy, shaking his head, doubtfully. "What's the reason? I'll give you a dollar a day, and I know that's more than you can make by sawing wood." "Has your father bought--" "O, now, never mind talking about my father!" drawled Tom, impatiently. "It is enough for you to know that the yacht is mine, and that I am able to hire you. Will you go?" "No; I think I had better stay ashore!" said the fisher-boy. "You're a regular Jonah, Tom, and, to tell the truth, I am afraid of you. I wonder that they didn't have to throw you overboard from the Savannah when you made your voyage to Callao." "O, now, look here, Bob Jennings!" whined Tom, "I want you to quit calling me a Jonah! If you are afraid to ship with me, I can find some one else. I have tried to help you along in the world, but I'll never make you another offer as long as I live." So saying, he turned angrily on his heel and left the fisher-boy, who again turned his attention to his wood-pile. Tom bent his steps toward Mr. Graves's ship-yard, and the first thing he saw, as he entered the gate, was the Storm King, riding proudly at her moorings in the harbor, with her sails hoisted, all ready for the start. Three or four men, who comprised the crew that was to manage her during the trial trip, were lounging about the decks, and Mr. Graves stood on the beach talking to a crowd of eager, excited boys, who were examining the yacht with critical eyes, and begging the boat-builder to reveal to them the name of the owner. Although Tom could not hear what was said, he had no difficulty in guessing the subject of the conversation, and his heart swelled high within him when he thought what a commotion would be occasioned in that crowd of boys, when it became known that he was the captain and owner. Drawing himself up to his full height, throwing back his shoulders, and assuming what he considered to be a very commanding air, he walked leisurely down to the beach. The boys, seeing him approach, made way for him, and Mr. Graves called out: "Good morning, captain! We are all ready, as you see." Since the vessel was completed and ready for sea, the boat-builder thought there was no further necessity for keeping the affair a secret. If Tom wanted to create a sensation what better chance could he have? "Captain!" chorused all the boys, crowding up around Tom. "Do you own that beautiful yacht, Newcombe?" "I do!" was the very dignified reply. "Well, you're a lucky fellow," exclaimed one. "You've got the best father in the world!" said another. "Are you ready, captain?" asked Mr. Graves, stepping into a skiff and picking up the oars. "If you are, we'll go aboard!" "Are you going to sea, Newcombe?" eagerly inquired a dozen boys. "Let us go with you!" Tom's time for revenge had come at last. There were, perhaps, thirty or forty boys present, a good portion of whom had belonged to the Night-hawks, and the remainder were "Spooneys," with whom he never associated. He had several times run his eye over the group, but he could not discover a single friend in it. Every one of the boys, at some time or other, had failed to treat him with the respect due the son of the wealthiest man in the village, and now Tom had an opportunity to show them that he had not forgotten it. Without taking the trouble to reply to their request, he jumped into the skiff, turned his back to the boys, and said: "Shove off, Mr. Graves!" The boat-builder pushed off from the beach, and Tom, whose whole soul was wrapped up in his beautiful craft, did not even condescend to cast a parting glance toward the crowd of boys behind him. A few strokes of the oars brought the skiff alongside the Storm King, and the men who were lounging about the decks, arose to their feet and saluted Tom as he clambered over the side. "Here she is!" exclaimed Mr. Graves, who had followed close behind Tom. "Now, will you take command?" "No, I believe not," replied the boy, stroking his chin and gazing about him with the air of one who considered himself a judge of a good boat. "She doesn't belong to me yet, so you may just consider me a visitor." "All right," replied the boat-builder. "I thought, perhaps you would be impatient to get control of her. When I was a boy of your age, I never allowed a chance to play captain pass unimproved." "Perhaps you were not as reckless as I am," said Tom, who could think of no other excuse to make for not wishing to take charge of the little vessel. "I am a great hand to carry sails, and I might lose this mast overboard!" "Well, I'll be captain then," said Mr. Graves. "All hands stand by to get ship under-way." As the sails were all spread, the work of getting under-way was very speedily accomplished. One of the crew took his place at the wheel, another cast off the line with which she was made fast, and in half a minute's time the Storm King was moving down the harbor. One thing that not a little astonished Tom was, the perfect cloud of canvas he saw above him. He had told Mr. Graves that he wanted his yacht to have all the sail she could carry; and, according to Tom's idea, she was supplied with a great deal more than could be spread with safety even in the lightest breeze. But Mr. Graves thought differently. He had hoisted every inch of the canvas, and Tom's amazement increased when he witnessed the exhibition of speed the little vessel made. He was not the only one who was astonished, for the yacht very soon began to attract the attention of the people on both sides of the harbor, who shouted and waved their hats as she dashed by. Tom kept watch for the fisher-boy, and presently discovered him standing upon the top of his wood-pile, where he had climbed to obtain a better view of the boat. Tom knew he was astonished, and he wished that he could have been near enough to hear what he had to say about it; but when Bob waved his hat to him, he turned and walked over to the other side of the vessel. He could not forget that the fisher-boy had called him a Jonah. In a very few minutes the yacht cleared the harbor and entered the bay. There she felt the full force of the wind, which was blowing briskly, and, like an unruly horse which takes the bits in his teeth and runs away, the Storm King seemed determined to escape from the control of her crew, or, failing in that, to sweep them from her deck by running entirely under the water. In fact, she went at such a rate that Tom began to be alarmed, and nervously asked Mr. Graves if he hadn't better shorten sail. "No, indeed!" was the reply. "This is delightful. Besides, she is a new craft, and I want to find out what she can do. I should think an old sailor like you would enjoy it." "O, I do!" answered Tom, clinging to the rail for support; "but she might carry away her mast, or something, you know!" "I'll risk that! Every thing about her was made at my ship-yard, and I know it is first-class." Tom tried hard to bring himself to believe that there was no danger, but the sloop careened so wildly, and threw the spray about so recklessly, that it terrified him, and, to save his life, he could not conceal the fact. In order to thoroughly test the qualities of the yacht, Mr. Graves put her through a variety of evolutions, he sailed before the wind, beat up against, and finally declared that he could make her run square into the wind's eye. She behaved splendidly in every instance; and Tom was seaman enough to know that she was a prize, and that the happy owner of her would be envied by every boy in the village. Her sailing qualities, however, were not her only attractions, as Tom discovered when Mr. Graves conducted him down the companion-ladder into the cabin. He was more amazed then ever at the scene presented to his view; and, indeed, that was not to be wondered at, for the little cabin was fitted up like a palace. The bulkheads were finished off with black walnut, the floor was carpeted, and the furniture was as fine as any in Mr. Newcombe's parlors. There were two small windows in the stern, and under them was a sofa where the captain might lie down and take his after-dinner nap. At the head of the sofa was a desk, which Tom found to be supplied with writing materials of every description, and on a small table, that stood in the middle of the cabin, were one or two charts (which would have been of no possible use to Tom), a spy-glass, and several books and papers. On each side of the cabin a door opened into the cosiest little state-rooms that Tom had ever seen. They were both of the same size, nicely furnished, and supplied with beds, wash-stands, and looking-glasses. After Tom had examined every thing in them to his satisfaction, Mr. Graves conducted him through a door that led from the cabin into the hold. It was dry and airy, and large enough to contain all the merchandise that Tom was likely to put into it. From the hold they went into the galley, which was furnished with a small stove, and with all the pots, pans, and kettles, that any cook could possibly find use for. Tom was delighted with every thing he saw, but, after all, he did not look much like a boy who expected soon to be the owner of the finest little yacht about the village. Indeed, he was by no means certain that she would ever belong to him; for, while Mr. Graves was conducting him about the vessel, and explaining every thing to him, he kept saying to himself: "O, now, I wonder if I shall ever be captain of this boat! What shall I do if my new plan fails?" CHAPTER XII. TOM LOSES A DINNER. Tom, of course, did not believe that his plan for obtaining possession of the yacht would prove unsuccessful, but still he felt rather anxious about it, for the failure of his lottery scheme had made him timid. Mr. Graves noticed that there was something wrong with him, and as they ascended to the deck he inquired: "What's the matter with you? If I was in your place, and knew that I was soon to be the owner of this fine little vessel, I'd be livelier than you are! Are you sea-sick?" Tom thought this as good an opportunity as he should have to try his new plan; so he summoned all his courage to his aid, and replied: "O, no! It is something worse than that!" "Worse than sea-sickness!" repeated Mr. Graves. "Then it must be something bad. You have nothing to trouble you!" "O, now, yes I have!" drawled Tom. "I've seen more trouble than any other boy in the whole world!" The boat-builder looked at Tom a moment, to see if he was really in earnest, and then burst into a loud laugh. "Why, what have you to worry about?" he asked. "You have no hard work to do, like many boys of your age in the village; you have a rich father who gives you every thing you want; you live in a fine house; you own the prettiest little pony in the country, and, besides, you are master of a vessel that can't be beaten by any thing of her size in America. I think your lot in life a very pleasant one." "I have my disappointments as well as other people," said Tom, leading Mr. Graves out of ear-shot of the man at the wheel. "You know I told you last night that I had your money in my pocket?" "Yes, I recollect!" said the boat-builder. "Well, I was mistaken!" said Tom, in a low voice, turning away his head to hide the tears that started to his eyes. "You were mistaken!" repeated Mr. Graves, who little imagined what Tom was trying to get at. "Yes, I haven't got a red cent." "Why, is that the cause of your trouble?" asked the boat-builder, with another laugh. "That is very easily got over. Go to your father and ask him for seventy-five cents, or a dollar, and, if he thinks you need it, I know you'll get it." "O, now, I want more than that!" drawled Tom. "A dollar would be of no use to me!" "But what has all this got to do with the Storm King?" asked Mr. Graves. "It's got a great deal to do with it. I can't own the sloop till I pay for her, can I?" "Of course not!" "Well, how can I pay for her without money? I am dead broke!" Mr. Graves threw back his head, looked up at the cross-trees, and laughed louder than ever. "That's a good one!" said he. "Your father, a man who owns three-fourths of all the vessels that sail from this port, is out of money! Who ever heard of such a thing!" "O, now, who said any thing about my father?" drawled Tom. "I was talking about myself! I didn't mention his name!" "I can't see the point!" said the boat-builder, who had all the while been under the impression that Tom had ordered the Storm King with his father's permission, and that when she was completed the merchant would be the one to settle the bill. "I don't know what you mean!" "I mean just what I say!" replied Tom, beginning to believe that Mr. Graves was very dull of comprehension. "I mean that I have no money to pay for the yacht now; but, if you will let me have her, I'll settle with you in two or three weeks. I'll give you my note to that effect." "O, that's the trouble, is it?" said Mr. Graves, who appeared to be highly amused. "Don't let it bother you any longer. I can wait!" Tom could scarcely believe his ears. He sprang down from the rail where he had been sitting, and seizing Mr. Graves by both hands he danced about over the deck like one demented. "You are the best man I ever saw," said he, as soon as he could speak. "I'll never forget your kindness, and I hope that I shall some day be able to repay it! Just think of it! I am master of this magnificent vessel! If you have no objections, I'll take command of her now!" "All right!" exclaimed Mr. Graves, who appeared to be quite as much excited as Tom himself. "You be captain, and I'll be first-mate." "Very well!" said Tom, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and taking a few turns across the deck. "Mr. Graves, we will extend our cruise around Block Island. Shake out that gaff-topsail, and hoist the flying-jib, if you please." "Ay, ay, sir!" replied the first-mate. "And then, with your permission, I will order dinner. I am hungry." Mr. Graves, having tested the sloop to his satisfaction, had shaped her course toward the village; and, as the breeze was freshening, had ordered some of the sails taken in. But, upon receiving Tom's instructions, he put the vessel about, the flying-jib and gaff-topsail were given to the wind, and the Storm King began her cruise around the island. Then he returned to Tom, who was pacing up and down the deck, to report that his orders had been obeyed, and that dinner would be ready in half an hour. The new captain was in ecstasies, and he found it all he could do to refrain from shouting. When the boat-builder came up, he again seized him by the hand, exclaiming-- "I knew all the time that this yacht would belong to me! Won't the boys in the village be astonished?" "Certainly they will," said Mr. Graves, "and every one of them will wish themselves in your boots!" "Then you are really willing to take my note!" said Tom, who found it difficult to believe that one of his glorious plans had proved a success. "You are not afraid to trust me for a short time?" "Of course not! Why should I be when I know that the money is as safe in your hands as it is in my own? Have your note indorsed by your father, and I'll wait until----Why, what's the matter now?" Again Tom's bright hopes were dashed to the ground. Rudely jerking his hand from the boat-builder's grasp, he staggered back against the rail, and drawled out: "O, now, I didn't say any thing about my father, I tell you! He's got nothing whatever to do with this business!" "What's that you say?" exclaimed Mr. Graves, who now thought that he began to understand the matter. "I say that my father has nothing to do with this boat," repeated Tom, pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket, and wiping the tears from his eyes. "Then who is to pay for her?" "I, myself, individually, and nobody else!" "Whew!" whistled Mr. Graves, growing more and more astonished. "Where do you expect to get four hundred dollars, if your father doesn't give it to you?" "That's my own business! I'll have it in a very short time, and I'll get it honestly, too." "Then your father doesn't know any thing about this business?" "O no, he doesn't!" "And you had the assurance to order me to build you a boat worth four hundred dollars without first consulting him?" continued Mr. Graves. "Yes, I did!" answered Tom; "and if you will let me have her, I will certainly pay for her in two or three weeks! I sent for the money several days ago, but it hasn't come yet." Mr. Graves had never been more astonished in his life. He looked at his customer as if he could hardly believe that he had told him the truth, and finally inquired-- "What kind of a boy are you, anyhow?" "O, I'm the most unlucky boy in the whole world! That's the kind of a boy I am!" drawled Tom. "I never can do any thing like other fellows, for something is always happening to bother me." "I think you can do a good many things that other fellows can't do!" returned Mr. Graves. "There is not another boy in the village who would have the impudence to do as you have done." As the boat-builder said this, he turned on his heel and left Tom to think the matter over at his leisure. He gave a few orders in a low tone to the man at the wheel, and then walked forward and descended into the galley. Presently he came out again, gave some instructions to his crew, and Tom saw the sloop slowly come about until her bow pointed toward the village. The sails which Captain Newcombe had ordered spread, were taken in again, and then Mr. Graves began to pace thoughtfully up and down the deck. Tom watched all these movements as well as he could through eyes filled with tears of vexation and disappointment, and they told him, in language too plain to be misunderstood, that his new plan, which, at first, had promised to succeed even beyond his expectations, had failed like all the rest of his glorious ideas. He felt like yelling; and, perhaps he would thus have given vent to his troubled feelings if the presence of Mr. Graves and his crew had not restrained him. He wanted to hide his emotion from them, so he leaned over the rail and looked down into the water. He would have gone into the cabin, but the boat-builder evidently intended to keep him out of there, for he had locked the door and put the key into his pocket. Poor Tom was in a terrible predicament. Aside from the troubles occasioned by the non-receipt of his twenty-five hundred dollars, and the failure of his new plan to obtain possession of the yacht--both of which were very severe blows to him--he had the satisfaction of knowing that the very dignified manner in which he had conducted himself in the morning, when he believed himself to be the owner of the Storm King, had made him a great many enemies among the village boys, who, when they learned all the particulars of his business transaction with Mr. Graves, would never allow him to hear the last of it. He knew just what was in store for him, for he had already had some very bitter experience in that line. When the secrets of the "Gentlemen's Club" were revealed to the world, Tom had been tormented almost beyond the bounds of endurance; for every "Spooney" who met him on the street would raise his hat and politely make inquiries concerning the health of the President, and the prosperity of his society. Now, if such a thing was possible, matters would be tenfold worse. He would be known throughout the village as Captain Newcombe, and every one of his acquaintances, especially Johnny Harding, the boy with whom Tom was particularly desirous to "get even," would want to know something about his fine yacht. They would be very anxious to learn how she sailed, and would write notes to him requesting the privilege of accompanying him on some of his excursions. The affair would soon be known by every man, woman, and child in the village--he could see no way to prevent it--and every body would laugh at him, and wonder why he did not ask his father's permission before he ordered the yacht, and where he intended to get the money to pay for her. In short, Tom was afraid that during the next six or eight months, Newport would be a very unpleasant place to live, and he forthwith set his wits at work to conjure up some plan to get out of it. While he was thinking the matter over, the sloop was rapidly approaching the village, and presently Tom looked up and found that she was entering the harbor. Almost the first man he saw was his father, who stood on the wharf, behind his office, regarding the little vessel as if he was greatly interested in her. Something told Tom that the merchant had already learned that his son was the supposed owner of the sloop, and he felt like crying again when he thought of what was yet to come. Mr. Newcombe, of course, would want to know all about it; and Tom, as usual, would have been very glad indeed to have been able to avoid the interview. The men on the wharves waved their hats as the sloop passed along, but neither Tom nor Mr. Graves returned the salutation. They were both too busy with their own thoughts to notice what was going on around them. In a quarter of an hour the Storm King reached the ship-yard, and the boat-builder, after giving his crew orders to see that every thing was snug on board before they left, stepped into a yawl, which one of his men brought out to take him ashore, and motioned to Tom to follow him. Since learning that his customer was unable to pay for the sloop, he had not spoken a word to him. While he believed that Tom had four hundred dollars in his pocket, he had been very polite to him, and showed him every attention in his power. He had allowed him to take command of the yacht, had appointed himself first-mate, and condescended to obey his orders, and had even instructed the cook to prepare a dinner which he had provided at his own expense. But when the facts of the case were revealed to him, Tom suddenly fell very low in his estimation. He speedily relieved him of the captaincy without one word of excuse or apology, countermanded his orders concerning the dinner, and then left Tom to take care of himself; believing, no doubt, that a boy whose pockets were empty was not worth noticing. Tom was not so blind as to allow these slights to escape his attention, and they cut him to the quick. He determined, from that day forward, to treat Mr. Graves with the contempt he deserved; and to show him that his failure to pay for the yacht had not lessened his claims to respect. Drawing himself up very stiffly, he leisurely climbed down into the yawl, and taking his stand upon one of the thwarts, he looked straight toward the shore, utterly ignoring the presence of the boat-builder, who, in the hope of learning something of the plans Tom had in view for raising the four hundred dollars, made several attempts to enter into conversation with him. The moment the yawl touched the beach Tom sprang out and walked rapidly toward the gate, where, to his astonishment and vexation, he suddenly found himself surrounded by the same boys who had seen him start on his voyage in the morning. They appeared to be intensely delighted about something, and Tom was afraid that his secret was already known. "How are you, captain!" cried Johnny Harding. "That's a splendid little craft of yours!" "She is, indeed!" replied Tom, who resolved to "stick it out" as long as possible. "She's the finest boat about Newport. She sails like lightning, and is fitted up like a parlor." "I suppose she belongs to you!" said another. "Now, didn't I tell you this morning that she was mine?" asked Tom. "There's a screw loose somewhere, captain," said Johnny. "I asked your father what that yacht cost you, and he said he wasn't aware that you owned her." Tom was right in his suspicions. The boys knew all about it, and so did his father. Drawing in a long breath, and shutting his teeth hard to choke back his feelings, he pushed his way through the crowd, and started homeward at a rapid pace, not, however, without a few parting remarks from the boys. "Hard-a-starboard, there, captain!" shouted one. "O, now, I always was an unlucky boy," said another, exactly imitating Tom's lazy, drawling way of talking. "The next time you go to sea in that beautiful yacht of yours, captain, we will go with you, if you will be good enough to send us word!" Tom heard all these and a good many more exclamations; but he kept steady on his way, looking neither to the right nor left, and finally reached his home without having been so unfortunate as to meet any more of his acquaintances. He ran hastily up the stairs to his room, and, after he had closed and locked the door, he threw himself upon his bed, and found relief for his pent-up feelings in a copious flood of tears. CHAPTER XIII. MR. NEWCOMBE'S PRESENT. It was about two o'clock when Tom reached his home, and, during the next three hours, he lived in a state of mind that can scarcely be described. He remained in his room, pacing angrily up and down the floor, thinking over his numerous troubles, and conjuring up new schemes for the future--all the while watching the hands of the little time-piece that stood on the mantle as they moved slowly around toward five o'clock, the hour at which he expected to be summoned into the presence of his father. He was not sorry for any thing he had done--he still had too much confidence in his grand schemes for that--neither did he believe that there could be any thing wrong with the gentlemen in Baltimore; on the contrary, he still imagined them to be the most honorable of men--otherwise, they never could have built up so extensive a business. They were not to blame for his disappointment, for had they not told him that his letter had miscarried; that they had made every inquiry for it, but could not find it? Some dishonest post-office clerk was at the bottom of all his troubles! How Tom wished he had him there, locked up in his room with him! Wouldn't he pay him for all the misery he had caused him! He would beat him next time, for he would send his ten dollars by express. Mr. Newcombe was on time that evening, for, just as the clock struck five, Tom heard his step in the hall. The unpleasant interview was not far distant, and Tom began to prepare himself for it by plunging his face into the wash-bowl, and trying to hide all traces of his tears. Scarcely had he performed this operation, when he heard his father calling him. Hastily drying his face upon the towel, he slowly descended to the library, where he found the merchant walking up and down the floor, with his hands behind his back. "Close the door, Tom," said he, "and sit down; I want to talk to you." Tom reluctantly obeyed, and Mr. Newcombe continued: "I have been down to the ship-yard to look at your new yacht." "O, now, she doesn't belong to me yet!" drawled Tom, whirling his cap in his hand, and looking down at the floor. "Why, I understand that she was built by your order," said the merchant. "I think she is a splendid little vessel. I admire your taste, but I should have been much better pleased if you had consulted me in the matter." Tom looked down at the carpet, and had nothing to say. He thought that, if he had asked his father's advice, the yacht would not have been built at all. "Four hundred dollars is a good price to pay for a pleasure-boat," continued Mr. Newcombe. "I think the Mystery is quite large enough, and fast enough, to answer your purpose." "O no, she isn't, father," drawled Tom; "I am going to be a trader!" "You are? How do you expect to carry on your business? With that sloop, your expenses will be considerable, and you have no money that I know of." "But I am going to get some," said Tom. "I'll be rich in two weeks more. I'll be worth five thousand dollars." Mr. Newcombe opened his eyes when he heard this. He had learned the particulars of the matter from Mr. Graves, as far as the latter knew them, but he was satisfied that he had not heard all the story, and that Tom had some secret the boat-builder knew nothing about. Knowing Tom as well as he did, he had made up his mind to listen to something ridiculous, but he was not prepared to hear that he expected soon to be a rich man. "Where are you going to get so much money?" he asked. "O, now, I know!" drawled Tom. "Well, then, tell me; I would like to know something about it also." "O, isn't it enough for you to know that I am going to get it honestly, and that I don't intend to cheat any body?" whined Tom. "No; that will not satisfy me. I want to know all about it." Mr. Newcombe spoke these words rather sternly, and Tom knew that it was dangerous to hesitate longer. "I am going to get the money of some men in Baltimore," said he, the tears starting to his eyes again: "they have promised me five thousand dollars, if I will act as their agent." "They are very liberal. What is their business?" "Lottery business!" drawled Tom. The merchant was really amazed now. He arose to his feet and walked up and down the floor, repeating the words over and over again, as if he could scarcely understand them. At length he stopped in front of Tom, and inquired: "How did you find out that these men wanted an agent? Now, I want you to tell me all about it, from beginning to end." Tom, as was always the case with him when called upon to explain any of his schemes to his father, had tried to avoid coming to the point. He did not want Mr. Newcombe to become acquainted with all his secrets, but, knowing by the latter's looks that it was time for him to speak if he wished to keep out of trouble, he began at the beginning and told the whole story. He said he had become tired of the office, but, being well aware of the fact that he could not get out of it until he should be able to satisfy his father that he had some better business in view, he had finally decided that the easiest occupation in which he could engage was trading. He determined to go into it on a grand scale this time, but, having no capital with which to carry out his plans, he had commenced reading the advertisements in the newspapers, in the hope of "getting an idea," and he had thus obtained the address of the proprietors of the lottery. (Here Tom produced their advertisement. He had carried it next to his heart for the last month.) He then went on to repeat what he had written in his letter to them, as near as he could remember it, and handed his father the one he had received in reply. He related the particulars of the interview with Bob Jennings, rehearsed the arguments he had used to induce him to advance the five dollars to send for the "lucky package," and told his father that he had then ordered the Storm King, because he believed that his fortune was made, and that, in a very few days, he would be the wealthiest boy of his age in the village. "And I would certainly have got the money," said he, in conclusion, "if some rascally post-office clerk hadn't stolen my letter." Mr. Newcombe grew more and more astonished as Tom proceeded with his story, but he listened patiently to every word of it, and heard him through without interruption. It did not seem possible to him that a boy, fifteen years old, could seriously entertain such ridiculous ideas. For a long time he sat gazing at the letter, which he still held in his hand, then he read the advertisement, and finally he looked at Tom. "Mr. Graves told me that you wanted him to credit you for two or three weeks," said he. "O, now, yes, I did!" drawled Tom. "But your lottery scheme has failed; so where would you get the four hundred dollars?" "O no, it hasn't failed yet, father!" replied Tom. "I am going to give it a fair trial. Haven't you often told me to 'try again, and keep trying, and I'll be certain to succeed?'" "But just suppose that, with all your trying, the money does not come!" said Mr. Newcombe, who did not think it best to attempt to answer this question. "What will you do then?" "I will go to work and make it by trading." "Then you will have to do better than you did before. Have you forgotten your game chickens?" "O no, I haven't!" drawled Tom. "I ought to have known better than to expect to make any money then, because I wasn't fixed for it; but, if I owned that splendid little sloop, I would be all right. She was built on purpose for a trading-boat, and if I couldn't make four hundred dollars in two or three weeks with her, I would like to know what is the reason!" "Very well," said Mr. Newcombe, "suppose Mr. Graves was willing to credit you for two or three weeks, and I was willing he should do so, where is your capital to begin with? Where's the money to hire your crew and to buy your first cargo?" "O, I'll get that from those gentlemen in Baltimore," replied Tom. "But you can't understand this business, father. Just let me alone for a month or so, and I'll show you that I can make plenty of money." Tom was quite right when he said that his father could not understand the business; indeed, Mr. Newcombe was more than half inclined to believe that Tom did not understand it himself. If his prize failed to come to hand, he would earn the four hundred dollars to pay for the yacht by trading; but he was still depending upon the lottery to furnish the money to hire his crew and buy his first cargo. The merchant had never listened to such reasoning before, and it was no wonder he could not understand it. "Tom," said he, at length, "are you really foolish enough to put faith in any such nonsense as this? Do you honestly believe that these men are what they represent themselves to be?" "O yes, I do!" drawled Tom. "Their letter has a printed heading, just like yours." "Then you believe they are honorable business men?" "Yes, I do!" repeated Tom. "I am not afraid to trust them. Do you suppose that men who have agents in every civilized country on the globe dare cheat any body? I am going to send them the very next ten-dollar bill I get." "Then I shall take care that you do not get one very soon," said the merchant. "That will do; I have nothing further to say to you at present." "O, now, father," began Tom---- "We will not say any thing more about this just now," interrupted Mr. Newcombe. "Now I am aground again," said Tom to himself, as he put on his cap and left the room. "If I don't get any more ten-dollar bills I must give up all hopes of ever getting one of those prizes. Something is always happening to bother me!" He did not see his father again until supper-time, and then not a word was said about the lottery. The merchant appeared to be as cheerful as usual, but that did not quiet Tom's feelings, for he knew that the matter was not yet settled. He would have been glad indeed to know what would be done about it, but he could not muster up courage enough to ask his father any questions. He passed that night in much the same manner that he had passed the preceding one, tossing restlessly about on his bed; and when he slept, he was troubled with dreams, in which the Storm King, the proprietors of the lottery, and Bob Jennings bore prominent parts. The next morning he went down to the office as usual--being careful on the way to avoid the principal streets, so that he might not meet any boys of his acquaintance--and there he found his father and Mr. Graves engaged in conversation. The latter seemed to have recovered his usual spirits, for he was laughing at some remark made by the merchant, and he even shook hands with Tom and wished him a hearty good morning. Perhaps the large roll of bank-bills he was just putting into his pocket had something to do with his good, nature! Tom noticed them at once; and he could hardly refrain from shouting with delight, when the thought flashed through his mind that his father had bought the yacht, and was intending to set him up in business as a trader. He soon became convinced that such was the fact; for, as Mr. Graves turned to go, the merchant inquired, "Is she complete in every particular?" "Yes, sir!" was the reply. "She is finished alow and aloft, and supplied with every thing she needs, from an anchor down to a marlin spike." Mr. Graves then took leave of the merchant, and walked off, whistling softly to himself, while Tom sank into a chair and awaited the issue of events with an impatience he did not try to conceal. Mr. Newcombe walked a few times across the office with his eyes fastened on the floor, as if in deep meditation, and then seating himself at his desk, he took out a sheet of note-paper and wrote a long letter. When it was finished he put it into an envelope and handed it to Tom, with the request that he would take it to the military academy. "O, now, I'm not going to be a trader after all!" thought Tom, as he began to search about the office for his cap. "I just know that I have got to go back to that school! I won't stay there long! I am not going to be shut up for five or six months without a single leave of absence, now I tell you." When he reached the street he glanced at the letter, and saw that it was addressed to the principal of the academy. This was enough to confirm him in his suspicions, and, while on the way to the school, he thought over several plans for escape, that suggested themselves to his mind. If he should be unfortunate enough to be shut up in the academy again, he knew that it would be something of a task to get out of it; for the students having turned against him, on account of the troubles they had brought upon themselves by taking part in his runaway scheme, he would have no one to assist him. But Tom had great confidence in himself, and he was certain that he could arrange matters to his entire satisfaction. He would fight against it as long as he could; but, if his father was determined that he should go back to the academy, he would, alone and unaided, occasion a greater uproar in the village than had ever been heard there before. Arriving at the gate, he rang the bell, handed the letter to the guard, who answered the summons, and then slowly retraced his steps toward the office. He had not gone far when he met his friend Johnny Harding. "Good morning, captain!" said Johnny, taking off his cap, and making a very low bow; "I hope you are well!" "O, now, look here!" drawled Tom. "I want you to quit calling me captain!" "That's a fact!" said Johnny. "I ought to stop it, for you are not the master of the Storm King now. I expect Bill Steele will be her next captain. "Bill Steele!" repeated Tom. "Not the colonel of the academy battalion?" "That's the very fellow. She couldn't be in better hands, for I understand that he is a capital sailor. He is a New Bedford boy, and, of course, knows all about a boat." "O, now, how is he going to get her?" asked Tom, who was very much astonished at this information. "Why, haven't you heard that your father has presented her to the principal of the academy? Well, it's a fact. Mr. Graves told me all about it, not five minutes ago." "Then I can't be a trader!" whined Tom, hiding his face in his handkerchief. "I won't stand it; that's just all about it! If I don't sail that sloop, nobody shall. I'll sink her so deep in the bay that she can never be raised again!" As Tom said this, he abruptly left Johnny and walked rapidly down the street. This was by far the severest blow he had yet experienced. To be obliged to see that fine little yacht, which had been built in accordance with his orders, which every one in the village so much admired, and which he had so long regarded as his own property, to see her pass into the hands of some one else, and the very one of all others he most despised, was more than he could endure. Bill Steele seemed to be his evil genius. He had obtained possession of the silver eagles, and received the colonel's commission, for which Tom had worked so hard; and now, he was to be the captain of the Storm King! If the principal had purchased the yacht, Tom thought he would not have felt so badly about it; but his own father had bought her, and, instead of giving her to him, as he ought to have done, and setting him up in business as a trader, he had presented her to the faculty of the military school, when he knew, all the while, that his son disliked every one of them. Another thing that made Tom very angry, was the thought that he himself had been the bearer of the letter in which his father offered the yacht for the principal's acceptance. If he had met Johnny five minutes sooner, he never would have carried that letter to its address. He would have torn it up, or thrown it into the harbor. Tom was sorely distressed. It was no easy matter to keep back his tears, but having been given many opportunities to practice self-control, during the course of his varied and eventful life, and being at that very moment on one of the principal streets, where people were constantly passing him, he struggled manfully with his emotion, and even succeeded in forcing a smile upon his face. By the time he reached the office he had so far choked down his feelings, that a stranger would never have imagined him to be a disappointed boy, or that he regarded himself as the most abused person in existence. During all that forenoon he performed his duties as usual, and when he went home, to dinner with his father, the latter told him what he had done with the Storm King. "Mr. Graves built her expecting that I would pay for her," said he, "and, of course, I could not disappoint him." "But why didn't you give her to me?" inquired Tom. "They have no use for her at the academy." "O yes, they have!" returned Mr. Newcombe. "I have often heard the principal say that a vessel of some description, that could be handled by the students, would be of great service to him. You know that some of the scholars are studying navigation, and I thought they could make better use of her than you could." "But, father, did you mean what you said, when you told me that you would take care that I didn't get any ten-dollar bills very soon?" asked Tom, in a gloomy voice. "Certainly I did. You have convinced me that you do not know how to use money, so I have decided that the best thing I can do is to put your wages in the bank. They will be safe there!" This was all that was said on the subject at that time. Tom did not remonstrate with his father, because he knew that it would be entirely useless. For the same reason Mr. Newcombe did not take Tom to task for what he had done or offer him any advice. All the talking he could have done, would not have convinced Tom that he had acted foolishly or that, as often as he built his hopes upon such schemes, he was doomed to be disappointed. CHAPTER XIV. BOB MAKES A DISCOVERY. Tom, we repeat, did not try to induce his father to reconsider the decision he had made in regard to the Storm King, and the manner in which his son's wages ought to be disposed of, for he knew that all the promises he could make, and all the arguments he could bring to bear upon him, would have no effect. The yacht was lost to him, and that was a settled fact. He regretted it exceedingly, but still he was not so much troubled about that, as by the thought that he could no longer use his money as he pleased. This was like the law against going outside the gate after dark--unreasonable and unjust; and was made simply because his father "didn't want him to enjoy himself if he could help it." He had fully made up his mind to save his next two weeks' wages to send for the "lucky package," and he was certain that his second trial of the lottery scheme would prove successful. The reason it had failed before was, because some dishonest post-office clerk had stolen the letter that contained his ten dollars; but now he would be on the safe side, for he would send his money by express. When his prize arrived (he would send all his own money this time, so that, when the five thousand dollars came, he would not be obliged to divide it with any one), it had been his intention to order Mr. Graves to build another yacht for him, that would be as far superior to the Storm King, in point of speed and finish, as she was better than Bob Jennings's old scow. But he could no longer indulge in these glorious anticipations. His splendid scheme had at last received its death-wound, and, worse than all, there was not a single boy in the village who sympathized with him. Even the fisher-boy had called him a Jonah, and refused to have any thing more to do with him. However, Tom was not willing to let the matter drop there. If Colonel Steele, and the rest of the academy fellows, supposed that he would permit them to enjoy their new vessel, they were destined to be sadly disappointed. If he did not own and sail that yacht, no one about that village should. He had said it more than once, and he was in earnest; and his father, and every body else in Newport, would very soon find out that his desires and claims were not to be set aside with impunity. Tom did not then make up his mind what he would do; but when he stood in the door of his father's office, about four o'clock that afternoon, and saw the Storm King sail majestically out of the harbor, manned by a crew from the academy--and her new captain sprung upon the rail and proposed three cheers for Mr. Newcombe--the scene acted like a spur upon his flagging ideas, and in an instant his resolve was taken. He waited until the yacht had rounded the pier and shaped her course down the bay, and then he sauntered out on the wharf, where the fisher-boy was at work at his wood-pile. "Bob Jennings," said he, "do you still believe me to be a Jonah?" "Well, I am a little afraid of you," was the reply. "You didn't get the yacht after all. Those academy fellows seem to be delighted with her." "They had better use her while they can," answered Tom, shaking his head threateningly. "They will not have her very long. I suppose you don't want any thing more to do with my plans?" "No, I believe not. Money is what I need now, and I can make more by sawing wood than I can by helping you in your grand schemes." "Stick to it, then," said Tom, angrily. "I hope you will be a poor man as long as you live. Look out for me, now. You are going back on me like all the rest of the Spooneys, and I'll be sure to get even with you." The fisher-boy did not quite understand this last remark; but, before he had time to ask any questions, Tom had walked to the edge of the wharf, and was beckoning to Sam Barton. When the yawl came up, he climbed down into it, and was ferried across the harbor. He did not get out, however, when he reached the opposite side, but sat in the boat and held a long and earnest conversation with Sam. Bob, who had watched all these movements, thought he must have been telling him some secret; for, when two or three of the ferry-boys came up to hear what Tom was saying, Sam ordered them to go away and attend to their own business. Finally, the bully pulled the yawl under the wharf out of sight; and Bob, who kept one eye directed across the harbor, did not see them come out again until the six o'clock bell rang. Since he had begun the work of retrieving his lost fortune, the fisher-boy had worked early and late. The first peep of day found him at his wood-pile, and, as the moon shone brightly every night, it was sometimes nine or ten o'clock before he left the wharf. He ate his breakfast before he started from home, and, in order that he might not lose a moment from his work, he brought his dinner and supper with him. He looked upon every instant of time as too valuable to be wasted, but the singular movements of Tom Newcombe had excited his curiosity, and for the next two hours his work progressed rather slowly. He wondered what his aristocratic friend had to say to that fellow! He was satisfied that Tom had some new idea in his head, but he could not imagine what it could be that he should need the assistance of Sam Barton in carrying it out. The only conclusion he could come to was, that Tom was trying to borrow ten dollars from the bully to send for the "lucky package." Sam was rich, as fortunes were measured in Fishertown, and it was not likely that he would refuse to accommodate Tom with a few dollars, believing, as he did, that he was able to pay him a big interest, and that there was no danger of losing it. If that was the object of Tom's interview with the bully he must have been successful; for, when the six o'clock bell rang, and Sam brought his passenger back to his own side of the harbor, Bob saw that he was in excellent spirits. He walked toward the office snapping his fingers and whistling a gay tune, and as he passed by the fisher-boy he shook his head at him, as if to say, "I am all right now!" Bob worked late that night. Even after Mr. Henry had closed his store, and the wharf had been deserted by every body except Mr. Newcombe's night watchman, he kept busy in spite of his weary muscles and heavy eyelids. Besides being anxious to earn the twenty-six dollars, with which to settle his indebtedness to Mr. Graves, the fisher-boy had another object in working so late. He was punishing himself. Every time he stopped to wipe the perspiration from his face he would say: "It serves you just right, Bob Jennings! I don't pity you in the least. You were well off in the world at one time. You had money in the bank, and were not ashamed to look any man in Newport in the face. Now look at you! Go to work, and don't be fooling away your time here!" Then Bob would put another stick of wood on his saw-horse, and his tired arms would drive the saw as if his life depended upon getting his pile of wood done in the shortest possible space of time. About half-past nine o'clock the fisher-boy thought it time to go home. He ceased his work and stood looking at his pile of wood he had cut that day, when, upon raising his eyes, he saw a boy spring behind the corner of Mr. Newcombe's warehouse. Had this happened a month before, he would have paid no attention to it; but, as he had not yet given up all hopes of recovering the Go Ahead No. 2, nor forgotten that Sam Barton was his bitter enemy, and only awaiting a favorable opportunity to be revenged upon him, the simple fact of a boy dodging behind the warehouse was enough to arouse his suspicions. He had recognized the spy, and knew him to be one of the bully's particular friends; but what was he doing about the wharf at that hour, and why was he watching Bob? The fisher-boy was sure that he was watching him, or he would not have taken so much pains to keep out of his sight. He did not feel altogether safe for he was afraid that Sam and his band were lurking behind some of the neighboring buildings, intending to waylay him on his way home; in which case he would probably be very severely handled. They were five or six to his one, and if they were resolved to have a fight with him, he could not hope to come off unharmed. But Bob, knowing that he had never given Sam Barton, or any other boy about Fishertown, any cause for enmity, had no idea of standing still and allowing himself to be whipped. Without removing his eyes from the corner of the building where the spy had disappeared, he picked a small, round stick of wood from the pile, sawed it in two, and, after testing the strength of both pieces by pounding them upon the wharf, he shouldered the one he thought he could use to the best advantage in case of an attack, and set out for home. He walked along at a brisk pace, casting anxious glances around every corner he passed, and keeping a sharp lookout for enemies in the rear; but the only person he saw was the boy who had been watching him on the wharf, and who was now following him at a respectful distance. The spy's movements indicated that he did not wish to be seen. Every time Bob stopped and looked around, he would step into a door-way, or drop down behind a box or barrel on the sidewalk; and when the fisher-boy walked on, he would follow him as before. He performed his work in a very clumsy manner, for Bob saw every move he made; and, before he reached Fishertown, he had changed his mind in regard to the spy's object in following him. He was not awaiting an opportunity to signal to Sam Barton that the time had come for him to "get even" with his rival, but he was simply watching Bob to see that he went home. Now, why did he want him to go home? Undoubtedly, because his chief had some project in view, which he was afraid to attempt until he knew that the fisher-boy was in bed and asleep. This was the way Bob looked at the matter, and subsequent events proved that he was right. Being no longer afraid of an attack, the fisher-boy threw away his club, and walked on faster than ever. He did not turn again to look at the spy, until just as he reached home, when a single glance told him that he was still in sight. Instead of going into the house, Bob kept on around it, and took his stand at one corner, where he could observe the movements of his pursuer when he came up. About twenty yards from where he stood was another cabin, whose inmates had retired to rest; and presently the spy appeared, and stopped in the shadow of this cabin. He glanced hastily around, to make sure that there was no one in sight, listened attentively for a moment, to satisfy himself that all was quiet in the cabins, and then seated himself on the ground, and rested his elbows on his knees, as if he had decided to remain there during the rest of the night. For the next half hour neither Bob nor the spy scarcely moved a muscle. The latter sat gazing intently at the house, as if he was trying to look through the boards to obtain a view of what was going on inside; and the fisher-boy stood in his concealment, wondering how long his strange visitor intended to remain there, and trying in vain to determine what Sam's object could be in sending a boy to watch him at that time of night; for, that the bully was at the bottom of the whole affair, Bob did not for a moment doubt. Finally, the spy began to grow restless; and, after stretching his arms and yawning, as if he had become very sleepy, he arose to his feet, and with cautious steps approached the place where Bob was standing. The fisher-boy's fears that he had been discovered were speedily put at rest, for the spy passed within ten feet of him, and kept on around the house. Having thus satisfied himself that none of the family were stirring, he broke into a run and started back toward the village, followed by Bob, who had resolved to find out the cause of these mysterious movements, if he did not sleep a wink that night. The spy kept on at a rapid pace, until he reached the wharf, where he again became cautious in his movements. Mr. Newcombe's watchman was walking up and down behind the warehouse, and the spy did not want to attract his attention. He moved across the wharf on his hands and knees, and then, after casting suspicious glances around him, he suddenly disappeared from the view of the fisher-boy, who ran swiftly to the edge of the pier, and looked over into the harbor, just in time to see Sam Barton's yawl moving slowly out of sight among the spiles. This was enough to satisfy him that something unusual was going on, and he became more determined than ever to see the end of all these strange proceedings. He made up his mind to follow that boat wherever it went; and, there was but one way that he could do it, and that was by swimming. He waited fully five minutes, in order to give the yawl time to get so far under the wharf that he would not be discovered, and then he let himself down into the water and swam in among the spiles. There he found himself in almost Egyptian darkness, but he could hear the occupants of the yawl whispering to each other, and that guided him in the pursuit. Presently the light of a lantern flashed through the darkness, and, as its rays fell upon the faces of the boys in the yawl, Bob was astonished to recognize, in one of them, his friend Tom Newcombe; and he was still more amazed when he saw one of the crew remove the board that concealed the entrance to the cave. He watched the band, as, one after the other, they disappeared through the opening, until Sam Barton, who came last, pulled the board back to its place, and Bob was left alone in the darkness. The moment Sam disappeared the fisher-boy struck out for the cave, intent upon getting close enough to it to see what was going on inside, and to overhear the conversation carried on between its occupants. The entrance had been so carefully concealed that not a ray of light could be seen; but he had noted the exact position of the cave; and, besides, he was guided by the loud barking of a dog, which refused to keep silent, in spite of a severe beating somebody was giving him. The noise led Bob directly to the cave, and when he crawled out on the bank and listened a moment at the door, he found, to his joy, that he could distinctly hear every word that was said. "Kill him, Friday!" he heard the bully exclaim, probably addressing himself to the person who was beating the dog. "Make him hush that noise, or the first thing we know we'll have visitors. Stand back a little out of his sight, Tommy. You're a stranger to him and he don't like your looks!" "Are you not afraid that some one will hear him?" asked Tom. "That's not likely, unless that ar Bobby Jennings, or Mr. Grimes, is on the watch. Will Atkins, are you sartin an' sure that you see Bob go home?" "Am I sartin an' sure that I've got a pair of eyes?" asked Atkins. "I know that he is abed and fast asleep afore this time." "Gentlemen will please come to order, now!" said Sam, when Friday had succeeded in quieting the dog. "Take off your hats an' set down like men had oughter do. The first thing we have got to 'tend to, is to settle this business with Tommy. He says he has seed enough of them swells in the village; he is down on Bobby Jennings; he wants to go with us, an' is willin' to furnish his share of the outfit. He has promised to keep a still tongue in his head, an' to obey all orders; an' now we must give him a name." "Let me be the first mate," said Tom, who, having held high offices in several societies, thought himself worthy of being second in authority in the Crusoe band. "I am a first-class sailor, you know." "We aint goin' to have no mates," interrupted Sam. "I am captain, governor, chief, an' all the rest of the officers in one. I can manage these fellers without any help." "Call him Friday's Father!" said Jack Spaniard. "That's a good name." "O, now, I don't like it," drawled Tom. "Was Friday's father a brave man?" "Well, the book don't say much about him," replied Sam. "He was a nigger," said Will Atkins. "O, now, I don't want to be named after a darkey," whined Tom. "Wasn't there some brave, strong white fellow in Crusoe's band?" "Call yourself Muley, then!" "Who was he?" asked Tom, who, it was evident, had never read Robinson Crusoe. "He was the chap the governor throwed overboard when he ran away with Xury and the boat," replied Sam. "He was a brave feller, an' a reg'lar water-dog. He swam four miles to reach the shore." "I don't like the name a bit," said Tom. "I would rather be called captain, or mate, or general, or something." "I am the only officer in the band," repeated Sam. "If you don't like any of them names, pick out one for yourself." That was something Tom could not do. He was not acquainted with the names of any of the characters in the book, and consequently he was obliged to consent to be called after the Moor Robinson had thrown overboard. "That's settled," said Sam, opening the dilapidated copy of Robinson Crusoe, and taking from it a sheet of soiled foolscap; "and the next thing is for you to sign the shipping articles. Listen to 'em." The "shipping articles" were like a good many similar documents Tom had written--rather badly mixed up--but, by listening attentively, the eavesdropper outside of the cave got an insight into matters; for thus far every thing had been Greek to him. He learned, to his intense astonishment, that Sam and his friends had organized the society with the express purpose of hunting up an island somewhere in the ocean and living Crusoe life. He also discovered that Sam was the supreme ruler of the band; that his orders must be obeyed without the least hesitation; and that any boy who exposed the secrets of the society, or was detected in trying to get up a mutiny, would be punished as the chief thought proper. As Sam read this part of the "shipping articles," he put on a terrible frown, and spoke in a very gruff voice, which was, no doubt, intended to convince the new member that if he dared to be guilty of treason, his punishment would be something awful. Tom, having never before held the rank of private in any secret organization, hesitated a little about signing away his liberty. Sam had the reputation of being a terrible tyrant, and he did not want to put himself too much in his power. However, he had no alternative that he could discover. The members of the Crusoe band were the only friends he had; he had cast his lot with them, and he had already gone too far to desert them. "What do you say, Tommy?" asked the chief, when he had finished reading the "shipping articles." "Them's our rules, an' you can say yes or no to 'em, jest as you like." "I say yes!" answered Tom. "I'll obey all orders." The new member then stepped up to the flour barrel, and affixed his signature to the paper with a blunt lead-pencil, about an inch in length, which was the only thing in the shape of writing material possessed by the band. He was then hailed as a member by the chief, who shook him cordially by the hand and patted him on the back, while the others complimented him in language that grated harshly on his ears. "No time for foolin', fellers!" said the chief, at length. "Set down agin, an' let's have a talk about the Storm King." "There aint no need of talkin' much about her," said Friday. "It wouldn't be healthy for us to get into a fight now. We might get whipped, an' that would be the last of the Crusoe band." "We ought to have her," said Sam, "for she'd jest suit us. What do you say, Tommy?" "I say, take her by all means," replied the new member. "I joined you because I thought you would go to sea in her." "But mebbe we can't get her. We don't like the looks of the muskets them 'cademy fellers carry. They might punch us with their bayonets." "We must run that risk," said Tom, who would have been the last one to face the muskets of the students. "I am not captain of this band; if I was, I would capture her." "Well, if you could do it, I guess I can," said Sam. "But, before we lay any plans fur capturin' that boat, we ought to find out exactly how the land lays. Friday, you an' Jack Spaniard will go up to the 'cademy to-morrow, an' see how many fellers there are to guard her. If there's not more'n six or eight of 'em, we'll have her; but if they are too heavy for us, we'll have to stick to our old plan of goin' to sea in my yawl. The meetin' is out, now." Upon hearing these words the fisher-boy, who had stood just outside the door of the cave while all this conversation was going on, stepped back into the water, and concealed himself behind the timbers that supported the wharf, believing that, as the meeting had been dismissed, the band would at once leave their hiding-place. No doubt they would have done so if it had not been for Tom Newcombe. As this was his first visit to the cave, he was greatly interested in every thing he saw, and he stopped to examine the different articles, and to ask the chief's advice about the share of the outfit he was expected to furnish. The fisher-boy heard the talking, and thinking they might be saying something that would be useful for him to know, he crawled out of the water, and again took his stand close to the door of the cave, just in time to hear Tom remark-- "I thought you knew something about Bob Jennings's skiff." "In course I did," replied Sam, with a laugh. "An' as you are one of us now, I'll tell you all about it." Then the chief began and gave the new member a complete history of the rivalry that had so long existed between himself and Bob, and wound up by describing the manner in which he and his band had obtained possession of the Go Ahead No. 2, to all of which the fisher-boy listened eagerly. "You'll paint her over, give her a new name, and sell her to somebody, to raise a few dollars to help along your expedition, will you?" said he to himself, when Sam had finished his story. "Not much, Mr. Barton! I'll see that this little game of yours--" The fisher-boy's soliloquy was interrupted by an event that was as sudden as it was unexpected. One of the band threw open the door of the cave, whose interior was presented to Bob's astonished view. He saw the shot-guns and powder-flasks that were hung up against the walls, the heavier articles that were piled in the corners, the bull-dog which was chained opposite the entrance; but, plainer than all, he saw the Go Ahead No. 2, occupying the middle of the cave. Bob took these things all in at a single glance, and his first impulse was to spring into the cave and square accounts with the governor, by giving him a good drubbing. The next thought that occurred to him, however, was, that he was in a very dangerous situation. He had discovered something that might send Sam Barton to the House of Refuge for a few years, and there was no knowing what the bully might do if he got his hands upon him. More than that, the boy who had thrown open the door, and who had started back in dismay as the rays of the lantern fell upon Bob's face, very speedily recovered himself, and alarmed the band by exclaiming "Well, if here aint that ar Jennings!" "Bobby Jennings!" repeated Sam Barton in alarm, "Where?" "Just outside the door, listenin' to every word we said!" "Get out there every one of you!" commanded the chief, who readily comprehended the situation, and saw the necessity of prompt action. "Don't let him get away, unless--" There was no need of Sam's finishing the sentence The boys knew very well what would happen if Bob Jennings made his escape, and they all sprang out of the cave, determined to effect the capture of the eavesdropper. CHAPTER XV. BOB A PRISONER. The genuine Robinson Crusoe, when he discovered the foot-print on his island, was not more astonished than Sam Barton was at that moment; nor were the fears he experienced more terrible than those which flashed through the mind of the chief, when he received the astounding intelligence that Bob Jennings, instead of being at home and in bed, as his spy had reported, had been standing almost within reach of him, listening to every word he uttered. The fisher-boy had learned a secret which rendered him quite as dangerous to the governor as the cannibals were to Crusoe, and the safety of his band depended upon his ability to prevent him from returning to the upper world with the information he had gained. "Hurry up there, lads!" whispered Sam, excitedly, as he sprang into the yawl and pushed it from the shore, "we can't catch him any too quick. But whatever you do, be careful about makin' a noise!" "There he is!" exclaimed Jack Spaniard, as a slight splashing in the water attracted his attention. "Hold that light up higher, Friday." The boy elevated the lantern above his head, and its rays fell full upon the face of the fisher-boy, who was in the act of turning to look at his pursuers. Believing that his chances for finding a safe hiding-place under the pier were very slim indeed, he had struck out for the harbor, and was working his way through the water at a rate of speed that made Sam extremely nervous. "Push ahead, fellows!" said he, taking his stand in the bow of the yawl, with the lantern in one hand and the boat-hook in the other. "Send her along lively. Hold on, there, Bobby Jennings, or I'll rap you over the head." But the fisher-boy swam faster than ever. The bully was not yet near enough to strike him with the boat-hook, and he did not intend to allow him to come within reach if he could help it. But, although he proved himself to be a remarkable swimmer, he could not go faster than the yawl, and finally Sam Barton, who was leaning so far over the bow of his boat that he seemed to be in danger of losing his balance and falling into the water, was near enough to the fisher-boy to fasten into the collar of his shirt with the boat-hook. "Now, then, you're ketched," said he, savagely, as he began to pull his prisoner toward the boat. Bob evidently thought so too; but he determined to keep up the fight as long as there was a chance for escape, and, suddenly raising up in the water, he seized Sam by the hair with one hand, while with the other he attempted to release his collar from the boat-hook. "Stand by here, somebody!" exclaimed Sam, who felt his prisoner slipping through his fingers. "Help! help!" shouted the fisher-boy with all the strength of his lungs. "Thieves! Robbers! Mur--" "Jerusalem!" ejaculated Will Atkins, alarmed by the noise; and, seizing Bob by the shoulders, he plunged his head under the water to silence his shouting. "Choke him loose, lads!" said the chief, trying to unclasp the fisher-boy's fingers from his hair. "That's it! Now, Tommy, hand me that ar rope, an' you, Jack, ketch him by the shoulders an' stand by to h'ist him into the boat when I give the word." "Are you going to drown me?" gasped Bob, struggling to keep his head above the water. "Let go your hold, Bill Stevens!" "Easy there, with that tongue of yours!" replied Sam, "or down you go again! Have you got a good hold on him, fellers? Now, then," he continued flourishing the boat-hook above his head, "one word out of you, Bobby Jennings, an' I'll give you a taste of this. I aint one of them kind as stands much nonsense. Haul him into the boat, lads." Jack Spaniard and Friday exerted all their strength, and in a moment more the fisher-boy had been pulled into the boat, where he was at once thrown upon the bottom and held by three or four of the band, while Friday and Sam tied his hands behind his back with the rope. All this while Bob had fought desperately for his freedom. He did not hope to escape from his enemies, who so far out-numbered him, and held him at such great disadvantage, but he had resisted simply because it did not come natural to him to surrender upon the demand of any such fellows as Sam and his band. But all his struggles were useless now. They could do him no good, and might be the cause of bringing him bodily harm; and, knowing that it would be very poor policy to raise the bully's anger, he submitted to his captors with as good a grace as he could command, and permitted them to tie him hand and foot. "Now, then," said the chief after he had satisfied himself that Bob was securely bound, "put out that light, an' we'll go back to the cave. If you have raised any of them fellers in the harbor by your hollerin' an' yellin', you'll be sorry for it, Bobby Jennings. I guess you won't go round in your fine skiff, drivin' honest boys away from their work any more." Sam had traveled the road so often that he could find their hiding-place in the dark quite as readily as by the aid of a lantern. Presently he ran the bow of the yawl upon the shore, and, after listening a moment to make sure that no one in the harbor had been alarmed by the fisher-boy's shouting, he ordered his followers to carry the prisoner into the cave. Bob bore their rough handling without a word of complaint, and in a few moments he found himself lying on his back in the middle of the cave, where he speedily aroused a new enemy, in the shape of the bull-dog, which made desperate attempts to get at him, and whose chain was almost long enough to allow him to reach the prisoner. Bob several times heard his teeth snap like a steel-trap, within an inch of his ears, but when he tried to move farther away from the brute, he was instantly pounced upon by two of the band, who seemed to be afraid that, bound hand and foot as he was, he might still succeed in effecting his escape. "Now, shut the door and light that lantern, somebody," commanded the chief. "Friday, knock that dog down agin." Jack Spaniard fumbled around in the dark for a moment, and then struck a light, which revealed a scene that filled every boy in the cave with excitement. Friday, in attempting to obey the governor's order, had got himself into trouble. He had attacked the dog with the boat-hook, which he had kept in his hand, to resist any attempt that the fisher-boy might make at escape, but the brute, being determined to bite somebody, and probably cherishing a grudge against Friday for the beating he had given him but a short time before, turned fiercely upon him, and, fastening his teeth in his arm, threw him to the floor; and when the light from the lantern illumined the cave, he was shaking him as if he had been a large rat. "Jerusalem!" exclaimed Will Atkins, and, catching up an ax, he was starting to Friday's assistance, when he was checked by the stern voice of the chief. "Hold on, there," exclaimed Sam. "If you hit that dog with that ax there'll be a big fuss here. We mustn't hurt him, fur we need him to hunt goats with." "O, now, pull him off!" drawled Tom. "Now, you stand back an' let him alone," said Friday, who did not seem to be at all concerned. "If I can't beat this dog in a fair tussel, I don't want a cent." During the struggle, Friday kept a firm hold of his boat-hook; and now that the lantern was lighted, so that he could see to use it, he regained his feet, and showered his blows so fiercely upon his assailant, that, in less than half a minute, he was declared to be a badly whipped dog, and Sam was obliged to interfere in order to save his favorite from serious injury. "You fellers needn't make up your minds to see much goat meat on the table when we get to our island," said Friday, rolling up his sleeve to examine his arm, which, Tom was very much relieved to see was scarcely scratched "We'll starve to death if we don't get no grub till that ar dog ketches it fur us." Quiet being restored, the fisher-boy was placed in a sitting posture in the middle of the cave, with his back against the skiff; Sam seated himself on the dry-goods box, while the others of the band disposed of themselves in various attitudes, and waited for their leader to speak. Bob glanced hastily from one to the other of them, and he was satisfied, from their looks, that the new member was the only one who was prepared to say a word in his favor. Tom was already sincerely repenting that he had ever joined the Crusoe band. He had been greatly terrified by the violence he had witnessed, his face wore a timid, frightened expression, and his mouth was twisted on one side as if he had half a mind to cry. It had been demonstrated to his satisfaction that his new friends were but very little, if any, better than so many young savages, and he trembled when he thought of what they would do to him if he should accidentally break any of the laws of the band. Boys who could stand by and see one of their number engaged in a fight with a fierce bull-dog, without raising a hand to assist him, were not likely to be possessed of very kindly feelings; and if any misfortune should befall him while in their company, he could not hope for sympathy from any of them. Another reason why Tom wished himself well out of the scrape was, because he believed that the events of the last five minutes had endangered the existence of the society. We know that he was a famous manager, and that he could see a long way ahead of him while every thing worked smoothly and to his satisfaction, and no real obstacles were encountered; but now he was sadly troubled. Had he been the chief of the band at that moment, he would not have known how to act. He had readily fallen in with the belief of the others that Bob ought to be captured, in order to prevent him from revealing the secret of their hiding-place, and thus breaking up the band and putting a stop to their cruise; but now that they had got him, he was like the man who drew the elephant in the lottery--he didn't know what ought to be done with him. Sam Barton, however, was not troubled with any gloomy foreboding. Although he had, at first, looked very serious, and imagined all sorts of terrible things that would happen to him now that his rival had discovered his secret, a hasty review of the situation had convinced him that his case was not so very desperate after all. Indeed, according to his way of thinking, some such scrape as they had just got into was needed to establish his society upon a firm basis. Although the members, without a single exception, appeared to enter heartily into all his plans, he was afraid that, when the time for action arrived, one or two of the timid ones would have some excuse for backing out. That was one reason, though not the principal one, why he had stolen Bob's skiff. As all the members of his band had assisted him in it, he had thus got a firm hold upon them; and, if any of them became restive, he could enforce obedience to his commands by threatening to expose them to Mr. Grimes, the constable. The capture of the fisher-boy would serve to convince the band that he was in earnest, and that he was determined to carry out his plans in spite of all the obstacles that could be thrown in his way. [Illustration: BOB A PRISONER IN THE CAVE. (Page 180.)] "Gentlemen will come to order agin," said Sam, assuming a very solemn air, and looking savagely at the fisher-boy. "Of all the things that have happened since I got to be governor, this yere is the beat! It don't need a smart man to tell what would happen to us if this yere feller should get a chance to tell Mr. Grimes of what he has seed here; so the best thing we can do is to take care that he don't get back to the village in a hurry. Bobby Jennings, we shall keep you prisoner here until we get ready to start for our island. Friday, you an' Jack Spaniard tie that ar dog right here in front of the door; an' then, even if he does get his hands an' feet loose, he can't get out!" "O, now, I object to this way of doing business!" drawled Tom, as Friday and Jack untied the dog and began to drag him toward the door. "We don't want to keep Bob a prisoner here! How long do you suppose it will be before his absence will be discovered, and search made for him?" "Well, let 'em search!" returned Sam. "They won't find him, an' mebbe they'll think he is drownded, or that he has run away." "If we don't keep him here, what will we do with him?" demanded Will Atkins. "Haint you got no sense at all?" "O, now, I want you to quit asking me if I haven't got any sense!" drawled Tom. "I know as much about managing affairs of this kind as you or any one else in the band." "I don't see it!" said the chief. "A purty captain you would make now! If we should let him go, he'd have us all in jail in less than an hour: wouldn't you, Bobby?" "Indeed I would," replied the fisher-boy, promptly. "That would be the best place in the world for you." "O, now, you wouldn't put me in jail, Bob Jennings," drawled Tom. "I haven't done any thing." "You haven't?" exclaimed Sam. "That's a purty story, aint it, fellers? You're jest as deep in the mud as we are. Aint you a member of our band, an' didn't the band steal the skiff? The meetin's out, now." "O, I didn't have any thing to do with the skiff," whined Tom, who was utterly amazed at the bully's impudence. "I didn't join the band until after." "I said the meetin's out!" interrupted the governor. "If you have any thing to growl about you must keep it until we come here agin. Now, Bobby," he added, turning to the prisoner, "you've been ketched actin' the part of a spy; an' 'cordin' to law, you had oughter be chucked into the harbor. Howsomever, if you will behave yourself like a man had oughter do, we won't do you no harm. You have seed enough of this dog to know that he's mighty rough on strangers, an' if you know any thing you'll not try to get away from us. If you do--well, you'll find out what'll happen." After spreading an old sail upon the floor of the cave for the fisher-boy to lie down upon, and tightening up the ropes with which his hands and feet were confined, Sam again informed the band that the "meeting was out," and ordered them to get ready to start for home. The chief, as usual brought up the rear, remaining after the others had gone, to see that every thing was right about the cave. He paused a moment at the door, to assure the fisher-boy that the best thing he could do was to remain quietly a prisoner, and then he pushed the board back to its place, and Bob was left to his meditations, and to the companionship of the bull-dog. CHAPTER XVI. BOB FIGHTS FOR HIS LIBERTY. To say that the fisher-boy was astonished at what had taken place, would not half express his feelings. He had never imagined Sam to be so desperate a character, and never, until then, had he felt in the least afraid of him. He had always believed himself to be able to beat the bully at any of his games; but he now had learned that he had to deal with one who was quite as smart as himself. Being taken prisoner, and confined like a felon, were new chapters in his experience. There was no playing about it; it was a reality; and Sam and his band were in earnest. What would they do with him? was a question that the fisher-boy more than once asked himself, but without arriving at any satisfactory conclusion. In fact, he did not intend that the governor should have a chance to do any thing to him; for it was his intention to make some desperate attempts to effect his escape. There was another thing that surprised Bob quite as much as his captors, and that was, that Tom Newcombe should condescend to become a member of the organization, especially as he was obliged to take a position in the ranks. But, after thinking the matter over, the fisher-boy saw through it all; and he imagined that he was quite as well posted in regard to the object Tom had in view as was the new member himself. The latter had repeatedly said that if he did not own and sail that yacht, no one about Newport should long enjoy it, and, finding that his father had no intention of giving it to him, he had resolved to do something desperate. He at first decided to sink the Storm King in the harbor; and afterward he determined to go to sea in her. She was the most beautiful little vessel that had ever been seen about the village, and he could not bear the thought of destroying her; and besides, by capturing her, and running her out to sea, he would "get even" with both his father and the principal at the same time. He would take revenge upon the professor by depriving him of his fine yacht; and upon his father, by never again showing his face in Newport as long as he lived. But Tom could not do this by himself; he must have help; for he knew that a guard-post would be established upon the vessel, which was to be kept in the bay, back of the academy, and that any attempt to capture her would be met with stubborn resistance. He knew, also, that there were a good many "old sailors" at the academy, who would very soon fall in love with their new boat, if they hadn't done so already, and that they would not hesitate to thrash any boy who might be caught prowling around her at night, especially if they had the slightest reason for supposing that he intended to do the yacht an injury. If the society of Night-hawks had still been in existence, Tom would have applied to its members for the help he needed, and, very likely, he would have got it; but the village boys having all deserted him, he was obliged to look elsewhere for friends. The first boy he thought of was Sam Barton. He knew him to be a very reckless fellow, and he believed that an expedition organized for the purpose of seizing the Storm King would suit him exactly. More than that, Sam had a great deal of influence with the ferry-boys, every one of whom would rush to his standard, and Tom would again find himself the honored leader of a secret organization. Tom and the governor talked this matter over while they were under the pier, and, although the bully was at first inclined to be suspicious of his visitor, who, he thought, was too much of a "swell" to associate with poor ferry-boys, he finally became convinced that he was in earnest, and entered heartily into all his plans, with one exception. He promised to raise a crew large enough to seize the yacht, and to take her to sea after they had captured her; but, as for getting up a new society, and making Tom captain of it, that was another thing. He was the leader of a band of fellows, who, for bravery and discipline, had never been equaled in the village, and if Tom would promise to keep every thing secret, and to obey all the laws, he would take him in as a member. This proposition, of course, did not exactly suit one who imagined that he was born to command, but it was his only chance to obtain the assistance he needed, and he finally consented; believing that, after he had become fairly settled as a member, he could induce the boys to break the chief, and appoint him in his stead. So Tom became one of the Crusoe band; and while Will Atkins was following up the fisher-boy to see that he went home, Sam and the rest of his friends were seated in the yawl, under the pier, initiating the new member into the mysteries of the society. As we have seen, he soon became heartily sick of the band. He had never before associated with such a rough, quarrelsome set of boys, and if he could have thought of any other plan to secure possession of the yacht, he never would have put his foot inside the cave again. Moreover, the bully, with an impudence and a disregard for truth that utterly confounded the new member, had accused him of theft. The fisher-boy, angry as he was, could not help laughing when he recalled to mind the expression of astonishment that passed over Tom's face, when the chief informed him that if Bob escaped he would be in danger of being sent to jail. Although he was not in very comfortable circumstances just then, he could not help thinking that Tom's situation was worse than his. Bob, however, did not waste a great deal of time in thinking about Tom Newcombe. He was too much interested in his own affairs just then; and scarcely had Sam disappeared, when he straightened up, and began to test the strength of the rope with which his hands were bound. It proved to be much too strong for him to break, but the knot, having been loosely tied, slipped a little, and that gave him encouragement. The dog seemed to understand that he was placed at the door for the purpose of keeping an eye on the prisoner, for every time Bob moved, he would give him notice that he was still wide-awake, by growling savagely. The fisher-boy, however, was not very much afraid of him. Before the light was put out, he had taken pains to examine the chain, which he noticed was sufficiently large and heavy to hold a good sized vessel; and, until the dog became strong enough to break that chain, he was safe. He paid no heed to the warning growls, but devoted all his attention to the work of freeing his arms, which, for a long time, he had hopes of being able to accomplish. But the governor had tied the rope himself, and, although the knot slipped a little at every exertion of strength, he could not loosen it sufficiently to enable him to free his hands. Had he been fresh he might have succeeded; but, besides having done a hard day's work at his wood-pile, he was nearly exhausted by the efforts he had made to escape from the bully, and he began to feel the need of rest. Stretching himself out on the sail, he settled into as comfortable a position as it was possible for him to assume with his hands and feet securely bound, wondered whether his mother was waiting for him at home, and how long the governor intended to keep him a prisoner, and in a moment more was fast asleep. How long he slept he was unable to tell. He was aroused by the growling of the dog, and, after listening a moment, he heard a slight noise outside the cave. Then the board was removed, and he recognized the voice of Sam Barton, ordering the dog to keep silent. "Bobby Jennings!" said he, as soon as he had succeeded in quieting the brute, "be you there, all safe an' sound?" "Of course I am!" replied the fisher-boy. "How do you suppose I could be anywhere else after you have tied me hand and foot, and put a dog at the door to guard me?" "That's all right," said the chief, who seemed to be greatly relieved to learn that his prisoner had not found means to effect his escape. "Come in, Friday, an' strike a light." Bob heard the two boys stumbling about in the darkness; for, although it was broad daylight, the cave was as dark as it had been at midnight, and when the lantern was lighted, he saw that Sam carried a huge slice of meat in one hand, and a tin dinner pail in the other. "Here's your share," said he, throwing the meat to the dog; "an' now, Bobby, if you'll promise, honor bright an' no jokin', not to try any tricks on us, we'll untie your arms an' give you a chance to eat the grub we've brought you." The fisher-boy readily promised to behave himself, for he was tired of sitting with his hands bound behind him. "How do you suppose that I could get away?" he asked, as Sam began to remove the rope from his arms. "You are both as large as I am, and besides, you've got a dog to help you." "That's nothin'," said Friday. "We aint a goin' to trust you too fur, an' that's jest all about it. No tricks, now." After Bob had stretched his cramped arms he felt so much better that he asked Sam to untie his feet, a request which the latter positively refused to grant. "You don't need your legs to eat breakfast with," said he; "so pitch into that bread an' taters, an' don't keep us waitin'." Whatever else Bob had to say about the governor of the Crusoe band, he could not accuse him of wishing to starve him, for Sam had filled the bucket with all kinds of eatables that he had been able to procure. Never had a better breakfast been served up to him, and never had he eaten a meal in so romantic a spot as the cave appeared to be at that moment. Bob could not help feeling amused, and he thought that the scene there presented, was well worth the pencil of an artist. The fisher-boy sat on the piece of sail which had served him for a bed, his back against his skiff, his legs, which were stretched out straight before him, almost wrapped up in ropes, the dinner bucket at his side, and a slice of bread in one hand and a piece of cold meat in the other. On one side of him stood the chief of the Crusoe band, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hat pushed back on his head, one hand resting on the flour barrel, and the other holding the boat-hook which had done him such good service the night before. In front of him stood the governor's man, Friday, leaning carelessly against the wall, with his arms folded; but within easy reach of him was a heavy oar, which could be seized, in case the prisoner made any attempts at escape. The space on the other side of him was occupied by the dog, which, having finished his breakfast, sat with his head turned on one side, watching the bread and meat as it disappeared down Bob's hungry throat, no doubt envying him his enjoyment. The lantern, which stood on the flour barrel, beside the copy of Robinson Crusoe, threw a dim, ghostly light over the scene, and the fisher-boy could almost bring himself to imagine that the old feudal times--stories of which he had read and wondered at--had returned, and that he was taking part in them; that the cave represented the dungeon of some ancient castle, and that the governor and his man were the retainers of some cruel nobleman, into whose hands he had fallen. While Bob was eating his breakfast, neither he nor his jailers spoke a word. The latter evidently had nothing to talk about, and the fisher-boy, knowing that he could not say much that was complimentary to Sam and his band, thought it best to keep silent. The governor seemed to be in excellent spirits since he captured his rival, and Bob knew that it was policy to keep him so if he could. He had not forgotten that Sam was the boy who had caused him a great deal of trouble by sinking his scow, and stealing his fine skiff, but he could not afford to show that he cherished revengeful feelings about it. "Have you had enough?" asked the chief, when the fisher-boy had finished the last mouthful of his breakfast. "If you haint, say the word, an' we'll fetch you more." "I have had a great plenty," replied Bob; "and now, Sam, I would like to know how long you intend to keep me a prisoner here?" "Well, that depends!" answered the governor; "you see, Bobby, it wouldn't be a very smart trick fur us to let you out till we get ready to leave Newport. You know too much, an' you might be mean enough to make us a great deal of trouble." "Very likely I should," replied the fisher-boy, bluntly. "But I would rather be kept here six months than to be in your boots when Mr. Grimes gets his hands on you." "You needn't lose no sleep worryin' about us," returned Sam. "If we don't know enough to take care of ourselves we ought to get into trouble. Now, we must bid you good-by, Bobby," he continued, as he coolly proceeded to fasten his prisoner's arms behind him, "an' we hope you'll have a jolly time till we get back. Two is company, you know, so you an' the dog can talk over your secrets without bein' afraid that somebody will hear you. It aint no ways likely that we shall call on you agin afore night, 'cause it aint exactly safe fur us to come here often durin' the day-time. If we hear any body askin' fur you, we'll tell 'em that the last time we seed you, you were in good health and spirits." The fisher-boy listened in silence to this insulting speech, and scarcely had the door closed behind the governor, when, in spite of the angry growls of the dog, he renewed his efforts to free himself from his bonds. He met with no better success than before; for Sam had taken a great deal of pains in fastening the rope, and he was finally obliged to give it up as a bad job. For want of some better way to pass the time, he stretched himself out on his hard bed, and tried in vain to go to sleep. The rope had been drawn so tightly that his arms began to swell, and this caused him so much pain that sometimes he found it exceedingly difficult to keep back his tears. How he lived through the day, he scarcely knew. Time moved on laggard wings, and all he had to divert his attention, during the fourteen hours that elapsed between the visits of his jailers, were the rattling of the wagons on the pavement over his head, and the angry growls of the dog, which were kept up at short intervals, during the day. How Bob wished that his hands were free! That brute, large and savage as he was, would not long stand between him and his freedom. Then, for a long time, the fisher-boy lay with his face downward--that being the most comfortable position he could assume--and pondered upon the chances of vanquishing the dog, in case he should get into a fight with him. Eight o'clock came at last, and with it arrived Sam Barton and his band, including Tom Newcombe, who brought a splendid double-barrel shot-gun, two jointed fish-poles, a quantity of hooks and lines, and also his game chickens, all of which he offered to increase the general stock. Every thing was accepted, in spite of the objections raised by Will Atkins, who argued that not only did the book fail to mention whether or not Crusoe's gun was a double-barrel, but it was also silent on the subject of game chickens. It said nothing about fish-poles either, especially jointed ones; and to show that his objection was well founded, Atkins picked up the book, and turned to a picture which represented Robinson catching a dolphin with a hand-line. The governor listened patiently to all he had to say, but he failed to discover any reason why he should not adhere to his decision. "Any body with half sense could see that a double-barrel gun is a handy thing to have about," said the chief. "'Spose Tommy should happen to get into a fight with two Injuns, while he was out alone on the island, hunting for goats! couldn't he easy kill 'em both? Fish-poles, too, are sometimes worth more'n they cost. Mebbe our island, when we find it, will be different from Crusoe's. Mebbe there'll be creeks on it, with sunfish an' perch in 'em; an' whoever heared of ketchin' them kind of fish with hand-lines? An' as fur them game chickens, they will be jest the things we need. We may get tired of livin' on turtle's eggs, you know." "That makes no odds," replied the dissatisfied member. "You wouldn't take that ar watch of mine, an' I aint a goin' to let them things of Tommy's go, neither." In short, Will Atkins stubbornly stuck out for what he believed to be his rights, and the result was, that he very soon succeeded in exhausting all the patience of the chief, who backed him into a corner, and was about to reduce him to subjection, when Tom, who did not like to see any fighting, began to beg for him. The governor hesitated a moment, undecided whether to listen to the appeals of humanity or to follow the stern mandate of duty, and then released the culprit; not, however, without solemnly promising him that the very next time he dared oppose his chief, he would certainly suffer. While the band remained in the cave, the fisher-boy's arms were left unbound, so that he could eat his supper; but as soon as the general business of the society had been transacted, the governor ordered Bob to get ready to be tied up again, and the band to adjourn to the yawl for the purpose of talking over some of their plans. They did not want their prisoner to overhear them, and, as they were afraid to trust him outside of the cave, they were obliged to go out themselves. The chief appeared to be very much concerned about the comfort of the fisher-boy, for, when he saw how badly his arms were swollen, he tried a new way of confining them. He cut off about two feet of the rope, each end of which he made fast to the prisoner's arms, above the elbows, with a "round turn and two half hitches." This left Bob's hands and the lower part of his arms free--an advantage that he was quick to perceive, and which he determined to use, if an opportunity was offered. As soon as this operation was performed, Sam and his band left the cave, and for the next half hour an animated discussion was carried on outside the door. The fisher-boy, believing that some important plan was being talked over, listened with all his ears; but, to his disappointment, he could not catch a word of what was said, for the boys talked in whispers. Finally, the chief re-entered the cave, and, after examining the prisoner's bonds, he extinguished the lantern, and went out again. Bob heard a slight splashing in the water as the yawl moved away, and when he was sure that the band had left the vicinity of the cave, he straightened up and prepared to put into execution a plan for escape which he had thought over while the debate was going on at the door. Putting his hand into his pocket he pulled out a large jack-knife which he opened with his teeth, and in less time than it takes to write it, his arms were free. The work of releasing his legs was quite as quickly accomplished. A few rapid blows with the knife severed the rope with which they were confined, and then Bob slowly, and with great difficulty, raised himself to his feet. "Hold on there," said he to himself, as a loud growl from the dog gave him notice that every move he made was being closely watched, "I'll be ready for you in a very few minutes!" But in this the fisher-boy was mistaken. His "few minutes" proved to be nearly half an hour; and even at the end of that time he had scarcely recovered the use of his legs. But delays were dangerous--perhaps he had already wasted too much time--and as soon as he could walk without leaning against the wall, he was ready to attend to the dog, which must be put out of the way before he could leave his prison. Bob did not intend to fight him in the dark, however, for that would give the animal too much advantage. He knew there was a box of matches on one of the shelves at the left hand of the door, for he had heard his jailers feeling around for it every time they came in, and his first hard work must be to find it. There was no danger of stumbling upon the dog in the darkness, for the animal kept up an incessant barking and growling, and thus Bob was able to keep out of his reach. He had no difficulty in finding the shelves, and after a few moments search, during which he several times stopped and listened, almost imagining that he heard his enemies returning, he placed his hand upon the box of matches. The next thing was the lantern. Securing that was a more difficult and dangerous task, for the chief had left it on the flour barrel, where he could not get at it without placing himself within reach of the dog. Bob lit one of the matches, and took a hurried survey of the cave. Directly in front of him was the dog, which was standing upon his hind legs, and jumping the full length of his chain in his efforts to reach the prisoner. Behind the dog was the flour barrel, on which stood the lantern. In one corner of the cave, opposite the door, was a pair of oars, either one of which was long enough to reach from where he stood to the flour barrel. By the time Bob made these observations the match was consumed. He lit another, and picked up one of the oars, which he extended toward the lantern, when the dog seized the blade in his teeth and literally smashed it in pieces. In return for the damage he had done, he received a blow over the head from the handle of the oar, which knocked him down. The fisher-boy hoped he had finished him; but before he had time to make any observations his match went out. A third was struck, and the dog was discovered upon his feet again, apparently as full of fight as ever; but when Bob stretched the oar out toward the lantern, he backed over against the door. His first attempt to catch the handle of the lantern upon the end of the oar was a failure; so were the second and third, on account of the interference of the dog. The fourth, however, was successful; and after he had picked up the wick so that the lamp would give a strong light, he began to look about the cave for some more suitable weapon than the stump of the oar. A small hatchet, which was stowed away on one of the shelves caught his eye. That was just the thing he needed; and, after placing the lantern upon the shelf where it could not get knocked over during the struggle, Bob took the hatchet in his hand, rolled up his sleeves, and began the fight without ceremony. There was a little more barking and growling, a few desperate springs, a savage blow with the hatchet, then one or two convulsive kicks, and that was the end of it. It was the end of Sam Barton's favorite, too. It had all been done in a moment, and the fisher-boy was glad indeed that it was so. Had the struggle been a protracted one, as he had expected it would be, the result might have been different. Not only was he totally unfit to sustain a lengthened contest, but he knew the necessity there was of getting out of the cave as soon as possible. He was unable to tell where the governor and his band had gone, or how soon they would return, and the quicker he left his prison the better would be his chances for escape; for, although the dog was out of the way, his freedom was by no means assured. Hastily extinguishing the lantern, the fisher-boy crept up close to the door and listened. All was still, and believing that the coast was clear, he removed the board and crawled cautiously out of the cave; but, just as his feet touched the ground, a pair of strong arms were thrown around his neck, and before he could think twice, he found himself flat on his back, with the governor, his man Friday, and Jack Spaniard on top of him. CHAPTER XVII. PREPARATIONS FOR THE VOYAGE. When Sam and the band went out of the cave, it was to listen to the report of Jack Spaniard and Friday, who, it will be remembered, were the ones selected by the chief to ascertain whether or not a post had been established on board the Storm King, and, if so, how many students composed the guard. They had performed their duty faithfully, and the conclusion at which they arrived was, that the yacht could be easily captured. The majority of the band agreed with them, and was in favor of making an immediate attack. They had heard enough during the day to satisfy them that the fisher-boy's mysterious disappearance was causing a great deal of talk about the village, and the sooner they got ready to start upon their cruise, the more likely they would be to escape questioning. Some of the timid ones, however--among whom, of course, was Tom Newcombe--remembering the bayonets with which the students were armed, felt their courage rapidly giving way, and strongly objected to an attack being made upon the vessel. It was a very easy matter for them to sit in their cave and talk about it, and boast of the bravery they would exhibit when the time for action arrived--as some of the band had done--but now, that there was a probability that they would soon be called upon to make a display of their valor, they were ready to back out. "Suppose we give up the idea of capturing the yacht," said Tom. "It's dangerous; and, besides, your yawl will answer our purpose just as well." "Why, Muley! what has got into you all of a sudden?" demanded the chief. "You seem to be monstrous glum about something. You want us to take the vessel away from them fellers, don't you? Well, how are we goin' to get it? They won't give it up without a fuss." Just then the new member would have found it exceedingly difficult to tell exactly what he wanted. He was as anxious as ever to punish his father and the principal, by taking the Storm King, but he was not brave enough to face the weapons of the guard; for he knew that all the students were very expert in the bayonet exercise, and, as they were not wanting in courage, they would very likely give Crusoe and his men a warm reception. Perhaps if he had been the captain of the band, with the same authority Sam was permitted to assume, and the members had all treated him with the respect due the son of the richest man in the village, and the fisher-boy had been out of the way, and he had positive evidence that his band exceeded the guard of the Storm King in numbers, so that her capture could be effected without danger to himself--in short, if he could have arranged every thing to his liking, he might have taken more interest in the affairs of the society. Or, even if he had been second in command, and it had been understood that he was to be the captain of the vessel during the voyage, he might have kept up some show of allegiance. But the members all treated him as an equal rather than superior; he had placed himself in the power of a tyrant, who ruled him with a rod of iron, who never deferred to him, or asked his advice in regard to the manner in which the affairs of the band ought to be conducted, and, who being utterly ignorant of seamanship and navigation, would certainly get himself and crew into serious trouble during the voyage. Tom had thought of all these things during the day, and he had got another idea into his head. If the governor had known it, and had been as well acquainted with him as were some other boys about the village, the new member would have been a prisoner as well as the fisher-boy. The chief, for a wonder, listened patiently to what the members of the band had to say, but, being unable to decide the matter, he ordered them into the yawl, and put off to make personal observations. Being favored by the darkness, he ran so close to the vessel that he could hear the footsteps of the sentinel as he paced the deck. According to the report of the spies, the guard consisted of four students, only one of whom was on duty at a time. The chief was very soon satisfied of the correctness of one part of this statement, for, had there been more than one boy on guard, he would have heard more footsteps, and very likely, some conversation. The night was so dark that Sam could not possibly make any accurate observations, and the most of the conclusions at which he arrived were the result of guess-work. But he was satisfied with them, and after he had rowed entirely around the vessel, he had decided upon his plans, and was ready to issue his orders. "You an' Jack were right, Friday," said he, addressing himself to the spies. "That little craft is our'n, an' by sunrise, day after to-morrow, we'll be miles on our way toward our island. We'll go back to the cave now, an'--" "Boat ahoy!" came the hail from the deck of the Storm King. "O, now, let's get away from here!" drawled Tom. "We're discovered." "Boat ahoy!" shouted the sentinel again. "Better keep off, if you don't want to get into trouble!" "Don't you be any ways oneasy," replied the chief, who, seeing that they were detected, thought it best to put a bold face on the matter. "We're honest people, an' we're goin' home!" "Well, you don't live around here," replied the student, "and I tell you that you had better keep away." "I'd like to know if this yere harbor has got to be private property since you 'cademy fellers brought that boat here," said the governor. "Corporal of the guard!" shouted the sentinel. "O, now, we'd better leave, I tell you," drawled Tom. "He's calling the corporal, and the first thing we know we'll get into trouble. We might be captured." "Not easy. They can't crowd swells enough into that craft to take us," said the chief; but, although he talked very boldly, he evidently thought it best to get a little farther away from the Storm King, for he dropped his oar into the water and sculled from the spot. The crew of the yawl heard a hurrying of feet on the deck of the vessel, as if the students were taking their stations, in readiness to repel an attack; but that soon died away in the distance, and then the governor pulled in his oar and sat down. "Friday," said he, "you an' that ar Jack Spaniard had oughter be chucked into the harbor." "What fur?" asked both the spies at once. "What have we been a doin' now?" "What did you do to-day, when you came up here to find out how many fellers there was on board that vessel?" demanded the chief. "Why, we jest pulled round," answered Friday. "We didn't raise no fuss." "Didn't them soldiers speak to you?" "Yes; an' we told 'em that we was jest lookin' round." "I was sartin of it!" said the governor. "You've knocked our expedition higher'n the top of Mr. Newcombe's warehouse. Them 'cademy swells are on the watch now, an' I reckon we'll see some hot times before we can call ourselves the masters of that craft. But that sha'n't stop me. I said I'd sail to our island in her, an' I'm goin' to keep my promise." The members of the Crusoe band were astonished, and not a little alarmed, at what had just transpired. To the chief it was as plain as daylight, that something had happened to arouse the suspicions of the students, and he imagined it was the careless manner in which the two spies had executed his orders. In this he was mistaken; for the blame rested entirely with Tom Newcombe. During the day he had accidentally run against some of the students on the street, and they, having been made acquainted with the history of the yacht, could not resist the temptation to talk to Tom about it. "Newcombe," exclaimed Harry Green, who acted as spokesman for the party, "you don't know what you are missing by being shut up in that office all day. Why don't you ask your father to let you come back to the institute? We are having high old times there." "O, I don't care if you are!" drawled Tom. "And just see here!" continued Harry, pulling an official envelope, out of his pocket. "Here's my appointment as first lieutenant in our navy." "I don't care," exclaimed Tom. "I don't want to see it. I can't stop to talk to you, either, for I am in a great hurry." "O, we'll not detain you," said Harry. "We'll walk with you. Did you ever hear of a man being an officer in both the army and navy at the same time? Well, I am. I am captain of company A, and executive officer of the yacht. I wanted to be commander of her; but Bill Steele passed a better examination than I did. The students who are studying navigation are to act as her crew, and, in a few days, the colonel is going to put her into commission. He is going to send to Boston for a couple of small cannon for her, and as soon as they arrive, we're going on a cruise." "O, now, I don't know whether you are or not," roared Tom, who had made several unsuccessful attempts to interrupt Harry. "I'll show you something before you are many days older. I've got an idea." "Whew!" whistled the first lieutenant of the Storm King, opening his eyes in amazement. "Have you organized another society, Newcombe, and do you intend to go to sea in the yacht as we did in the Swallow?" Harry, as we know, had formerly been a member of the Night-hawks, and had taken an active part in Tom's runaway scheme; but the one month extra duty adjudged by the court-martial had opened his eyes, and as soon as he had worked out the sentence, he turned over a new leaf. The result was now apparent. He was the ranking captain at the academy, and the second in command of the Storm King. He was well acquainted with Tom, and it was a favorite saying of his that, when he got an idea into his head, he was dangerous. "I didn't tell you what I intend to do, did I?" drawled Tom. "No," replied the lieutenant, "but you have said enough to put me on my guard. Now, Newcombe, if you want to see some fun, bring on your society and make an attempt to capture the Storm King. We'll take every one of you to the academy as prisoners of war." If any other boy in the village had hinted that it was his intention to capture the yacht, Harry would have thought it a capital joke; but coming from the source it did, and knowing that Tom had accomplished wonders in this line, he deemed it best to be prepared for any emergency. He returned to the academy immediately, and reported the matter to the lieutenant-colonel, who, just before dark, sent a guard of twelve students on board the yacht. It was fortunate for the members of the Crusoe band that they did not attempt to capture her. The chief did not relinquish his hopes of being able to take the vessel, as soon as he was ready to start on his cruise, but he did not then arrange any plan of attack, nor did he have much to say about the business in hand, until he once more found himself safe under Mr. Newcombe's wharf. He guided the yawl to the landing, in front of their hiding-place, and was about to issue some orders to the band, when Friday intimated to him in a whisper that there was something unusual going on in the cave. The chief held his breath and listened intently; but the noise, whatever it was, had ceased. "Do you reckon that ar Bobby Jennings has got loose?" he asked, anxiously. "If he has, we'd best look out," said Jack Spaniard. "He won't be ketched as easy as he was before. But I didn't hear nothing." "Well, I did," said Friday. "I heered the rattlin' of a chain, an' the dog a growlin' like he was fightin' something." The chief waited to hear no more, but, stepping cautiously out of the yawl, he took his stand in front of the door and listened. There was not a boy in the band who did not believe that their prisoner had succeeded in freeing himself, and that he was at that very moment on the point of leaving the cave. We ought, perhaps, to except Tom Newcombe, who now took no interest whatever in what was going on. He did not care a straw whether the fisher-boy escaped or remained a prisoner, as he had come to the conclusion that he could not belong to a society unless he was allowed to have a hand in the management of its affairs. The other members, however, preferred that Bob should not regain his liberty just then; but, although they well knew what would be the result if he succeeded in getting away from them, there was not one in the band, no, nor two, who would have dared to go into the cave to attempt his recapture. Sam Barton did not feel exactly safe, even on the outside of the door; for, after he had listened a moment, he said, in a whisper: "Come up around me, fellers, and stick together. If he comes out, don't give an inch." The words were scarcely out of the governor's mouth when the board that concealed the door was removed, and the fisher-boy crawled slowly out of the cave, only to fall into the arms of his rival. "Hold him down, lads," said the chief, as Bob struggled furiously with his captors. "What's this yere he's got in his hand? A hatchet? Friday, take it away from him! An' you, Xury, go into the cave an' fetch out that rope. You were tryin' to get away, were you, Bobby Jennings? We'll fix you this time. It beats all the world how he got by that ar dog." "Why, he's killed him," exclaimed Xury, who, on going into the cave after the rope, stumbled over the body of Sam's favorite. "If he aint as teetolly dead as a smoked herring, I hope I may never take another passenger across this harbor." This announcement created great consternation among the band, and some of the members were undecided whether to retain their hold upon the prisoner, or to jump up and take to their heels. From some cause or other, they seemed to believe that a boy who was brave enough to use a hatchet, even on a bull-dog, was a dangerous fellow to have about. "Killed!" repeated the governor, in astonishment. "Be you sartin an' sure he's dead?" Xury struck a match in order to satisfy himself on that point; and as soon as the lantern was lighted, Tom, who was the only one, besides the boy in the cave, not employed in holding the prisoner, drawled out-- "O yes, he's as dead as a door-nail. If there's going to be so much quarreling and fighting goin' on, I don't want any thing more to do with your society." "There haint been no quarrelin' an' fightin' yet, that I know of," said the chief, as he held Bob's arms behind him, while Friday tied them with the rope Xury threw out to them. "I don't allow no such work among my men. Pick him up an' carry him in, lads," he added, as soon as he had satisfied himself that his prisoner was once more secure. "Now, Bobby Jennings, I reckon you'll stay here fur awhile." The first thought that passed through the fisher-boy's mind, when he again found himself a prisoner, was, that the governor would revenge the death of the dog by giving him a thrashing; but, to his surprise, he had very little to say about it. After seeing his prisoner disposed of, he examined the oar which had been broken during the fight, looked at the hatchet Bob had used, and finally, he glanced at the dog. "He wasn't much account, no how," said he. "Any animal that'll let such a lookin' feller as Friday whip him in a fair fight, with nothin' but a boat-hook, wouldn't do much good huntin' goats. Ketch hold of the chain an' haul him out, lads." Every member of the band lent prompt and cheerful assistance in carrying out this order. The dog had not been a favorite with them, and they were not sorry to get rid of him. "Now, then," continued the governor, "it's understood that to-morrow night we'll capture that yacht an' be off fur our island. I don't mind sayin' this before you, Bobby Jennings, 'cause it aint no ways likely that I'll be dunce enough to give you another chance to get away from us." "But what are we goin' to do with him, governor?" asked Will Atkins. "If we leave him tied up here in the cave, he'll starve to death; an' if we let him go when we get ready to start, he'll be sartin to tell Mr. Grimes of every thing that has been goin' on here." "Now, you jest let me alone fur takin' care of all such things as that," replied the chief. "If I haint got sense enough to know what had oughter be done with him, I aint fit to be the leader of this band. We'll take him with us, of course, an' land him on some island; an' by the time he gets back here, we'll be miles an' miles at sea." "But, perhaps he can't find his way back," drawled Tom. "That's his lookout, an' not mine. He hadn't no business to go spyin' round here. If he had minded his own affairs, he wouldn't have been in this trouble. Atkins, how much money have you got?" "A trifle over twenty dollars," answered the treasurer. "You're sure you didn't spent none of it fur candy or pea-nuts!" said the chief, looking at him very sharply. "Honor bright, I haint," replied Atkins, who had not forgotten the whipping he once received for being unfaithful to his trust. "Twenty dollars aint much to brag on," said the governor, thoughtfully. "We'd had more if it hadn't been for you, Bobby Jennings." "How would you have got it?" inquired the fisher-boy, who was greatly interested in all the proceedings of the Crusoe band, even though he was held as a prisoner. "Why, we wouldn't have started on our voyage until next week. That would have give us time to paint this boat over, an' sell her to somebody. You've jest cheated us out of fifteen or twenty dollars, by your spyin' round, 'cause I know I could have sold the skiff fur that. Now, we'll have to be off at once; 'cause your mother is makin' a monstrous fuss about you." "And we'll certainly be found out," drawled Tom. "If I was governor I would set him at liberty immediately." "Now, Muley, who asked you fur any advice?" demanded the chief, angrily. "I am the head man of this band, an' I don't need no mates an' lieutenants, like they have up to the 'cademy." "We had oughter have some more grub," said Jack Spaniard, who was commissary of the band. "We haint got nothing but a few crackers, an' mebbe they won't last till we find our island." "Well, it aint best to buy none here," said the chief. "We'll stop at some city an' lay in a supply. I wonder if we'll go by Boston! Will we, Muley?" "O, how do I know!" drawled Tom. "You had oughter know. You've been to sea, an that's one reason why I wanted you in the band. What do you say about it, Bobby? Will we see Boston?" "I think not," answered the prisoner. "I wonder where Crusoe's island is, anyhow," said Xury. "Mebbe we'll find it, if we look around. Do you know where it is, Bobby?" "The book says it was somewhere near South America," replied the fisher-boy, who was astonished at the ignorance of the members of the band, and desirous of learning all their ideas on the subject. "Is that fur from here?" "Yes, it is a very nice little journey. You'll be tired of life on ship-board before you get there." "But what makes you think that we won't see Boston, Bobby?" inquired the governor. "Because you don't know how to sail to get there; and, besides, if you succeed in capturing the Storm King, you'll be wrecked before you get out of Buzzard's Bay." "I'd like to know what's the reason! Didn't them 'cademy swells run away in the Swallow, an' didn't they go miles an' miles out of sight of land, an' never got wrecked?" "They did," replied Bob; "but then, you must remember that there were some excellent sailors among the students." "That's so!" said Tom. "I was first-mate of the Swallow during that cruise." "Do you know any thing about navigation, Sam?" asked the fisher-boy. "What's that?" "It is something every sea captain has to understand. It is the science that teaches you what course to sail to reach the port you want to go to, and how to take advantage of the winds and currents." The governor backed toward his seat beside the flour barrel, and made no reply. He did not quite understand what his prisoner had said to him, but he could not help seeing that an obstacle had suddenly arisen in his path. "The book don't say that Crusoe knew any thing about that," said Will Atkins, coming to the assistance of the chief. "Of course it don't," said the governor, immensely relieved. "But don't it say something about currents? When Crusoe tried to sail around his island in his boat, he came near bein' carried out to sea an' lost. If we don't look out, we might get in as much danger as he was." "Very likely you'll get in more danger, if you ever go to sea in the Storm King," said the fisher-boy. "Crusoe never was in any danger, for no such man ever lived." "Bobby Jennings!" exclaimed the governor, springing to his feet and catching up the boat-hook, "if you say that again I'll rap you over the head. I know better! I know there was such a man, 'cause don't this book tell all about him? He had a jolly time there on his island, huntin' goats an' watchin' fur injuns, an' that's the way we're goin' to live. But we've talked long enough! Get to work, all of you, an' pack up them things. While you're doin' that, I'll make some spears. You know," he went on to explain, "that every one of them 'cademy fellers has a gun with a bayonet on it! Them guns aint loaded, be they, Muley?" Tom replied that they were not. "That's all right!" continued the chief. "I've just thought up a way to whip 'em easy. I'll have to spile these oars, though." Bob leaned back against his skiff and watched the preparations for departure with a good deal of interest. Several small dry goods boxes had been provided for this very event, and while the band was busy packing away the outfit in them, the chief employed himself in making the spears, which he did by cutting down the blades of the oars with a hatchet. When the first one was completed, he handed it to Tom, and asked his opinion of it. "You know all about them bayonets, Muley," said he. "Can they reach as fur with them as we can with these spears?" "O, now, how can I tell?" drawled Tom. "I'm sartin you know all about it, Muley, 'cause you've had a heap better chance to learn them things than I have. An' you know all about them winds an' currents Bobby was talkin' about, don't you?" "Do you suppose I've been to sea for nothing?" "No I don't; an' that's why I am goin' to make you captain of the yacht, when we get her. Will you take it, Muley?" If the governor could have read the thoughts that were passing through the mind of the new member at that moment, he never would have offered him the position of captain of the vessel. Tom had concluded that he had seen enough of the Crusoe band; that he would have nothing more to do with boys who could not appreciate the honor he conferred upon them by becoming a member of their society; and the last idea that had taken possession of him was, that he ought to contrive some way to punish Sam Barton. The latter almost invariably addressed him in an imperious tone, as if he regarded it as his right to command, and Tom's duty to obey, and that was something the new member could not endure. He first thought he would turn traitor to the society, and expose every thing to Mr. Grimes, the constable. That would undoubtedly be a good way to punish the chief, but the latter would, very likely, be revenged by disclosing the fact that Tom was a member of his band, and that he had tried to induce him to run away in the Storm King. That was something the new member wanted to keep secret. If his father heard of it, there was no knowing what might happen; and if it got to the ears of the village boys, they never would cease to torment him about it. Besides, if he took this way of punishing the governor, it would defeat the very object for which Tom joined the Crusoe band. Sam would no doubt be put in jail, to be tried for stealing the skiff, and that would leave the yacht in the hands of the principal of the academy. He very soon saw that this plan would not work, and the next resolve he made was, that he would visit the fisher-boy after the band had gone home, and offer to release him if he would promise that he would not say a word about Tom's being a member of the society, and that he would put no obstacles in the way of the governor to prevent him from seizing the yacht and leaving the village. By this arrangement, he could be revenged upon the teachers of the academy, and upon the new officers of the Storm King, and no one would suspect that he had had any thing to do with the matter. It was by no means certain that this plan would have worked, had it been put to the test, but still the new member had decided to try it, when the chief's offer drove all these ideas out of his head. "What do you say, Muley?" asked Sam. "Will you take it?" "I will," replied Tom, eagerly. "I am glad to see that you have come to your senses. I didn't think you would be foolish enough to try to take the vessel to sea yourself. You would very soon have got us into trouble, for it needs somebody who understands the winds and currents to fill so responsible a position. I'll take it, if you will call me captain hereafter. I never did like that other name." "It's a bargain," said the governor. "Now, listen, men," he added, turning to the band. "Muley's name is changed to cap'n. He is to be master of the vessel when we get her, an' he is the second officer in the band till we reach our island." The boys raised no objections to this arrangement; in fact, they were delighted with it; for they had been convinced, by what their prisoner had said, that they could not proceed very far on the journey toward their island without some competent person to take command of the vessel; and as they knew that Tom had been on a six months' voyage, and that he had been second in command of the sloop, during the cruise of the Night-hawks, they thought he was just the very man they wanted. "Now, then," said the chief, after all the articles that comprised their outfit, except the guns, had been packed away in the dry goods boxes, "that's all we can do to-night. We'll keep the guns out, to scare them 'cademy fellers. When we board the yacht we'll have a gun, cocked an' capped, in one hand, an' a spear in the other, an' we'll make 'em believe that if they raise any fuss, or show fight, we'll shoot 'em down. But the spears are what we'll have to depend on. The meetin's out, now." The governor then carefully examined the ropes with which the prisoner was confined; after which he ordered the band into the boat, and Bob was once more left to his meditations. CHAPTER XVIII. THE ATTACK ON THE YACHT. Tom Newcombe's feelings had undergone a very great change during the last ten minutes. He was an officer now, and he no longer thought of turning traitor to the band, or of releasing the fisher-boy; but he was willing to use his best endeavors to render the expedition successful. It was not his intention to long answer to the name of captain; he preferred to be called governor; and he would use the office Sam had given him as a stepping-stone to something higher. Tom had but one object in life. It occupied all his waking thoughts; he dreamed about it when he was asleep; and from it sprang all these ridiculous ideas he sometimes got into his head. He wanted to live at his ease. He desired to engage in some occupation that would run along smoothly, without any care or exertion on his part, and in which he would be free from the troubles and perplexities that fell to the lot of ordinary mortals. He had become greatly interested in Sam Barton's plan, and he believed that all that was needed to insure him unbounded happiness for the remainder of his days, was a habitation on some desert island, in the middle of the ocean, where, in company with half a dozen congenial spirits, he could while away the hours of a dreamy existence, with no stern father to demolish his air-castles, and no merciless village boys to make sport of his grand ideas. Then there would be nothing to trouble him, and he could pass the time serenely in hunting goats, squirrels, and quails--he did not intend to stop until he found an island that abounded in small game of every description--and when he became weary of the sport, he could lounge in the shade of his tent, and eat raisins and talk to his parrot. Although he was not just then on very good terms with Johnny Harding, Gus Miller, and Harry Green, he would have preferred their society to the companionship of the ignorant ferry-boys, who were continually showing the muscles on their arms, and who talked about nothing but the numerous fights in which they had been engaged. This, however, was out of the question; and, rather than remain in the village, to be tormented by his acquaintances, he would go with the Crusoe band. But, in order to enjoy himself to the fullest extent, he must be chief of the organization. He had managed societies which numbered thirty and forty members, and managed them well, too, and he could not be satisfied with any divided authority. Sam Barton must give place to his betters--that was a settled fact. There was one point Tom could not decide just then, and that was how to go to work to induce the band to break the chief and appoint him in his stead. But in this he concluded that he would be governed by circumstances, hoping that when the proper time arrived, something would "turn up" in his favor. As soon as he became fairly established as chief of the band, Sam must be disposed of, for he was a dangerous fellow, and might make him a great deal of trouble. Perhaps the best thing that could be done with him would be to put him ashore on some island, as he intended to do with the fisher-boy. Tom thought these matters over before he went to sleep that night, and they were the first that came into his mind when he awoke the next morning. As soon as he had eaten his breakfast, he went down to the office, and at the door he met two boys, who, he afterward learned, were the midshipmen belonging to the Storm King. Of course they were acquainted with the particulars of Tom's business transactions with Mr. Graves, and, like all the rest of the village boys, they had something to say about it. "How are you, Newcombe?" exclaimed one. "We came here to inquire how much that vessel cost you. She is a beauty, and I am going to build one exactly like her when I get home." "Your father is a capital fellow," said the other. "He knows just what boys want, don't he?" "O, no, he don't!" drawled Tom. "He don't know what I want; if he did, he would have given me that yacht. Never mind! You fellows had better look out." "We've understood that you have another idea. Why didn't you try to carry it out last night? You were around there in a yawl." "O, now, who said I was around there?" "Why, we heard your voice. We were in hopes you would board us, for we wanted to see who belonged to your new society. Who are they, Newcombe? Johnny Harding says he is not a member." "What's your rank now, Tom? Grand commander, or general, or captain, or what!" Tom, too angry to reply, abruptly left the midshipmen, and walked into the office. They would have followed him, but he slammed the door in their faces and locked it. As it was early in the morning, none of the clerks had yet made their appearance, and Tom had the office to himself. His first duty was to sweep out--a task he never executed without crying; for his idea was, that every time he performed any work with his hands, he was disgracing himself. After he left the midshipmen, he shed a few tears, and grumbled a good deal. "Thank goodness, this is the last time I shall ever sweep out this office," said he to himself. "To-morrow morning, at this time, I shall be within sight of the ocean, and far away from Johnny Harding, and Harry Green, and all the rest of the fellows who are continually bothering me about that yacht. I'll be my own master then, and if I ever touch a broom or duster again, I'll know the reason why. Of course, the vessel must be kept clean while we are on our cruise, but I am the captain, and I can make the others do the work. When we reach our island, somebody will have to sweep out the cave and tent; but I won't do it, for I'll be governor of the band by that time. I'll help plant the rice and wheat, and shoot goats, and keep a lookout for Indians, and have an eye on all that is going on, for, of course, that is the duty of the governor; but I'll work when I please, and play when I feel like it; and there'll be nobody to say to me--? 'Thomas, you'll wear a poor man's clothes the longest day you live!'" As was always the case with Tom, when about to engage in any of his grand schemes, he lived in a state of intense excitement all that day. He was constantly harassed by the fear, which sometimes almost amounted to a conviction, that something would happen to defeat the enterprise. The fisher-boy might succeed in making his escape; or Mr. Grimes, who, he knew, was closely watching Sam Barton, might discover something; or the guard of the yacht might be too strong for them, and he and the rest of the band might be captured, and taken to the academy as prisoners of war; or the principal, or some of the students, might call upon Mr. Newcombe and inform him that his son had another idea; in short, there were a thousand ways in which the affair might get noised abroad. Tom was especially uneasy whenever any body spoke of Bob Jennings. No one suspected that he knew any thing about him, but, as he and the fisher-boy had been seen together a good deal of late, two or three of the clerks inquired what he had done with his "friend and partner," and Tom drawled out in reply-- "O, now, is any body paying me for keeping an eye on that fellow?" The prevailing opinion seemed to be, that Bob, having become discouraged by the loss of his two boats, and despairing of ever being able to pay the debt he owed to Mr. Graves, had escaped from his troubles by running away. Indeed, his mother was the only one in the village who thought differently. Of course, she could not account for his disappearance, but she had faith in the good resolutions Bob made the night he cut his new motto in the boards under the eaves, and she believed that time would make all things right. To Tom's relief, the twelve o'clock bell rang at last. He went home with his father, and, as soon as he had eaten his dinner, he went up stairs to his room and packed his valise. When this was accomplished, he went down to the office again, where he lived in a most uncomfortable frame of mind until six o'clock in the evening. Then there were two hours more to be passed away in some manner, for the chief, the night before, had ordered the members of the band to present themselves on an unfrequented part of the beach, in Fishertown, at eight o'clock. As the hour approached, Tom felt more and more like backing out. He was troubled with the most gloomy thoughts, in which the elements seemed to sympathize with him. About half-past seven, a furious storm arose. The lightning flashed incessantly, the wind blew a perfect gale, the rain fell in torrents, the surf roared on the beach, and the would-be captain of the Storm King, as he stood at his window and looked out into the darkness, shuddered at the thought of taking a vessel to sea in the face of such a tempest. It was a wonder that his courage did not give away altogether; but he recalled to mind the treatment he had already experienced at the hands of the village boys, pictured to himself the life of glorious ease he could lead, when he once became fairly settled on his island, and drawing in a long breath, he caught up his valise, walked cautiously down stairs and out into the storm, and, without a single feeling of remorse, turned his back upon the home he hoped never to see again. Without stopping to look behind him, he hurried along the streets in the direction of the beach, being obliged to stop and turn his back to the storm now and then, to recover his breath. He passed through Fishertown, which seemed to be entirely deserted, and bent his steps toward a dilapidated cabin that stood on the beach, so close to the water's edge that the surf washed over his feet as he approached the door. All was dark within, but as Tom entered, a voice, which was almost drowned by the whistling of the wind through the rafters, and the roaring of the waves on the beach, called out-- "Who comes there?" "Captain Newcombe," was the response. The light of a lantern flashed through the darkness, and Tom discovered the members of the Crusoe band crouching in one corner of the cabin, drenched to the skin by the rain, which beat in upon them through the broken roof. "I am glad to see you, cap'n," said the governor, joyfully. "We were afraid that you were goin' to back out, but I am satisfied now that you can be depended on. If the clerk of the weather was a member of our society, he couldn't have given us a better night. But, cap'n, are you sure that you can handle the vessel after we get her? It's purty rough outside, an' many an old sailor would shake his head at the idea of goin' to sea in such a storm." "I am not afraid," said Tom. "Just give me one good mate, and I'll take care of you." "Well, how will Xury do? He's a good hand with a sail-boat, an' he's traveled up an' down the bay often enough to know it like a book." "He's just the man I want," said Tom, who felt that a great responsibility had been removed from his shoulders. "Xury," said the chief, "you're first-mate of the yacht, now. Do jest as the capt'n tells you, an' you won't get us into no trouble. Pick up your plunder, an' let's make a break; for the quicker we get to work, the sooner we'll be on our way toward our island." As the chief spoke, he hid his lantern under his coat, shouldered his bundle of clothing, and led the way out of the cabin to the yawl, which was drawn up on the beach, out of reach of the surf. It required the exercise of considerable perseverance, and the outlay of the united strength of the band, to launch the boat through the waves, and while this was being done, Tom began to realize the fact that they had a most uncomfortable night for their cruise. The wind swept the beach in fitful gusts, beating the rain and spray furiously into his face; and when the lightning illuminated the scene, he could see that the sky was covered with black, angry-looking clouds, and that the waters of the bay were being tossed about in great commotion, but Tom never once thought of turning back. Since he received the appointment of captain of the yacht, a new spirit seemed to have taken possession of him. He was no longer afraid of facing the bayonets of the guard, and if the attack on the yacht had proved a failure, he would have been the first to propose that they should begin their cruise in Sam's yawl. Regardless of soiling his boots and clothing, he worked as hard as any of the band to launch the boat, wading in water up to his knees, and sometimes being almost smothered by the great waves that came rolling toward the beach. The chief had been thoughtful enough to supply the yawl with oars, and it was well he did so. Even then, it was a long time before they succeeded in getting fairly started. Slowly, inch by inch, they worked their way against the wind and waves, and at last they reached the harbor, where the water was comparatively quiet. In ten minutes more they were in their cave, and the governor breathed a good deal easier when he found that his prisoner had not found means to effect his escape. Without any unnecessary delay, the band began the work of carrying the dry goods boxes out of the cave, and stowing them away in the yawl. This was accomplished in a few minutes, and then the governor, after putting the volume of Robinson Crusoe carefully away in the pocket of his pea-jacket, called his followers around him, to give them their final instructions. "Now, then," said he, "you fellers must take charge of your we'pons, an' when we get into the yawl, put them where you can get your hands on 'em at a moment's warnin'. You can depend on these things," he added, as he distributed the spears he had made the evening before, "'cause they are as sharp as needles; an' if one of them 'cademy swells gets punched with 'em, I reckon he'll walk turkey. I don't 'spose we'll have much chance to use 'em, 'cause it aint no ways likely that them soldiers are loafin' about the deck in this storm; but, after all, it's best to be on the safe side. Friday, when we start, you will take the bow oar. We will come up alongside of the yacht, an' the minute we stop, you will jump out an' make the yawl's painter fast to something. While you are doin' that, the rest of us will board her, an' the first thing them 'cademy fellers know, we'll have 'em fastened up in the cabin." "Then, what will we do?" asked Tom; "if we shut the students up in the cabin, I can't go down there to get to my state-room; and I am not going to sleep on deck while I am captain. It wouldn't look well." "Well, then, we'll rush 'em down through the cabin an' into the hold," said the chief. "But, whatever we do, we must be lively about it, 'cause it aint best to give 'em a fair show. Now, if we are all ready, we'll be off. We'll leave your skiff in the cave here, Bobby, an' when you get back, you'll know where to find it." "Why can't you let me loose, Sam?" asked the fisher-boy. "I don't like to go out in this storm with my hands and feet tied. Suppose the yawl should be capsized, what would become of me?" "Now, don't you be uneasy," replied the governor. "We'll take care of you, an' so long as you behave yourself, like a man had oughter do, we'll see that nothin' don't harm you. Pick him up and take him out, lads." In spite of his remonstrances, Friday and Jack Spaniard took Bob up in their arms, carried him out of the cave, and laid him away in the yawl, under the thwarts, as if he had been a log of wood. He was far from being satisfied with the chief's assurance that he would take care of him. He knew that Sam was a skillful boatman, but the storm was still raging violently, and in the confusion occasioned by boarding the yawl, some accident might happen. However, there was no help for it. He was securely bound, and all he could do was to commend himself to his usual good luck, and abide the issue. As soon as he had been disposed of, the band took their places in the yawl, and the governor once more went into the cave, to make sure that nothing was left behind. Then, after carefully closing the door, he sprang into the yawl, and shoved off into the darkness. They went the entire length of the harbor, and through all the shipping that lay at the wharves, without accident, and finally, a flash of lightning revealed to them the Storm King, riding at her anchorage, in the rear of the academy grounds, which here extended down to the water's edge. "Give way strong," commanded the chief, in an excited voice. "Friday, you be ready to jump out with that painter the minute we stop. Bobby Jennings, one word out of you, an' you go overboard. Remember, lads, one quick rush, an' she's our'n. Stick together, an' don't be afraid to punch the first one that shows fight." The crew bent to their oars with a will, and the yawl skimmed over the waves like a duck. The governor, who was at the helm, kept the boat headed up the harbor until he passed the yacht, when he rounded to under her stern, and ran up alongside of her, without being hailed. "Way enough," whispered the chief. The oars were taken in and laid upon the thwarts. Friday sprang up with the painter in one hand, and the boat-hook in the other. The governor stood in the stern-sheets, holding his lantern under his coat, and directing the yawl's course through the darkness, while the rest of the crew caught up their spears and awaited the further commands of their leader. The yawl continued to approach the vessel, and presently she was lifted on the crest of a wave, at the same instant that a flash of lightning showed the Crusoe band that the sloop's deck was deserted, with the exception of a solitary sentinel, who, wrapped up in his overcoat, stood sheltering himself behind the mast. The next moment, in spite of all the governor's efforts to prevent it, the yawl was dashed against the side of the vessel with a shock that would have aroused all the students on board of her, if they had not been the very soundest of sleepers. "Boat ahoy!" shouted the sentinel, running to the side, and looking down into the darkness. "By gracious? corporal of the guard!" he added, in a louder tone, as another flash of lightning revealed the yawl and her crew. "Better keep off, if you don't want to get into trouble. Corporal of the guard!" "Tumble up lively, lads," exclaimed the governor, and, suiting the action to the word, he sprang upon the deck of the Storm King, only to be met by a savage thrust from the bayonet of the guard, who manfully stood his ground, and shouted for the corporal. Fortunately for the chief, his man Friday was close at hand. He had made the yawl's painter fast, and charged upon the sentinel with his boat-hook, just in time to prevent him from doing the governor a serious injury. "Forward," shouted the chief, pulling his lantern out from under his coat. "Drive this yere swell below!" The rest of the band, having reached the deck almost as soon as their leader, rushed upon the guard, who, after trying in vain to defend himself, threw down his gun and retreated into the cabin. "Foller him up, lads! Foller him up!" shouted the chief, flourishing his spear in the air. "Cap'n, you an' Friday an' Jack Spaniard look out for that galley!" By thus dividing his force, Sam had got the students completely surrounded. The chief and his squad followed the sentinel down the companion ladder, while the captain and his men rushed into the galley, and thence into the forecastle, where they surprised four students, asleep in the bunks, and a corporal, nodding in his chair. The noise made by the attacking party, and the bright light that flashed in their faces, when Tom turned up the lamp that hung suspended from the beams overhead, aroused the guard, who, upon beholding the intruders, reached rather hurriedly for their muskets. But they were in the possession of Friday and Jack Spaniard, who pointed the bayonets at them, and in savage tones demanded their surrender. "Tom Newcombe, is that you?" exclaimed the corporal, rubbing his eyes, and taking a second look at the captain. "O, yes, it's I," replied Tom, who, excited as he was, could not forget his usual drawl. "You asked me why I didn't carry out my idea last night. I am carrying it out now. Get up, and go into the hold. You are all prisoners!" "Well, now, I call this a pretty good joke!" exclaimed another, raising up in his bunk, and looking first at Tom, and then at his ragged followers. "How did you get by the sentinel on deck?" "Why, we captured him, that's the way we got by him! And I think you'll find it's no joke, either, before we are done with you. Get up, and do as I tell you!" he added, sharply, as he heard the students pouring into the hold from the cabin. The guard had no alternative but to obey. They crawled slowly out of their bunks, and one of them asked, as he gathered up his clothing, and nodded his head toward Friday and Jack Spaniard-- "Are these gentlemen members of your new society, Newcombe? You must be running with a delightful crowd, now." "Go in there, and don't stop to talk!" repeated Tom, stamping his foot and pointing to the door that led from the galley. The students obeyed without any further remarks, and as soon as they had disappeared in the hold, the door was closed and fastened. Tom was captain of the Storm King at last! CHAPTER XIX. CRUSOE AFLOAT. So thought Tom Newcombe, as he held the door that opened from the galley into the hold, while Friday locked and further secured it, by bracing two of the captured muskets against it. Hardly had this been done, when the noise of a furious struggle came from the cabin, mingled with shouts and yells; and, at the same time, some one in the hold threw himself against the door, and tried to burst it open. "Stand firm, men!" exclaimed a voice, which Tom knew belonged to Harry Green. "Remember the motto, on our flag, and 'Don't give up the ship!'" Then came the governor's battle-cry: "Down with the 'cademy swells! Drive 'em in the hold, an' shut 'em up!" Tom waited to hear no more. The chief was in trouble, and perhaps needed assistance. He sprang up the ladder that led to the deck, and rushed to the companion-way, just in time to see the governor and his band falling back before a crowd of students, who poured out of the hold like bees from a hive. The first-lieutenant of the yacht led the way, flourishing a piece of a chair, with which he defended himself from the savage thrusts Sam aimed at him with his spear. Close behind him came a tall, active student, armed with a pillow, which he used with considerable effect; for, just as Tom reached the top of the companion-ladder, where he could look down into the cabin, he saw Xury knocked head overheels by a blow from this novel weapon. Immediately afterward another of the students disabled Will Atkins by throwing a quilt over his head, which he had snatched from a bunk in one of the state-rooms. The muskets of the guard were stacked in the after end of the cabin, and Tom saw that the students were fighting their way toward them. If they succeeded in reaching them, the battle would be speedily ended, and Harry would be able to fulfill his threat of taking Tom and his band to the academy, as prisoners of war. "Hurrah!" shouted Harry Green, as he saw two of the attacking party stretched on the floor of the cabin. "Surrender, Sam Barton! Drop that oar!" "Surrender yourself!" shouted Friday and Jack Spaniard, springing down the ladder and placing themselves beside the chief. By a dexterous movement with his boat-hook, Friday succeeded in disarming the first-lieutenant; and Atkins and Xury, having recovered their feet, each seized a musket and renewed the battle. Tom, thinking that he could assist the governor without fighting for him, stood at the foot of the companion-ladder, and called lustily for help from some imaginary followers. "Bring the rest of the men in out of the boat!" he shouted, looking up into the darkness, as if he was addressing some one on deck; "and go and tell those fellows in the galley to come here." "Down with the 'cademy swells!" shouted the chief again, encouraged by the arrival of his reënforcements. "Drive 'em back! Punch 'em in the ribs!" If the students had been on equal terms with their assailants, all the shouting Sam could have done would not have decided the battle in his favor. The boys composing the guard belonged to the Storm King, and among them were several officers--lieutenants, masters, and midshipmen--who would willingly have borne almost any amount of bodily suffering rather than surrender the yacht. Like all "old sailors," they had become strongly attached to their vessel, and they defended her with as much resolution as they would have exhibited had she been a human being, capable of appreciating their affection. Besides, their reputation as officers and seamen were at stake. The result of this night's work would be brought up at the next examination, either for or against them; and, if they lost the vessel, it would be regarded as evidence that they were not worthy of being trusted, and rival students would have occasion for rejoicing. More than that, although they were at a loss to imagine what object Tom had in view in seizing the yacht--for they were certain that he was the prime mover in the affair--they knew that it was his intention to take her to sea; a proceeding that would not only endanger their vessel, but the life of every boy on board of her. The officers of the Storm King had been appointed after a rigid examination, and, consequently, they were the best sailors at the academy. They were all worthy of the positions they held, but it is doubtful if even the promise of promotion would have induced the bravest of them to take the yacht to sea in the face of the tempest that was then raging. But, with all these motives to animate them, the students could not fight unarmed against the weapons of the Crusoe band. They experienced the same feelings that soldiers experience in actual warfare; and, indeed, that was not surprising, for the affair in the cabin was a real battle. Crusoe and his men fought with the utmost fury--even including Tom Newcombe, who, after calling upon his imaginary companion on deck, to send down more help, sprang to the side of the chief, and assisted in driving the students back from their muskets, which were almost within reach. He also imagined that he was fighting for his reputation. If the attack failed, he would be forever disgraced. He would be taken to the academy as a prisoner, it would become known throughout the village that he was the companion and associate of young robbers, and then, what would become of him? What would his father say about it? With Sam, the case was different. He feared no disgrace, but he did fear Mr. Grimes, the police magistrate, and the jail. His case was desperate; and it was no wonder that he fought like a young tiger. "That's it, lads?" exclaimed the chief, as the students fell back, when they saw the reënforcements coming down the ladder, and heard Tom calling for more men. "Down with the 'cademy swells!" The attack was too furious to be successfully resisted. The students retreated in confusion, and when the last one had been driven into the hold, the door was closed and fastened. "Well done, lads!" exclaimed the governor, leaning on his spear, and surveying the battle-field, and the valiant warriors who surrounded him. "We said we'd do it, an' we've kept our promise. Cap'n, I turn the vessel over to you." "I say, Newcombe!" shouted the first-lieutenant of the Storm King, from his prison, "I want to ask you a question." "Well, ask away," drawled the captain. "I want to know if you are commander of the yacht now?" "I am," answered Tom, with becoming dignity. "Are you going to take her to sea to-night?" Tom replied that he was. "It is all up with us, boys," said Harry, turning to his fellow prisoners. "If Newcombe ever gets the yacht outside the harbor, we're booked for Davy's Locker, sure. How does he suppose he can manage a vessel like this in a storm, when he can scarcely handle a little sail-boat in calm weather?" "All hands on deck!" commanded Tom, who did not hear what Harry said. "Bear a hand, and get the outfit aboard! Jump down into the yawl, a couple of you, and pass up those boxes! Xury, see that they are stowed away in the cabin and galley!" The chief and one of his men sprang into the boat, and the first thing they handed up to their companions on deck was the fisher-boy, who had lain under the thwarts during the fight, heartily wishing that Sam and his band might be defeated, so that he would be released. His situation was a trying one indeed. To be obliged to remain bound hand and foot, while an ignorant, unskillful young captain was taking him out to sea, would have tried stronger nerves than his. While the governor and his men were lifting him to the deck--an operation of some difficulty, owing to the constant rocking of the vessel--he renewed his entreaties that they would release his hands and feet, and he even went so far as to promise that, if allowed the freedom of the deck, he would not make the least attempt at escape. But the chief would not listen. He was afraid of his prisoner, and he believed that the only way to prevent him from doing mischief was to keep him securely bound. Friday and Jack Spaniard carried him into the cabin, and laid him on the sofa, after which they returned to the deck to assist in stowing away the outfit. When the last box had been safely housed in the galley, the chief sprang over the rail, cast off the painter, and gave his fine yawl up to the mercy of the waves. "Now cap'n," said he; "we're all ready." For the first time since receiving his appointment as master of the vessel, Tom realized that he had something of a task before him. To begin with, he had at least a mile of harbor to traverse before he reached the bay. The harbor was very crooked, and, in some places, too narrow to admit of much maneuvering; and, even in the day-time, with a fair wind, it would have required the exercise of all his skill and judgment to take his vessel through the shipping that lay at the wharves without some accident. One reason why he had declined to assume charge of the yacht during the trial trip, was because he was afraid he could not take her safely into the bay, and he would not have thought of attempting it now had he been in his sober senses. The night was so dark that he could not see the shore, except when an occasional flash of lightning revealed it to him; and the wind was blowing directly up the harbor, raising a sea that, even in that sheltered position, made it difficult for the captain to keep his feet without holding fast to something. Tom shuddered when he thought of what they would experience if they succeeded in reaching the bay, where the wind could have a fair sweep at them. "Come, skipper!" said the governor, seeing that Tom did not issue any orders; "are you afraid to try it?" "O, no!" replied the captain, arousing himself, and pulling the collar of his pea-jacket up around his ears, "I was just thinking what was best to be done. Xury, look around and find a tow-line. Governor, take two men and get into your yawl; pull around under the bow, and stand by to take the tow-line." "What's that fur?" demanded the chief. "Why, we've got to tow the ship out of the harbor, haven't we?" drawled Tom. "Well, if you'll find the yawl fur me, I'll do it. I let her go as soon as we got the things out, an' there's no tellin' where she is by this time." "O, now, what made you do that?" exclaimed the captain. "Who ordered you to turn her adrift?" "Why didn't you tell me that you wanted to use her? A nice skipper you'll make, if you don't look out fur things better than that." "Here's a tow-line, cap'n," said Xury. "Very good, sir!" replied Tom. "All hands lay aft to lower the cutter." In obedience to this order, the crew moved aft, where a very small boat, that Tom had dignified with the name of cutter, hung at the stern davits. She was scarcely large enough to accommodate three men, and the governor, after he had examined her by the aid of the lantern, which he carried under his coat, through fear of attracting the attention of the watch on some of the neighboring vessels, shook his head and stepped back. "Man the falls," commanded Tom. "Now, jest look a here, cap'n," said Sam, "if you want a crew to man that ar egg-shell, you'd best call for volunteers. You don't ketch Governor Barton in no such craft in a night like this. Why, she'd be swamped the minute she touched the water." "O, now, how am I to get the ship out to sea, I'd like to know?" drawled Tom. "That's your look out, an' not mine," replied Sam, as he turned on his heel and walked forward, followed by the rest of the crew. "I aint master of this vessel." "It don't look as if I was master of her, either," answered Tom, almost ready to cry with vexation. "What's the use of having any captain, if no one will obey his commands?" "Why don't you give sensible orders, then, like a man had oughter do? We aint a goin' to get into that ar little boat, an' that's jest all about it." Tom did not know what to do. It looked as though the expedition was to end then and there. What was the use of being captain, if his crew were to be the judges as to whether or not an order ought to be obeyed? How he wished that he possessed the physical power of the second mate of the Savannah! Wouldn't he enforce obedience? Perhaps all that was needed was a show of authority and resolution. "Now look here, men," exclaimed the captain, in a voice which he intended should strike terror to the hearts of every one of the band, "I am not going to stand any such nonsense. I am the lawful master of this vessel, and I'll make you sup sorrow with a big spoon if you don't obey orders. Lay aft, now, to lower away the cutter. Mr. Mate, use a rope's end on the first man who dares hesitate." "Yes, I'd like to see Mr. Mate try that on," exclaimed the governor, fiercely. "Tommy, if you know when you are well off, you won't give no more such orders as that ar. You aint lord an' master of the whole of us, if you do command the Storm King. But you aint cap'n no longer. You can jest take your old name agin; fur I won't serve under no feller who talks of usin' a rope's end on me." "O, now, do you suppose I am going to stand that?" whined Tom. "I won't serve as a sailor. I am the best navigator and seaman in the band, the only one who knows any thing about the winds and currents, and if I stay on board this vessel I am going to command her." "Now, Muley," said the governor, "you haven't yet larnt that I am the head man in this society, an' if you don't look out, I'll have to give you a few lessons like I did Will Atkins. You're a foremast hand now." "Well, I won't be one long," said Tom, who now, being convinced that he could not rule the expedition, had suddenly determined to ruin it. "I've got an idea." If the governor had understood the meaning of this declaration, he would have paid some attention to it. As he was not yet well acquainted with Tom, he did not think it necessary to reply to him, for he turned to his crew, and ordered them to assist him in hoisting the sails. "O, now, you are not going to try to sail out in the teeth of this storm," exclaimed Tom, who, ignorant as he was, knew that their chances for reaching the bay were very slim indeed. "You'll sink the yacht before you've gone twenty yards." "That's enough out of you, Muley," returned the new captain, as he and the crew busied themselves in clearing away the mainsail. "I am master of this vessel now, an' if you don't move when you're spoken to, I'll make _you_ sup sorrow with a wooden ladle, an' that's bigger'n a spoon. Lend a hand here!" Tom obeyed this order very reluctantly. All his bright hopes had disappeared, like snow before an April shower. The edict of the chief, reducing him to the ranks, destroyed all the interest he had ever felt in the Crusoe band. He no longer desired the success of the expedition; on the contrary, he resolved to defeat it if possible. He would watch his opportunity, and, when he could do so without being discovered, he would slip down into the cabin and liberate all the prisoners. They could arm themselves with their muskets, which the governor had very carelessly left scattered about the cabin, and while Crusoe and his men were occupied in navigating the vessel, they could surprise and overpower them. This was his new idea. By the time he had thought it over, the mainsail had been close reefed, and was ready for hoisting. "Now, then," shouted the governor, "stand by--" "Hold on," exclaimed Xury. "Mebbe she won't handle well without a head sail. You had oughter hist one of them jibs." "No, sir," replied the chief. "It aint best to put up too much canvas in this breeze. We've got a long voyage to make, an' we must be careful of our vessel. Muley, you ketch hold of the peak halyard, an' the rest of us man the throat-halyard. All ready, now! Hist away." As this order was obeyed, the yacht began to plunge and careen worse than ever; and presently, a flash of lightning showed Tom that they were drifting up the harbor. "Sam!" he almost gasped, "she's dragging the anchor." "Hist away, lively," exclaimed the chief, in desperation. "If you've got any muscle at all, show it now;" and catching up his lantern, he ran forward, intending to slip the chain. But he was saved that trouble. The cable, which had not been intended to hold the yacht in a gale of wind, with her mainsail set, parted with a loud snap, and for a moment the little vessel was at the mercy of the storm. The greatest excitement prevailed among the crew. The lightning flashed again, and Sam held his breath in dismay when he saw that the Storm King was being driven rapidly toward the shore. It was a capital opportunity for him to make an exhibition of his seamanship, but he had not the slightest idea of what ought to be done; neither had Tom Newcombe, who stood holding fast to the peak-halyard, his mouth open, and his tongue paralyzed with terror. Fortunately for the Crusoe band, for the vessel, and for the comfort of the prisoners below, there was one boy on board who kept his wits about him, and that was Xury. "Belay all!" he shouted, springing to the wheel. "Stand by the main-sheet! Haul in, fur your lives." Xury put the helm hard-a-starboard, the boom flew over with a jerk, prostrating two of the crew who were careless enough to put themselves in its way, and the next moment the yacht was thrown almost on her beam ends. But Xury was equal to the emergency. He handled the wheel with a great deal of skill, and proved himself to be worthy of the position he held. He "eased her up" without a moment's delay; the Storm King righted, and the next flash of lightning showed the crew that she was scudding across the harbor at a terrific rate of speed. "Bully for you, Xury!" shouted the governor, who never once thought of the danger they might be in. "We're all right now. From this time on, you are my first-lieutenant." "Put a look-out on the forecastle, governor," exclaimed Xury, yelling with all the strength of his lungs, in order to make himself heard above the howling of the wind, "I can't see a foot." "Jerusalem!" shouted Will Atkins, suddenly. "Look out, Xury!" "Ship ahoy!" came the hail, in startled tones, through the darkness. "Keep away! Don't run into me!" "Mind your own business!" shouted Friday, in reply. "This ship has got her own officers on board." Xury had been warned just in time to avoid running into a vessel lying at the wharf. He put the helm to port, but the yacht, being without a head-sail, obeyed very slowly. By the light of a lantern, which the governor held over the side, the Crusoe band discovered that they were rushing by the side of a large ship, and so close to her that they could almost touch her. But Xury understood his business, and in a moment more that danger was passed, and the Storm King was scudding toward the other side of the harbor. "O, now, I can't stand this," drawled Tom Newcombe, who was utterly confounded by the recklessness displayed by the Crusoe band. He stood holding fast to the rail, and, had it been daylight, the governor would have seen that his face was deadly pale, and that he was trembling in every limb, as if he had been seized with a fit of the ague. The wind had carried his cap overboard, but he was so completely engrossed in thinking over the dangers of his situation that he did not notice that he was bare-headed, and that the rain was running down his back in little streams. "O, I know that I shall go to the bottom in less than five minutes!" cried Tom, involuntarily catching his breath, as the Storm King careened wildly under a fierce gust of wind. "Then what will become of those fellows below deck? I am going to start for the cabin, and, if I live to get there, I'll let them all out. I know Harry Green can manage the vessel." As Tom spoke, he let go of the rail and staggered toward the companion-way. Just as he placed his foot upon the first step of the ladder, he lost his balance, and pitched headlong into the cabin. He was much more frightened than hurt by the fall, for he firmly believed that the yacht had capsized, and that, in an instant more, he would find the cabin flooded with water. But nothing of the sort happened. The reckless Xury still kept the Storm King well under control, and, thus far, by some unaccountable fortune, he had succeeded in keeping her clear of the vessels at the wharves. Tom clung to the companion-ladder a moment or two, to make sure that the yacht was still right side up, and that his absence from the deck had not been discovered, and then prepared to carry out his new idea. CHAPTER XX. THE TABLES TURNED. Meanwhile, the fisher-boy lay upon the sofa in the cabin, where Friday and Jack Spaniard had left him, listening to the noise of the storm, and wondering how many chances there were in a thousand that he would ever return to Newport. Again and again had he made the most desperate but unsuccessful efforts to free himself from his bonds, and finally, becoming wearied with his exertions, and discouraged by his failures, he settled back on the sofa, and awaited the destruction of the vessel with all the fortitude he could command. Occasionally he heard the students moving about in their prison, and now and then the door would shake and bend, as if the boys were trying to force it from its hinges. Bob watched and listened, hoping that they would discover some way of effecting their escape; but the door, like every thing else about the yacht, had been made at Mr. Graves' ship-yard, and it was "first-class." It resisted all their efforts, and at last, the students, like Bob, became discouraged, and sat down to talk the matter over. Harry Green was in great trouble. At his own request he had been placed in command of the guard of the yacht, and now, scarcely more than three hours after he assumed charge of the vessel, she had been taken from him. Since he had worked out the punishment that had been inflicted upon him for taking part in Tom's runaway scheme, he had been one of the most diligent students at the academy. He was working with an object in view, and that was, to distance the lieutenant-colonel at the next examination. As far as his lessons were concerned, he was already ahead of him in every thing except navigation; and he had resolved, that, by the end of the next quarter, he would lead his class in that study also. But his knowledge of books was not the only thing that would be inquired into. His conduct as an officer--as captain of company A, and first lieutenant of the Storm King, would be severely criticised, and especially the manner in which he executed the orders of his superiors. In his military record, Harry was confident that he could show a clean score; but there was every prospect that his career as a naval lieutenant would be brought to a speedy termination. Colonel Steele, in his capacity as a ranking naval officer, had given him written instructions to hold the yacht at all hazards in case an assault should be made upon her, and to bring every one of the attacking party prisoners to the academy. Harry had failed to obey these orders, and he was a candidate for a court-martial. The other officers of the guard were in the same predicament, and so were the seamen. They all had rivals at the academy, who were working hard to remove them from their positions on board the yacht, and it was no wonder that they looked upon the result of the battle as the greatest calamity that could have befallen them. They had lost their vessel, and, although there was not one among them who believed that they could be blamed for that, they felt rather serious, when they reflected that they would be called upon to prove this to the colonel's satisfaction. Could they not wipe out the disgrace, and insure their acquittal before the court-martial, by turning the tables on their enemies? The first lieutenant thought they could, but he did not know how to do it. He groped his way to the door--for the hold was so dark that he could not see his hand before him--threw himself against it with all his strength, and then called some of his crew to his assistance; but it was all in vain. They were prisoners, and such they would probably remain until their captors saw fit to release them. "What in the name of sense do you suppose Tom Newcombe intends to do with us, and with the yacht?" was a question that the first lieutenant had asked perhaps twenty times, and which none of the crew could answer. They knew that Tom was very angry because his father had presented the Storm King to the principal of the academy, instead of giving it to him, and they were also well aware that that was one reason why he had seized the vessel. But they had never heard a word about the Crusoe band, and, consequently, they could not imagine where Tom was going, or why he kept company with Sam Barton and his band of outlaws. This matter had been talked over until every boy in the crew had expressed an opinion; and the only conclusion at which they arrived was, that Tom had got another of his wild ideas into his head, and that he would be certain, sooner or later, to get them and every body else on board the yacht into serious trouble. "I have been with Newcombe on one runaway expedition," said Harry, "and I shall regret it as long as I live. I don't want to go with him on another, especially if he is to command the vessel." "Neither do I," said one of the midshipmen--another old Night-hawk. "But how shall we get away from him? that's the question! If we could only take him and all the members of his society to the academy as prisoners, wouldn't it be----I'll tell you what it is, fellows," he added, as the sloop gave a tremendous lurch, which threw all the students into a heap in one corner of the hold, "if we don't get on deck very soon, and take charge of this craft, she's bound to go to the bottom." The wild plunging of the vessel, the noise of the waves washing against her sides, and the sound of hurrying feet on the deck overhead, sent a thrill of terror to the heart of every boy in the hold. They knew that their captors had succeeded in getting the yacht under way, but they did not fully realize their danger until one of the students, who was steadying himself by holding on to the mast, which ran up through the hold, exclaimed: "Fellows, Newcombe has hoisted some of the canvas, and is trying to sail out of the harbor in the face of this gale. Just put your hands on the mast, and see how it quivers!" As if they were acting under orders, the crew made a rush for the after end of the hold, and commenced another furious attack upon the door, but with no other effect than to increase their alarm. There was no possible chance for escape. Both doors were securely fastened, the hatch overhead was battened down, and when the yacht was capsized or sunk--an event which they all believed to be not far distant--nothing on earth could save them. "Fellows--" began the first lieutenant. What he was about to say the boys never knew, for he was interrupted in his speech by a shout from one of the crew, who had been crawling about the hold on his hands and knees. "Hurrah for me!" shouted the student. "Where's the lieutenant? I have been lucky enough to find a handspike." "Pass it over here!" said Harry, in an excited voice. "Stand by, now, and the moment I burst the door open, make a rush, and don't stop until the vessel is ours. We must take charge of the yacht before Newcombe gets her into the bay, and we've no time to lose. Keep still, fellows! Somebody is outside the door!" The boys held their breath in suspense, and crouched, like so many tigers, ready for a spring. Some one was certainly busy with the lock. After a delay that seemed an age to the students, the key turned, the door opened, and the next moment Tom Newcombe was knocked clear across the cabin, by a blow from the pillow, in the hands of the tall student, who was the first to spring into the cabin. "That was a lucky haul, fellows!" exclaimed the first lieutenant. "We've got the old boy himself. Secure him at once." Harry, of course, did not know that Tom had released him and his crew intentionally, and perhaps it would have made no difference to him if he had. Like all the rest of the students, he looked upon Tom as a very dangerous fellow, and he was resolved to capture him, even if by so doing the other members of the band were allowed an opportunity to escape. In obedience to the order, half a dozen students threw themselves upon him, and Tom, stunned by the blow from the pillow, and astonished at the roughness with which he was handled, did not fairly recover the use of his tongue until he found himself securely bound and confined in one of the state-rooms--the apartment that had been intended for the captain of the vessel, and which he had expected to occupy under very different circumstances. The fisher-boy lay upon the sofa a delighted witness of all that took place; but, although the lamp was burning brightly, and he was in plain sight, the students were so excited, and so fully occupied in securing possession of their weapons, and disposing of their prisoner, that they were not aware of his presence until he aroused them by saying--"Now, perhaps you will be kind enough to release me!" Of course the students were kind enough to do it, and they did do it as soon as they had satisfied themselves that he was not a member of Tom's band. He was not required to enter into any lengthy explanation, for the first lieutenant was in a great hurry to finish the work so well begun; and, besides, the fact that the fisher-boy was bound hand and foot, was sufficient evidence that he had not assisted in the capture of the vessel, and that he had been brought there against his will. "No time to talk, fellows," said the first lieutenant. "How many of them are there, Jennings?" "Only five, now that Tom is a prisoner," replied Bob, picking up the spear that the governor had used during the fight, and making some feeble attempts to stand on his feet. "Only five!" repeated Harry, in astonishment. "Eighteen fellows whipped in a fair fight by one-third of their number! Boys, I think this will be our first and last cruise in the Storm King. That is bad evidence to be brought up against us." "But it wasn't a fair fight," said one of the crew. "They were armed and we were not." "Well, they whipped us, anyhow," said the lieutenant, "and now we must whip them. Stand by to board with a loud cheer! Board!" The students, yelling at the top of their lungs, sprang up the ladder, and gained the deck without meeting any of the enemy. The members of the Crusoe band were so fully occupied in navigating the vessel, that they had not noticed Tom's absence from the deck, and the noise of the storm had drowned all sounds of what had been going on in the cabin. When the first lieutenant reached the top of the ladder, he stopped, appalled by the scene presented to his gaze. The storm was increasing in fury every moment, the lightning flashed almost incessantly, rendering objects about the harbor as plainly visible as if it had been daylight, and the wind howled as fiercely as ever. By some streak of luck which the lieutenant could not understand, and which would not have attended him again had he attempted the same feat, Xury had succeeded in piloting the vessel safely through the harbor; and when the students reached the deck, she was on the point of entering the bay. Harry had witnessed many a tempest, both at sea and on shore, and as he began to regard himself as quite an accomplished sailor, he was disposed to make light of storms that were really terrific. But he had nothing to say about this one. He had never seen such waves in Newport Bay, neither had he ever seen a vessel so badly handled as was the Storm King. The mainsail, close reefed, was the only canvas hoisted, but that was altogether too much for her; besides, Xury was becoming frightened, and managed the wheel with very unsteady hands. Sometimes the sail would feel the full force of the gale, and the yacht would roll down almost to her beam ends; then Xury would "luff" until the sail was shaking in the wind, when he would fill away again. Harry took this all in at a glance. He dared not hesitate long, for he saw the necessity of prompt action. "Richardson!" he shouted, turning to one of the midshipmen, "take two men to the wheel, and put her about at once. Forward! and clear the deck of these pirates." "Hallo, here!" exclaimed the governor, who just then happened to glance toward the companion-way. "Here they are, fellers! Down with the 'cademy swells!" But the chief's battle-cry failed to produce any effect upon his crew. The lightning showed them that the students had recovered their weapons, and that was enough to convince them that their voyage was at an end. Besides, they were not allowed time to make up their minds whether to fight or surrender, for the students, led by Harry, rushed forward in a body, and in a moment every member of the Crusoe band, except the governor, was a prisoner. The latter caught up a hand-spike, and stood his ground long enough to see his men overpowered, one after the other, when he dropped his weapon and sprang upon the bowsprit, where he was followed by half a dozen of the students. "Surrender, Sam Barton!" exclaimed the foremost. "Your cruise is up, now." "Not much, I won't surrender," replied the chief, desperate to the last. "Better not come too near me!" The students, not in the least intimidated by this last remark, which implied that he intended to resist all their efforts to capture him, continued to follow the chief, who, having retreated as far as he could toward the end of the bowsprit, suddenly arose to his feet. "Down with the 'cademy swells!" he shouted, shaking his fist at his pursuers. For an instant he stood with his arms spread out, balancing himself on the bowsprit, and then, with another wild cry, he sprang into the air and disappeared under the bow of the yacht, which, by this time, had been put about, and was booming along up the harbor at a terrific rate. A cry of horror arose from all who had witnessed this last act of the chief, and while one hurried off to report the matter to the lieutenant, the others ran aft to watch for him as he arose under the stern. But not one of those students ever saw Sam Barton again. By the time they reached the stern, the yacht had left the spot where he disappeared a long way behind, and they were as powerless to assist him as if he had been in mid-ocean. The chief, in his desperation, preferred to trust himself to the waves, rather than in the hands of the students; and, whatever other dangers he might have run into, he was safe from the clutches of Mr. Grimes. But this incident, exciting as it was, was soon forgotten. The students had other things to think of, and the governor's reckless courage ceased to be the topic of conversation. The first lieutenant had his hands full. He was filled with apprehension and trembling with anxiety for the safety of his vessel and crew, but he did not forget his prisoners, who, being taken in charge by a guard detailed for that purpose, were marched down into the hold and locked up. The sail up the harbor was attended with quite as much, if not more, danger than the coming down had been. The first lieutenant had too much at stake to run any risks, and as soon as the crew could be got together--for, in the excitement attending the battle, and the escape from the hold, all discipline had been forgotten--he ordered the sail taken in. This was speedily accomplished, and then the yacht drifted helplessly about on the waves. But her speed, of course, was greatly diminished, and the danger attending a collision, if one occurred, was diminished in the same proportion. Harry's next care was, to send one of the midshipmen to get the spare anchor up from the hold. This was an operation of some difficulty. The anchor was weighty, and the first lieutenant was the only one on board who understood the management of heavy bodies, and he could not leave the deck. Only a part of the crew engaged in executing this order. The others were kept on deck, holding themselves in readiness to "fend off," if there should be danger of running into any of the vessels at the wharves. The yacht drifted along, sometimes stern foremost, sometimes sideways, but generally keeping near the middle of the harbor, and, by the time the midshipman came aft, to report the anchor ready, they were within a short distance of the place from which they started on their involuntary cruise. CHAPTER XXI. HARRY'S REPORT. "There!" exclaimed the first lieutenant, drawing a long breath of relief, as the yacht swung round with her head to the storm, after the anchor had been let go, "we're back here, and in just as good condition as when we started, if we except very wet skins and badly damaged reputations. But the vessel is all right, and that's one thing I can feel easy about." Harry left the officer who was second in command of the guard, to make every thing snug on board, and went below to talk to Tom Newcombe; for, thus far, he had not heard a word uttered that gave him an insight into his object in capturing the vessel. As he descended into the cabin he met the fisher-boy, who, since his release, had made several unsuccessful attempts to reach the deck to assist the students in retaking the yacht. But he had not yet fully recovered the use of his hands and feet, and, he had been obliged to remain inactive in the cabin. "Is she all right, now?" asked Bob, as the lieutenant came down the ladder. "Yes, and as sound as a dollar," was the reply. "I shall turn her over to her next executive officer, in just as good condition as she was received; and that's some consolation." "I wish you had driven them down here," said the fisher-boy, as he stood his spear up in one corner of the cabin. "I'd like to have had a chance at the governor." "The governor!" repeated Harry, curiously. "Do you mean Sam Barton? He is overboard. He jumped into the harbor on purpose. I hoped to command this vessel one of these days," continued the lieutenant, more interested in his own affairs, just then, than in the fate of the chief, "but Tom Newcombe has sadly interfered with my arrangements by this night's work. Wouldn't it be a good plan to pitch him overboard also?" "I believe it would," answered Bob. "It might save somebody some trouble; for he'll be into another scrape as soon as he gets fairly out of this one, and he will ruin any body who has any thing to do with him." "But how came you here a prisoner?" inquired the lieutenant. "You were not in the fight, were you?" The fisher-boy's story was a long one; for, in order to enable Harry to understand how he came to incur the displeasure of Sam Barton, he was obliged to begin with the story of the passenger who had paid him forty dollars in gold for catching the steamer. He told all about Tom's lottery scheme, which made the lieutenant laugh until his jaws ached, and finally, he came to the Crusoe band. He related the circumstances connected with his capture; revealed the objects of the organization, and also the motives that had led Tom Newcombe to become a member, as far as he was acquainted with them. What he did not know Harry was able to supply, and thus they got at a complete history of every thing Tom had done since his expulsion from the society of Night-hawks. Harry was really amazed to learn that a boy of Tom's years could put any faith in a lottery, and believe that Sam Barton's idea of hunting up an island somewhere in the ocean, and leading Crusoe life, could be successfully carried out. "I do not know that my chances for promotion are the best in the world just now," said the lieutenant, as he arose and unlocked the door that led into the hold, "but such as they are, I would almost give them up to know what notion that boy will get into his head next. I wonder if he won't come to the conclusion that the North Pole is 'just the place he always wanted to go to,' and try to fit out an expedition among the village boys!" "If he does he will get plenty of recruits," said Bob. "Come out here, Friday, Jack Spaniard, Will Atkins, and Exury," exclaimed Harry, addressing himself to the prisoners. "Let us have a look at you. I want to see the boy who was lucky enough to take this vessel down the harbor in this storm, without smashing her to pieces." The fisher-boy, while relating the history and exploits of the Crusoe band, had given the lieutenant the names of the members, just as the governor had pronounced them. "By the way, Richardson," continued Harry, turning to the midshipman who had managed the vessel, while his superior officer was leading the attack on the pirates, "I have read Robinson Crusoe a good many times, but I never saw any thing in it about a fellow called Exury. Whom are you named after?" he added, addressing the reckless pilot. "After the feller that was with the governor when he ran away in the boat that had a shoulder of mutton for a sail," was the reply. The first lieutenant, who was highly amused at every thing he heard regarding the band, laughed louder than ever. Xury had got things pretty well mixed up, if he supposed that Crusoe's boat had a shoulder of mutton for a sail; but, after all, he was not to blame for that, for he had never read the book, and all his ideas concerning the hero of the band, and his surroundings, were gained from what he had heard Sam say on the subject. "I know who you are now," said Harry, slowly surveying his prisoner from head to foot, "and I would advise you to discard your real name and stick to your assumed one. If it will always bring you such luck as has attended you to-night, you'll be an admiral one of these days. Richardson, see that these fellows are made comfortable for the night. They came very near sending us all to the bottom, but that's no reason why we should not treat them as kindly as we can." The midshipman took charge of the prisoners, and Harry unlocked the door of the state-room in which Tom was confined, and went in to talk to him. "O, now, I'd like to know what you are going to do with me!" drawled the prisoner, as the lieutenant untied the ropes with which his hands and feet were bound. "I always was the most unlucky boy in the whole world, but this is the worst scrape I ever got into." "I came in, captain, to tell you that there is a good fire in the galley, and that you may go in there and dry your clothing, if you feel so disposed," replied Harry. "O, now, I won't do it," whined Tom. "I'd rather stay here as I am, than to go in there and have all those fellows tormenting me. I want you to quit calling me captain, for I wasn't master of the vessel, nor governor of the band, either." "Why, didn't you tell me that you were commander of the yacht?" demanded Harry. "O, yes, I did, but I didn't hold the office long, for the governor got mad at me, and broke me; and then I got mad at him, and let you out. But I wouldn't have done it, if I had known that you would knock me down, and then keep me here a prisoner. What are you going to do with me?" This was a question that Harry did not like to answer. Although Tom had caused him a great deal of uneasiness, and had placed the yacht and her crew in jeopardy he was not revengeful, and, if he could have had his own way, he would have released his prisoner at once. Bad as he was, he was the son of the man who had presented the principal of the academy with the fine vessel of which he had the honor to be the executive officer, and for that, if for no other reason, Harry did not want to see him disgraced. But his orders were, to bring the attacking party to the academy as prisoners of war, and now, that he had captured them, he could not disobey. "You are going to put me ashore now, are you not, Harry?" whined the prisoner, trying hard to choke back his tears. "I'll never do it again." "I can't!" replied the lieutenant. "I am acting under orders." "But you must remember that I let you out," said Tom. "I was trying to make amends for what I had done. What do you suppose my father will say, when he hears that you marched me to the academy with those low, ignorant ferry-boys?" "I don't know. But if those boys were good enough for you while you were at liberty to do as you pleased, they are certainly good enough for you now that you are a prisoner." "But I won't stand it, I tell you," roared Tom, now beginning to cry in earnest. "I am not going to the academy under arrest, to be shut up in the guard-house. Now mind what I say, Harry Green! If you don't let me go at once, I'll square yards with you some day." "I am not going to stay here to listen to any threats," replied the lieutenant, placing his hand on the door-knob. "You have been a student at the academy, and you know what is done with a fellow who does not obey orders. You had better go into the galley and dry your clothes." "O, now, I won't do it," shouted Tom, who seemed to be almost beside himself with rage. "Well, then, if I will allow you the freedom of the vessel, will you promise that you will not try to escape?" "No, I won't do that either. Get out of here! I'll fix you for this!" Harry, seeing that his prisoner was in very bad humor, left the state-room, locking the door after him. While he was talking to Tom, the crew had been employed in setting things to rights, and now the cabin presented the same scene of neatness and order that it had before the fight--only one of the chairs was missing, and the center-table had been pushed against the bulkhead to enable it to retain its upright position, one of its legs having been broken off during the struggle. The officer on duty sat at the desk writing, as if nothing had happened, and a sentinel had been posted at the door of the hold, who saluted the lieutenant as he passed. Harry went into the galley, where the crew had congregated to dry their clothing by the fire, and to listen to the fisher-boy's story. Xury, Jack Spaniard, Friday, and Will Atkins were there, under charge of a guard, and they seemed to take matters very coolly answering all the questions asked them, and even putting in a word now and then, to assist Bob in his description of the incidents that happened while he was a prisoner in the cave. Xury, especially, was very talkative. The crew all looked at him with a good deal of curiosity, and he held himself very stiffly, believing that he had accomplished a most remarkable feat, when he piloted the vessel safely through the harbor, and that it was his superior skill as a sailor, and not luck, that had carried him through. The students were as much astonished at Bob's story as their officer had been; and, after the latter had listened a few moments to their remarks, he came to the conclusion that, for once in his life, Tom Newcombe had shown some judgment when he declined to mingle with the crew. While some of them regarded the whole affair as a stupendous joke, others were very angry at him, and all believed that no other boy of his age in the world had so little common sense. Very likely the prisoner was much more comfortable in his wet clothes than he would have been by the fire, in the galley. The lieutenant took off his coat, wrung the water out of it, and stood by the stove until his clothes were dry, when he returned to the cabin, where he found the tall student with his hand wrapped up in his handkerchief, walking up and down the floor. This was Jackson, the second lieutenant of the ship, and the one who had done such good service with his pillow. "Does it hurt much?" inquired Harry. "It is not very comfortable, I assure you," replied the student, his face all wrinkled up with pain, "but I don't mind the hurt so much as I do the investigation that is coming." The first lieutenant seated himself at his desk, to write out his report of the incidents of the night. He went about it with as much earnestness as if he had been the commander of a government vessel, in time of war, and had just come out of a terrible fight. He had nothing to do but to tell the truth in the fewest possible words, and in a few minutes the report was finished. It ran as follows: "ACADEMY SHIP STORM KING, July 16th, 18--. "_Sir_ "It becomes my unpleasant duty to inform you that an attack was made upon this vessel, at half-past ten o'clock, by an organized band of outlaws, calling themselves 'Crusoe men,' and that it was partially successful. "In accordance with the instructions contained in your letters of this date, I reported to the commanding officer of the yacht for duty and command of the vessel. I at once proceeded to carry out the verbal orders given me before I left the academy, and detailed six privates, two corporals, and as many officers, for guard duty. One sentry was posted on deck, while the officer remained in the cabin, and the corporal in the forecastle, the latter going on deck twice each hour, to strike the bells and see that every thing was snug. At the time the attack was made, private Simmonds was the sentinel on deck, and lieutenant Jackson the officer of the guard. The attacking party, consisting of six men, were led by Samuel Barton, who went by the name of governor. They boarded the vessel from a yawl--the darkness and the howling of the storm effectually concealing their movements from the sentinel, and drowning all sounds of their approach. Private Simmonds called for the corporal, and attempted to prevent the boarding of the pirates, but was obliged to retreat into the cabin, where he was pursued by the governor and a portion of his band; the others, commanded by Thomas Newcombe, going down into the galley, and thence into the forecastle, where they aroused the guard from a sound sleep, and drove them into the hold. The governor's squad numbered only three men, but they were armed with spears, which we found to be quite as dangerous as bayonets. "The most of the crew were asleep in the hold, and before they could be awakened, the officers in the cabin had been overpowered and crowded into the hold at the point of the spears. The pirates placed themselves between us and our weapons, but we would have succeeded in beating them back but for the arrival of their reënforcements. Some of them turned our own weapons against us, and, being unarmed, we were forced to retreat. The pirates then locked us up in the hold, after which, Thomas Newcombe took command of the vessel. "Owing to some disagreement with the chief, he was broken, and the management of the yacht devolved upon a member of the band, who answers to the name of Xury. He started down the harbor under a close reefed mainsail, while we in the hold made repeated but unsuccessful efforts to escape, until Thomas Newcombe, wishing to be revenged upon his chief for relieving him of the command, unlocked the door and released us. We at once attacked the pirates, who made but a feeble resistance, and in a few moments they were all secured, except the chief, who jumped overboard rather than to fall into our hands. The vessel was put about by midshipman Richardson, who handled her during the fight, and brought her back to her anchorage. "I regret to report that lieutenant Jackson, corporal Smith, and private Simmonds, were wounded during the struggle--the former being disabled by a thrust from a bayonet. "I am sure that the Storm King sustained no injury during the run down and up the harbor, but, in order to establish this fact, I respectfully request that a Board of Survey be ordered to examine into her condition, and also that a Court of Inquiry be convened, to ascertain whether or not the honor of our flag has suffered in my hands "Very Respectfully, Your Obd't Serv't HENRY GREEN, First Lieutenant, A. N. "Captain WILLIAM STEELE, Commanding Academy Ship Storm King." (The letters A. N., which Harry placed after his rank, stood for Academy Navy.) "How will that do, Jackson?" inquired the first lieutenant, after he had read the report to his wounded shipmate. "I know that the Board of Survey, and the Court of Inquiry will come, whether I ask for them or not; but I have made the request, simply to show the principal that I am willing he should sift the matter as soon as he pleases. I can't think of any order that I have disobeyed, but they are so hard on a fellow here, that I expect to have my appointment revoked." The first lieutenant placed his report in an official envelope, and, after addressing it to the captain, he went into his state-room and tumbled into bed. He did not sleep much; and neither did Tom Newcombe, who, during the rest of the night, paced up and down his narrow prison like a caged lion. Morning came much too soon for him, and, at the first peep of day, all hands were called, and Harry put off for shore in the jolly-boat. In half an hour he returned with a yawl, and took his prisoners and Bob Jennings on board. The latter was landed outside the academy grounds, and then the first lieutenant pushed off again to take the Crusoe men before the principal. The fisher-boy would have been glad to accompany them, for he wanted to hear what the principal would say to Tom. But other things demanded his attention. The first was, to go home and relieve the anxiety which he knew his mother felt at his prolonged absence, and the other, to secure possession of the Go Ahead No. 2, which had been left in the cave. He started off on a keen run, and in a few minutes reached Fishertown, and burst into the house, where his mother was engaged in getting breakfast. CHAPTER XXII. CONCLUSION. His sudden appearance took the family completely by surprise. It took somebody else, who was not a member of the family, also by surprise, and that was Mr. Graves, the boat-builder, who had "just dropped in" at that early hour, to inquire if Mrs. Jennings had heard any news of Bob. He felt a great interest in him, he said, and was anxious to know what had become of him. The fisher-boy's mother, however, very soon discovered that he did not care so much about the welfare of her son as about the money Bob had promised to pay him for the Go Ahead No. 2. Ever since the fisher-boy's disappearance, Mr. Graves had been a very miserable man. He had come to the conclusion that he had been sadly deceived in his customer, and he believed that Bob had run away to avoid paying the debt. This was enough to put him on nettles. Although he was well off in the world, he was very "close" in all his dealings, and, in his eyes, twenty-six dollars was a small fortune. He had credited Bob for the skiff, not because he wished to assist him, but for the reason that he believed his customer's promise to pay was almost as good as the money. If the fisher-boy had been able to pay cash for his boat, he could have bought her for twenty dollars; but when the boat-builder found that he was expected to wait three months for his money, he had added five dollars to the price of the skiff for interest. It made no difference to him that he was rich and Bob poor. That was no fault of his. He had a right to make as much money as he could, and this was a lawful business transaction. "I am sorry that it has turned out this way, Mrs. Jennings," said the boat-builder, "but I can't help it. Of course you can't expect me to build fine skiffs, like the Go Ahead No. 2, for nothing! I couldn't make a living by doing business that way." "I am very sorry that you let Bob have that boat on credit," said Mrs. Jennings. "So am I, when it is too late. If the boat was here, and in good order, I would take it back; but as it is gone, you, of course, will acknowledge that I ought to be paid for it. I didn't suppose that a boy who bore the reputation of your Robert would become such a rascal! It is plain enough to me that he has run away. I'll warrant that he is in South America by this time, and that you'll never see him----Bobby Jennings!" The fisher-boy's appearance at this moment proved to Mr. Graves's entire satisfaction that he was not in South America. He stood in the door-way, flushed with excitement, breathing hard after his rapid run, and looking first at his mother and then at the boat-builder, who did not act as if he thought him a very great rascal. As soon as Bob had greeted his mother, he arose and shook hands with him, exclaiming-- "I am glad you have concluded to come back, Bobby." "Concluded!" repeated the fisher-boy. That one word opened his eyes, and he imagined he knew the object of the boat-builder's visit. "You didn't suppose I had run away, did you?" "Well, to tell the honest truth, we did, Bobby," replied Mr. Graves, settling back in his chair, as if he was willing to listen to any explanation the fisher-boy had to make. "You see, every thing pointed that way. You go in debt for a splendid little skiff, somebody steals her from you, you don't pay a cent on your note, and you suddenly disappear, and nobody knows were you have gone. What else could we suppose? There are no such things as kidnappers nowadays." "There was such a thing as a Crusoe band, though!" replied Bob, who was astonished and indignant that any one should suppose him mean and dishonest enough to absent himself on account of a paltry debt of twenty-six dollars. He knew that all his acquaintances would be surprised at his absence, but he had never imagined that they would accuse him of running away. "There was a--what did you call that band, Bobby?" inquired Mr. Graves, bending forward in his chair, and placing his hand behind his ear. "What would I run away for?" demanded the fisher-boy, who did not feel disposed to favor his creditor with an explanation, after he had accused him so wrongfully. "My three months are not up yet, Mr. Graves. When the time comes you shall have your money." "I hope so. I certainly hope so," said the boat-builder, picking up his hat, for he plainly saw that Bob did not want him there. "You will understand, of course, that the fact of your losing the boat does not affect the debt. Have I your promise that you will remain in the village?" "Certainly, sir. I live here," replied the fisher-boy, rather coldly. Mr. Graves bowed himself out, and returned to his ship-yard breathing a good deal easier. He was certain that his twenty-six dollars were safe. His mind was easy on that score, but his curiosity had been excited, and he would have been almost willing to give the price of the boat to know where his customer had been, and what he had been doing during his absence. "Now, Bobby, tell me all about it," said Mrs. Jennings, as soon as the door had closed behind their visitor. "Before I begin, mother, answer me one question," said the fisher-boy. "Did you believe that I had run away?" "I did not," was the prompt reply. Bob drew a long breath of relief. There was at least one person in the world who still had faith in him. Seating himself in a chair by his mother's side, he related his story just as he had told it to the executive officer of the Storm King, and wound up by saying--"I am not sorry for what has happened. I know that I have been kept from my work, but I have found my skiff, and now I am going after it." Bob did go. He put a piece of candle in his pocket--for the lantern that had been used in the cave was on board the yacht--and started off without waiting for his breakfast, although he had not eaten a mouthful since the previous morning. He went straight to the wharf, and his appearance there occasioned a great commotion among the ferry-boys, who climbed out of their boats, and gathered about him, even neglecting the passengers who were waiting to be carried across the harbor. "Where have you been, Bobby, an' where's Sam Barton, an' Bill Stevens, an' Jack Bennett, an' the rest of them fellers?" inquired half a dozen of the boys at once. "If one of you will lend me a boat for ten minutes, and go with me, I'll tell you all about it," was Bob's reply. Of course, the boys would go with him, and they could spare their boats for ten minutes, or for all day, for that matter. Of the boats offered him, the fisher-boy climbed down into the one that suited him best, and, to the no small amazement of the boys, sculled under the wharf. A half a dozen boats kept close behind him, their crews making unsuccessful attempts to induce Bob to tell them the meaning of his strange movements. The latter said nothing, until he had gathered all the boys about him in the cave, and then he told his story. If he had never had an appreciative audience before, he had one now, and he was obliged to relate over and over again the particulars of his capture and the fight with the dog, as well as all the other incidents that had transpired while he was a prisoner. Every one wondered what had become of the governor, and all were anxious to know what Bob intended to do with the members of the band. But, in this matter, the fisher-boy kept his own counsel. After the ferry-boys had examined the cave to their satisfaction, and listened to all Bob had to say about Crusoe and his men, they assisted him in getting the Go Ahead No. 2 into the water. When Sam found that he would not be allowed an opportunity to dispose of the skiff, he had taken care to preserve every thing that belonged to her. The sail and the oars lay upon the thwarts, where they had been placed when the skiff was first brought into the cave, and so did the stake to which she had been chained. She was as good as new in every respect, and the fisher-boy could not refrain from shouting with delight, when he saw her floating in the water, under the pier. Bob's story spread with great rapidity, and he soon found that he was quite a hero in the village. If he had felt so disposed, he could have spent half the day in relating his adventures to admiring listeners. But his time was too valuable to be wasted. He took four or five passengers across the harbor, who made a great many inquiries concerning the Crusoe band; but he answered them in as few words as possible, and, as soon as he could get away from them, he started for home. There he disposed of a hasty breakfast, and, an hour afterward, the Go Ahead No. 2 was anchored on his fishing grounds, and Bob was sitting with his line dangling in the water, thinking over his adventures, and waiting patiently for a bite. But, contrary to his expectations, he soon found that the fish were quite as able to resist the temptation of a bait suspended over the side of his fine skiff, as they had been when it was thrown to them from his old scow. His splendid boat made no difference with their biting; and at night, when he filled away for home, his fish-basket was as empty as when he made his last trip down the bay, in the old Go Ahead. Ferrying was a little more profitable. He carried eight passengers across the harbor that night, by which he made sixteen cents. The fisher-boy had been indulging in the hope that the loss of his two boats, and his long absence from his work, would operate as a sort of charm to break the "streak of bad luck," that had so long attended him in his fishing and ferrying. But in this he was disappointed. The fish were as shy of his hook as they had been two months before, and one day on the harbor opened his eyes to the fact that his skiff was altogether too small. Morning and evening were the busy times with the ferry-boys, for then the ship-carpenters went to and from their work. There were so many boys in the harbor, that none of them could make more than one trip before the passengers were all carried across, and, consequently, the boy who had the largest and cleanest boat made the most money. For example, the yawl that Sam Barton had used would easily accommodate twenty-five persons, and Bob's skiff would not hold more than nine; so, while Sam made fifty cents with every "full trip," the fisher-boy made only eighteen. Bob worked early and late, but luck was still against him, and, at the end of the week, he had saved only a dollar, which he paid into the hands of Mr. Graves, who indorsed it on the back of his note. During the second week, he laid by a quarter less, and he began to believe that his mother knew what she was talking about when she told him that it was a great deal easier to go in debt than to get out of it. How many times he wished for the five-dollar bill he had given Tom Newcombe to invest in the lottery! During the month following, Bob led a most uncomfortable life. He gave up fishing, and finished Mr. Henry's pile of wood, for which he received six dollars, which was also paid to Mr. Graves. The day on which the note fell due came at last, and so did the boat-builder, who, in a business-like way, informed Bob that he still owed him seventeen dollars, and that he would "give him the benefit of the usual three days' grace." The fisher-boy did not know exactly what that meant, but he did know that it was simply impossible for him to raise so large an amount, of money in so short a time. How often did he wish that the forty dollars in gold, which his mother still preserved--although she had more than once been at a loss to know where the next meal was coming from--belonged to him! But he would as soon have thought of breaking into Mr. Newcombe's office, and stealing seventeen dollars, as to use a portion of that to pay for his boat. On the third day after the visit of the boat-builder, as Bob was sculling slowly about the harbor, looking for passengers, he was hailed by a man on the wharf, who, as he came up, pulled a memorandum-book from his pocket, saying: "I am collecting for Mr. Graves, and I have a little bill of seventeen dollars against you." "I can't pay it," replied the fisher-boy, hanging down his head, and looking as mean as if he had been detected in robbing somebody's orchard. "Well, then, my orders are to give you back your nine dollars, and to take the boat," said the man. "Mr. Graves says he has been sadly deceived in you. You told him a falsehood." The loss of the boat was a severe blow to Bob, but the knowledge that his reputation had suffered by his failure to keep his promise, was still worse. But that was not all. Mr. Henry and Mr. Newcombe were standing upon the wharf, and there were several ferry-boys close by. The two gentlemen opened their eyes and looked at Bob in great surprise, while one of the ferry-boys, delighted to witness the discomfiture of a rival, whispered, "Bobby's been tryin' to play the swell!" "Hurrah for us! There's one more out of the way!" said another. The fisher-boy laid the oars carefully upon the thwarts, passed the skiff's painter up to the collector, and climbed upon the wharf without saying a word. He took the note and the money the man handed to him, and stood watching him as he sprang down into the skiff, and pulled up the harbor toward the ship-yard. As soon as he disappeared among the shipping, Bob tore up the note, put his money into his pocket, and walked slowly homeward. He wanted to get out of sight of those two gentlemen, and away from the ferry-boys, who kept their eyes fastened on him as if he had been some curious wild animal. He felt like an outlaw, and it seemed to him that every man who passed him on the wharf, looked upon him with contempt. "I'll always believe what mother says, after this," said the fisher-boy to himself. "I am out of debt now, and, if I don't keep out, I'll--" "Ah, here you are!" exclaimed a voice, breaking in upon his reverie. "The best oarsman on Newport harbor! We've been looking for you! We want to go across!" Bob looked up, and found his liberal passenger before him, the man who had paid him the forty dollars in gold by mistake. He had looked and watched for him every time he came into the harbor, and here he was, when he the least expected him. He was accompanied by two gentlemen, whom Bob knew to be sailors, from their style of dress. "Come, come, boy!" exclaimed the man, talking very rapidly, "the captain and I are in a great hurry, and I know that you can set us over in a little less than no time. Where's your boat?" "I haven't got any, sir!" replied the fisher-boy, with tears in his eyes. "But do you know how much you paid me when you were here before?" "Yes; I promised you a dollar, and I gave it to you, didn't I?" said the man, pulling out his pocket-book. "Did I make a mistake? How much do I owe you? Speak quick, for I don't like to have even a small debt." "You don't owe me any thing, sir," said Bob, as soon as he saw a chance to crowd a word in edgeways; "but I owe you forty dollars in gold, and if you will come home with me, I will pay it to you." "You owe me forty dollars!" repeated the man. "How does that come?" "Why, you made a great mistake, sir. You gave me two twenty-dollar gold pieces instead of the two silver half dollars you promised me." "What a big dunce I was, and what a bigger dunce you are, for telling me of it," said the man, looking at Bob with an expression he could not understand. "Come on, captain, we've wasted time enough." To the fisher-boy's astonishment, the man turned on his heel and walked off without saying a word more about the money. He shook hands with Mr. Henry, who was still standing on the wharf, and Bob heard him inquire, "Who is that boy?" He did not hear the reply, for the grocer turned his back to him. Bob thought if he had lost forty dollars, and some one should offer to return it, he would pay more attention to the matter; but perhaps the gentleman had so many twenty-dollar gold pieces that the loss of two of them did not trouble him. He talked with Mr. Henry until a yawl, which he had hailed, came up, and then he climbed down into it, saying to the grocer: "I will call at your store this afternoon." Upon hearing this the fisher-boy started for home again, intending to take the money to Mr. Henry, with a request that he would give it to the owner. Mrs. Jennings was not at all surprised when Bob told her that Mr. Graves had taken his boat away from him. She only said it was "just what she had been expecting," and then listened patiently as the fisher-boy unfolded his plans for the future. They were not very numerous or complicated, for now that his skiff was gone, there was but one way in which he could earn a livelihood, and that was by doing odd jobs about the village. "As for going to sea," said Bob, "I have almost given it up. I never can save thirty dollars, and I'll have to be a fisherman as long as I live." As he said this, he felt the tears coming to his eyes, and, to hide his emotion, he went out of the house, sat down upon the ground, and looked up at his mottoes, under the eaves. "I don't believe Mr. Newcombe told the truth," said he, unconsciously giving utterance to the thoughts that were passing through his mind. "About what?" inquired a voice behind him. Bob looked up, and there was his liberal passenger again. Without stopping to reply to his question, the fisher-boy sprang to his feet and ran into the cabin. In a few moments he returned with the gold pieces, and found the gentleman trying to read the mottoes. He took the money when Bob offered it to him, without even thanking him, and, placing his finger upon one of the boards, inquired: "What's all this written here?". "It's my motto," replied Bob, with some hesitation. "It is written in Greek, isn't it? Read it. I would like to know what it is?" The fisher-boy hesitated again. He was afraid the gentleman might laugh at him. When he first cut that motto there, he thought it was something worth remembering; but now he had almost lost faith in it. The man repeated his request, and looked at Bob so kindly that he complied and read: "_Be sure you are right, and then go ahead!_" "Do you always live up to that?" "Not always," replied the fisher-boy, looking down at the ground; "I went ahead once when I knew I was wrong, and got into trouble by it." "How did you come to select this for a motto? "I heard Mr. Newcombe talking to Tom just before he sailed in the Savannah. He said: 'Be sure you are right, and then go ahead, and I'll answer for your success in life.'" "And if Tom had been sensible enough to pay some attention to it, he would have been of some use in the world now," said the gentleman. "He goes ahead when he knows he is wrong, and that's the reason he gets into so much trouble. What's the other motto?" "_Owe no man a penny_," replied Bob. "That's another good one. All the advice I can give you is, to keep them constantly in mind." As the man said this, he abruptly left Bob, and walked rapidly toward the wharf. "Well," said the fisher-boy to himself, "he is the queerest man I ever saw." Bob was astonished at his singular behavior, and about an hour afterward, while he was eating his dinner, he was still more amazed by the appearance of one of the sailors he had seen with Mr. Evans--for that was the name of his liberal passenger--who entered without knocking, and began his business without ceremony. "I am Captain Coons, master of the ship Spartan, which is to sail from this port for China, day after to-morrow," said he. "Be gone three years, probably. Want a boy, and have been instructed by Mr. Evans, my owner, to pay you a hundred dollars advance. What do you say, Bob? Here's your chance. You needn't mind pumping for salt water about it, for I am in dead earnest. Here's the money if you'll say you will put down your name." Bob could not say any thing immediately, for he found it impossible to speak. He looked at the roll of bills the captain held in his hand, then at his mother, and being unable to restrain himself any longer, he jumped up and ran out of the house. He did not shout, but he made a standing jump of eight feet and a-half, and then began to haul in an imaginary rope, hand over hand. "What do I say, Bob?" said he to himself, in an excited whisper. "I say I'll go, and won't I do my best? Captain Coons's boots will shine so that he can see his face in them a mile off; and he'll never have to tell somebody to make the bunks over after me." The fisher-boy did not say, "I'll soon be second mate, and then first mate, and then captain," as Tom Newcombe had done. His ideas extended no further, just then, than the faithful performance of his duties as boy. Bob took a good many steps about the beach, and made several more long standing jumps before he worked off his excitement, and then he returned to the house, where he found the captain engaged in conversation with his mother. He saw, at a glance, that the matter had been settled during his absence, for his mother's purse lay upon the table, and it was larger than it had ever been before. "Those mottoes did it, my lad," said the captain, after he had told Mrs. Jennings that Mr. Evans had heard all of Bob's history from the grocer. "They pleased my owner wonderfully; and he asked me to tell you to bear one thing in mind, and that is, that a steady, honest, industrious boy never wants for friends, be he rich or poor. I shall expect to see you on board the Spartan at six o'clock this evening." Bob reported to the captain promptly at the hour. A small portion of his advance had been expended for an outfit; but when he stood on the deck of his vessel, and waved his farewell to his mother, he knew that he had left her provided for. "That's what comes of giving back them gold pieces," said Xury, standing up in his boat and waving his hat to the fisher-boy. "If he had kept 'em, like the governor wanted him to do, he wouldn't be on board that fine ship now." Every one of the members of the band saw Bob start on his voyage, and it must be confessed that they breathed easier than they had done for many a day, when they beheld his vessel shaping her course down the bay. The principal had dismissed them with a sharp reprimand, and, when they resumed their work in the harbor, they lived in a state of constant fear and excitement, expecting every moment to find Mr. Grimes after them with a warrant. The fact that Bob spoke to them very civilly whenever he met them did not make them feel secure, and not until they saw his vessel fairly out of the harbor, were they satisfied that he did not intend to have them punished for what they had done. Then every one of them was sorry that they had treated him so unkindly, and, if the fisher-boy had come back to the village, he never would have had any more trouble with the old members of the Crusoe band. Tom Newcombe was there also. In spite of all his remonstrances and threats, the lieutenant had taken him before the principal of the academy, who sternly ordered him to go home. This made Tom more angry than ever, for he imagined the colonel had insulted him by treating him so coldly in the presence of the students, and he determined that he would yet be revenged upon him. What passed between him and his father no one ever knew; but all the clerks remarked that Tom worked harder, and that he spent less of his time in running around. His brain was as busy as usual, and in twenty-four hours after his release he had matured a plan for the organization of another secret society. The future of a boy of Tom's habits is easily predicted. The only channel in which he ever exhibited any perseverance, was in holding to the belief that "nobody could teach him." To this opinion he clung as long as he lived, and, of course, he often got into trouble. His further adventures shall be related in "NO MOSS; OR, THE CAREER OF A ROLLING STONE." THE END. Famous Castlemon Books. No author of the present day has become a greater favorite with boys than "Harry Castlemon," every book by him is sure to meet with hearty reception by young readers generally. His naturalness and vivacity leads his readers from page to page with breathless interest, and when one volume is finished the fascinated reader, like Oliver Twist, asks "for more." By Harry Castlemon. =GUNBOAT SERIES.= By Harry Castlemon. In box containing the following. 6 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold $7 50 (Sold separately.) =Frank the Young Naturalist.= Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Frank in the Woods.= Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Frank on the Prairie.= Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Frank on a Gunboat.= Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Frank before Vicksburg.= Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Frank on the Lower Mississippi.= Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =GO-AHEAD SERIES.= By Harry Castlemon. In box containing the following. 3 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 3 75 (Sold separately.) =Go-Ahead=; or, The Fisher Boy's Motto. Illustrated. 16mo. $1 25 =No Moss=; or, The Career of a Rolling Stone. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Tom Newcombe=; or, The Boy of Bad Habits. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES.= By Harry Castlemon. In box containing the following. 3 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 3 75 (Sold separately.) =Frank at Don Carlos' Rancho.= Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Frank among the Rancheros.= Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Frank in the Mountains.= Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =SPORTSMAN'S CLUB SERIES.= By Harry Castlemon. In box containing the following. 3 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 3 75 (Sold separately.) =The Sportsman's Club in the Saddle.= Illustrated. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 1 25 =The Sportsman's Club Afloat.= Being the 2d volume of the "Sportsman's Club Series." Illustrated. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 1 25 =The Sportsman's Club among the Trappers.= Being the 3d volume of the "Sportsman's Club Series." Illustrated. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 1 25 =FRANK NELSON SERIES.= By Harry Castlemon. In box containing the following. 3 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 3 75 (Sold separately.) =Snowed up=; or, The Sportsman's Club in the Mountains. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Frank Nelson in the Forecastle=; or, the Sportsman's Club among the Whalers. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =The Boy Traders=; or, The Sportsman's Club among the Boers. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =BOY TRAPPER SERIES.= By Harry Castlemon. In box containing the following. 3 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold $3 75 (Sold separately.) =The Buried Treasure=; or, Old Jordan's "Haunt." Being the 1st volume of the "Boy Trapper Series." Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =The Boy Trapper=; or, How Dave filled the Order. Being the 2d volume of the "Boy Trapper Series." Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =The Mail Carrier.= Being the 3d and concluding volume of the "Boy Trapper Series." Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =ROUGHING IT SERIES.= By Harry Castlemon. In box containing the following. 3 vols. Cloth, extra, black and gold 3 75 (Sold separately.) =George in Camp=; or, Life on the Plains. Being the 1st volume of the "Roughing It Series." Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =George at the Wheel=; or, Life in a Pilot House. Being the 2d volume of the "Roughing It Series." Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =George at the Fort=; or, Life Among the Soldiers. Being the 3d and concluding volume of the "Roughing It Series." Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =ROD AND GUN SERIES.= By Harry Castlemon. In box containing the following. 3 vols. Cloth, extra, black and gold 3 75 (Sold separately). =Don Gordon's Shooting Box.= Being the 1st volume of the "Rod and Gun Series." Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Rod and Gun.= Being the second volume of the "Rod and Gun Series." Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =The Young Wild-Fowlers.= Being the third volume of the "Rod and Gun Series." Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 Alger's Renowned Books. Horatio Alger, Jr., has attained distinction as one of the most popular writers of books for boys, and the following list comprises all of his best books. By Horatio Alger, Jr. =RAGGED DICK SERIES.= By Horatio Alger, Jr., in box containing the following. 6 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold $7 50 (Sold separately.) =Ragged Dick=; or, Street Life in New York. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Fame and Fortune=; or, The Progress of Richard Hunter. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Mark the Match Boy=; or, Richard Hunter's Ward. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Rough and Ready=; or, Life among the New York Newsboys. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Ben the Luggage Boy=; or, Among the Wharves. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Rufus and Rose=; or, The Fortunes of Rough and Ready. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =TATTERED TOM SERIES.= (FIRST SERIES.) By Horatio Alger, Jr., in box containing the following. 4 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 5 00 (Sold separately.) =Tattered Tom=; or, The Story of a Street Arab. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Paul the Peddler=; or, The Adventures of a Young Street Merchant. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Phil the Fiddler=; or, The Young Street Musician. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Slow and Sure=; or, From the Sidewalk to the Shop. Illustrated. 16mo. $1 25 =TATTERED TOM SERIES.= (SECOND SERIES.) In box containing the following. 4 vols. Cloth, extra, black and gold 5 00 (Sold separately.) =Julius=; or, The Street Boy Out West. Illust'd. 16mo. 1 25 =The Young Outlaw=; or, Adrift in the World. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Sam's Chance and How He Improved it.= Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =The Telegraph Boy.= Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES.= (FIRST SERIES.) By Horatio Alger, Jr., in box containing the following. 4 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 5 00 (Sold separately.) =Luck and Pluck=; or, John Oakley's Inheritance. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Sink or Swim=; or, Harry Raymond's Resolve. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Strong and Steady=; or, Paddle Your Own Canoe. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Strive and Succeed=; or, The Progress of Walter Conrad. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES.= (SECOND SERIES.) In box containing the following. 4 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 5 00 (Sold separately.) =Try and Trust=; or, The Story of a Bound Boy. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Bound to Rise=; or, How Harry Walton Rose in the World. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Risen from the Ranks=; or, Harry Walton's Success. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Herbert Carter's Legacy=; or, The Inventor's Son. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES.= By Horatio Alger, Jr., in box containing the following. 4 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold $5 00 (Sold separately.) =Brave and Bold=; or, The Story of a Factory Boy. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Jack's Ward=; or, The Boy Guardian. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Shifting for Himself=; or, Gilbert Greyson's Fortunes. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Wait and Hope=; or, Ben Bradford's Motto. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =CAMPAIGN SERIES.= By Horatio Alger, Jr., in box containing the following. 3 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 3 75 (Sold separately.) =Frank's Campaign=; or, the Farm and the Camp. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Paul Prescott's Charge.= Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Charlie Codman's Cruise.= Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =PACIFIC SERIES.= By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 5 00 (Sold separately.) =The Young Adventurer=; or, Tom's Trip Across the Plains. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =The Young Miner=; or, Tom Nelson in California. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =The Young Explorer=; or, Among the Sierras. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Ben's Nugget=; or, A Boy's Search for Fortune. A Story of the Pacific Coast. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =The Young Circus Rider=; or, The Mystery of Robert Rudd. Being the 1st volume of the "Atlantic Series." Illustrated. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 1 25 =Do and Dare=; or, A Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune. Being the 2d volume of the "Atlantic Series." Illustrated. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold $1 25 =Hector's Inheritance=; or, Boys of Smith Institute. Being the 3d volume of the "Atlantic Series." Illustrated. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 1 25 By C. A. Stephens. Rare books for boys--bright, breezy, wholesome and instructive--full of adventure and incident, and information upon natural history--they blend instruction with amusement--contain much useful and valuable information upon the habits of animals, and plenty of adventure, fun and jollity. =CAMPING OUT SERIES.= By C. A. Stephens. In box containing the following. 6 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold $7 50 (Sold separately.) =Camping Out.= As recorded by "Kit." With eight full-page illustrations. 16mo. 1 25 =Left on Labrador=; or, The Cruise of the Schooner Yacht "Curlew." As recorded by "Wash." With eight full-page illustrations. 16mo. 1 25 =Off to the Geysers=; or, The Young Yachters in Iceland. As recorded by "Wade." With eight full-page illustrations. 16mo. 1 25 =Lynx Hunting.= From Notes by the Author of "Camping Out." With eight full-page illustrations. 16mo. 1 25 =Fox Hunting.= As recorded by "Raed." With eight full-page illustrations. 16mo. 1 25 =On the Amazon=; or, the Cruise of the "Rambler." As recorded by "Wash." With eight full-page illustrations. 16mo. 1 25 By J. T. Trowbridge. These stories will rank among the best of Mr. Trowbridge's books for the young, and he has written some of the best of our juvenile literature. =JACK HAZARD SERIES.= By J. T. Trowbridge. In box containing the following. 6 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold $7 50 (Sold separately.) =Jack Hazard and his Fortunes.= With twenty illustrations. 16mo. 1 25 =A Chance for Himself=; or, Jack Hazard and his Treasure. With nineteen illustrations. 16mo. 1 25 =Doing his Best.= With twenty illustrations. 16mo. 1 25 =Fast Friends.= With seventeen illustrations. 16mo. 1 25 =The Young Surveyor=; or, Jack on the Prairies. With twenty-one illustrations. 16mo. 1 25 =Lawrence's Adventures Among the Ice Cutters=, Glass Makers, Coal Miners, Iron Men and Ship Builders. With twenty-four illustrations. 16mo. 1 25 By Edward S. Ellis. A New Series of Books for Boys, equal in interest to the "Castlemon" and "Alger" books. His power of description of Indian life and character is equal to the best of Cooper. =BOY PIONEER SERIES.= By Edward S. Ellis. In box containing the following. 3 vols. Illustrated. Cloth, extra, black and gold $3 75 (Sold separately.) =Ned in the Block House=; or, Life on the Frontier. Being the 1st volume of the "Boy Pioneer Series." Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Ned in the Woods.= Being the 2d volume of the "Boy Pioneer Series." Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 =Ned on the River.= Being the 3d volume of the "Boy Pioneer Series." Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25 * * * * * TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES Some inconsistencies in spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation have been retained. p. 85: "robs" changed to "ribs" (thumped against his ribs like a trip-hammer) p. 99: "were" changed to "where" (where he was captured and put into the cave) p. 126: "possble" changed to "possible" (as soon as possible) p. 234: "forcastle" changed to "forecastle" (thence into the forecastle) 
21703	----	SILVER LAKE, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. CHAPTER ONE. THE HUNTERS. It was on a cold winter morning long ago, that Robin Gore, a bold hunter of the backwoods of America, entered his parlour and sat him down to breakfast. Robin's parlour was also his dining-room, and his drawing-room, besides being his bedroom and his kitchen. In fact, it was the only room in his wooden hut, except a small apartment, opening off it, which was a workshop and lumber-room. Robin's family consisted of himself, and his wife, and his son Roy, who was twelve years of age--and his daughter Nelly, who was eight, or thereabout. In addition to these, his household comprised a nephew, Walter and an Irishman, Larry O'Dowd. The former was tall, strong, fearless, and twenty. The latter was stout, short, powerful, and forty. The personal history of Robin Gore, to the point at which we take it up, runs briefly thus:-- He had been born in a backwood's settlement, had grown up and married in the little hamlet in which he had been born, and hunted around it contentedly until he was forty years of age. But, as population increased, he became restive. He disliked restraint; resolved to take his wife and family into the wilderness and, after getting his nephew and an Irish adventurer to agree to accompany him, carried his resolution into effect. He travelled several hundreds of miles into the woods--beyond the most remote settlement--built three wooden huts, surrounded them with a tall stockade, set up a flagstaff in the centre thereof, and styled the whole affair, "Fort Enterprise." "I'm sorry to bring you to such a lonesome spot, Molly, my dear," said Robin, as he sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, on the afternoon of the day on which he arrived at the scene of his future home; "it'll be rayther tryin' at first, but you'll soon get used to it, and we won't be bothered hereaway wi' all the new-fangled notions o' settlement folk. We'll dwell in the free wilderness, where there are no tyrannical laws to hamper a man, an' no nonsensical customs to fix the fashion of his coat an' leggins. Besides, you'll have Roy an' Nelly an' Walter an' Larry to keep you company, lass, not to mention our neighbours to look in upon now and again." "Very true, Robin," replied the wife, "I have no doubt it will be quite cheery and homelike in course of time." She looked out upon the broad bosom of the lake which lay before the site of their forest home, and sighed. It was evident that Mrs Gore had a strong partiality for the laws and customs which her husband abhorred. The "neighbours" to whom Robin referred lived in a leather tent twenty miles distant from the Fort. They were an Indian, named "The Black Swan," his wife, named "The White Swan," and a half-caste trapper, whose proper name was unknown to all save himself. His cognomen in the wilderness was "Slugs," a name which originated in his frequent use of clipped pieces of lead instead of shot in the loading of his gun. But to return to the point from which we started:-- It was on a cold winter morning that Robin Gore entered his parlour and sat him down to breakfast. It was not only cold--very cold; colder than ever was experienced in our favoured British isles--but it was also very dark. Robin had risen before daybreak in order to visit his traps, and shoot some game as early in the day as possible. The larder chanced to be nearly empty that day, a fact which was all the more to be regretted that it was New Year's day, and, as Robin remarked, "that day didn't occur more than once in the year." This statement Larry O'Dowd disputed, affirming that it occurred "at laste twice ivery year--wance at the beginnin' an' wance at the end of it!" "Come along, lad," said Robin, trimming the candle as his nephew Walter entered, "we'll ha' to make the most of our time to-day, for we dine at sharp five p.m., an' our dinner--leastwise the most of it--is at this moment alive an' kickin', if it's not sleepin', in the forest, and has got to be found and shot yet. Hallo! boy, where are _you_ bound for?" "For the woods, father, with you and Walter," replied his son Roy, sitting down and coolly helping himself to a portion of bear's meat, with which the hunter was regaling himself. "Nonsense, boy," said Robin, somewhat gruffly. "You'll not be able to keep up with us," added Walter, "for we've little time before us, an' a long way to go." "If I break down I can turn back," retorted Roy. "Very good; please yourself;" said Robin in a tone of indifference, although his glance seemed to indicate that he was not sorry to see his boy determined to attempt an expedition which he knew from experience would be very trying to a lad of his years. Breakfast over, the three hunters clothed themselves in habiliments suitable to the climate--leathern coats and trousers which were impervious to the wind; cloth leggings to keep the snow from the trousers; leather mocassins, or shoes with three pairs of blanket socks inside of them; fur-caps with ear-pieces; leather mittens with an apartment for the fingers and a separate chamber for the thumb, powder-horns, shot-pouches, guns, and snow-shoes. These latter were light wooden frames, netted across with deerskin threads, about five feet long and upwards of a foot wide. The shoes were of this enormous size, in order that they might support the wearers on the surface of the snow, which was, on an average, four feet deep in the woods. They were clumsy to look at, but not so difficult to walk in as one might suppose. In silence the three hunters entered the dark woods in front of Fort Enterprise. Robin went first and beat the track, Walter followed in his footsteps, Roy brought up the rear. The father sank about six inches at every step, but the snow which fell upon his snow-shoes was so fine and dry, owing to the intense frost, that it fell through the net-work of the shoes like dust. Walter and Roy, treading in the footsteps, had less labour in walking, but Walter, being almost as strong as his uncle, took his turn at beating the track every two hours. Through the woods they went, over mound and hollow, across frozen swamp and plain, through brush and break, until near noon, when they halted for rest and refreshment. While Walter cut firewood, Robin and Roy cleared away the snow, using their snow-shoes as shovels, and prepared their meal. It was simple; a few mouthfuls of dried meat and a tin can of hot tea--the backwoodsman's greatest luxury, next to his pipe. It was short, too. Half an hour sufficed to prepare and consume it. "Let's see, now, what we have got," said Robin, counting the game before resuming the march. "More than enough," said Walter, lighting his pipe for a hurried whiff, "ten brace of white grouse, four rabbits, six red foxes and a black one, and two wolves. We can't eat all that." "Surely we won't eat the foxes and wolves!" cried Roy, laughing. "Not till we're starvin'," replied his father. "Come, let's go on--are ye tired, lad?" "Fresh as Walter," said the boy, proudly. "Well, we won't try you too much. We'll just take a sweep round by the Wolf's Glen, an' look at the traps there--after which make for home and have our New Year's dinner. Go ahead, Walter, and beat the track; it is your turn this time." Without speaking, Walter slipped his feet into the lines of his snow-shoes, extinguished his pipe, and led the way once more through the pathless forest. CHAPTER TWO. THE STARVED INDIAN. In the depths of the same forest, and not far from the locality to which we have introduced our reader, a Red Indian was dragging his limbs wearily along over the untrodden snow. The attenuated frame of this son of the soil, his hollow cheeks and glaring eye-balls, his belt drawn with extreme tightness round his waist, to repress the gnawings of hunger, as well as his enfeebled gait, proved that he was approaching the last stage of starvation. For many weeks Wapaw had been travelling in the woods, guided on his way by the stars, and by those slight and delicate signs of the wilderness-- such as the difference of thickness in the bark on the north, from that on the south side of a tree--which are perceptible only to the keen eye of an Indian, or a white man whose life has been spent in the wilderness. But Wapaw was a very different man, when he quitted his tribe, from what he was at the time we introduce him to our reader. Strong, wiry, upright, and lithe as a panther, he left his wigwam and his wife, and turned his face towards the rising sun; but the season was a severe one, and game was scarce; from the very beginning of his journey he had found it difficult to supply himself with a sufficiency of food. Towards the middle of it he was on short allowance, and much reduced in strength; and now near its termination, he was, as we have said, almost in the last stage of starvation. Fort Enterprise was Wapaw's goal. He had never been there before, but from the description of the place and its locality, given by those of his kindred who had visited Robin Gore, he was able to direct his march with unerring certainty towards it. Of course, as he drew near to it he could not ascertain his exact distance--whether he was a day or several days' journey off--but from the tracks of Robin's snow-shoes, which he crossed more than once, he guessed that he was nearing the Fort, and pushed on with renewed hope and energy. Robin, however, was an active hunter. He often made long and rapid marches from his lonely dwelling--sometimes staying away a week or two at a time even in winter; so that Wapaw thought himself nearer Fort Enterprise than he really was, when he first discovered the bold hunter's tracks. When, at length, he did arrive at less than a day's journey from the Fort, he was not aware of its close proximity, and, having tasted nothing whatever for two days, he felt the approach of that terrible state of exhaustion which precedes death. It was a somewhat stormy day when the poor Indian's strength finally broke down. Hitherto he had pushed forward with some degree of hope, but on the morning of this day a broken branch caught his snow-shoe and tripped him. At any other time the fall would have been a trifle, but in his weak condition it acted like the last straw which breaks the camel's back. Wapaw rose with difficulty, and brushing the snow from his eyes, looked earnestly at his snow-shoes, well knowing that if they had been broken in the fall his power of advancing would have been taken away and his fate sealed, for he had neither strength nor energy left to repair them. They were uninjured, however; so he once more attempted to stagger on. A slight rising ground lay before him. To ascend this was a labour so great that he almost sank in the midst of it. He reached the top, however, and gazed eagerly before him. He had gazed thus at the top of every rising ground that he had reached during the last two days, in the hope of seeing some sign of the Fort. A deep sigh escaped him as he rested his hands on the muzzle of his gun, and his grave countenance was overspread with a look of profound melancholy. For the first time in his life, the once stout and active Wapaw had reached the point of giving way to despair. A wide open plain stretched out before him. The cold wind was howling wildly across it, driving the keen snow-drift before it in whirling clouds. Even a strong man might have shrunk from exposing himself on such a plain and to such a blast on that bitter arctic day. Wapaw felt that, in his case, to cross it would be certain death; so, with the calm philosophy of a Red Indian, he made up his mind to lay him down and die! His manner of preparing for his end was somewhat singular. Turning aside into the woods, he set about making an encampment with as much vigour as he could summon up. Clearing away the snow from the roots of a large spreading pine-tree, he strewed branches on the ground, and thus made a rude couch. On this he spread his blanket. Then he cut some firewood with the axe that hung at his side, and soon kindled, by means of flint, steel, and tinder, a good fire. Seating himself before the warm blaze, the exhausted man rested awhile, with his legs drawn together and his head resting on his knees. He sat so long thus that he nearly fell asleep. Presently he roused himself, and proceeded to make a close examination of his wallet and firebag--the latter being a beautifully ornamented pouch, which Indians and fur-traders wear at their belts, for the purpose of containing the materials for producing fire, besides pipes and tobacco. Poor Wapaw had already searched his wallet and firebag twice, without finding a crumb of food or a morsel of tobacco. He knew well that they were empty, yet he turned them inside out, and examined the seams and corners with as much earnestness as if he really expected to find relief from his sufferings there. There was no expression of pain on the red man's face--only a look of profound melancholy. He laid aside the firebag after a little while, and then quietly drew his knife, and cut a piece of leather from the skirt of his hunting coat. The leather had been dried and smoked, and contained no substance whatever that could sustain life. Wapaw was aware of this--nevertheless he singed a portion of it until it was reduced almost to ashes, and mingling a little snow with this, ate it greedily. Then, raising his eyes to the sky with a long earnest gaze, he sat immovable, until the sinking fire and the increasing cold recalled his wandering faculties. There was a wild, glassy look about the Indian's eyes now, which probably resulted from exhaustion. He seemed to struggle several times to rouse himself before he succeeded; shuddering with intense cold, he crept to the little pile of firewood, and placed several billets on the fire, which speedily blazed up again, and the dying man cowered over it, regardless of the smoke which ever and anon wreathed round his drooping head. In a few minutes Wapaw started up as if new energy had been infused into him. He placed his gun, axe, firebag, and powder-horn by themselves on the ground; then he wrapped himself in his blanket and lay slowly down beside them with his feet towards the fire. For a few minutes he lay on his back, gazing earnestly upwards, while his lips moved slowly, but no sound issued from them. Then he turned wearily on his side, and, covering his head with the blanket and turning his face towards the ground, he resigned himself to death. But God had ordained that, at that time, the red man should not die. About the time when he lay down, our hunters emerged upon the plain which had caused the Indian to despair. "It's of no use goin' farther," observed Robin, as he and his companions stood at the edge of the forest and looked across the plain; "the wind blows too hard, and the drift is keen; besides there ain't much to be got hereaway, even in seasons of plenty." "Father! is that smoke risin' over the bluff yonder?" asked Roy, pointing with his finger as he spoke. "No doubt of it, lad." "Indians, may be," said Walter. Robin shook his head. "Don't think so," said he, "for the redskins don't often come to see me at this time o' the year. But we'll go see; an' look to your primin', lads--if it's a war-party we'll ha' to fight, mayhap, if we don't run." The three hunters crossed the plain in the teeth of the howling drift, and cautiously approached the bluff referred to by Roy, and from behind which the smoke ascended. "It's a camp fire," whispered Robin, as he glanced back at his companions, "but I see no one there. They must have just left the place." There was a shade of anxiety in the hunter's voice as he spoke, for he thought of Fort Enterprise, its defenceless condition, and the possibility of the Indians having gone thither. "They can't have gone to the Fort," said Walter, "else we should have seen their tracks on the way hither." "Come," said Robin, stepping forward quickly, "we can see their tracks now, anyhow, and follow them up, and if they lead to the Fort." The hunter did not finish his sentence, for at that moment he caught sight of the recumbent form of Wapaw in the camp. "Hist! A redskin alone, and asleep! Well, I never did 'xpect to see that." "Mayhap, he's a decoy-duck," suggested Walter. "Better look sharp out." Robin and Roy heeded not the caution. They at once went forward, and the father lifted the blanket from the Indian's head. "Dead!" exclaimed Roy, in a solemn tone. "Not yet, lad! but I do b'lieve the poor critter's a'most gone wi' starvation. Come, bestir you, boys--rouse up the fire, and boil the kettle." Walter and Roy did not require a second bidding. The kettle was ere long singing on a blazing fire. The Indian's limbs were chafed and warmed; a can of hot tea was administered, and Wapaw soon revived sufficiently to look up and thank his deliverers. "Now, as good luck has it, I chanced to leave my hand-sled at the Wolf's Glen. Go, fetch it, Roy," said Robin. The lad set off at once, and, as the glen was not far distant, soon returned with a flat wooden sledge, six feet long by eighteen inches broad, on which trappers are wont to pack their game in winter. On this sledge Wapaw was firmly tied, and dragged by the hunters to Fort Enterprise. "Hast got a deer, father?" cried little Nelly, as she bounded in advance of her mother to meet the returning party. "No, Nelly--'tis dearer game than that." "What? a redskin!" exclaimed Dame Gore in surprise; "is he dead?" "No, nor likely to die," said Robin, "he's in a starvin' state though, an'll be none the worse of a bit of our New Year's dinner. Here is game enough for one meal an' more; come, lass, get it ready as fast as may be." So saying the bold hunter passed through the Fort gate, dragging the red man behind him. CHAPTER THREE. PREPARATIONS FOR A FEAST. "Why so grave, Robin?" inquired Mrs Gore, when her husband returned to the parlour after seeing Wapaw laid in a warm corner of the kitchen, and committed to the care of Larry O'Dowd. "Molly, my dear, it's of no use concealin' things from you, 'cause when bad luck falls we must just face it. This Injun--Wapaw, he calls himself--tells me he has com'd here a-purpose, as fast as he could, to say that his tribe have resolved to attack me, burn the Fort, kill all the men, and carry you off into slavery." "God help me! can this be true?" "True enough, I don't doubt, 'cause Wapaw has the face of an honest man, and I believe in faces. He says some of the worst men of his tribe are in power just now; that they want the contents of my store without paying for them; that he tried to get them to give up the notion, but failed. On seeing that they were bent on it, he said he was going off to hunt, and came straight here to warn me. He says they talked of starting for the Fort two days after he did, and that he pushed on as fast as he could travel, so it's not likely they'll be here for two or three days yet. I'll get ready for them, hows'ever, and when the reptiles do come they'll meet with a warm reception, I warrant them; meanwhile, do you go and get dinner ready. We won't let such varmints interfere with our New Year's feast." While Robin's wife went to her larder, his children were in the kitchen tending the Indian with earnest solicitude, and Larry was preparing a little soup for him. "Do you like rabbit soup?" asked Nelly, kneeling beside the pallet of pine branches on which Wapaw lay. The Indian smiled, and said something in his native tongue. "Sure he don't onderstan' ye," exclaimed Larry, as he bustled in an energetic way amongst his pots and pans. "Let me try him with Cree," said Roy, kneeling beside his sister, "I know a little--a _very_ little Cree." Roy tried his "very little Cree," but without success. "It's o' no use," he said, "father must talk to him, for _he_ knows every language on earth, I believe." Roy's idea of the number of languages "on earth" was very limited. "Och! don't bother him, see, here is a lingo that every wan onderstan's," cried Larry, carrying a can of hot soup towards Wapaw. "Oh, let me! _do_ let me!" cried Nelly, jumping up and seizing the can. "Be all manes," said Larry, resigning it. The child once more knelt by the side of the Indian and held the can to him, while he conveyed the soup to his lips with a trembling, unsteady hand. The eyes of the poor man glittered as he gazed eagerly at the food, which he ate with the avidity of a half-famished wolf. His nurses looked on with great satisfaction, and when Wapaw glanced up from time to time in their faces, he was advised to continue his meal with nods and smiles of goodwill. Great preparations were made for the dinner of that New Year's Day. Those who "dwell at home at ease" have no idea of the peculiar feelings with which the world's wanderers hail the season of Christmas and New Year. Surrounded as they usually are by strange scenes, and ignorant as they are of what friends at home are doing or thinking, they lay hold of this season as being one point at least in the circle of the year in which they can unite with the home circle, and, at the _same time_, commemorate with them the birth of the blessed Saviour of mankind, and think with them of absent friends. Much, therefore, as the "happy" season is made of in the "old country," it is made more of, if possible, in the colonies; especially on the outskirts of the world, where the adventurous and daring have pitched their tents. Of course Robin Gore and his household did not think of the "old country," for they were descendants of settlers; but they had imbibed the spirit of the old country from their forefathers, and thought of those well-remembered friends whom they had left behind them in the settlements. Notwithstanding the delay caused by the conveying of Wapaw to the Fort, the hunters had walked so fast that there was still some time to spare before dinner should be ready. Roy resolved to devote this time to a ramble in the woods with his sister Nelly. Accordingly the two put on their snow-shoes, and, merely saying to their mother that they were going to take a run in the woods, set forth. Now, it must be known that Mrs Gore had looked forward to New Year's Day dinner with great interest and much anxiety. There was a general feeling of hilarity and excitement among the male members of the self-exiled family that extended itself to the good woman, and induced her to resolve that the entire household should have what Walter styled a "rare blow-out!" During the whole morning she had been busy with the preparation of the various dishes, among which were a tart made of cloudberry jam, a salt goose, and a lump of bear's ham, besides the rabbits and ptarmigan which had been shot that day. "That's the way to do it, Molly," cried Robin, as he opened the door and peeped in upon his wife during the height and heat of her culinary labours; "keep the pot bilin', my dear, and don't spare the butter this day. It only comes once a year, you know." "Twice," muttered Larry in a low voice, as he stirred the contents of a large pot which hung over the fire. "And see that you look after Wapaw," continued Robin. "Don't give him too much at first, it'll hurt him." "No fear of that," replied Larry, "he's got so much a'ready that he couldn't howld another morsel av he was to try." "Well, well, take care of him, anyhow," said Robin, with a laugh; "meanwhile I'll go see after the defences o' the Fort, and make all snug." By dint of unwearied perseverance the dinner was cooked, and then it occurred to Robin to ask where the children were, but no one could tell, so the hunter remarked quietly that they would "doubtless make their appearance in a short while." Gradually the dinner reached that interesting point which is usually styled "ready to dish." Whereupon Robin again asked where the children were. Still no one could tell, so he said he would go out and hail them. Loudly and long did the hunter call, but no one answered; then he made a rapid search in and about the Fort, but they were not to be found. Moreover, a snow-storm had begun to set in, and the drift rendered it difficult to distinguish tracks in the snow. At last the day's labours were brought to a close. Dinner was served, and smoked invitingly on the table. The party only awaited the return of Robin with the children. In a few minutes Robin entered hastily. "Molly," said he, in a tone of anxiety, "the foolish things have gone into the woods, I think. Come, lads, we must hunt them down. It's snowin' hard, so we've no time to lose." Walter and Larry at once put on their capotes, fur-caps, and snow-shoes, and sallied forth, leaving Mrs Gore seated alone, and in a state of deep anxiety, by the side of her untasted New Year's Day dinner. CHAPTER FOUR. LOST IN THE SNOW. When Roy and Nelly set out for a ramble, they had at first no intention of going beyond their usual haunts in the woods around the Fort; but Roy had been inspirited by his successful march that day with his father and Walter, and felt inclined to show Nelly some new scenes to which they had not, up to that time, dared to penetrate together. The snow-storm, already referred to, had commenced gradually. When the children set forth on their ramble only a few flakes were falling, but they had not been away half an hour when snow fell so thickly that they could not see distinctly more than a few yards ahead of them. There was no wind, however, so they continued to advance, rather pleased than otherwise with the state of things. "Oh, I _do_ like to see falling snow," cried Nelly, with a burst of animation. "So do I," said Roy, looking back at his sister with a bright smile, "and I like it best when it comes down thick and heavy, in big flakes, on a _very_ calm day, don't you?" "Yes, oh it's so nice," responded Nelly sympathetically. They paused for minutes to shake some of the snow from their garments, and beat their hands together, for their fingers were cold, and to laugh boisterously, for their hearts were merry. Then they resumed their march, Roy beating the track manfully and Nelly following in his footsteps. In passing beneath a tall fir-tree Roy chanced to touch a twig. The result was literally overwhelming, for in a moment he was almost buried in snow, to the unutterable delight of his sister, who stood screaming with laughter as the unfortunate boy struggled to disentomb himself. In those northern wilds, where snow falls frequently and in great abundance, masses are constantly accumulating on the branches of trees, particularly on the pines, on the broad flat branches of which these masses attain to considerable size. A slight touch is generally sufficient to bring these down, but, being soft, they never do any injury worth mentioning. When Roy had fairly emerged from the snow he joined his sister in the laugh, but suddenly he stopped, and his face became very grave. "What's the matter?" asked Nelly, with an anxious look. "My snow-shoe's broken," said Roy. There was greater cause for anxiety on account of this accident than the reader is perhaps aware of. It may be easily understood that in a country where the snow averages four feet in depth, no one can walk half-a-mile without snow-shoes without being thoroughly exhausted; on the other hand, a man can walk thirty or forty miles a day by means of snow-shoes. "Can't you mend it?" asked Nelly. Roy, who had been carefully examining the damaged shoe, shook his head. "I've nothing here to do it with; besides, it's an awful smash. I must just try to scramble home the best way I can. Come, it's not very far, we'll only be a bit late for dinner." The snow-shoe having been bandaged, after a fashion, with a pocket-handkerchief, the little wanderers began to retrace their steps; but this was now a matter of extreme difficulty, owing to the quantity of snow which had fallen and almost obliterated the tracks. The broken shoe, also, was constantly giving way, so that ere long the children became bewildered as well as anxious, and soon lost the track of their outward march altogether. To make matters worse, the wind began to blow clouds of snow-drift into their faces, compelling them to seek the denser parts of the forest for shelter. They wandered on, however, in the belief that they were drawing nearer home every step, and Roy, whose heart was stout and brave, cheered up his sister's spirit so much that she began to feel quite confident their troubles would soon be over. Presently all their hopes were dashed to the ground by their suddenly emerging upon an open space, close to the very spot where the snow-mass had fallen on Roy's head. After the first feeling of alarm and disappointment had subsided, Roy plucked up heart and encouraged Nelly by pointing out to her that they had at all events recovered their old track, which they would be very careful not to lose sight of again. Poor Nelly whimpered a little, partly from cold and hunger as well as from disappointment, as she listened to her brother's words; then she dried her eyes and said she was ready to begin again. So they set off once more. But the difficulty of discerning the track, if great at first, was greater now, because the falling and drifting snow had well-nigh covered it up completely. In a very few minutes Roy stopped, and, confessing that he had lost it again, proposed to return once more to their starting point to try to recover it. Nelly agreed, for she was by this time too much fatigued and alarmed to have any will of her own, and was quite ready to do whatever she was told without question. After wandering about for nearly an hour in this state of uncertainty, Roy at last stopped, and, putting his arm round his sister's waist, said that he had lost himself altogether! Poor Nelly, whose heart had been gradually sinking, fairly broke down; she hid her face in her brother's bosom, and wept. "Come now, don't do that, dear Nell," said Roy, tenderly, "I'll tell you what we shall do--we'll camp in the snow! We have often done it close to the house, you know, for fun, so we'll do it now in earnest." "But it's so dark and cold," sobbed Nelly, looking round with a shudder into the dark recesses of the forest, which were by that time enshrouded by the gathering shades of night; "and I'm _so_ hungry too! Oh me! what _shall_ we do?" "Now _don't_ get so despairing," urged Roy, whose courage rose in proportion as his sister's sank; "it's not such an awful business after all, for father is sure to scour the woods in search of us, an' if we only get a comfortable encampment made, an' a roarin' fire kindled, why, we'll sit beside it an' tell stories till they find us. They'll be sure to see the fire, you know, so come--let's to work." Roy said this so cheerfully that the child felt a little comforted, dried her eyes, and said she would "help to make the camp." This matter of making an encampment in the snow, although laborious work, was by no means a novelty to these children of the backwoods. They had often been taught how to do it by Cousin Walter and Larry O'Dowd, and had made "playing at camps" their chief amusement in fine winter days. When, therefore, they found themselves compelled to "camp-out" from necessity, neither of them was at a loss how to proceed. Roy drew a circle in the snow, about three yards in diameter, at the foot of a large tree, and then both set to work to dig a hole in this space, using their snow-shoes as shovels. It took an hour's hard work to reach the ground, and when they did so the piled-up snow all round raised the walls of this hole to the height of about six feet. "Now for bedding," cried Roy, scrambling over the walls of their camp and going into the woods in search of a young pine-tree, while Nelly sat down on the ground to rest after her toil. It was a dark night, and the woods were so profoundly obscured, that Roy had to grope about for some time before he found a suitable tree. Cutting it down with the axe which always hung at his girdle, he returned to camp with it on his shoulder, and cut off the small soft branches, which Nelly spread over the ground to the depth of nearly half a foot. This "pine-brush," as it is called, formed a soft elastic couch. The fire was the next business. Again Roy went into the bush and gathered a large bundle of dry branches. "Now, Nelly, do you break a lot of the small twigs," said Roy, "and I'll strike a light." He pulled his firebag from his belt as he spoke, and drew from it flint, steel, and tinder. No one ever travels in the wilds of which we write without such means of procuring fire. Roy followed the example of his elder companions in carrying a firebag, although he did not, like them, carry tobacco and pipe in it. Soon the bright sparks that flew from the flint caught on the tinder. This was placed in a handful of dry grass, and whirled rapidly round until it was fanned into a flame. Nelly had prepared another handful of dry grass with small twigs above it. The light was applied, the fire leaped up, more sticks were piled on, and at last the fire roared upward, sending bright showers of sparks into the branches overhead, lighting the white walls of the camp with a glow that caused them to sparkle as with millions of gems, and filling the hearts of the children with a sensation of comfort and gladness, while they stood before the blaze and warmed themselves, rubbing their hands and laughing with glee. No one, save those who have experienced it, can form any conception of the cheering effect of a fire in the heart of a dark wood at night. Roy and Nelly quite forgot their lost condition for a short time, in the enjoyment of the comforting heat and the bright gladsome blaze. The brother cut firewood until he was rendered almost breathless, the sister heaped on the wood until the fire roared and leaped high above their heads. Strange though it may appear to some, the snow did not melt. The weather was too cold for that; only a little of that which was nearest the fire melted--the snow walls remained hard frozen all round. Roy soon sat down to rest, as close to the fire as he could without getting scorched; then Nelly seated herself by his side and nestled her head in his breast. There they sat, telling stories and gazing at the fire, and waiting for "father to come." Meanwhile Robin and his comrade ranged the forest far and near in desperate anxiety. But it was a wide and wild country. The children had wandered far away; a high ridge of land hid their fire from view. Moreover, Robin, knowing the children's usual haunts, had chanced to go off in the wrong direction. When night set in the hunters returned to Fort Enterprise to procure ammunition and provisions, in order to commence a more thorough and prolonged search. Poor Mrs Gore still sat beside the cold and untasted feast, and there the hunters left her, while they once more plunged into the pathless wilderness to search for the lost ones on that luckless New Year's Day. CHAPTER FIVE. CARRIED OFF. While Robin Gore and his companions were anxiously searching the woods around Fort Enterprise for the lost children, a war-party of savages was making its way swiftly towards the Fort. A chief of the Indians, named Hawk, who was a shrewd as well as a bad man, had suspected Wapaw's intentions in quitting the camp of his people alone and in such unnecessary haste. This man had great influence over his fellows, and easily prevailed on them to set off on their murderous expedition against the Fort of the "pale-faces" without delay. Being well supplied with food, they travelled faster than their starving comrade, and almost overtook him. They finally encamped within a short distance of the Fort the day after Wapaw's arrival, and prepared to assault it early next morning. "If the wicked skunk has got there before us," said Hawk to his fellows, as they prepared to set out before daybreak, "the pale-faces will be ready for us, and we may as well go back to our wigwams at once; but if that badger's whelp has been slow of foot, we shall hang the scalps of the pale-faces at our belts, and eat their food this day." The polite titles above used by Hawk were meant to refer to Wapaw. Indians are not naturally loquacious. No reply was made to Hawk's remark, except that one man with a blackened face, and a streak of red ochre down the bridge of his nose, said, "Ho!" and another with an equally black face, and three red streaks on each of his cheeks, said, "Hum!" as the war-party put on their snowshoes and prepared to start. They had not gone far when Hawk came to a sudden pause, and stood transfixed and motionless like a dark statue. His comrades also stopped abruptly and crouched. No question was asked, but Hawk pointed to a spark of fire, which every Indian in the band had observed the instant their leader had paused. Silently they crept forward, with guns cocked and arrows fitted to the bowstrings, until they all stood round an encampment where the fire was still smouldering, and in the centre of which lay a little boy and girl, fast asleep and shuddering with cold. Poor Roy and Nelly had told each other stories until their eyes would not remain open; then they fell asleep, despite their efforts to keep awake, and, as the fire sank low, they began to shiver with the cold. Lucky was it for them that the Indians discovered them, else they had certainly been frozen to death that night. Hawk roused them with little ceremony. Roy, by an impulse which would appear to be natural to those who dwell in wild countries, whether young or old, seized his axe, which lay beside him, as he leaped up. Hawk grinned, and took the axe from him at once, and the poor boy, seeing that he was surrounded by dark warriors, offered no resistance, but sought to comfort Nelly, who was clinging to him and trembling with terror. Immediately the savages sat down in the encampment, and began an earnest discussion, which the children watched with great eagerness. They evidently did not agree, for much gesticulation and great vehemence characterised their debate. Some pointed towards the Fort, and touched their tomahawks, while others pointed to the woods in the direction whence they had come, and shook their heads. Not a few drew their scalping knives partially from their sheaths, and, pointing to the children, showed clearly that they wished to cut their career short without delay, but several of the more sedate members of the party evidently objected to this. Finally, Hawk turned to Roy, and said something to him in the Indian tongue. Roy did not understand, and attempted to say so as well as he could by signs, and the use of the few words of the Cree language which his father had taught him. In the course of his speech (if we may use that term), he chanced to mention Wapaw's name. "Ho! ho! ho!" said one and another of the Indians, while Hawk grinned horribly. A variety of questions were now put to poor Roy, who, not understanding, of course could not answer them. Hawk, however, repeated Wapaw's name, and pointed towards the Fort with a look of inquiry, to which Roy replied by nodding his head and repeating "Wapaw" once or twice, also pointing to the Fort; for he began to suspect these must be Wapaw's comrades, who had come to search for him. He therefore volunteered a little additional information by means of signs; rubbed his stomach, looked dreadfully rueful, rolled himself as if in agony on the ground, and then, getting up, pretended to eat and look happy! By all of which he meant to show how that Wapaw had been on the borders of starvation, but had been happily saved therefrom. Indians in council might teach a useful lesson to our members of parliament, for they witnessed this rather laughable species of pantomime with profound gravity and silence. When Roy concluded, they nodded their heads, and said, "Ho! ho!" which, no doubt, was equivalent to "Hear hear!" After a little more discussion they rose to depart, and made signs to the children to get up and follow. Roy then pointed out the broken state of his snow-shoe, but this difficulty was overcome by Hawk, who threw it away, and made him put on his sister's snow-shoes. A stout young warrior was ordered to take Nelly on his back, which he did without delay, and the whole party left the encampment, headed by their chief. The children submitted cheerfully at first, under the impression that the Indians meant to convey them to the Fort. Great, however, was their horror when they were taken through the woods by a way which they knew to be quite in the opposite direction. When Roy saw this he stopped and looked back, but an Indian behind him gave him a poke with the butt of his gun, which there was no resisting. For a moment the lad thought of trying to break away, run home, and tell his father of Nelly's fate; but a second thought convinced him that this course was utterly impracticable. As for Nelly, she was too far from her brother in the procession to hold converse with him; and, as she knew not what to do, say, think, she was reduced to the miserable consolation of bedewing with her tears the shoulders of the young warrior who carried her. The storm which had commenced the day before still continued, so that, in the course of a few hours, traces of the track of the war-party were almost obliterated, and the chance of their being followed by Robin and his friends was rendered less and less likely as time ran on. All that day they travelled without halt, and when they stopped at night to encamp, Roy was nearly dead from exhaustion. "My poor Nell," said he, drawing his sobbing sister close to him, as they sat near the camp fire, after having eaten the small quantity of dried venison that was thrown to them by their captors, "don't despair; father will be sure to hunt us down, if it's in the power of man to do it." "I don't despair," sobbed Nelly; "but oh! what will darling mother do when she finds that we're lost, and I'm so afraid they'll kill us." "No fear o' that, Nell; it's not worth their while. Remember, too, what mother often told us--that--that--what is it she used to read so often out of the Bible? I forget." "I think it was, `Call upon Me in the time of trouble, and I will deliver thee.' I've been thinkin' of that, Roy, already." "That's right, Nell; now, come, cheer up! Have you had enough to eat?" "Yes," said Nelly, with a loud yawn, which she did not attempt to check. Roy echoed it, as a matter of course, (who ever did see anyone yawn without following suit?) and then the two lay down together, spread over themselves an old blanket which one of the Indians had given them, and fell asleep at once. Day succeeded day, night followed night, and weeks came and went, yet the Indians continued their journey through the snow-clad wilderness. Roy's snow-shoes had been picked up and repaired by one of the savages, and Nelly was made to walk a good deal on her own snowshoes; but it is justice to the Indians to say that they slackened their pace a little for the sake of the children, and when Nelly showed symptoms of being fatigued, the stout young warrior who originally carried her took her on his shoulders. At length the encampment of the tribe was reached, and Nelly was handed over to Hawk's wife to be her slave. Soon after that, the tents were struck, and the whole tribe went deeper into the northern wilds. Several gales arose and passed away, completely covering their footprints, so that no tracks were left behind them. CHAPTER SIX. THE CAMP, THE ATTACK, AND THE ESCAPE. It were vain to attempt a description of the varied condition of mind into which the brother and sister fell when they found themselves actually reduced to a state of slavery in an Indian camp, and separated from their parents, as they firmly believed, for ever. Nelly wept her eyes almost out of their sockets at first. Then she fell into a sort of apathetic state, in which, for several days, she went about her duties almost mechanically, feeling as if it were all a horrible dream, out of which she would soon awake, and find herself at home with her "darling mother" beside her. This passed, however, and she had another fit of heart-breaking sorrow, from which she found relief by recalling some of the passages in God's Word, which her mother had taught her to repeat by heart; especially that verse in which it is said, "that Jesus is a friend who sticketh closer than a brother." And this came to the poor child's mind with peculiar power, because her own brother Roy was so kind, and took such pains to comfort her, and to enter into all her girlish feelings and sympathies, that she could scarcely imagine it possible for anyone to stick closer to her in all her distress than he did. As for Roy, he was not given to the melting mood. His nature was bold and manly. Whatever he felt, he kept it to himself, and he forgot more than half his own sorrow in his brotherly efforts to assuage that of Nelly. Both of them were active and willing to oblige, so that they did not allow their grief to interfere with their work, a circumstance which induced their captors to treat them with forbearance, and even kindness. Nelly sobbed and worked; gradually, the sobbing decreased, and the work was carried on with vigour, so that she soon became quite expert at skinning rabbits, boiling meat, embroidering mocassins, smoking deerskins, chopping firewood into small pieces, and many other details of Indian household economy; while Roy went out with the hunters, and became a very Nimrod, insomuch that he soon excelled all the lads of his own age, and many of those who were older, in the use of the bow, the snow-shoes, the spear, the axe, and the gun. But all this, and what they did and said in the Indian camp during that winter, and what was said and done to them, we do not mean to write about, having matter of deeper interest to tell. Winter passed away, and spring came. But little do those who dwell in England know of the enchantment of returning spring in the frozen wilderness of North America. The long, long winter, seems as though it would _never_ pass away. The intense frost seals up all the sweet odours of the woods for so many months, that the nostrils become powerfully sensitive, and, as it were, yearn for something to smell. The skin gets so used to frost, that a balmy breeze is thought of as a thing of the past, or well-nigh forgotten. Spring in those regions comes suddenly. It came on our wanderers with a gush. One night the temperature rose high above the freezing point; next day all the sights and sounds of Nature's great awakening were in full play. The air fanned their cheeks like a summer breeze; the strange unwonted sound of tinkling and dropping water was heard; scents, as of green things, were met and inhaled greedily. As the thirsty Bedouin drinks from the well in the oasis, so did Roy and Nelly drink in the delicious influences of melting nature. And they thought of those words which say, that the wilderness shall rejoice and blossom as the rose. The rejoicing had commenced, the blossoming would soon follow. But warlike and wicked men were even then preparing to desecrate the beautiful land. A war-party of enemies had come down upon the tribe, with whom they dwelt. Scouts had brought in the news. All was commotion and excitement in the camp. Goods and chattels were being packed up. The women and children were to be sent off with these, under an escort, to a place of greater security, while the Braves armed for the fight. In the middle of all the confusion, Roy took Nelly aside, and, with a look of mystery, said-- "Nell, dear, I'm goin' to run away. Stay, now, don't stare so like an owl, but hold your sweet tongue until I have explained what I mean to do. You and I have picked up a good deal of useful knowledge of one sort or another since we came here, and I'm inclined to think we are quite fit to take to the woods and work our way back to Fort Enterprise." "But isn't it an _awful_ long way?" said Nelly. "It is, but we have an _awful_ long time to travel; haven't we all our lives before us? If our lives are long, we'll manage it; if they are short, why, we won't want to manage it, so we need not bother our heads about that?" "But the way home," suggested Nelly, "do you know it?" "Of course I know it; that is to say, I know, from that ugly thief Hawk, that it lies somewhere or other to the south-west o' this place, some hundreds of miles off; how many hundreds does not much matter, for we have got the whole of the spring, summer, and fall before us." "But what if we don't get home in the fall?" "Then we shall spend the winter in the woods, that's all." Nelly laughed, in spite of her anxieties, at the confident tone in which her brother spoke; and, being quite unable to argue the matter farther, she said that she was ready to do whatever Roy pleased, having perfect confidence in his wisdom. "That's right, Nell; now, you get ready to start at a moment's notice. When the Injuns attack the camp, we'll give 'em the slip. Put all you want to take with you on a toboggan, [see note 1] and meet me at the crooked tree when the camp moves." That night the camp was struck, and the women and children departed, under a strong escort. Almost at the same time the enemy came down on their prey, but they met men prepared for them. In the dark, Nelly crept to the crooked tree, dragging the toboggan after her. She was met by Roy, who took the sledge-line and her hand and led her into the dark forest, while the savages were fighting and yelling like fiends in the camp. There let us leave them to fight it out. Enough for us to know that their warfare prevented any pursuit of the young fugitives. Weeks passed, and Roy and Nelly wandered on; all fear of pursuit soon left them. Ducks, geese, and other waterfowl, came in myriads with the spring. Roy had brought with him his gun (the one he was wont to use in hunting), and bow and quiver. They fed on the fat of the land. Summer advanced, and game became less plentiful; still, there was more than sufficient to supply them with abundance of food. Autumn approached; the wild fowl that had passed northward in spring, began to return southward, and again the wants of the young wanderers were superabundantly supplied. The pole-star was Roy's guide. At night he laid his course by it; and by the sun during the day, making constant allowance, of course, for the sun's rate of travelling through the sky, and taking advantage of all prominent landmarks on the way. Time sped on; many weary miles were travelled, but no sign of Fort Enterprise was to be seen. Day after day, week after week, month after month they wandered, and still found themselves in the heart of an unknown wilderness. Occasionally they observed signs of Indians, and carefully kept out of sight at such times, as you may easily believe. At last there came a day when hard frost set in. It was the first touch of another winter. Roy and Nelly did not betray their feelings to each other, but their hearts sank as they thought of what lay before them. The frost was short-lived, however; towards noon the air became delightfully warm, and their spirits revived. On reaching the summit of an eminence, up which they had toiled for several hours, they beheld a small lake, in which the silvery clouds were clearly reflected. The day was calm; the sun unusually brilliant; the autumnal foliage most gorgeous in colour. It was like a scene in fairy-land! "Splendid!" exclaimed Roy, sitting down beside his sister on the trunk of a fallen tree. "Oh! _how_ beautiful," cried Nelly. "It's so like silver," said Roy. "Silver Lake," murmured Nelly. Roy seemed to think the name appropriate, for he echoed the words, "Yes, Silver Lake." And there brother and sister sat, for a long time, on the fallen tree, in silent admiration of the scene. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. A small Indian sledge, dragged on the snow, either by hand or by dog with loops at the sides for lashing the loading of the sledge upon it. CHAPTER SEVEN. THE ENCAMPMENT ON SILVER LAKE. When Roy and Nelly sat down to gaze in admiration on Silver Lake, they little thought how long a period they should have to spend on its shores. The lake was a small sheet of water not more than half a mile broad, embosomed among low hills, which, though not grand, were picturesque in outline, and wooded to their tops. It occupied the summit of an elevated region or height-of-land--a water-shed, in fact--and Roy afterwards discovered that water flowed from both the north-east and south-west sides of the table-land, in the midst of which it lay. These fountain-heads, separated by little more than half a mile from each other, were the sources of streams, which, flowing in opposite directions through hundreds of miles of wild, beautiful, and uncultivated wilderness, found their way, on the one hand, into Hudson's Bay, on the other hand, into the Atlantic through the great rivers and lakes of Canada. The waters of the lake were strikingly clear and pellucid. When the young wanderer first came upon the scene, not a zephyr stirred the leaves of the forest; the blue sky was studded with towering masses of white clouds which glowed in sunshine, and these reflected in the glassy water--as if far, far down in its unfathomable depths--produced that silvery effect which prompted Nelly to utter the name which we have adopted. Small though the Silver Lake was, it boasted two islets, which like twin babes lay side by side on their mother's fair breast, their reflected images stretching down into that breast as if striving to reach and grasp its heart! "Couldn't we stay here a short time?" asked Nelly, breaking the silence in a tone that indicated anxiety, hope, and enthusiasm, "only for a very _little_ time," she added, coaxingly. Roy looked grave and sagacious. Boys, as well as men, like to be leant upon and trusted by the fair sex--at least in things masculine--and Nelly had such boundless faith in her brother's capacity to protect her and guide her through the forest, that she unwittingly inspired him with an exuberant amount of courage and self-reliance. The lad was bold and fearless enough by nature. His sister's confidence in him had the effect of inducing him to think himself fit for anything! He affected, therefore, at times, a look of grave sagacity, befitting, as he thought, so important and responsible a character. "I've just been thinking," said he-- "Oh! don't _think_, but say yes!" interrupted Nelly. "Well, I'm going to say yes, but I meant to give you my reasons for sayin' so. In the first place, my powder and shot is gettin' low. You see I did not bring away very much from the Injun camp, and we've been using it for so many months now that it won't last much longer, so I think it would not be a bad plan to stop here awhile and fish and shoot and feed up--for you need rest, Nelly--and then start fresh with a well-loaded sledge. I'll save some powder by using the bow we made the other day." "But you forget it's broken." "So it is--never mind, we can make another--there's a tree that will make a first-rater down in the hollow, d'ye see it, Nell?" "Where--oh yes--just by the grassy place where the rock juts out into the water with the sun shining on it? what a _nice_ place to build a hut!" "Just so," said Roy, smiling at the girl's enthusiasm, "that's the spot, and that's the very thought that jumped bang into my brain as you spoke. By the way, does a thought jump _into_ a man's brain or _out_ of it, I wonder?" "Out of it, of course," cried Nelly, with a laugh. "I'm not so sure of that, Nell. I send it rather slowly out through my mouth, but I think it jumps _into_ my brain. I wonder how it gets in; whether by the eyes, or ears, or mouth--perhaps it goes up the nose." "What stuff you do talk!" cried Nelly. "D'ye think so," said Roy with a grin, "well, that bein' the case, let's go and fix our camp, for the sun is not given to sitting up all night in these parts, so we must work while it shines." With hurried steps and eager looks, (for Roy, despite his affected coolness, was as enthusiastic about the new plan as his sister,) they descended to the margin of Silver Lake, and began to make their encampment on the sunny spot before referred to. It turned out to be most suitable for their purpose, having a gentle slope towards the margin of the lake, which was fringed with a beach of pure white pebbles, and being well sheltered in the rear by umbrageous trees. The point of rocks close at hand formed a natural jetty, which, Roy observed, would be useful as a landing-place when he got his raft under way; the turf was soft, a matter of some importance, as it was to form their couch at night, and a small stream trickled down from one of the numerous springs which welled up at the foot of the nearest hill. Solitary and remote from the usual haunts of men as this lake was, there was no feeling of solitude about it at the time we write of. The entire region was alive with wild fowl of many kinds. Wild geese trumpeted their advent as they came from the far north, _en route_ for the far south, and settled on the bosom of Silver Lake to take a night's lodging there. Ducks, from the same region, and bound for the same goal--though with less stately and regular flight--flew hither and thither with whistling wings, ever and anon going swash into the water as a tempting patch of reeds invited them to feed, or a whim of fancy induced them to rest. Wild swans occasionally sailed in all their majesty on its waters, while plover of every length of limb and bill, and every species of plaintive cry, waded round its margin, or swept in clouds over the neighbouring swamps. Sometimes deer would trot out of the woods and slake their thirst on its shore, and the frequent rings that broke its smooth surface told of life in the watery depths below. The whole air was filled with gushing sounds of wild melody, as though bird and beast were uniting in a hymn of praise to the beneficent Creator who had provided the means of, and given the capacity for, so much enjoyment. Having decided on a suitable spot for their temporary resting-place, Roy's first care was to construct a hut. This was neither a work of time nor difficulty. In a couple of hours it was finished. He commenced the work by felling about a dozen young fir-trees not much thicker than a man's wrist, from which he chopped the branches, thus leaving them bare poles about nine feet long. While he was thus employed, his sister cleared the spot on which their dwelling was to stand, and, having an eye to the picturesque, so arranged that the opening of the hut should command an uninterrupted view of the lake. On going into the "bush" to the place where Roy was at work, she found him cutting down his sixth tree, and the ground was strewn with the flat branches of those already cut. "Come along, Nelly--how hot I am--carry these branches into camp, lass, an' go ahead, for I've got supper to kill yet." Nelly made no direct reply, but muttered to herself something that sounded very like, "Oh, what fun!" as she filled her tiny arms with pine branches, and, hugging them to her heaving breast, staggered to the camp. When she had carried all the branches, Roy had cut all the poles, so he proceeded to set them up. Tying three poles together at the top, and using the pliant roots of a tree for the purpose, he set them up in the form of a tripod. Against these three all the other poles were piled, crossing each other at the top, and spreading out at the base so as to enclose a circle of about six feet in diameter. Being numerous, the poles were pretty close together, thus affording good support to the branches which were afterwards piled on them. Pine branches are flat, spreading, and thick, so that when laid above each other to a depth of several inches they form a very good shelter from dew and light rain. The hut was entirely covered with such branches, which were kept in their places by other poles leaning upon and pressing them down. The floor of the hut was also covered with pine "brush." "Now for supper, Nelly," said Roy, seizing his bow, when the hut was completed, and splicing its broken part with a strip of deerskin cut from the lines of the sledge. "Get a goose, Roy, and pick out a nice fat one," cried Nelly, laughing, "I'll have the fire ready when you come back." "I'll try," said Roy, and he did try, but tried in vain. Although a good shot, he was not sufficiently expert with the bow to shoot wild fowl on the wing, so he returned to the hut empty-handed. "We must make a new bow, Nell," said he, sitting down by the fire, "I can do nothin' wi' this, and it won't do to use the gun for anythin' but deer. Meanwhile let's have the remains of our dinner for supper. Come, cheer up, old 'ooman; we shall feast on the fat of the land to-morrow!" The stars were shining in the sky, and winking at their reflections down in the depths of Silver Lake, and the lake itself lay, as black as ink, under the shadow of the hills, when the brother and sister spread their blanket above them that night, and sank, almost immediately, into profound slumber. CHAPTER EIGHT. HUNTING, AND OTHER MATTERS, ON SILVER LAKE. Sunrise is a gladsome event almost at all times; we say "almost," because there are times when sunrise is _not_ particularly gladsome. In the arctic regions of Norway, for instance, we have seen it rise only twenty minutes after it set, and the rising and setting were so much mingled, that no very strong feelings of any kind were awakened. Moreover, we were somewhat depressed at the time, in consequence of having failed to reach those latitudes where the sun does not set at all for several weeks in summer, but shines night and day. To the sick, sunrise brings little comfort; too often it is watched for with weariness, and beheld, at last, with a feeling of depression at the thought that another day of pain has begun. But to the healthy, and especially to the young, sunrise is undoubtedly, on most occasions, a gladsome event. At least Nelly Gore thought so when she awoke and beheld, from the floor of the hut where she lay, a flood of yellow glory gushing through a valley, turning Silver Lake into gold, tipping the trees with fire, and blazing full in Roy's face, which was at that moment turned up to the sky with the mouth open, and the nose snoring. "Oh, _how_ beautiful!" screamed Nelly, in the exuberance of her delight. "Hallo! murder! come on, ye black varmints," shouted Roy, as he sprang up and seized the axe which lay at his side. "Oh, it's only _you_, what a yell you do give, Nelly! why, one would think you were a born Injun; what is't all about, lass? Ye-a-ow! how sleepy I am--too late to have another nap, I suppose, eh?" "Oh yes, lazy thing! get up and come out quick!" cried the other, as she sprang up and ran out of the hut to enjoy the full blaze of the sunshine, and the fresh morning air. That morning Nelly could do little but ramble about in a wild sort of fashion, trying to imagine that she was queen of the world around her! She sobered down, however, towards noon, and went diligently about the work which Roy had given her to do. She had the internal arrangements of the hut to complete and improve, some pairs of mocassins to mend, and several arrows to feather, besides other matters. Meanwhile Roy went out to hunt. Determined not to use his fast-diminishing ammunition, except on large game, and anxious to become more expert with the bow, he set to work the first thing that day, and made a new bow. Armed with this and a dozen arrows, he sallied forth. Some of his arrows were pointed with ivory, some with iron, and some had no points at all, but blunt heavy heads instead. These latter were, and still are, used by Indians in shooting game that is tame and easily killed. Grouse of various kinds, for instance, if hit with full force from a short range by a blunt-headed arrow, will be effectually stunned, especially if hit on the head. At first Roy walked along the shores of the lake, but was not very successful, because the ducks and geese were hid among reeds, and rose suddenly with a distracting _whirr_, usually flying off over the water. To have let fly at these would have cost him an arrow every shot, so, after losing one, he wisely restrained himself. After a time, he turned into the woods, resolving to try his fortune where his arrows were not so likely to be lost. He had not gone far, when a tree-grouse sprang into the air and settled on a neighbouring pine. Roy became excited, for he was anxious not to return to the hut empty-handed a second time. He fitted a sharp-headed arrow to the string, and advanced towards the bird cautiously. His anxiety to make little noise was so great, that he tripped over a root and fell with a hideous crash into the middle of a dead bush, the branches of which snapped like a discharge of little crackers. Poor Roy got up disgusted, but on looking up found that the grouse was still sitting there, filled apparently with more curiosity than alarm. Seeing this he advanced to within a few yards of the bird, and, substituting a blunt arrow for the sharp one, discharged it with vigour. It hit the grouse on the left eye, and brought it to the ground like a stone. "Good, that's `number one,'" muttered the lad as he fastened the bird to his belt; "hope `number two' is not far off." "Number two" was nearer than he imagined, for four other birds of the same kind rose a few yards ahead of him, with all the noise and flurry that is characteristic of the species. They settled on a tree not far off, and looked about them. "Sit there, my fine fellows, till I come up," muttered Roy. (The lad had a habit of speaking to himself while out hunting.) They obeyed the order, and sat until he was close to them. Again was the blunt arrow fitted to the string; once more it sped true to its mark, and "number two" fell fluttering to the ground. Now, the grouse of North America is sometimes a very stupid creature. It literally sits still to be shot, if the hunter is only careful to fire first at the lowest bird of the group. If he were to fire at the topmost one, its fluttering down amongst the others would start them off. Roy was aware of this fact, and had aimed at the bird that sat lowest on the tree. Another arrow was discharged, and "number three" lay sprawling on the ground. The blunt arrows being exhausted, he now tried a sharp one, but missed. The birds stretched their necks, turned their heads on one side, and looked at the lad, as though to say, "It won't do,--try again!" Another shaft was more successful. It pierced the heart of "number four," and brought it down like a lump of lead. "Number five" seemed a little perplexed by this time, and made a motion as though it were about to fly off, but an arrow caught it in the throat, and cut short its intentions and its career. Thus did Roy bag, or rather belt, five birds consecutively. [See note one.] Our hero was not one of those civilised sportsmen who slaughter as much game as they can. He merely wanted to provide food for a day or two. He therefore turned his steps homeward--if we may be allowed the expression--being anxious to assist his sister in making the hut comfortable. As he walked along, his active mind ran riot in many eccentric channels. Those who take any interest in the study of mind, know that it is not only the mind of a romantic boy that does this, but that the mind of man generally is, when left to itself, the veriest acrobat, the most unaccountable harlequin, that ever leaped across the stage of fancy. Roy's mind was now in the clouds, now on the earth. Anon it was away in the far-off wilderness, or scampering through the settlements, and presently it was deep down in Silver Lake playing with the fish. Roy himself muttered a word or so, now and then, as he walked along, which gave indication of the whereabouts of his mind at the time. "Capital fun," said he, "only it won't do to stay too long. Poor mother, how she'll be wearin' for us! Hallo! ducks, you're noisy coons, wonder why you get up with such a bang. Bang! that reminds me of the gun. No more banging of you, old chap, if my hand keeps in so well with the bow. Eh! duck, what's wrong?" This latter question was addressed to a small duck which seemed in an anxious state of mind, to judge from its motions. Presently a head, as if of a fish, broke the surface of the lake, and the duck disappeared! "Oh the villain," exclaimed Roy, "a fish has bolted him!" After this the lad walked on in silence, looking at the ground, and evidently pondering deeply. "Nelly," said he, entering the hut and throwing the grouse at her feet, "here is dinner, supper, and breakfast for you, and please get the first ready as fast as you can, for I'm famishing." "Oh, how nice! how did you get them?" "I'll tell you presently, but my head's full of a notion about catching ducks just now." "Catching ducks, Roy, what is the notion?" "Never mind, Nelly, I han't scratched it out o' my brain yet, but I'll tell 'ee after dinner, and we'll try the plan to-morrow mornin'." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. The author has himself, in the backwoods, taken four birds in succession off a tree in this fashion with a fowling-piece. CHAPTER NINE. FISHING EXTRAORDINARY. Early on the following morning, Roy and Nelly rose to try the new style of duck-hunting which the former had devised. "I wonder if it will do," said the little girl, as she tripped along by her brother's side in the direction of a marshy bay, which had been selected as the scene of their experiments. "How clever of you to invent such a funny plan!" "Well, I didn't exactly invent it, lass. The fact is, that I remembered father havin' told me he had read it in a book before he left the settlements. I _wish_ we had some books. Pity that we've got no books." "So it is," assented Nell, with a touch of sadness in her tone. Both Roy and his sister were good readers, having been taught by their mother out of the Bible--the only book that Robin Gore had brought with him from the settlements. Robin could read, but he did not care much for reading--neither did Walter nor Larry O'Dowd. Indeed the latter could not read at all. Mrs Gore had wanted to take a few books with her into the wilderness, but her husband said he thought the Bible was enough for her; so the library at Fort Enterprise was select and small! One good resulted from this--the Bible was read, by all who could read, a great deal more than would have been the case had there been other books at hand. But the young people longed earnestly for books containing fairy tales, such as was told to them by their mother; and wild adventures, such as Walter could relate or invent by the hour. It might have been observed that Roy carried on his shoulder a remarkable object--something like a clumsy basket made of reeds, and about twice the size of a man's head. This had been made by Nelly the night before. The use to which it was to be put was soon shown by Roy. Having reached the spot where the experiment was to be tried, and having observed that there were many ducks, large and small, floating about among the reeds, he got Nelly to hold the basket, if we may so call it, as high as she could raise it. There was a hole in the bottom of it. Through this Roy thrust his head, so that the machine rested on his shoulders, his head being inside and completely concealed. "Now, Nelly, what think you of my helmet?" "Oh! it is splendid!" cried the girl, laughing in a subdued voice. "It's so awfully absurd looking, but can you see? for I don't see a bit of your face." "See? ay, as well as need be. There's lots of small holes which I can peep through in all directions. But come, I'll try it. Keep close, Nell, and don't laugh too loud, for ducks ain't used to laughing, d'ye see, and may be frightened by it." So saying Roy crept on his hands and knees to the edge of the lake, being concealed by bushes, until he got into the water. Here a few steps took him into the reeds which clustered so thickly at that spot, and grew so tall that he was soon hidden from sight altogether. He had not taken off much of his dress, which, we may remark in passing, was of the simplest at all times--consisting of a pair of trousers, a striped cotton shirt, and a grey cloth capote with a hood to it. His capote and cap were left in charge of his sister. As for the shirt and trousers, they could be easily dried again. Nelly watched the place where her brother had disappeared with breathless interest. As he did not reappear as quickly as she had expected, she became greatly alarmed. In a few minutes more she would certainly have rushed into the lake to the rescue, regardless of consequences and of ducks, had not Roy's strange head-dress come suddenly into view at the outward verge of the reeds. The lad had waded in up to his neck, and was now slowly--almost imperceptibly--approaching a group of ducks that were disporting themselves gaily in the water. "They'll never let him near them," thought Nelly. She was wrong, for at that moment an extremely fat and pert young duck observed the bundle of reeds, and swam straight up to it, animated, no doubt, by that reckless curiosity which is peculiar to young creatures. Had its mother known what was inside of the bundle, she would no doubt have remonstrated with her head-strong child, but, old and sagacious though that mother was, she was completely deceived. She was not even astonished when her duckling suddenly disappeared beneath the water, thinking, no doubt, that it had dived. Soon the bundle of reeds drew near to the mother, and she, too, disappeared suddenly below the water. Whatever her astonishment was at feeling her legs seized from below, she had not time to express it before her voice was choked. Nelly observed these disappearances with intense amazement, and delight stamped every lineament of her little visage. When the bundle moved towards the father of the duck-family, that gentleman became agitated and suspicious. Probably males are less trusting than females, in all conditions of animal life. At all events he sheered off. The bundle waxed impatient and made a rush at him. The drake, missing his wife and child, quacked the alarm. The bundle made another rush, and suddenly disappeared with a tremendous splash, in the midst of which a leg and an arm appeared! Away went the whole brood of ducks with immense splutter, and Nelly gave a wild scream of terror, supposing--and she was right--that her brother had fallen into a hole, and that he would be drowned. In the latter supposition, however, she was mistaken, for Roy swam ashore in a few moments with a duck in each hand! "O Roy! ain't you cold?" inquired Nelly, as she helped him to squeeze the water out of his garments. "Y-y-ye-es," said Roy, trembling in every limb, while his teeth rattled like small castanets, "I'm very c-c-c-cold, but I'm in luck, for I've g-g-g-got to-night's s-s-s-supper, anyhow." This was true, but as he could not hope to procure many more suppers in the same fashion at that season of the year, he and his sister went off without delay to try the fishing. They had brought a fishing-line and a few hooks, among other small things, from the Indian camp. This line was now got out, overhauled, and baited with a bit of the young duck's breast. From the end of the point of rocks, which had been named the Wharf, the line was cast, for there the lake was deep. "Take the end of the line, Nell; I want you to catch the first fish." "How d'ye know we shall catch--oh! oh--ooh!" The fish in Silver Lake had never seen a bait or felt a hook in their lives before that day. They actually fought for the prize. A big bully--as is usually the case in other spheres of life--gained it, and found he had "caught a Tartar." He nearly pulled Nelly into the lake, but Roy sprang to the rescue, and before the child's shout of surprise had ceased to echo among the cliffs, a beautiful silvery fish, about a foot and a half long, lay tumbling on the strand. "Hurray!" cried Roy. "Try again." They did try again, and again, and over again, until they had caught two dozen and a half of those peculiar "white-fish" which swarm in most of the lakes of North America. Then they stopped, being somewhat exhausted, and having more than enough for present use. Before sitting down to supper that night, they preserved their fish in the simple but effective manner which is practised among the fur-traders in cold weather, and which they had learned while with the Indians. Each fish was split open and cleaned out, and then hung up by the tail to dry. "What a jolly time we shall have of it!" said Roy, with his mouth full, as he sat beside Nelly and toasted his toes that night at supper. "Yes," said Nelly--"if--if we were only a _little_ nearer home." This reply made them both silent and sad for a time. "Never mind," resumed Roy, cheerily, as he began another white-fish-- having already finished one fish and the duckling--"cheer up, Nell, we'll stay here long enough to get up a stock o' dried meat, and then set off again. I only wish it would come frost, to make our fish keep." Roy's wish was gratified sooner than he expected, and much more fully than he desired. CHAPTER TEN. CHANGES, SLIDING, FISHING, ETCETERA. That night King Frost spread his wings over the land with unwonted suddenness and rigour, insomuch that a sheet of ice, full an inch thick, sealed up the waters of Silver Lake. Roy and Nelly had feasted heartily, and had piled wood on the fire so high that the hut was comparatively warm, and they slept soundly till morning: but, about sunrise, the fire having died out, they both awoke shivering with cold. Being _very_ sleepy, they tried for some time to drop off again in spite of the cold. Failing in this, Roy at last jumped up with vigour and said he would light the fire, but he had scarcely issued from the hut, when a shout brought Nelly in alarm and haste to his side. If Silver Lake was worthy of its name before, it was infinitely more worthy of it now. The sun had just over-topped the opposite ridge, and was streaming over a very world of silver. The frozen lake was like a sheet of the purest glass, which reflected the silvery clouds and white rolling mists of morning as perfectly in their form as the realities that floated in the blue sky. Every tree, every twig, seemed made of silver, being encased in hoar-frost, and as these moved very gently in the calm air--for there was no breeze--millions of crystalline points caught the sun's rays and scattered them around with dazzling lustre. Nature seemed robed in cloth of diamonds; but the comparison is feeble, for what diamonds, cut by man, can equal those countless crystal gems that are fashioned by the hand of God to decorate, for an hour or two, the spotless robe of a winter morning? Had Roy been a man and Nelly a woman, the two would probably have cast around a lingering glance of admiration, and then gone quietly about their avocations; but, being children, they made up their minds, on the spot, to enjoy the state of things to the utmost. They ran down to the lake and tried the ice. Finding that it was strong enough to bear them, they advanced cautiously out upon its glassy surface; then they tried to slide, but did not succeed well, owing to their soft mocassins being ill adapted for sliding. Then they picked up stones, and tried how far they could make them skim out on the lake. "How I wish we could slide!" exclaimed Nelly, pausing in the midst of her amusement. Roy also paused, and appeared to meditate for a minute. "So you shall," said he quickly. "Come and let us breakfast, and I'll make you a pair of sliders." "Sliders! what are they?" "You shall see; get breakfast ready, a man's fit for nothing without grub." While breakfast was preparing, Roy began to fashion wooden soles for his sister's feet and his own. These he fixed on by means of strips of deerskin, which were sunk into grooves in the under part of the soles to prevent them from chafing. Rough and ready they were, nevertheless they fitted well and tightly to their feet; but it was found that the want of a joint at the instep rendered it difficult to walk with these soles on, and impossible to run. Roy's ingenuity, however, soon overcame this difficulty. He cut the soles through just under the instep, and then, boring two holes in each part, lashed them firmly together with deerskin, thus producing a joint or hinge. Eager to try this new invention, he fastened on his own "sliders" first, and, running down to the lake, made a rush at the ice and sent himself off with all his force. Never was boy more taken by surprise; he went skimming over the surface like a stone from a sling. The other side of the lake seemed to be the only termination of his journey. "What if it should not be bearing in the middle!" His delight was evinced by a cheer. It was echoed, with the addition of a laugh by Nell, who stood in rapt admiration on the shore. Roy began well, with his legs far apart and his arms in the air; then he turned round and advanced the wrong way, then he staggered--tried to recover himself; failed, shouted, cheered again, and fell flat on his back, and performed the remainder of the journey in that position! It was a magnificent slide, and was repeated and continued, with every possible and conceivable modification, for full two hours, at the end of which time Nelly said she couldn't take another slide to save her life, and Roy felt as if every bone in his body were going out of joint. "This is all very well," said Roy, as they went up to the hut together, "but it won't do much in the way of getting us a supply of meat or fish." "That's true," assented Nelly. "Well, then," continued Roy, "we'll rest a bit, and then set to work. It's quite plain that we can have no more wading after ducks, but the fish won't object to feed in cold weather, so we'll try them again after having had a bit to eat." In pursuance of this plan the two went to the wharf, after having refreshed themselves, and set to work with the fishing-line. Nelly baited the hook, and Roy cut a hole in the ice with his axe. Having put in the hook, and let it down to the bottom, they stood at the edge of the hole--expectant! "Frost seems to spoil their appetite," said Roy, in a tone of disappointment, after about five minutes had elapsed. A fish seemed to have been listening, for before Nelly could reply, there came a violent tug at the line. Roy returned a still more violent tug, and, instead of hauling it up hand over hand, ran swiftly along the ice, drawing the line after him, until the fish came out of the hole with a flop and a severe splutter. It was above four pounds weight, and they afterwards found that the deeper the water into which the line was cast the larger were the fish procured. White-fish were the kind they caught most of, but there were a species of trout, much resembling a salmon in colour and flavour, of which they caught a good many above ten and even fifteen pounds weight. All these fish, except those reserved for immediate use, they cleaned and hung up in the manner already described. Thus they occupied themselves for several days, and as the work was hard, they did not wander much from their hut, but ate their meals with appetite, and slept at nights soundly. One night, just as they were about to lay down to rest, Roy went out to fetch an armful of firewood. He returned with a look of satisfaction on his face. "Look here, Nell, what call ye that?" pointing to a few specks of white on his breast and arms. "Snow!" exclaimed Nelly. "Ay--snow! it's come at last, and I am glad of it, for we have far more than enough o' grub now, and it's time we were off from this. You see, lass, we can't expect to find much game on a journey in winter, so we must carry all we can with us. Our backs won't take so much as the sled, but the sled can't go loaded till there's snow on the ground, so the moment there is enough of it we'll set off. Before starting, hows'ever, I must go off and try for a deer, for men can't walk well on fish alone; and when I'm away you can be getting the snow-shoes repaired, and the sled-lashings overhauled. We will set about all that to-morrow." "But isn't to-morrow Sabbath?" said Nelly. "So 'tis! I forgot; well, we can put it off till Monday." It may be well here to remark that Mrs Gore, being a sincere Christian, had a great reverence for the Sabbath-day, and had imbued her children with some of her own spirit in regard to it. During the troubles and anxieties of the period when the children were lost in the snow and captured by the Indians, they had lost count of the days of the week. Roy was not much troubled about this, but his sister's tender conscience caused her much uneasiness; and when they afterwards ran away from the Indians, and could do as they pleased, they agreed together to fix a Sabbath-day for themselves, beginning with the particular day on which it first occurred to them that they had not kept a Sabbath "for a long, long time." "We can't find out the right day now, you know," observed Nelly, in an apologetic tone. "Of course not," said Roy; "besides, it don't matter, because you remember how it is in the Ten Commandments: `Six days shalt thou labour and do all thy work, but the _seventh_ day is the Sabbath.' We will keep _to-day_, then; work _six_ days, and then keep the _seventh_ day." We have elsewhere observed that Roy was a bit of a philosopher. Having reasoned the matter out thus philosophically, the children held to their resolve; they travelled six days, and observed every seventh day as the Sabbath. The particular Sabbath-day about which we are writing turned out to be a memorable one, as we shall see. Roy and Nelly lay down that night, side by side, as was their wont, with their separate blankets wrapped around them, and their feet pointing towards the fire. Of course they never undressed at night on this journey, but washed their underclothing as they found time and opportunity. Soon they were sound asleep, and their gentle breathing was the only sound that broke the stillness of the night. But snow was falling silently in thick heavy flakes, and it soon lay deep on the bosom of Silver Lake. Towards morning the wind arose, and snow-drift began to whirl round the hut, and block up its low doorway. Still the brother and sister slumbered peacefully, undisturbed by the gathering storm. CHAPTER ELEVEN. A CHANGE IN THE WEATHER--RABBITS AND BEARS APPEAR. "Hi! Hallo! I say, Nelly, what's all this?" There was good cause for the tone of surprise in which Roy uttered these words when he awoke, for the fireplace and the lower half of his own, as well as his sister's, blanket were covered with at least half a foot of snow. It had found its way in at the hole in the roof of the hut, and the wind had blown a great deal through the crevices of the doorway, so that a snow-wreath more than a foot high lay close to Nelly's elbow. This was bad enough, but what made it worse was that a perfect hurricane was blowing outside. Fortunately the hut was sheltered by the woods, and by a high cliff on the windward side; but this cliff, although it broke the force of the gale, occasioned an eddy which sent fearful gusts and thick clouds of snow ever and anon full against the doorway. "O Roy! what shall we do?" said Nelly, in an anxious tone. "Don't know," said Roy, jumping up and tightening his belt; "you never can know what's got to be done till you've took an observation o' what's goin' on, as daddy used to say. Hallo! hold on. I say, if it goes on like this it'll blow the hut down. Come, Nelly, don't whimper; it's only a puff, after all, an' if it did capsize us, it wouldn't be the first time we had a tumble in the snow. Seems to me that we're goin' to have a stormy Sabbath, though. Rouse up, lass, and while you're clearin' off the snow, I'll go get a bundle o' sticks, and light the fire." Roy stooped to pass under the low doorway, or, rather, hole of the hut, and bending his head to the blast passed out; while Nelly, whose heart was cheered by her brother's confident tone more than by his words, set about shovelling away the snow-drift with great activity. Presently Roy returned, staggering under a heavy load of firewood. "Ho! Nell," he cried, flinging down the wood with a clatter, "just you come an' see Silver Lake. Such a sight it is you never saw; but come slick off--never mind your belt; just roll your blanket round you, over head and ears--there," said he, assisting to fasten the rough garment, and seizing his sister's hand, "hold on tight by me." "Oh, _what_ a storm!" gasped the little girl, as she staggered out and came within the full force of the gale. It was indeed a storm, such as would have appalled the hearts of youngsters less accustomed to the woods than were our hero and heroine. But Roy and Nelly had been born and bred in the midst of stormy backwoods' elements, and were not easily alarmed, chiefly because they had become accustomed to estimate correctly the extent of most of the dangers that menaced them from time to time. A gale of the fiercest kind was blowing. In its passage it bent the trees until they groaned and creaked again; it tore off the smaller twigs and whisked them up into the air; it lifted the snow in masses out of the open spots in the woods, and hurled them in cloud-like volumes everywhere; and it roared and shrieked through the valleys and round the mountain tops as if a thousand evil spirits were let loose upon the scene. Silver Lake was still silvery in its aspect, for the white drift was flying across it like the waves of a raging sea; but here, being exposed, the turmoil was so tremendous that there was no distinguishing between earth, lake, and sky. "Confusion, worse confounded" reigned every where, or rather, appeared to reign; for, in point of fact, _there is no confusion whatever_ in the works and ways of God. Common sense, if unfallen, would tell us that. The Word reveals it, and science of late years has added its testimony thereto. Roy and Nelly very naturally came to the conclusion that things were in a very disordered state indeed on that Sabbath morning, so they returned to their hut, to spend the day as best they might. Their first care was to kindle the fire and prepare breakfast. While Nelly was engaged in this, Roy went out and cut several small trees, with which he propped the hut all round to prevent it from being blown down. But it was discovered, first, that the fire would hardly kindle, and, second, that when it was kindled it filled the whole place with smoke. By dint of perseverance, however, breakfast was cooked and devoured, after which the fire was allowed to go out, as the smoke had almost blinded them. "Never mind, Nell, cheer up," said Roy, on concluding breakfast; "we'll rig up a tent to keep the snow off us." The snow, be it understood, had been falling into the fire, and, more or less, upon themselves, through the hole in the roof; so they made a tent inside the hut, by erecting two posts with a ridge-pole at a height of three feet from the ground, over which they spread one of their blankets. Under this tent they reclined with the other blankets spread over them, and chatted comfortably during the greater part of that day. Of course their talk was chiefly of home, and of the mother who had been the sun and the joy of their existence up to that sad day when they were lost in the snow, and naturally they conversed of the Bible, and the hymns which their mother had made the chief objects of their contemplation on the Sabbaths they had spent at Fort Enterprise. Monday was as bad as Sunday in regard to weather, but Tuesday dawned bright and calm, so that our wanderers were enabled to resume their avocations. The snow-shoes were put in order, the sled was overhauled and mended, and more fish were caught and hung up to dry. In the evening Roy loaded his gun with ball, put on his snow-shoes, and sallied forth alone to search for deer. He carried with him several small pieces of line wherewith to make rabbit snares; for, the moment the snow fell, innumerable tracks revealed the fact that there were thousands of rabbits in that region. Nelly, meanwhile, busied herself in putting the hut in order, and in repairing the mocassins which would be required for the journey home. Lest any reader should wonder where our heroine found materials for all the mending and repairing referred to, we may remark that the Indians in the wilderness were, and still are, supplied with needles, beads, cloth, powder and shot, guns, axes, etcetera, etcetera, by the adventurous fur-traders, who penetrate deep and far into the wilderness of North America; and when Nelly and Roy ran away from their captors they took care to carry with them an ample supply of such things as they might require in their flight. About half a mile from the hut Roy set several snares. He had often helped his father in such work, and knew exactly how to do it. Selecting a rabbit-track at a spot where it passed between two bushes, he set his snare so that it presented a loop in the centre of the path. This loop was fastened to the bough of a tree bent downwards, and so arranged that it held fast to a root in the ground; when a rabbit should endeavour to leap or force through it, he would necessarily pull away the fastening that held it down, and the bough would spring up and lift the hapless creature by the neck off the ground. Having set half-a-dozen such snares, Roy continued his march in search of deer-tracks. He was unsuccessful, but to his surprise he came suddenly on the huge track of a bear! Being early in the season this particular bruin had not yet settled himself into his winter quarters, so Roy determined to make a trap for him. He had not much hope of catching him, but resolved to try, and not to tell Nelly of his discovery until he should see the result. Against the face of a cliff he raised several huge stones so as to form a sort of box, or cave, or hole, the front of which was open, the sides being the stones referred to, and the back the cliff. Then he felled a tree as thick as his waist, which stood close by, and so managed that it fell near to his trap. By great exertions, and with the aid of a wooden lever prepared on the spot, he rolled this tree--when denuded of its branches--close to the mouth of the trap. Next he cut three small pieces of stick in such a form that they made a trigger--something like the figure 4--on which the tree might rest. On the top of this trigger he raised the tree-stem, and on the end of the trigger, which projected into the trap, he stuck a piece of dried fish, so that when the bear should creep under the stem and touch the bait, it would disarrange the trigger, set it off, and the heavy stem would fall on bruin's back. As he knew, however, that bears were very strong, he cut several other thick stems, and piled them on the first to give it additional weight. All being ready, and the evening far advanced, he returned to the hut to supper. CHAPTER TWELVE. ROY'S DREAM. "Nelly, ye-a-a-ow!" exclaimed Roy, yawning as he awoke on the following morning from a dream, in which bears figured largely; "what a night I've had of it, to be sure--fightin' like a mad buffalo with--" Here Roy paused abruptly. "Well, what were you fighting with?" asked Nell, with a smile that ended in a yawn. "I won't tell you just now, lass, as it might spoil your appetite for breakfast. Set about getting that ready as fast as you can, for I want to be off as soon as possible to visit my snares." "I guess we shall have rabbits for dinner to-day." "What are you going to do with the sled?" inquired Nelly, observing that her brother was overhauling the lashings and drag-rope. "Well, I set a lot o' snares, an' there's no sayin' how many rabbits may have got into 'em. Besides, if the rabbits in them parts are tender-hearted, a lot o' their relations may have died o' grief, so I shall take the sled to fetch 'em all home!" After breakfast Roy loaded his gun with ball, and putting on his snow-shoes, sallied forth with an admonition to his sister to "have a roarin' fire ready to cook a rare feast!" Nelly laughingly replied, that she would, and so they parted. The first part of Roy's journey that day led him through a thickly-wooded part of the country. He went along with the quick, yet cautious and noiseless, step of a hunter accustomed to the woods from infancy. His thoughts were busy within him, and far away from the scene in which he moved; yet, such is the force of habit, he never for a moment ceased to cast quick, inquiring glances on each side as he went along. Nothing escaped his observation. "Oh, if I could only get a deer this day," thought he, "how scrumptious it would be!" What he meant by "scrumptious" is best known to himself, but at that moment a large deer suddenly--perhaps scrumptiously!--appeared on the brow of a ridge not fifty yards in advance of him. They had been both walking towards each other all that forenoon. Roy, having no powers of scent beyond human powers, did not know the fact, and as the wind was blowing from the deer to the hunter, the former--gifted though he was with scenting powers--was also ignorant of the approaching meeting. One instant the startled deer stood in bewildered surprise. One instant Roy paused in mute amazement. The next instant the deer wheeled round, while Roy's gun leaped to his shoulder. There was a loud report, followed by reverberating echoes among the hills, and the deer lay dead on the snow. The young hunter could not repress a shout of joy, for he not only had secured a noble stag, but he had now a sufficiency of food to enable him to resume his homeward journey. His first impulse was to run back to the hut with the deer's tongue and a few choice bits, to tell Nelly of his good fortune; but, on second thoughts, he resolved to complete the business on which he had started. Leaving the deer where it fell he went on, and found that the snares had been very successful. Some, indeed, had been broken by the strength of the boughs to which they had been fastened, and others remained as he had set them; but above two-thirds of them had each a rabbit hung up by the neck, so that the sled was pretty well loaded when all the snares had been visited. He had by this time approached the spot where the bear-trap was set, and naturally began to grow a little anxious, for, although his chance of success was very slight, his good fortune that morning had made him more sanguine than usual. There is a proverb which asserts that "it never rains but it pours." It would seem to be a common experience of mankind that pieces of good fortune, as well as misfortunes, come not singly. Whether the proverb be true or no, this experience was realised by Roy on that day, for he actually did find a bear in his trap! Moreover it was alive, and, apparently, had only just been caught, for it struggled to free itself with a degree of ferocity that was terrible to witness. It was an ordinary black bear of considerable size and immense strength. Heavy and thick though the trees were that lay on its back and crushed it to the earth, it caused them to shake, leap, and quiver as though they had been endowed with life. Roy was greatly alarmed, for he perceived that at each successive struggle the brute was ridding itself of the superincumbent load, while fierce growls and short gasps indicated at once the wrath and the agony by which it was convulsed. Roy had neglected to reload his piece after shooting the deer--a most un-hunter-like error, which was the result of excitement. Thinking that he had not time to load, he acted now on the first suggestion of his bold spirit. Resting his gun against a tree, he drew the small axe that hung at his belt and attacked the bear. The first blow was well delivered, and sank deep into bruin's skull; but that skull was thick, and the brain was not reached. A roar and a furious struggle caused Roy to deliver his second blow with less effect, but this partial failure caused his pugnacity to rise, and he immediately rained down blows on the head and neck of the bear so fast and furious that the snow was speedily covered with blood. In proportion as Roy strove to end the conflict by vigorous and quick blows, the bear tried to get free by furious efforts. He shook the tree-stem that held him down so violently that one of the other trees that rested on it fell off, and thus the load was lightened. Roy observed this, and made a desperate effort to split the bear's skull. In his haste he misdirected the blow, which fell not on the head but on the neck, in which the iron head of the axe was instantly buried--a main artery was severed, and a fountain of blood sprang forth. This was fortunate, for the bear's strength was quickly exhausted, and, in less than two minutes after, it sank dead upon the snow. Roy sat down to rest and wipe the blood from his hands and garments, and then, cutting off the claws of the animal as a trophy, he left it there for a time. Having now far more than it was possible for him to drag to the hut, he resolved to proceed thither with the rabbits, and bring Nelly back to help him to drag home the deer. "Well done, Roy," cried Nelly, clapping her hands, when her brother approached with the sled-load of rabbits, "but you are covered with blood. Have you cut yourself?" She became nervously anxious, for she well knew that a bad cut on a journey costs many a man his life, as it not only disables from continuing the journey but from hunting for provisions. "All right, Nell, but I've killed a deer--and--and--something else! Come, lass, get on your snow-shoes and follow me. We'll drag home the deer, and then see what is to be done with the--" "Oh, _what_ is it? do tell!" cried Nell, eagerly. "Well, then, it's a bear!" "Nonsense!--tell me true, now." "That's the truth, Nell, as you shall see, and here are the claws. Look sharp, now, and let's off." Away went these two through the snow, until they came to where the deer had been left. It was hard work to get it lashed on the sled, and much harder work to drag it over the snow, but by dint of perseverance and resolution they got it home. They were so fatigued, however, that it was impossible to think of doing the same with the bear. This was a perplexing state of things, for Roy had observed a wolf-track when out, and feared that nothing but the bones would be left in the morning. "What _is_ to be done?" said Nelly, with that pretty air of utter helplessness which she was wont to assume when she felt that her brother was the proper person to decide. Roy pondered a few moments, and then said abruptly, "Camp-out, Nelly." "Camp-out?" "Ay, beside the bear--keep it company all night with a big fire to scare away the wolves. We'll put everything into the hut, block up the door, and kindle a huge fire outside that will burn nearly all night. So now, let's go about it at once." Although Nelly did not much relish the idea of leaving their comfortable hut, and going out to encamp in the snow beside the carcase of a dead bear, she was so accustomed to regard her brother's plans as perfect, and to obey him promptly, that she at once began to assist in the necessary preparations. Having secured everything safely in the hut, and kindled a fire near it, which was large enough to have roasted an ox, they set off for the bear-trap, and reached it in time to scare away a large wolf which was just going to begin his supper on bruin. An encampment was then made in the usual way, close to the bear-trap, a fire as large as could be conveniently made was kindled, and the brother and sister wrapped themselves in their blankets and lay comfortably down beside it to spend the night there. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. "SHOOSKIN'." Next day Roy and Nelly rose with the sun, and spent the forenoon in skinning and cutting up the bear, for they intended to dry part of the meat, and use it on their journey. The afternoon was spent in dragging the various parts to the hut. In the evening Roy proposed that they should go and have a shoosk. Nelly agreed, so they sallied forth to a neighbouring slope with their sledge. Shoosking, good reader, is a game which is played not only by children but by men and women; it is also played in various parts of the world, such as Canada and Russia, and goes by various names; but we shall adopt the name used by _our_ hero and heroine, namely "shoosking." It is very simple, but uncommonly violent, and consists in hauling a sledge to the top of a snow-hill or slope, getting upon it, and sliding down to the bottom. Of course, the extent of violence depends on the steepness of the slope, the interruptions that occur in it, and the nature of the ground at the bottom. We once shoosked with an Indian down a wood-cutter's track, on the side of a steep hill, which had a sharp turn in it, with a pile of firewood at the turn, and a hole in the snow at the bottom, in which were a number of old empty casks. Our great difficulties in this place were to take the turn without grazing the firewood, and to stop our sledges before reaching the hole. We each had separate sledges. For some time we got on famously, but at last _we_ ran into the pile of firewood, and tore all the buttons off our coat, and the Indian went down into the hole with a hideous crash among the empty casks; yet, strange to say, neither of us came by any serious damage! "There's a splendid slope," said Roy, as they walked briskly along the shores of Silver Lake, dragging the sledge after them, "just beyond the big cliff, but I'm afraid it's too much for _you_." "Oh, _I_ can go if you can," said Nell, promptly. "You've a good opinion of yourself. I guess I could make you sing small if I were to try." "Then don't try," said Nelly, with a laugh. "See," continued Roy, "there's the slope; you see it is very steep; we'd go down it like a streak of greased lightnin'; but I don't like to try it." "Why not? It seems easy enough to me. I'm sure we have gone down as steep places before at home." "Ay, lass, but not with a round-backed drift like that at the bottom. It has got such a curve that I think it would make us fly right up into the air." Nelly admitted that it looked dangerous, but suggested that they might make a trial. "Well, so we will, but I'll go down by myself first," said Roy, arranging the sledge at the summit of a slope, which was full fifty feet high. "Now, then, pick up the bits tenderly, Nell, if I'm knocked to pieces; here goes, hurrah!" Roy had seated himself on the sledge, with his feet resting on the head of it, and holding on to the side-lines with both hands firmly. He pushed off as he cheered, and the next moment was flying down the hill at railway speed, with a cloud of snow-drift rolling like steam behind him. He reached the foot, and the impetus sent him up and over the snow-drift or wave, and far out upon the surface of the lake. It is true he made one or two violent swerves in this wild descent, owing to inequalities in the hill, but by a touch of his hands in the snow on either side, he guided the sledge, as with a rudder, and reached the foot in safety. "May I venture, Roy?" inquired Nell, eagerly, as the lad came panting up the hill. "Venture! Of course. I rose off the top o' the drift only a little bit, hardly felt the crack at all; come, get you on in front, and I'll sit at yer back an' steer." Nelly needed no second bidding. She sat down and seized the side-lines of the sledge, with a look of what we may call wild expectation; Roy sat down behind her. "Now, lass, steady, and away we go!" At the last word they shot from the hill-top like an arrow from a bow. The cloud of snow behind them rolled thicker, for the sledge was more heavily laden than before. Owing to the same cause it plunged into the hollow at the foot of the hill with greater violence, and shot up the slope of the snow-drift and over its crest with such force that it sprung horizontally forward for a few feet in the air, and came to the ground with a crash that extracted a loud gasp from Roy, and a sharp squeak from Nelly. It was found to be so delightful, however, that they tried it again and again, each time becoming more expert, and therefore more confident. Excessive confidence, however, frequently engenders carelessness. Roy soon became reckless; Nelly waxed fearless. The result was that the former steered somewhat wildly, and finally upset. Their last "shoosk" that evening was undertaken just as the sun's latest rays were shooting between the hills on the opposite side of Silver Lake, and casting a crimson glow on the hut and the surrounding scenery. Roy had fixed a snow-shoe on the outer ridge of the snow-drift, to mark the distance of their last leap from its crest, and had given the sledge an extra push on the way down to increase its impetus. This extra push disconcerted him in steering; he reached the hollow in a side-long fashion, shot up the slope of the drift waveringly, and left its crest with a swing that not only turned the sledge right round, but also upside down. Of course they were both thrown off, and all three fell into the snow in a condition of dire confusion. Fortunately, no damage was done beyond the shock and the fright, but this accident was sufficient to calm their spirits, and incline them to go home to supper. "Well, it's great fun, no doubt, but we must turn our minds to more earnest work, for our journey lies before us," said Roy, with the gravity of an Iroquois warrior, as he sat beside the fire that night discussing a bear-steak with his sister. "We have more than enough of fish and meat, you see; a day or two will do to turn our deer and bear into dried meat; the snow-shoes are mended, the sledge is in good order, as to-night's work has proved, and all that we've got to do is to start fresh with true bearin's and--hey! for home!" "I wish I was there," said Nelly, laying down a marrow-bone with a sigh. "Wishin' ain't enough, Nell." "I know that, an' I'm ready to work," said Nelly, resuming the bone with a resolute air. "When shall we set out?" "When we are ready, lass. We shall begin to dry the meat to-morrow, an' as soon as it's fixed--off we'll start. I only hope the cold weather will last, for if it came warm it would go hard with your little feet, Nell. But let's turn in now. Hard work requires a good sleep, an' it may be that we've harder work than we think before us." CHAPTER FOURTEEN. THE JOURNEY HOME RESUMED AND INTERRUPTED. Three days more and our young friends bade farewell to Silver Lake. Short though their stay had been, it had proved very pleasant, for it was full of energetic labour and active preparation, besides a great deal of amusement, so that quite a home feeling had been aroused in their minds, and their regret at leaving was considerable. But after the first few miles of their journey had been accomplished, the feeling of sadness with which they set out wore away, and hopeful anticipations of being home again in a few weeks rendered them cheerful, and enabled them to proceed with vigour. The weather at starting was fine, too, so that the night encampments in the snow were comparatively agreeable, and the progress made during the first few days was satisfactory. After this, however, the good fortune of our adventurers seemed to desert them. First of all one of Nelly's snow-shoes broke down. This necessitated a halt of half a day, in order to have it repaired. Then one of Roy's snow-shoes gave way, which caused another halt. After this a heavy snow-storm set in, rendering the walking very difficult, as they sank, snow-shoes and all, nearly to the knees at each step. A storm of wind which arose about the same time, effectually stopped their farther advance, and obliged them to take to the shelter of a dense part of the woods and encamp. During three days and three nights the hurricane raged, and the snow was blown up in the air and whirled about like the foam of the roaring sea; but our wanderers did not feel its effects much, for they had chosen a very sheltered spot at the foot of a large pine, which grew in a hollow, where a cliff on one side and a bluff of wood on the other rendered the blast powerless. Its fierce howling could be heard, however, if not felt; and as the brother and sister lay at the bottom of their hole in the snow, with their toes to the comfortable fire, they chatted much more cheerily than might have been expected in the midst of such a scene, and gazed upward from time to time with comparative indifference at the dark clouds and snow-drifts that were rushing madly overhead. On the fourth day the gale subsided almost as quickly as it had arisen, and Roy announced that it was his intention to start. In a few minutes everything was packed up and ready. "I say, Nell," said Roy, just as they were about to leave the camp, "don't the sled look smaller than it used to?" "So it does, Roy; but I suppose it's because we have eaten so much during the last three days." Roy shook his head, and looked carefully round the hole they were about to quit. "Don't know, lass; it seems to me as if somethin' was a-wantin'. Did ye pack your own bundle very tight?" "Yes; I think I did it tighter than usual, but I'm not very sure." "Hum--that's it, no doubt--we've packed the sled tighter, and eaten it down. Well, let's off now." So saying, Roy threw the lines of the sledge over his shoulder and led the way, followed by his sister, whose only burden was a light blanket, fastened as a bundle to her shoulders, and a small tin can, which hung at her belt. The country through which they passed that day was almost destitute of wood, being a series of undulating plains, with clumps of willows and stunted trees scattered over it like islets in the sea. The land lay in a succession of ridges, or steppes, which descended from the elevated region they were leaving, and many parts of these ridges terminated abruptly in sheer precipices from forty to sixty feet high. The sun shone with dazzling brilliancy, insomuch that the travellers' eyes became slightly affected by snow-blindness. This temporary blindness is very common in these regions, and ranges from the point of slight dazzlement to that of total blindness; fortunately it is curable by the removal of the cause--the bright light of the sun on pure snow. Esquimaux use "goggles" or spectacles made of wood, with a narrow slit in them as a preventive of snow-blindness. At first neither Roy nor Nelly felt much inconvenience, but towards evening they could not see as distinctly as usual. One consequence of this was, that they approached a precipice without seeing it. The snow on its crest was so like to the plain of snow extending far below, that it might have deceived one whose eyesight was not in any degree impaired. The first intimation they had of their danger was the giving way of the snow that projected over the edge of the precipice. Roy fell over headlong, dragging the sledge with him. Nelly, who was a few feet behind him, stood on the extreme edge of the precipice, with the points of her snow-shoes projecting over it. Roy uttered a cry as he fell, and his sister stopped short. A shock of terror blanched her cheek and caused her heart to stand still. She could not move or cry for a few seconds, then she uttered a loud shriek and shrank backwards. There chanced to be a stout bush or tree growing on the face of the cliff, not ten feet below the spot where the snow-wreath had broken off. Roy caught at this convulsively, and held on. Fortunately the line on his shoulder broke, and the sledge fell into the abyss below. Had this not happened, it is probable that he would have been dragged from his hold of the bush. As it was, he maintained his hold, and hung for a few seconds suspended in the air. Nelly's shriek revived him from the gush of deadly terror that seized him when he fell. He grasped the boughs above him, and was quickly in a position of comparative security among the branches of the bush. "All right, Nell," he gasped, on hearing her repeat her cry of despair. "I'm holdin' on quite safe. Keep back from the edge, lass--there's no fear o' me." "Are you sure, Roy?" cried Nelly, trembling very much, as she stretched forward to try to catch sight of her brother. "Ay, quite sure; but I can't get up, for there's six feet o' smooth rock above me, an' nothin' to climb up by." "Oh! what _shall_ I do!" cried Nelly. "Don't get flurried--that's the main thing, lass. Let me think--ay, that's it--you've got your belt?" "Yes." "Well, take it off and drop the end over to me; but lie down on your breast, and be careful." Nelly obeyed, and in a few seconds the end of the worsted belt that usually encircled her waist was dangling almost within reach of her brother. This belt was above five feet long. Roy wore one of similar material and length. He untied it, and then sought to lay hold of the other. With some difficulty, and much risk of falling, he succeeded, and fastened his own belt to it firmly. "Now, Nell, haul up a little bit--hold! enough." "What am I to do now?" asked Nell, piteously; "I cannot pull you up, you know." "Of course not; but take your snow-shoe and dig down to the rocks-- you'll find somethin', I dare say, to tie the belts to. Cheer up, lass, and go at it." Thus encouraged, the active little girl soon cleared away the snow until she reached the ground, where she found several roots of shrubs that seemed quite strong enough for her purpose. To one of these she tied the end of her belt, and Roy, being an athletic lad, hauled himself up, hand over hand, until he gained a place of safety. "But the sledge is gone," cried Nelly, pausing suddenly in the midst of her congratulations. "Ay, and the grub," said Roy, with a blank look. This was indeed too true, and on examination it was found that things were even worse than had been anticipated, for the sledge had fallen on a ledge, half way down the precipice, that was absolutely inaccessible either from above or below. An hour was spent in ascertaining this, beyond all doubt, and then Roy determined to return at once to their last encampment to gather the scraps they had thrown away or left behind as useless. That night they went supperless to rest. Next morning, they set out with heavy hearts for the encampment of the previous day. On reaching it, and searching carefully, they found that one of the bundles of dry meat had been forgotten. This accounted for the lightness of the sledge, and, at the same time, revived their drooping spirits. "What is to be done now?" inquired Nelly. "Return to Silver Lake," said Roy, promptly. "We must go back, fish and hunt again until we have another supply o' grub, and then begin our journey once more." Sadly and slowly they retraced their steps. Do what he would Roy could not cheer up his sister's spirits. She felt that her back was turned towards her father's house--her mother's home--and every step took her farther from it. It was a lovely evening, about sunset, when they reached Silver Lake, and found the hut as they had left it, and enough of old scraps of provisions to afford a sufficient meal. That night they ate their supper in a more cheerful frame of mind. Next day they breakfasted almost with a feeling of heartiness, and when they went out to resume their fishing, and to set snares and make traps, the old feeling of hopefulness returned. Ere long, hope became again so strong in their ardent young hearts, that they laughed and talked and sported as they had done during the period of their first residence there. At first they were so anxious to make up the lost quantity of food that they did little else but fish, hunt, and dry their provisions when obtained; but after a few days they had procured such an ample supply that they took to shoosking again--having succeeded in making a new sledge. But a thaw came suddenly and spoiled all their fish. A wolf carried off the greater part of their dried meat one day while they were absent from the hut. After this the frost set in with extreme violence, game became more scarce, and fish did not take the bait so readily, so that, although they procured more than enough for present consumption, they were slow in accumulating a travelling store; and thus it came to pass that November found Roy and Nelly still toiling wearily, yet hopefully, on the shores of Silver Lake. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. THE MASSACRE. We must return now to Robin Gore and his wife, who, on the morning on which we re-introduce them to the reader, were standing in the trading store of Fort Enterprise, conversing earnestly with Black, the Indian, who has been already mentioned at the beginning of our tale. The wife of the latter--the White Swan--was busily engaged in counting over the pack of furs that lay open on the counter, absorbed, apparently, in an abstruse calculation as to how many yards of cloth and strings of beads they would purchase. "Well, I'm glad that's fixed, anyhow," said Robin to his wife, as he turned to the Indian with a satisfied air, and addressed him in his native tongue, "it's a bargain, then, that you an' Slugs go with me on this expedition, is't so?" "The Black Swan is ready," replied the Indian, quietly, "and he thinks that Slugs will go too--but the white hunter is self-willed; he has a mouth--ask himself." "Ay, ye don't like to answer for him," said Robin, with a smile; "assuredly Slugs has his own notions, and holds to 'em; but I'll ask him. He is to be here this night, with a deer, I hope, for there are many mouths to fill." Black Swan, who was a tall, taciturn, and powerful Indian, here glanced at his wife, who was, like most Indian women, a humble-looking and not very pretty or clean creature. Turning again to Robin, he said, in a low, soft voice-- "The White Swan is not strong, and she is not used to be alone." "I understand you," said Robin; "she shall come to the Fort, and be looked after. You won't object to take her in, Molly, when we're away?" "Object, Robin," said Molly, with a smile, which was accompanied by a sigh, "I'll only be too glad to have her company." "Well, then, that's settled; and now, Black Swan, I may as well tell you what coorse I mean to follow out in this sarch for my child'n. You know already that four white men--strangers--have come to the Fort, an' are now smokin' their pipes in the hall, but you don't know that one on 'em is my own brother Jefferson; Jeff, I've bin used to call him. Jeff's bin a harem-scarem feller all his life--active and able enough, an' good natur'd too, but he never could stick to nothin', an' so he's bin wanderin' about the world till grey hairs have begun to show on him, without gettin' a home or a wife. The last thing he tried was stokin' a steamboat on the Mississippi; but the boat blew up, pitched a lot o' the passengers into the water, an' the rest o' them into the next world. Jeff was always in luck with his life; he's lost everythin' over an' over again but that. He was one o' the lot as was blowed into the water, so, when he come up he swamed ashore, an' come straight away here to visit me, bringin' three o' the blowed-up passengers with him. The three are somethin' like himself; good for nothin'; an' I'd rather have their room than their company at most times. Hows'ever, just at this time I'm very glad they've come, for I'll leave them in charge o' the Fort, and set off to look for the child'n in two days from this. I'll take Walter and Larry wi' me, for brother Jeff is able enough to manage the trade if redskins come; he can fight too, if need be. The Gore family could always do that, so ye needn't be afraid, Molly." "I'll not be afraid, Robin, but I'll be anxious about ye." "That's nat'ral, lass, but it can't be helped. Well, then," continued Robin, "the five of us will start for the Black Hills. I've bin told by a redskin who comed here last week that he an' his tribe had had a scrimmage with Hawk an' the reptiles that follow him. He says that there was a white boy an' a white girl with Hawk's party, an' from his account of 'em I'm sartin sure it's my Roy and Nelly. God help 'em! `but,' says he, `they made their escape durin' the attack, an' we followed our enemies so far that we didn't think it worth while to return to look for 'em, so I'm convinced they made for the Black Hills, nigh which Hawk was attacked, an' if we follow 'em up there we may find 'em alive yet, mayhap.'" Poor Robin's voice became deeper and less animated as he spoke, and the last word was uttered with hesitation and in a whisper. "O Robin, Robin!" exclaimed Mrs Gore, throwing her arms suddenly round her husband's neck, and hiding her sobbing face in his breast, "d'ye think they can _still_ be alive?" "Come, Molly," said Robin, commanding his feelings with a great effort, "han't ye often read to me that wi' God all things is possible?" The poor woman thanked God in her heart, for up to that day Robin had never once quoted Scripture in his efforts to comfort her. "Was Wapaw with Hawk when they were attacked?" inquired the Black Swan. "Wapaw is dead," said a deep voice, as the huge form of a western hunter darkened the little doorway, and the next moment Slugs strode into the store, and quietly seated himself on the counter. "Dead!" exclaimed Robin, as he shook the hunter's proffered hand. "Ay, dead! Have ye no word of welcome for a chum after a month's absence?" said Slugs, holding out his horny hand to the Black Swan, who gravely grasped and shook it. "You redskins are a queer lot," said Slugs, with a grin, "yer as stiff as a rifle ramrod to look at, but there's warm and good stuff in 'ee for all that." "But what about Wapaw?" inquired Mrs Gore, anxiously; "surely he's not dead." "If he's not dead he's not livin', for I saw Hawk himself, not four weeks ago, shoot him and follow him up with his tomahawk, and then heard their shout as they killed him. Where did he say he was goin' when he left you?" "He said he would go down to the settlements to see the missionaries, an' that he thought o' lookin' in on the fur-traders that set up a fort last year, fifty miles to the south'ard o' this." "Ay, just so," said Slugs; "I was puzzled to know what he was doin' thereaway, and that explains it. He's dead now, an' so are the fur-traders he went to see. I'll tell ye all about it if you'll give me baccy enough to fill my pipe. I ran out o't three days agone, an' ha' bin smokin' tea-leaves an' bark, an' all sorts o' trash. Thank 'ee; that's a scent more sweet nor roses." As he said this the stout hunter cut up the piece of tobacco which Robin at once handed to him, and rolled it with great zest between his palms. When the pipe was filled and properly lighted, he leaned his back against an unopened bale of goods that lay on the counter, and drawing several whiffs, began his narrative. "You must know that I made tracks for the noo fur-tradin' post when I left you, Black Swan, about a month ago. I hadn't much of a object; it was mainly cooriosity as took me there. I got there all right, an' was sittin' in the hall chattin' wi' the head man--Macdonell they called him--about the trade and the Injuns. Macdonell's two little child'n was playin' about, a boy an' a girl, as lively as kittens, an' his wife--a good-lookin' young 'ooman--was lookin' arter 'em, when the door opens, and in stalks a long-legged Injun. It was Wapaw. Down he sat in front o' the fireplace, an' after some palaver an' a pipe--for your Injuns'll never tell all they've got to say at once--he tells Macdonell that there was a dark plot hatchin' agin' him--that Hawk, a big rascal of his own tribe, had worked upon a lot o' reptiles like hisself, an' they had made up their minds to come an' massacre everybody at the Fort, and carry off the goods. "At first Macdonell didn't seem to believe the Injun, but when I told him I knowed him, an' that he was a trustworthy man, he was much troubled, an' in doubt what to do. Now, it's quite clear to me that Hawk must have somehow found out or suspected that Wapaw was goin' to 'peach on him, an' that he had followed his trail close up; for in less than an hour arter Wapaw arrived, an' while we was yet sittin' smokin' by the fire, there was a most tremendous yell outside. I know'd it for the war-whoop o' the redskins, so I jumped up an' cocked my rifle. The others jumped up too, like lightnin'; an' Mrs Macdonell she got hold o' her girlie in her arms an' was runnin' across the hall to her own room, when the door was knocked off its hinges, and fell flat on the floor. Before it had well-nigh fallen I got sight o' somethin', an' let drive. The yell that follered told me I had spoilt somebody's aim. A volley was poured on us next moment, an' a redskin jumped in, but Wapaw's tomahawk sent him out again with a split skull. Before they could reload--for the stupid fools had all fired together--I had the door up, and a heavy table shoved agin it. Then I turned round, to load agin; while I was doin' this, I observed poor Macdonell on his knees beside his wife, so I went to them an' found that the wife an' girl were stone dead--both shot through the heart with the same ball. "As soon as Macdonell saw this he rose up quietly, but with a look on his face sich as I never see in a man 'xcept when he means to stick at nothin'. He got hold of his double-barrelled gun, an' stuck a scalpin' knife an' an axe in his belt. "`Git on my back, Tommy,' says he to his little boy, who was cryin' in a corner. "Tommy got up at once, an' jumped on his dad's back. All this time the redskins were yellin' round the house like fiends, an' batterin' the door, so that it was clear it couldn't stand long. "`Friends,' said he turnin' to me an' Wapaw, an' a poor terrified chap that was the only one o' his men as chanced to be in the house at the time, `friends, it's every man for himself now; I'll cut my way though them, or--'. He stopped short, an' took hold o' his axe in one hand, an' his gun in the other. `Are ye ready?' says he. We threw forward our rifles an' cocked 'em; Macdonell--he was a big, strong man--suddenly upset the table; the savages dashed in the door with sich force that three or four o' 'em fell sprawlin' on the floor. We jumped over these before they could rise, and fired a volley, which sent three or four o' the reptiles behind on their backs. We got into the bush without a scratch, an' used our legs well, I can tell 'ee. They fired a volley after us, which missed us all except poor Tommy. A bullet entered his brain, an' killed him dead. For some time his father would not drop him, though I told him he was quite dead; but his weight kept him from runnin' fast, an' we heard the redskins gainin' on us, so at last Macdonell put the boy down tenderly under a bush. Me and Wapaw stopped to fire an' keep the reptiles back, but they fired on us, and Wapaw fell. I tried to lift him, but he struggled out o' my arms. Poor fellow! he was a brave man; and I've no doubt did it a-purpose, knowin' that I couldn't run fast enough with him. Just then I saw Hawk come jumpin' and yellin' at us, followed by two or three dozen redskins, all flourishin' their tomahawks. Macdonell and me turned to die fightin' alongside o' our red comrade, but Wapaw suddenly sprang up, uttered a shout of defiance, an' dashed into the bush. The Injuns were after him in a moment, and before we could get near them a yell of triumph told us that it was too late, so we turned and bolted in different directions. "I soon left them behind me, but I hung about the place for a day or two to see if Macdonell should turn up, or any of his men. I even went back to the Fort after the reptiles had left it. They had burned it down, an' I saw parts o' the limbs o' the poor wife and child lyin' among the half-burned goods that they weren't able to carry away with them." CHAPTER SIXTEEN. VENGEANCE. The terrible tale which was related by Slugs had the effect of changing Robin Gore's plans. He resolved to pursue the murderers, and inflict summary punishment on them before setting off on the contemplated search for his lost children, and he was all the more induced to do this that there was some hope he might be able to obtain a clue to their whereabouts from some of the prisoners whom he hoped to seize. It might be thought by some a rash step for him to take--the pursuit of a band of about fifty savages with a party of six men. But backwood hunters were bold fellows in those days, and Indians were by no means noted for reckless courage. Six stout, resolute, and well-armed men were, in Robin's opinion, quite a match for fifty redskins! He could not muster more than six, because it was absolutely necessary to leave at least three men to guard Fort Enterprise. Robin therefore resolved to leave his brother Jeff to look after it, with two of the strangers; and Jeff accepted the charge with pleasure, saying he "would defend the place agin a hundred red reptiles." The third stranger--a man named Stiff--he resolved to take with him. The war-party, when mustered, consisted of Robin Gore, his nephew Walter, Larry O'Dowd, the Black Swan, Slugs the hunter, and Stiff the stranger. Armed to the teeth, these six put on their snow-shoes the following morning, and set forth on their journey in silence. Now this change of plans was--all unknown to Robin--the means of leading him towards, instead of away from, his lost little ones. For Roy and Nelly had travelled so far during their long wanderings from the Black Hills--the place where they escaped from the Indians--that they were at that time many long miles away from them in another direction. In fact, if Robin had carried out his original plan of search, he would have been increasing the distance between himself and his children every step he took! Not knowing this, however, and being under the impression that each day's march lessened his chance of ultimately finding his lost ones, he walked along, mile after mile, and day after day, in stern silence. On the third day out, towards evening, the party descried a thin line of blue smoke rising above the tree-tops. They had reached an elevated and somewhat hilly region, so that the ground favoured their approach by stealth, nevertheless, fearing to lose their prey, they resolved to wait till dark, and take their enemies, if such they should turn out to be, by surprise. Soon after sunset Robin gave the word to advance. Each man of the party laid aside his blanket, and left his provisions, etcetera, in the encampment, taking with him his arms only. "I need not say that there must be no speaking, and that we must tread lightly. You're up to redskin ways as well as me, except mayhap our friend Stiff here." Stiff who was a tall Yankee, protested that he could "chaw up his tongue, and go as slick as a feline mouser." On nearing the fire, they made a _detour_ to examine the tracks that led to it, and found from their number and other signs that it was indeed Hawk's party. Robin advanced alone to reconnoitre. On returning, he said-- "It's just the reptiles; there's forty of 'em if there's one, an' they've got a white man bound with 'em; no doubt from what you said of him, Slugs, it's Macdonell; but I don't see Wapaw. I fear me that his days are over. Now, then, lads, here's our plan: we'll attack them from six different points at once. We'll all give the war-whoop at the same moment, takin' the word from Walter there, who's got a loud pipe of his own, then when the varmints start to their feet--for I don't like the notion o' firin' at men off their guard--Walter, Larry, an' Stiff will fire. Black Swan, Slugs, an' I will reserve our fire while you reload; the reptiles will scatter, of course, an' we'll give 'em a volley an' a united yell as they cut stick, that'll keep 'em from waitin' for more." The plan thus hastily sketched was at once carried out. Advancing stealthily to their several stations, the six men, as it were, surrounded the savages, who, not dreaming of pursuit, had neglected to place sentinels round the camp. When Walter's loud "halloo!" rang in their ears, the whole band sprang to their feet, and seized their arms, but three shots laid three of them dead on the ground. As they fled right and left the reserve fired, and shot three others, among whom was Hawk himself. Black Swan had picked him out, and shot him through the head. Before they were quite out of shot, the three who had first fired had reloaded and fired again with some effect, for blood was afterwards observed on the snow. Slugs now made a rush into the camp to unbind Macdonell, but to his horror he discovered that a knife was plunged up to the handle in his breast, and that he was almost dead. Hawk had evidently committed this cowardly deed on the first alarm, for the knife was known to be his. Macdonell tried hard to speak, but all that he was able to say was, "Wapaw, wounded, escaped--follow." Then his head fell back, and he died. From the few words thus uttered, however, the pursuers concluded that Wapaw was not dead, but wounded, and that he had escaped. "If that be so," said Walter, "then they must have been on Wapaw's tracks, an' if we search we shall find 'em, an' may follow 'em up." "True," said Slugs, "and the sooner we're away from this the better, for the reptiles may return, and find us not so strong a band as they think." Acting on this advice, the whole party set off at once. Wapaw's track was soon discovered, being, of course, a solitary one, and in advance of his enemies, who were in pursuit. Following the track with untiring vigour, the party found that it led them out of the lower country into a region high up amongst the hills. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. THE PURSUIT. "Wapaw must have worked hard, for we should have overhauled him by this time," said Walter to his uncle on the evening of the next day, as they plodded steadily along through the snow. "I would give up the pursuit," said Robin, somewhat gloomily, "for it's losin' time that might be better spent on another search; but it won't do to leave the crittur, for if he's badly wounded he may die for want o' help." "Guess he can't be very bad, else he'd niver travel so fast," observed Stiff, who, now that the chief murderer was punished, did not care much to go in search of the wounded Indian. "When a man thinks a band o' yellin' redskins are follerin' up his trail," said Slugs, "he's pretty sure to travel fast, wounded or not wounded--leastways if he's able. But I don't think we'll have to go much farther now, for I've noticed that his stride ain't so long as it was, and that's a sartin sure sign that he's failin'; I only hope he won't go under before we find him." "Niver a fear o' that," said Larry O'Dowd, with a grin. "I've seed him as far gone as any one iver I comed across, wi' starvation; but the way that fellow walked into the grub when he got the chance was wonderful to behold! I thought he'd ait me out o' the house entirely; and he put so much flesh on his bones in a week or two that he was able to go about his business, though he warn't no fatter when he began to ait than a consumptive darnin' needle. True for ye--it's naither walkin', starvin', nor cowld, as'll kill Wapaw." "What does the Black Swan think?" inquired Robin. "We shall see Wapaw when the sun is low to-morrow," replied the Indian. "Mayhap we shall," quoth Robin, "but it behooves us to get the steam up for to-morrow: so, comrades, as there's a good clump o' timber here away, we'll camp." Robin threw down his bundle as he spoke, and his example was at once followed by the others, each of whom set to work vigorously to assist in preparing the encampment. They had all the requisite implements for this purpose, having returned, after the attack on the Indians, for the things they had left behind them. "It's a pity that we shall have to keep watch to-night," said Walter; "one of us will have to do it, I fancy; for though I don't believe these murderin' redskins have pluck to attack us, it would not do to trust to that." Slugs, to whom this remark was addressed, lowered the axe with which he was about to fell a neighbouring tree for firewood. "That's true," said he, looking round him in all directions; "hold on, comrades, yonder's a mound with a bare top, we'd better camp there. Makin' a big blaze on sitch a place'll show the red reptiles we don't care a gun-flint for them, and they'll not dare to come near, so we won't have to watch." "Arrah! an' a purty spot it'll be for the blackyirds to shoot us all aisy as we're sottin' at supper," exclaimed Larry O'Dowd. "Doubtless there's a hollow on it," rejoined Slugs, "for the top is flat." "Humph! maybe," growled Larry, who still seemed to object; but, as the rest of the party were willing to adopt the suggestion, he said no more, and they all went to the top of the little mound, which commanded a clear view of the surrounding country. As Slugs had surmised, there was a slight hollow on the summit of the mound, which effectually screened the party from any one who might wish to fire at them from below; and as there was no other mound in the immediate neighbourhood, they felt quite secure. Huge logs were cut and carried to the top of the mound, the snow was cleared out of the hole, pine branches were spread over it, the fire was kindled, the kettle put on and filled with snow, and soon Larry O'Dowd was involved in the heat, steam, smoke, and activities of preparing supper, while his comrades spread out their blankets and lay down to smoke with their arms ready beside them. The fire roared up into the wintry sky, causing the mound to resemble the cone or crater of a volcano, which could be seen for miles round. Ever and anon, while supper was being eaten, the Black Swan or Slugs would rise, and going stealthily to the edge of the mound would peep cautiously over, to make sure that none of their enemies were approaching. Immediately after supper, they all lay down to sleep, but, for a time, each motionless form that lay rolled tightly in its blanket like an Egyptian mummy, sent a series of little puffs from its head. At last the stars came out, and the pipes dropped from each sleeper's lips. Then the moon rose--a circumstance which rendered their position still more secure--and the fire sank low. But Slugs was too cautious a hunter to trust entirely to the alleged cowardice of the savages. He knew well that many, indeed most of the redskins, bad as well as good, had quite enough of mere brute courage to make them dare and risk a good deal for the sake of scalping a white hunter, so he rose once or twice during the night to replenish the fire and take a look round; and as often as he rose for these purposes, so often did he observe the glittering eye of the Black Swan glaring round the encampment, although its owner never once moved from his recumbent posture. Thus the night was spent. The first glimmer of daylight found the whole party up and equipped for the journey. They did not breakfast before setting out, as they preferred to take their morning meal later in the day. Few words were spoken. At that early hour, and in the sleepy condition which usually results from a _very_ early start, men are seldom inclined to talk. Only one or two monosyllables were uttered as each man rolled up his blanket with his share of the provisions in it, and fastened on his snow-shoes. A few minutes later Robin led the way down the slope, and the whole party marched off in single file, and re-entered the woods. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. INTERESTING THOUGH PUZZLING DISCOVERIES. About eight o'clock they halted for breakfast, which Larry O'Dowd prepared with his accustomed celerity, and assisted to consume with his wonted voracity. "There's nothin' like aitin' when yer hungry," observed Larry, with his mouth full. "'Xcept drinking when you're dry," said Stiff, ironically. "Now I don't agree with ye," retorted Larry; "I used to think so wance, before I left the owld country--my blissin' rest on it. I used to think there was nothin' like drink, an' sure I was right, for there niver _was_ anythin' like it for turnin' a poor man into a baste; but when I comed into the woods here I couldn't get drink for love or money, an' sure I found, after a while, I didn't need it, and got on better widout it, an' enjoyed me life more for want of it. Musha! it's little I care for drink now; but, och! I've a mortal love for aitin'!" It needed not Larry's assurance to convince his hearers of the fact, for he consumed nearly twice as much dried meat as any of his comrades. "Well, if ye don't drink gin-sling or cocktail," said Stiff, "you're mighty hard on the tea." "True for ye, Stiff, it was the fav'rite tipple o' me owld mother, an' I'm fond of it on that score, not to mention other raisins of a private natur'." "Couldn't ye make these reasons public?" said Walter. "Unpossible!" said Larry, with much gravity, as he helped himself to another can of tea. "Come, time's up," said Robin abruptly, as he rose to put on his snow-shoes. Larry swallowed the tea at a draught, the others rose promptly, and in a few minutes more they were again on the march. Towards noon they issued out of the woods upon a wide undulating country, which extended, as far as the eye could see, to faint blue mountains in the distance. This region was varied in character and extremely beautiful. The undulations of the land resembled in some places the waves of the sea. In other places there were clumps of trees like islets. Elsewhere there were hollows in which lakelets and ponds evidently existed, but the deep snow covered all these with a uniform carpet. In some parts the ground was irregular and broken by miniature hills, where there were numerous abrupt and high precipices. The party were approaching one of the latter in the afternoon, when Robin suddenly paused and pointed to a projecting ledge on the face of one of the cliffs. "What would ye say yonder objic' was?" he inquired of Slugs. The hunter shaded his eyes with his hand, and remained silent for a few seconds. "It _looks_ like a sled," said he, dropping his hand, "but how it got thar' would puzzle even a redskin to tell, for there's no track up to that ledge." "It _is_ a sled," said Black Swan, curtly. "An' how came it there?" asked Robin. "It fell from the top," replied the Indian. "Right, lad, yer right!" said Slugs, who had taken another long look at the object in question; "I see somethin' like a broken tree near the top o' the precipice. I hope Wapaw hain't gone an' tumbled over that cliff." This supposition was received in silence and with grave looks, for all felt that the thing was not impossible, but the Indian shook his head. "Come, Black Swan," said Walter, "you don't agree with us--what think ye?" "Wapaw had no sled with him," replied the Indian. "Right again!" cried Slugs; "I do believe my sense is forsakin' me; an Injun baby might have thought of that, for his tracks are plain enough. Hows'ever, let's go see, for it's o' no use standin' here guessin'." The party at once advanced to the foot of the precipice, and for nearly an hour they did their utmost to ascend to the ledge, on which the sledge lay, but their efforts were in vain. The rock was everywhere too steep and smooth to afford foot-hold. "It won't do," said Larry, wiping the perspiration from his brow; "av we had wings we might, but we hain't got 'em, so it's o' no manner o' use tryin'." "We shall try from the top now," said Robin. "If anybody _has_ tumbled over, the poor crittur may be alive yet, for all we know." They found their efforts to descend from the top of the precipice equally fruitless and much more dangerous, and although they spent a long time in the attempt, and taxed their wits to the utmost, they were ultimately compelled to leave the place and continue their journey without attaining their object. One discovery was made, however. It was ascertained by the old marks in the snow at the edge of the precipice that, whatever members of the party who owned the sledge had tumbled over, at least two of them had escaped, for their track--faint and scarcely discernible--was traced for some distance. It was found, also, that Wapaw's track joined this old one. The wounded Indian had fallen upon it not far from the precipice, and, supposing, no doubt, that it would lead him to some encampment, he had followed it up. Robin and his men also followed it--increasing their speed as much as possible. Night began to descend again, but Wapaw was not overtaken, despite the Black Swan's prophecy. This, however, was not so much owing to the miscalculation of the Indian, as to the fact that a great deal of time had been lost in their futile endeavour to reach the sledge that had fallen over the precipice. About sunset they came to a place where the track turned suddenly at a right angle and entered the bushes. "Ha! the first travellers must have camped here, and Wapaw has followed their example," said Robin, as he pushed aside the bushes. "Just so, here's the place, but the ashes are cold, so I fear we are not so near our Injun friend as we could wish." "Well, it can't be helped," cried Stiff, throwing down his bundle; "we've had plenty o' walkin' for one day, so I vote for supper right off." "I second the motion," said Walter, seizing his axe, "seein' that the camp is ready made to hand. Now, Larry, get your pot ready." "Sure it's stuffed full a'ready--an' I only wish I was in the same state," said the Irishman, as he pressed the snow tightly into a tin kettle, and hung it over the fire, which Slugs had just kindled. The supper scene of the previous night was, in most of its details, enacted over again; but it was resolved that each of the party should keep watch for an hour, as, if the Indians had followed, there was a possibility of their having gained on them during the delay at the precipice. Before the watch was set, however, and while all the party were enjoying their pipes after supper, the Black Swan suddenly exclaimed, "Ho!" and pointed with his finger to something which peeped out of the snow at Larry's elbow, that volatile individual having uncovered it during some of his eccentric movements. "It's only an owld mocassin," said Larry, plucking the object from the snow as he spoke; "some Injun lad has throw'd it away for useless." "Hand it here," said Robin, re-lighting his pipe, which had gone out. Larry tossed the mocassin to his leader, who eyed it carelessly for a moment. Suddenly he started, and, turning the mocassin over, examined it with close and earnest attention. Then he smiled, as if at his passing anxiety, and dropped it on the ground. "It reminded me," said he to Walter, "of my Nelly, for it has something of the same shape that she was fond of, an' for a moment I was foolish enough to think it might ha' belonged to the dear child, but--. Come, Larry, have 'ee got any more tea there?" "Is it tay ye want? faix, then, it's little more nor laves that's remainin'," said Larry, draining the last drops into a pannikin; "well, there's about half a mug-full, afther all; it's wonderful what can be got out o' it sometimes by squaazin' the pot." "Hand it over, that's enough," said Robin, "thank 'ee, lad--here's luck." He drained the pannikin as though it had been a glass of rum, and, smacking his lips, proceeded leisurely to refill his pipe. "Are ye sure it's _not_ one of Nelly's old mocassins?" asked Walter, as he eyed the little shoe earnestly. "Sure enough, nephy, I would know her mother's make among ten thousand, an' although that one is oncommon like it in some respec's, it ain't one o' _hers_." "But Nelly might have made it herself," suggested Walter, "and that would account for its bein' like her mother's in the make." Robin shook his head. "Not likely," said he. "The child didn't use to make mocassins. I'm not sure if she could do it at all; besides she was last heard of miles and miles away from here in another direction. No, no, Walter lad, we mustn't let foolish fancies bother us. However, the sight o' this has fixed me to push on to-morrow as hard as I can lay my legs to it, for if Wapaw's alive we can't fail to come up wi' him afore sundown; and I'm keen to turn about an' go after my children. I'll push on by myself if ye don't care to keep up wi me." This latter remark was made to Stiff, whose countenance indicated that he had no desire to undertake a harder day's march than usual. The effect of the remark was to stir up all the Yankee's pride. "I'll tell 'ee what it is, _Mister_ Gore," said he, tartly; "you may think yourself an oncommon hard walker, but Obadiah Stiff is not the man to cave in to any white man alive. I don't care to go trampin' over the country day after day, like the Wandering Jew, after a redskin, as, I'll go bound, ain't no better than the rest o' his kind; but if ye want to see which of our legs is the best pair o' compasses, I'll walk with ye from here to hereafter, I guess, or anywhar else ye choose; if I don't, then my name ain't Stiff." "It would be well av it worn't Stiff, for ye've no reason to be proud o't," observed Larry O'Dowd, with a grin; "don't spake so loud, man, but shut up yer potatie trap and go to roost. Ye'll need it all if ye wouldn't like to fall behind to-morrow. There now, don't reply; ye've no call to make me yer father confessor, and apologise for boastin'; good night, an' go to slape!" The rest of the party, who had lain down, laughed at this sally, and Stiff, on consideration, thought it best to laugh too. In a few minutes every one in the encampment was sound asleep, with the exception of Robin Gore, who took the first hour of watching, and who sat beside the sinking fire like a Indian in earnest meditation, with his eyes resting dreamily on the worn-out mocassin. CHAPTER NINETEEN. SHORT ALLOWANCE, AND A SURPRISE. Once again we return to Silver Lake; but here we do not find affairs as we left them. True, Roy and Nelly are still there, the hut is as snug as it used to be, and the scenery as beautiful, but provisions have begun to fail, and an expression of real anxiety clouds the usually cheerful countenance of Roy, while reflected anxiety sits on the sweet little face of Nell. The winter is far advanced, and the prospect of resuming the journey home is farther off than ever. One morning Roy entered the hut with a slow step and a sad countenance. "Nell," said he, throwing down a small fish which he had just caught, "things look very bad now; seems to me that we'll starve here. Since we broke the long line I've only caught little things like _that_; there's no rabbits in the snares--I looked at every one this mornin'--and, as for deer, they seem to have said good-bye for the winter. I thought of goin' out with the gun this forenoon, but I think it a'nt o' no use, for I was out all yesterday without seeing a feather or a hoof-print." The tone in which Roy said this, and the manner in which he flung himself down on the ground beside the fire, alarmed his sister greatly, so that she scarcely knew what to say. "Don't know what's to be done at all," continued Roy somewhat peevishly. This was so unlike himself that the little girl felt a strong tendency to burst into tears, but she restrained herself. After a short silence, she said somewhat timidly-- "Don't you think we might try to pray?" "What's the use," said Roy quickly; "I'm sure I've prayed often and often, and so have you, but nothin's come of it." It was quite evident that Roy was in a state of rebellion. This was the first time Nelly had suggested _united_ prayer to her brother; she did it timidly, and the rebuff caused her to shrink within herself. Roy's quick eye observed the shrinking; he repented instantly, and, drawing Nelly to him, laid her head on his breast. "Forgive me, Nell, I shouldn't have said it; for, after all, we've had everything given to us here that we have needed up to this time. Come, I _will_ pray with you." They both got upon their knees at once, but, strive as he might, not a word would cross Roy's lips for several minutes. Nelly raised her head and looked at him. "God help us!" he ejaculated. "For Jesus' sake," murmured Nelly. They both said "Amen" to these words, and these were all their prayers. Roy's rebellion of heart was gone now, but his feelings were not yet calmed. He leaped up, and, raising his sister, kissed her almost violently. "Now, lass, we _have_ prayed, and I _do_ believe that God will answer us; so I'll take my gun and snow-shoes, an' off to the woods to look for a deer. See that you have a roarin' fire ready to roast him three hours hence." Nelly smiled through her tears and said she would, while Roy slipped his feet through the lines of his snow-shoes, threw his powder-horn and bullet-pouch over his shoulder, seized his gun, and sallied forth with a light step. When he was gone, Nelly began actively to prepare for the fulfilment of her promise. She took up the axe which Roy had left behind him, and went into the forest behind the hut to cut firewood. She was very expert at this laborious work. Her blows were indeed light, for her little arms, although strong for their size, were not strong for such labour; but she knew exactly where to hit and how to hit. Every stroke fell on the right spot, with the axe at the right angle, so that a chip or two flew off every time. She panted a good deal, and grew uncommonly warm, but she liked the work; her face glowed and her eyes sparkled, and it was evident that she was not exhausted by it. In little more than an hour she had cut enough of dry wood to make a fire that would have roasted an entire sheep. Then she carried it to the hut, after which she sat down to rest a little. While resting, she gathered carefully together all the scraps of food in the hut, and found that there was still enough for two good meals; so she ate a small piece of dried fish, and began to wish that Roy would return. Suddenly she was startled by a loud fluttering noise close to the hut, and went out to see what it could be. It might be supposed that a little girl in such solitary and unprotected circumstances would have felt alarmed, and thought of wolves or bears; but Nelly was too well accustomed to the dangers and risks of the backwoods to be much troubled with mere fancies. She was well aware that wolves and bears, as a rule, shun the presence of human beings, and the noise which she had heard was not of a very alarming character. The first sight that greeted her was a large bird of the grouse species, sitting on a tree not three yards from the hut. She almost felt that by springing forward she could seize it with her hands, and her first impulse was to throw the axe at it; but, checking herself, she went noiselessly back into the hut, and quickly reissued with the bow and a couple of arrows. Fitting an arrow to the string, she whispered to herself, "Oh, how I _do_ hope I won't miss it!" and took a careful aim. Anxiety, however, made her hand unsteady, for, the next moment, the arrow was quivering in the stem of the tree at least three inches below the bird. A look of deep disappointment was mingled with an expression of determination as she pursed her little mouth and fitted the second arrow to the string. This time she did not take so careful an aim, but let fly at once, and her shaft entered the bird's throat and brought it to the ground. With a cry of delight she sprang upon her prize, and bore it in triumph into the hut, where she speedily plucked it. Then she split it open, and went down to the lake and washed it quite clean and spread it out flat. Her next proceeding was to cut a short stick, about two feet in length, which she pointed at both ends, making one point thinner than the other. This thin point she thrust through the bird, and stuck it up before the fire to roast, placing a small dish, made of birch bark, below it to catch the dripping. "I hope he won't come back till it's ready," she muttered, as the skin of the bird began to brown and frizzle, while a delicious odour began to fill the hut. Just as the thought was uttered, a footstep was heard outside, the covering of the doorway was raised, a tall figure stooped to enter, and the next instant a gaunt and half-naked savage stood before her. Nelly uttered a faint cry of terror, but she was so paralysed that she could make no effort to escape, even had escape been possible. The appearance of the Indian was indeed calculated to strike terror to a stouter heart than that of poor Nelly; for besides being partially clad in torn garments, his eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and his whole person was more or less smeared with blood. As the poor child gazed at this apparition in horror, the Indian said, "Ho!" by way of salutation, and stepping forward, took her hand gently and shook it after the manner of the white man. A gleam of intelligence and surprise at once removed the look of fear from Nelly's face. "Wapaw!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "Ho!" replied the Indian, with a nod and a smile, as he laid aside his gun and snowshoes, and squatted himself down before the fire. There was not much to be gathered from "ho!" but the nod and smile proved to Nelly that the intruder was indeed none other than her old friend Wapaw. Her alarm being now removed, she perceived that the poor Indian was suffering both from fatigue and wounds--perhaps from hunger too; but this latter idea was discarded when she observed that several birds, similar to the one she had just killed, hung at the Indian's belt. She rose up quickly, therefore, and, running down to the lake, soon returned with a can of clear water, with which she purposed bathing Wapaw's wounds. Wapaw seized the can, however, and emptied the contents down his throat, so she was constrained to go for a second supply. Having washed the wounds, which were chiefly on the head and appeared to her to be very severe, although, in reality, they were not so, she set the roasted bird before him and desired him to eat. Of course she had put a great many questions to Wapaw while thus occupied. Her residence with the Indians had enabled her to speak and understand the Indian tongue a little, and, although she had some difficulty in understanding much of what Wapaw said in reply, she comprehended enough to let her know that a number of white men had been killed by the savages, and that Wapaw was fleeing for his life. On first hearing this a deadly paleness overspread her face, for she imagined that the white people killed must be her own kindred; but Wapaw quickly relieved her mind on this point. After this he devoted himself entirely to the roasted bird, and Nelly related to him, as well as she could, the particulars of her own and Roy's escape from the Indians. CHAPTER TWENTY. MORE SURPRISING DISCOVERIES. While they were thus occupied, a cry was heard to ring through the forest. The Indian laid his hand on his gun, raised his head, which he turned to one side in a listening attitude, and sat as still as a dark statue. The only motion that could be detected in the man was a slight action in his distended nostrils as he breathed gently. This attitude was but momentary, however, for the cry was repeated ("Hi! Nelly, hi!") in clear silvery tones, and Wapaw smiled as he recognised Roy's voice, and quietly resumed his former occupation. Nelly bounded up at once, and ran out to receive her brother, and tell him of the arrival of their old friend. She slipped on her snow-shoes, and went off in the direction of the cry. On rounding the foot of a cliff she discovered Roy, standing as if he had been petrified, with his eyes glaring at the snow with a mingled look of surprise and alarm. Nelly's step roused him. "Ho! Nell," he cried, giving vent to a deep sigh of relief, "I'm thankful to see you--but look here. What snow-shoe made _this_ track? I came on it just this moment, and it pulled me up slick, I can tell ye." Nelly at once removed Roy's alarm, and increased his surprise by telling him of the new arrival, who, she said, was friendly, but she did not tell him that he was an old friend. "But come, now, what have you got for dinner, Roy?" said Nelly, with an arch smile, "for oh! I'm _so_ hungry." Roy's countenance fell, and he looked like a convicted culprit. "Nell, I haven't got nothin' at all." "_What_ a pity! We must just go supperless to bed, I suppose." "Come, lass, I see by the twinkle in your eye that you've got grub somehow or other. Has the redskin brought some 'at with him?" "Yes, he has brought a little; but the best fun is that I shot a bird myself, and had it all ready beautifully cooked for your supper, when Wap--" "Well, what d'ye mean by Wap?" inquired Roy, as Nelly stopped short. "Nothing. I only meant to say that the Indian arrived suddenly, and ate it all up." "The villain! Well, I'll pay him off by eatin' up some o' _his_ grub. Did he say what his name was, or where he came from?" inquired Roy. "Never mind, you can ask him yourself," said Nelly, as they drew near to the hut; "he seems to me to have been badly wounded by his enemies." They stooped and entered the hut as Nelly spoke. The Indian looked up at her brother, and, uttering his wonted "Ho!" held out his hand. "Good luck to ye!" cried Roy, grasping it and shaking it with a feeling of hearty hospitality. "It's good to see yer face, though it _is_ a strange un; but--hallo!--I say--yer face ain't so strange, after all!-- what! Why, you're not Wap--Wap--Wapaw!" The Indian displayed all his teeth, which were very numerous and remarkably white, and nodded his head gently. "Well now, that beats everything!" cried Roy, seizing the Indian's hand again and shaking it violently; then, turning to Nelly, he said, "Come, Nell, stir yer stumps and pluck two o' them birds. I'll split 'em, an' wash 'em, an' roast 'em, an' we'll all eat 'em--Wapaw'll be ready for more before it's ready for him. Jump, now, and see if we don't have a feast to-night, if we should starve to-morrow. But I say, Wapaw, don't ye think the redskins may be after you yet?" The first part of this speech was uttered in wild glee, but the last sentence was spoken more earnestly, as the thought occurred to him that Wapaw might have been closely pursued, for Nelly had told him of the Indian having been wounded by enemies and obliged to fly. Wapaw shook his head, and made his young friend understand as well as he could that there was little chance of that, as he had travelled with the utmost speed in order to distance his pursuers, and induce them to give up the chase. "Well, it may be as you say, friend," observed Roy, as he sat down before the fire and pulled off his hunting mocassins and socks, which he replaced by lighter foot-gear more suited to the hut; "but I don't much like the notion o' givin' them a chance to come up and cut all our throats at once. It's not likely, however, that they'll be here to-night, considerin' the pace you say you came at, so we'll make our minds easy, but with your leave we'll cut our sticks to-morrow, an' make tracks for Fort Enterprise. We han't got much in the way o' grub to start wi', it is true, but we have enough at least for two days' eatin', and for the rest, we have our guns, and you to be our guide." This plan was agreed to by Wapaw, who thereupon advised that they should all lie down to sleep without delay. Roy, who was fatigued with his day's exertions, agreed, and in less than half an hour the three were sound asleep. Next morning they arose with the sun, much refreshed; and while Wapaw and Nelly collected together and packed on their new sledge the few things that they possessed, Roy went for the last time to cast his line in Silver Lake. He was more fortunate than usual, and returned in an hour with four fine fish of about six pounds' weight each. With this acceptable, though small, addition to their slender stock of provisions, they left the hut about noon, and commenced their journey, making a considerable _detour_ in order to avoid meeting with any of the Indians who might chance to have continued the pursuit of Wapaw. That same evening, towards sunset, a party of hunters marched out of the woods, and stood upon the shores of Silver Lake, the tracks about which they began to examine with particular interest. There were six of the party, five of them being white hunters, and one an Indian. We need scarcely add that they were our friend Robin and his companions. "I tell 'ee what it is," cried Robin, in an excited tone, "that's my Nelly's fut; I'd know the prints o't among a thousand, an' it's quite plain Roy is with her, an' that Wapaw has come on 'em, for their tracks are clear." "Sure it looks like it," observed Larry O'Dowd, scratching his head as if in perplexity, "but the tracks is so mixed up, it ain't aisy to foller 'em." "See, here's a well-beaten track goin' into the wood!" cried Walter, who had, like his companions, been searching among the bushes. Every one followed Walter, who led the way towards the hut, which was finally discovered with a thin, scarcely perceptible line of smoke still issuing from the chimney. They all stopped at once, and held back to allow Robin to advance alone. The poor man went forward with a beating heart, and stopped abruptly at the entrance, where he stood for a few seconds as if he were unable to go in. At length he raised the curtain and looked in; then he entered quickly. "Gone, Walter, they're gone!" he cried; "come in, lad, and see. Here's evidence o' my dear children everywhere. It's plain, too, that they have left only a few hours agone." "True for ye, the fire's hot," said Larry, lighting his pipe from the embers in testimony of the truth of his assertion. "They can't be far off," said Slugs, who was examining every relic of the absent ones with the most minute care. "The less time we lose in follerin' of 'em the better--what think ye, lad?" The Black Swan nodded his approval of the sentiment. "What! without sleep or supper?" cried Stiff, whose enthusiasm in the chase had long ago evaporated. "Ay," said Robin sternly, "_I_ start _now_. Let those stop here who will." To do Stiff justice, his objections were never pressed home, so he comforted himself with a quid of tobacco, and accompanied Robin and his men with dogged resolution when they left the hut. Plunging once more into the forest, they followed up the track all night, as they had already followed it up all day. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. A GLADSOME MEETING. Some hours before dawn Robin Gore came to an abrupt pause, and looking over his shoulder, held up his hand to command silence. Then he pointed to a small mound, on the top of which a faint glow of light was seen falling on the boughs of the shrubs, with which it was crowned. The moon had just set, but there was sufficient light left to render surrounding objects pretty distinct. "That's them," said Robin to Walter, in a low whisper, as the latter came close to his side; "no doubt they're sound asleep, an' I'm puzzled how to wake 'em up without givin' 'em a fright." "Musha! it's a fright that Wapaw will give _us_, av we start him suddenly, for he's murtherin' quick wi' his rifle," whispered Larry. "We'd better hide and then give a howl," suggested Stiff, "an', after they're sot up, bring 'em down with a familiar hail." The deliberations of the party were out short and rendered unnecessary, however, by Wapaw himself. That sharp-eared red man had been startled by the breaking of a branch which Larry O'Dowd chanced to set his foot on, and, before Robin had observed their fire, he had roused Roy and Nelly and hurried with them to the summit of a rocky eminence, from which stronghold they now anxiously watched the proceedings of the hunters. The spot to which they had fled for refuge was almost impregnable, and might have been held for hours by a couple of resolute men against a host of savages. Robin, after a little further consultation, resolved to send the Black Swan in advance to reconnoitre. This he did, contrary to his wonted custom of taking the lead in everything, because of an unaccountable feeling of dread lest he should not find his children there. Black Swan at once stepped cautiously forward with his rifle, ready cocked, in the hollow of his left arm, and his finger on the trigger-guard. Step by step he moved towards the encampment without making the slightest noise, and with so little motion that he might easily have been mistaken for a dark shadow. Raising his head over the edge of the encampment he gazed earnestly into it, then he advanced another pace or two, finally he stepped into it, and, standing erect, looked around him. With a wave of his hand he summoned his comrades to advance. Robin Gore's heart beat hard as he approached, followed by the others. Meanwhile they were closely watched by Roy and Wapaw. When the Black Swan's head appeared, Roy exclaimed in a whisper, "An Injun--d'ye know him, Wapaw?" "He is one of our tribe, I think," replied the Indian, in the same low voice, "but I know him not; the light of the fire is not strong." "If he's one o' your tribe," said Roy, "it's all up with us, for they won't be long o' findin' us here. Keep close to me, Nell. I'll stick by you, lass, don't fear." Wapaw's brows lowered when he saw the Black Swan step into the encampment, and make the signal to his comrades to advance. He raised his rifle, and took deliberate aim at his heart. "Roy," he whispered, "get an arrow ready, aim at the next man that steps into the light and let fly; I'll not fire till after you, for the smoke would blind you." Roy obeyed with a trembling hand. Notwithstanding the rough life he had led in those wild woods of the West, he had never yet been called on to lift his hand against a human being, and the thought of taking life in this deliberate and almost murderous way caused him to shudder; still he felt that their case was desperate, and he nerved himself to the deed. Another moment, and Robin stood beside the Black Swan. Roy tried to raise his bow, but his heart failed him. Wapaw glanced at him, and said sternly-- "Shoot first." At that moment Obadiah Stiff stepped into the encampment, and, stirring the embers of the fire with a piece of stick, caused a bright flame and showers of sparks to shoot upwards. This revealed the fact that some of the party were white men, so Wapaw lowered his rifle. A single glance of his practised eye told him who they were. Laying his hand suddenly and heavily on Roy's shoulder he pressed him down. "Come, let us go," he said quickly; "I must see these men alone, and you must keep close--you _must not look_." He said the latter words with emphasis; but in order to make sure that they should not have a chance of looking, he led his young companions to a point whence the encampment could not be seen, and left them there with strict injunctions not to quit the spot until he should return. In a few seconds Wapaw stepped into the circle of light where Robin and his party were all assembled, and so rapid and noiseless had his movement been, that he was in the midst of them almost before they were aware of his approach. "Wapaw!" exclaimed Walter in surprise, "why, you seem to have dropped from the clouds." "Sure it's a ghost ye must be," cried Larry. The Indian took no notice of these remarks, but turned to Robin, who, with a look of deep anxiety, said-- "Have 'ee seed the childer, Wapaw?" "They are safe," answered the Indian. "Thank God for that!" cried Robin, while a sigh of relief burst from him: "I believe ye, Wapaw, yer a true man an' wouldn't tell me a lie, would ye?" The tone in which the hunter said this implied that the statement was scarcely a true index to his feelings, and that he would be glad to hear Wapaw assure him that he was indeed telling the truth. But this Indian was a man of truthfulness, and did not deem it necessary to repeat his assertion. He said, however, that he would go and fetch the children, and immediately quitted the camp. Soon after he returned with Roy and Nelly; he had not told them, however, who the strangers were. When Roy first caught sight of his father he gave a shout of surprise, and stood still as if he were bewildered. Nelly uttered a wild scream, and rushed forward with outstretched arms. Robin met her more than half way, and the next moment folded his long-lost little one to his bosom. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. AT SILVER LAKE ONCE MORE. It were needless to detail all that was said and done during the remainder of that night, or, rather, morning, for day began to break soon after the happy meeting narrated in the last chapter. It would require more space than we can afford to tell of all that was said and done; how Robin embraced his children over and over again in the strength of his love, and thanked God in the fervour of his gratitude; how Roy and Nelly were eager to relate all that had befallen them since they were carried away into captivity, in a much shorter time than such a long story could by any possibility be told; how Walter rendered the telling of it much more difficult by frequent interruptions with eager questions, which induced divergencies from which the tale-tellers forgot to return to the points where the interruptions occurred; how Larry O'Dowd complicated matters by sometimes volunteering anecdotes of his own, illustrative of points similar to those which were being related; how Slugs always cut these anecdotes short with a facetious poke in the ribs, which caused Larry to howl; how Stiff rendered confusion worse confounded by trying to cook some breakfast, and by upsetting the whole affair into the fire; and how the children themselves broke in on their own discourse continually with sudden and enthusiastic questions as to the health of their mother and the welfare of the live stock at Fort Enterprise. All this cannot be described, therefore we leave it to the vivid imagination of the reader. "Now, comrades," said Robin, after the sun had risen, after breakfast had been and eaten, after every incident had been related at least twice over, and after every conceivable question had been asked four or five times--"now, comrades, it remains for us to fix what we'll do." "To the Fort," said Larry O'Dowd abruptly. "Ay--home!" cried Walter. "Oh yes--home--home!" exclaimed Roy and Nelly in the same breath. "Ditto," observed Obadiah Stiff. Slugs and the Black Swan, being men of few words, said nothing, but nodded approval. "Well, it's quite plain that we're all of one mind," resumed Robin; "nevertheless, there are one or two points to which I ax yer attention. In the first place, it's now near the end of November. Fort Enterprise, in a straight line, is more nor three weeks' march from hereaway. Our provisions is low. When I left the Fort provisions was low there too, an' if my brother Jeff ha'nt had more nor his usual luck in huntin' they'll be lower yet before long. Now, I think it would be better to go back to Silver Lake for a week or so, hunt an' fish there till we've got a good supply, make noo sleds, load 'em chock full, an' then--ho! for home. What say ye to that, comrades?" As every one assented readily to this plan, they proceeded at once to carry it into execution. At first, indeed, Nelly looked a little disappointed, saying that she wanted to get to her darling mother without delay; but, on Walter pointing out to her that it would only delay matters a week or so, and that it would enable the whole party to rest and recruit, and give Wapaw time to recover thoroughly from his wounds, she became reconciled, and put on her snow-shoes to return to Silver Lake with some degree of cheerfulness; and when, in the course of that day's walk, she began to tell her father of all the beauties and wonders of Silver Lake, she was not only reconciled but delighted to return. "O father!" said she, as they walked briskly through the forest, "you've no notion what a beautiful place Silver Lake is. It's so clear, and so--so--oh! I don't know how to tell you; so like the fairy places Walter used to tell us of, with clear water and high cliffs, and the clouds shining up at the clouds shining down, and two suns--one below and another above. And then the hut! we made it all ourselves." "What! made the trees and all?" said Robin, with a smile. "No, of course not the trees; but we _cut_ the trees and piled 'em up, and spread the brush-wood, and--and--then the fish! we caught _such_ big ones." "How big, Nelly?" "Oh, ever so big!" "How big may that be?" "Well, some were so long," (measuring off the size on her arm,) "an' some near as long as my leg--an' they were good to eat too--no good! you've no notion; but you'll see and taste 'em too. Then there's the shooskin'! Did you ever shoosk, father?" "No, lass--leastways I don't remember, if I did." "But you know what it is?" "To be sure, Nelly; ha'nt I seed ye do it often on the slopes at Fort Enterprise?" "Well, the shooskin' here is far, _far_ better. The first time Roy did it, he said it nearly banged all his bones to pieces--yes, he said he felt as if his backbone was shoved up into his brain; and I sometimes thought it would squeeze all my ribs together. Oh, it is _so_ nice! You shall try it, father." Robin laughed heartily at this, and remarked that he would be very glad to try it, though he had no particular desire to have his ribs squeezed together, or his backbone shoved up into his brain! Then Nelly went on with great animation and volubility to tell of the trapping of the bear, and the snaring of rabbits, and the catching of fish, and of Roy's peculiar method of wading into the lake for ducks, and many other things. Roy, meanwhile, entertained Walter and Larry O'Dowd with a somewhat similar account of their doings during the months of their residence in that wild region; and thus the journey was beguiled, so that the time seemed to pass on swallows' wings. Towards evening the party approached the spot where Silver Lake had first burst upon the enraptured gaze of the wandering pair. As they drew near, Roy and Nelly hurried on in advance, and, mounting the fallen tree on which they had formerly rested, waved to the others to come on, and shouted for glee. And well might they shout, for the evening happened to be brighter and calmer, if possible, than the one on which they first saw the lake. The rolling clouds were whiter, too, and the waters looked more silvery than ever. The exclamations of delight, and the looks of admiration with which the glorious scene was greeted by the hunters when they came up, gratified the hearts of Roy and Nelly very much. "Oh, _how_ I wish mother was here to see it!" cried Nelly. "Ain't _that_ a place for a king to live in, daddy?" said Roy, enthusiastically. "So 'tis, lad, so 'tis--leastwise it's a goodish spot for a hunter. How say you, Slugs?" Slugs smiled grimly, and nodded his head. "Would the red man like to pitch his wigwam there?" said Robin, addressing the Black Swan. "He has pitched his wigwam here before," replied the Black Swan softly. "When he first took the White Swan home to be his mate, he came to hunt here." "Och! is it the honeymoon ye spint here?" broke in Larry. "Faix, it's a purty spot for courtin', and no mistake. Is that a beehive over there?" he added, pointing across the lake. "Why that's our hut--our _palace_," cried Nell, with gleeful look. "Then the sooner we get down to it, and have supper, the better," observed Walter, "for we'll have to work hard to-morrow." "Come along, then," cried Robin, "an' go you ahead, Roy; beat the track, and show us the way." Roy accepted the position of honour. Nelly followed him, and the whole band marched off in single file along the shores of Silver Lake. They soon reached the hut, and here again Nelly found many interesting points to dilate upon. She poured her words into willing and sympathetic ears, so that she monopolised nearly all the talk during the time that Larry O'Dowd was preparing supper. When that meal was being eaten the conversation became more general. Plans were discussed as to the intended procedure on the morrow, and various courses of action fixed. After that, as a matter of course, the pipes came out, and while these were being smoked, only the talkative members of the party kept up the conversation at intervals. Roy and Nelly having exhausted all they had to say, began to feel desperately sleepy, and the latter, having laid her head on her father's knee, fell sound asleep in that position. Soon the pipes were smoked out, the fire was replenished, the blankets unrolled; and in a very brief period of time the whole party was in a state of happy unconsciousness, with the exception of poor Wapaw, whose wounds made him rather restless, and the Black Swan, whose duty it was to take the first watch; for it was, deemed right to set a watch, lest by any chance the Indians should have followed the hunters' tracks, though this was not probable. Next morning Robin aroused the sleepers somewhat abruptly by shooting a grey hen with his rifle from the tent door. "There's breakfast for you and me, Nelly, at any rate," remarked the hunter, as he went down to the lake to secure his bird. "An' won't there be the bones and feathers for the rest of us?" observed Larry, yawning, "so we won't starve this day, anyhow." In a few minutes every man was actively engaged in work of some sort or other. Robin and Walter prepared fishing-lines from some pieces of buckskin parchment; Black Swan and Slugs went out to cut wood for making sledges; Stiff repaired the snow-shoes of the party, or rather assisted Nelly in this operation; and Larry attended to the preparation of breakfast. Wapaw was the only one who lay still, it being thought better to make him rest, and get strong for the approaching journey. During the course of the day the lines were tried, and a good number of fish caught. Slugs also went off in search of deer, and returned in the evening with a large stag on his broad shoulders. This raised the spirits of the party greatly, and they feasted that night, with much rejoicing, on venison, marrowbones, and broiled fish! Thus they spent their time for several days. One party went regularly every morning to fish in the ice-holes; another party roamed the woods, and returned with grouse, or rabbits, and sometimes with deer; while some remained, part of the day at least, in the hut, mending snow-shoes and moccasins, and making other preparations. In the midst of all this busy labour, the shoosking was not forgotten. One day Robin said to his little daughter, at breakfast, that as they had got nearly enough of provisions for the journey they would take a holiday and go and have a shoosk. The proposal was hailed with delight, and the whole party went off with the new sledges, and spent the forenoon in sliding and tumbling down the hills like very children. At last everything was ready for a start. The provisions were tightly fastened on the sledges, which were to be drawn by each of the men in turn. Snow-shoes were put on, guns and bows looked to and shouldered, and on a bright, frosty December morning the hunters left the hut, struck into the woods, and set out for Fort Enterprise. At the top of the slope, beside the fallen tree, they stopped with one consent and gazed back; and there Nelly took her last sad look at Silver Lake, and sorrowfully said her last farewell. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. THE HAPPIEST MEETING OF ALL. The snow was driving through the forests and over the plains of the North American wilderness; the wind was shrieking among the tree-tops, and whirling the drift in great clouds high up into the frosty air; and the sun was setting in a glow of fiery red, when, on the last day of the year, Robin Gore and his followers came to an abrupt halt, and, with one consent, admitted that "the thing was impossible." "We can't do it, boys," said Robin, resting his rifle against a tree; "so it's o' no use to try. The Fort is good ten miles off, an' the children are dead beat--" "No they ain't," interrupted Roy, whose tone and aspect, however, proved that his father's statement was true; "at least _I'm_ not beat yet--I'm game for two or three hours more." "Well, lad, p'raps ye are, but Nelly ain't; so we'll camp here, an' take 'em by surprise in the morning early." Nelly, who had been carried on the backs of those who had broadest shoulders during the last dozen miles, smiled faintly when spoken to, and said she was "ve-y s'eepy!" So they set to work in the usual style, and were soon comfortably seated in their snowy encampment. Next morning before dawn Robin awoke them. "Ho!" he cried, "get up, lads, look alive! A happy New Year to 'ee all, young an' old, red an' white. Kiss me, Nell, dear--a shake o' yer paw, Roy. An' it's a good New Year's day, too, in more ways than one, praise the Almighty for that." The whole party was astir immediately, and that feeling of kindly brotherhood which usually pervades the hearts of men on the first day of a new year, induced them to shake hands heartily all round. "You'll eat your New Year's dinner at home, after all," said Walter to Nelly. "Sure, an' it's a happy 'ooman yer mother'll be this good day," said Larry, as he stirred up the embers of the fire, and blew them into a flame. The kettle was boiled, and a good breakfast eaten, because, although it is usually the custom for hunters to start on their day's journey, and accomplish a good many miles of it before breakfast, they had consideration for Roy and Nelly, both of whom were still suffering a little from the fatigue of the previous day. They hoped to be at Fort Enterprise in about four hours, and were anxious to arrive fresh. The sun was rising when they reached the top of a ridge, whence they could obtain a distant view of the Fort. "Here we are _at home_, Nelly," said Robin, stooping down to kiss his child on the forehead. "Darling, _darling_ mother!" was all that poor Nelly could say, as she tried in vain to see the Fort though the tears which sprang to her eyes. "Don't you see it, Nell?" said Roy, passing his arm round his sister's waist. "No, I don't," cried Nelly, brushing the tears away; "oh, _do_ let us go on!" Robin patted her on the had, and at once resumed the march. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ That morning Mrs Gore rose from her bed about the saddest woman in the land. Her mind flew back to the last New Year's day, when her children were lost to her, as she feared, for ever. The very fact that people are usually more jocose, and hearty, and happy, on the first day of the year, was sufficient to make her more sorrowful than usual; so she got up and sighed, and then, not being a woman of great self-restraint, she wept. In a few minutes she dried her eyes, and took up her Bible, and, as she read its blessed pages, she felt comfort--such as the world can neither give nor take away--gradually stealing over her soul. When she met her kinsman and his friends at breakfast she was comparatively cheerful, and returned their hearty salutation with some show of a reciprocal spirit. "Jeff," said Mrs Gore, with a slight sigh, "it's a year, this day, since my two darlings were lost in the snow." "D'ye say so?" observed Jeff, as he sat down to his morning meal, and commenced eating with much voracity. Jeff was not an unkind man, but he was very stupid. He said nothing more for some time, but, after consuming nearly a pound of venison steak, he observed suddenly-- "Wall, I guess it wor a bad business that--worn't it, missus?" "It was," responded Mrs Gore; and, feeling that she had no hope of meeting with sympathy from Jeff, she relapsed into silence. After a time, she said-- "But we must get up a feast, Jeff. It won't do to let New Year's day pass without a good dinner." "That's true as gosp'l," said Jeff. "Feed up is my motto, always. It don't much matter wot turns up, if ye don't feed up yer fit for nothin'; but, contrairy-wise, if ye do feed up, why yer ready for anythin' or nothin', as the case may be." Having given vent to this sentiment, Jeff finished his meal with a prolonged draught of tea. "Wall, now," said he, filling his pipe, "we've got enough o' deer's meat an' other things to make a pretty fair feast, missus, but my comrades and we will go an' try to git somethin' fresh for dinner. If we git nothin' else we'll git a appetite and that's worth a good long march any day; so, lads, if--" Jeff's speech was interrupted here by a sudden and tremendous outburst of barking on the part of the dogs of the establishment. He sprang up and hastened to the door, followed by his companions and Mrs Gore. "Injuns, mayhap; see to your guns, boys, we can niver be sure o' the reptiles." "They're friendly," observed one of Jeff's friends, as they stood at the Fort gate; "enemies never come on in that straightforward fashion." "Not so sure o' that," said Jeff. "I've seen redskins do somethin' o' that kind when they meant mischief; but, if my eyes ain't telling lies, I'd say there were white men there." "Ay, an' young folk, too," remarked one of the others. "Young folk!" exclaimed Mrs Gore, as she shaded her eyes from the sun with her hand, and gazed earnestly at the band which was approaching. Suddenly one of them ran a little in advance of the rest, and waved a handkerchief. The figure was a small one. A faint cheer was heard in the distance. It was followed, or rather accompanied, by a loud, manly, and well-known shout. Mrs Gore grew pale, and would have fallen to the ground had not Jeff caught and supported her. "Why, I _do_ declare it's Robin--an'--eh! if there beant the children wi' 'im!" The advancing party broke into a run as he spoke, another loud cheer burst forth, and in a few seconds Nelly was locked once more in her dear mother's arms. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. CONCLUSION. It is not necessary to say that there was joy--powerful, inexpressible-- within the wooden walls of Fort Enterprise on that New Year's morning, and a New Year's hymn of praise welled up continually from the glad mother's heart, finding expression sometimes in her voice, but oftener in her eyes, as she gazed upon the faces of her dear ones, the lost and found. The flag at Fort Enterprise, which had not flaunted its red field from the flagstaff since the sad day--that day twelve months exactly--when the children were lost, once more waved gaily in the frosty air, and glowed in the beams of the wintry sun. The sound of joyful revelry, which had not been heard within the walls of the Fort for a long, long year, once again burst forth with such energy that one might have been led to suppose its being pent up so long had intensified its power. The huge fireplace roared, and blazed, and crackled, with a log so massive that no other Yule log in the known world could have held a candle to it; and in, on, and around that fire were pots, pans, and goblets innumerable, all of which hissed, and spluttered, and steamed at Larry O'Dowd, as if with glee at the sight of his honest face once again presiding over his own peculiar domain. And the parlour of Fort Enterprise--that parlour which we have mentioned as being Robin's dining-room and drawing-room, besides being his bedroom and his kitchen--was converted into a leafy bower by means of pine branches and festooned evergreens, and laid out for a feast the like of which had not been seen there for many a day, and which was transcendently more magnificent than that memorable New Year's day dinner which had been cooked, but not eaten, just three hundred and sixty-five days before. In short, everything in and about Fort Enterprise bore evidence that its inmates meant to rejoice and make merry on that first day of a new year, as it was meet they should do under such favourable circumstances. Jeff Gore had shot a deer not many days before, and one of its fat haunches was to be the great dish of the feast; but Robin said that it was not enough: so, after the first congratulations were over, he and Walter, and Slugs, and Black Swan, set off into the forest, and ere long returned with several brace of grouse, and a few rabbits. Roy, with a very sly look, had asked leave to go and have a walk on snow-shoes in the woods with Nelly before dinner, but his father threatened to lock him up in the cellar, so he consented to remain at home for that day and assist his mother. "Now, Nelly, you and Roy will come help me to prepare the feast," said Mrs Gore, whose eyes were swollen with joyful weeping till they looked like a couple of inflamed oysters; "not that there's much to do, for, now that Larry is come back, we'll leave everything to him except the pl-plum--poo--poo--ding--oh! _my_ darling!" Here Mrs Gore broke down for the fifteenth time, and, catching Nelly to her bosom, hugged her. "Darling mother!" sighed Nelly. "Och! but it's a sight good for sore eyes, anyhow," exclaimed Larry, looking up from his occupation among the steaming pots and pans. Wapaw, who was the only other member of the party who chose to remain in the house during the forenoon of that day, sat smoking his pipe in the chimney corner, and regarded the whole scene with that look of stoical solemnity which is peculiar to North American Indians. "Come, I say, this'll never do, mother," cried Roy, going to the flour-barrel which stood in a corner. "If we're to help you wi' that 'ere poodin', let's have at it at once." Thus admonished, Mrs Gore and her recovered progeny set to work and fabricated a plum-pudding, which was nearly as hard, almost as heavy as, and much larger than a sixty-four pound cannon ball. It would have killed with indigestion half a regiment of artillery, but it could not affect the hardened frames of these men of the backwoods! In course of time the board was spread, the viands smoked upon it, and the united party set to work. Mrs Gore sat at the head of the table, with Nelly on one side and Roy on the other. Robin sat at the foot, supported by the White Swan on his right, and Wapaw on his left. Ranged between these were Walter, Slugs, the Black Swan, Jeff Gore, Obadiah Stiff, the two other strangers who came with Jeff, and Larry O'Dowd--for Larry acted the part of cook only, and did not pretend to "wait." After he had placed the viands on the table, he sat down with the rest. These backwoodsmen ignored waiters. They passed their plates from hand to hand, and when anything was wanted by any one he rose to fetch it himself. After the plates were cleared away, the tea-kettle was put on the table. In some parts of the backwoods spirits are (fortunately) so difficult to procure, that hunters and trappers live for many months without tasting a drop, and get into the habit of doing entirely without intoxicating drink of any kind. Robin had no spirits except animal spirits, but he had plenty of tea. When it was poured out into huge cups, which might have been styled small slop-basins, and sweetened and passed round, Robin applied his knuckles to the table to command silence. "Friends," said he, "I niver wos much o' a speechifier, but I could always manage to blurt out my meanin' somehow. Wot I've got to say to you this day is, I'm thankful to the Almighty for givin' me back my childer, an' I'm right glad to see ye all under my roof this Noo Year's day, and so's the wife, _I_ know--ain't ye, Molly, my dear?" To this appeal Mrs G replied with a hysterical ye-es, and an application of her apron to the inflamed oysters. Robin continued-- "Well, I'm sorry there ain't nothin' stronger in the fort to give 'ee than tea, but for my part I find it strong enough to keep up my spirits, an' yer all heartily welcome to swig buckets-full o' that. There is an old fiddle in the store. If any o' ye can scrape a tune, we'll have a dance. If not, why we'll sing and be jolly." This speech was followed up by another from Obadiah Stiff, who, with a countenance of the deepest solemnity, requested permission to make a few brief observations. "Friends," said he, turning the quid of tobacco which usually graced his right cheek into his left, "it's not every day a man's got a chance o'-- o' wot I was a-goin' to obsarve is, that men who are so much indebted to their much-respected host as--as (Nelly happened to sneeze at this point, and distracted Stiff's attention) as--yes, I guess we ha'nt often got the chance to chase the redskins, and--and--. In short, without makin' an onnecessairy phrase about it--I'm happy to say that _I_ can play the fiddle, so here's luck." Mr Stiff sat down abruptly and drained his cup at a draught. "Pr'aps," said Larry, with a twinkle in his eye, "Mister Stiff would favour the company wi' a song before we commence to cut capers." "Hear, hear!" from Walter. "Hurrah!" from Roy. Mr Stiff cleared his throat and began at once. The tune was so dolorous, and the voice so unmusical, that in any other circumstances it would have been intolerable, but there were lines in it touching upon "good fellowship," which partially redeemed it, and in the last verse there was reference made to "home," and "absent friends," which rendered it a complete success, insomuch that it was concluded amid rapturous cheering, so true is it, as Walter observed, that, "one touch of nature covers a multitude of sins!" "Let's drink to absent friends an' owld Ireland," cried Larry, filling his cup and pushing the kettle round. This was drunk with enthusiasm and was followed by a succession of toasts and songs, which were drunk and sung not at the table, but round the fire, to which the party withdrew in order to enjoy their pipes more thoroughly. Then followed a number of anecdotes of stories--some true, some doubtful, and some fabricated--which were listened to with deep interest, not only by Roy and Nelly, but by the whole party, including the Indians, who listened intently, with faces like owls, although they did not understand a word that was said. Many of these stories were so touching that poor Mrs Gore's eyes became more inflamed and more oyster-like than ever. Nelly, too, became sympathetic, and her eyes were similarly affected. When the evening was pretty well advanced, the violin was sent for and tuned, and Stiff turned out to be a very fair player of Scotch reels; so the party laid aside their pipes, cleared the floor, and began to dance. It was rough but hearty dancing. Each dancer composed his own steps on the spur of the moment, but executed them with a degree of precision and violence that would have caused civilised dancing masters to blush with shame and envy. Mrs Gore and Nelly danced too, weeping the while with joy, and so did the White Swan, but her performances were peculiar. She danced with a slowness of manner and a rigidity of person that are utterly indescribable. She looked as if all her joints had become inflexible, except those of her knees, and her arms hung straight down at her sides, while she pendulated about the floor and gazed at the rafters in deep solemnity. How they did keep it up, to be sure! Men of the backwoods find it no easy matter to fatigue their muscles or exhaust their spirits, so they danced all night, and a considerable portion of next morning too. Long before they gave in, however, the females were obliged to retire. They lay down on their rude couches without taking the trouble to undress, and in a few moments after were sound asleep--Nelly locked in her mother's arms, with their two cheeks touching, their dishevelled hair mingling, and a few tears welling from their inflamed eyes, and mixing as they flowed slowly down their united noses. Sleeping thus, the mother dreamed of home, and Nelly dreamed of Silver Lake. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Reader, our tale is told. We have not space to tell of what befell Robin Gore and his family in after life, but we may remark, in conclusion, that although Robin stoutly refused to go back to civilisation, in the course of a few years civilisation considerately advanced to him, and the wild region, which was once a dense forest around Fort Enterprise, finally became (to Mrs Gore's inexpressible joy) a flourishing settlement, in which were heard the sounds of human industry, and the tinkle of the Sabbath bell. 
21707	----	UNGAVA, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. Introduction. The following story is intended to illustrate one of the many phases of the fur-trader's life in those wild regions of North America which surround Hudson's Bay. Most of its major incidents are facts--fiction being employed chiefly for the purpose of weaving these facts into a readable form. If this volume should chance to fall into the hands of any of those who acted a part in the first settlement of Ungava, we trust that they will forgive the liberty that has been taken with their persons and adventures, remembering that transpositions, modifications, and transformations are necessary in constructing a tale out of the "raw material." We take this opportunity of expressing to the Leader of the adventurous band our grateful acknowledgements for his kindness in placing at our disposal the groundwork on which this story has been reared. R.M. Ballantyne. CHAPTER ONE. THE FOREST, AND THE LEADERS OF THE FOLORN-HOPE--A GOOD SHOT--A CONSULTATION--AN ICE-FLOE, AND A NARROW CHANCE OF ESCAPE IN A SMALL WAY. "Hallo! where are you!" shouted a voice that rang through the glades of the forest like the blast of a silver trumpet, testifying to lungs of leather and a throat of brass. The ringing tones died away, and naught was heard save the rustling of the leafy canopy overhead, as the young man, whose shout had thus rudely disturbed the surrounding echoes, leaned on the muzzle of a long rifle, and stood motionless as a statue, his right foot resting on the trunk of a fallen tree, and his head bent slightly to one side, as if listening for a reply. But no reply came. A squirrel ran down the trunk of a neighbouring pine, and paused, with tail and ears erect, and its little black eyes glittering as if with surprise at the temerity of him who so recklessly dared to intrude upon and desecrate with his powerful voice the deep solitudes of the wilderness. They stood so long thus that it seemed as though the little animal and the man had been petrified by the unwonted sound. If so, the spell was quickly broken. The loud report of a fowling-piece was heard at a short distance. The squirrel incontinently disappeared from the spot on which it stood, and almost instantaneously reappeared on the topmost branch of a high tree; while the young man gave a smile of satisfaction, threw the rifle over his shoulder, and, turning round, strode rapidly away in the direction whence the shot proceeded. A few minutes' walk brought him to the banks of a little brook, by the side of which, on the projecting root of a tree, sat a man, with a dead goose at his feet and a fowling-piece by his side. He was dressed in the garb of a hunter; and, from the number of gray hairs that shone like threads of silver among the black curls on his temples, he was evidently past the meridian of life--although, from the upright bearing of his tall, muscular frame, and the quick glance of his fearless black eye, it was equally evident that the vigour of his youth was not yet abated. "Why, Stanley," exclaimed the young man as he approached, "I've been shouting till my throat is cracked, for at least half an hour. I verily began to think that you had forsaken me altogether." "In which case, Frank," replied the other, "I should have treated you as you deserve, for your empty game-bag proves you an unworthy comrade in the chase." "So, so, friend, do not boast," replied the youth with a smile; "if I mistake not, that goose was winging its way to the far north not ten minutes agone. Had I come up half an hour sooner, I suspect we should have met on equal terms; but the fact is that I have not seen hair or feather, save a tree-squirrel, since I left you in the morning." "Well, to say truth, I was equally unfortunate until I met this luckless goose, and fired the shot that brought him down and brought you up. But I've had enough o' this now, and shall back to the fort again. What say you? Will you go in my canoe or walk?" The young man was silent for a few seconds; then, without replying to his companion's question, he said,--"By-the-bye, is it not to-night that you mean to make another attempt to induce the men to volunteer for the expedition!" "It is," replied Stanley, with a alight frown. "And what if they still persist in refusing to go?" "I'll try once more to shame them out of their cowardice. But if they won't agree, I'll compel them to go by means of more powerful arguments than words." "'Tis not cowardice; you do the men injustice," said Frank, shaking his head. "Well, well, I believe I do, lad; you're right," replied Stanley, while a smile smoothed out the firm lines that had gathered round his lips for a few seconds. "No doubt they care as little for the anticipated dangers of the expedition as any men living, and they hesitate to go simply because they know that the life before them will be a lonely one at such an out-o'-the-way place as Ungava. But we can't help that, Frank; the interests of the Company must be attended to, and so go they _must_, willing or not willing. But I'm annoyed at this unexpected difficulty, for there's a mighty difference between men who volunteer to go and men who go merely because they must and can't help it." The young man slowly rubbed the stock of his rifle with the sleeve of his coat, and looked as if he understood and sympathised with his friend's chagrin. "If Prince were only here just now," said he, looking up, "there would be no difficulty in the matter. These fellows only want a bold, hearty comrade to step forward and show them the way, and they will follow to the North Pole if need be. They look upon our willingness to go as a mere matter of course, though I don't see why we should be expected to like banishment more than themselves. But if Prince were--" "Well, well, Prince is _not_ here, so we must do the best we can without him," said Stanley. As he spoke, the trumpet note of a goose was heard in the distance. "There he goes!--down with you!" exclaimed Frank, darting suddenly behind the stump of the tree, while his companion crouched beside him, and both began to shout at the top of their voices in imitation of the goose. The bird was foolish enough to accept the invitation immediately, although, had it been other than a goose, it would have easily recognised the sound as a wretched counterfeit of the goose language. It flew directly towards them, as geese always do in spring when thus enticed, but passed at such a distance that the elder sportsman was induced to lower his piece. "Ah! he's too far off. You'd better give him a shot with the rifle, Frank; but you're sure to miss." "To hit, you mean," cried his companion, flushing with momentary indignation at this disparaging remark. At the same moment he took a rapid aim and fired. For a few yards the goose continued its forward flight as if unhurt; then it wavered once or twice, and fell heavily to the ground. "Bravo, boy!" cried Stanley. "There, don't look nettled; I only jested with you, knowing your weakness on the score of rifle-shooting. Now, pick up your bird, and throw it into the canoe, for I must away." Frank finished reloading his piece as his friend spoke, and went to pick up the goose; while the other walked down to the edge of the rivulet, and disengaged a light birch-bark canoe from the long grass and sedges that almost hid it from view. "Make haste, Frank!" he shouted; "there's the ice coming up with the flood-tide, and bearing down on the creek here." At a short distance from the spot where the sportsmen stood, the streamlet already alluded to mingled its waters with a broad river, which, a few miles farther down, flows into James's Bay. As every one knows, this bay lies to the south of Hudson's Bay, in North America. Here the river is about two miles wide; and the shores on either side being low, it has all the appearance of an extensive lake. In spring, after the disruption of the ice, its waters are loaded with large floes and fields of ice; and later in the season, after it has become quite free from this wintry encumbrance, numerous detached masses come up with every flood-tide. It was the approach of one of these floes that called forth Stanley's remark. The young man replied to it by springing towards the canoe, in which his companion was already seated. Throwing the dead bird into it, he stooped, and gave the light bark a powerful shove into the stream, exclaiming, as he did so, "There, strike out, you've no time to lose, and I'll go round by the woods." There was indeed no time to lose. The huge mass of ice was closing rapidly into the mouth of the creek, and narrowing the only passage through which the canoe could escape into the open water of the river beyond. Stanley might, indeed, drag his canoe up the bank, if so disposed, and reach home by a circuitous walk through the woods; but by doing so he would lose much time, and be under the necessity of carrying his gun, blanket, tin kettle, and the goose, on his back. His broad shoulders were admirably adapted for such a burden, but he preferred the canoe to the woods on the present occasion. Besides, the only risk he ran was that of getting his canoe crushed to pieces. So, plunging his paddle vigorously in the water, he shot through the lessening channel like an arrow, and swept out on the bosom of the broad river just as the ice closed with a crash upon the shore and ground itself to powder on the rocks. "Well done!" shouted Frank, with a wave of his cap, as he witnessed the success of his friend's exploit. "All right," replied Stanley, glancing over his shoulder. In another moment the canoe disappeared behind a group of willows that grew on the point at the river's mouth, and the young man was left alone. For a few minutes he stood contemplating the point behind which his companion had disappeared; then giving a hasty glance at the priming of his rifle, he threw it across his shoulder, and striding rapidly up the bank, was soon lost to view amid the luxuriant undergrowth of the forest. CHAPTER TWO. HEADQUARTERS--THE MEN--DISPUTATION AND UNCERTAINTY--NEW USES FOR THE SKINS OF DEAD BOYS!--MUTINOUS RESOLVES. Moose Fort, the headquarters and depot of the fur-traders, who prosecute their traffic in almost all parts of the wild and uninhabited regions of North America, stands on an island near the mouth of Moose River. Like all the establishments of the fur-traders, it is a solitary group of wooden buildings, far removed beyond the influences--almost beyond the ken--of the civilised world, and surrounded by the primeval wilderness, the only tenants of which were, at the time we write of, a few scattered tribes of Muskigon Indians, and the wild animals whose flesh furnished them with food and whose skins constituted their sole wealth. There was little of luxury at Moose Fort. The walls of the houses within the stockade, that served more as an ornament than a defence, were of painted, in some cases unpainted, planks. The floors, ceilings, chairs, tables, and, in short, all the articles of furniture in the place, were made of the same rough material. A lofty scaffolding of wood rose above the surrounding buildings, and served as an outlook, whence, at the proper season, longing eyes were wont to be turned towards the sea in expectation of "the ship" which paid the establishment an annual visit from England. Several large iron field-pieces stood before the front gate; but they were more for the sake of appearance than use, and were never fired except for the purpose of saluting the said ship on the occasions of her arrival and departure. The first boom of the cannon unlocks the long-closed portals of connection between Moose Fort and England; the second salvo shuts them up again in their frozen domains for another year! A century and a half ago, the band of "adventurers trading into Hudson's Bay" felled the first trees and pitched their tents on the shores of James's Bay, and successive generations of fur-traders have kept the post until the present day; yet there is scarcely a symptom of the presence of man beyond a few miles round the establishment. Years ago the fort was built, and there it stands now, with new tenants, it is true, but in its general aspect unchanged; and there it is likely to remain, wrapped in its barrier of all but impregnable solitude, for centuries to come. Nevertheless, Moose is a comfortable place in its way, and when contrasted with other trading establishments is a very palace and temple of luxury. There are men within its walls who can tell of log-huts and starvation, solitude and desolation, compared with which Moose is a terrestrial paradise. Frank Morton, whom we have introduced in the first chapter, said, on his arrival at Moose, that it appeared to him to be the very fag-end of creation. He had travelled night and day for six weeks from what he considered the very outskirts of civilisation, through uninhabited forests and almost unknown rivers, in order to get to it; and while the feeling of desolation that overwhelmed him on his first arrival was strong upon him, he sighed deeply, and called it a "horrid dull hole." But Frank was of a gay, hearty, joyous disposition, and had not been there long ere he loved the old fort dearly. Poor fellow! far removed though he was from his fellow-men at Moose, he afterwards learned that he had but obtained an indistinct notion of the signification of the word "solitude." There were probably about thirty human beings at Moose, when Mr George Stanley, one of the principal fur-traders of the place, received orders from the governor to make preparations, and select men, for the purpose of proceeding many hundred miles deeper into the northern wilderness, and establishing a station on the distant, almost unknown, shores of Ungava Bay. No one at Moose had ever been there before; no one knew anything about the route, except from the vague report of a few Indians; and the only thing that was definitely known about the locality at all was, that its inhabitants were a few wandering tribes of Esquimaux, who were at deadly feud with the Indians, and generally massacred all who came within their reach. What the capabilities of the country were, in regard to timber and provisions, nobody knew, and, fortunately for the success of the expedition, nobody cared! At least those who were to lead the way did not; and this admirable quality of total indifference to prospective dangers is that which, to a great extent, insures success in a forlorn hope. Of the leaders of this expedition the reader already knows something. George Stanley was nearly six feet high, forty years of age, and endued with a decision of character that, but for his quiet good humour, would have been deemed obstinacy. He was deliberate in all his movements, and exercised a control over his feelings that quite concealed his naturally enthusiastic disposition. Moreover, he was married, and had a daughter of ten years of age. This might be thought a disadvantage in his present circumstances; but the governor of the fur-traders, a most energetic and active ruler, thought otherwise. He recommended that the family should be left at Moose until an establishment had been built, and a winter passed at Ungava. Afterwards they could join him there. As for Frank Morton, he was an inch taller than his friend Stanley, and equally powerful; fair-haired, blue-eyed, hilarious, romantic, twenty-two years of age, and so impulsive that, on hearing of the proposed expedition from one of his comrades, who happened to be present when Stanley was reading the dispatches, he sprang from his chair, which he upset, dashed out at the door, which he banged, and hurried to his friend's quarters in order to be first to volunteer his services as second in command; which offer was rendered unnecessary by Stanley's exclaiming, the moment he entered his room-- "Ha, Frank, my lad, the very man I wanted to see! Here's a letter from headquarters ordering me off on an expedition to Ungava. Now, I want volunteers; will you go!" It is needless to add that Frank's blue eyes sparkled with animation as he seized his friend's hand and replied, "To the North Pole if you like, or farther if need be!" It was evening. The sun was gilding the top of the flagstaff with a parting kiss, and the inhabitants of Moose Fort, having finished their daily toil, were making preparations for their evening meal. On the end of the wharf that jutted out into the stream was assembled a picturesque group of men, who, from the earnest manner in which they conversed, and the energy of their gesticulations, were evidently discussing a subject of more than ordinary interest. Most of them were clad in corduroy trousers, gartered below the knee with thongs of deer-skin, and coarse, striped cotton shirts, open at the neck, so as to expose their sunburnt breasts. A few wore caps which, whatever might have been their original form, were now so much soiled and battered out of shape by long and severe service that they were nondescript; but most of these hardy backwoodsmen were content with the covering afforded by their thick, bushy locks. "No, no," exclaimed a short, thick-set, powerful man, with a somewhat ascetic cast of countenance; "I've seen more than enough o' these rascally Huskies [Esquimaux]. 'Tis well for me that I'm here this blessed day, an' not made into a dan to bob about in Hudson's Straits at the tail of a white whale, like that poor boy Peter who was shot by them varmints." "What's a dan?" asked a young half-breed who had lately arrived at Moose, and knew little of Esquimau implements. "What a green-horn you must be, Francois, not to know what a dan is!" replied another, who was inclined to be quizzical. "Why, it's a sort of sea-carriage that the Esquimaux tie to the tail of a walrus or sea-horse when they feel inclined for a drive. When they can't get a sea-horse they catch a white whale asleep, and wake him up after fastening the dan to his tail. I suppose they have conjurers or wizards among them, since Massan told us just now that poor Peter was--" "Bah! gammon," interrupted Francois with a smile, as he turned to the first speaker. "But tell me, Massan, what is a dan?" "It's a sort o' float or buoy, lad, used by the Huskies, and is made out o' the skin o' the seal. They tie it with a long line to their whale spears to show which way the fish bolts when struck." "And did they use Peter's skin for such a purpose?" inquired Francois earnestly. "They did," replied Massan. "And did you see them do it?" "Yes, I did." Francois gazed intently into his comrade's face as he spoke; but Massan was an adept at what is usually called drawing the long bow, and it was with the most imperturbable gravity that he continued-- "Yes, I saw them do it; but I could not render any assistance to the poor child, for I was lying close behind a rock at the time, with an arrow sticking between my shoulders, and a score o' them oily varmints a-shoutin', and yellin', and flourishing their spears in search o' me." "Tell us how it happened, Massan. Let's hear the story," chorused the men, as they closed round their comrade. "Well then," began the stout backwoodsman, proceeding leisurely to fill his pipe from an ornamented bag that hung at his belt, "here goes. It was about the year--a--I forget the year, but it don't matter--that we were ordered off on an expedition to the Huskies; 'xactly sich a one as they wants us to go on now, and--but you've heerd o' that business, lads, haven't you?" "Yes, yes, we've heard all about it; go on." "Well," continued Massan, "I needn't be wastin' time tellin' you how we failed in that affair, and how the Huskies killed some of our men and burnt our ship to the water's edge. After it was all over, and they thought they had killed us all, I was, as I said, lyin' behind a great rock in a sort o' cave, lookin' at the dirty villains as they danced about on the shore, and took possession of all our goods. Suddenly I seed two o' them carry Peter down to the beach, an' I saw, as they passed me, that he was quite dead. In less time than I can count a hundred they took the skin off him, cut off his head, sewed up the hole, tied his arms and legs in a knot, blew him full o' wind till he was fit to bu'st, an' then hung him up to dry in the sun! In fact, they made a _dan_ of him!" A loud shout of laughter greeted this startling conclusion. In truth, we must do Massan the justice to say, that although he was much in the habit of amusing his companions by entertaining them with anecdotes which originated entirely in his own teeming fancy, he never actually _deceived_ them, but invariably, either by a sly glance or by the astounding nature of his communication, gave them to understand that he was dealing not with fact but fiction. "But seriously, lads," said Francois, whose intelligence, added to a grave, manly countenance and a tall, muscular frame, caused him to be regarded by his comrades as a sort of leader both in action and in council, "what do you think of our bourgeois' plan? For my part, I'm willing enough to go to any reasonable part o' the country where there are furs and Indians; but as for this Ungava, from what Massan says, there's neither Indians, nor furs, nor victuals--nothin' but rocks, and mountains, and eternal winter; and if we do get the Huskies about us, they'll very likely serve us as they did the last expedition to Richmond Gulf." "Ay, ay," cried one of the others, "you may say that, Francois. Nothin' but frost and starvation, and nobody to bury us when we're dead." "Except the Huskies," broke in another, "who would save themselves the trouble by converting us all into dans!" "Tush, man! stop your clapper," cried Francois, impatiently; "let us settle this business. You know that Monsieur Stanley said he would expect us to be ready with an answer to-night.--What think you, Gaspard? Shall we go, or shall we mutiny?" The individual addressed was a fine specimen of an animal, but not by any means a good specimen of a man. He was of gigantic proportions, straight and tall as a poplar, and endowed with the strength of a Hercules. His glittering dark eyes and long black hair, together with the hue of his skin, bespoke him of half-breed extraction. But his countenance did not correspond to his fine physical proportions. True, his features were good, but they wore habitually a scowling, sulky expression, even when the man was pleased, and there was more of sarcasm than joviality in the sound when Gaspard condescended to laugh. "I'll be shot if I go to such a hole for the best bourgeois in the country," said he in reply to Francois' question. "You'll be dismissed the service if you don't," remarked Massan with a smile. To this Gaspard vouchsafed no reply save a growl that, to say the best of it, did not sound amiable. "Well, I think that we're all pretty much of one mind on the point," continued Francois; "and yet I feel half ashamed to refuse after all, especially when I see the good will with which Messieurs Stanley and Morton agree to go." "I suppose _you_ expect to be a bourgeois too some day," growled Gaspard with a sneer. "Eh, tu gros chien!" cried Francois, as with flashing eyes and clinched fists he strode up to his ill-tempered comrade. "Come, come, Francois; don't quarrel for nothing," said Massan, interposing his broad shoulders and pushing him vigorously back. At that moment an exclamation from one of the men diverted the attention of the others. "Voila! the canoe." "Ay, it's Monsieur Stanley's canoe. I saw him and Monsieur Morton start for the swamp this morning." "I wonder what Dick Prince would have done in this business had he been here," said Francois to Massan in a low tone, as they stood watching the approach of their bourgeois' canoe. "Can't say. I half think he would have gone." "There's no chance of him coming back in time, I fear." "None; unless he prevails on some goose to lend him a pair of wings for a day or two. He won't be back from the hunt for three weeks good." In a few minutes more the canoe skimmed up to the wharf. "Here, lads," cried Mr Stanley, as he leaped ashore and dragged the canoe out of the water; "one of you come and lift this canoe up the bank, and take these geese to the kitchen." Two of the men instantly hastened to obey, and Stanley, with the gun and paddles under his arm, proceeded towards the gateway of the fort. As he passed the group assembled on the wharf, he turned and said-- "You'll come to the hall in an hour, lads; I shall expect you to be ready with an answer by that time." "Ay, ay, sir," replied several of the men. "But we won't go for all your expectations," said one in an undertone to a comrade. "I should think not," whispered another. "I'll be hanged, and burnt, and frozen if _I_ do," said a third. In the meantime Mr Stanley walked briskly towards his dwelling, and left the men to grumble over their troubles and continue their debate as to whether they should or should not agree to go on the pending expedition to the distant regions of Ungava. CHAPTER THREE. SHOWS HOW STANLEY DEIGNED TO CONSULT WITH WOMANKIND--THE OPINIONS OF A CHILD DEVELOPED--PERSUASION FAILS--EXAMPLE TRIUMPHS--THE FIRST VOLUNTEERS TO UNGAVA. On reaching his apartment, which was in an angle of the principal edifice in the fort, Mr Stanley flung down his gun and paddles, and drawing a chair close to his wife, who was working with her needle near a window, took her hand in his and heaved a deep sigh. "Why, George, that's what you used to say to me when you were at a loss for words in the days of our courtship." "True, Jessie," he replied, patting her shoulder with a hand that rough service had rendered hard and long exposure had burnt brown. "But the producing cause then was different from what it is now. _Then_ it was love; _now_ it is perplexity." Stanley's wife was the daughter of English parents, who had settled many years ago in the fur countries. Being quite beyond the reach of any school, they had been obliged to undertake the instruction of their only child, Jessie, as they best could. At first this was an easy matter, but as years flew by, and little Jessie's mind expanded, it was found to be a difficult matter to carry on her education in a country in most parts of which books were not to be had and schoolmasters did not exist. When the difficulty first presented itself, they talked of sending their little one to England to finish her education; but being unable to bring themselves to part with her, they resolved to have a choice selection of books sent out to them. Jessie's mother was a clever, accomplished, and lady-like woman, and decidedly pious, so that the little flower, which was indeed born to blush unseen, grew up to be a gentle, affectionate woman--one who was a lady in all her thoughts and actions, yet had never seen polite society, save that of her father and mother. In process of time Jessie became Mrs Stanley, and the mother of a little girl whose voice was, at the time her father entered, ringing cheerfully in an adjoining room. Mrs Stanley's nature was an earnest one, and she no sooner observed that her husband was worried about something, than she instantly dropped the light tone in which she at first addressed him. "And what perplexes you now, dear George?" she said, laying down her work and looking up in his face with that straightforward, earnest gaze that in days of yore had set the stout backwoodsman's heart on fire, and still kept it in a perennial blaze. "Nothing very serious," he replied with a smile; "only these fellows have taken it into their stupid heads that Ungava is worse than the land beyond the Styx; and so, after the tough battle that I had with you this morning in order to prevail on you to remain here for a winter without me, I've had to fight another battle with them in order to get them to go on this expedition." "Have you been victorious?" inquired Mrs Stanley. "No, not yet." "Do you really mean to say they are _afraid_ to go? Has Prince refused? are Francois, Gaspard, and Massan cowards?" she inquired, her eye kindling with indignation. "Nay, my wife, not so. These men are not cowards; nevertheless they don't feel inclined to go; and as for Dick Prince, he has been off hunting for a week, and I don't expect him back for three weeks at least, by which time we shall be off." Mrs Stanley sighed, as if she felt the utter helplessness of woman in such affairs. "Why, Jessie, that's what you used to say to me when you were at a loss for words in the days of our courtship," said Stanley, smiling. "Ah, George, like you I may say that the cause is now perplexity; for what can _I_ do to help you in your present difficulty?" "Truly not much. But I like to tell you of my troubles, and to make more of them than they deserve, for the sake of drawing forth your sympathy. Bless your heart!" he said, in a sudden burst of enthusiasm, "I would gladly undergo any amount of trouble every day, if by so doing I should secure that earnest, loving, anxious gaze of your sweet blue eyes as a reward!" Stanley imprinted a hearty kiss on his wife's cheek as he made this lover-like speech, and then rose to place his fowling-piece on the pegs from which it usually hung over the fireplace. At that moment the door opened, and a little girl, with bright eyes and flaxen hair, bounded into the room. "O mamma, mamma!" she said, holding up a sheet of paper, while a look of intense satisfaction beamed on her animated countenance, "see, I have drawn Chimo's portrait. Is it like, mamma? Do you think it like?" "Come here, Eda, my darling, come to me," said Stanley, seating himself on a chair and extending his arms. Edith instantly left the portrait of the dog in her mother's possession, and, without waiting for an opinion as to its merits, ran to her father, jumped on his knee, threw her arms round his neck, and kissed him. Edith was by no means a beautiful child, but miserable indeed must have been the taste of him who would have pronounced her plain-looking. Her features were not regular; her nose had a strong tendency to what is called snubbed, and her mouth was large; but to counterbalance these defects she had a pair of large, deep-blue eyes, soft, golden hair, a fair, rosy complexion, and an expression of sweetness at the corners of her mouth that betrayed habitual good-nature. She was quick in all her movements, combined with a peculiar softness and grace of deportment that was exceedingly attractive. "Would you like to go, my pet," said her father, "to a country far, far away in the north, where there are high mountains and deep valleys, inhabited by beautiful reindeer, and large lakes and rivers filled with fish; where there is very little daylight all the long winter, and where there is scarcely any night all the long, bright summer? Would my Eda like to go there?" The child possessed that fascinating quality of being intensely interested in all that was said to her. As her father spoke, her eyes gradually expanded and looked straight into his, while her head turned slowly and very slightly to one side. As he concluded, she replied, "Oh! very, very, _very_ much indeed," with a degree of energy that made both her parents laugh. "Ah, my darling! would that my lazy men were endued with some of your spirit," said Stanley, patting the child's head. "Is Prince a lazy man, papa?" inquired Edith anxiously. "No, certainly, Prince is not. Why do you ask?" "Because I love Prince." "And do you not love all the men?" "No," replied Edith, with some hesitation; "at least I don't love them _very_ much, and I hate one." "Hate one!" echoed Mrs Stanley. "Come here, my darling." Eda slipped from her father's knee and went to her mother, feeling and looking as if she had said something wrong. Mrs Stanley was not one of those mothers who, whenever they hear of their children having done anything wrong, assume a look of intense, solemnised horror, that would lead an ignorant spectator to suppose that intelligence had just been received of some sudden and appalling catastrophe. She knew that children could not be deceived by such pieces of acting. She expressed on her countenance precisely what she felt--a slight degree of sorrow that her child should cherish an evil passion, which, she knew, existed in her heart in common with all the human race, but which she expected, by God's help and blessing, to subdue effectually at last. Kissing Eda's forehead she said kindly,--"Which of them do you hate, darling?" "Gaspard," replied the child. "And why do you hate him?" "Because he struck my dog," said Eda, while her face flushed and her eyes sparkled; "and he is always rude to everybody, and very, _very_ cruel to the dogs." "That is very wrong of Gaspard; but, dearest Eda, do you not remember what is written in God's Word,--`Love your enemies?' It is wrong to _hate_ anybody." "I know that, mamma, and I don't wish to hate Gaspard, but I can't help it. I wish if I didn't hate him, but it _won't_ go away." "Well, my pet," replied Mrs Stanley, pressing the child to her bosom, "but you must pray for him, and speak kindly to him when you meet him, and that will perhaps put it away. And now let us talk of the far-off country that papa was speaking about. I wonder what he has to tell you about it." Stanley had been gazing out of the window during the foregoing colloquy, apparently inattentive, though, in reality, deeply interested in what was said. Turning round, he said-- "I was going to tell Eda that you had arranged to follow me to that country next year, and that perhaps you would bring her along with you." "Nay, George, you mistake. I did not arrange to do so--you only proposed the arrangement; but, to say truth, I don't like it, and I can't make up my mind to let you go without us. I cannot wait till next year." "Well, well, Jessie, I have exhausted all my powers of persuasion. I leave it entirely to yourself to do as you think best." At this moment the sound of deep voices was heard in the hall, which was separated from Stanley's quarters by a thin partition of wood. In a few seconds the door opened, and George Barney, the Irish butler and general factotum to the establishment, announced that the "min wos in the hall awaitin'." Giving Eda a parting kiss, Stanley rose and entered the hall, where Francois, Massan, Gaspard, and several others were grouped in a corner. On their bourgeois entering, they doffed their bonnets and bowed. "Well, lads," began Stanley, with a smile, "you've thought better of it, I hope, and have come to volunteer for this expedition--" He checked himself and frowned, for he saw by their looks that they had come with quite a different intention. "What have you to say to me?" he continued abruptly. The men looked uneasily at each other, and then fixed their eyes on Francois, who was evidently expected to be spokesman. "Come, Francois, speak out," said Stanley; "if you have any objections, out with them; you're free to say what you please here." As he spoke, and ere Francois could reply, Frank Morton entered the room. "Ah!" he exclaimed, as he deposited his rifle in a corner and flung his cap on the table, "in time, I see, to help at the council!" "I was just asking Francois to state his objections to going," said Stanley, as his young friend took his place beside him. "Objections!" repeated Frank; "what objections can bold spirits have to go on a bold adventure? The question should have been, `Who will be first to volunteer?'" At this moment the door of Stanley's apartment opened, and his wife appeared leading Eda by the hand. "Here are two volunteers," she said, with a smile; "pray put us at the head of your list. We will go with you to any part of the world!" "Bravo!" shouted Frank, catching up Eda, with whom he was a great favourite, and hugging her tightly in his arms. "Nay, but, wife, this is sheer folly. You know not the dangers that await you--" "Perhaps not," interrupted Mrs Stanley; "but _you_ know them, and that is enough for me." "Indeed, Jessie, I know them not. I can but guess at them.--But, ah! well, 'tis useless to argue further. Be it so; we shall head the list with you and Eda." "And put my name next," said a deep-toned voice from behind the other men. All turned round in surprise. "Dick Prince!" they exclaimed; "you here?" "Ay, lads," said a tall man of about forty, who was not so remarkable for physical development (though in this respect he was by no means deficient) as for a certain decision of character that betrayed itself in every outline of his masculine, intelligent countenance--"ay, lads, I'm here; an' sorry am I that I've jist comed in time to hear that you're sich poor-spirited rascals as to hang back when ye should jump for'ard." "But how came you so opportunely, Prince?" inquired Stanley. "I met an Injin, sir, as told me you was goin' off; so I thought you might want me, and comed straight back. And now, sir, I'm ready to go; and so is Francois," he continued, turning to that individual, who seized his hand and exclaimed, "That am I, my boy--to the moon if ye like!" "And Massan, too," continued Prince. "All right; book me for Nova Zembla," replied that worthy. "So, so," cried Mr Stanley, with a satisfied smile. "I see, lads, that we're all of one mind now. Is it not so? Are we agreed?" "Agreed! agreed!" they replied with one voice. "That's well," he continued. "Now then, lads, clear out and get your kits ready.--And ho! Barney, give these men a glass of grog.--Prince, I shall want to talk with you this evening. Come to me an hour hence.-- And now," he added, taking Eda by the hand, "come along, my gentle volunteers; let's go to supper." CHAPTER FOUR. EXPLANATORY, BUT NOT DRY!--MURDEROUS DESIGNS THWARTED BY VIGOROUS TREATMENT--THE CATTLE PAY FOR IT!--PREPARATIONS FOR A LONG, LONG VOYAGE. In order to render our story intelligible, it is necessary here to say a few words explanatory of the nature and object of the expedition referred to in the foregoing chapters. Many years previous to the opening of our tale, it was deemed expedient, by the rulers of the Hudson's Bay Fur Company, to effect, if possible, a reconciliation or treaty of peace between the Muskigon Indians of James's Bay and the Esquimaux of Hudson's Straits. The Muskigons are by no means a warlike race; on the contrary, they are naturally timid, and only plucked up courage to make war on their northern neighbours in consequence of these poor people being destitute of firearms, while themselves were supplied with guns and ammunition by the fur-traders. The Esquimaux, however, are much superior to the Muskigon Indians physically, and would have held their adversaries in light esteem had they met on equal terms, or, indeed, on any terms at all; but the evil was that they never met. The Indians always took them by surprise, and from behind the rocks and bushes sent destruction into their camps with the deadly bullet; while their helpless foes could only reply with the comparatively harmless arrow and spear. Thus the war was in fact an annual raid of murderers. The conceited Muskigons returned to their wigwams in triumph, with bloody scalps hanging at their belts; while the Esquimaux pushed farther into their ice-bound fastnesses, and told their comrades, with lowering brows and heaving bosoms, of the sudden attack, and of the wives and children who had been butchered in cold blood, or led captive to the tents of the cowardly red men. At such times those untutored inhabitants of the frozen regions vowed vengeance on the Indians, and cursed in their hearts the white men who supplied them with the deadly gun. But the curse was unmerited. In the councils of the fur-traders the subject of Esquimau wrongs had been mooted, and plans for the amelioration of their condition devised. Trading posts were established on Richmond Gulf and Little Whale River; but owing to circumstances which it is unnecessary to detail here, they turned out failures, and were at length abandoned. Still, those in charge of the districts around Hudson's Bay and Labrador continued to use every argument to prevail on the Indians to cease their murderous assaults on their unoffending neighbours, but without much effect. At length the governor of East Main--a territory lying on the eastern shores of James's Bay--adopted an argument which proved eminently successful, at least for one season. His fort was visited by a large band of Muskigons from Albany and Moose districts, who brought a quantity of valuable furs, for which they demanded guns and ammunition, making no secret of their intention to proceed on an expedition against their enemies the Esquimaux. On hearing of this, the governor went out to them, and, in a voice of extreme indignation, assured them that they should not have an ounce of supplies for such a purpose. "But we will pay you for what we ask. We are not beggars!" exclaimed the astonished Indians, into whose calculations it had never entered that white traders would refuse good furs merely in order to prevent the death of a few Esquimaux. "See," cried the angry governor, snatching up the nearest bale of furs--"see, that's all I care for you or your payment!" and hurling the pack at its owner's head, he felled him therewith to the ground. "No," he continued, shaking his fist at them, "I'll not give you as much powder or shot as would blow off the tail of a rabbit, if you were to bring me all the skins in Labrador!" The consequence of this vigorous conduct was that the Indians retired crestfallen--utterly discomfited. But in the camp that night they plotted revenge. In the darkness of the night they slaughtered all the cattle around the establishment, and before daybreak were over the hills and far away in the direction of their hunting-grounds, loaded with fresh beef sufficient for the supply of themselves and their families for the winter! It was a heavy price to pay; but the poor Esquimaux remained unmolested that year, while the Indians received a salutary lesson. But the compulsory peace was soon broken, and it became apparent that the only effectual way to check the bloodthirsty propensity of the Indians was to arm their enemies with the gun. The destruction of the first expedition to the Esquimaux, and the bad feeling that existed in the minds of the natives of Richmond Gulf consequent thereon, induced the fur-traders to fix on another locality for a new attempt. It was thought that the remote solitudes of Ungava Bay, at the extreme north of Labrador,--where the white man's axe had never yet felled the stunted pines of the north, nor the ring of his rifle disturbed its echoes,--would be the spot best suited for the erection of a wooden fort. Accordingly, it was appointed that Mr George Stanley should select a coadjutor, and proceed with a party of picked men to the scene of action as early in the spring as the ice would permit, and there build a fort as he best could, with the best materials he could find; live on whatever the country afforded in the shape of food; establish a trade in oil, whalebone, arctic foxes, etcetera, etcetera, if they were to be got; and bring about a reconciliation between the Esquimaux and the Indians of the interior, if that were possible. With the careful minuteness peculiar to documents, Stanley's instructions went on to point out that he was to start from Moose--with two half-sized canoes, each capable of carrying ten _pieces_ or packages of 90 pounds weight each, besides the crew--and _bore_ through the ice, if the ice would allow him, till he should reach Richmond Gulf; cross this gulf, and ascend, if practicable, some of the rivers which fall into it from the height of land supposed, but not positively known, to exist somewhere in the interior. Passing this height, he was to descend by the rivers and lakes (if such existed) leading to the eastward, until he should fall upon a river reported to exist in these lands, and called by the natives _Caniapuscaw_, or South River, down which he was to proceed to the scene of his labours, Ungava Bay; on reaching which he was considerately left to the unaided guidance of his own discretion! Reduced to their lowest term and widest signification, the instructions directed our friend to start as early as he could, with whom he chose, and with what he liked; travel as fast as possible over _terra incognita_ to a land of ice-- perhaps, also, of desolation--and locate himself among bloody savages. It was hoped that there would be found a sufficiency of trees wherewith to build him a shelter against a prolonged winter; in the meantime he might enjoy a bright arctic summer sky for his canopy! But it was known, or at least supposed, that the Esquimaux were fierce and cruel savages, if not cannibals. Their very name implies something of the sort. It signifies _eaters of raw flesh_, and was bestowed on them by their enemies the Muskigons. They call themselves _Innuit_-men, or warriors; and although they certainly do eat raw flesh when necessity compels them--which it often does--they asserted that they never did so from choice. However, be this as it may, the remembrance of their misdeeds in the first expeditions was fresh in the minds of the men in the service of the fur-traders, and they evinced a decided unwillingness to venture into such a country and among such a people,--an unwillingness which was only at length overcome when Mrs Stanley and her little daughter heroically volunteered to share the dangers of the expedition in the manner already narrated. Stanley now made vigorous preparations for his departure. Some of the men had already been enrolled, as we have seen, and there were more than enough of able and active volunteers ready to complete the crews. "Come hither, lads," he cried, beckoning to two men who were occupied on the bank of the river, near the entrance to Moose Fort, in repairing the side of a canoe. The men left their work and approached. They were both Esquimaux, and good stout, broad-shouldered, thick-set specimens of the race they were. One was called Oolibuck, [_This name is spelt as it should be pronounced. The correct spelling is Ouligbuck_], the other Augustus; both of which names are now chronicled in the history of arctic adventure as having belonged to the well-tried and faithful interpreters to Franklin, Back, and Richardson, in their expeditions of north-west discovery. "I'm glad to see you busy at the canoe, boys," said Stanley, as they came up. "Of course you are both willing to revisit your countrymen." "Yes, sir, we is. Glad to go where you choose send us," answered Oolibuck, whose broad, oily countenance lighted up with good-humour as he spoke. "It will remind you of your trip with Captain Franklin," continued Stanley, addressing Augustus. "Me no like to 'member dat," said the Esquimau, with a sorrowful shake of the head. "Me love bourgeois Franklin, but tink me never see him more." "I don't know that, old fellow," returned Stanley, with a smile. "Franklin is not done with his discoveries yet; there's a talk of sending off another expedition some of these days, I hear, so you may have a chance yet." Augustus's black eyes sparkled with pleasure as he heard this. He was a man of strong feeling, and during his journeyings with our great arctic hero had become attached to him in consequence of the hearty and unvarying kindness and consideration with which he treated all under his command. But the spirit of enterprise had been long slumbering, and poor Augustus, who was now past the prime of life, feared that he should never see his kind master more. "Now I want you, lads, to get everything in readiness for an immediate start," continued Stanley, glancing upwards at the sky; "if the weather holds, we shan't be long off paying your friends a visit. Are both canoes repaired?" "Yes, sir, they is," replied Oolibuck. "And the baggage, is it laid out? And--" "Pardon, monsieur," interrupted Massan, walking up, and touching his cap. "I've jest been down at the point, and there's a rig'lar nor'-wester a-comin' down. The ice is sweepin' into the river, an' it'll be choked up by to-morrow, I'm afraid." Stanley received this piece of intelligence with a slight frown, and looked seaward, where a dark line on the horizon and large fields of ice showed that the man's surmise was likely to prove correct. "It matters not," said Stanley, hastily; "I've made arrangements to start to-morrow, and start we shall, in spite of ice or wind, if the canoes will float!" Massan, who had been constituted principal steersman of the expedition, in virtue of his well-tried skill and indomitable energy, felt that the tone in which this was said implied a want of confidence in his willingness to go under _any_ circumstances, so he said gravely-- "Pardon, monsieur; I did not say we could not start." "True, true, Massan; don't be hurt. I was only grumbling at the weather," answered Stanley, with a laugh. Just then the first puff of the coming breeze swept up the river, ruffling its hitherto glassy surface. "There it comes," cried Stanley, as he quitted the spot. "Now, Massan, see to it that the crews are assembled in good time on the beach to-morrow. We start at daybreak." "Oui, monsieur," replied Massan, as he turned on his heel and walked away. "Parbleu! we shall indeed start to morrow, an it please you, if all the ice and wind in the polar regions was blowed down the coast and crammed into the river's mouth. C'est vrai!" CHAPTER FIVE. ICE LOOKS UNPROPITIOUS--THE START--AN IMPORTANT MEMBER OF THE PARTY NEARLY FORGOTTEN--CHIMO. Stanley's forebodings and Massan's prognostications proved partly incorrect on the following morning. The mouth of the river, and the sea beyond, were quite full of ice; but it was loose, and intersected in all directions by lanes of open water. Moreover, there was no wind. The gray light of early morning brightened into dawn, and the first clear ray of the rising sun swept over a scene more beautiful than ever filled the fancy of the most imaginative poet of the Temperate Zones. The sky was perfectly unclouded, and the surface of the sea was completely covered with masses of ice, whose tops were pure white like snow, and their sides a delicate greenish-blue, their dull, frosted appearance forming a striking contrast to the surrounding water, which shone, when the sun glanced upon it, like burnished silver. The masses of ice varied endlessly in form and size, some being flat and large like fields, others square and cornered like bastions or towers--here a miniature temple with spires and minarets, there a crystal fortress with embrasures and battlements; and, in the midst of these, thousands of broken fragments, having all the varied outlines of the larger masses, appearing like the smaller houses, cottages, and villas of this floating city of ice. "Oh how beautiful!" exclaimed little Edith, as her father led her and Mrs Stanley towards the canoes, which floated lightly in the water, while the men stood in a picturesque group beside them, leaning on their bright red paddles. "It is indeed, my pet," replied Stanley, a smile almost of sadness playing around his lips. "Come, George, don't let evil forebodings assail you to-day," said Mrs Stanley in a low tone. "It does not become the leader of a forlorn hope to cast a shade over the spirits of his men at the very outset." She smiled as she said this, and pressed his arm; but despite herself, there was more of sadness in the smile and in the pressure than she intended to convey. Stanley's countenance assumed its usual firm but cheerful expression while she spoke. "True, Jessie, I must not damp the men; but when I look at you and our darling Eda, I may be forgiven for betraying a passing glance of anxiety. May the Almighty protect you!" "Is the country we are going to like this, papa?" inquired Eda, whose intense admiration of the fairy-like scene rendered her oblivious of all else. "Yes, dear, more like this than anything else you have ever seen; but the sun does not always shine so brightly as it does just now, and sometimes there are terrible snow-storms. But we will build you a nice house, Eda, with a very large fireplace, so that we won't feel the cold." The entire population of Moose Fort was assembled on the beach to witness the departure of the expedition. The party consisted of fifteen souls. As we shall follow them to the icy regions of Ungava, it may be worth while to rehearse their names in order as follows:-- MR. AND MRS. STANLEY and EDITH. FRANK MORTON. MASSAN, the guide. DICK PRINCE, principal hunter to the party. LA ROCHE, Stanley's servant and cook. BRYAN, the blacksmith. FRANCOIS, the carpenter. OOLIBUCK, AUGUSTUS, and MOSES, Esquimau interpreters. GASPARD, labourer and fisherman. OOSTESIMOW and MA-ISTEQUAN, Indian guides and hunters. The craft in which these were about to embark were three canoes, two of which were large and one small. They were made of birch bark, a substance which is tough, light, and buoyant, and therefore admirably adapted for the construction of craft that have not only to battle against strong and sometimes shallow currents, but have frequently to be carried on the shoulders of their crews over rocks and mountains. The largest canoe was sixteen feet long by five feet broad in the middle, narrowing gradually towards the bow and stern to a sharp edge. Its loading consisted of bales, kegs, casks, and bundles of goods and provisions; each bale or cask weighed exactly 90 pounds, and was called a _piece._ There were fifteen pieces in the canoe, besides the crew of six men, and Mr Stanley and his family, who occupied the centre, where their bedding, tied up in flat bundles and covered with oiled cloth, formed a comfortable couch. Notwithstanding the size and capacity of this craft, it had been carried down to the beach on the shoulders of Massan and Dick Prince, who now stood at its bow and stern, preventing it with their paddles from rubbing its frail sides against the wharf; for although the bark is tough, and will stand a great deal of tossing in water and plunging among rapids, it cannot sustain the slightest blow from a rock or other hard substance without being cracked, or having the gum which covers the seams scraped off. To those who are unacquainted with travelling in the wild regions of the north it would seem impossible that a long journey could be accomplished in such tender boats; but a little experience proves that, by judicious treatment and careful management, voyages of great length may be safely accomplished in them--that they are well adapted for the necessities of the country, and can be taken with greater ease through a rough, broken, and mountainous region than ordinary wooden boats, even of smaller size, could be. The second canoe was in all respects similar to the one we have described, excepting that it was a few inches shorter. The third was much smaller--so small that it could not contain more than three men, with their provisions and a few bales, and so light that it could with the greatest ease be carried on the shoulders of one man. It was intended to serve as a sort of pioneer and hunting craft, which should lead the way, dart hither and thither in pursuit of game, and warn the main body of any danger that should threaten them ahead. It was manned by the two Indian guides, Oostesimow and Ma-istequan, and by Frank Morton, who being acknowledged one of the best shots of the party, was by tacit understanding regarded as commissary-general. It might have been said that Frank was the best shot, were it not for the fact that the aim of Dick Prince was perfect, and it is generally admitted that perfection cannot be excelled. Although differing widely in their dispositions and appearance, the men of the expedition were similar at least in one respect--they were all first-rate, and had been selected as being individually superior to their comrades at Moose Fort. And a noble set of fellows they looked, as they stood beside their respective canoes, leaning on their little, brilliantly coloured paddles, awaiting the embarkation of their leaders. They all wore new suits of clothes, which were sufficiently similar to give the effect of a uniform, yet so far varied in detail as to divest them of monotony, and relieve the eye by agreeable contrast of bright colours. All of them wore light-blue cloth capotes with hoods hanging down behind, all had corduroy trousers gartered below the knee, and all wore moccasins, and had fire-bags stuck in their belts, in which were contained the materials for producing fire, tobacco, and pipes. So far they were alike, but the worsted belts of some were scarlet, of others crimson, and of others striped. Some gartered their trousers with thongs of leather, others used elegant bands of bead-work--the gifts, probably, of sorrowing sweethearts, sisters, or mothers--while the fire-bags, besides being composed some of blue, some of scarlet cloth, were ornamented more or less with flowers and fanciful devices elegantly wrought in the gaily-dyed quills of the porcupine. On seeing Stanley and his wife and child approaching, Massan gave the order to embark. In a moment every man divested himself of his capote, which he folded up and placed on the seat he was to occupy; then, shaking hands all round for the last time, they stepped lightly and carefully into their places. "All ready, I see, Massan," said Stanley, as he came up, "and the ice seems pretty open. How say you? shall we make a good day of it?" Massan smiled dubiously as he presented his thick shoulder as a support to Mrs Stanley, while she stepped into her place. He remembered the conversation of the previous evening, and determined that, whatever should happen, he at least would not cast the shadow of a doubt on their prospects. But in his own mind he suspected that their progress would be interrupted ere long, as the wind, although very light--almost imperceptible--was coming from the north-west. "It'll be full flood in less nor half an hour," he replied, "and--(take care, Miss Edith, give me your little hand; there, now, jump light)--and we'll be past the p'int by that time, and git the good o' the ebb till sun-down." "I fear," said Frank Morton, approaching, "that the ice is rather thick for us; but it don't much matter, it will only delay us a bit--and at any rate we'll make good way as far as the point." "True, true," said Stanley; "and it's a great matter to get fairly started. Once off we must go forward. All ready, lads?" "Ay, ay, sir." "Now, Frank, into your canoe and show us the way; mind we trust to your guidance to keep us clear of blind alleys among these lanes of water in the ice." At this moment Edith--who had been for the last few minutes occupied in alternately drying her eyes and kissing her hands to a group of little children who had been her play-fellows during her sojourn at the fort-- uttered a loud exclamation. "Oh! oh! papa, mamma--Chimo!--we've forgot Chimo! Oh me! don't go away yet!" "So we have!" said her father; "dear me, how stupid to forget our old friend!--Hallo! Frank, Frank, we've forgot the dog," shouted Stanley to his young comrade, who was on the point of starting. On hearing this, Frank gave a long, shrill whistle. "That'll bring him if he's within ear-shot." When the well-known sound broke upon Chimo's ear, he was lying coiled up in front of the kitchen fire, being privileged to do so in consequence of his position as Edith's favourite. The cook, having gone out a few minutes previously, had left Chimo to enjoy his slumbers in solitude, so that, when he started suddenly to his feet on hearing Frank's whistle, he found himself a prisoner. But Chimo was a peculiarly strong-minded and strong-bodied dog, and was possessed of an iron will! He was of the Esquimau breed, and bore some resemblance to the Newfoundland, but was rather shorter in the legs, longer in the body, and more powerfully made. Moreover, he was more shaggy, and had a stout, blunt, straightforward appearance, which conveyed to the beholder the idea that he scorned flattery, and would not consent to be petted on any consideration. Indeed this was the case, for he always turned away with quiet contempt from any of the men who attempted to fondle him. He made an exception, however, of little Edith, whom he not only permitted to clap him to any extent, but deliberately invited her to do so by laying his great head in her lap, rubbing himself against her, and wagging his bushy tail, as if to say, "Now, little girl, do what you will with me!" And Eda never refused the animal's dumb-show request. When she was very young and had not much sense--at which time Chimo was young too, but possessed of a great deal of sense--she formed a strong affection for the Esquimau dog, an affection which she displayed by putting her little arms round his neck and hugging him until he felt a tendency to suffocation; she also pulled his ears and tail, and stuffed her fat little hands into his eyes and mouth,--all of which dreadful actions she seemed to think, in her childish ignorance, must be very pleasant to Chimo, and all of which the dog appeared really to enjoy. At all events, whether he liked it or not, he came regularly to have himself thus treated every day. As Eda grew older she left off choking her favourite and poking out his eyes, and contented herself with caressing him. Chimo also evinced a partiality for Mr Stanley and Frank Morton, and often accompanied the latter on his hunting excursions; but he always comported himself towards them with dignified hauteur, accepting their caresses with a slight wag of acknowledgment, but never courting their favour. On jumping up, as we have already said, and observing that the door was shut, the dog looked slowly and calmly round the apartment, as if to decide on what was best to be done; for Chimo was a dog of great energy of character, and was never placed in any circumstances in which he did not pursue some decided course of action. On the present occasion there was not a hole, except the key-hole, by which he could hope to make his escape. Yes, by-the-bye, there was a hole in the window, which was made of parchment; but as that was merely the bullet-hole through which the animal that had given his skin for a window had been shot, and was not larger than a shilling, it did not afford much hope. Nevertheless Chimo regarded it with a steady gaze for a minute or two, then he turned to the fire, and having satisfied himself that the chimney was impracticable, being full of flames and smoke, he faced the window once more, and showed his teeth, as if in chagrin. "Whew-ew! Chimo-o-o!" came Frank's voice, floating faintly from afar. Chimo took aim at the bullet-hole. One vigorous bound--a horrible crash, that nearly caused the returning cook to faint--and the dog was free. "Ah, here he comes!--good dog!" cried Frank, as the animal came bounding over intervening obstacles towards the canoes. Chimo made straight for the small canoe, in answer to his master's call; but, like many dogs and not a few men, he owned a higher power than that of a master. The voice of his little mistress sounded sweetly in his ear, like the sound of a silver bell. "O Chimo, Chimo! my darling pet! come here--here." It was a soft, tiny voice at the loudest, and was quite drowned amid the talking and laughter of the men, but Chimo heard it. Turning at a sharp angle from his course, he swept past the light canoe, and bounding into that of Mr Stanley, lay down beside Eda and placed his head in her lap, where it was immediately smothered in the caresses of its young mistress. Mr Stanley smiled and patted his little girl on the shoulder, as he said, "That's right, Eda; the love of a faithful dog is worth having and cherishing." Then turning towards the stern of the canoe, where Massan stood erect, with his steering paddle ready for action, he said to that worthy-- "Now, Massan, all ready; give the word." "Ho, ho, boys; forward!" The paddles dipped simultaneously in the water with a loud, gurgling sound; the two large canoes shot out into the stream abreast of each other, preceded by the light one, which, urged forward by the powerful arms of Frank and the two Indians, led the way among the floating fields of ice. The people on shore took off their caps and waved a last farewell. Dick Prince, who possessed a deep, loud, sonorous voice, began one of those beautiful and wild yet plaintive songs peculiar to the _voyageurs_ of the wilderness. The men joined, with a full, rich swell, in the chorus, as they darted forward with arrow-like speed--and the voyage began. CHAPTER SIX. CHARACTER PARTIALLY DEVELOPED--DUCKS FOR SUPPER--A THREATENED "NIP"-- BUNDLED OUT ON THE ICE. Fortunately the wind veered round to the south-east soon after the departure of the canoes from Moose Fort, and although there was not enough of it to ruffle the surface of the river, it had the effect of checking the influx of ice from James's Bay. The tide, too, began to ebb, so that the progress of the canoes was even more rapid than it appeared to be; and long before the sun set, they were past the point at the mouth of the river, and coasting along the shores of the salt ocean. Outside of them the sea was covered with hummocks and fields of ice, some of which ever and anon met in the cross currents caused by the river, with a violent shock. Close to the shore, however, the thickness of the ice caused it to strand, leaving a lane of open water, along which the canoes proceeded easily, the depth of water being much more than sufficient for them, as the largest canoe did not draw more than a foot. Sometimes, however, this space was blocked up by smaller fragments, and considerable difficulty was experienced in steering the canoes amongst them. Had the party travelled in boats, they would have easily dashed through many of these checks; but with canoes it is far otherwise. Not only are their bark sides easily broken, but the seams are covered with a kind of pitch which becomes so brittle in ice-cold water that it chips off in large lumps with the slightest touch. For the sea, therefore, boats are best; but when it comes to carrying the craft over waterfalls and up mountain sides, for days and weeks together, canoes are more useful, owing to their lightness. "Take care, Massan," said Mr Stanley, on approaching one of these floes. "Don't chip the gum off if you can help it. If we spring a leak, we shan't spend our first night on a pleasant camping-ground, for the shore just hereabouts does not look inviting." "No fear, sir," replied Massan. "Dick Prince is in the bow, and as long as his mouth's shut I keep my mind easy." "You appear to have unlimited confidence in Prince," said Stanley, with a smile. "Does he never fail in anything, that you are so sure of him?" "Fail!" exclaimed the steersman, whose paddle swept constantly in a circle round his head, while he changed it from side to side as the motions of the canoe required--"fail! ay, that does he sometimes. Mortal man must get on the wrong side o' luck now and then. I've seen Dick Prince fail, but I never saw him make a mistake." "Well, I've no doubt that he deserves your good opinion. Nevertheless, be more than ordinarily careful. If you had a wife and child in the canoe, Massan, you would understand my anxiety better." Stanley smiled as he said this, and the worthy steersman replied in a grave tone,--"I have the wife and child of my bourgeois under my care." "True, true, Massan," said Stanley, lying back on his couch and conversing with his wife in an undertone. "'Tis curious," said he, "to observe the confidence that Massan has in Prince; and yet it would be difficult to say wherein consists the superiority of the one over the other." "Perhaps it is the influence of a strong mind over a weaker," suggested his wife. "It may be so. Yet Prince is an utterly uneducated man. True, he shoots a hair's-breadth better than Massan; but he is not a better canoe-man, neither is he more courageous, and he is certainly less powerful: nevertheless Massan looks up to him and speaks of him as if he were greatly his superior. The secret of his power must lie in that steady, never-wavering inflexibility of purpose, that characterises our good bowman in everything he does." "Papa," said Edith, who had been holding a long conversation with Chimo on the wonders of the scene around them--if we may call that a conversation where the one party does all the talking and the other all the listening--"papa, where shall we all sleep to-night?" The thought seemed to have struck her for the first time, and she looked up eagerly for an answer, while Chimo gave a deep sigh of indifference, and went to sleep, or pretended to do so, where he was. "In the woods, Eda. How do you think you will like it?" "Oh, I'm sure I shall like it very much," replied the little one. "I've often wished to live in the woods altogether like the Indians, and do nothing but wander about and pull berries." "Ah, Jessie," said Stanley, "what an idle little baggage your daughter is! I fear she's a true chip of the old block!" "Which do you consider the old block," retorted Mrs Stanley--"you or me?" "Never mind, wife; we'll leave that an open question.--But tell me, Eda, don't you think that wandering about and pulling berries would be a very useless sort of life?" "No," replied Edith, gravely. "Mamma often tells me that God wants me to be happy, and I'm quite sure that wandering about all day in the beautiful woods would make me happy." "But, my darling," said Stanley, smiling at the simplicity of this plausible argument in favour of an idle life, "don't you know that we ought to try to make others happy too, as well as ourselves?" "Oh yes," replied Eda, with a bright smile, "I know that, papa; and I would try to make everybody happy by going with them and showing them where the finest flowers and berries were to be found; and so we would all be happy together, and that's what God wants, is it not?" Mr Stanley glanced towards his wife with an arch smile. "There, Jessie, what think you of that?" "Nay, husband, what think you?" "I think," he replied in an undertone, "that your sagacious teaching against idleness, and in favour of diligence and attention to duty, and so forth, has not taken very deep root yet." "And _I_ think," said Mrs Stanley, "that however wise you men may be in some things, you are all most incomprehensibly stupid in regard to the development of young minds." "Take care now, Jessie; you're verging upon metaphysics. But you have only given me your opinion of men as yet; you have still to say what you think of Eda's acknowledged predilection for idleness." "Well," replied Mrs Stanley, "I think that my sagacious teaching, as you are pleased to call it, has taken pretty firm root already, and that Eda's speech is one of the first bright, beautiful blossoms, from which we may look for much fruit hereafter; for to make one's self and one's fellow-creatures happy, _because such is the will of God_, seems to me a simple and comprehensive way of stating the whole duty of man." Stanley's eyes opened a little at this definition. "Hum! _multum in parvo_; it may be so," he said; and casting down his eyes, he was soon lost in a profound reverie, while the canoe continued to progress forward by little impulsive bounds, under the rapid stroke of the paddles. Eda rested her fair cheek on the shaggy brow of Chimo, and accompanied him to the land of nod, until the sun began to sink behind the icebergs on the seaward horizon, where a dark line indicated an approaching breeze. Massan cast an uneasy glance at this from time to time. At length he called to his friend in the bow, "Hello, Prince! will it come stiff; think ye?" "No," replied Prince, rising and shading his eyes with his hand; "it'll be only a puff; but that's enough to drive the ice down on us, an' shut up the open water." "It's my 'pinion," said Massan, "that we should hold away for the p'int yonder, an' camp there." Dick Prince nodded assent, and resumed his paddle. As he did so the report of a gun came sharply over the water. "Ha!" exclaimed Stanley, looking out ahead; "what's that?" "Only Mr Frank," said Massan; "he's dowsed two birds. I see'd them splash into the water." "That's right," said Stanley; "we shall have something fresh for the kettle to-night. And, by the way, we'll need all we can kill, for we haven't much provision to depend on, and part of it must be reserved in case of accidents, so that if Frank does not do his duty, we shall have to live on birch bark, Massan." "That would be rayther tough. I'm afeerd," replied the steersman, laughing. "I've tried the tail o' a deer-skin coat afore now, an' it wasn't much to boast of; but I niver tried a birch-bark steak. I doubt it would need a power o' chewin?" By this time the two large canoes had drawn gradually nearer to the leading one. As they approached, Frank ordered his men to cease paddling. "Well, Frank, what success?" said Stanley, as they came up. "There's our supper," cried Frank, tossing a large duck into the canoe; "and there's a bite for the men," he added, sending a huge gray goose into the midst of them. "I saw a herd of reindeer on the other side of the point; but the ice closed up the passage, and prevented me from getting within range. It will stop our further progress for to-night too; so I waited to advise you to camp here." "There it comes!" cried Dick Prince. "Jump out on the ice, lads, and unload as fast as you can." As Dick spoke he sprang on to a field of ice which was attached to the shore, and drawing the canoe alongside, began hastily to remove the cargo. His example was instantly followed by the men, who sprang over the gunwales like cats; and in less than five minutes the cargoes were scattered over the ice. Meanwhile, the breeze which Massan had observed continued to freshen, and the seaward ice bore rapidly down on the shore, gradually narrowing and filling up the lanes of water among which the travellers had been hitherto wending their way. Dick Prince's sudden action was caused by his observing a large, solid field, which bore down on them with considerable rapidity. His warning was just in time, for the goods were scarcely landed and the three canoes lifted out of the water, when the ice closed in with a crash that would have ground the frail barks to pieces, and the passage was closed up. So completely was every trace of water obliterated, that it seemed as though there never had been any there before. CHAPTER SEVEN. SHOWS HOW THE PARTY MADE THEMSELVES AT HOME IN THE BUSH--TALK ROUND THE CAMP FIRE--A FLASH OF TEMPER--TURNING IN. The spot where they were thus suddenly arrested in their progress was a small bay, formed by a low point which jutted from the mainland, and shut out the prospect in advance. There was little or no wood on the point, except a few stunted willows, which being green and small would not, as La Roche the cook remarked, "make a fire big enough to roast the wing of a mosquito." There was no help for it, however. The spot on which Massan had resolved to encamp for the night was three miles on the other side of the point, and as the way was now solid ice instead of water, there was no possibility of getting there until a change of wind should drive the ice off the shore. Moreover, it was now getting dark, and it behoved them to make their preparations with as much speed as possible. Accordingly, Massan and Prince shouldered one canoe, Francois and Gaspard carried the other, and the light one was placed on the shoulders of Bryan the blacksmith; La Roche took the provision-basket and cooking utensils under his special charge; while the three Esquimau interpreters and the two Indian guides busied themselves in carrying the miscellaneous goods and baggage into camp. As for Chimo, he seated himself quietly on a lump of ice, and appeared to superintend the entire proceedings; while his young mistress and her mother, accompanied by Frank and Stanley, crossed the ice to the shore, to select a place for their encampment. But it was some time ere a suitable place could be found, as the point happened to be low and swampy, and poor Eda's first experience of a life in the woods was stepping into a hole which took her up to the knees in mud and water. She was not alone, however, in misfortune, for just at the same moment Bryan passed through the bushes with his canoe, and staggered into the same swamp, exclaiming as he did so, in a rich brogue which many years' residence among the French half-breeds of Rupert's Land had failed to soften, "Thunder an' turf! such a blackguard counthry I niver did see. Och, Bryan dear, why did ye iver lave yer native land?" "Pourquoi, why, mon boy? for ver' goot raison," cried La Roche, in a horrible compound of French and broken English, as he skipped lightly past, with a loud laugh, "for ver' goot raison--dey was tired of you to home, vraiment. You was too grande raskale; dey could not keep you no longer." "Thrue for ye, La Roche," replied the blacksmith, "thrue for ye, boy; they sartinly could not keep me on nothin', an' as the murphies was all sp'iled wi' the rot, I had to lave or starve." At last, after a long search, Frank Morton found a spot pretty well adapted for their purpose. It was an elevated plot of gravel, which was covered with a thin carpet of herbage, and surrounded by a belt of willows which proved a sufficient shelter against the wind. A low and rather shaggy willow-tree spread its branches over the spot, and gave to it a good deal of the feeling and appearance of shelter, if not much of the reality. This was of little consequence, however, as the night proved fine and comparatively mild, so that the black vault of heaven, spangled with hosts of brilliant stars, amply compensated for the want of a leafy canopy. Under the willow-tree, Frank and La Roche busied themselves in spreading a very small white tent for Mr Stanley and his family. Frank himself, although entitled from his position in the Company's service to the luxury of a tent, scorned to use one, preferring to rough it like the men, and sleep beneath the shelter of the small canoe. Meanwhile, Mr Stanley proceeded to strike a light with his flint and steel; and Bryan, having deposited his burden near the tent, soon collected a sufficiency of driftwood to make a good fire. Edith and her mother were not idle in the midst of this busy scene. They collected a few bundles of dried twigs to make the fire light more easily, and after the blaze was casting its broad glare of light over the camp, and the tent was pitched, they assisted La Roche in laying the cloth for supper. Of course, in a journey like this, none but necessary articles were taken, and these were of the most homely character. The kettle was the tea-pot, the cups were tin pannikins, and the table-cloth was a large towel, while the table itself was the ground, from the damp of which, however, the party in the tent were protected by an ample oil-cloth. When all the things were carried up, and the men assembled, the camp presented the following appearance: in the centre of the open space, which nature had arranged in the form of a circle, blazed the fire; and a right jovial, sputtering, outrageous fire it was, sending its sparks flying in all directions, like the artillery of a beleaguered fortress in miniature, and rolling its flames about in fierce and wayward tongues, that seemed bent on licking in and swallowing up the entire party, but more especially La Roche, who found no little difficulty in paying due attention to his pots and kettles. Sometimes the flames roared fiercely upwards, singeing off the foliage of the overhanging willow as they went, and then, bursting away from their parent fire, portions of them floated off for a few seconds on the night air. On the weather side of this fire stood Mr Stanley's tent, under the willow-tree, as before described, its pure white folds showing strongly against the darkness of the sky beyond. The doorway, or curtain of the tent, was open, displaying the tea-equipage within, and the smiling countenances of Stanley and his wife, Frank and Eda, who, seated on blankets and shawls around the towel, were preparing to make an assault on the fat duck before mentioned. This duck had been split open and roasted on a piece of stick before the blaze, and now stood with the stumps of its wings and legs extended, as if demanding urgently to be eaten--a demand which Chimo, who crouched near the doorway, could scarce help complying with. To the right of the tent was placed the small canoe, bottom up, so as to afford a partial protection to the bedding which Oostesimow was engaged in spreading out for Frank and himself and his comrade Ma-Istequan. Facing this, at the other side of the fire, and on the left of the tent, the largest canoe was turned up in a similar manner, and several of the men were engaged in covering the ground beneath it with a layer of leaves and branches, above which they spread their blankets; while others lounged around the fire and smoked their beloved pipes, or watched with impatient eyes the operations of Bryan, who, being accustomed to have familiar dealings with the fire, had been deemed worthy of holding the office of cook to the men, and was inducted accordingly. It is due to Bryan to say that he fully merited the honour conferred upon him; for never, since the days of Vulcan, was there a man seen who could daringly dabble in the fire as he did. He had a peculiar sleight-of-hand way of seizing hold of and tossing about red-hot coals with his naked hand, that induced one to believe he must be made of leather. Flames seemed to have no effect whatever on his sinewy arms when they licked around them; and as for smoke, he treated it with benign contempt. Not so La Roche: with the mercurial temperament of his class he leaped about the fire, during his culinary operations, in a way that afforded infinite amusement to his comrades, and not unfrequently brought him into violent collision with Bryan, who usually received him on such occasions with a strong Irish growl, mingled with a disparaging or contemptuous remark. Beyond the circle of light thrown by the fire was the belt of willows which encompassed the camp on all sides except towards the sea, where a narrow gap formed a natural entrance and afforded a glimpse of the ocean with its fields and hummocks of ice floating on its calm bosom and glancing in the faint light of the moon, which was then in its first quarter. "How comfortable and snug everything is!" said Mrs Stanley, as she poured out the tea, while her husband carved the duck. "Yes, isn't it, Eda?" said Frank, patting his favourite on the head, as he held out her plate for a wing. "There, give her a bit of the breast too," he added. "I know she's ravenously hungry, for I saw her looking at Chimo, just before we landed, as if she meant to eat him for supper without waiting to have him cooked." "O Frank, how can you be so wicked?" said Eda, taking up her knife and fork and attacking the wing with so much energy as almost to justify her friend's assertion. "Snug, said you, Jessie? yes, that's the very word to express it," said Stanley. "There's no situation that I know of (and I wasn't born yesterday) that is so perfectly snug, and in all respects comfortable, as an encampment in the woods on a fine night in spring or autumn." "Or winter," added Frank, swallowing a pannikin of tea at a draught, nodding to Chimo, as much as to say, "Do that if you can, old fellow," and handing it to Mrs Stanley to be replenished. "Don't omit winter-- cold, sharp, sunny winter. An encampment in the snow, in fine weather, is as snug as this." "Rather cold, is it not?" said Mrs Stanley. "Cold! not a bit," replied Frank, making a reckless dive with his hand into the biscuit-bag; "if you have enough wood to get up a roaring fire, six feet long by three broad and four deep, with a bank of snow five feet high all around ye, a pine-tree with lots of thick branches spreading overhead to keep off the snow, and two big green blankets to keep out the frost--(another leg of that widgeon, please)--you've no notion how snug it is, I assure you." "Hum!" ejaculated Stanley, with a dubious smile, "you forgot to add--a youthful, robust frame, with the blood careering through the veins like wildfire, to your catalogue of requisites. No doubt it is pleasant enough in its way; but commend me to spring or autumn for thorough enjoyment, when the air is mild, and the waters flowing, and the woods green and beautiful." "Why don't you speak of summer, papa?" said Eda, who had been listening intently to this conversation. "Summer, my pet! because--" "Allow me to explain," interrupted Frank, laying down his knife and fork, and placing the forefinger of his right hand in his left palm, as if he were about to make a speech. "Because, Eda, because there is such a thing as heat--long-continued, never-ending, sweltering heat. Because there are such reprehensible and unutterably detestable insects as mosquitoes, and sand-flies, and bull-dogs; and there is such a thing as being bitten, and stung, and worried, and sucked into a sort of partial madness; and I have seen such sights as men perpetually slapping their own faces, and scratching the skin off their own cheeks with their own nails, and getting no relief thereby, but rather making things worse; and I have, moreover, seen men's heads swelled until the eyes and noses were lost, and the mouths only visible when opened, and their general aspect like that of a Scotch haggis; and there is a time when all this accumulates on man and beast till the latter takes to the water in desperation, and the former takes to intermittent insanity, and that time is--_summer_.--Another cup, please, Mrs Stanley. 'Pon my conscience, it creates thirst to think of it." At this stage the conversation of the party in the tent was interrupted by a loud peal of laughter mingled with not a few angry exclamations from the men. La Roche, in one of his frantic leaps to avoid a tongue of flame which shot out from the fire with a vicious velocity towards his eyes, came into violent contact with Bryan while that worthy was in the act of lifting a seething kettle of soup and boiled pork from the fire. Fortunately for the party whose supper was thus placed in jeopardy, Bryan stood his ground; but La Roche, tripping over a log, fell heavily among the pannikins, tin plates, spoons, and knives, which had been just laid out on the ground in front of the canoe. "Ach! mauvais chien," growled Gaspard, as he picked up and threw away the fragments of his pipe, "you're always cuttin' and jumpin' about like a monkey." "Oh! pauvre crapaud," cried Francois, laughing; "don't abuse him, Gaspard. He's a useful dog in his way." "Tare an' ages! you've done it now, ye have. Bad luck to ye! wasn't I for iver tellin' ye that same. Shure, if it wasn't that ye're no bigger or heavier than a wisp o' pea straw, ye'd have druve me and the soup into the fire, ye would. Be the big toe o' St. Patrick, not to mintion his riverince the Pope--" "Come, come, Bryan," cried Massan, "don't speak ill o' the Pope, an' down wi' the kettle." "The kittle, is it? Sorra a kittle ye'll touch, Massan, till it's cool enough to let us all start fair at wance. Ye've got yer mouth and throat lined wi' brass, I believe, an' would ate the half o't before a soul of us could taste it!" "Don't insult me, you red-faced racoon," retorted Massan, while he and his comrades circled round the kettle, and began a vigorous attack on the scalding mess; "my throat is not so used to swallowin' fire as your own. I never knowed a man that payed into the grub as you do.--Bah! how hot it is.--I say, Oolibuck, doesn't it remember you o' the dogs o' yer own country, when they gits the stone kettle to clean out?" Oolibuck's broad visage expanded with a chuckle as he lifted an enormous wooden spoonful of soup to his ample mouth. "Me tink de dogs of de Innuit [Esquimaux] make short work of dis kettle if 'e had 'im." "Do the dogs of the Huskies eat with their masters?" inquired Francois, as he groped in the kettle with his fork in search of a piece of pork. "Dey not eat _wid_ der masters, but dey al'ays clean hout de kettle," replied Moses, somewhat indignantly. "Ha!" exclaimed Massan, pausing for a few minutes to recover breath; "yes, they always let the dogs finish off the feast. Ye must know, comrades, that I've seed them do it myself--anyways I've seed a man that knew a feller who said he had a comrade that wintered once with the Huskies, which is pretty much the same thing. An' he said that sometimes when they kill a big seal, they boil it whole an' have a rig'lar feast. Ye must understand, mes garcons, that the Huskies make thumpin' big kettles out o' a kind o' soft stone they find in them parts, an' some o' them's big enough to boil a whole seal in. Well, when the beast is cooked, they take it out o' the pot, an' while they're tuckin' into it, the dogs come and sit in a ring round the pot to wait till the soup's cool enough to eat. They knows well that it's too hot at first, an' that they must have a deal o' patience; but afore long some o' the young uns can't hold on, so they steps up somewhat desperate like, and pokes their snouts in. Of course they pulls them out pretty sharp with a yell, and sit down to rub their noses for a bit longer. Then the old uns take courage an' make a snap at it now and again, but very tenderly, till it gits cooler at last, an' then at it they go, worryin', an' scufflin', an' barkin', an' gallopin', just like Moses there, till the pot's as clean as the day it wos made." "Ha! ha! oh, ver' goot, tres bien; ah! mon coeur, just tres splendiferous!" shouted La Roche, whose risibility was always easily tickled. "It's quite true, though--isn't it, Moses?" said Massan, as he once more applied to the kettle, while some of his comrades cut up the goose that Frank had shot in the afternoon. "Why, Moses, what a capacity you have for grub!" said Francois. "If your countrymen are anything like you, I don't wonder that they have boiled seals and whales for dinner." "It'll take a screamin' kittle for a whale," spluttered Bryan, with his mouth full, "an' a power o' dogs to drink the broth." "You tink you funny, Bryan," retorted Moses, while an oily smile beamed on his fat, good-humoured countenance; "but you not; you most dreadful stupid." "Thrue for ye, Moses; I was oncommon stupid to let you sit so long beside the kittle," replied the Irishman, as he made a futile effort to scrape another spoonful from the bottom of it. "Och! but ye've licked it as clane as one of yer own dogs could ha' done it." "Mind your eye!" growled Gaspard, at the same time giving La Roche a violent push, as that volatile worthy, in one of his eccentric movements, nearly upset his can of water. "Oh! pardon, monsieur," exclaimed La Roche, in pretended sorrow, at the same time making a grotesque bow that caused a general peal of laughter. "Why, one might as well travel with a sick bear as with you, Gaspard," said Francois half angrily. "Hold your jaw," replied Gaspard. "Not at your bidding," retorted Francois, half rising from his reclining posture, while his colour heightened. Gaspard had also started up, and it seemed as if the little camp were in danger of becoming a scene of strife, when Dick Prince, who was habitually silent and unobtrusive, preferring generally to listen rather than to speak, laid his hand on Gaspard's broad shoulder and pulled him somewhat forcibly to the ground. "Shame on you, comrades!" he said, in a low, grave voice, that instantly produced a dead silence; "shame on you, to quarrel on our first night in the bush! We've few enough friends in these parts, I think, that we should make enemies o' each other." "That's well said," cried Massan, in a very decided tone. "It won't do to fall out when there's so few of us." And the stout voyageur thrust his foot against the logs on the fire, causing a rich cloud of sparks to ascend, as if to throw additional light on his remark. "Pardon me, mes comrades," cried Francois; "I did not intend to quarrel;" and he extended his hand to Gaspard, who took it in silence, and dropping back again to his recumbent posture, resumed his pipe. This little scene was witnessed by the party in the tent, who were near enough to overhear all that was said by the men, and even to converse with them if they should desire to do so. A shade of anxiety crossed Mr Stanley's countenance, and some time after, recurring to the subject, he said-- "I don't feel quite easy about that fellow Gaspard. He seems a sulky dog, and is such a Hercules that he might give us a deal of trouble if he were high-spirited." A slight smile of contempt curled Frank's lip as he said, "A strong arm without a bold heart is not of more value than that of my Eda here in the hour of danger. But I think better of Gaspard than you seem to do. He's a sulky enough dog, 'tis true; but he is a good, hard worker, and does not grumble; and I sometimes have noticed traces of a better spirit than usually meets the eye. As for his bulk, I think nothing of it; he wants high spirit to make it available. Francois could thrash him any day." "Perhaps so," replied Stanley; "I hope they won't try their mettle on each other sooner than we expect. Not that I care a whit for any of the men having a round or two now and then and be done with it; but this fellow seems to `nurse his wrath to keep it warm.' On such an expedition as ours, it behoves us to have a good understanding and a kindly feeling in the camp. One black sheep in the flock may do much damage." "He's only piebald, not black," said Frank, laughing, as he rose to quit the tent. "But I must leave you. I see that Eda's eyes are refusing to keep open any longer, so good-night to you all, and a sound sleep." Frank's concluding remarks in reference to him were overheard by Gaspard, who had risen to look at the night, and afterwards kneeled near the tent, in order to be at some distance from his comrades while he said his prayers; for, strange though it may seem, many of the rough and reckless voyageurs of that country, most of whom are Roman Catholics, regularly retire each night to kneel and pray beneath a tree before lying down on their leafy couches, and deem the act quite consistent with the swearing and quarrelling life that too many of them lead. Such is human nature. As Gaspard rose from his knees Frank's words fell upon his ear, and when he drew his blanket over his head that night there was a softer spot in his heart and a wrinkle less on his brow. When Frank stepped over to the place where his canoe lay, the aspect of the camp was very different from what it had been an hour before. The fire had burned low, and was little more than a mass of glowing embers, from which a fitful flame shot forth now and then, casting a momentary glare on the forms of the men, who, having finished their pipes, were all extended in a row, side by side, under the large canoe. As they possessed only a single green blanket each, they had to make the most of their coverings, by rolling them tightly around their bodies, and doubling the ends down under their feet and over their heads; so that they resembled a row of green bolsters, all their feet being presented towards the fire, and all their heads resting on their folded capotes. A good deal of loud and regular snoring proved that toil and robust health seldom court the drowsy god long in vain. Turning to his own canoe, Frank observed that his Indian friends were extended out under it, with a wide space between them, in which his own bedding was neatly arranged. The grave sons of the forest had lain down to rest long before their white comrades, and they now lay as silent and motionless as the canoe that covered their heads. Being a small canoe, it did not afford protection to their legs and feet; but in fine weather this was of no consequence, and for the morrow they cared not. Before lying down Frank kneeled to commend himself and his comrades to the protection of God; then stirring up the embers of the fire, he pulled out a small Bible from his breast pocket and sat down on a log to read. Frank was a careless, rollicking, kind-hearted fellow, and how much there was of true religion in these acts none but himself could tell. But the _habit_ of reading the Word, and of prayer, had been instilled into him from infancy by a godly mother, and he carried it with him into the wilderness. When he drew his blanket over him and laid his head on his capote the stars were still twinkling, and the moon still sailed in a clear sky and gave silver edges to the ice upon the sea. All was calm and solemn and beautiful, and it seemed as if it could never be otherwise in such a tranquil scene. But nature does not always smile. Appearances are often deceitful. CHAPTER EIGHT. BRYAN'S ADVENTURE WITH A POLAR BEAR, ETCETERA. Ice, ice, ice! everything seemed to have been converted into ice when the day broke on the following morning and awoke the sleepers in the camp. A sharp frost during the night, accompanied by a fall of snow, had, as if by magic, converted spring into winter. Icy particles hung upon and covered, not only the young leaves and buds of the bushes, but the branches also, giving to them a white and extremely airy appearance. Snow lay on the upper sides of the canoes, and weighed heavily on the tent, causing its folds, once seemingly so pure and white, to look dirty by contrast. Snow lay on the protruding legs of the men, and encircled the black spot where rested the ashes of last night's brilliant fire. Ice grated on the pebbles of the shore; ice floated on the sea; icy hummocks and mounds rose above its surface; and icebergs raised their pinnacles on the far-off horizon, and cut sharply into the bright blue sky. It was cold, but it was not cheerless; for when Eda put out her head at the curtain doorway of the tent, and opened her eyes upon the magic scene, the sun's edge rose above the horizon, as if to greet her, and sent a flood of light far and near through the spacious universe, converting the sea into glass, with islands of frosted silver on its bosom. It was a gorgeous scene, worthy of its great Creator, who in His mysterious working scatters gems of beauty oftentimes in places where there is scarce a single human eye to behold their excellence. Although the sea was covered with ice, there were, nevertheless, several lanes of open water not far from the shore; so that when Stanley called a council, composed of Frank Morton, Dick Prince, and Massan, it was agreed unanimously that they should attempt to proceed. And it was well that they did so; for they had not advanced many miles, winding their way cautiously among the canals of open water, when they doubled a promontory, beyond which there was little or no ice to be seen, merely a few scattered fragments and fields, that served to enhance the beauty of the scene by the airy lightness of their appearance in contrast with the bright blue of the sea and sky, but did not interrupt the progress of the travellers. The three canoes always maintained their relative positions during the journey as much as possible. That is to say, Frank and the two Indians went first in the small canoe, to lead the way, while the two large canoes kept abreast of each other when the open water was wide enough to permit of their doing so. This, besides being more sociable, enabled the two crews to join in the chorus of those beautiful songs with which they frequently enlivened the voyage. During all this day, and for many days following, they continued to enjoy fine weather and to make rapid progress. Sometimes the ice was pretty thick, and once or twice they narrowly escaped being nipped by collapsing masses, which caused them to jump out, hastily throw the baggage on the ice, and haul the canoes out of the water. On these occasions the men proved themselves to be sterling fellows, nearly all of them being cool, prompt, and collected in the moment of danger. No doubt there were exceptions. La Roche, when any sudden crisis of danger arose, usually threw himself blindly over the side of the canoe on to the ice with the lightness and agility of a harlequin. He recked not whether he came down on his head or his feet, and more than once nearly broke his neck in consequence of his precipitancy. But La Roche was no coward, and the instant the first burst of excitement was over he rushed to render effective assistance. Bryan, too, although not so mercurial as La Roche, was apt to lose self-command for about five minutes when any sudden danger assailed him, so that he frequently sat still, staring wildly straight before him, while the others were actively unloading the canoes; and once, when the danger was more critical than usual, having sat till the canoe was empty, and paid no attention to a prompt, gruff order to jump ashore, he had been seized by the strong arms of Gaspard and tossed out of the canoe like a puppy dog. On these occasions he invariably endeavoured to make up for his fault by displaying, on recovery, the most outrageous and daring amount of unnecessary recklessness,--uttering, at the same time, an amazing number of strange expressions, among which "Tare an' ages!" "Och! murder!" and several others less lucid in signification, predominated. Chimo was always first ashore, and instantly wheeled round to greet Eda, who was also _always_ second, thanks to the strong and prompt arm of Francois, who sat just in front, and by tacit agreement took her under his special charge. As for Mrs Stanley, the arm that was rightfully her own, and had been her shield in many a scene of danger, proved ever ready and able to succour the "first volunteer" to Ungava. At times the sea was quite free of ice, and many miles were soon added to the space which separated the little band of adventurers from the rest of the human world. Their encampments varied according to the nature of the coast, being sometimes among pine-trees, or surrounded by dwarf willows; at other times on the bare sand of the sea-shore; and occasionally at the extremity of long-projecting capes and promontories, where they had to pitch their tent and make their beds in the clefts of the solid rock. But wherever they laid them down to rest--on the rock, or on the sand, or within the shade of the forest--it was always found, as Mrs Stanley remarked of the first night's encampment, that they were extremely comfortable and eminently snug. They were successful, too, in procuring an ample supply of fresh provisions. There were ducks and geese of various kinds, and innumerable quantities of plover, cormorants, gulls, and eider-ducks, the eggs of which they found in thousands. Many of these birds were good for food, and the eggs of most of them, especially those of the eider-duck, were excellent. Reindeer were also met with; and, among other trophies of his skill as a hunter, Frank one day brought in a black bear, parts of which were eaten with great gusto by the Esquimaux and Indians, to the immense disgust of Bryan, who expressed his belief that the "haythens was barely fit to live," and were most justly locked out from society in "thim dissolate polar raygeons." There were many seals, also, in the sea, which put up their ugly, grotesque heads ever and anon, gazed at the canoes with their huge, fishy eyes, as in surprise at the sight of such novel marine monsters, and then sank slowly beneath the wave. These animals were never molested, out of respect to the feelings of the two Indians, who believed them to be gods, and assured Stanley that the destruction of one would infallibly bring down ill-luck and disaster on the heads of the party. Stanley smiled inwardly at this, but gave orders that no seals should be shot-- an order which all were very willing to obey, as they did not require the animals either for food or any other purpose. Several white polar bears were seen, but they also were spared, as they require a great deal of shot to kill them, if not hit exactly behind the ear; and besides, neither their bodies nor skins were of any use to the travellers. Thus all went favourably for a time. But life is a chequered story, and the sun of prosperity does not always shine, as we shall see. One fine morning, as they were paddling cheerfully along in the neighbourhood of Cape Jones, it struck Mr Stanley that he might prove the correctness of his sextant and other instruments before entering upon the country which to most of the party was _terra incognita_. This was the more necessary that he could not depend on the guidance of Oostesimow and Ma-Istequan, they having travelled only once, long ago, through part of the country, while the latter part of it was totally unknown to them. It was one of those beautiful mornings that are peculiar to arctic regions, when the air is inexpressibly still, and all inanimate nature seems hushed in profound repose--a repose which is rather rendered more effective than otherwise by the plaintive cries of wild-fowl or the occasional puffing of a whale. There was a peculiar brilliancy, too, in the atmosphere, caused by the presence of so many fields and hummocks of white ice, looming fantastically through a thin, dry, gauze-like haze, which, while it did not dim the brightness of the solar rays, lent an additional charm to every object by shrouding it in a veil of mystery. On passing the point the men ceased rowing, and proceeded to solace themselves with a five-minutes' pipe--an indulgence which voyageurs always claim as their due after a long spell at the oars or paddles. "Put ashore here, Massan," said Stanley, turning to the guide; "I shall take an observation, if possible, and you can set the men to hunt for eggs. We shall want them, as the larder is rather low just now." Massan muttered assent, and, shouting to the other canoe to put ashore, ran alongside the rocks. "You'd better hail the little canoe," said Stanley, as he landed. "I shall want Mr Morton to assist me." Massan stepped upon an elevated rock, and, shading his eyes with his hands, looked earnestly ahead where he observed the little canoe almost beyond vision, and just going to double a point of land. Transferring his hands to his mouth, he used them as a trumpet, and gave forth a shout the like of which had never startled the echoes of the place before. "It's no use, sir," said Massan; "he's past hearin'. I'm afeerd that they're off in the direction o' the White Bear Hills, in hopes o' gittin' a shot." "Try again, Massan," urged Stanley; "raise your pipe a little higher. Perhaps it will reach them." Massan shook his head. "Try it, Bryan," he said, turning to the Irishman, who was sitting on a rock leisurely filling his short, black pipe. "Is it to halloo ye want me?" replied Bryan, rising. "Shure the great gun of Athlone itself could niver hold a candle to ye, Massan, at yellin'; but I'll try, anyhow;" and putting his hands to his mouth he gave forth a roar compared to which Massan's was nothing. There was a sort of crack in the tone of it, however, that was so irresistibly ridiculous that the whole party burst incontinently into a fit of laughter. Loud though it was, it failed to reach the ears of those in the little canoe, which in a few seconds doubled the point and disappeared. "Ah, bad luck to it!" said Bryan, in disgust; "the pipe's damaged intirely. Small pace to ye, Bob Mahone; for shure it was howlin' and screechin' at your wake like a born scrandighowl that broke it." "Never mind, lad; what remains of it is not bad," said Stanley, laughing, as he proceeded to open the box containing his scientific instruments. Meanwhile his wife and Edith wandered along the rocks picking up shells and pebbles; and the men dispersed, some to smoke and chat, others to search for eggs. Bryan and La Roche, who were both aspiring geniuses, and had formed a sort of rough attachment to each other, asked permission to take a walk to the point ahead, where they would wait for the canoes. Having obtained it, they set off at a good round pace, that would have been "throublesome to kape up," as Bryan remarked, "with payse in yer shoes!" "Why you come for to jine de company?" inquired La Roche, as they jogged along. "Why? bekase I'd nothin' else to do, as the ould song says. Ye see, Losh," (Bryan had invented a contraction for his friend's name, which he said was "convanient")--"ye see, Losh, there may be more nor wan raison for a gintleman lavin' his native land in order to thravel in furrin parts. It's thrue I had nothin' in the univarse to do, for I could niver git work nohow, an' whin I got it I could niver kape it. I niver could onderstan' why, but so it was. Nivertheless I managed to live well enough in the ould cabin wid the murphies--" "Vat is murphies?" inquired La Roche. "Bliss yer innocent face, don't ye know it's praties?" "'Tis vat?" "Praties, boy, or pit-taties, if I must be partic'lar." "Ah! goot, goot, I understan'--pettitoes. Oui, oui, ye call him _pomme de terre_." "Hum! well, as I was sayin', I got on pretty well wid the pumdeterres an' the pig, but the pig died wan day--choked hisself on a murphy--that is, a pumbleterre; an' more betoken, it was the last murphy in the house, a powerful big wan that my grandmother had put by for supper. After this ivery thin' wint to smithereens. The rot came, and I thought I should have to list for a sodger. Well, Bob Mahone died o' dhrink and starvation, an' we had a beautiful wake; but there was a rig'lar shindy got up, an' two or three o' the county p'lice misbehaved themselves, so I jist floored them all, wan after the other, an' bolted. Well, I wint straight to Dublin, an' there I met wid an ould friend who was the skipper o' a ship bound for New York. Says he, `Bryan, will ye go?' Says I, `Av coorse; 'an 'shure enough I wint, an' got over the say to 'Meriky.' But I could niver settle down, so, wan way or another, I came at last to Montreal and jined the Company; an' afther knockin' about in the Columbia and Mackenzie's River for some years, I was sint to Moose, an' here I am, Losh, yer sarvant to command." "Goot, ver' goot, mais peculiaire," said La Roche, whose intimacy with this son of Erin had enabled him to comprehend enough of his jargon to grasp the general scope of his discourse. "Av ye mane that lavin' the ould country was _goot_," said Bryan, stooping to pick up a stone and skim it along the smooth surface of the sea, "p'raps ye're right; but there's wan thing I niver could make my mind aisy about," and the blacksmith's voice became deep and his face grave as he recalled these bygone days. "Vat were dat?" inquired La Roche. "Why, ye see, Losh, I was so hard druve by the p'lice that I was forced to lave wid-out sayin' good day to my ould mother, an' they tould me it almost broke her heart; but I've had wan or two screeds from the priest wid her cross at them since, and she's got over it, an' lookin' out for my returnin'--bliss her sowl!--an' I've sint her five pounds ivery year since I left: so ye see, Losh, I've great hope o' seein' her yit, for although she's ould she's oncommon tough, an' having come o' a long-winded stock, I've great hopes o' her." Poor Bryan! it never entered into his reckless brain to think that, considering the life of almost constant peril he led in the land of his pilgrimage, there was more hope of the longevity of his old mother than of himself. Like many of his countrymen, he was a man of strong, passionate, warm feelings, and remarkably unselfish. "Is your contry resemblance to dat?" inquired La Roche, pointing, as he spoke, towards the sea, which was covered with fields and mountains of ice as far out as the eye could discern. "Be the nose o' my great-grandmother (an' that was be no manes a short wan), no!" replied Bryan, with a laugh. "The say that surrounds ould Ireland is niver covered with sich sugar-plums as these. But what have we here?" As he spoke they reached the point at which they were to await the coming up of the canoes, and the object which called forth Bryan's remark was the little canoe, which lay empty on the beach just beyond the point. From the manner in which it lay it was evident that Frank and his Indians had placed it there; but there was no sign of their presence save one or two footprints on the sand. While La Roche was examining these, his companion walked towards a point of rock that jutted out from the cliffs and intercepted the view beyond. On turning round this, he became suddenly rooted to the spot with horror. And little wonder, for just two yards before him stood an enormous polar bear, whose career was suddenly arrested by Bryan's unexpected appearance. It is difficult to say whether the man or the beast expressed most surprise at the rencounter. They both stood stock still, and opened their eyes to the utmost width. But the poor Irishman was evidently petrified by the apparition. He turned deadly pale, and his hands hung idly by his sides; while the bear, recovering from his surprise, rose on his hind legs and walked up to him--a sure sign that he was quite undaunted, and had made up his mind to give battle. As for La Roche, the instant he cast his eyes on the ferocious-looking quadruped, he uttered a frightful yell, bounded towards a neighbouring tree, and ceased not to ascend until its topmost branches were bending beneath his weight. Meanwhile the bear walked up to Bryan, but not meeting with the anticipated grapple of an enemy, and feeling somewhat uneasy under the cataleptic stare of the poor man's eyes--for he still stood petrified with horror--it walked slowly round him, putting its cold nose on his cheek, as if to tempt him to move. But the five minutes of bewilderment that always preceded Bryan's recovery from a sudden fright had not yet expired. He still remained perfectly motionless, so that the bear, disdaining, apparently, to attack an unresisting foe, dropped on his forelegs again. It is difficult to say whether there is any truth in the well-known opinion that the calm, steady gaze of a human eye can quell any animal. Doubtless there are many stories, more or less authentic, corroborative of the fact; but whether this be true or not, we are ready to vouch for the truth of _this_ fact--namely, that under the influence of the blacksmith's gaze, or his silence it may be, the bear was absolutely discomfited. It retreated a step or two, and walked slowly away, looking over its shoulder now and then as it went, as if it half anticipated an onslaught in the rear. We have already said that Bryan was no craven, and that when his faculties were collected he usually displayed a good deal of reckless valour on occasions of danger. Accordingly, no sooner did he see his shaggy adversary in full retreat, than the truant blood returned to his face with a degree of violence that caused it to blaze with fiery red, and swelled the large veins of his neck and forehead almost to bursting. Uttering a truly Irish halloo, he bounded forward like a tiger, tore the cap off his head and flung it violently before him, drew the axe which always hung at his belt, and in another moment stood face to face with the white monster, which had instantly accepted the challenge, and rose on its hind legs to receive him. Raising the axe with both hands, the man aimed a blow at the bear's head; but with a rapid movement of its paw it turned the weapon aside and dashed it into the air. Another such blow, and the reckless blacksmith's career would have been brought to an abrupt conclusion, when the crack of a rifle was heard. Its echo reverberated along the cliffs and floated over the calm water as the polar bear fell dead at Bryan's feet. "Hurrah!" shouted Frank Morton, as he sprang from the bushes, knife in hand, ready to finish the work which his rifle had so well begun. But it needed not. Frank had hit the exact spot behind the ear which renders a second ball unnecessary--the bear was already quite dead. CHAPTER NINE. A STORM BREWING--IT BURSTS, AND PRODUCES CONSEQUENCES--THE PARTY TAKE TO THE WATER PER FORCE--ALL SAVED. "Ah, Bryan! `a friend in need is a friend indeed,'" said Frank, as he sat on a rock watching the blacksmith and his two Indians while they performed the operation of skinning the bear, whose timely destruction has been related in the last chapter. "I must say I never saw a man stand his ground so well, with a brute like that stealing kisses from his cheek. Were they sweet, Bryan? Did they remind you of the fair maid of Derry, hey?" "Ah! thrue for ye," replied the blacksmith, as he stepped to a rock for the purpose of whetting his knife; "yer honour was just in time to save me a power o' throuble. Bad skran to the baste! it would have taken three or four rounds at laste to have finished him nately off, for there's no end o' fat on his ribs that would have kep' the knife from goin' far in." Frank laughed at this free-and-easy way of looking at it. "So you think you would have killed him, do you, if I had not saved you the trouble?" "Av coorse I do. Shure a man is better than a baste any day; and besides, had I not a frind at my back ridy to help me?" Bryan cast a comical leer at La Roche as he said this, and the poor Frenchman blushed, for he felt that his conduct in the affair had not been very praiseworthy. It is due to La Roche to say, however, that no sooner had he found himself at the top of the tree, and had a moment to reflect, than he slid rapidly to the bottom again, and ran to the assistance of his friend, not, however, in time to render such assistance available, as he came up just at the moment the bear fell. In half an hour afterwards the two large canoes came up, and Bryan and his little friend had to undergo a rapid fire of witticism from their surprised and highly-amused comrades. Even Moses was stirred up to say that "Bryan, him do pratty well; he most good 'nuff to make an Eskimo!" Having embarked the skin of the bear, the canoes once more resumed their usual order and continued on their way. The carcass of the bear being useless for food, was left for the wolves; and the claws, which were nearly as large as a man's finger, were given by Frank to the blacksmith, that he might make them into a necklace, as the Indians do, and keep it in remembrance of his rencounter. But the weather was now beginning to change. Dick Prince, whose black eye was ever roving about observantly, told Massan that a storm was brewing, and that the sooner he put ashore in a convenient spot the better. But Stanley was anxious to get on, having a long journey before him, at the termination of which there would be little enough time to erect a sufficient protection against the winter of the north; so he continued to advance along shore until they came to a point beyond which there was a very deep bay that would take them many hours to coast. By making a traverse, however, in a direct line to the next point, they might cross it in a much shorter time. "How say you, Prince? shall we cross?" asked Stanley, as they rested on their paddles and cast furtive glances up at the dark clouds and across the still quiet bay. Prince shook his head. "I fear we won't have time to cross. The clouds are driving too fast and growin' black." "Well, then, we had better encamp," said Stanley.--"Is there a proper place, Massan, hereabouts?" "No, sir," replied the guide. "The stones on the beach are the only pillows within six mile o' us." "Ho! then, forward, boys, make a bold push for it," cried Stanley; "if it does begin to blow before we're over, we can run back again at all events." In another moment the canoes swept out to sea, and made for the point far ahead like race-horses. Although the clouds continued to gather, the wind did not rise, and it seemed as though they would get over easily, when a sudden gust came off the shore--a direction whence, from the appearance of the clouds, it had not been expected. Ruffling the surface of the water for a few seconds, it passed away. "Give way, boys, give way," cried Massan, using his large steering paddle with a degree of energy that sent the canoe plunging forward. "We can't go back, an' if the storm bursts off the shore--" A loud peal of thunder drowned the remainder of the sentence, and in a few seconds the wind that had been dreaded came whistling violently off the shore and covered the sea with foam. The waves soon began to rise, and ere long the frail barks, which were ill calculated to weather a storm, were careering over them and shipping water at every plunge. It now became a matter of life and death with them that they should gain the point, for, deeply loaded as they were, it was impossible that they could float long in such a sea. It is true that a wind off the shore does not usually raise what sailors would consider much of a sea; but it must be remembered that, although it was off shore, the bay which they were crossing extended far inland, so that the gale had a wide sweep of water to act upon before it reached them. Besides this, as has already been explained, canoes are not like boats. Their timbers are weak, the bark of which they are made is thin, the gum which makes their seams tight is easily knocked off in cold water, and, in short, they cannot face a sea on which a boat might ride like a sea-gull. For a considerable time the men strained every nerve to gain the wished-for point of land, but with so little success that it became evident they would never reach it. The men began to show signs of flagging, and cast uneasy glances towards Stanley, as if they had lost all hope of accomplishing their object, and waited for him to suggest what they should do. Poor Mrs Stanley sat holding on to the gunwale with one hand and clasping Edith round the waist with the other, as she gazed wistfully towards the cape ahead, which was now almost lost to view under the shadow of a dark cloud that rolled towards them like a black pall laden with destruction. "God help us!" murmured Stanley, in an undertone, as he scanned the seaward horizon, which was covered with leaden clouds and streaks of lurid light, beneath which the foaming sea leaped furiously. "Call upon Me in the time of trouble, and I will deliver thee," said Mrs Stanley, who overheard the exclamation. Stanley either heard her not or his mind was too deeply concentrated on the critical nature of their position to make any reply. As she buried her face in her hands, Edith threw her trembling arms round her mother and hid her face in her bosom. Even Chimo seemed to understand their danger, for he crept closer to the side of his young mistress and whined in a low tone, as if in sympathy. The waves had now increased to such a degree that it required two of the men to bail incessantly in order to prevent their being swamped, and as Stanley cast a hurried glance at the other canoes, which were not far off, he observed that it was as much as they could do to keep afloat. "Could we not run back, Massan?" asked Stanley, in despair. "Unposs'ble, sir," replied the guide, whose voice was almost drowned by the whistling of the wind. "We're more nor half-way over, an' it would only blow us farther out to sea if we was to try." While the guide spoke, Stanley was gazing earnestly in the direction of the horizon. "Round with you, Massan," he exclaimed suddenly; "put the canoe about and paddle straight out to sea.--Hallo!" he shouted to the other canoes, "follow us out to sea--straight out." The men looked aghast at this extraordinary order. "Look alive, lads," continued their leader; "I see an island away there to leeward. Perhaps it's only a rock, but any way it's our only chance." The canoes' heads were turned round, and in another moment they were driving swiftly before the wind in the direction of the open sea. "Right, right," murmured Dick Prince, as they made towards this new source of hope; "mayhap it's only a bit o' ice, but even that's better than nothin'." "If 'tis only ice," cried La Roche, "ye have ver' pauvre chance at all." "Shure, an' if we are to go ashore at all, at all," said Bryan, whose spirits had suddenly risen with this gleam of hope from fifty degrees below to fifty above zero--"if we are to go ashore at all, at all, it's better to land on the ice than on the wather." With such a breeze urging them on, the three canoes soon approached what appeared to be a low sand-bank, on which the sea was dashing in white foam. But from the tossing of the waves between them and the beach, it was difficult to form a conjecture as to its size. Indeed, at times they could scarcely see it at all, owing to the darkness of the day and the heavy rain which began to fall just as they approached; and more than once Stanley's heart sank when he lost sight of the bank, and he began to think that he had made a mistake, and that they were actually flying out to the deep sea, in which case all hope would be gone for ever. But God's mercy was extended to them in this hour of peril. The island appeared to grow larger as they neared it, and at last they were within a stone's-throw of the shore. But a new danger assailed them here. The largest canoe, which neared the island first, had begun to leak, and took in water so fast that the utmost efforts of those who bailed could not keep it under, and from the quantity that was now shipped they made very little way. To add to the horror of the scene, the sky became very dark, and another crash of thunder pealed forth accompanied by a blinding flash of lightning. "Paddle, boys, paddle for your lives!" cried Stanley, throwing off his coat, and seizing a tin dish, with which he began to throw out the water. The canoe rose on a huge wave which broke all round it. This nearly filled it with water, and carried it towards the shore with such velocity that it seemed as if they should be dashed in pieces; but they fell back into the trough of the sea, and lay motionless like a heavy log, and in a sinking condition. "Now, lads, look out for the next wave, and give way with a will," cried Massan. The worthy steersman acted rather too energetically on his own advice, for he dipped his paddle with such force that it snapped in two. "Be ready to jump out," cried Dick Prince, standing up in the bow in order to give more power to his strokes. As he spoke, Stanley turned to his wife, and said, "Jessie, hold on by my collar; I'll take Eda in my arms." At that instant the canoe gave a lurch, and before Stanley could grasp his child, they were all struggling in the sea! At this awful moment, instead of endeavouring to do as her husband directed, Mrs Stanley instinctively threw her arms around Edith, and while the waves were boiling over her, she clasped the child tightly to her bosom with her left arm, while with her right she endeavoured to raise herself to the surface. Twice she succeeded, and twice she sank, when a box of merchandise providentially struck her arm. Seizing this, she raised herself above the water, and poor Edith gasped convulsively once or twice for air. Then the box was wrenched from her grasp by a wave, and with a wild shriek she sank again. Just then a strong arm was thrown around her, her feet touched the ground, and in a few seconds she was dragged violently from the roaring waves and fell exhausted on the beach. "Thanks be to God, we are saved!" murmured Mrs Stanley, as her husband assisted her to rise and led her beyond the reach of the waves, while Edith still clung with a deadly grasp to her mother's neck. "Ay, Jessie, thank God indeed! But for His mercy we should have all been lost. I was floundering about beside the canoe when your scream showed me where you were, and enabled me to save you. But rest here, in the lee of this bale.--I cannot stay by you. Frank is in danger still." Without waiting for a reply, he sprang from her side and hurried down to the beach. Here everything was in the utmost confusion. The two large canoes had been saved and dragged out of the reach of the waves, and the men were struggling in the boiling surf to rescue the baggage and provisions, on which latter their very lives depended. As Stanley reached the scene of action, he observed several of the men watching the small canoe which contained Frank and his two Indians. It had been left some distance behind by the others, and was now approaching with arrow speed on the summit of a large wave. Suddenly the top of the billow curled over, and in another moment the canoe was turned bottom up! Like a cork it danced on the wave's white crest, then falling beneath the thundering mass of water, it was crushed to pieces and cast empty upon the beach. But Frank and his men swam like otters, and the party on shore watched them with anxious looks as they breasted manfully over the billows. At last a towering wave came rolling majestically forward. It caught the three swimmers in its rough embrace, and carrying them along on its crest, launched them on the beach, where it left them struggling with the retreating water. Those who have bathed in rough weather on an exposed coast know well how difficult it is to regain a firm footing on loose sand while a heavy wave is sweeping backward into its parent ocean. Frank and the two Indians experienced this; and they might have struggled there till their strength had been exhausted, were it not for Stanley, Prince, and Massan, who rushed simultaneously into the water and rescued them. As the whole party had now, by the goodness of God, reached the land in safety, they turned their undivided energies towards the bales and boxes which were rolling about in the surf. Many of these had been already collected, and were carried to the spot where Mrs Stanley and Edith lay under the shelter of a bale. As the things were successively brought up they were piled around the mother and child, who soon found themselves pretty well sheltered from the wind, though not from the rain, which still fell in torrents. Soon after Frank came to them, and said that all the things were saved, and that it was time to think of getting up some sort of shelter for the night. This was very much needed, for poor Edith was beginning to shiver from the wet and cold. "Now then, Francois, Massan," shouted Frank, "lend a hand here to build a house for Eda. We'll be all as snug as need be in a few minutes." Despite the cold and her recent terror, the poor child could not help smiling at the idea of building a house in a few minutes, and it was with no little curiosity that she watched the operations of the men. Meanwhile Mr Stanley brought some wine in a pannikin, and made Edith and his wife drink a little. This revived them greatly, and as the rain had now almost ceased they rose and endeavoured to wring the water out of their garments. In less than half an hour the men piled the bales and boxes in front of the largest canoe, which was turned bottom up, and secured firmly in that position by an embankment of sand. Over the top of all, three oil-cloths were spread and lashed down, thus forming a complete shelter, large enough to contain the whole party. At one end of this curious house Mr Stanley made a separate apartment for his wife and child, by placing two large bales and a box as a partition; and within this little space Edith soon became very busy in arranging things, and "putting the house to rights," as she said, as long as the daylight lasted, for after it went away they had neither candles nor fire, as the former had been soaked and broken, and as for the latter no wood could be found on the island. The men's clothes were, of course, quite wet, so they cut open a bale of blankets, which had not been so much soaked as the other goods, having been among the first things that were washed ashore. At the time they were wrecked the dashing spray and the heavy rain, together with the darkness of the day, had prevented the shipwrecked voyageurs from ascertaining the nature of the island on which they had been cast; and as the night closed in while they were yet engaged in the erection of their temporary shelter, they had to lie down to rest in ignorance on this point. After such a day of unusual fatigue and excitement, they all felt more inclined for rest than food; so, instead of taking supper, they all lay down huddled together under the canoe, and slept soundly, while the angry winds whistled round them, and the great sea roared and lashed itself into foam on the beach, as if disappointed that the little band of adventurers had escaped and were now beyond the reach of its impotent fury. CHAPTER TEN. THE SAND-BANK--DISMAL PROSPECTS--CONSULTATIONS--INTERNAL ARRANGEMENTS EXPOSED AND DETAILED. Of all the changes that constantly vary the face of nature, the calm that succeeds a storm is one of the most beautiful, and the most agreeable, perhaps, to the feelings of man. Few conditions of nature convey to the mind more thoroughly the idea of complete repose--of deep rest after mortal strife, of sleep after exhausting toil; and those who have passed through the violence of the storm and done battle with its dangers are, by the physical rest which they enjoy after it is over, the more fitted to appreciate and sympathise with the repose which reigns around them. When the sun rose, on the morning after the storm, it shone upon a scene so calm and beautiful, so utterly unconnected with anything like the sin of a fallen world, and so typical, in its deep tranquillity, of the mind of Him who created it, that it seemed almost possible for a moment to fancy that the promised land was gained at last, and that all the dark clouds, the storms and dangers, the weary journeyings and the troubles of the wilderness, were past and gone for ever. So glorious was the scene that when Edith, rising from her rude couch and stepping over the prostrate forms of her still slumbering companions, issued from the shelter of the canoe and cast her eyes abroad upon the glassy sea, she could not restrain her feelings, and uttered a thrilling shout of joy that floated over the waters and reverberated among the glittering crags of the surrounding icebergs. The island on which the travellers had been cast was a mere knoll of sand, not more than a few hundred yards in circumference, that scarcely raised its rounded summit above the level of the water, and at full tide was reduced to a mere speck, utterly destitute of vegetation. The sea around it was now smooth and clear as glass, though undulated by a long, regular swell, which rolled, at slow, solemn intervals, in majestic waves towards the sand-bank, where they hovered for a moment in curved walls of dark-green water, then, lipping over, at their crests, fell in a roar of foam that hissed a deep sigh on the pebbles of the beach, and left the silence greater than before. Masses of ice floated here and there on the surface of the deep, the edges and fantastic points of which were tipped with light. Not far from the northern extremity of the sand-bank a large iceberg had grounded, from the sides of which several pinnacles had been hurled by the shock and now lay stranded on the beach. The shout with which Edith had welcomed the morning roused the whole party, and in a few minutes they were all assembled outside of their little hut, some admiring the scene, others--of a less enthusiastic and more practical turn--examining the circumstances of their position, and considering the best course that should be pursued in their difficulty. Mr Stanley, Dick Prince, and Massan, as was their wont, held a council upon the existing state of things, and after much gazing round at the sea and up at the sky, and considerable grunting of his deep voice and rubbing of his capacious chin, on the part of the latter, he turned to Dick Prince, as if appealing to his superior sagacity, and said-- "Well, ye see, my 'pinion's jist this: yonder's the mainland there" (pointing to the eastward, where, about ten miles distant, the rocks and trees were seen distorted and faintly looming through a tremulous haze), "an' there's our canoes _there_" (jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the large canoes, whose torn sides and damaged ribs, as they lay exposed on the sand, bore sad testimony to the violence of the previous night's storm), "and there's the little canoe yonder," (glancing towards the craft in question, which lay on the beach a hopelessly-destroyed mass of splinters and shreds of bark that projected and bristled in all directions, as in uncontrollable amazement at the suddenness and entirety of its own destruction). "Now, that bein' the case, an' the baggage all wet, an' the day parfitly beautiful, an' the sun about hot enough to bile the sea, we can't do better nor stay where we are, an' mend the canoes, dry the goods, an' start fair to-morrow mornin'." Stanley looked at Prince, as if expecting a remark from him; but the grave countenance of the silent bowman indicated that he was absorbed in contemplation. "'Tis quite evident, Massan," said Stanley, "that we must repair the canoes; but a few hours could do that, and I don't like the idea of staying another night on a strip of sand like this, which, I verily believe, another stiff nor'-wester would blow away altogether.--But what say you, Prince? Do you advise our remaining?" "Yes," replied Dick, "I do. Ye see there's no fear of another storm soon. 'Tis a good chance for dryin' the goods, so I vote for stoppin'." "Well, then, we shall stay," replied Stanley. "To say truth, I agreed with you at first, Massan, but it's always advisable to look at both sides of a question--" "Yes, and `in the multitude of counsellors there is wisdom,'" said Frank Morton, coming up at the moment, and tapping his friend on the shoulder. "If you will include me in your confabulation, you shall have the benefit of deep experience and far-sighted sagacity." "Come, then, Master Frank," replied Stanley, "what does your sagacity advise on the point of our staying on this sandbank? Shall we spend another night on it in order to dry the goods, or shall we up and away to _terra firma_ as soon as the canoes are seaworthy?" "Stay, of course," said Frank. "As to the sand-bank, 'tis firm enough, to my mind, after resisting the shock of the wave that dashed me ashore last night. Then we have everything we need--shelter and food, and even fuel." As Frank mentioned the last word, he glanced round with a rueful countenance and pointed to the bark and timbers of his broken canoe. "True, Frank, we have wherewith to boil the kettle, and as the water-cask was full when we started yesterday morning, there will be enough at least for one or two days." "By the way, that reminds me that Eda and your wife are particularly desirous of having breakfast," said Frank. "In fact they sent me specially to lay their melancholy case before you; and I have great fears that Eda will lay violent hands on the raw pork if her morning meal is delayed much longer. As for Chimo, he is rushing about the island in a state of ravenous despair; so pray let us be going." "Be it so, Frank," said Stanley, taking his friend's arm, and sauntering towards the canoe, while Massan and Prince went to inform their comrades of the determination of their leader. In an hour after the above discourse breakfast was over, and the men, under Stanley's inspection, arranged and examined the baggage, which, considering that it had been rolled about by the surf for a considerable time, was not so much soaked as might have been expected. The two kegs of gunpowder were first inspected, being the most valuable part of the cargo, as on them depended much of their future livelihood. They were found to be quite dry, except a small portion of powder at the seams of the staves, which, having caked with the moisture, had saved the rest from damage. Some of the bales, however, containing knives and other hardware, were very wet, and had to be opened out and their contents wiped and spread out to dry. Blankets, too, and other woollen garments that had suffered, were also spread out on the sand, so that in a short time the little island was quite covered with a strange assortment of miscellaneous articles, that gave to it the appearance of a crowded store. The entire wealth of the fur-traders was now exposed to view, and it may perhaps be interesting to enumerate the different articles, in order to give some idea of the outfit deemed necessary on such an expedition. And, first, there were two kegs of gunpowder, as before mentioned, containing each thirty pounds, with four bags of ball and three of shot of various sizes--in all, about 250 pounds of lead. Six nets of four and a half inch mesh. A large quantity of twine for making nets--most of the men being able to construct these useful articles. A small bag of gun-flints. Sixty pounds of roll tobacco. Twelve large axes. Six augers. Seven dozen scalping-knives. Six pounds of variously-coloured beads. Two dozen fire-steels, and a pretty large assortment of awls, needles, thread, nails, and such like small articles, which, though extremely useful, were too numerous and comparatively insignificant to mention in detail. Besides these, there was a small bale containing gaudy ornaments and attractive articles, which were intended as propitiatory presents to the Esquimaux when they should be met with. Then there were two runlets of salt pork, containing about ninety pounds each, and in the centre of each runlet were two hams. A barrel of flour and a barrel of oatmeal constituted all their provision, if we except a small cask of hard biscuit, and a little tea and sugar, which were the private property of Stanley and Frank Morton. There was also a large deerskin tent, capable of holding from twenty to thirty men, which was intended to be used while they were engaged in building their winter residence at Ungava. As to arms, each man had one of the long single-barrelled fowling-pieces that are supplied by the Fur Company to the natives, and are styled Indian guns. Stanley had a double-barrelled flint fowling-piece; and Frank had a rifle, besides a single gun of a description somewhat finer than that supplied to the Indians. Of course each man carried a scalping-knife and an axe in his belt, not for the purpose of self-defence, but for carving their food and cutting their fuel. It may be well to remark here that the goods and provisions which we have detailed above were merely intended as a supply for their immediate necessities, and to enable them to commence active operations at once on arriving at their destination, while the heavy stores and goods necessary for the year's trade were to be forwarded in a small sloop from the depot direct through Hudson's Straits to Ungava Bay. When the work of unpacking and exposing the things to dry in the sun was accomplished, it was long past noon, and high time for dinner; so a fire was lighted by Bryan, who cut up another portion of Frank's canoe for the purpose. A rasher of pork and a flour cake were disposed of by each of the party in a surprisingly short time, and then the men bestirred themselves in mending the canoes. This was a more troublesome job than they expected, but being accustomed not only to mend but to make canoes, they worked with a degree of skill and diligence that speedily put all to rights. In Massan's canoe there was a hole large enough, as Bryan remarked, to stick his head through, though it was a "big wan, an' no mistake." Taking up a roll of bark, which was carried with them for the purpose, Massan cut from it a square patch, which he _sewed_ over the hole, using an awl for a needle and the fibrous roots of the pine tree, called wattape, for thread. After it was firmly sewed on, the seams were covered with melted gum, and the broken spot was as tight and strong as ever. There were next found several long slits, one of them fully three feet, which were more easily managed, as they merely required to be sewed and covered with gum. Several broken ribs, however, were not so easily repaired. Had there been any wood on the island, Massan's quick knife would have soon fashioned new ribs; as it was, he had to make the best job he could, by splicing the old ones with several pieces abstracted from Frank's little canoe. It was sunset before all was put in complete order, the goods repacked, and placed in readiness for a start at daybreak on the following morning. After all was done, the remains of the small canoe were converted into a bonfire, round which the tired and hungry travellers assembled to smoke and chat, while supper was being prepared by the indefatigable Bryan and his friend La Roche. As the day faded away the stars came out, one by one, until they glittered in millions in the sky, while the glare of the fire became every moment more and more intense as the darkness deepened. It was a strange, wild scene,--especially when viewed from the extremity of the little sand-bank, which was so low as to be almost indiscernible in the dark night, and seemed scarce a sufficient foundation for the little busy group of human beings who stood radiant in the red light of their camp-fire, like a blazing gem cast upon the surface of the great, cold sea. CHAPTER ELEVEN. START AFRESH--SUPERSTITIOUS NOTIONS--THE WHIRLPOOL--THE INTERIOR-- FISHING IN THE OLD WAY ON NEW GROUND, AND WHAT CAME OF IT--A COLD BATH-- THE RESCUE--SAVED--DEEPER AND DEEPER INTO THE WILDERNESS. As if to make amends for its late outrageous conduct, the weather, after the night of the great storm, continued unbrokenly serene for many days, enabling our travellers to make rapid progress towards their destination: It would be both tiresome and unnecessary to follow them step by step throughout their journey, as the part of it which we have already described was, in many respects, typical of the whole voyage along the east coast of Hudson's Bay. Sometimes, indeed, a few incidents of an unusual character did occur. Once they were very nearly being crushed between masses of ice; twice the larger canoe struck on a hummock, and had to be landed and repaired; and frequently mishaps of a slighter nature befell them. Their beds, too, varied occasionally. At one time they laid them down to rest on the sand of the sea-shore; at another, on the soft turf and springy moss of the woods. Sometimes they were compelled to content themselves with a couch of pebbles, few of which were smaller than a man's fist; and, not unfrequently, they had to make the best they could of a flat rock, whose unyielding surface seemed to put the idea of anything like rest to flight, causing the thin men of the party to growl and the fat ones to chuckle. Bryan was one of the well-favoured, being round and fleshy; while his poor little friend La Roche possessed a framework of bones that were so sparingly covered with softer substance, as to render it a matter of wonder how he and the stones could compromise the matter at all, and called forth from his friend frequent impertinent allusions to "thridpapers, bags o' bones, idges o' knives, half fathoms o' pump water," and such like curious substances. But whatever the bed, it invariably turned out that the whole party slept soundly from the time they lay down till the time of rising, which was usually at the break of day. Owing to the little Indian canoe having been wrecked on the sand-bank, Frank and his men had to embark in the smaller of the large canoes; a change which was in some respects a disadvantage to the party, as Frank could not now so readily dash away in pursuit of game. However, this did not much matter, as, in a few days afterwards, they arrived at the mouth of the river by which they intended to penetrate into the interior of the country. The name of the river is Deer River, and it flows into Richmond Gulf, which is situated on the east shore of Hudson's Bay, in latitude 56 degrees North. Richmond Gulf is twenty miles long, and about the same in breadth; but the entrance to it is so narrow that the tide pours into it like a torrent until it is full. The pent-up waters then rush out on one side of this narrow inlet while they are running in at the other, causing a whirlpool which would engulf a large boat and greatly endanger even a small vessel. Of course it was out of the question to attempt the passage of such a vortex in canoes, except at half flood or half ebb tide, at which periods the waters became quiet. On arriving at the mouth of the gulf, the travellers found the tide out and the entrance to it curling and rolling in massive volumes, as if all the evil water-spirits of the north were holding their orgies there. Oostesimow and Ma-Istequan, being by nature and education intensely superstitious, told Stanley--after they had landed to await the flow of the tide--that it was absolutely necessary to perform certain ceremonies in order to propitiate the deities of the place, otherwise they could not expect to pass such an awful whirlpool in safety. Their leader smiled, and told them to do as they thought fit, adding, however, that he would not join them, as he did not believe in any deities whatever, except the one true God, who did not require to be propitiated in any way, and could not be moved by any other means than by prayer in the name of Jesus Christ. The red men seemed surprised a little at this, but, with their proverbial stoicism, refrained from any further or more decided expression of feeling. Nevertheless, the Indians sufficiently showed their faith in their own doctrines by immediately setting about a series of curious and elaborate ceremonies, which it was impossible to comprehend, and decidedly unprofitable to describe. They appeared, however, to attach much importance to their propitiatory offerings, the chief among which seemed to be a few inches of tobacco, with which it was fondly hoped the deities of the gulf would condescend to smoke the pipe of peace while their red children ventured to trespass a little on their domain; and hard indeed must have been the hearts of the said spirits had they refused so valuable an offering, for tobacco is the life and marrow, the quintessence of terrestrial felicity, the very joy and comfort of a voyageur, and the poor Indians had but little of it to spare. While this was going on, Bryan stood with his back to the fire, a remarkably short and peculiarly black pipe in his mouth, and his head inclined sagaciously to one side, as if he designed, by dint of a combination of intense mental abstraction, partial closing of his eyes, severe knitting of his brows, and slow but exceedingly voluminous emission of smoke, to come to a conclusion in regard to the unfathomable subject of Indian superstition. La Roche, steeped in unphilosophic indifference on such matters, and keenly alive to the gross cravings of hunger, busied himself in concocting a kettle of soup; while the rest of the party rambled about the beach or among the bushes in search of eggs. In this latter search Frank and Edith were very successful, and returned with pockets laden with excellent eggs of the eider-duck, which were immediately put into the kettle, and tended not a little to increase the excellence of the soup and the impatience of the men. Meanwhile the tide rose, the power of the current was gradually checked, and towards noon they passed the dangerous narrows in safety. From the view that was now obtained of the interior, it became evident that the worst of their journey yet lay before them. On arriving at the mouth of Deer River, the mountains were seen to rise abruptly and precipitously, while far away inland their faint blue peaks rose into the sky. Indeed from this point the really hard work of the voyage may be said to have commenced; for scarcely had they proceeded a few miles up the river, when their further progress, at least by water, was effectually interrupted by a rapid which came leaping madly down its rocky bed, as if the streams rejoiced to escape from the chasms and mountain gorges, and find rest at last on the ample bosom of the great deep. "What think ye of that, boy?" said Stanley to Frank Morton, as they leaped from their respective canoes, and stood gazing at the rugged glen from which the rapid issued, and the wild appearance of the hills beyond. "It seems to me that report spoke truly when it said that the way to Clearwater Lake was rugged. Here is no despicable portage to begin with; and yonder cliffs, that look so soft and blue in the far distance, will prove to be dark and hard enough when we get at them, I warrant." "When we get at them!" echoed Mrs Stanley, as she approached, leading Edith by the hand. "Get at them, George! Had any one asked me if it were possible to pass over these mountains with our canoes and cargoes, I should have answered, `Decidedly not!'" "And yet you were so foolish and reckless as to be the first to volunteer for this decidedly impossible expedition!" replied Stanley. "There you are inconsistent," said Mrs Stanley, smiling. "If reckless, I cannot be foolish, according to your own showing; for I have heard you give it as your opinion that recklessness is one of the most essential elements in the leaders of a forlorn hope. But really the thing does seem to my ignorant mind impossible.--What think you, Eda?" Mrs Stanley bent down and looked into the face of her child, but she received no reply. The expanded eyes, indeed, spoke volumes; and the parted lips, on which played a fitful, exulting smile, the heightened colour, and thick-coming breath, told eloquently of her anticipated delight in these new regions, which seemed so utterly different from the shores of the bay: but her tongue was mute. And well might Mrs Stanley think the passage over these mountains impossible; for, except to men accustomed to canoe travelling in the American lakes and rivers, such an attempt would have appeared as hopeless as the passage of a ship through the ice-locked polar seas in winter. Not so thought the men. Already several of the most active of them were scrambling up the cliffs with heavy loads on their backs; and, while Stanley and his wife were yet conversing, two of them approached rapidly, bearing the large canoe on their shoulders. The exclamation that issued from the foremost of these proved him to be Bryan. "Now, bad luck to ye, Gaspard! can't ye go stidy? It's mysilf that'll be down on me blissid nose av ye go staggerin' about in that fashion. Sure it's Losh, the spalpeen, that would carry the canoe better than you." Gaspard made no reply. Bryan staggered on, growling as he went, and in another minute they were hid from view among the bushes. "What do you see, Frank?" inquired Stanley; "you stare as earnestly as Bryan did at the white bear last week. What is't, man? Speak!" "A fish," replied Frank. "I saw him rise in the pool, and I'm certain he's a very large one." "Very likely, Frank; there ought to be a fish of some sort there. I've been told--hist! there he's again. As I live, a salmon! a salmon, Frank! Now for your rod, my boy." But Frank heard him not, for he was gone. In a few minutes he returned with a fishing-rod, which he was busily engaged in putting up as he hurried towards the rocks beside the pool. Now, Frank Morton was a fisher. We do not mean to say that he was a fisher by profession; nor do we merely affirm that he was rather fond of the gentle art of angling, or generally inclined to take a cast when he happened to be near a good stream. By no means. Frank was more than that implies. He was a steady, thorough-going disciple of Izaak Walton; one who, in the days of his boyhood, used to flee to the water-side at all seasons, in all weathers, and despite all obstacles. Not only was it his wont to fish when he could, or how he could, but too often was he beguiled to fish at times and in ways that were decidedly improper; sometimes devoting those hours which were set apart expressly for the acquirement of Greek and Latin, to wandering by mountain stream or tarn, rod in hand, up to the knees in water, among the braes and woodlands of his own native country. And Frank's enthusiasm did not depend entirely on his success. It was a standing joke among his school-fellows that Frank would walk six miles any day for the chance of a nibble from the ghost of a minnow. Indeed he was often taunted by his ruder comrades with being such a keen fisher that he was quite content if he only hooked a drowned cat during a day's excursion. But Frank was good-natured; he smiled at their jests, and held on the even tenor of his way, whipping the streams more pertinaciously than his master whipped _him_ for playing truant; content alike to bear ignominy and chastisement, so long as he was rewarded by a nibble, and overjoyed beyond expression when he could return home with the tail of a two-pounder hanging over the edge of his basket. Far be it from us to hold up to ridicule the weakness of a friend, but we cannot help adding that Master Frank made the most of his tails. His truthful and manly nature, indeed, would not stoop to actual deception, but he had been known on more than one occasion to offer to carry a friend's waterproof fishing-boots in his basket, when his doing so rendered it impossible to prevent the tails of his trout from protruding arrogantly, as if to insinuate that there were shoals within. Another of Frank's weaknesses was, upon the hooking of every fish, to assert, with overweening confidence and considerable excitement, that it was a tremendously big one. Experience had, during all his piscatorial career, contradicted him ninety-nine times out of every hundred; but Frank's firm belief in his last minnow being a big trout--at least until it lay gasping on the bank at his feet--was as unshaken after long years of mistaken calculation as when first he sallied forth to the babbling brook with a willow branch, a fathom of twine, and a crooked pin! Such untiring devotion, of course, could not fail to make Frank particularly knowing in all the details and minutiae of his much-loved sport. He knew every hole and corner of the rivers and burns within fifteen miles of his father's house. He became mysteriously wise in regard to the weather; knew precisely the best fly for any given day, and, in the event of being unhappily destitute of the proper kind, could dress one to perfection in ten minutes. As he grew older and taller, and the muscles on his large and well-made limbs began to develop, Frank slung a more capacious basket on his back, shouldered a heavier rod, and, with a pair of thick shoes and a home-spun shooting suit, stretched away over the Highland hills towards the romantic shores of the west coast of Scotland. Here he first experienced the wild excitement of salmon-fishing; and here the Waltonian chains, that had been twining and thickening around him from infancy, received two or three additional coils, and were finally riveted for ever. During his sojourn in America, he had happened to dwell in places where the fishing, though good, was not of a very exciting nature; and he had not seen a salmon since the day he left home, so that it is not matter for wonder that his stride was rapid and his eye bright while he hurried towards the pool, as before mentioned. He who has never left the beaten tracks of men, or trod the unknown wilderness, can have but a faint conception of the feelings of a true angler as he stands by the brink of a dark pool which has hitherto reflected only the antlers of the wild deer--whose dimpling eddies and flecks of foam have been disturbed by no fisher since the world began, except the polar bear. Besides the pleasurable emotions of strong hope, there is the additional charm of uncertainty as to what will rise, and of certainty that if there be anything piscatine beneath these fascinating ripples it undoubtedly _will_ rise--and bite too! Then there is the peculiar satisfaction of catching now and then a drop of spray from, and hearing the thunder of, a cataract, whose free, surging bound is not yet shackled by the tourist's sentimental description; and the novelty of beholding one's image reflected in a liquid mirror whose geographical position is not yet stereotyped on the charts of man. Alas for these maps and charts! Despite the wishes of scientific geographers and the ignorance of unscientific explorers, we think them far too complete already; and we can conceive few things more dreadful or crushing to the enterprising and romantic spirits of the world than the arrival of that time (if it ever shall arrive) when it shall be said that _terra incognita_ exists no longer--when every one of those fairy-like isles of the southern seas, and all the hidden wonders of the polar regions, shall be put down, in cold blood, on black and white, exposed profanely on the schoolroom walls, and drummed into the thick heads of wretched little boys who don't want to learn, by the unsympathising hands of dominies who, it may be, care but little whether they do or not! But to return. While Frank stood on the rocks, attaching to the line a salmon-fly which he had selected with much consideration from his book, he raised his eyes once or twice to take a rapid glance at his position and the capabilities of the place. About fifty yards further up the river the stream curled round the base of a large rock, and gushed into a pool which was encircled on all sides by an overhanging wall, except where the waters issued forth in a burst of foam. Their force, however, was materially broken by another curve, round which they had to sweep ere they reached this exit, so that when they rushed into the larger pool below they calmed down at once, and on reaching the point where Frank stood, assumed that oily, gurgling surface, dimpled all over with laughing eddies, that suggests irresistibly the idea of fish not only being there, as a matter of course, but being there expressly and solely for the purpose of being caught! A little further down, the river took a slight bend, and immediately after, recurring to its straight course, it dashed down, for a distance of fifty yards, in a tumultuous rapid, which swept into sudden placidity a few hundred yards below. Having taken all this in at a glance, Frank dropped the fly into the water and raised his rod to make a cast. In this act he almost broke the rod, to his amazement; for, instead of whipping the fly lightly out of the water, he dragged a trout of a pound weight violently up on the bank. "Bravo!" cried Stanley, laughing heartily at his friend's stare of mingled wonder and amazement,--"bravo, Frank! I'm no fisher myself, but I've always understood that fish required a little play before being landed. However, you have convinced me of my ignorance. I see that the proper way is to toss them over your head! A salmon must be rather troublesome to toss, but no doubt, with your strong arms, you'll manage it easily, hey?" "Why, what an appetite they must have!" replied Frank, answering his friend's badinage with a smile. "If the little fellows begin thus, what will not the big ones do?" As he spoke, he disengaged the fish and threw it down, and made the next cast so rapidly, that if another trout was waiting to play him a similar trick, it must have been grievously disappointed. The line swept lightly through the air, and the fly fell gently on the stream, where it had not quivered more than two seconds when the water gurgled around it. The next moment Frank's rod bent like a hoop, and the line flew through the rings with whirring rapidity, filling these lonely solitudes for the first time with the pleasant "music of the reel." Almost before Frank had time to take a step in a downward direction, fifty yards were run out, the waters were suddenly cleft, and a salmon sprang like a bar of burnished silver twice its own height into the air. With a sounding splash it returned to its native element; but scarcely had its fins touched the water, when it darted towards the bank. Being brought up suddenly here, it turned at a tangent, and flashed across the pool again, causing the reel to spin with renewed velocity. Here the fish paused for a second, as if to collect its thoughts, and then coming, apparently, to a summary determination as to what it meant to do, it began steadily to ascend the stream, not, indeed, so rapidly as it had descended, but sufficiently so to give Frank some trouble, by means of rapidly winding up, to keep the line tight. Having bored doggedly towards the head of the rapid, the fish stopped and began to shake its head passionately, as if indignant at being foiled in its energetic attempts to escape. After a little time, it lay sulkily down at the bottom of the pool, where it defied its persecutor to move it an inch. "What's to be done now?" asked Stanley, who stood ready to gaff the fish when brought near to the bank. "We must rouse him up," said Frank, as he slowly wound up the line. "Just take up a stone and throw it at him." Stanley looked surprised, for he imagined that such a proceeding would frighten the fish and cause it to snap the line; but seeing that Frank was in earnest, he did as he was directed. No sooner had the stone sunk than the startled fish once more dashed across the river; then taking a downward course, it sped like an arrow to the brink of the rough water below. To have allowed the salmon to go down the rapid would have been to lose it, so Frank arrested the spinning of his reel and held on. For a second or two the rod bent almost in a circle, and the line became fearfully rigid. "You'll break it, Frank," cried Stanley, in some anxiety. "It can't be helped," said Frank, compressing his lips; "he must not go down there. The tackle is new; I think it will hold him." Fortunately the tackle proved to be very good. The fish was arrested, and after one or two short runs, which showed that its vigour was abated, it was drawn carefully towards the rocks. As it drew near it rolled over on its side once or twice--an evident sign of being much exhausted. "Now, Stanley, be careful," said Frank, as his friend stepped cautiously towards the fish and extended the gaff. "I've seen many a fine salmon escape owing to careless gaffing. Don't be in a hurry. Be sure of your distance before you strike, and do it quickly. Now, then--there--give it him! Hurrah!" he shouted, as Stanley passed the iron hook neatly into the side of the fish, and lifted it high and dry on the rocks. The cheer to which Frank gave vent, on this successful termination to the struggle, was re-echoed heartily by several of the men, who, on passing the spot with their loads, had paused and become deeply interested spectators of the sport. "Powerful big fish, sir," said Bryan, throwing down his pack and taking up the salmon by the gills. "Twinty pounds at laste, av it's an ounce." "Scarcely that, Bryan," said Stanley; "but it's not much less, I believe." "Ah! oui, 'tis ver' pritty. Ver' superb for supper," remarked La Roche. The little Frenchman was right in saying that it was pretty. Unlike the ordinary salmon, it was marked with spots like a trout, its head was small and its shoulders plump, while its silvery purity was exceedingly dazzling and beautiful. "'Tis a Hearne-salmon," said Massan, approaching the group. "I've seed lots o' them on the coast to the south'ard o' this, an' I've no doubt we'll find plenty o' them at Ungava." While the men were discussing the merits of the fish, Frank had hooked another, which, although quite as large, gave him much less trouble to land; and before the men had finished carrying the canoes and goods over the portage, he had taken three fish out of the same pool. Wishing, however, to try for a larger one nearer the sea, he proceeded to take a cast below the rapid. Meanwhile, La Roche, whose activity had enabled him to carry over his portion of the cargo long before his comrades, came to the pool which Frank had just left, and seating himself on a large stone, drew forth his tobacco-pouch. With a comical leer at the water which had so recently been deprived of its denizens, he proceeded leisurely to fill a pipe. It is impossible to foresee, and difficult to account for, the actions of an impulsive human being. La Roche sat down to smoke his pipe, but instead of smoking it, he started to his feet and whirled it into the river. This apparently insane action was followed by several others, which, as they were successively performed, gradually unfolded the drift of his intentions. Drawing the knife which hung at his girdle, he went into the bushes, whence he quickly returned, dragging after him a large branch. From this he stripped the leaves and twigs. Fumbling in his pocket for some time, he drew forth a piece of stout cord, about four yards long, with a cod-hook attached to the end of it. This line had been constructed some weeks before when the canoes were wind-bound at a part of the coast where La Roche, desirous of replenishing the kettle, had made an unsuccessful attempt at sea-fishing. Fastening this line to the end of his extemporised rod, La Roche proceeded to dress his hook. This he accomplished by means of the feather of a duck which Frank shot the day before, and a tag from his scarlet worsted belt; and, when finished, it had more the appearance of some hideous reptile than a gay fly. However, La Roche surveyed it for a moment or two with an expression of deep satisfaction, and then, hurrying to the brink of the water, made a violent heave. "Oh! cent milles tonnerres!" he exclaimed angrily, as the enormous hook caught in the leg of his trousers. The large and clumsy barb was deeply imbedded, so there was no help for it but to use the knife. The second throw was more successful, and the hook alighted in the water with a splash that ought to have sent all the fish in the pool away in consternation. Instead of this, however, no sooner did the reptile trail upon the stream than a trout dashed at it in such violent haste that it nearly missed it altogether. As it was, it hooked itself very slightly, and the excitable Frenchman settled the matter by giving the line a violent tug, in his anxiety to land the fish, that pulled the hook entirely out of its mouth. "Ah! c'est dommage, ver' great; mais try it encore, my boy," exclaimed the mortified angler. The next throw, although well accomplished, produced nothing; but at the third attempt, ere the reptile had settled on the water for a second, it was engulfed by a salmon fully six pounds weight, and La Roche's rod was almost drawn out of his grasp. "Hilloa, Losh! what have ye got there?" exclaimed Bryan, as, with several of the men, he approached to where the Frenchman and the salmon strove in uncertain conflict. "By the mortial, he's hucked a whale! Out with it, boy, afore it pulls ye in!" said the Irishman, running to the rescue. Just then the salmon gave a pull of more than ordinary vigour, at the same moment La Roche slipped his foot, and, ere Bryan could lay hold of him, fell headlong into the water and disappeared. Bryan's hands hung helplessly down, his jaw dropped, and his eyes opened wide, as he gazed in mute wonderment at the spot where his friend's toes had vanished. Suddenly he wrenched off his cap and flung it down, and proceeded to tear off his coat, preparatory to leaping into the river to the rescue, when his arms were pinioned to his sides by the powerful grip of Massan. "Come, Bryan," said he, "you know very well that you can't swim; you'd only make things worse." "Och! murder! _he_ can't swim neither. Let me go, ye black villain. Thunder an' turf! will ye see the poor lad drownded forenint yer two eyes?" cried the poor Irishman, as he made violent but unavailing struggles to get free. But Massan knew that to allow him to escape would only add to the number requiring to be saved, and as he himself could not swim, he saw at once that the only service he could render under the circumstances would be to hold the Irishman down. Clasping him, therefore, as in a vice, he raised his head and gave a shout for help that rolled in deep echoes among the overhanging cliffs. Another shout was uttered at the same instant. Edith, who happened to come up just as La Roche's head emerged from the water gasping for breath, uttered a wild shriek that made more than one heart among the absentees leap as they flew to the rescue. Meanwhile La Roche rose and sank several times in the surges of the pool. His face on these occasions exhibited a mingled expression of terror and mischievous wildness; for although he could not swim a stroke, the very buoyancy of his mercurial temperament seemed partially to support him, and a feeling of desperate determination induced him to retain a death-like gripe of the rod, at the end of which the salmon still struggled. But his strength was fast going, and he sank for the fourth time with a bubbling cry, when a step was heard crashing through the adjacent bushes, and Dick Prince sprang down the slope like a deer. He did not pause when the scene burst upon his view, but a smile of satisfaction played upon his usually grave face when he saw Edith safe on the banks of the stream. Another spring and an agile bound sent him headlong into the pool about a yard from the spot where La Roche had last sunk. Scarcely had he disappeared when the dog Chimo bounded towards the scene of action, and, with what intent no one could tell, leaped also into the water. By this time Frank, Stanley, and nearly all the party had assembled on the bank of the river, ready to render assistance. In a few seconds they had the satisfaction of seeing Dick Prince rise, holding poor La Roche by the collar of his capote with his left hand, while he swam vigorously towards the shore with his right. But during the various struggles which had taken place they had been gradually sucked into the stream that flowed towards the lower rapid, and it now became apparent to Prince that his only chance of safety was in catching hold of the point of rock that formed the first obstruction to the rush of water. Abandoning all effort, therefore, to gain the bank beside him, he swam with the current, but edged towards the shore as he floated down. "Hallo! La Roche!" he exclaimed loudly. "Do you hear? do you understand me?" "Ah! oui, vraiment. I not dead yit." "Then let go that rod and seize my collar, and mind, sink deep in the water. Show only enough o' your face to breathe with, or I'll drown ye." The Frenchman obeyed to the extent of seizing Dick's collar and sinking deep in the water, so as not to overburden his friend; but nothing could induce him to quit the rod to which he had clung so long and so resolutely. Prince's arms being now free, one or two powerful strokes placed him beyond the influence of the strong current, and as he passed the rocks before mentioned, he seized an overhanging branch of a small shrub, by which he endeavoured to drag himself ashore. This, however, he found to be impossible, partly owing to the steepness of the shelving rock, and partly to the fact that Chimo, in his ill-directed attempts to share in the dangers of his friends, had seized La Roche by the skirts of the coat in order to prevent himself from going down the stream. Those on shore, on seeing Prince make for the rock, ran towards the spot; but having to make a slight detour round the bend of the river, they did not reach it until he seized the branch, and when Frank, who was the first, sprang down, the slope to the rescue, he found them streaming out and waving to and fro in the current, like some monstrous reptile--Dick holding on to the branch with both hands, La Roche holding on to Dick, Chimo holding on by his teeth to La Roche, and the unfortunate salmon holding on to the line which its half-drowned captor scorned to let go. A few seconds sufficed to drag them dripping from the stream; and the energetic little Frenchman no sooner found his feet on solid ground than he hauled out his fish and landed it triumphantly with his own hand. "'Tis a pretty fish, La Roche," said Frank, laughing, as he busied himself in taking down his rod, while several of the men assisted Dick Prince to wring the water out of his clothes, and others crowded round La Roche to congratulate him on his escape--"'tis a pretty fish, but it cost you some trouble to catch it." "Throuble, indeed!" echoed Bryan, as he sat on a rock smoking his pipe; "troth it's more nor him came to throuble by that same fish: it guve me the throuble o' bein' more nor half choked by Massan." "Half choked, Bryan! what mean you?" asked Frank. "Mane? I just mane what I say; an' the raison why's best known to himself." A loud peal of laughter greeted Massan's graphic explanation of the forcible manner in which he had prevented the Irishman from throwing himself into the river. The party now turned earnestly to the more serious duties of the journey. Already too much time had been lost in this "playing themselves with fish," as Stanley expressed it, and it behoved them to embark as speedily as possible. About a mile above the pool which had nearly proved fatal to La Roche was the head of a series of insurmountable rapids, which extended all the way down to the waterfall. Beyond this was a pretty long reach of calm water, up which they proceeded easily; but as they advanced the current became so strong that no headway could be made with the paddles, and it was found necessary to send a party of the men ashore with a long line, by means of which the canoes were slowly dragged against the current. At length they came to shallow water, which necessitated another portage; and as it was about sunset when they reached it, Stanley ordered the tent to be pitched for the night, and the fire lighted, under the shadow of a stupendous mountain, the rocky sides of which were sprinkled with dwarf pine trees, and partially covered with brush and herbage. Here Edith and her mother discovered multitudes of berries, the most numerous being cloud and crow berries; both of which were found to be good, especially the former, and a fragrant dish of these graced the towel that evening at supper. Thus, day by day, our adventurous travellers penetrated deeper and deeper into the heart of the wilderness, which became more savage and mountainous as they left the coast. Stanley drew forth his quadrant and compass, wherewith he guided the party towards their future home. At night, after the labour of the day was over, he and Frank would spread their charts in the blaze of the camp fire, and study the positions of the land so far as it was laid down; while Edith sat beside her mother, helping her to repair the torn and way-worn habiliments of her husband and Frank, or listening with breathless interest to the men, as they recounted their experiences of life in the different regions through which they had travelled. Many of these tales were more or less coloured by the fancy of the narrators, but most of them were founded on fact, and proved an unfailing source of deep interest to the little child. Frank's fishing-rod was frequently in requisition, and often supplied the party with more than enough of excellent fish; and at every new bend and turn of the innumerable lakes and rivers through which they passed, reindeer were seen bounding on the mountain-sides, or trotting down the ravines to quench their thirst and cool their sides in the waters; so that food was abundant, and their slender stock of provisions had not to be trenched upon, while the berries that grew luxuriantly everywhere proved a grateful addition to their store. Thus, day by day, they slowly retreated farther and farther from the world of mankind-- living in safety under the protection of the Almighty, and receiving the daily supply of all their necessities from His fatherly and bountiful hand; thus, day by day, they rose with the sun, and lay down at night to rest upon the mountain's side or by the river's bank; and thus, day by day, they penetrated deeper and deeper into the heart of the unknown wilderness. CHAPTER TWELVE. A NEW SCENE--THE ESQUIMAU--DEER-SLAYING--ENEMIES IN THE BUSH. Turn we now to another, a more distant, and a wilder scene. Near the bleak shores of Hudson's Straits there flows a river which forms an outlet to the superfluous waters of the almost unknown territory lying between the uninhabited parts of Labrador and that tract of desert land which borders Hudson's Bay on the east, and is known to the fur-traders by the appellation of East Main. This river is called the Caniapuscaw, and discharges itself into Ungava Bay. The scene to which we would turn the reader's attention is upwards of twenty miles from the mouth of this river, at a particular bend, where the stream spreads itself out into a sheet of water almost worthy of being called a lake, and just below which two bold cliffs shut out the seaward view, and cause an abrupt narrowing of the river. The scene is peculiar, and surpassingly grand. On each side of the stream majestic mountains raise their bald and rugged peaks almost into the clouds. Little herbage grows on the more exposed places, and nothing, save here and there a stunted and weather-worn pine, breaks the sharp outline of the cliffs. But in the gorges and dark ravines--for there are no valleys--clumps of small-sized spruce--fir and larch trees throw a softness over some of the details of a spot whose general aspect is one of sterility. The mountains rise in a succession of irregular steps or terraces, whose faces are so precipitous that they cannot be ascended. To accomplish the feat of scaling the mountain-tops it would be necessary to clamber up a ravine until the first terrace should be gained, then, walking along that, ascend the next ravine, and so on. At the upper end of the lake (as we shall hereafter call this wide part of the river) lies a low island, fringed with a scanty growth of willows; and not far from this, on the eastern bank of the river, lies a small patch of level sand. This spot is somewhat peculiar, inasmuch as it is backed by a low platform of rock, whose surface is smooth as a table. At the foot of this rock bubbles a little spring, which, meandering through a tangled spot of stunted shrubbery ere it mingles with the sand, gives unusual green-ness and vitality to the surrounding herbage. On the edge of this rocky platform sat the figure of a man. It was evening. The declining sun shot its last few rays over the brow of the opposite mountains, and bathed him in mellow light, as he sat apparently contemplating the scene before him. The man's costume bespoke him a native of the savage region in the midst of which he seemed the only human being. But although an Esquimau, he exhibited several physical peculiarities not commonly supposed to belong to that people. To an altitude of six feet three he added a breadth of shoulder and expansion of chest seldom equalled among men of more highly-favoured climes; and his real bulk being very greatly increased by his costume, he appeared to be a very giant--no unfitting tenant of such giant scenery. The said costume consisted of an extremely loose coat or shirt of deerskin, having the hair outside, and a capacious hood, which usually hung down behind, but covered his head at this time, in order to protect it from a sharp north-west breeze that whirled among the gullies of the mountains, and surging down their sides, darkened the surface of the water. A pair of long sealskin boots encased his limbs from foot to thigh; and a little wallet or bag of sealskin, with the hair outside, hung from his shoulders. Simple although this costume was, it had a bulky rotundity of appearance that harmonised well with the giant's frank, good-humoured countenance, which was manly, firm, and massive, besides being rosy, oily, and fat. In the latter peculiarity he partook of the well-known characteristic of his tribe; but the effeminacy in appearance that is produced by a round, fat face was done away in the case of our giant by a remarkably black though as yet downy moustache and beard, of a length suitable to twenty-three winters. His hair was long, straight, and black, besides being uncommonly glossy--an effect attributable to the prevalence of whale-oil in these regions. On the forehead the locks were cut short, so as to afford free scope to his black eyes and sturdy-looking nose. By his side lay a long hunting spear, and a double-bladed paddle, fully fifteen feet long; which latter belonged to a kayak, or Esquimau canoe, that lay on the sand close to the water's edge. Sitting there, motionless as the rocks around him, the giant looked like a colossal statue of an Esquimau. He was no figure of stone, however, but a veritable human being, as was proved by his starting suddenly from his reverie and hastening towards the spring before mentioned, at which he stooped and drank rapidly, like one who had to make up for lost time. After a few hurried gulps, the man strode towards his canoe; but as he went his restless eye became fixed on the branching antlers of a deer, that were tossed in the air on the summit of a neighbouring cliff. Like one who is suddenly paralysed, the Esquimau stood transfixed in the attitude in which he had been arrested. He did not even seem to breathe, as the antlers moved to and fro, clearly defined against the blue sky. At length they disappeared, and the animal to which they belonged slowly descended a ravine towards the river. Then, as if set free from a spell, the man glided into his kayak, and swept rapidly but noiselessly behind a projecting point of rock, where he waited patiently till the deer took to the water. He had not long to wait, however, for in a few minutes afterwards the deer, followed by several companions, walked out upon the patch of sand, snuffed the air once or twice, and entered the stream with the intention of crossing. But there was an enemy near whom they little dreamed of--not an enemy who would dash excitedly into the midst of them, or awaken the thunders of the place with his noisy gun, but a foe who could patiently bide his time, and take cool and quiet advantage of it when it came. When the deer had proceeded about a hundred yards into the river, the Esquimau dipped his paddle twice, and the narrow, sharp-pointed canoe, which, at a short distance, seemed little more than a floating plank, darted through the water and ranged alongside of the startled animals. The fattest of the herd was separated from its fellows and driven towards the shore from which it had started, while the others struggled across the river. Once or twice the separated deer endeavoured to turn to rejoin its comrades--an attempt which was frustrated by the Esquimau, who could paddle infinitely faster over the water in his skin canoe than the deer could swim. As they neared the shore, the giant cast on it one or two glances, and having made up his mind as to the most convenient spot for landing, he urged the point of his canoe between the antlers of the deer, and steered it in this manner to the sand-bank. The deer, thus directed, had no resource but to land where its persecutor chose; but no sooner did its foot touch ground, than it sprang convulsively forward in the vain hope to escape. The same instant its captor's canoe shot beside it. Grasping the long lance before mentioned in his hand, he placed its glittering point on the deer's side, tickled it slowly to ascertain that it was between two ribs, and, with a quick thrust, stabbed it to the heart. A convulsive shudder, as the deer's head sank in the stream, proved that, though cold-blooded in appearance, the action was more effective and less cruel than many other more approved methods of killing game. Our Esquimau thought neither of the method of slaying his deer nor of man's opinion regarding it. His sole object was to procure supper, having tasted nothing since early morning; and the manner in which he ate showed at once the strength of his appetite and his total indifference to cookery, for he ate it raw. There was a certain appearance of haste in all his actions which, however, seemed unaccountable, considering the peaceful nature of the vast solitudes around him. Scarcely had he cut off and devoured a portion of the deer than he hastened again to his canoe, and darted like an arrow from the shore. This is no exaggerated simile. The long, thin, sharp Esquimau kayak is highly suggestive of an arrow in its form, and much more so in its extraordinary speed. It consists of an extremely light framework of wood covered with sealskin parchment, which is stretched upon it all over as tight as a drum. The top of the canoe being covered as well as the bottom, it is thus, as it were, decked; and a small hole in the middle of this deck admits its occupant. The kayak can only hold one person. The paddle, as already said, is a long pole with a blade at each end. It is dipped alternately on each side, and is used not only to propel the kayak, but to prevent it from upsetting. Indeed, so liable is it to upset that nothing but the wonderful adroitness of its occupant prevents it from doing so with every swing of his body. Quick, however, though the kayak sped over the rippling wave, it could not have escaped the messenger of death that seemed about to be dispatched after it by a dark-skinned, red-painted Indian, who, at the moment the vessel left the shore, leapt from behind a rocky point, and, levelling a long gun, took a steady aim at the unconscious Esquimau. A little puff of powder answered to the click of the lock, as the gun missed fire. With an exclamation of anger the savage seized his powder-horn to reprime, when a rude grasp was laid on his shoulder, and another Indian, who, from the eagle feather in his hair, and his general bearing, appeared to be a chief, exclaimed-- "Fool! you have the impatience of a woman, and you have not yet shown that you have the heart of a man. Would the scalp of yon Eater-of-raw-flesh pay us for coming so far from our hunting-grounds? If your gun had spoken among these mountains, we would have found the empty wigwams of his people, instead of fringing our belts with their scalps." With a frown of anger the chief turned on his heel and retraced his steps into the ravine from which he had emerged, followed by his abashed and silent companion. Meanwhile the Esquimau, ignorant of the fate from which he had just escaped, continued to ply his paddle with right good will. The little craft, obedient to the powerful impulse, combined as it was with the current of the ebb-tide, flew rather than floated toward the narrows, through which it passed, and opened up a view of the ice-encumbered waters of Ungava Bay. Directing his course along the western shores of the river, the Esquimau speedily reached the coast at a point where several low, rough-built summer huts clustered near the shore. Here he ran his kayak into a little creek, and, having lifted it beyond tide mark, betook himself to his dwelling. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. SAVAGE LOVE--A WIFE PURCHASED--THE ATTACK--THE FLIGHT--THE ESCAPE--THE WOUNDED MAN. Scarcely had the stout Esquimau proceeded a few steps along the shore, when he was met by a young girl who laid her hand on his arm. Taking her gently by the shoulders, he drew her towards him and kissed her on both cheeks--an action which caused her to blush deeply as, with a half smile half frown on her face, she pushed him away. Love is the same all the world over, whether it glows beneath the broad-cloth and spotless linen of a civilised gentleman, or under the deerskin coat of a savage. And its expression, we suspect, is somewhat similar everywhere. The coy repulse of pretended displeasure came as naturally from our plump little arctic heroine as it could have done from the most civilised flirt, and was treated with well-simulated contrition by our arctic giant, as they walked slowly towards the huts. But the Esquimau had other matters than love in his head just then, and the girl's face assumed a grave and somewhat anxious look as he continued to whisper in her ear. At the little hamlet they separated, and the maiden went to her grandfather's abode; while her lover, lifting the skin-curtain door of a rudely-constructed hut, entered his own humble dwelling. The room was empty, and its owner did not seem as if he meant to cheer it with his presence long. In one corner lay a pile of miscellaneous articles, which he removed, and, taking the tusk of a walrus which lay near his hand, began to dig with it in the sand. In a few seconds it struck a hard substance, and the Esquimau, putting his hand into the hole, drew forth a glittering axe, upon which he gazed with supreme satisfaction. Now be it known to you, reader, that among the Esquimaux of the frozen north iron is regarded with about as much delight as gold is by ourselves. And the reason is simple enough. These poor people live entirely upon the produce of the chase. Polar bears, seals, walruses, and whales are their staff of life. To procure these animals, spears are necessary; to skin and cut them up, knives are needful. But bone and stone make sorry knives and spears; so that, when a bit of iron, no matter how poor its quality or small its size, can be obtained, it is looked on as the most valuable of possessions; and the ingenuity displayed by Esquimaux in fashioning the rudest piece of metal into the most useful of implements is truly astonishing, proving, in the most satisfactory way, that necessity is indeed the mother of invention. The precious metal is obtained in two ways: by the discovery of a wreck, which is extremely rare; and by barter with those tribes which sometimes visit the Moravian settlements of Labrador. But neither source is very productive. Even a nail is treasured as a blessing, while an axe is a fortune! When our giant, therefore, drew forth the shining implement, and gazed with delight at its keen edge, he experienced as great satisfaction as a miser does when gloating over his banker's book! Having satisfied himself that the axe was free from all approximation to rust, he stuck it into a belt of raw hide, which he put on for the express purpose of sustaining it, as Esquimaux do not generally wear belts. He then sallied forth, and walked with the air of a man who wears the grand cross of the Legion of Honour. As he went to the hut in which lived the oldest man of the tribe, the shade of anxiety, which had clouded his brow more than once during the day, again rested on his face. On entering, he observed the old Esquimau listening with anxious countenance to the young girl whom we have already introduced to the reader. Now this girl--Aneetka by name--was by no means an angel in Esquimau habiliments. Among civilised folk probably she would not have been deemed even pretty. Nevertheless, in the eyes of her lover she was most decidedly beautiful, and round, and fat, and rosy, and young, awkward, and comfortable! And the giant loved her--never so strongly, perhaps, as when he saw her striving to allay the fears of her old grandfather. But this same grandfather was obstinate. He wanted her to become the wife of an Esquimau who lived far to the westward, and who once had dealings with the fur-traders, and from whom he expected to derive considerable advantages and gifts of bits of hoop-iron and nails. But _she_ wanted to become the giant's wife; so there the matter stood. "The spirits o' the wind and sea protect us, and may the god o' the mist cover us!" said the old man, as the young Esquimau sat down on a dead seal beside him. "Is it true that you saw the men of fire?" This was, of course, said in the language of the Esquimaux, and we render it as literally as possible. "Yes, it is true," replied the young man. "I saw them at the rapid water in Caniapuscaw, and I took kayak to bring the news." Various exclamations of mingled surprise and anger escaped from the compressed lips of several stalwart natives, who had crowded into the tent on hearing of the arrival of their comrade. "Yes," continued the young man, "we must go away this night. They had fire-tubes, and there were thirty men. We have only ten." Again a murmur ran through the listeners, but no one spoke for a few seconds. "Did they see you?" asked the old man anxiously. "No. I came on them suddenly, when I was chasing deer, and almost ran into their camp; but I saw, and fell in the grass. I thought the chief raised his head quickly when I fell; but he looked down again, and I crawled away." In this the young Esquimau was mistaken. He knew little of the craft and the quickness of the Red Indian, and easily fell into the snare of his savage enemy, who, having been momentarily startled by the sudden sound of the Esquimau approach, had endeavoured to throw him off his guard, by pretending that although he heard the sound he thought nothing of it. But no sooner had the Esquimau retired than he was closely followed and watched by the whole party. They could have easily shot him, but refrained from doing so, that he might unwittingly be their guide to the habitations of his people. The rapid flight of his kayak distanced his pursuers at first, but they made up for this during an hour or two in the night, when the tired Esquimau allowed himself a short season of repose to recruit his energies for the following day's journey. During this period the Indians shot far ahead of him, and when he arrived at the coast next day they were not much in the rear. "And now, old man," said our young Esquimau, "it is time that I should have my wife. If the Allat [see note 1] come here to-night, as I know they will, I want to have a right to defend her, and carry her away when we flee. Are you willing?" The young giant said this with a degree of roughness and decision that at any other time would have made the obstinate old grandfather refuse point blank; but as there was every probability of having to flee for his life ere the break of another day, and as his old heart trembled within him at the thought of the dreaded guns of the Indians, he merely shook his head and pondered a little. "What will you give me?" he said, looking up. The young man answered by drawing the axe from his belt and laying it on the ground before him. The old man's eyes glistened with pleasure as he surveyed the costly gift. "Good; that will do. Take her and go." A second bidding was not needed. The young man arose hastily, took his blushing bride by the hand, and led her from the tent of her grandfather towards his own. Here she set to work instantly to assist her husband in hurriedly packing up their goods and chattels; and, immediately afterwards, the little village became a perfect Babel of confusion, as the alarmed inhabitants, on learning the threatened danger, prepared for instant flight. In less than an hour the most of them were ready. The men launched their kayaks, while the women, having loaded their oomiaks with their goods, tossed their dogs and children on the top of them. The oomiak, or women's boat, is quite a different affair from the kayak, in which the men travel singly. It is usually made large and capacious, in order to hold the entire household of the Esquimau. Like the kayak it is made of skin, but has no covering above, and is propelled by means of short single-bladed paddles, which are worked by the women, upon whom devolves the entire care and management of the oomiak. It is a clumsy affair to look at, but, like the boats of savages generally, it is uncommonly useful and a good sea-boat. While the Esquimaux were busied in completing their arrangements, one of the dogs rushed towards the bushes that lined the shore just behind the village, and barked vociferously. Instantly it was joined by the whole pack, and the Esquimaux, who, ever since they had heard of the proximity of their Indian foes, were in a state of the utmost trepidation, made a general rush towards their canoes. Before they reached them, however, a volley of musketry was fired from the bushes, and three of their number--a man and two women--filled the air with their death-shriek, as they fell dead upon the beach; while the Indians sprang from their concealment, and, brandishing their knives and tomahawks, rushed with a fearful yell upon the terror-stricken Esquimaux. Shrill and terrible though the Indian war-cry is proverbially known to be, it was excelled in appalling wildness by the shriek which arose from the Esquimaux, as they hurried tumultuously into their canoes and put off to sea. These poor creatures were naturally brave--much more so, indeed, than their assailants; but the murderous effects of the terrible gun caused the sternest brow among them to blanch and the stoutest heart to quail. The arrow and the spear, however rapid, could be avoided, if observed in time; but this dreaded implement of destruction was so mysterious to them, and its death-dealing bullet so quick, and the smoke, the fire, and the loud report so awful, that they shuddered even when they thought of it. No wonder, then, that they uttered a despairing cry when it actually sounded in their ears. When the dogs first gave tongue, our tall Esquimau was alone in his hut, having just sent his wife down with a bundle to the oomiak. When the volley rang in his ears, he rushed towards the beach, supposing that she was there before him. This was not the case, however. Aneetka had gone towards her grandfather's hut, and when the Indians fired she rushed in to assist him to fly. But the old man was already gone. Turning instantly, she sprang nimbly towards the shore. At that moment a single shot was fired, and she saw her husband stumble forward and fall headlong to the earth, where he lay motionless. Her first impulse was to run towards the body and throw herself upon it; but this intention was effectually checked by a strong, dark-skinned arm which encircled her waist, and, despite her cries and struggles, bore her away into the bushes. Her captor was the Indian whose gun once before on that day had been levelled at her lover's head. When the young Esquimau fell, as already related, he was so close to the water that he stumbled into it, and, fortunately, not a yard distant from an oomiak which the women were frantically thrusting into the sea. They had no time to lift so heavy a weight on board, but, as the light craft darted from the shore, an old woman, who had often received kind attentions from the good-natured youth, leant over the stern and seized him by the hair. In this manner he was dragged through the water until they were out of gun-shot, when he was lifted inside and laid beside the dogs and children. Meanwhile the Indians had rushed into the water up to their middle, in the hope of catching the last of the little fleet, but without success. Mad with disappointed rage, they waded back to the shore, and, standing in a line along the edge of the waves, reloaded their guns with the utmost rapidity. The poor Esquimaux knew well what would follow, and strained every nerve to increase their distance. Once more the guns belched forth their leaden shower, which went skipping over the water towards the flotilla. Only one kayak was hit by the discharge. It was that of the old grandfather already mentioned. The ball ripped up the side of the canoe, which filled and upset, and the poor old man would certainly have been drowned but for the opportune coming up of the oomiak containing his wounded grandson. The old woman who had already saved the life of the young giant of the tribe, again put forth her skinny hand and grasped the patriarch, who was soon hauled on board in safety. A few minutes more placed the whole party out of danger. In the meantime, the Indians, furious with disappointment, scalped the three dead bodies and tossed them into the sea; after which they went into the huts in order to collect all the valuables that might have been left behind. Very little, however, was to be found, as the entire property of an Esquimau is not worth much to a red man. The most useful thing they laid hands on was the axe which the old grandfather had left behind in his hurried flight. Having taken all they could carry, the savages destroyed the rest; and then, setting fire to the village, they returned to the bush. Here a fire was made, and a council of war held. When the Indian who had captured the Esquimau girl led her forward towards the fire, there was a general yell of indignation. Tomahawks were grasped, and more than one knife was unsheathed. But the chief commanded silence. "What does White Heart mean to do with the Eater-of-raw-flesh?" he inquired, turning to the young man. "He will take her to the hunting-grounds of the Crees." "That cannot be," said the chief. "The girl must die, and White Heart must kill her." The young man made no reply. "If," continued the chief sarcastically, "White Heart is afraid to see blood on his knife, another warrior will show him how to do it!" As he spoke, a dark-visaged savage drew his scalping-knife, and, with one stride, stood beside the trembling girl, who, during the consultation of the savages, had stood silently beside her captor listening intently to the words which she did not comprehend. Seizing her by the shoulder, the savage plunged his knife at her bosom; but, ere the keen point reached it, the arm was caught by the young Indian, and the scowling savage was hurled violently back. With dilated eye and expanded nostril, the young man, not deigning to bestow a glance upon his fallen comrade, turned to his chief and said-- "Did not I take her? The girl is mine. I will carry her to my tent and make her my _wife_." "Be it so," replied the chief abruptly. Then turning to his followers, he gave orders to start immediately. In a few minutes all was ready. The chief led the way into the bush. The Esquimau girl and her captor followed; and the whole band, silently and in single file, commenced to retrace their steps to the far distant hunting-grounds of the Cree Indians. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. Esquimau name for Indians. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. THE PURSUIT--SEAL-SPEARING--THE GIANT'S DESPAIR. When the young Esquimau began to recover from the lethargic state into which his wound had thrown him, he found himself lying at the bottom of the women's oomiak with his old grandfather by his side, and a noisy crew of children and dogs around him. Raising himself on his elbow, he brushed the clotted blood and hair from his temples, and endeavoured to recall his scattered faculties. Seeing this, the old crone who had saved his life laid down her paddle and handed him a sealskin cup of water, which he seized and drank with avidity. Fortunately the wound on his forehead, although it had stunned him severely at first, was trifling, and in a few minutes after partaking of the cool water, he recovered sufficiently to sit up and look around him. Gradually his faculties returned, and he started up with a troubled look. "Where are the Allat? Where is my wife?" he exclaimed vehemently, as his eye fell on the prostrate form of his still insensible grandfather. "Gone," answered several of the women. "Gone!" repeated the youth, gazing wildly among the faces around him in search of that of his wife. "Gone! Tell me, is she in one of the other oomiaks?" The women trembled as they answered, "No." "Have the Allat got her?" There was no reply to this question, but he did not need one. Springing like a tiger to the stern of the oomiak, he seized the steering paddle, and turning the head of the boat towards the shore, paddled with all his energy. Nearly two hours had elapsed since they had commenced their flight, and as all danger of pursuit was over the moment the Indians turned their backs on the sea, the Esquimaux had gradually edged in-shore again, so that a few minutes sufficed to run the prow of the oomiak on the shingle of the beach. Without saying a word, the young man sprang over the side, drew a hunting-spear from the bottom of the boat, and hurried back in the direction of the deserted village at the top of his speed. The women knew that nothing could stop him, and feeling that he was quite able to take care of himself, they quietly put to sea again, and continued their voyage. The limbs of the young Esquimau, as we have already said, were gigantic and powerful, enabling him to traverse the country at a pace which few of his fellows could keep up with; and although a stern-chase is proverbially a long one, and the distance between two parties travelling in opposite directions is amazingly increased in a short space of time, there is no doubt that he would have overtaken his Indian foes ere many hours had passed, but for the wound in his head, which, although not dangerous, compelled him more than once to halt and sit down, in order to prevent himself from falling into a swoon. Hunger had also something to do with this state of weakness, as he had eaten nothing for many hours. In his hasty departure from the boat, however, he had neglected to take any provisions with him, so that he had little hope of obtaining refreshment before arriving at the village, where some scraps might perhaps be picked up. Slowly, and with a reeling brain, he staggered on; but here no relief awaited him, for every scrap of food had been either taken away or destroyed by the Indians, and it was with a heavy sigh and a feeling akin to despair that he sat down beside the blackened ruins of his late home. But Esquimaux, more than other men, are accustomed to reverses of fortune, and the sigh with which he regarded the ruins of his hut had no reference whatever to the absence of food. He knew that about this time the mouth of the river would be full of ice, carried up by the flood-tide, and that seals would, in all probability, be found on it; so he started up, and hastening along the beach soon gained the floes, which he examined carefully. A glance or two sufficed to show him that he was right in his conjecture. On a sheet of ice not more than a couple of hundred yards from shore were two seals fast asleep. These he prepared to stalk. Between the floe and the shore ran a stream of water twenty yards broad. Over this he ferried himself on a lump of loose ice; and, on reaching the floe, he went down on his hands and knees, holding the spear in his right hand as he advanced cautiously towards his victim. The Esquimau seal-spear is a curious weapon, and exhibits in a high degree the extraordinary ingenuity of the race. The handle is sometimes made of the horn of the narwal, but more frequently of wood. It has a movable head or barb, to which a long line of walrus hide or sealskin is attached. This barb is made of ivory tipped with iron, and is attached to the handle in such a way that it becomes detached from it the instant the animal is struck, and remains firmly imbedded in the wound with the line fastened to it, while the handle floats away on the water or falls on the ice, as the case may be. When the Esquimau had approached to within a hundred yards, he lay down at full length and slowly worked himself forward. Meanwhile the seals raised their heads, but seeing, as they imagined, a companion coming towards them, they did not make for their holes, which were a few yards distant from them. Having drawn near enough to render the animals suspicious, the young giant now sprang up, rushed forward, and got between one seal and its hole just as its more active companion dived into the water. In another moment the deadly lance transfixed its side and killed it. This was a fortunate supply to the Esquimau, whose powers of endurance were fast failing. He immediately sat down on his victim, and cutting a large steak from its side, speedily made a meal that far exceeded the powers of any alderman whatsoever! It required but a short time to accomplish, however, and a shorter time to transfer several choice [junks] chunks to his wallet; with which replenished store he resumed his journey. Although the man's vigour was restored for a time, so that he travelled with great speed, it did not last long, owing to the wound in his head, which produced frequent attacks of giddiness, and at last compelled him, much against his will, to halt for a couple of hours' repose. Glancing round, in order to select a suitable camping ground, he soon observed such a spot in the form of a broad, overhanging ledge of rock, beneath which there was a patch of scrubby underwood. Here he lay down with the seal blubber for a pillow, and was quickly buried in deep, untroubled slumber. In little more than two hours he awoke with a start, and, after a second application to the contents of the wallet, resumed his solitary march. The short rest seemed to have quite restored his wonted vigour, for he now stalked up the banks of the river at a rate which seemed only to accelerate as he advanced. As has been already said, these banks were both rugged and precipitous. In some places the rocks jutted out into the water, forming promontories over which it was difficult to climb; and frequently these capes terminated in abrupt precipices, necessitating a detour in order to advance. In other places the coast was indented with sandy bays, which more than doubled the distance the traveller would have had to accomplish had he possessed a kayak. Unfortunately in his hasty departure he neglected to take one with him; but he did his best to atone for this oversight by making almost superhuman exertions. He strode over the sands like an ostrich of the desert, and clambered up the cliffs and over the rocks--looking, in his hairy garments, like a shaggy polar bear. The thought of his young and pretty bride a captive in the hands of his bitterest foes, and doomed to a life of slavery, almost maddened him, and caused his dark eye to flash and his broad bosom to heave with pent-up emotion, while it spurred him on to put forth exertions that were far beyond the powers of any member of his tribe, and could not, under less exciting circumstances, have been performed even by himself. As to what were his intentions should he overtake the Indians, he knew not. The agitation of his spirits, combined with the influence of his wound, induced him to act from impulse; and the wild tumult of his feelings prevented him from calculating the consequences or perceiving the hopelessness of an attack made by one man, armed only with knife and spear, against a body of Indians who possessed the deadly gun. Alas! for the sorrows of the poor human race. In all lands they are much the same, whether civilised or savage--virtue and vice alternately triumphing. Bravery, candour, heroism, in fierce contest with treachery, cowardice, and malevolence, form the salient points of the record among all nations, and in all ages. No puissant knight of old ever buckled on his panoply of mail, seized his sword and lance, mounted his charger, and sallied forth singlehanded to deliver his mistress from enchanted castle, in the face of appalling perils, with hotter haste or a more thorough contempt of danger than did our Esquimau giant pursue the Indians who had captured his bride; but, like many a daring spirit of romance, the giant failed, and that through no fault of his. On arriving at the rocky platform beside the spring where we first introduced him to the reader, the Esquimau sat down, and, casting his spear on the ground, gazed around him with a look of despair. It was not a slight matter that caused this feeling to arise. Notwithstanding his utmost exertions, he had been unable to overtake the Indians up to this point, and beyond this point it was useless to follow them. The mountains here were divided into several distinct gorges, each of which led into the interior of the country; and it was impossible to ascertain which of these had been taken by the Indians, as the bare, rocky land retained no mark of their light, moccasined feet. Had the pursuer been an Indian, the well-known sagacity of the race in following a trail, however slight, might have enabled him to trace the route of the party; but the Esquimaux are unpractised in this stealthy, dog-like quality. Their habits and the requirements of their condition render it almost unnecessary; so that, in difficult circumstances, their sagacity in this respect is not equal to the emergency. Add to this the partial confusion created in the young giant's brain by his wound, and it will not appear strange that despair at length seized him, when, after a severe journey, he arrived at a spot where, as it were, half a dozen cross-roads met, and he had not the most distant idea which he had to follow. It is true the valley of the river seemed the most probable route; but after pursuing this for a whole day without coming upon a vestige of the party, he gave up the pursuit, and, returning to the spring beside the rock, passed the night there with a heavy heart. When the sun rose on the following morning he quitted his lair, and, taking a long draught at the bubbling spring, prepared to depart. Before setting out, he cast a melancholy glance around the amphitheatre of gloomy hills; shook his spear, in the bitterness of his heart, towards the dark recesses which had swallowed up the light of his eyes, perchance for ever; then, turning slowly towards the north, with drooping head, and with the listless tread of a heart-broken man, he retraced his steps to the sea-coast, and, rejoining his comrades, was soon far away from the banks of the Caniapuscaw River. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. END OF THE VOYAGE--PLANS AND PROSPECTS--EXPLORING PARTIES SENT OUT. Three weeks alter the departure of the Esquimaux from the neighbourhood of Ungava Bay, the echoes of these solitudes were awakened by the merry song of the Canadian voyageurs, as the two canoes of Stanley and his comrades swept down the stream and approached the spring at the foot of the flat rock. As the large canoe ran its bow lightly on the sand, the first man who leaped ashore was La Roche. He seemed even more sprightly and active than formerly, but was a good deal darker in complexion, and much travel-stained. Indeed, the whole party bore marks of having roughed it pretty severely for some time past among the mountains. Edith's face was decidedly darker than when she left Moose, and her short frock considerably shorter in consequence of tear and wear. "Bad luck to ye, Losh! Out o' the way, an' let yer betters land before ye," exclaimed Bryan, as he jumped into the water, and dragged the canoe towards the beach. The only marks that rough travelling had put on Bryan were one or two additional wrinkles in his battered white hat; as for his face, it was already so thoroughly bronzed by long exposure, that a week or two more or less made no difference in its hue. "Jump into my arms, Miss Edith," said Francois, as he stood in the water beside the canoe. "Steady, boy; mind the gum," cried Massan, as Oolibuck strained the canoe roughly in shouldering a package. "Look out ashore, there," cried Dick Prince, throwing the tent poles on the beach as he spoke. Regardless of the warning, Gaspard did not "look out," and received a rap on the leg from one of the poles, whereat he growled savagely, and threw down a sack, which rested on his shoulder, so violently that it nearly knocked over Ma-istequan, who was passing at the time with the camp-kettle in his hand. "What an ould buffalo it is!" exclaimed Bryan, pushing Gaspard rudely aside with his left shoulder, and hitching off La Roche's cap with his right, as he sprang back to the canoe for another load. "Pardonay mwa, Losh, may garson," he exclaimed, with a broad grin. "Now thin, boys, out wid the fixin's. Faix it's mysilf is plazed to git ashore anyhow, for there's nothin' gone into my intarior since brickfust this mornin'." At this moment the bow of the other canoe grated on the sand, and Frank Morton leaped ashore. "Capital place to camp, Frank," said Stanley, who had just finished pitching the tent on the scrimp herbage that forced its way through the sand. "There's a splendid spring of pure water below yonder rock. I've just left my wife and Eda busy with the tea-cups, and La Roche preventing them from getting things ready, by way of helping them." "It does indeed seem a good place," replied Frank, "and might do for temporary headquarters, perhaps, while we make excursions to the coast to fix on a spot for our new home." Stanley gazed contemplatively around him as his friend spoke. "Hand me the telescope, Frank; it strikes me we are nearer the sea than you think. The water here is brackish, and yonder opening in the mountains might reveal something beyond, if magnified by the glass." After a lengthened survey of the surrounding hills, Frank and Stanley came to the conclusion that they could make nothing of it, at least that night; and as it was becoming gradually dark, they resolved to postpone all further consideration of the subject till the next day. Meanwhile, the men busied themselves in preparing supper, and Chimo unexpectedly lent them some assistance by bringing into camp a ptarmigan which he had just killed. True, Chimo had, in his innocence, designed this little delicacy of the season for his own special table; but no sooner was he seen with the bird between his teeth, than it was snatched from him and transferred to the pot forthwith. The following day was an era in the existence of the travellers. For the first time since commencing their arduous voyage, the cargoes were left behind, and the canoes paddled away, light and buoyant, on a trip of investigation. Stanley had rightly judged that they were now near the sea, and the great breadth of the river led him to believe that there might be water sufficient to float the vessel in which the goods for the station were to be forwarded. If this should turn out as he expected, there could not be a better spot for establishing a fort than that on which they had encamped, as it was situated just below the last rapids of the river; had a fine spring of fresh water in its vicinity; and was protected from the cold blasts of winter, to some extent at least, by the surrounding mountains. "Now, Frank," added Mr Stanley, after stating his opinion on this point, "what I mean to do is this: I shall take the large canoe, with Dick Prince, Francois, Gaspard, La Roche, and Augustus--the last to interpret should we fall in with Esquimaux, whom I am surprised not to have found hereabouts. With these I will proceed to the sea, examine the coast, observe whether there be any place suitable for building on, and, if all goes well, be back to supper before sunset. You will take the other canoe, with Bryan, Massan, Oolibuck, and Ma-istequan, and proceed down the opposite side of the river a short way. Examine the shores there, and above the island; see whether there be any place better than where we stand for a permanent residence; and at night we shall compare notes. My wife and Eda shall remain in camp under the care of Oostesimow and Moses." "And pray who is to defend your poor wife and innocent child in the event of an attack by a band of savage natives?" inquired Mrs Stanley, as she joined her husband and Frank. "No fear of the wife and child," replied Stanley, patting his better half on the shoulder. "If Indians should find out the camp, Oostesimow can palaver with them; and should Esquimaux pay you a visit, Moses will do the polite. Besides, had you not interrupted, I was going to have given special instructions to Frank regarding you. So, Master Frank, be pleased to take Eda off your shoulder, and give ear to my instructions. While you are examining the other side of the water, you will keep as much as possible within eye-shot, and always within ear-shot, of the camp. In a still day like this a gun-shot can be heard five or six miles off; and should you see any sign of the natives having been here recently, return instantly to the camp." Frank promised implicit obedience to these instructions, and the whole party then set to work to pile the goods on a ledge in the steep cliffs behind the spring, so that a fortress was soon formed, which, with two such stout and courageous men as Moses and Oostesimow, armed with two guns each, a brace of pistols, two cutlasses, and an ample supply of ammunition, could have stood a prolonged siege from much more practised enemies than Indians or Esquimaux. After having completed these defensive arrangements, and provided occupation for those who remained in camp, by laying on them the duty of having the goods examined, in order to see that nothing had been damaged by wet or rough usage, the two canoes pushed from the shore, and bounded lightly away, while the men sang merrily at their easy labour; for now that the canoes were light, they might have been propelled by two men. Frank directed his course obliquely up the river, towards the island already alluded to, and Stanley proceeded with the current towards the narrows beyond which he expected to catch sight of the sea. After passing above the island, which was found to be low and thinly covered with vegetation and a few scrubby bushes, Frank and his men pushed over to the other side and proceeded carefully to examine the coast. It was found to be much the same as that which they had just left. A narrow belt of sandy and shingly beach extended along the margin of the river, or, as it might be more appropriately termed, the lake, at least in as far as appearance went. This strip or belt was indented here and there with numerous bays and inlets, and in many places was intersected by rocky capes which jutted out from the mountains. These mountains were bare and precipitous, rising abruptly, like those on the other side, from the edge of the sand, and ascending in a succession of terraces, whose faces were so steep that it was almost impossible to scale them. They could be ascended in succession, however, by means of the ravines and numerous gullies which rose in rugged and zigzag lines from the beach to the mountain tops. In the very first of these gullies in which the exploring party landed, they found the remains of an Esquimau summer encampment. These consisted of a few stunted trees, which appeared to have been built in the form of rude huts; but they were thrown about in some confusion, and altogether bore evidence of having remained in a state of ruin for many years. Another discovery of a more satisfactory kind was made--namely, the tracks of deer, which were so fresh as to induce Frank to take his rifle and mount the ravine in search of the animals, accompanied by Massan, whose natural temperament was exceedingly prone to enjoy the excitement of the chase. So much, indeed, was this the case, that the worthy guide had more than once been on the point of making up his mind to elope to the backwood settlements of the States, purchase a rifle and ammunition there, don a deerskin hunting-shirt, and "make tracks," as he styled it, for the prairies, there to dwell and hunt until his eye refused to draw the sight and his finger to pull the trigger of a Kentucky rifle. But Massan's sociable disposition came in the way of this plan, and the thought of leading a solitary life always induced him to forego it. "It's my 'pinion, sir," remarked the guide, as he followed Frank up the ravine, the sheltered parts of which were covered with a few clumps of stunted pines--"it's my 'pinion that we'll have to cut our logs a long bit up the river, for there's nothin' fit to raise a fort with hereabouts." "True, Massan," replied Frank, glancing from side to side, hunter fashion, as he walked swiftly over the broken ground; "there's not a tree that I can see big enough to build a backwoods shanty with." "Well, master, 'twill do for firewood, if it's fit for nothin' else, and that's a blessin' that's not always to be comed by everywhere. Let's be thankful for small matters. I see sticks growin' up them gullies that'll do for stakes for the nets, an' axe handles, an' paddles, an' spear shafts, an'--" The honest guide's enumeration of the various articles into which the small timber of the place might be converted was brought to a sudden pause by Frank, who laid his hand on his shoulder, and while he pointed with the butt of his rifle up the ravine, whispered, "Don't you see anything else up yonder besides trees, Massan?" The guide looked in the direction indicated, and by an expressive grunt showed that his eye had fallen on the object referred to by his companion. It was a deer which stood on an overhanging ledge of rock, high up the cliffs--so high that it might easily have been mistaken for a much smaller animal by less practised sportsmen. Below the shelf on which it stood was a yawning abyss, which rendered any attempt to get near the animal utterly hopeless. "What a pity," said Frank, as he crouched behind a projecting rock, "that it's out of shot! It would take us an hour at least to get behind it, and there's little chance, I fear, of its waiting for us." "No chance whatever," replied Massan decidedly. "But he's big enough to cover from where we stand." "To cover! Ay, truly, I could point straight at his heart easy enough-- indeed I would think it but slight boasting to say I could cover his eye from this spot--but the bullet would refuse to go, Massan; it's far beyond shot." "Try, sir, try," exclaimed the guide quickly, for as they spoke the deer moved. "I've been huntin' on the Rocky Mountains afore now, an' I know that distance cheats you in sich places. It's not so far as you think--" He had scarcely finished speaking when Frank's rifle poured forth its contents. The loud echoes of the crags reverberated as the smoke floated away to leeward. The next instant the deer sprang with one wild bound high into the air--over the cliff--and descending with lightning speed through the dark space, was dashed almost in pieces on the rocks below. Massan gave a low chuckle of satisfaction as he walked up to the mangled animal, and pointing to a small round hole just over its heart, he said, "The old spot, Mr Frank; ye always hit them there." Having paid Frank this compliment, Massan bled the animal, which was in prime condition, with at least two inches of fat on its flanks, and having placed it on his shoulders, returned with his companion to the canoe. While Frank was thus engaged, Stanley had descended towards the shores of Ungava Bay, which he found to be about twenty-five miles distant from the encampment beside the spring. He made a rapid survey of the coast as they descended, and sounded the river at intervals. When he reached its mouth he had made two important discoveries. The one was, that there did not seem to be a spot along the whole line of coast so well fitted in all respects for an establishment as the place whereon their tents were already pitched. The other was, that the river, from its mouth up to that point, was deep enough to float a vessel of at least three or four hundred tons burden. This was very satisfactory, and he was about to return to the camp when he came upon the deserted Esquimau village which, a few weeks before, had been the scene of a murderous attack and a hasty flight. On a careful examination of the place, the marks of a hasty departure were so apparent that Stanley and his men made a pretty near guess at the true state of affairs; and the former rightly conjectured that, having made a precipitate flight in consequence of some unexpected attack, there was little probability of their returning soon to the same locality. This was unfortunate, but in the hope that he might be mistaken in these conjectures, and that the natives might yet return before winter, he set up a pole on a conspicuous place, and tied to the top of it a bag containing two dozen knives, one dozen fire-steels, some awls and needles, several pounds of beads, and a variety of such trinkets as were most likely to prove acceptable to a savage people. While Bryan was engaged in piling a heap of stones at the foot of this pole to prevent its being blown down by the wind, the rest of the party re-embarked, and prepared to return home; for although the camp beside the spring was scarcely one day old, the fact that it was likely to become the future residence of the little party had already invested it with a species of homelike attraction. Man is a strange animal, and whatever untravelled philosophers may say to the contrary, he speedily makes himself "at home" _anywhere_! "Hallo, Bryan!" shouted Stanley from the canoe, "look sharp; we're waiting for you!" "Ay, ay, yer honour," replied the Irishman, lifting a huge mass of rock; "jist wan more, an' it'll be stiff an' stidy as the north pole himself." Then in an undertone he added, "`Look sharp,' is it ye say? It's blunt ye are to spake that way to yer betters. Musha! but it's mysilf wouldn't give a tinpinny for all that bag houlds, twinty times doubled; an' yit thim haythens, thim pork-faced Huskimos, 'll dance round this here pole wi' delight till they're fit to dhrop. Och! but salvages is a quare lot; an', Bryan, yer a cliver boy to come this far all the way to see thim." With this self-complimentary conclusion, Bryan resumed his place at the paddle, and the party returned to the camp. Here they found things in a most satisfactory state. Frank and his party had returned, and the deer, now cut up into joints and steaks, was impaled on a number of stakes of wood, and stuck up to roast round a large and cheering fire. The savoury steam from these, with the refreshing odour of the tea-kettle, produced a delectable sensation in the nostrils of the hungry explorers. Stanley's tent was erected with its back towards the mountains and its open door towards the fire, which lighted up its snug interior, and revealed Mrs Stanley and Edith immersed in culinary operations, and Chimo watching them with a look of deep, grave sagacity--his ears very erect, and his head a good deal inclined to one side, as if that position favoured the peculiar train of his cogitations. La Roche was performing feats of agility round the fire, that led one to believe he must be at least half a salamander. At a respectful distance from Stanley's tent, but within the influence of the fire, the men were employed in pitching, for the first time, the large skin tent which was to be their residence until they should build a house for themselves; and on a log, within dangerous proximity to the mercurial La Roche, sat Frank Morton, busily employed in entering in his journal the various events of the day. There was much talk and loud laughter round the fire that night, for the different parties had much to tell and much to hear regarding the discoveries that had been made, and discussions as to the prospects of the expedition were earnest and long. It was generally admitted that first appearances were, upon the whole, favourable, although it could not be denied that the place looked dreadfully barren and rugged. Under the happy influence of this impression, and the happier influence of the savoury steaks on which they had supped, the entire party lay down to rest, and slept so profoundly that there was neither sound nor motion to indicate the presence of human beings in the vast solitudes of Ungava, save the fitful flame of the fire as it rose and fell, casting a lurid light on the base of the rugged mountains, and a sharp reflection on the dark waters. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. RESOURCES OF THE COUNTRY BEGIN TO DEVELOP--BRYAN DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF-- FISHING EXTRAORDINARY. There is a calm but deep-seated and powerful pleasure which fills the heart, and seems to permeate the entire being, when one awakens to the conviction that a day of arduous toil is about to begin--toil of an uncertain kind, perhaps connected with danger and adventure, in an unexplored region of the earth. Ignorance always paints coming events in glowing colours; and the mere fact that our adventurers knew not the nature of the country in which their tent was pitched--knew not whether the natives would receive them as friends or repel them as foes--knew not whether the nature and capabilities of the country were such as would be likely to convert the spot on which they lay into a comfortable home or a premature grave;--the mere fact of being utterly ignorant on these points was, in itself, sufficient to fill the poorest spirit of the band (had there been a poor spirit among them) with a glow of pleasurable excitement, and a firm resolve to tax their powers of doing and suffering to the uttermost. When the sun rose on the following morning the whole party was astir, the fire lighted, and an early breakfast in course of preparation. Much had to be done, and it behoved them to set about it with energy and at once, for the short autumn of these arctic regions was drawing on apace, and a winter of great length and of the utmost severity lay before them. There was also one consideration which caused some anxiety to Stanley and Frank, although it weighed little on the reckless spirits of the men, and this was the possibility of the non-arrival of the ship with their winter supply of provisions and goods for trade. Without such a supply a winter on the shores of Ungava Bay would involve all the hardships and extreme perils that too often fall to the lot of arctic discoverers; and he who has perused the fascinating journals of those gallant men, knows that these hardships and perils are neither few nor light. The leaders of the expedition were not, indeed, men to anticipate evils, or to feel unduly anxious about possible dangers; but they would have been more or less than human had they been able to look at Mrs Stanley and little Edith without a feeling of anxiety on their account. This thought, however, did not influence them in their actions; or, if it did, it only spurred them on to more prompt and vigorous exertions in the carrying out of their undertaking. After breakfast Stanley assembled his men, and gave each special directions what to do. One of the most important points to ascertain was whether there were many fish in the river. On this hung much of the future comfort and well-being, perhaps even the existence, of the party. Gaspard was, therefore, ordered to get out his nets and set them opposite the encampment. Oolibuck, being officially an interpreter of the Esquimau language, and, when not employed in his calling, regarded as a sort of male maid-of-all-work, was ordered to assist Gaspard. The next matter of primary importance was to ascertain what animals inhabited the region, and whether they were numerous. Dick Prince, being the recognised hunter of the party, was directed to take his gun and a large supply of ammunition, and sally forth over the mountains in search of game; and as Massan was a special friend of his, a good shot, and, moreover, a sagacious fellow, he was ordered to accompany him. They were also directed to observe particularly the state of the woods and the quality of the timber growing therein; but as this last required special attention, the style and size of the future fort being dependent on it, Francois, the carpenter, was appointed to make a journey of observation up the Caniapuscaw River, in company with Augustus the Esquimau and Ma-istequan the Indian--it being thought probable that if natives were to be met with at all, they would be on the banks of the river rather than in the mountains. It was further arranged that Frank Morton should ascend the mountains in company with Bryan, and ascertain if there were any lakes, and whether or not they contained fish. As for Mr Stanley, he resolved to remain by the camp. On entering his tent after dispatching the several parties, he said to his wife-- "I'm going to stay by you to-day, Jessie. All the men, except Moses, Oostesimow, Gaspard, and La Roche, are sent off to hunt and fish in the mountains, and I have kept these four to paddle about this neighbourhood, in order to take soundings and examine the coast more carefully; because, you see, it would be an unfortunate thing if we began our establishment in a place not well suited for it." Mrs Stanley and Edith were, of course, quite pleased with this arrangement, and while the males of the party were absent, the former employed herself in dressing the skin of the deer that had been shot the day before. She accomplished this after the Indian fashion, by scraping and rubbing it with the animal's brains. Afterwards she smoked it over a fire of green wood, and in this way produced a soft, pliant substance similar to chamois leather, but coarser and stouter. As for Edith, she rambled at will among the bushes of the nearest ravine, under the faithful guardianship of Chimo, and hurried back to the camp almost every hour, laden with cloudberries, cranberries, blaeberries, and crowberries, which grew in profusion everywhere. Opposite to the camp the water was found to be eight fathoms deep. This was of great importance, as affording facility for unloading the ship abreast of the establishment. Higher up the river the ground was more favourable for building, both on account of its being more sheltered and better wooded with timber fit for the construction of houses; but the water was too shallow to float the ship, and the island before mentioned, which was named Cross Island, proved an effectual barrier to the upward progress of any craft larger than a boat. But as Stanley surveyed the spot on which the tent was pitched, and observed the sheltering background of mountains, with their succession of terraces; the creek or ravine to the right, with its growth of willows and stunted pines; the level parcel of greensward, with the little fountain under the rock; and the fine sandy bay in which Gaspard and Oolibuck were busily engaged in setting a couple of nets,--when he surveyed all this, he felt that, although not the best locality in the neighbourhood, it was, nevertheless, a very good one, and well suited in many respects for the future establishment. "Please, sir, the net him set," shouted Oolibuck from the shore to his master, who floated in the bay at the distance of a hundred yards, busily engaged with the sounding-line. On receiving this piece of information, Stanley ran the canoe on the beach, and said to his follower-- "Oolibuck, I have been thinking much about that river which we saw yesterday, off the mouth of this one; and I cannot help fearing that the ship will run into it, instead of into this, for the land is very deceptive." "Me t'ink dat is true," answered the Esquimau, with a look of grave perplexity. "If de ship go into dat riv'r he t'ink we no arrive, and so he go 'way, and we all starve!" "Nay, Oolibuck, I trust that such would not be the sad result of the ship failing to find us; but in order to prevent this, if possible, I intend to send you down to the coast, with a few days' provisions, to keep a look-out for the ship, and light a fire if you see her, so that she may be guided to the right place. So get a blanket and your gun as fast as you can, and be off. I can only afford you four days' provisions, Oolibuck, so you will have to prove yourself a good hunter, else you'll starve. Will four days' provisions do?" Oolibuck's eyes disappeared. We do not mean to say that they flew away, or were annihilated. But Oolibuck was fat--so fat that, when he laughed, his eyes reduced themselves into two little lines surrounded by wrinkles; a result which was caused by a physical incapacity to open the mouth and eyes at the same time. As a general rule, when Oolibuck's mouth was open his eyes were shut, and when his eyes were open his mouth was shut. Being a good-humoured fellow, and of a risible nature, the alternations were frequent. It was the idea of Stanley doubting the sufficiency of four days' provisions that closed the eyes of the Esquimau on the present occasion. "Two days' grub more dan 'nuff," said Oolibuck. "Give me plenty powder and shot, and me no starve--no fear." "Very well," rejoined Stanley, laughing, "take as much ammunition as you require, but be careful of it; if the ship fails us we shall need it all. And don't be too eager after the deer, Oolibuck; keep a sharp look-out seaward, be on the hill-tops as much as you can, and keep your eyes open." Oolibuck replied by closing the said eyes with a smile, as he hurried towards the tent to prepare for his expedition. In the meantime Stanley directed Oostesimow and La Roche to set about building a small canoe out of the birch bark which they had carried with them for the purpose, the large canoes being too cumbrous for the purpose of overhauling the nets. The nets had been set by Gaspard in the usual way--that is, with stones attached to the lower lines to act as sinkers, and floats attached to the upper lines to keep them spread; and it was with no little impatience that the party in the camp awaited the issue. Indeed they scarcely permitted an hour to pass without an inspection being ordered; but to their chagrin, instead of finding fish, they found the nets rolled up by the conflicting currents of the river and the tide into the form of two ropes. "This will never do," cried Stanley, as they brought the nets ashore. "We must set stake-nets immediately. It is nearly low tide now, so if we work hard they may be ready to set up before the tide has risen much." In pursuance of this plan, Stanley and his men went to the ravine, of which mention has been already made, and proceeded to cut stakes for the nets; while Oolibuck, having explained to Mrs Stanley and Edith that he was "going to look _h_out for de ship," shouldered his wallet and gun, and ascending the ravine, speedily gained the first terrace of the mountains, along which he hastened in the direction of the sea-coast. While the party in the camp were thus engaged, Frank Morton and Bryan instituted a thorough investigation of the country that lay directly in the rear of the camp, in the course of which investigation they made sundry interesting discoveries. After ascending the ravine in which we left Stanley and his men cutting stakes for the nets, Frank and Bryan reached the first terrace, and proceeded along it in the opposite direction from that pursued by Oolibuck. A walk of a quarter of a mile, or less, brought them to another ravine, into which they turned, and the first thing that greeted them as they pushed their way through the stunted willows that thickly covered this gorge in the mountains was a covey of ptarmigan. These birds are similar in form and size to ordinary grouse, perhaps a little smaller. In winter they are pure white--so white that it is difficult to detect them amid the snow; but in summer their coats become brown, though there are a few of the pure white feathers left which never change their colour. Being unaccustomed to the sight of man, they stood gazing at Frank and Bryan in mute surprise, until the latter hastily threw forward his gun, when they wisely took to flight. But Frank arrested his follower's arm. "Don't waste your powder and shot, Bryan, on such small game. There may be something more worthy of a shot among the mountains; and if you once raise the echoes among these wild cliffs, I fear the game will not wait to inquire the cause thereof." "Maybe not, sir," replied Bryan, as he fell back a pace, and permitted Frank to lead the way; "but there's an ould proverb that says, `A bird in the hand's worth two in the buss,' an' I've great belaif in that same." "Very true, Bryan, there is much wisdom in old proverbs; but there are exceptions to every rule, and this is a case in point, as you will admit if you cast your eyes over yonder valley, and observe the edge of the mountain-top that cuts so clear a line against the sky." Frank pointed, as he spoke, to the shoulder or spur of one of the mountains which rose at a considerable distance in the interior, and from which they were separated by a dark glen or gorge; for none of the ravines in this part of the country merited the name of valley, save that through which flowed the Caniapuscaw River. The ravine up which they had been toiling for some time led into this darksome glen, and it was on rounding a bold precipice, which had hitherto concealed it from view, that Frank's quick eye caught sight of the object to which he directed the attention of his companion. "'Tis a crow," said Bryan, after a gaze of five minutes, during which he had gone through a variety of strange contortions--screwing up his features, shading his eyes with his hand, standing on tip-toe, although there was nothing to look over, and stooping low, with a hand on each knee, though there was nothing to look under, in the vain hope to increase by these means his power of vision. Frank regarded him with a quiet smile, as he said, "Look again, Bryan. Saw you ever a crow with antlers?" "Anthlers!" exclaimed the Irishman, once more wrinkling up his expressive face, and peering under his palm; "anthlers, say you? Sorra a thing duv I see 'xcept a black spot on the sky. If ye see anthlers on it, ye're nothin' more nor less than a walkin' spy-glass." "Nevertheless I see them, Bryan; and they grace the head of a noble buck. Now, you see, it is well you did not fire at the ptarmigan. Away with you, lad, down into that ravine, and clamber up the mountain through yonder gap with the fallen rock in the middle of it--d'ye see?-- and wait there, lest the deer should turn back. In the meantime I'll run round by the way we came, and descend to the water's edge, to receive him when he arrives there. Now don't lose yourself, and take care not to fire at smaller game." As Frank concluded these orders, which he issued in a quick low voice, he threw his gun into the hollow of his left arm and strode rapidly away, leaving his companion gazing after him with an expression of blank stupidity on his face. Gradually his cheeks and brow were overspread with a thousand wrinkles and a smile took possession of his lips. "`Don't lose yersilf!' Faix, Master Frank, ye're free an' aisy. Arrah now, Bryan dear, don't lose yersilf; you that's crossed the salt saes, an' followed the Red Injins to the prairie, and hunted in the Rocky Mountains, and found yer way to Ungava--not to mintion havin' comed oraginally from ould Ireland--which ov itsilf secures ye agin mistakes of every kind whatsumdiver. Lose yersilf! Musha, but ye had better git some wan to look after ye, Bryan boy. Take care now; go softly and kape yer eyes open, for fear ye lose yersilf!" As Bryan mumbled forth this bantering soliloquy, he lifted up a large bag which contained a couple of fishing-lines and a few hooks, and throwing it across the stock of his gun, and both across his shoulder, he took his way down the rugged but well-beaten deer-path which led to the ravine or glen. The idea of losing himself seemed to have taken such a hold of Bryan's mind, and afforded him so much amusement and such scope for the continued flow of bantering soliloquy to which he was in truth much addicted, that he failed to note the fact that he was walking along the edge of a steep declivity, at the foot of which lay a small, dark sheet of water, which was connected by a short river or strait with a larger lake, whose wavelets rippled at the base of the mountain beyond. The scene was magnificently wild and lonely, and would have riveted the attention and excited the admiration of any one less absent than Bryan. High, rugged, and to all appearance inaccessible mountains surrounded the vale on all sides; and although there were several outlets from it, these were so concealed by the peculiar formation of the wild mountains that they could not be seen until they were actually entered. Had Bryan's eyes been more active, he would have seen that the fringe of bushes by the side of the deer-track, along which he walked, concealed a declivity so steep that it almost merited the name of a precipice. But Bryan was lost in philosophic contemplation, and the first thing that awakened him to the fact was the slipping of a stone, which caused him to trip and fall headlong over the bank! The Irishman grasped convulsively at the bushes to arrest his fall, but the impetus with which he had commenced the descent tore them from his grasp, and after one or two unpleasant bounds and a good deal of crashing through shrubs that tore his garments sadly, he found himself stretched at full length on the margin of the river that connected the two lakes. So nearly had he been hurled into this strait by the violence of his descent that his head was hanging over the bank ere he stopped! Being partially stunned by the fall, Bryan lay for a few seconds motionless. As his shaken faculties returned, however, he became aware of the fact that a fish of fully two feet long lay at the bottom of the pool over which his head hung. Starting up, and totally forgetting his bruises, he turned to look for the bag containing the fishing-lines, and observing it lying on the ground not far distant, still wrapped round the gun, he ran to pick it up. "Oh! wow! poor thing!" he exclaimed, on lifting up his gun, which, though fortunately not broken, was sadly bent, "ye're fit for nothin' but shootin' round the corner now! It's well for you, Bryan, ye spalpeen, that your backbone is not in the same fix." While he thus muttered to himself, Bryan drew from the bag a stout cod-line, to which he fastened a hook of deadly dimensions, and dressed it into the form of a fly, much in the same manner as was formerly done by La Roche. This line and fly he fastened to the end of a short stout pole which he cut from a neighbouring tree, and approaching cautiously to the bank of the strait--for there was too little motion in it to entitle it to be called a stream--he cast the fly with a violent splash into the water. The violence was unintentional--at least the exclamations of reproach that followed the cast would lead us to suppose so. The fish here were as tame as those caught in Deer River. In a few seconds the fly was swallowed, and Bryan, applying main force to the pole, tossed a beautiful trout of about two pounds weight over his head. "Och! ye purty crature," exclaimed the delighted Irishman, rubbing his hands with glee as he gazed at the fish after having unhooked it. "Shure ye'll make a beautiful fagure in the kittle this night. An' musha! there's wan o' yer relations to kape ye company," he added, as, exerting an enormous degree of unnecessary force, he drew another trout violently from the water. The second trout was larger than the first, and Bryan soon became so excited in the sport that he totally forgot Frank's orders, and the deer, and everything else in the world, for the time being. Having caught six or seven trout, varying from two to four pounds in weight, he changed his position a little, and made a cast over a deep pool nearer to the large lake. As heretofore, the fly was engulfed the instant it fell on the water; but Bryan did not, as heretofore, haul the fish violently out of its native element. It is true he attempted to do so, but the attempt proved utterly futile; moreover, the fish darted with such velocity and strength towards the lake, that the angler, albeit entirely ignorant of his art, experienced an inward conviction that the thick cord would snap altogether if not eased of the enormous strain. He therefore followed the fish at the top of his speed, uttering incomprehensible sounds of mingled rage and amazement as he went, and tripping over rocks and bushes in his headlong career. After a smart run of half a minute the fish stopped, turned, and darted back so rapidly that Bryan tripped in turning and fell into the water! The place was shallow, but having fallen on his back, he was thoroughly drenched from head to foot. He did not lose the grasp of his rod, however. Spluttering, and gasping, and dripping, he followed the fish in its wild career until it turned again at a tangent, and darted towards the bank on which he stood. There was a shelving bed of pebbles, where the water shoaled very gradually. Bryan saw this. Availing himself of the fish's impetus, and putting all his force to the rod, he dragged it into two inches of water, when the line broke. Instantly the fish struggled towards deep water; but it was so large, and the place to which it had been dragged so shallow, that it afforded the excited angler time to rush forward and throw himself bodily on the top of it! The battle that now ensued was of an energetic and deadly character on the part of both man and fish. Those who have not grasped a live salmon in their arms have no conception of the strength of a fish; and perhaps it may be said with equal truth that those who have never wielded a forehammer have but a faint conception of the strength of a blacksmith's knuckles. Bryan had thrown his whole weight on the fish, and grasped it, as with a vice, in both hands; but at every struggle of its powerful frame he felt how uncertain was the hold he had of its slippery body. Once it almost escaped, and dashed the spray over its adversary's face with its tail, as it wriggled out of his grasp; but with a desperate plunge Bryan seized it by the head and succeeded in thrusting his thumb under its gill and choking it, while himself was well-nigh choked at the same moment by unintentionally swallowing a gulp of the muddy compound which they had stirred up in their struggles. Slowly and with caution Bryan rose on one knee, while he crushed the fish against the bottom with both hands; then making a last exertion, he hurled it up the bank, where it fell beyond all hope of return to its native element. The fish thus captured was a beautiful trout of about twenty pounds weight. The lake trout of North America are, some of them, of enormous size, being not unfrequently taken of sixty pounds weight, so that as a specimen of those inhabiting these lakes this was by no means a large one. Nevertheless it was a splendid fish, and certainly the largest that had ever been captured by the worthy son of Vulcan. The thick coat of liquid mud with which his face was covered could not entirely conceal the smile of intense satisfaction with which he regarded his prize, as he sat down on the bank before it. "Kape quiet now, honey!" he exclaimed, as the trout made a last fluttering attempt to escape; "kape quiet. Have patience, darlint. It's o' no manner o' use to hurry natur'. Just lie still, an' it'll be soon over." With this consolatory remark, Bryan patted the fish on the head, and proceeded to wring the water from his upper garments, after which he repaired his broken tackle, and resumed his sport with an eagerness and zest that cold and water and mud could not diminish in the smallest degree. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. SUCCESSES AND ENCOURAGEMENT--BRYAN LOST AND FOUND. It was evening before the tide began to fall and uncover the stake-nets, which were eagerly and earnestly watched by those who had remained in the camp. Mrs Stanley and Edith were seated on an empty box by the margin of the sandy bay; Mr Stanley sat on a nail-keg beside them; La Roche and the Indian were still working at the small canoe a few yards from the tent; and Gaspard, with folded arms, and an unusual smile of good humour playing on his countenance, stood close behind Stanley. None of the hunting and exploring parties had returned, although the sun had long since disappeared behind the mountains, and the mellow light of evening was deepening over the bay. "There's a tail, sir," said Gaspard, as he hurried towards the net. "So it is!" cried Stanley, leaping up. "Come along, Eda, and take the first fish." Edith needed no second invitation, but bounded towards the edge of the water, which was now gradually leaving the nets. Gaspard had already disengaged a white fish from the mesh, and wading to the beach, gave it to the little girl, who ran with it joyously to her mother. Meanwhile, another and another fish was left by the tide, and Stanley soon after brought up a splendid salmon of about twenty-five pounds weight, and laid it at Edith's feet. "Oh, how very beautiful!" cried the child, as she gazed in delight at the silvery scales of the fish. "My mind is much relieved by this, Jessie," said Stanley, reseating himself on the keg, while Oostesimow and La Roche carried the fish ashore as Gaspard freed them from the nets. "I now see that there are plenty of fish in the river, and if the hunters bring in a good report to-night, our anxiety on the score of food will be quite removed." Although none of the party had ever set a net on stakes before, they had frequently heard of this manner of fishing, and their first attempt proved eminently successful. At low tide stakes had been driven into the sand, extending from the edge of the water towards high-water mark. On these the nets had been spread, and thus the misfortune which had attended the setting of the nets with floats and sinkers was avoided. The quantity of fish taken gave promise of an ample supply for the future. There were two Hearne-salmon (that is, spotted like trout), and one large common salmon, besides thirty white-fish, averaging between two to six pounds weight each, all of which were in excellent condition. The white-fish is of the salmon species, but white in the flesh, and being less rich than the salmon, is much preferred by those who have to use it constantly as an article of food. "This is a most fortunate supply," remarked Stanley, "and will prevent the necessity of putting the men on short allowance." "Short allowance!" exclaimed his wife; "I thought we had more than enough of food to last us till the arrival of the ship." "Ay, so we have. But until now I did not feel at liberty to use it; for if through any accident the ship does not come, and if there had chanced to be no fish in the river, the only course open to us would be to retrace our steps, and as that would be a long and slow process, we would require to economise our food. In fact, I had resolved to begin operations by putting the men on short allowance; but this haul of fish shows me that we shall have more than enough. "But who comes here?" he added, on observing the figure of a man approaching the camp. "He seems to carry a burden on his back, as far as I can make out in the uncertain light." "Did any of the men go out alone?" inquired Mrs Stanley. "No; but I suppose that this one must have separated from his comrade.-- Hallo! who goes there?" The man tossed the bundle from his shoulders, and hastening forward revealed the flushed countenance of Frank Morton. "What! Frank! why, man, you seem to have had a hard day of it, if I may judge by your looks." "Not so hard but that a good supper will put its effects to flight," replied Frank, as he rested his gun against a rock and seated himself on the keg from which Stanley had risen. "The fact is, I have slain a noble buck, and being desirous that the men should have as much of it as possible, I loaded myself rather heavily. The ground, too, is horribly bad; but pray send Gaspard for the bundle. I should have been here sooner but for the time required to dissect the animal." "Where is Bryan, Frank?" inquired Mrs Stanley. "You went away together." "Bryan! I know not. He and I parted in the mountains some hours ago; and as he failed to keep his appointment with me, I concluded that he must have become foot-sore and returned to camp." "He has not returned," said Stanley; "but I have no fear for the honest blacksmith. He's too old a nor'wester to lose himself, and he's too tough to kill. But come, Frank, let us to our tent. I see that La Roche has already prepared our salmon for the kettle, and so--" "Salmon!" interrupted Frank. "Ay, lad, salmon! a twenty-five pounder too! But come, change your foot-gear, and then we shall have our supper, in the course of which we shall exchange news." As they proceeded towards the camp the voices of some of the men were heard in the distance; it was now too dark to see them. In a few minutes Francois, followed by Augustus and Ma-istequan, strode into the circle of light around the fire, and laying aside their guns proceeded to light their pipes, while they replied to the questions of Frank and Stanley. "You do not come empty-handed," remarked the latter, as Francois and his comrades threw down several fat ducks and a few grouse, which, after the fashion of hunters, they had carried pendent by the necks from their belts. "We only shot a few, monsieur," replied Francois, "to put in the kettle for supper. We might have loaded a canoe had we chosen." "That is well," said Stanley; "but the kettle is full already, and supper prepared. See, Frank has shot a deer, so that we shall fare well to-night.--Ah, Prince! come along. What! more game?" he added, as Dick and Massan entered the halo of light, and threw down the choice morsels of a fat deer which they had killed among the mountains. "Ah! oui, monsieur," said Massan, chuckling as he laid aside his axe and gun; "we might ha' killed three o' them if we had been so minded; but we couldn't ha' brought them into camp, an', as Dick said, 'tis a pity to kill deer to feed the wolves with." "Right!" exclaimed Frank; "but did any of you see Bryan? He gave me the slip in the mountains, and, I fear, has lost himself." To this the men replied in the negative, and some of them smiled at the idea of the blacksmith being lost. "No fear, vraiment! He no lost," cried La Roche with a laugh, as he lifted the huge kettle from the fire and placed it in the midst of the men, having previously abstracted the best portions for the special benefit of his master. "No fear of Bryan, certainment; he like one bad shilling--he come up toujours. Ah! mauvais chien, him give me all de trouble ov get supper ready mylone." "I trust it may be so," said Stanley. "We are all here except him and Oolibuck, whom I have sent to the coast for a few days to watch for the ship. But let us have supper, La Roche, and spread ours nearer the fire to-night--it is rather cold; besides, I want to hear the reports of the men." In compliance with this order, the lively Frenchman spread the supper for his master's family close beside that of the men, and in a few minutes more a most vigorous attack was made on the viands, during the first part of which the hungry travellers maintained unbroken silence. But as the cravings of nature began to be satisfied, their tongues found time to remark on the excellence of the fare. The salmon was superb. Even Edith, who seldom talked about what she ate, pronounced it very good. The white-fish were better than any of the party had ever eaten in their lives, although most of them had travelled over the length and breadth of the North American wilderness. The ducks were perfect. Even the ptarmigan were declared passable; and the venison, with an inch of fat on the haunches--words were not found sufficiently expressive to describe it. Those who are philosophically inclined may suspect that some of this super-excellence lay in the keen appetites of the men. Well, perhaps it did. While the travellers were in the midst of this, and ere yet their tongues were fairly loosened, a loud unearthly shout rang with appalling reverberations among the surrounding cliffs, causing the entire party to start up and rush for their arms. Again the cry was heard. "Ah! bad skran to ye, Losh!--Hould on, Moses, ye fat villain. Lave me wan mouthful, jist wan, to kape me from givin' up the ghost intirely." A shout of laughter greeted the advent of Bryan's voice, but it was nothing to the peals that burst forth on the appearance of that individual in _propria persona_. To say that he was totally dishevelled would convey but half the truth. Besides being covered and clotted with mud, he was saturated with water from head to foot, his clothes rent in a most distressing manner, and his features quite undistinguishable. "Why, Bryan, what ails you? Where have you been?" inquired Stanley, in a tone of sympathy. "Bin, is it? Sorra wan o' me knows where I've bin. It's mysilf is glad to be sartin I'm here, anyhow." "I'm glad you're certain of it," said Frank, "for if it were not for the sound of your voice, I should doubt it." "Ah monsieur," said La Roche, "make your mind easy on dat. No von but Bryan ever regard de kettle dat way." "Taizy voo, ye petit varmint," said Bryan, approaching the said kettle, and smiling rapturously through the mud that encrusted his face on beholding its contents. Without waiting to change his garments the hungry blacksmith began supper, having first, however, directed attention to the bag which he had brought in. From this bag La Roche now extracted about a dozen trout, some of which were of great size-- especially one, whose bulk exceeded that of the large salmon. "There's plinty more where thim comed from," said Bryan, through a mouthful of venison; "but I'll tell ye ov it afther supper." "Ah, true! don't let us interrupt him just now," said Stanley. "In the meantime, Francois, since you seem to be about done, tell us what you have seen, and let us hear what you have to say of the country." Francois having lighted his pipe, cleared his throat and began:-- "Well, monsieur, after we had paddled a short bit beyond the point below the last rapid in Caniapuscaw River, we shoved the canoe ashore, and landed Prince and Massan, who set off to look for game, leavin' Augustus, Ma-istequan, and me to paddle up the river as well as we could. But we soon found that three men in a big canoe could not make much way agin the strong current of the river, so we put ashore again and took to our legs. "After making a long tramp up the banks o' the river, we fell in with some good-sized pines; but although they are big for this part of the country, they are not big enough for building. Then we pushed into the gullies, which are sheltered from the cold winds off the bay, and here we found the trees a good deal bigger. There are pines and larch in abundance, and some of the larch are even bigger than we require." "Are they far inland?" inquired Stanley. "No, monsieur, they are only a few hundred yards from the banks of the river, and growin' on the edge of a small creek, which I noticed is deep enough to float them down." "Good, very good," said Stanley, filling his pipe with a fresh charge of tobacco; "that is most fortunate, for it will save time, and take fewer men to bring them here. Go on, Francois." "Bien, monsieur. Then I felled one or two o' the trees, to see what like they are; and I found that they are very tough and good. The pines are firmer and tougher than any I ever saw in the Indian country, owing, I suppose, to their stunted growth. While I was thus employed, Augustus shot the grouse we brought home, and we saw a great many coveys of them. In fact, we might have shot many more; but as we did not know how far we should have to walk, we thought it best not to burden ourselves too much. We also saw a great many ducks, and shot a few, as you see." "Did you see goose?" inquired La Roche, whose mind had a natural tendency to culinary matters. "No," replied Francois, "I saw no geese; but I did not go out of my way to look for them. I was more taken up with the timber than replenishing the kettle." "Ah! that ver' great pity. Oui, grand dommage. De kittle toujours de most importance t'ing on de voyage. If you forget him, you goot for not'ing. Mais, Francois, did you look into the deep clear pool at de foot of de rapid?" Francois emitted a cloud of smoke with a negative in the middle of it. "An!" said La Roche with a sigh, "I thought not; mais it was pity. You see one goose for certain, if you have look straight down into dat pool." "Bien," continued Francois, turning to Stanley. "I then went into one or two more gullies, and saw some more sticks fit for building; but after all it is only in the gullies they grow, and there are not very many. The trees on the banks of the river are chiefly pines, and only fit for firewood." "And an important item is firewood, as we shall find ere long," remarked Stanley. "Your account of the timber is very satisfactory, Francois. Did you see traces of Indians or Esquimaux?" "No; I saw none." "Perhaps you did, Prince," continued Stanley, turning to that worthy, who was stretched, along with Massan, at full length before the blaze, and had been listening attentively to the conversation while he solaced himself with his pipe. "Yes, sir, we seed the marks they left behind them," answered Prince, while he glanced towards Massan, as if to invite him to give the desired information. "Ay, we saw their marks, no doubt," said the guide, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and raising himself from his reclining posture to that of a tailor, the more conveniently to recharge that beloved implement. "Ay, we saw their marks, and they was by no means pleasant to look on. After we had landed above the p'int, as Francois told ye, Dick Prince and me went up one o' the gullies, an' then gettin' on one o' them flat places that run along the face of all the mountains hereabouts, we pushed straight up the river. We had not gone far when, on turnin' a p'int, we both clapped eyes at the same moment on the most ill-lookin' blackguard of a wolf I ever saw. Up went both our guns at once, and I believe we were very near puttin' a bullet in each of his eyes, when we noticed that these same eyes were not bookin' at us, but starin', most awful earnest like, up a gully in the mountains; so we looked up, an', sure enough, there we saw a deer on the mountain-top, tossin' its head and snuffin' round to see that the coast was clear before it came down to the water. We noticed that a regular beaten deer-track passed down this gully, and master wolf, who knowed the walk very well, was on the lookout for his dinner; so we waited quiet till the deer came down, an' Dick put a bullet in its heart, an' I put one into the wolf's head, so they both tumbled down the cliffs together. The shot made another deer, that we had not seen, start off into the river; but before it got a few yards from the shore, Dick loaded again and put a bullet into its head too, an' it was washed ashore at the p'int below us. "Havin' fixed them off comfortably, we cut up the deer, and put all we could carry on our shoulders, for we knowed that if we left them we'd find nothin' but the bones when we came back. About an hour after this we came upon a deserted camp of Indians. It was so fresh that we think they must have passed but a few weeks ago. The whole camp was strewed with bones of deer, as if the red varmints had been havin' a feast. An' sure enough, a little farther on we came upon the dead carcasses of ninety-three deer! The rascals had taken nothin' but the tongues an' tit-bits, leavin' the rest for the wolves." "Ay, they're a reckless, improvident set," remarked Stanley. "I've been told that the Esquimaux are quite different in this respect. They never kill what they don't require; but the redskins slaughter the deer by dozens for the sake of their tongues." "We also found the broken head of an Esquimau seal-spear, and this little bit of sealskin." Massan handed these as he spoke to Stanley. "I fear," said Frank, "this looks as if they had made an attack on the Esquimaux very recently." "I fear it much," said Stanley, examining the little shred of sealskin, which had beautifully glossy hair on one side, and on the other, which was dressed, there were sundry curious marks, one of which bore a rude resemblance to an Indian wigwam, with an arrow pointing towards it. "I found the bit o' sealskin hanging on a bush a little apart from the place where they camped, an' from what I've seen o' the ways o' redskins, it's my 'pinion that it was put there for some purpose or other." "Very likely.--Take care of it, Jessie," said Stanley, throwing it to his wife; "it may be explained some day.--Well, Massan, did you see any other animals?" "Yes, sir, lots o' them. We saw deer on the hill-tops, and might ha' shot more o' them if we could have brought them into camp. An' we saw porcupines in all the pine bluffs. An' we saw fish in the lakes among the mountains. There are lots o' them lakes--small things some o' them--in all the gullies, and fish in most o' them; but we had neither lines nor hooks, so we catched none." "Faix, if ye catched none, yer betters catched plinty," said Bryan, who, having concluded supper and changed his garments, was now luxuriating in a smoke. The blacksmith pointed as he spoke to the bag of splendid trout which lay at a short distance from the fire. "'Tis mysilf's the boy to catch them. I would have brought ye two times as much, if it wasn't that I lost my hook and line. I think it must have bin a fresh-water whale, the last wan, bad luck to it! for it pulled me into the wather three times, an' wint off at last with two fathom o' cod-line trailin' behind it." "So then, Bryan," said Frank, "it must have been the yells with which you accompanied your fishing that frightened the deer I was after and caused me to lose him. However, as I got another soon afterwards which must have been frightened towards me by the same halloos, I forgive you." Frank now gave the party an account of what he had seen, but as his experience merely corroborated that of Dick Prince and Massan, we will not trouble the reader with the details. The evidence of the various exploring parties, when summed up, was undoubtedly most satisfactory, and while it relieved the mind of the leaders of the band, it raised and cheered the spirits of the men. Timber, although not plentiful or very large, was to be had close to the spot where they proposed to erect their fort; game of all kinds swarmed in the mountains in abundance; and the lakes and rivers were well stocked with excellent fish: so that, upon the whole, they considered that they had made an auspicious commencement to their sojourn in the land of the Esquimaux. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. OUTPOST-BUILDING--FORT CHIMO--AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL, WHICH CAUSES MUCH JOY. The band of fur-traders now set earnestly about the erection of their winter dwelling. The season was so far advanced that the men could no longer be spared from the work to hunt or fish in the mountains, so that they lived chiefly on the produce of the stake-nets in front of the camp, and a small allowance of the provisions with which they had started from Moose Fort. Occasionally Frank sallied forth and returned with the best parts of a deer on his shoulders; but these excursions were rare, as both he and Stanley worked with the men in the erection of the fort. No one was idle for a moment, from the time of rising-- shortly after daybreak--to the time of going to rest at night. Even little Edith found full occupation in assisting her mother in the performance of a host of little household duties, too numerous to recapitulate. The dog Chimo was the only exception to the general rule. He hunted the greater part of the forenoon, for his own special benefit, and slept when not thus occupied, or received with philosophical satisfaction the caresses of his young mistress. The future fort was begun on the centre of the level patch of green-sward at the foot of the flat rock by the spring, where the party had originally encamped. A square was traced on the ground to indicate the stockade; and within this, Stanley marked off an oblong patch, close to the back stockade, for the principal dwelling-house, facing the river. Two other spaces were on either side of this--one for a store, the other for a dwelling for the men. When finished, the fort would thus have the form of three sides of a square surrounded by a stockade. In the centre of this, and the first thing that was erected, was a flag-staff, on which the H.B.C.--Hudson's Bay Company--flag was hoisted, and saluted with three cheers as its crimson folds fluttered out in the breeze for the first time. The plan on which the houses were constructed was that on which all the dwellings of the fur-traders are built--namely, a framework of timber, the interstices of which are filled up with logs sliding into grooves cut in the main posts and beams. This manner of building is so simple that a house can be erected without any other instruments than an axe, an auger, and a large chisel; and the speed with which it is put up would surprise those whose notions of house-building are limited to stone edifices. The axes of the wood-cutters resounded among the gullies and ravines of Ungava, and awakened the numerous echoes of the mountains. The encampment no longer presented a green spot, watered by a tiny rill, but was strewn with logs in all stages of formation, and chips innumerable. The frameworks of the dwelling-houses began to rise from the earth, presenting, in their unfinished condition, a bristling, uncomfortable appearance, suggesting thoughts in the beholder's mind highly disparaging to art, and deeply sympathetic with outraged nature. The tents still stood, and the campfire burned, but the superior proportions of the rising fort threw these entirely into the shade. A rude wharf of unbarked logs ran from the beach into the river. It had been begun and finished in a couple of days, for the convenience of Gaspard while visiting his nets, as he sometimes did before the water left them. Everything, in short, bore evidence of the most bustling activity and persevering energy; and in a few weeks from the time of their first landing, the dwelling-houses were sufficiently weather-tight to be habitable, and the other portions of the establishment in an advanced condition. The openings between the logs of the houses were caulked with a mixture of mud and moss, and left in that condition in the meantime, until the pit-saw could be set to work to produce boards for the better protection of the walls without and within. The window and door frames were also made, and covered temporarily with parchment, until the arrival of the ship should enable them to fill the former with glass and the latter with broad panels. The effect of the parchment-covered door, however, was found to be somewhat troublesome. Being large, and tightly covered, it sounded, when shut violently, with a noise so strongly resembling the report of a distant cannon that, during the first day after its erection, the men more than once rushed down to the beach in the expectation of seeing the long and ardently wished-for ship, which was now so much beyond the time appointed for her arrival that Stanley began to entertain serious apprehensions for her safety. This ship was to have sailed from York Fort, the principal depot of the fur-traders in Hudson's Bay, with supplies and goods for trade with the Esquimaux during the year. She was expected at Ungava in August, and it was now September. The frost was beginning, even at this early period, to remind the expedition of the long winter that was at hand, and in the course of a very few weeks Hudson's Straits would be impassable; so that the anxiety of the traders was natural. Just before the partitions of the chief dwelling-house were completed, Stanley went to the tent in which his wife and child were busily employed in sewing. "Can you spare Edith for a short time, wife?" said he, as his partner looked up to welcome him. "Yes, for a short time; but she is becoming so useful to me that I cannot afford to spare her long." "I'm afraid," said Stanley, as he took his child by the hand and led her away, "that I must begin to put in my claim to the services of this little baggage, who seems to be so useful. What say you, Eda; will you allow me to train you to shoot, and fish, and walk on snow-shoes, and so make a trader of you?" "I would like very much, papa, to learn to walk on snowshoes, but I think the gun would hurt me--it seems to kick so. Don't you think I am too little to shoot a gun off?" Stanley laughed at the serious way in which the child received the proposal. "Well, then, we won't teach you to shoot yet, Eda; but, as you say, the snow-shoe walking is worth learning, for if you cannot walk on the long shoes when the snow falls, I fear you'll not be able to leave the fort at all." "Yes, and Francois has promised to make me a pair," said Edith gaily, "and to teach me how to use them; and mamma says I am old enough to learn now. Is it not kind of Francois? He is always very good to me." "Indeed it is very kind of him, my pet; but all the men seem to be very good to you--are they not?" "Oh yes!--all of them. Even Gaspard is kind now. He never whips Chimo, and he patted me on the head the other day when I met him alone in the ravine--the berry ravine, you know, where I go to gather berries. I wonder if there are berries in all the other ravines?--but I don't care much, for there are thousands and thousands of all kinds in my own ravine, and--where are you going, papa?" This abrupt question was caused by her father turning into the square of the new fort, in which the most of the men were at work. "I'm going to show you our house, Eda, and to ask you to fix on the corner you like best for your own room. The partitions are going to be put up, so we must fix at once." As he spoke they passed through the open doorway of the new dwelling, which was a long, low building; and, placing his little daughter in the centre of the principal hall, Stanley directed her to look round and choose a corner for herself. For a few minutes Edith stood with an expression of perplexity on her bright face; then she began to examine the views from each of the corner windows. This could only be done by peeping through the bullet-hole in the parchment skins that in the meantime did duty for glass. The two windows at the back corners looked out upon the rocky platform, behind which the mountains rose like a wall, so they were rejected; but Edith lingered at one of them, for from it she saw the spring at the foot of the rock, with its soft bed of green moss and surrounding willow-bushes. From the front corner on the left hand Cross Island and the valley of the river beyond were visible; but from the window on the right the view embraced the whole sweep of the wide river and the narrow outlet to the bay, which, with its frowning precipices on either side, and its bold flanking mountains, seemed a magnificent portal to the Arctic Sea. "I think this is the nicest corner," said Edith, turning with a smile to her father. "Then this shall be yours," said Stanley. "But," exclaimed Edith, as a sudden thought occurred to her, "perhaps Frank would like this corner. I would not like to have it if Frank wants it." "Frank doesn't want it, and Frank shan't have it. There now, run to your mother, you little baggage; she can't get on without you. Off you go, quick!" With a merry laugh Edith bounded through the doorway, and disappeared like a sunbeam from the room. On the 25th of September, Stanley was standing on the beach, opposite the fort, watching with a smile of satisfaction the fair, happy face of his daughter, as she amused herself and Chimo by throwing a stick into the water, which the latter dutifully brought out and laid at her feet as often as it was thrown in. Frank was also watching them. "What shall we call the fort, Frank?" said his companion. "We have a Fort Good Hope, and a Fort Resolution, and a Fort Enterprise already. It seems as if all the vigorous and hearty words in the English language were used up in naming the forts of the Hudson's Bay Company. What shall we call it?" "Chimo! Chimo! Chimo!" shouted Edith to the dog, as the animal bounded along the beach. Both gentlemen seemed to be struck with the same idea simultaneously. "There's an answer to your question," said Frank; "call the fort `Chimo.'" "The very thing!" replied Stanley; "I wonder it did not occur to me before. Nothing could be more appropriate. I salute thee, Fort Chimo," and Stanley lifted his cap to the establishment. In order that the peculiar appropriateness of the name may appear to the reader, it may be as well to explain that Chimo (the _i_ and _o_ of which are sounded long) is an Esquimau word of salutation, and is used by the natives when they meet with strangers. It signifies, _Are you friendly_? by those who speak first, and seems to imply, _We are friendly_, when returned as an answer. So well known is the word to the fur-traders who traffic with the natives of Hudson's Straits that they frequently apply it to them as a name, and speak of the Esquimaux as Chimos. It was, therefore, a peculiarly appropriate name for a fort which was established on the confines of these icy regions, for the double purpose of entering into friendly traffic with the Esquimaux, and of bringing about friendly relations between them and their old enemies, the Muskigon Indians of East Main. After playing for some time beside the low wharf, Edith and her dog left the beach together, and rambled towards a distant eminence, whence could be obtained a commanding bird's-eye view of the new fort. She had not sat many minutes here when her eye was arrested by the appearance of an unusual object in the distance. Frank, who was yet engaged in conversation with Stanley on the beach, also noticed it. Laying his hand on the arm of his companion, he pointed towards the narrows, where a small, white, triangular object was visible against the dark cliff. As they gazed, a second object of similar form came into view; then a fore and top sail made their appearance; and, in another second, a schooner floated slowly through the opening! Ere the spectators of this silent apparition could give utterance to their joy, a puff of white smoke sprang from the vessel's bow, and a cannon-shot burst upon the mountains. Leaping on from cliff to crag, it awakened a crash of magnificent echoes, which, after prolonged repetitions, died away in low mutterings like distant thunder. It was followed by a loud cheer from the schooner's deck, and the H.B.C. flag was run up to the main, while the Union Jack floated at the peak. "Now, Frank, give the word," cried Stanley, taking off his cap, while the men ran down to the beach _en masse_. "Hip, hip, hurrah!" "Hurrah!" echoed the men, and a cheer arose among the cliffs that moved to the very centre the hearts of those who heard and gave it. Again and again the stirring shout arose from the fort, and was replied to from the schooner. It was no matter of form, or cheer of ceremony. There was a deep richness and a prolonged energy in the tone, which proved that the feelings and lungs of the men were roused to the uttermost in its delivery. It told of long gathering anxieties swept entirely away, and of deep joy at seeing friendly faces in a sterile land, where lurking foes might be more likely to appear. At all times the entrance of a ship into port is a noble sight, and one which touches the heart and evokes the enthusiasm of almost every human being; but when the ship arriving is almost essential to the existence of those who watch her snowy sails swelling out as they urge her to the land--when her keel is the first that has ever ploughed the waters of their distant bay--and when her departure will lock them up in solitude for a long, long year--such feelings are roused to their utmost pitch of intensity. Cheer upon cheer rose and fell, and rose again, among the mountains of Ungava. Even Edith's tiny voice helped to swell the enthusiastic shout; and more than one cheer was choked by the rising tide of emotion that forced the tears down more than one bronzed cheek, despite the iron wills that bade them not to flow. CHAPTER NINETEEN. BUSTLE AND BUSINESS--A GREAT FEAST, IN WHICH BRYAN AND LA ROCHE ARE PRIME MOVERS--NEW IDEAS IN THE ART OF COOKING. The scene at Fort Chimo was more bustling and active than ever during the week that followed the arrival of the schooner. The captain told Stanley, as they sat sipping a glass of Madeira in the hall of the new fort, that he had been delayed by ice in the straits so long, that the men were afraid of being set fast for the winter, and were almost in a state of mutiny, when they fortunately discovered the mouth of the river. As had been anticipated by Stanley, the ship entered False River by mistake, unseen by Oolibuck, notwithstanding the vigilance of his lookout. Fortunately he observed it as it came out of the river, just at the critical period when the seamen began to threaten to take the law into their own hands if the search were continued any longer. Oolibuck no sooner beheld the object of his hopes than he rushed to the top of a hill, where he made a fire and sent up a column of smoke that had the immediate effect of turning the vessel's head towards him. Soon afterwards a boat was sent ashore, and took the Esquimau on board, who explained, in his broken English, that he had been watching for them for many days, and would be happy to pilot the vessel up to the fort. "You may be sure," continued the captain, "that I was too happy to give the ship in charge to the fellow, who seemed to understand thoroughly what he was about. He is already quite a favourite with the men, who call him Oily-buss, much to his own amusement; and he has excited their admiration and respect by his shooting, having twice on the way up shot a goose on the wing." "Not an unusual exhibition of skill among fur-traders," said Stanley; "but I suppose your men are not much used to the gun. And now, captain, when must you start?" "The moment the cargo is landed, sir," replied the captain, who was distinguished by that thorough self-sufficiency and prompt energy of character which seem peculiar to sea-captains in general. "We may have trouble in getting out of the straits, and, after getting to Quebec, I am bound to carry a cargo of timber to England." "I will do my best to help you, captain. Your coming has relieved my mind from a load of anxiety, and one good turn deserves another, so I'll make my fellows work night and day till your ship is discharged." Stanley was true to his word. Not only did the men work almost without intermission, but he and Frank Morton scarce allowed themselves an hour's repose during the time that the work was going on. Night and day "yo heave ho" of the Jack Tars rang over the water; and the party on shore ran to and fro, from the beach to the store, with bales, kegs, barrels, and boxes on their shoulders. There were blankets and guns, and axes and knives, powder and shot, and beads and awls, and nets and twine. There were kettles of every sort and size; cloth of every hue; capotes of all dimensions, and minute etceteras without end: so that, had it been possible to prevail on the spirits of the ice to carry to the Esquimaux intelligence of the riches contained in the store at Chimo, an overwhelming flood of visitors would speedily have descended on that establishment. But no such messengers could be found--although Bryan asserted positively that more than "wan o' them" had been seen by him since his arrival; so the traders had nothing for it but to summon patience to their aid and bide their time. When the work of discharging was completed, and while Stanley and the captain were standing on the beach watching the removal of the last boat-load to the store, the former said to the latter: "Now, captain, I have a favour to request, which is that you and your two mates will dine with me to-morrow. Your men will be the better of a day's rest after such a long spell of hard work. You could not well get away till the evening of to-morrow at any rate, on account of the tide, and it will be safer and more pleasant to start early on the day after." "I shall be most happy," replied the captain heartily. "That's right," said Stanley. "Dinner will be ready by four o'clock precisely; and give my compliments to your crew, and say that my men will expect them all to dinner at the same hour." Ten minutes after this, Stanley entered his private apartment in the fort, which, under the tasteful management of his wife, was beginning to look elegant and comfortable. "Wife," said he, "I will order La Roche to send you a box of raisins and an unlimited supply of flour, butter, etcetera, wherewith you will be so kind as to make, or cause to be made--on pain of my utmost displeasure in the event of failure--a plum-pudding large enough to fill the largest sized washing-tub, and another of about quarter that size; both to be ready boiled by four to-morrow afternoon." "Sir, your commands shall be obeyed. I suppose you intend to regale the sailors before they leave. Is it not so?" "You have guessed rightly for once; and take care that you don't let Eda drown herself in the compost before it is tied up. I must hasten to prepare the men." Two minutes later and Stanley stood in the midst of his men, who, having finished their day's work, were now busy with supper in their new house, into which they had but recently moved. "Lads," said Stanley, "you have stuck to your work so hard of late that I think it a pity to allow you to fall into lazy habits again. I expect you all to be up by break of day to-morrow." "Och! musha!" sighed Bryan, as he laid down his knife and fork with a look of consternation. "I have invited the ship's crew," continued Stanley, "to dine with you before they leave us. As the larder is low just now, you'll all have to take to the hills for a fresh supply. Make your arrangements as you please, but see that there is no lack of venison and fish. I'll guarantee the pudding and grog." So saying, he turned and left the house, followed by a tremendous cheer. "Oh! parbleu! vat shall I do?" said La Roche, with a look of affected despair. "I am most dead for vant of sleep already. C'est impossible to cook pour everybody demain. I vill be sure to fall 'sleep over de fire, prehaps fall into him." "Och, Losh, Losh, when will ye larn to think nothin' o' yoursilf? Ye'll only have to cook for the bourgeois; but think o' me! All the min, an' the ship's crew to boot!" The blacksmith concluded by knocking La Roche's pipe out of his mouth, in the excess of his glee at the prospective feast; after which he begged his pardon solemnly in bad French, and ducked his head to avoid the tin can that was hurled at it by the indignant Frenchman. At the first streak of dawn the following morning, and long before the sun looked down into the ravines of Ungava, Massan and Dick Prince were seen to issue with noiseless steps from the fort, with their guns on their shoulders, and betake themselves to the mountains. Half an hour later Bryan staggered out of the house, with a bag on his shoulder, scarcely half awake, rubbing his eyes and muttering to himself in a low tone, as he plunged rather than walked into the ravine which led to the first terrace on the mountain. When the sun rose over the mountain-tops and looked down upon the calm surface of the river, there was not a man remaining in the fort, with the exception of Stanley and Frank, and their active servant La Roche. A deep calm rested on the whole scene. The sailors of the vessel, having risen to dispatch breakfast, retired to their hammocks again and went to sleep; Stanley, Frank, and their household, were busy within doors; Chimo snored in the sunshine at the front of the fort; and the schooner floated on a sheet of water so placid, that every spar and delicate rope was clearly reflected. Nothing was heard save the soft ripple on the shore, the distant murmur of mountain streams, and, once or twice through the day, the faint reverberation of a fowling-piece. But as the day advanced, evidences of the approaching feast began to be apparent. Early in the forenoon Massan and Prince returned with heavy loads of venison on their shoulders, and an hour later Bryan staggered into the fort bending under the weight of a well-filled bag of fish. He had been at his favourite fishing quarters in the dark valley, and was dripping wet from head to foot, having fallen, as usual, into the water. Bryan had a happy facility in falling into the water that was quite unaccountable--and rather enviable in warm weather. As the cooking operations were conducted on an extensive scale, a fire was kindled in the open air in the rear of the men's house; round which fire, in the course of the forenoon, Bryan and La Roche performed feats of agility so extravagant, and apparently so superhuman, that they seemed to involve an element of wickedness from their very intensity. Of course no large dinner ever passed through the ordeal of being cooked without some accidents or misfortunes, more or less. Even in civilised life, where the most intricate appliances are brought to bear on the operation by _artistes_ thoroughly acquainted with their profession, infallibility is not found. It would be unjust, therefore, to expect that two backwoodsmen should be perfectly successful, especially when it is remembered that their branch of the noble science was what might be technically termed plain cookery, the present being their first attempt in the higher branches. Their first difficulty arose from the larger of the two plum-puddings, which La Roche had compounded under the directions of Mrs Stanley and the superintendence of Edith. "I say, Losh," cried Bryan to his companion, whose head was at the moment hid from view in a cloud of steam that ascended from a large pot over which he bent, apparently muttering incantations. "Vell, fat you want?" "Faix, and it's just _fat_ that I don't want," said Bryan, pointing, as he spoke, to the large pudding, which, being much too large for the kettle, was standing on the rim thereof like the white ball of foam that caps a tankard of double X. "It's more nor twice too fat already. The kittle won't hould it, no how." "Oh, stuff him down, dat is de way," suggested La Roche. "Stuff it down, avic, an' what's to come o' the wather?" said Bryan. "Ah! true, dat is perplexible, vraiment." At this moment the large pot boiled over and a cloud of scalding steam engulfed the sympathetic Frenchman, causing him to yell with mingled pain and rage as he bounded backwards. "Musha! but ye'll come to an early death, Losh, if ye don't be more careful o' yer dried-up body." "Taisez vous, donc," muttered his companion, half angrily. "Taisin' ye? avic, sorra wan o' me's taisin' ye. But since ye can't help me out o' me throubles, I'll try to help mysilf." In pursuance of this noble resolve, Bryan went to the store and fetched from thence another large tin kettle. He then undid the covering of the unwieldy pudding, which he cut into two equal parts, and having squeezed them into two balls, tied them up in the cloth, which he divided for the purpose, and put them into the separate kettles, with the air of a man who had overcome a great difficulty by dint of unfathomable wisdom. It was found, however, that the smaller pudding, intended for Stanley's table, was also too large for its kettle; but the energetic blacksmith, whose genius was now thoroughly aroused, overcame this difficulty by cutting off several pounds of it, and transferring the pudding thus reduced to the kettle, saying in an undertone as he did so, "There's more nor enough for the six o' ye yit, av yer only raisonable in yer appetites." But the superfluity of the pudding thus caused became now a new source of trouble to Bryan. "What's to be done wid it, Losh? I don't like to give it to the dogs, an' it's too small intirely to make a dumplin' of." "You better heat him raw," suggested La Roche. "Faix, an' I've half a mind to; but it would spile my dinner. Hallo! look out for the vainison, Losh." "Ah, oui; oh! misere!" cried La Roche, springing over the fire, and giving a turn to the splendid haunch of venison which depended from a wooden tripod in front of the blaze, and, having been neglected for a few minutes, was beginning to singe. "What have ye in the pot there?" inquired Bryan. "Von goose, two duck, trois plovre, et von leetle bird--I not know de name of--put him in pour experiment." "Very good, Losh; out wid the goose and we'll cram the bit o' dumplin' into him for stuffin'." "Ah! superb, excellent," cried La Roche, laughing, as he lifted out the goose, into which Bryan thrust the mass of superfluous pudding; after which the hole was tied up and the bird re-consigned to the pot. Everything connected with this dinner was strikingly suggestive of the circumstances under which it was given. The superabundance of venison and wild-fowl; the cooking done in the open air; the absence of women, and the performance of work usually allotted to them by bronzed and stalwart voyageurs; the wild scenery in the midst of which it took place; and the mixture of Irish, English, French, Indian, Esquimau, and compound tones, that fell upon the ear as the busy work went on,--all tended to fill the mind with a feeling of wild romance, and to suggest powerfully the idea of being, if we may so express it, _far, far away_! As the proceedings advanced towards completion, this feeling was rather increased than removed. Tables and chairs were a luxury that still remained to be introduced at Fort Chimo, when the men found leisure from more urgent duties to construct them. Therefore the dining-table in Stanley's hall was composed of three large packing-cases turned bottom up. There was no cloth wherewith to cover its rough boards; but this was a matter of little importance to the company which assembled round it, punctually at the hour of four. In place of chairs there were good substantial nail-kegs, rather low, it is true, and uncommonly hard, but not to be despised under the circumstances. Owing to the unusual demand for dishes, the pewter plates and spoons and tin drinking-cups--for they had little crockery--were of every form and size that the store contained; and the floor on which it all stood was the beaten ground, for the intended plank flooring was still growing in the mountain glens. But if the equipage was homely and rude, the fare was choice and abundant; and an odour that might have gladdened the heart of an epicure greeted the nostrils of the captain and his two mates when they entered the hall, dressed in blue surtouts with bright brass buttons, white duck trousers, and richly flowered vests [waistcoats]. There was a splendid salmon, of twenty pounds weight, at one end of the board; and beside it, on the same dish, a lake-trout of equal size and beauty. At the other end smoked a haunch of venison, covered with at least an inch of fat; and beside it a bowl of excellent cranberry jam, the handiwork of the hostess. A boiled goose and pease-pudding completed the catalogue. Afterwards, these gave place to the pudding which had caused Bryan so much perplexity, and several dishes of raisins and figs. Last, but not least, there was a bottle of brandy and two of port wine; which, along with the raisins and figs, formed part of the limited supply of luxuries furnished by the Hudson's Bay Company to Stanley, in common with all the gentlemen in the service, in order to enable them, now and then, on great occasions, to recall, through the medium of a feast, the remembrance of civilised life. The display in the men's house was precisely similar to that in the hall. But the table was larger and the viands more abundant. The raisins and figs, too, were wanting; and instead of wine or brandy, there was a small supply of rum. It was necessarily small, being the gift of Stanley out of his own diminutive store, which could not, even if desired, be replenished until the return of the ship next autumn. On the arrival of the guests a strange contrast was presented. The sailors, in white ducks, blue jackets with brass buttons, striped shirts, pumps, and straw hats, landed at the appointed hour, and in hearty good-humour swaggered towards the men's house, where they were politely received by the quiet, manly-looking voyageurs, who, in honour of the occasion, had put on their best capotes, their brightest belts, their gayest garters, and most highly-ornamented moccasins. The French Canadians and half-breeds bowed, shook hands, and addressed the tars as _messieurs_. The sailors laughed, slapped their entertainers on the shoulders, and called them messmates. The Indians stood, grave and silent, but with looks of good-humour, in the background; while the Esquimaux raised their fat cheeks, totally shut up their eyes, and grinned perpetually, not to say horribly, from ear to ear. But the babel that followed is beyond the powers of description, therefore we won't attempt it. Here, however, the characteristic peculiarity of our scene ceases. The actual demolition of food is pretty much the same among all nations that are not absolutely savage; and, however much contrast might have been observed in the strange mixture of human beings assembled under the hospitable roof of Fort Chimo, there was none whatever in the manner in which they demolished their viands. As the evening advanced, a message was sent to Monsieur Stanley for the loan of his violin. "Ay," said he, as the instrument was delivered to Bryan, who happened to be the messenger and also the performer--"ay, I thought it would come to that ere long. Don't be too hard on the strings, lad. 'Twill be a rough ball where there are no women." "Thrue, yer honour," replied the blacksmith, as he received the instrument, "there's a great want of faymales in thim parts; but the sailors have consinted to ripresint the purty craytures on the present occasion, which is but right, for, ye see, the most o' thim's shorter nor us, an' their wide breeches are more like the pitticoats than our leggin's." Many were the stories that were told and retold, believed, disbelieved, and doubted, on that memorable night; and loud were the songs and long and strong the dancing that followed. But it was all achieved under the influence of pure animal spirits, for the rum supplied afforded but a thimbleful to each. The consequence was that there were no headaches the following morning, and the men were up by break of day as fresh and light as larks. A feeling of sadness, however, gradually crept over the band as the dawn advanced and the schooner prepared for her departure. By six o'clock the flood-tide turned, and a few minutes later all the sailors were aboard, hoisting the sails and anchor, while the men stood silently on the beach where they had just parted from their guests. "Good-bye once more, Mr Stanley; good-bye, Mr Morton," said the captain, as he stepped into his boat. "I wish you a pleasant winter and a good trade." "Thank you, thank you, captain," replied Stanley; "and don't forget us out here, in this lonely place, when you drink the health of absent friends at Christmas time." In a few minutes the anchor was up, and the schooner, bending round with a fair wind and tide, made for the narrows. "Give them a cheer, lads," said Frank. Obedient to the command, the men doffed their caps and raised their voices; but there was little vigour in the cheer. It was replied to from the schooner's deck. Just as the flying-jib passed the point a gun was fired, which once more awakened the loud echoes of the place. When the smoke cleared away, the schooner was gone. Thus was severed the last link that bound the civilised world to the inhabitants of Fort Chimo. CHAPTER TWENTY. WINTER APPROACHES--ESQUIMAUX ARRIVE--EFFECT OF A WORD--A SUCKING BABY-- PROSPECTS OF TRADE. For many days after the ship's departure the work of completing the fort went forward with the utmost rapidity, and not until the houses and stores were rendered weather-tight and warm did Stanley consider it advisable to send out hunting and fishing parties into the mountains. Now, however, the frosts continued a great part of the day as well as during the night, so it was high time to kill deer and fish, in order to freeze, and so preserve them for winter's consumption. Up to this time no further traces of Esquimaux had been discovered, and Stanley began to express his fears to Frank that they had left the neighbourhood altogether, in consequence of the repeated attacks made upon them by Indians. Soon after this, however, the fur-traders were surprised by a sudden visit from a party of these denizens of the north. It happened on the afternoon of a beautiful day towards the close of autumn, that charming but brief season which, in consequence of its unbroken serenity, has been styled the Indian summer. The men had all been dispatched into the mountains in various directions, some to fish, others to shoot; and none were left at the fort except its commandant with his wife and child, and Oolibuck the Esquimau. Stanley was seated on a stone at the margin of the bay, admiring the vivid alterations of light and shade, as the sun dipped behind the mountains of the opposite shore, when his eye was attracted towards one or two objects on the water near the narrows. Presently they advanced, and were followed by several others. In a few minutes he perceived that they were Esquimau canoes. Jumping hastily up, Stanley ran to the fort, and bidding his wife and child keep out of sight, put two pair of pistols in his pockets and returned to the beach, where he found Oolibuck gazing at the approaching flotilla with intense eagerness. "Well, Oolibuck, here come your countrymen at last," said Stanley. "Do they look friendly, think you?" "Me no can tell; they most too quiet," replied the interpreter. Esquimaux in general are extremely noisy and full of animated gesticulation on meeting with strangers, especially when they meet on decidedly friendly terms. The silence, therefore, maintained by the natives as they advanced was looked upon as a bad sign. The fleet consisted of nine kayaks, and three large oomiaks full of women and children; and a curious appearance they presented at a distance, for the low kayaks of the men being almost invisible, it seemed as if their occupants were actually seated on the water. The oomiaks being much higher, were clearly visible. On coming to within a quarter of a mile of the fort, the men halted to allow the women to come up; then forming in a crescent in front of the oomiaks, the whole flotilla advanced slowly towards the beach. When within a hundred yards or so, Stanley said, "Now, Oolibuck, give them a hail." "Chimo! Chimo! Chimo-o-o!" shouted the interpreter. The word acted like a talisman. "Chimo!" yelled the Esquimaux in reply, and the kayaks shot like arrows upon the sand, while the women followed as fast as they could. In another minute a loud chattering and a brisk shaking of hands was taking place on shore. The natives were dressed in the sealskin garments with which arctic travellers have made us all more or less acquainted. They were stout burly fellows, with fat, oily, and bearded faces. "Now tell them, Oolibuck, the reason of our coming here," said Stanley. Oolibuck instantly began, by explaining to them that they had come for the purpose of bringing about peace and friendship between them and the Indians; on hearing which the Esquimaux danced and shouted for nearly a minute with joy. But when the interpreter went on to say that they intended to remain altogether among them, for the purpose of trading, their delight knew no bounds; they danced and jumped, and whooped and yelled, tossed up their arms and legs, and lay down on the sand and rolled in ecstasy. In the midst of all this, Mrs Stanley rushed out of the house, followed by Edith, in great terror at the unearthly sounds that had reached her ears; but on seeing her husband and Oolibuck laughing in the midst of the grotesque group, her fears vanished, and she stood an amused spectator of the scene. Meanwhile, Stanley went down and stepped into the midst of one of the oomiaks, with a few beads and trinkets in his hands; and while Oolibuck entertained the men on shore, he presented gifts to the women, who received them with the most childish demonstrations of joy. There was something irresistibly comic in the childlike simplicity of these poor natives. Instead of the stiff reserve and haughty demeanour of their Indian neighbours, they danced and sang, and leaped and roared, embraced each other and wept, with the most reckless indifference to appearances, and seemed upon all occasions to give instant vent to the feelings that happened to be uppermost in their minds. As Stanley continued to distribute his gifts, the women crowded out of the other oomiaks into the one in which he stood, until they nearly sank it; some of them extending their arms for beads, others giving a jolt to the hoods on their backs, which had the effect of bringing to light fat, greasy-faced little babies, who were pointed to as being peculiarly worthy of attention. At length Stanley broke from them and leaped ashore, where he was soon followed by the entire band. But here new objects--namely, Mrs Stanley and Edith--attracted their wondering attention. Approaching towards the former, they began timidly to examine her dress, which was indeed very different from theirs, and calculated to awaken curiosity and surprise. The Esquimau women were dressed very much like the men--namely, in long shirts of sealskin or deerskin with the hair on, short breeches of the same material, and long sealskin boots. The hoods of the women were larger than those of the men, and their boots much more capacious; and while the latter had a short stump of a tail or peak hanging from the hinder part of their shirts, the women wore their tails so long that they trailed along the ground as they walked. In some cases these tails were four and six inches broad, with a round flap at the end, and fringed with ermine. It was, therefore, with no little surprise that they found Mrs Stanley entirely destitute of a tail, and observed that she wore her upper garment so long that it reached the ground. Becoming gradually more familiar, on seeing that the strange woman permitted them to handle her pretty freely, one of them gently lifted up her gown to see whether or not she wore boots; but receiving a somewhat prompt repulse, she began to caress her, and assured her that she did not mean to give offence. By this time Frank and some of the men had joined the group on the shore, and as it was getting late Stanley commanded silence. "Tell them I have somewhat to say to them, Oolibuck." The interpreter's remark instantly produced a dead silence. "Now ask them if they are glad to hear that we are going to stay to trade with them." A vociferous jabbering followed the question, which, by Oolibuck's interpretation, meant that their joy was utterly inexpressible. "Have they been long on the coast?" "No; they had just arrived, and were on their way up the river to obtain wood for building their kayaks." "Did they see the bundle of presents we left for them at the coast?" "Yes, they had seen it; but not knowing whom it was intended for, they had not touched it." On being told that the presents were intended for them, the poor creatures put on a look of intense chagrin, which, however, passed away when it was suggested to them that they might take the gifts on their return to the coast. "And now," said Stanley, in conclusion, "'tis getting late. Go down to the point below the fort and encamp there for the night. We thank you for your visit, and will return it in the morning. Good-night." On this being translated, the Esquimaux gave a general yell of assent and immediately retired, bounding and shouting and leaping as they went, looking, in their gleesome rotundity, like the infant progeny of a race of giants. "I like the look of these men very much," said Stanley, as he walked up to the house with Frank. "Their genuine trustfulness is a fine trait in their character." "No doubt of it," replied Frank. "There is much truth in the proverb, `Evil dreaders are evil doers.' Those who fear no evil intend none. Had they been Indians, now, we should have had more trouble with them." "I doubt it not, Frank. You would have been pleased to witness the prompt alacrity with which the poor creatures answered to our cry of Chimo, and ran their kayaks fearlessly ashore, although, for all they knew to the contrary, the rocks might have concealed a hundred enemies." "And yet," said Frank, with an air of perplexity, "the Esquimau character seems to me a difficult problem to solve. When we read the works of arctic voyagers, we find that one man's experience of the Esquimaux proves them to be inveterate thieves and liars, while another speaks of them as an honest, truthful people--and that, too, being said of the same tribe. Nay, further, I have read of a tribe being all that is good and amiable at one time, and all that is bad and vile at another. Now the conduct of these good-natured fellows, in reference to the bundle of trinkets we left at the mouth of the river, indicates a degree of honesty that is almost too sensitive; for the merest exertion of common-sense would show that a bundle hung up in an exposed place to public view must be for the public good." "Nevertheless they seem both honest and friendly," returned Stanley, "and I trust that our experience of them may never change. To-morrow I shall give them some good advice in regard to procuring furs, and show them the wealth of our trading store." When the morrow came the visit of the Esquimaux was returned by the entire force of Fort Chimo, and the childish delight with which they were received was most amusing. The childishness, however, was only applicable to these natives when expressing their strong feelings. In other respects, particularly in their physical actions, they were most manly; and the thick black beards and moustaches that clothed the chins of most of the men seemed very much the reverse of infantine. The children were so exactly like to their parents in costume that they seemed miniature representations of them. In fact, were a child viewed through a magnifying glass it would become a man, and were a man viewed through a diminishing glass he would become a child--always, of course, excepting the beard. Bryan became a special favourite with the natives when it was discovered that he was a worker in iron, and the presents with which he was overwhelmed were of a most extraordinary, and, in some cases, perplexing nature. One man, who seemed determined to get into his good graces, offered him a choice morsel of broiled seal. "No, thankee, lad," said Bryan; "I've had my brickfust." Supposing that the broiling had something to do with the blacksmith's objection, the Esquimau hastily cut off a slice of the raw blubber and tendered it to him. "D'ye think I'm a haythen?" said Bryan, turning away in disgust. "Ah, try it, Bryan," cried La Roche, turning from an Esquimau baby, in the contemplation of which he had been absorbed--"try it; 'tis ver' goot, I 'sure you. Ver' goot for your complaint, Bryan. But come, here, vitement.--Just regardez dat hinfant. Come here, queek!" Thus urged, Bryan broke away from his host (who had just split open the shinbone of a deer, and offered him the raw marrow, but without success), and, going towards La Roche, regarded the baby in question. It was a remarkably fine child, seemingly about ten months old, with a round, rosy, oily face, coal-black hair, and large, round, coal-black eyes, with which it returned the stare of the two men with interest. But that which amused the visitors most was a lump of fat or blubber, with a skewer thrust through it, which its mother had given to the child to suck, and which it was endeavouring to thrust down its throat with both hands. "Come here, Oolibuck; pourquoi is de stick?" "Ho, ho, ho!" laughed Oolibuck. "Dat is for keep de chile quiet; and de stick is for no let him choke; him no can swallow de stick." "Musha! but it would stick av he did swallow it," said Bryan, turning away with a laugh. In the course of the day Stanley and Frank conducted the natives to the fort, and having given them all an excellent dinner and a few gifts of needles, scissors, and knives, led them to the store, where the goods for trade were ranged temptingly on shelves round the walls. A counter encompassed a space around the entrance-door, within which the natives stood and gazed on wealth which, to their unsophisticated minds, seemed a dream of enchantment. Having given them time to imbibe a conception of the room and its treasures, Stanley addressed them through the interpreter; but as reference to this worthy individual is somewhat hampering, we will discard him forthwith--retaining his style and language, however, for the benefit of his fellow-countrymen. "Now, you see what useful things I have got here for you; but I cannot give them to you for nothing. They cost us much, and give us much trouble to bring them here. But I will give them for skins and furs and oil, and the tusks of the walrus; and when you go to your friends on the sea-coast, you can tell them to bring skins with them when they come." "Ye vill do vat you vish. Ye most happy you come. Ye vill hunt very mush, and make your house empty of all dese t'ings if ye can." "That's well. And now I am in need of boots for my men, and you have a good many, I see; so, if you can spare some of these, we will begin to trade at once." On hearing this, the natives dispatched several of their number down to the camp, who soon returned laden with boots. These boots are most useful articles. They are neatly made of sealskin, the feet or soles being of walrus hide, and perfectly waterproof. They are invaluable to those who have to walk much in ice-cold water or among moist snow, as is the case in those regions during spring and autumn. In winter the frost completely does away with all moisture, so that the Indian moccasin is better at that season than the Esquimau boot. For these boots, and a few articles of native clothing, Stanley paid the natives at the rates of the regular tariff throughout the country; and this rate was so much beyond the poor Esquimau estimate of the relative value of boots and goods, that they would gladly have given all the boots and coats they possessed for what they received as the value of one pair. Overjoyed at their good fortune, and laden with treasure, they returned to their camp to feast, and to sing the praises of the _Kublunat_, as they termed the fur-traders. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. SILENT CONVERSATION--RAW FOOD--FEMALE TAILS--A TERRIBLE BATTLE TERMINATED BY THE INTERPOSITION OF A GIANT. Of all the people at Fort Chimo no one was more interested in the Esquimaux than little Edith. She not only went fearlessly among them, and bestowed upon them every trinket she possessed, but, in her childlike desire for the companionship and sympathy of human beings of her own age and sex, she took forcible possession of two little girls who happened to be cleaner, and, therefore, prettier than the others, and led them away to her own ravine, where she introduced them to her favourite berries and to her dog Chimo. At first the dog did not seem to relish the intrusion of these new favourites, but seeing that they did not induce his mistress to caress him less than before, he considerately tolerated them. Besides, the Esquimaux had brought their dogs along with them; and Chimo, being of an amicable disposition, had entered into social fellowship with his own kind. We have said that Chimo was sagacious, and it is quite possible he may have felt the propriety of granting to Edith that liberty which he undoubtedly claimed for himself. But Edith's intercourse with her little Esquimau _protegees_ was necessarily confined to looks--the language of the eye making up for the absence of that of the tongue. There were many things, however, in which language was not required as a medium of communication between the children. When the berries were good, the brightening eyes and smacking lips spoke a language common to all the human race. So, also, when the berries were sour or bitter, the expression of their faces was peculiarly emphatic. The joyous shout, too, as they discovered a new scene that pleased their eyes, while they roved hand in hand through the ravines, or the shrinking glance of fear as they found themselves unexpectedly on the edge of a precipice, was sufficiently intelligible to the trio. The little friends presented a striking and grotesque contrast. It would have been difficult to say whether the little Esquimaux were boys or girls. If anything, the costume seemed more to indicate the former than the latter. Like their mothers, they wore loose deerskin shirts with the hair on the outside, which gave them a round, soft, burly appearance--an appearance which was increased by their little boots, which were outrageously wide, and quite as long as their legs. The frocks or shirts had hoods and tails, which latter, according to fashion, were so long that they trailed on the ground. The inconvenience of the tail is so great that the women, while travelling on a journey, get rid of it by drawing it between their legs, and, lifting up the end, fastening it in front to a button sewed to their frock for the purpose. In travelling, therefore, Esquimau women seem to be destitute of this appendage; but, on arriving at camp, they undo the fastening, and walk about with flowing tails behind them! Edith's costume consisted of a short frock made of dark blue cloth, and a head-dress peculiar to the Indian women among the Crees. It was preferred by the little wearer to all other styles of bonnet, on account of the ease with which it could be thrown off and on. She also wore ornamented leggings and moccasins. Altogether, with her graceful figure, flaxen curls, and picturesque costume, she presented a strong contrast to the fat, dark, hairy little creatures who followed her by brook and bush and precipice the livelong day. One morning, about two weeks after the arrival of the Esquimaux, Edith went down to the camp after breakfast, and found her two companions engaged in concluding their morning meal. The elder, whose name was Arnalooa, was peering with earnest scrutiny into the depths of a marrowbone, from which she had already extracted a large proportion of the raw material. The younger, Okatook, seized a lump of raw seal's flesh, as Edith entered their hut, and, cutting therefrom a savoury morsel, put it into her mouth as she rose to welcome her visitor. "Oh! how _can_ you?" said Edith, with a look of disgust at this ravenous conduct on the part of her friend. But Edith had said, "Oh! how _can_ you?" and "Oh! shocking!" and "Oh! why don't you give up eating it raw?" and "Oh! why _won't_ you have it cooked?" nearly every day for the last two weeks, without producing any other effect than a gleeful laugh from the little Esquimaux; for, although they did not comprehend her words, they clearly understood her looks of disapproval. But although they would not give up the habit of eating raw flesh, which they had been accustomed to from their infancy, they were prevailed on so far to break through the habits of their people as to wash their hands and faces before going out to play. This they did because Edith positively refused to go with them unless they did so. Lifting up the end of her tail and wiping her mouth therewith, Arnalooa smiled at Edith's look of reproach, and ran laughing towards the shore, where she and Okatook washed their hands, after which they followed Edith and Chimo to their favourite ravine. Although she knew that they did not understand a word of what she said, Edith invariably kept up a running fire of small talk, in reference chiefly to the objects of nature by which they were surrounded. To this the little hairy creatures listened intently with smiling faces, and sometimes they laughed prodigiously, as though they understood what was said, so that their companion felt as if she were really conversing with them, although she was sadly perplexed at the utter impossibility of obtaining an intelligible reply to a question when she chanced to put one. "Oh, what a lovely glen!" cried Edith, her eyes beaming with delight, as, on turning the point of a projecting crag, she and her companions found themselves in a spot which they had not before seen during their rambles. It was a wild, savage gorge, full of fallen rocks, hemmed in with high cliffs, fringed here and there with willows and mosses, among which were a few brilliant wild-flowers. The lights and shadows of the spot were thrown into powerful contrast by a gleam of sunshine which flashed down among the rugged masses, lighting up peaks and sharp edges in some spots, while in others they were thrown into the profoundest gloom. "Oh! is it not a delightful place?" cried Edith, as she bounded up the rugged path, followed by Chimo, while the two Esquimau girls buttoned up their tails, and followed her as fast as their more cumbrous habiliments would permit. For a quarter of an hour the party toiled up the steep ascent, pausing now and then to pluck a flower, or to look back on the wild path by which they had come, until they reached a ridge of rock, beyond which lay a small lake or pool. So dark and still did it lie within the shadow of the overhanging cliffs that it resembled a pool of ink. Here the adventurous explorers sat down to recover breath, and to gaze in childish delight, not unmixed with awe, at the wild scene around them. The peculiar wildness of the spot seemed to exercise an unusual influence over the dog; for, instead of lying down, as it was wont to do, at the feet of its young mistress, it moved about uneasily, and once or twice uttered a low growl. "Come here, Chimo," said Edith, when these symptoms of restlessness had attracted her attention; "what is the matter with you, my dear dog? Surely you are not frightened at the appearance of this wild place! Speak, dog; see, Arnalooa is laughing at you." Edith might have said with more propriety that Arnalooa was laughing at herself, for the little Esquimau was much amused at the serious manner in which her Kublunat friend spoke to her dog. But Chimo refused to be comforted. He raised his snout, snuffed the air once or twice, and then, descending the gorge a short distance, put his nose close to the ground and trotted away. "That is very odd of Chimo," said Edith, looking into Arnalooa's face with an expression of perplexity. As she spoke Okatook pointed, with an eager glance, up the ravine. Turning her eyes hastily in the direction indicated, Edith beheld a deer bounding towards them. It was closely followed by a savage wolf. The deer seemed to be in the last stage of exhaustion. Its flanks were wet with moisture, its eyes starting from their sockets, and its breath issued forth in deep sobs, as it bounded onwards, seemingly more by the force of its impetus than by any voluntary exertion. More intent on the danger behind than on that which lay before it, the deer made straight for the pass in which the three girls stood, and scarcely had they time to spring to the sides of the cliff, when it swept by like an arrow. Instantly after, and ere it had taken two bounds past them, the wolf sprang forward; caught it by the throat, and dragged it to the ground, where in a few seconds it worried the noble animal to death. It is probable that the chase now terminated had begun at early dawn that day, for deer being fleeter than wolves they prolong the chase until overcome by the superior strength and dogged perseverance of their ravenous enemies. Over mountain and hill they had bounded along together, through glen and gorge, across river and lake, bursting headlong through bush and brake, or under the shadow of frowning cliffs, and toiling, at a foot pace and with panting sides, up the steep hills, in the fierce blaze of the sun, the one impelled by hunger, the other by fear, until at length the scene closed in the wild pass, almost at the feet of the three children. But retribution was in store for the savage destroyer. Ere yet the life's blood had teased to flow from the throat of the dying deer, and while the wolf's fangs were still dripping with its gore, a fierce bark, followed by a terrific growl, rang among the cliffs, and Chimo, with his ears laid back and his formidable row of teeth exposed, rushed up the gorge and seized the wolf by the neck! Thus assailed, the wolf returned the bite with interest, and immediately a fight of the most energetic character ensued. The wolf was much larger and more powerful than Chimo, but was greatly exhausted by its long chase, while the dog was fresh and vigorous. Once or twice Chimo tossed his huge adversary by main strength, but as often he was overturned and dreadfully shaken, while the long fangs of the wolf met in his neck, and mingled the blood of the deer, which bespattered his black muzzle, with the life's blood that began to flow copiously from Chimo's veins. At this moment a shout was heard farther up the ravine. The three girls turned hastily, and saw, on a point of rock which projected from the mountain side and overhung the dark pool, the figure of a man, of such immense proportions that they instinctively shrank back with terror. The position in which he stood made him appear larger than he really was. The scattered gleams and slant rays of sunshine that played around the spot invested him as with a supernatural halo, while a bright glow of light on the cliff behind detached him prominently from the surrounding shadows. He poised a spear in his right hand, and, while Edith gazed at him in terror, the weapon flew whistling through the air and was buried in the side of the wolf. But so close did the spear pass, that Edith involuntarily stepped back as she heard it whiz. In doing so she lost her balance and fell over the cliff. Fortunately, Arnalooa caught her by the dress and partially broke her fall, but the descent was sufficiently steep and rugged to render the child insensible. When Edith recovered consciousness, her first emotion was that of terror, on beholding a large, dark-bearded face bending over her; but a second glance showed her that the eyes of the stranger gazed upon her with a look of tenderness, and that Arnalooa and Okatook were kneeling beside her with an expression of anxiety. Had anything further been wanting to allay her fears, the sight of Chimo would have done it. It is true the sturdy dog panted heavily, and occasionally licked his wounds, as he sat on his haunches at her feet; but he was wonderfully calm and collected after his recent mortal conflict, and regarded his young mistress from time to time with an air of patronising assurance. As Edith opened her eyes, the stranger muttered some unintelligible words, and, rising hastily, went to a neighbouring spring, at which he filled a rude cup with water. In doing this, he revealed the huge proportions of the gigantic Esquimau whom we introduced to our reader in a former chapter. He was dressed in the same manner as when we first saw him, but his face was somewhat altered, and his black eyebrows were marked by that peculiar curve which is expressive of deep melancholy. Returning quickly from the spring, he kneeled beside the little girl, and, raising her head on his broad hand, held the goblet to her lips. "Thank you," said Edith faintly, as she swallowed a few drops; "I think I had better go home. Is Chimo safe? Chimo!" She started up as the recollection of the fight with the wolf flashed upon her; but the fall had stunned her rather severely, and scarcely had she risen to her feet when she staggered and fell back into the arms of the Esquimau. Seeing that she was quite unable to walk, he raised her in his powerful arm as if she had been a young lamb. Catching the dead wolf by the neck as he passed, and springing from rock to rock with catlike agility, he bore his burden down the ravine, and strode towards the fort under the guidance of Okatook and Arnalooa. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. MAXIMUS--DEER SPEARING--A SURPRISINGLY BAD SHOT--CHARACTER OF THE NATIVES. "Hallo! what have we here?" exclaimed Stanley, starting from his seat in amazement, as the giant entered the hall of Fort Chimo--his left hand grasping a blood-stained wolf by the throat, and Edith resting in his right arm. At first the startled father imagined his child must have been wounded, if not killed, by the savage animal; but his mind was immediately relieved on this point by Edith herself, who was no sooner laid on her bed than she recovered sufficiently to narrate the circumstances attending her fall. "Well, Maximus," said Stanley, returning to the hall and applying to the bulky savage the term that seemed most appropriate to him, "shake hands with me, my good fellow. You've saved Chimo's life, it seems; and that's a good turn I'll not forget. But a--. I see you don't understand a word I say. Hallo! Moses, Moses! you deaf rascal, come here!" he shouted, as that worthy passed the window. "Yis, mossue," said Moses, entering the hall. "Oh, me! what a walrus am dis! Me do b'lieve him most high as a tree an' more broader nor iveryt'ing!" "Hold thy tongue, Moses, and ask the fellow where he came from; but tell him first that I'm obliged to him for saving Chimo from that villainous wolf." While Moses interpreted, Arnalooa and Okatook, being privileged members of the tribe, crossed over to Edith's room. "Well, what says he?" inquired Stanley, at the end of a long address which the giant had delivered to Moses. "Him say he heered we have come to trade, from Eskeemo to west'ard, and so him come for to see us." "A most excellent reason," said Stanley. "Has he brought any furs?" "Yis; him brought one two fox, and two t'ree deer. No have much furs in dis country, him say." "Sorry to hear that. Perhaps his opinion may change when he sees the inside of our store. But I would like him to stay about the fort as a hunter, Moses; he seems a first-rate man. Ask him if he will consent to stay for a time." "P'raps he fuss-rate, p'raps not," muttered Moses in a disparaging tone, as he turned to put the question. "Him say yis." "Very good; then take him to your house, Moses, and give him some food and a pipe, and teach him English as fast as you can, and see that it is grammatical. D'ye hear?" "Yis, mossue, me quite sure for to teach him dat." As Moses turned to quit the hall, Stanley called him back. "Ask Maximus, by-the-bye, if he knows anything of a party of Esquimaux who seem to have been attacked, not long ago, by Indians in this neighbourhood." No sooner was this question put than the face of Maximus, which had worn a placid, smiling expression during the foregoing conversation, totally changed. His brows lowered, and his lips were tightly compressed, as he regarded Stanley for a few moments ere he ventured to reply. Then, in a deep, earnest tone, he related the attack, the slaughter of his people, their subsequent escape, and the loss of his bride. Even Moses was agitated as he went on, and showed his teeth like an enraged mastiff when the Esquimau came to speak of his irreparable loss. "Stay one moment," said Stanley, when Maximus concluded. "I have something to show you;" and hastening into his room, he quickly returned with the little piece of sealskin that had been found at the deserted Indian camp. "Do you know anything of this, Maximus? Do you understand these marks?" The Esquimau uttered a cry of surprise when his eye fell on the piece of skin, and he seemed much agitated while he put several quick, earnest questions to Moses, who replied as earnestly and quickly; then turning rapidly on his heel, he sprang through the doorway, and was soon lost to view in the stunted woods of the ravine above the fort. "That fellow seems in a hurry," exclaimed Frank Morton, entering the room just as the savage made his exit. "Who is he, and wherefore in so great haste?" "As to who he is," answered Stanley, "I'll tell you that after Moses has explained the cause of his sudden flight." "He say that him's wife make dat skin, and de arrow on him skin show dat de Injuns take her to deir tents." "But did you not tell him that we found the skin long ago, and that the Indians must be far, far away by this time--nobody knows where?" demanded Frank. "Yis, me tell him. But he go for to see de spot. T'ink him find more t'ings, p'raps." "Oh, messieurs, voila!" shouted La Roche, pointing towards the river, as he rushed, breathless with haste, into the hall; "les Esquimaux, dem kill all de deer dans le kontry. Oui, voila! dans les kayak. Two dozen at vonce--vraiment!" Without waiting a reply, the excited Frenchman turned round and rushed out of the house, followed by Stanley and Frank, who seized their guns, which always hung ready loaded on the walls of the apartment. On reaching the water's edge, the scene that met their eye was indeed sufficient to account for the excitement of La Roche. A herd of perhaps fifty or sixty deer, on their way to the coast, and ignorant of the foes who had so recently invaded their solitudes, had descended the ravine opposite the fort, with the intention of crossing the river. The Esquimaux had perceived this, and keeping themselves and their kayaks concealed until most of the animals were in the water, and the leaders of the herd more than two-thirds over, they then gave chase, and getting between the deer and the opposite shore, cut off their retreat, and drove them towards their encampment. Here the slaughter commenced, and Stanley and Frank arrived at the scene of action while they were in the midst of the wholesale destruction. In all directions the kayaks, with their solitary occupants, were darting about hither and thither like arrows in the midst of the affrighted animals; none of which, however, were speared until they were driven quite close to the shore. In their terror, the deer endeavoured to escape by swimming in different directions; but the long double-bladed paddles of the Esquimaux sent the light kayaks after them like lightning, and a sharp prick on their flanks turned them in the right direction. There were so many deer, however, that a few succeeded in gaining the land; but here the guns of the traders awaited them. In the midst of this wild scene, Frank's attention was arrested by the cool proceedings of an Esquimau, whose name was Chacooto. He had several times exhibited a degree of shrewdness beyond his fellows during his residence near the fort, and was evidently a man of importance in the tribe. Chacooto had collected together a band of the herd, amounting to fifteen, and, by dint of cool decision and quick movements, had driven them to within a few yards of the shore, exactly opposite the spot whereon his tent stood. One young buck, of about two years old, darted away from the rest more than once, but, with a sweep of the paddle and a prick of the lance, Chacooto turned it back again, while a quiet sarcastic smile played on his countenance. Having driven the herd close enough in for his purpose, the Esquimau ended the career of the refractory buck with a single thrust of his lance, and then proceeded coolly to stab them all one after another. "Och, the spalpeen!" said a voice at Frank's ear. "'Tis himsilf knows how to do it, an' no mistake. Musha! his lance goes out and in like a thailor's needle; an' he niver strikes more nor wance, the haythen!" "He certainly does know how to do it, Bryan," replied Frank; "and it's a comfort to know that every thrust kills in a moment. I like to see as little of the appearance of cruelty as possible in work of this kind." "Arrah! there's wan that'll chate 'im, anyhow," cried Bryan, throwing forward his gun in nervous haste, as one of the deer gained the land, despite Chacooto's rapidity, and bounded towards the hills. Frank smiled at the eager haste of his companion, who was one of the poor shots of the party, and, consequently, always in a hurry. "Now, Bryan, there's a chance. Take your time. Just behind the shoulder; a little low, for that gun kicks horribly." "Murder and blazes, she won't go off!" cried the exasperated Irishman, as, after a wavering effort to take aim, he essayed unsuccessfully to pull the trigger. "Half-cock, man! Cock it!" said Frank quickly. "So 'tis, be the mortial! Och, Bryan, yer too cliver, ye are!" he exclaimed, rectifying his error with a force that nearly tore off the dog-head. At that instant there was a sharp crack, and the deer, bounding into the air, fell dead on the sand at the edge of the willows. "Forgive me, Bryan," said Massan, chuckling and reloading his piece as he walked up to his comrade. "I would not ha' taken't out o' yer teeth, lad, if ye had been ready; but one bound more would ha' put the beast beyond the reach o' a bullet." "Faix, Massan, ye desarve to be hanged for murther. Shure I was waitin' till the poor crayture got into the bushes, to give it a chance o' its life, before I fired. That's the way that gintlemen from the ould country does when we're out sportin'. We always put up the birds first, and fire afterwards; but you salvages murther a poor brute on the sand, whin it's only two fathoms from ye. Shame on ye, Massan." "See, Massan," cried Frank, pointing to another deer, which, having escaped its pursuers, had gained the heights above. "That fellow is beyond us both, I fear. Be ready when it comes into view beyond the cliff there." But Massan did not move; and when Frank threw forward his gun, he felt his arm arrested. "Pardon me, monsieur," said Massan respectfully; "there's a sure bullet about to start for that deer." As he spoke, he pointed to Dick Prince, who, ignorant of the fact that the deer had been seen by Frank, was watching its reappearance from behind a neighbouring rock, at some distance from where they stood. In a second it came into view--the bullet sped--and the deer bounded lightly into the bushes, evidently unhurt! It is difficult to say whether Dick Prince or his comrades exhibited most amazement in their looks at this result. That the crack shot of the party--the man who could hit a button in the centre at a hundred yards, and cut the head off a partridge at a hundred and fifty--should miss a deer at ninety yards, was utterly incomprehensible. "Is it yer own gun ye've got?" inquired Bryan, as the discomfited marksman walked up. "No; it's yours," replied Prince. A smile, which resolved itself into a myriad of wrinkles, flitted over the blacksmith's face as he said-- "Ah, Prince! ye'll requare long practice to come to the parfect use o' that wipon. I've always fired three yards, at laste, to the left, iver since we fell over the hill togither. If it's a very long shot, it requares four to take the baste in the flank, or four an' a half if ye want to hit the shoulder, besides an allowance o' two feet above its head, to make up for the twist I gave it the other day in the forge, in tryin' to put it right!" This explanation was satisfactory to all parties, especially so to Prince, who felt that his credit was saved; and if Prince had a weakness at all, it was upon this point. The deer were now all killed, with the exception of those of the band that had been last in entering the river. These, with a few stragglers, had returned to the shore from which they started. The remainder of the evening was devoted to skinning and cutting up the carcasses--an operation requiring considerable time, skill, and labour. While the people at the fort were thus employed, Maximus (who adopted at once the name given to him by Stanley) returned from his fruitless journey to the Indian camp, and assisted the men at their work. He made no allusion whatever to his visit to the deserted Indian camp; but, from the settled expression of deep sadness that clouded his countenance, it was inferred that what he had seen there had not tended to raise his hopes. The supply of deer obtained at this time was very seasonable, for the frost had now begun to set in so steadily that the meat could be hung up to freeze, and thus be kept fresh for winter's consumption. Some of it, however, was dried and stored away in bales; while a small quantity was pounded after being dried, made into pemmican, and reserved for future journeys. As for the Esquimaux, they gave themselves up, during the first night, to feasting and rejoicing. During the short time that they had been at the fort, they had converted the promontory on which they were encamped into a scene of the utmost confusion and filth. A regard for truth constrains us to say, that although these poor creatures turned out to be honest, and simple, and kind-hearted, they did not by any means turn out to be cleanly; quite the reverse. They had erected four summer tents on the beach, which were composed of skins sewed together, and supported on poles in such a way as to afford ample room for the accommodation of their families. The entrance to each tent was through a passage, which was also made of skins, hung over a line fastened to a pole at the distance of twelve or fifteen feet from the tent. Each side of this entrance was lined with piles of provisions--seals, fish, ducks, and venison, in various stages of decay, which rendered the passage into the interior a trying operation. True, it was intended that the frost should prevent this decay; but, unfortunately, the frost did not always do its duty. The manner in which they cut up their deer and prepared them for future use was curious. After cutting the animals into two, without skinning them, they pinned up the front half with the heart and liver in the cavity. The other half they treated in a similar way, minus the heart and liver, and then put them out to freeze until required. When frozen, they were frequently used in their tents as seats, until the gradual diminution of the larder demanded that they should be appropriated to their proper use. The tribe of Esquimaux who resided near Fort Chimo at this time were possessed of an enormous stone kettle, in which they boiled an entire deer at one time; and while the good people luxuriated on the flesh of the animal in their tents, the dogs assembled round the boiler to await the cooling of the soup--thus verifying the assertion formerly made by Massan on that head. The dogs resembled those of the Newfoundland breed in some respects, but were scarcely so large or good-looking, and had erect instead of pendent ears. There were about a dozen of them; and it was wonderful to observe the patience with which they sat in a circle round the kettle, gazing earnestly at the soup, licking their chaps the while, in anticipation of the feast. The successful hunt was regarded as worthy of being specially celebrated by the distribution of a glass of grog to the men, and also to the Esquimaux; for at the time we write of, the Hudson's Bay Company had not yet instituted the wise and humane regulation which has since become a standing order throughout all parts of the country, except where there is opposition--namely, that ardent spirits shall not be given to the natives. However, Stanley's natural disposition led him to be very circumspect in giving spirits to the men and natives, and the supply now issued was very small. In the men it produced a desire for the violin, and created a tendency to sing and tell stories. In the Esquimaux it produced at first dislike, and afterwards wild excitement, which, in the case of Chacooto, ended in a desire to fight. But his comrades, assisted by his wives, overpowered him, tied him in a sack made of sealskin, and left him to roar and kick till he fell asleep! The honesty of these natives was exhibited very strikingly in all their dealings with the fur-traders. Although iron tools of every description were scattered about the fort, while the men were engaged in erecting the several buildings, not one was missed; and even the useless nails and scraps of metal that were thrown away, when they were found by chance by the Esquimaux, were always brought to the house, and the question asked, "Were they of any use?" before being appropriated. They were great beggars, however; which was not surprising, considering the value of the articles possessed by the traders, and their own limited means of purchasing them. Their chief wealth at this time lay in boots and deerskins, which the women were constantly employed in preparing; but Stanley urged them to go into the interior and hunt, as, although deerskins and boots were useful, furs were infinitely more valuable. But the Esquimaux had much too lively a dread of the Indians to venture away from the coast, and seemed inclined to hang about the place in comparative idleness much longer than was desirable. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. MORE ARRIVALS--HONESTY--INDIANS COME UPON THE SCENE--THE TRIBES RECONCILED--DISEASE AND DEATH CHANGE THE ASPECT OF THINGS--PHILOSOPHIC DISCOURSE. A day or two after the successful deer-hunt above related, several bands of Esquimaux arrived at Fort Chimo, and encamped beside their comrades. This unusual influx of visitors soon exhausted the venison that had been procured; but hunting parties were constantly on the alert, and as game of all kinds was plentiful, they lived in the midst of abundance. To all of these Stanley made small presents of beads and tobacco, and recommended them strongly to go and hunt for furs. But they seemed to like their quarters, and refused to move. The new arrivals, along with those who had first come, formed a band of about three hundred, and were found, almost without exception, to be a quiet, inoffensive, and honest people. As a proof of this latter quality, we may mention a circumstance that occurred a few days after the arrival of the last band. Being desirous of taking some additional soundings, Stanley launched his boat by the help of the Esquimaux, for his own men were all absent hunting and fishing. The boat referred to had been sent to the fort in the ship, and was a most useful and acceptable gift from the Governor of the Fur Company to the gentleman in charge of Ungava. Stanley hoisted his sails, and prepared to run down the river; but ere he had advanced a hundred yards, he was startled by a burst of loud cries from the shore, and, looking back, he observed the whole band of natives pouring like a torrent into the fort! His heart leaped within him as he thought of his unprotected wife and child. Turning the boat towards the shore, he ran it on the beach, and, leaving it with all the sails standing, he rushed into the square of the fort, forcing his way through the crush of natives, whose vociferous talking rendered what they said, for a time, unintelligible. At length Moses forced his way through the crowd, followed by one of the natives, who led a large dog by a line fastened round its neck. "What's the matter, Moses? what's wrong?" cried Stanley. "Oh, not'ing at all," replied Moses, casting a look of pity at his countrymen. "Dem are great gooses. Die man here wid de dog, him say dat de child'n was play in de square of dis fort, an' one o' dem trow stone and broke a window. It was de son ob dis man what do it, an' him say he most awful sorry--an' all de people sorry, so dey bring de dog to pay for de broken window." "I'm glad it's nothing worse," cried Stanley, much relieved. "Tell them I'm happy to find they are sorry, and I hope they will keep the children out of the square in future; but I don't want the dog. It was an accident, and not worth making such a noise about." The Esquimaux, however, would not agree to look upon this accident as a light matter. They said truly, that glass was not to be got so easily as the ice-blocks with which they formed windows to their own winter houses, so they insisted on the dog being accepted; and at length Stanley gave in, but took care that the native who gave it should not be a loser in consequence of his honesty. Moreover, Stanley begged of them to send up several of their best dogs, saying that he would purchase them, as he was in want of a team for hauling the winter firewood. Next day, while Stanley was engaged in the trading store with a party of Esquimaux, he was surprised by hearing a volley of musketry fired at the back of the fort. Snatching up a loaded gun as he ran hastily out, he found that the shots had been fired by a band of Indians as a salute to the fort on their arrival. This was the first time that Indians had made their appearance since the arrival of the fur-traders; and their advent at the present time was most fortunate, as it afforded Stanley an opportunity of commencing his negotiations as peacemaker in the presence of a considerable band of both parties. The Indians, fifteen in number, were all clothed, with the exception of their chief, in deerskin hunting shirts, ornamented moccasins of the same material, and cloth leggings. They wore no head-dress, but their long, straight, black hair was decorated with feathers and small metallic ornaments, among which were several silver thimbles. Their powder-horns and shot-pouches were gaily ornamented with bead and quill work; and they were all armed with long guns, on which they leaned as they stood silently, in a picturesque group, on the flat, rocky platform above the spring, which has been more than once alluded to. This platform overlooked the fort, and was a favourite promenade of the traders. At present it formed a sort of neutral ground, on which the Indians took their stand. The red men were overawed by the very superior number of the Esquimaux, and felt that they were safe only so long as they stood on the flat rock, which was the only path leading to the ravine, through which, if need be, they could easily escape into the mountains. The chief of the Indians, unlike his fellows, was dressed in a costume of the most grotesque and brilliant character, and, certainly, one which, however much it might raise the admiration of his savage companions, did not add to his dignity in the eyes of the traders. He wore a long, bright scarlet coat, richly embroidered with gold lace, with large cuffs, and gilt buttons; a pair of blue cloth trousers, and a vest of the same material; a broad worsted sash, and a hat in the form of the ordinary beaver or silk hat of Europe. The material, however, was very coarse; but this was made up for by the silver, and gilt cords, and tassels with which it was profusely decorated. He evidently felt his own importance, and stood with a calm, dignified gaze, waiting to be addressed. Hailing Ma-istequan, who leaned on the axe with which he had been cutting firewood when the volley of the Indians arrested him, Stanley bade him invite them to enter the fort. "We cannot come down," replied the chief, after Ma-istequan had given the invitation. "The Eskimos are in numbers like the stars; we are few. If the pale-faces are our friends, let them come up here and take us by the hand and bring us down." "Very reasonable," said Stanley to Frank, who stood beside him; "we must take care that the Esquimaux do not take advantage of their numbers to avenge their ancient wrongs." Then, turning to the natives, who had now crowded in large numbers into the fort, Stanley addressed them in a serious tone; told them that the time had now come when he hoped to reconcile the Innuit and the Allat [Esquimau name for Indians] together; and that he expected they would show their gratitude for his many kindnesses to them by treating the Indians, who were his friends, with hospitality. The Esquimaux promised obedience, after which Stanley ascended to the promenade, and taking the Indian chief by the hand, led him towards the fort, followed by the whole band in single file. It is not necessary to detail the speeches that followed on both sides on this occasion, and the eloquence that was expended that evening in the cause of peace. Suffice it to say that the Indians and Esquimaux shook hands and exchanged gifts in the presence of the assembled garrison of Fort Chimo. But although the traders had reason to congratulate themselves on having so far succeeded in the establishment of peace, they could not conceal from themselves the fact that while, on the one hand, the Esquimaux appeared to be perfectly sincere and cordial in their professions, on the other hand the Indians evinced a good deal of taciturnity at first, and even after their reserve was overcome, seemed to act as men do who are constrained to the performance of a distasteful action. In general character, the Indians of Labrador do not contrast well with the Esquimaux--at least this may with truth be said of those who afterwards became attached to the district of Ungava. The Indian is reserved and taciturn, while the Esquimau is candid, frank, and communicative. Of course there are exceptions on both sides. On the evening of the same day, Stanley had much difficulty in overcoming the reserve of the Indians, so as to procure information regarding the interior; and it was not until their hearts were opened by the influence of tobacco, that they condescended to give the required information. This was to the effect that there were not many fur-bearing animals in the immediate vicinity of Ungava, but that there were a good many in the wooded country lying to the southward and eastward. Here, however, the Indians do not care to hunt, preferring rather to keep to the heights of land, and near the coast, where the deer are numerous. In fact, Stanley afterwards found that the facility with which the Indians procured deer in this part of the country was a serious drawback to the fur trade, as they contented themselves with trapping just enough of otters, foxes, etcetera, to enable them to procure a supply of ammunition with which to hunt the deer. The Indians had brought a few beaver and other furs to trade, and, after receiving a good meal and a few presents, they took up their quarters on a plot of ground close to the fort. Here they lived a short time in perfect friendship with the Esquimaux, visiting them, and hunting in company; but more than once they exhibited their natural disposition by stealing the goods of their neighbours. On one occasion, two Esquimau children were missed from the camp, and in the course of the day they returned to their parents clothed in Indian costume! This was a very polite piece of attention on the part of the Indians, but the effect of it was much marred, the same day, by the abstraction of a knife from an Esquimau tent. Stanley insisted on the article being restored, and severely reprimanded the offender. But, although the general harmony of the camp was sometimes broken by such events, the friendship between the two parties seemed to be gradually increasing, and Stanley saw with satisfaction that the Allat and the Innuit bade fair to become fast friends for the future. But an event occurred at this time which put an end to their intercourse, and very much altered the aspect of affairs. For some time past the men at the fort had been subject to rather severe attacks of cold, or a species of influenza. This they unfortunately communicated to the Esquimaux, who seemed to be peculiarly susceptible of the disease. Being very fat and full-blooded, it had the most dreadful effect on the poor creatures, and at a certain stage almost choked them. At last one night it was reported that ten of their number had died from absolute suffocation. All of these had been strong and robust, and they died after two days' illness. One of those who were attacked was Edith's little friend, Arnalooa, and just before the ten Esquimaux died, Edith had gone down to the camp with a present of beads to console her. She found her much better, and, after talking to her for some time, she took her leave, promising to pay her another visit next day. True to her promise, Edith sallied forth after breakfast with a little native basket on her arm. About half an hour afterwards, while Stanley was sitting in the hall with his wife and Frank, they were startled by the sudden appearance of Edith, out of breath from the speed with which she had run home, and her face overspread with a deadly paleness. "What is the matter, my darling?" cried her mother, starting up in alarm. "Oh! the Esquimaux are lying dead on the sand," gasped Edith, as she laid her head on her mother's breast, "and the rest are all gone." Without waiting to hear more, Frank and Stanley took down their guns and hastened to the camp. Here a scene of the most horrible kind presented itself. The whole camp exhibited evidences of a hasty flight, and eight of the people who had died during the night were lying exposed on the rocks, with their white faces and ghastly eyeballs turned towards the sky. The other two had been buried on the rocks under a heap of stones, which did not conceal them entirely from view. "No wonder poor Edith was alarmed," said Stanley sadly, as he leaned on his fowling-piece and surveyed the scene of desolation and death. "I have been told," remarked Frank, "that the Esquimaux have a superstitious dread of this river. Oolibuck mentioned to me this morning that he has had a good deal of conversation with the natives about this disease, and they told him that it invariably attacks them when they enter this river, and carries them off by dozens; so that they never come into it except when they require wood, and always stay as short a time as possible." "Ah! that's bad," said Stanley; "I fear that it will go much against the success of the establishment. But we must hope better things; and, truly, with this exception, all has gone well hitherto. Said they anything more, Frank?" "Yes; they hinted, it seems, their intention of flying away from this fatal spot, and taking up their abode for the winter at the mouth of False River, where they can obtain a livelihood by seal-fishing; but Oolibuck thought they did not mean to put the threat in execution, and did not imagine that they were in such alarm that they would go off without burying their dead." "We must do that for them, Frank," said Stanley, turning to retrace his steps to the fort; "send down as many of the men as you can spare to-day, and get it done at once." "By the way," said Frank, as they walked along the beach, "it seems that many years ago the Moravian missionaries came to the mouth of this river, and talked of setting up a trading-fort here; but, from some cause unknown, they gave up their design and went away. Maximus has been telling me all he knows about the matter; but his reports are vague, and the event must have occurred, if it occurred at all, when he was a child." "Very possibly, Frank. You know the Moravians have settlements along the coasts of Labrador, to the eastward of this. They may have made an attempt long ago to push as far as this. I have always had a high opinion of the energy and perseverance of these missionaries, but I cannot get over the incongruity of their strange way of mingling trade with religion. It seems to me an unnatural sort of thing for missionaries to be fur-traders. I do not mean by this to object to their system, however; I daresay it works well, but I've had no means of judging." "It is strange," replied Frank; "yet it seems a good plan. The missionaries trade there in order that they may live and preach. 'Twould be a good thing for the Indian country if the same principles and practice actuated the traders; with this difference, that instead of missionaries becoming fur-traders, the fur-traders would become missionaries. It does seem a species of infatuation," continued Frank, energetically, as he warmed with the subject, "that men, calling themselves Christians, should live for years and years among the poor Indians of America and never once name to them the great and saving name of Christ. Of course I do not wonder at those who make little or no profession of Christianity; but there are men in the fur-trade who seem to be deeply impressed with the truths of God's Word--who are alive to the fact that there is no name under heaven given among men whereby we can be saved except the name of Christ--who know and feel that the Indians around them are living without God, and therefore without hope in the world--who feel that _Christ_ is _all in all_, and that the Christian religion, however perfect and beautiful as a code of morals, is utterly worthless as to salvation unless there be in the heart the special love of Jesus Christ;--men who admit and profess to believe all this, yet never speak of Christ to the natives--never mention the name that can alone save them from eternal destruction." "Be not hasty, Frank," replied Stanley. "I agree with you, that it is strange indeed we do not see and hear more of this missionary spirit among the traders, and I, for one, take your words as a deserved rebuke to myself; but if there are, as you say, many among us who are deeply impressed with the truths of God's Word, how know you that we never mention our Saviour's name to the Indians? Although fur-traders do not mount the pulpit, they may, in private, make mention of that name, and do an amount of good that will only be fully known when the trader, the trapper, and the Indian shall stand side by side before the judgment-seat of Christ. Observe, I do not say that this is actually the case; I only suggest that it is possible--may I not add, probable?" "It may be so," returned Frank, "it may be so, and God forgive me if I have judged the men of the fur-trade unjustly; but I certainly know one who has made somewhat of a profession of Christianity in his day, and yet has done next to nothing, and that one is Frank Morton." "I'll not gainsay that, Frank," said Stanley, with a quiet smile; "and I think we are not likely to err much when we apply censure to ourselves. It is curious that you and I should have been thinking of the very same subject. A few days ago, while my wife and I were conversing together about the Esquimaux, we agreed to devote a good deal of our leisure time next winter to reading and explaining the Bible to our Esquimau interpreters, in the hope that they may afterwards be the means of much good among their poor countrymen." Whether or not the good resolutions made at this time were ever put in practice we cannot say. Let us hope that they were. Not long after the sudden flight of the Esquimaux, the Indians struck their tents and took their departure for the interior, with the intention, as they said, of hunting for furs, but more probably, as Ma-istequan suggested, to hunt the deer. During all the time of their residence at the fort, Maximus had kept out of their way as much as possible. He seldom met them without a frown of hatred, for he regarded them as the representatives of a race which had robbed him of his bride; and there were times when the giant's spirit chafed so fearfully at the sight of the red men, that nothing but the remembrance of his promise to Stanley, to offer them no injury, prevented him from stirring up his tribe to overwhelm and destroy them. It was, therefore, with a feeling of relief that Maximus beheld them march single file over the rocky platform, and disappear in the ravine that led into the mountains. The traders of Ungava were once more left in solitude, and from this time forward, until the winter set in, they devoted all their energies to laying up a stock of provisions sufficient to last till spring. Dick Prince and Massan were sent after the deer in company. Augustus and Bryan were dispatched to a small lake to establish a fishery; in which they were very successful, and soon caught a large supply of excellent white-fish, trout, and carp, which they gutted and hung up by their tails to dry and freeze. Frank and Moses went to another small lake, about ten miles down the river, and built a hut of willows, in which they dwelt while engaged at the fishery. As there was still much to be done in the way of completing the fort, and making furniture, Stanley retained La Roche, Oolibuck, and the two Indians to assist him in this, as well as in the performance of the miscellaneous minor duties about the station, such as cutting up firewood, covering the roofs of the stores with tarpaulin, shooting such birds and animals as came near the fort, constructing rude chairs and tables, cooking, etcetera, etcetera; while Francois and Gaspard were sent up the river to fell trees, for the purposes both of building and firewood. Edith and her mother found ample occupation--the latter in the use of her needle and the cares of the household; the former in learning her lessons, visiting her berry-ravine, dressing her doll (for she had a doll, as a matter of course), and in holding long and frequent converse with Chimo. Thus they spent their time; too busily occupied to take much note of its rapid flight, and scarce noticing the lengthening nights and shortening days, until needles of ice began with slow and silent progress to shoot across and solidify the waters of the bay. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. EFFECT OF SNOW ON THE FEELINGS, NOT TO MENTION THE LANDSCAPE--A WONDERFUL DOME OF ICE. There are times and seasons, in this peculiar world of ours, when the heart of man rejoices. The rejoicing to which we refer is not of the ordinary kind. It is peculiar; and, whether its duration be long or short, its effect powerful or slight, it is quite distinct and emphatic. We do not intend to enter into a detail of the occasions that call forth this feeling of exultation. Far be it from us to venture into such perilous depths of philosophy. Our sole reason for making these preliminary observations is, that we may, with proper emphasis, introduce the statement, that one of these occasions of rejoicing is, when man arises from his couch, on a brilliant, sunny, sparkling morning, gazes forth from his window, and beholds the landscape--which yesterday was green, and red, and brown, and blue--clad in a soft mantle of whitest snow! What! you don't agree with us? You shudder at the preposterous idea of such a sight being fitted to rejoice the heart of man in any degree whatever? Well, well; do not sneer at our weakness. If we cannot sympathise with each other on this subject, perchance there are other things in which we can. But whatever be _our_ opinion in regard to this, the point that we have to deal with at present is, the opinion of Edith Stanley, who, on rising hastily one morning, and looking forth from her little window, evinced the rejoicing of her heart most emphatically, by her loud exclamation of delight and the sparkling of her bright blue eyes. Independently of the cheerful lightness and the virgin purity of the mantle, which in itself tended to awaken emotions of gladness in Edith's heart, there was something in its sudden appearance that carried her back violently and vividly to bygone days. The winter garb had no associations, yet, with Ungava; but it had with Moose Fort, and the dear companions she used to play with there. It recalled the time when she and her little friends sallied forth, each with her small wooden sledge drawn after her by a line, to slide thereon down the banks of the frozen river with headlong speed, and upset at the bottom amid shouts of laughter. It recalled the time when she made the first attempt to walk in snow-shoes, upon which occasion she tripped and fell into the snow, as a matter of course, and was advised to wait till she was older. It recalled the memory of her father's team of dogs, and the delightful drives she used to have over the frozen river; which drives often resulted in an upset, perhaps several, and always resulted in fun. It recalled the house in the old fort that used to be her home; the row of houses belonging to the men, to which she often went, and was always welcomed as a great favourite; the water-hole on the river from which the old Canadian drew his daily supply; and the snow-house in the yard which she built in company with Frank Morton, and which stood the whole winter through, but gave way at last before the blazing sun of spring, and fell--as ill luck would have it--when she and Chimo were sitting there, so that she and the dog together had a hard struggle ere they got free. All these, and many more thick-coming memories of other days, were aroused by the vision of snow that met Edith's gaze that morning, and caused her heart with peculiar fervour to rejoice. Winter had now descended with iron grasp upon Ungava. For some weeks the frost had been so intense that every lake and pool was frozen many inches thick, and the salt bay itself was fringed with a thick and ever-accumulating mass of ice. The snow which now fell was but the ceremonial coronation of a king whose reign had commenced in reality long before. But the sunshine did not last long. The rolling fogs and vapours of the open and ice-laden sea beyond ascended over the wild mountains, obscured the bright sky, and revealed the winter of the north in all its stern, cold reality. Every cliff and crag and jagged peak had its crown of snow, and every corrie, glen, and gorge its drifted shroud. In places where the precipices were perpendicular, the grey rocks of the mountains formed dark blotches in the picture; but, dark although they were, they did not equal in blackness the river, on which floated hundreds of masses of ice and several ponderous icebergs, which had been carried up from the sea by the flood-tide. Over this inky expanse the frost-smoke hung like a leaden pall--an evil spirit, as it were, which never left the spot till protracted and intense frost closed the waters of the river altogether, and banished it farther out to sea. But this entire closing of the river very seldom happened, and never lasted long. Fort Chimo itself, at least as much of it as remained unburied, was a mere speck on the edge of the white plain at the mountain's foot, scarce distinguishable, at a short distance, from the straggling black pines and willow bushes that seemed thrust out into the waste from the ravines above and below the fort. But on a nearer approach, the fort assumed an air of greater importance; the influences, too, of the cold, cheerless scene we have described, were broken and dissipated by the sights of comfort and sounds of cheerfulness within. The shout of the water-drawer, as he roused the dogs and went forth with his empty cask, hauled on a little sledge, to draw from the bubbling spring behind the fort; the sounds of the hammer, the chisel, and the axe, in the carpenter's shop; the merry clank of Bryan's hammer, and the bright flame that gleamed from the window of the forge,--all bore evidence of the fact, that however powerful the influence of winter might be without, it had little power within the wooden walls of Fort Chimo, and could not check the life, or heart, or industry of man. The only other human being visible in the open air, besides the water-drawer, was La Roche, who, with a fur cap covering his head and ears, and leathern mittens on his hands, hewed and hacked the billets with which he purposed to replenish the fire for cooking the mid-day meal. Pausing in his labour, and dusting off the hoar-frost that covered his eyebrows and whiskers, he looked at the edge of his hatchet for a few seconds with an expression of contempt. Then, throwing the implement on his shoulder, he crossed the yard and entered the blacksmith's shop. "Bryan," said he, seating himself on the edge of the forge and filling his pipe, while Vulcan's votary scattered a shower of gems from a white-hot bar of iron at every blow of his hammer--"Bryan, you no fit for not'ing. Dat axe is blont encore. Oui, c'est vrai. Now dat is tres mal. How you not can temper him edge better?" "Timper it better, is it?" answered Bryan, putting the iron bar in the fire, and regarding his companion earnestly while he blew the bellows. "Faix, 'tis mysilf I'd need to timper better, in order to put up wi' the likes o' you, ye wretched crature. How can ye expict it to kape its idge when ye lave it for iver lyin' among yer pots and kittles?" "Dat is not it," replied La Roche, applying a glowing coal to his pipe. "'Tis de mauvais steel. But I not com for to fight wid you. Your tongue trop long pour dat. I com for ax you to give me turn ov de grindstone, s'il vous plait." "Ye don't desarve it, Losh; but wait till I've finished this job and I'll lind ye a hand." "Be-the-bye," resumed Bryan, when the metal was cooled, "has Francois finished that sled for Miss Edith?" "Oui," replied La Roche, seating himself at the grindstone. "(Ah! pas si vite, a leet more slow, Bryan.) Oui, him make it all ready; only want de ring-bolts." "Thin it won't want thim long. Ye can take thim over to the shop when ye go across. There they are on the binch." Bryan continued to turn the handle of the stone for some time in silence. "D'ye know, Losh," he resumed, "whin Mister Frank is goin' to the fishery?" "He go demain, I b'lieve, and Mademoiselle Edith go too." "None o' the min goin'?" inquired the blacksmith. "Non. Monsieur Frank just go for to try if dere be any fish to be cotch by de hook; and I t'ink he go more for to give Edith one drive dan dat." "Very likely, Losh. The poor purty little crature. She's very fond o' sledgin' and walkin' in snow-shoes. 'Tis well for her, bekase there's a want o' companions for her here intirely." "Ah! mercy, dat is superb, magnifique!" said the Frenchman, feeling the edge of the axe with his thumb. "It sharp 'nuff to shave de hair off your ogly face, Bryan." "Thin be off wid ye, an' don't kape me longer from my work. An' shut the door quick behind ye; there's cowld enough in the place already." So saying, Bryan resumed his hammer, and La Roche, following the snow-track across the yard, recommenced his labour of chopping firewood. Next day, Frank and Edith made preparations for the excursion alluded to in the foregoing conversation. The object for which this excursion was undertaken was twofold--first, to ascertain if there were any fish in a large lake about ten miles distant from the fort; and, secondly, to give little Edith a drive for the good of her health. Not that her health was bad, but several weeks of bad weather had confined her much to the house, and her mother thought the change would be beneficial and agreeable; and tenderly did that mother's heart yearn over her little child, for she felt that, although she was all to Edith that a mother could be, nature had implanted in her daughter's mind a longing desire for the companionship of little ones of her own age, which could not be satisfied by any substitute--not even that of a tender mother, who sought, by all the means in her power, to become a child again for Edith's sake. Immediately after breakfast that day Frank took Edith by the hand, and led her round by the back of the fort, towards the kennel where the dogs were kept, intending to release Chimo, who was to have the honour of hauling the sledge of his young mistress. In passing the spring, Edith paused, as she had often done before during the winter, to gaze with wonder on the transformation that had taken place in the appearance of the once green and fertile spot. Not only was it covered with deep snow, but over the spring there was formed a singular dome of ice. This dome was a subject of continual astonishment to every one at Ungava. It had commenced to rise soon after the first hard frosts had sealed up the little fountain from the open air. As time passed by, the covering became thick ice, and was bulged gradually up above the surrounding waste, until it reached an elevation of not much less than twelve or thirteen feet. Inside of this the spring bubbled up as of yore. "What think you, Edith?" said Frank, as a sudden thought occurred to him; "shall I cut a doorway into that crystal house, and see if the spirit of the spring dwells there?" Edith clapped her hands with delight at the idea, and urged her companion to begin at once. Then, checking him as he was about to commence the work with his hatchet, she said earnestly-- "Do spirits really dwell in the springs, Frank?" "Why, Eda, we must send to England for a lot of fairy tales to teach you what I mean. I do but jest when I speak of spirits living there. But many books, have been written about pretended spirits and fairies, which tell us of their wonderful adventures, and what they said and did long ago. I shall tell you some of these stories one of these days. But I daresay there are no spirits in this spring." "Faix, an' it would be a rale misfortune if there was, sir," remarked Bryan, who came up at this moment, and touched his cap; "for it would be only sperits and wather, which wouldn't kape in this cowld climate. I've finished the ring-bolts for the sled, sir, an' came to see when ye would have them fixed." "Put them in your pocket, Bryan, for a few minutes, and lend a hand here to cut a hole through this dome." As Frank spoke, he drew a small axe from his belt, and began to lay about him so vigorously that the icy splinters flew in all directions like a shower of broken crystal. Bryan seconded his efforts, and in less than half an hour a block of solid ice, about four feet high and two broad, was cut out and detached from the side of the dome. "That'll do, Bryan," said Frank, when their work was nearly completed; "I'll finish it myself now. Go to the carpenter's house, and Francois will show you what to do with the sled." As Bryan walked away, Frank dealt the mass of ice a blow that split it into several pieces, which he quickly removed, revealing to the astonished and eager gaze of his young companion a cavern of a most beautiful light blue colour. Taking Edith by the hand, he led her into this icy cave. Its walls were quite luminous and delicately blue, except in places where the green moss and earth around the spring had been torn from the ground and lifted up along with the dome. Icicles hung in various places from the roof, and the floor was hard and dry, except in the centre, where the spring bubbled up through it, and cut a channel across towards one side of the icy wall, where it disappeared under the snow. "Oh, what a beautiful palace!" cried Edith, with delight, after she had gazed around her for a few minutes in silent wonder and admiration. "I shall come and live here, Frank. Oh! do come, and let us get chairs and a small table, and make it our sitting-room. We can come every day when the sun shines and read, or you can tell me the tales about spirits and fairies you spoke of!" "A good idea, Eda; but I fear we would need a stove to keep us warm. It strikes me it will make a capital ice-house in spring to keep our fresh meat in. It will last long after the snow is melted." "Then we shall make a palace of it in winter and a meat-store in spring," cried Edith, laughing, as she walked round this newly-discovered house, examining its blue walls and peeping into the cold black spring. Meanwhile Frank examined it with a view to the utilitarian purpose, and, after both of them had gone round it several times, they continued on their way towards the dog-kennel. The sledge which Francois had constructed for Edith was made after the model of those used by the Esquimaux. There were two stout runners, or skates, made of wood, for sliding over the snow. These were slightly turned up, or rather _rounded_ up, in front, and attached to each other by means of cross bars and thin planks of wood; all of which were fastened, not by nails (for iron-work snaps like glass in such a cold climate as that of Ungava), but by thongs of undressed sealskin, which, although they held the fabric very loosely together in appearance, were, nevertheless, remarkably strong, and served their purpose very well. Two short upright bars behind served as a back to lean against. But the most curious part of the machine was the substance with which the runners were shod, in order to preserve them. This was a preparation of mud and water, which was plastered smoothly on in a soft condition, and then allowed to freeze. This it did in a few minutes after being exposed to the open air, and thus became a smooth, hard sheathing, which was much more durable and less liable to break than iron, or indeed any other sheathing that could be devised. This substance is, of course, easily repaired, and is always used by the Esquimaux in winter. Esquimau sledges being heavy, and meant for carrying a number of people, require large teams of dogs. But Edith's sledge--or sled, as the men called it--was little. Moreover, Edith herself was little and light, therefore Chimo was deemed sufficiently powerful to draw it. So thoroughly correct were they in this supposition, that when Edith was seated in her sledge for a trial trip, and Chimo harnessed, he ran away with her and gave Frank a chase of half a mile over the river ere he condescended to stop in his wild career. But the intended excursion was suddenly interrupted and postponed, by an event which we shall relate in the next chapter. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. BURIED ALIVE--BUT NOT KILLED--THE GIANT IN THE SNOW-STORM. The event which prevented the excursion referred to in the last chapter was neither more nor less than a snowstorm. "Was that all?" say you, reader? Nay, that was not all. Independently of the fact that it was a snowstorm the like of which you have never seen, unless you have travelled in northern climes, it was a snow-storm that produced results. Of these, more hereafter. The storm began with a sigh--a mysterious sigh, that swept over the mountains of Ungava with a soft, mournful wail, and died slowly away in the distant glen of the Caniapuscaw, as if the spirit of the north wind grieved to think of the withering desolation it was about to launch upon the land. The gathering clouds that preceded and accompanied this sigh induced Frank Morton to countermand his orders for the intended journey. In order to console Edith for the disappointment, he went with her into the hall, and, drawing a low stool towards the blazing stove, placed a draught-board upon it. Then he placed another and a lower stool beside the first, on which he seated Edith. Spreading a deerskin robe upon the ground, he stretched himself thereon at full length, and began to arrange the men. The hall, which was formerly such a comfortless apartment, was now invested with that degree of comfort which always gathers, more or less, round a place that is continually occupied. The ceiling was composed of a carpet of deerskin stretched tightly upon the beams. The walls were hung all round with the thick heavy coats and robes of leather and fur belonging to the inmates, and without which they never ventured abroad. The iron stove in the centre of the apartment, with its pipe to conduct away the smoke, and its radiant fire of logs, emitted a cheerful glow in its immediate vicinity; which glow, however, was not intense enough to melt the thick ice, or rather hoar-frost, an inch deep, with which the two windows were encrusted, to the almost total exclusion of the view and the serious diminution of the light. The door was padded all round its edges with fur, which tended to check the bitter wind that often blew against it, and tempered the slight draught that did force its way through. Altogether the hall at Fort Chimo was curious and comfortable--rather shaggy in its general appearance, but sound and trustworthy at bottom. A small rough table, the work of Frank Morton, stood close to the stove; and beside it was seated Mrs Stanley, with a soft yellow deerskin before her, which she was carefully transforming into a hunting coat for her husband. On another and a larger table was spread the tea equipage. Those who would understand this aright must for _tea_ read _supper_. Among fur-traders the two are combined. Candles--dips made at the fort--had been brought some time ago by La Roche, who entered the hall by a back door which communicated with a passage leading to the kitchen behind. "What can have become of papa, I wonder?" Mrs Stanley designated her husband by this epithet, in consequence of her desire to keep up the fiction of her being Edith's little sister or playfellow. Frank looked up from the board. "I know not," said he. "I left him giving some orders to the men. We have been getting things made snug about the fort, for we expect a pretty stiff breeze to-night.--Take care, Eda; your crown's in danger." "Oh! so it is," cried Edith, snatching back her piece, and looking with intense earnestness at the board. Frank might have observed, had he not been too deeply engaged with his game, that the expected stiff breeze had already come, and was whistling round the fort with considerable vigour. "You'll beat me, Eda, if you play so boldly," said Frank, with a smile. "There, give me another crown." "And me too," said Edith, pushing up her piece. As she spoke, the door burst open, and Stanley sprang into the room. "Whew! what a night!" he cried, shutting the door with a forcible bang, in order to keep out the snow-drift that sought to enter along with him. Two moves would have made Frank the conqueror, but the gust of wind upset the board, and scattered the men upon the floor. Stanley looked like a man of white marble, but the removal of his cap, coat, and leggings produced a speedy and entire metamorphosis. "Ho! La Roche!" "Oui, monsieur." "Here, take my coat and shake the snow off it, and let's have supper as speedily as may be. The draughts without, Frank, are a little too powerful for the draughts within, I fear.--What, wife, making another coat? One would think you had vowed to show your affection for me by the number of coats you made. How many have you perpetrated since we were married?" "Never mind; go and put on one now, and come to supper while it is hot." "I'm glad it is hot," cried Stanley from his bedroom. "One needs unusual heat within to make up for the cold without. The thermometer is thirty below." While the party in the hall were enjoying their evening meal, the men were similarly employed beside the stove in their own habitation. There was not much difference in the two apartments, save that the confusion in that of the men was much greater, in consequence of the miscellaneous mass of capotes, caps, belts, discarded moccasins, axes, guns, and seal-spears, with which they saw fit to garnish the walls. The fumes of tobacco were also more dense, and the conversation more uproarious. "'Tis a howlin' night," observed Massan, as a gust of more than usual violence shook the door on its hinges. "Me t'ink de snow-drift am as t'ick in de sky as on de ground," said Oolibuck, drawing a live coal from the fire and lighting his pipe therewith. "Hould on, boys!" cried Bryan, seizing his chair with both hands, half in jest and half in earnest, as another blast shook the building to its foundation. The two Indians sat like statues of bronze, smoking their calumets in silence, while Gaspard and Prince rose and went to the window. But the frozen moisture on the panes effectually prevented their seeing out. It was indeed an awful night--such a night as had not, until now, visited the precincts of Fort Chimo. Viewed from the rocky platform on the hill, the raging of the storm was absolutely sublime. The wind came sometimes in short, angry gusts, sometimes in prolonged roars, through the narrows, sweeping up clouds of snow so dense that it seemed as though the entire mass had been uplifted from the earth, hurling it upwards and downwards and in circling eddies, past the ravines, and round the fort, and launching it with a fierce yell into the valley of the Caniapuscaw. The sky was not altogether covered with clouds, and the broken masses, as they rolled along, permitted a stray moonbeam to dart down upon the turmoil beneath, and render darkness visible. Sometimes the wind lulled for a second or two, as if to breathe; then it burst forth again, splitting through the mountain gorges with a shriek of intensity; the columns of snow sprang in thousands from every hollow, cliff and glen, mingled in wild confusion, swayed, now hither, now thither, in mad uncertainty, and then, caught by the steady gale, pelted on, like the charging troops of ice-land, and swept across the frozen plain. Could human beings face so wild a storm as this? Ay, they could--at least they could dare to try! There was one traveller out upon the hills on that tremendous night. The giant was in the midst of it; but weak as the bulrush were the mighty limbs of Maximus before the rushing gale. Several days previous to this the Esquimau had been sent down to his brethren at False River, to procure some seal-meat for the dogs, and to ascertain the condition of the natives and their success in fishing. On arriving, he found that they had been so far successful, that starvation (their too frequent guest) had not yet visited their dwellings of snow. But Maximus found the old woman who had formerly saved his life very ill, and apparently about to die. Having learned from experience the efficacy of Stanley's medicines, he resolved to procure some for the old woman, whom he had tenderly watched over and hunted for ever since the eventful day of the attack. His dogs were exhausted, and could not return. But the bold Esquimau was in the prime of life, and animated by the fire of vigorous youth. The storm was beginning to mutter in the distance. What then?-- Had he not faced the blasts of the frozen regions many a time before?-- Without saying a word, he threw a junk of seal-flesh into his wallet, and, striding back upon his track at the mountain's base, he disappeared in the driving snow. Before reaching the fort, however, the full fury of the storm had burst upon him. It cast him headlong into the snow; but he rose and staggered on. Again it burst forth, and again he fell before it like a stately pine. Rising to his knees, Maximus draw the hood of his hairy garment close round his head and face, and tried to peer through the driving snow; but he could not see until a slight lull came; then he observed a hummock of ice at a short distance, and, rising, made towards it. The lulls were short-lived, however. The storm threw him down again; instantly he was drifted over with snow; another blast came, lifted the drift into the air, and left the Esquimau exposed to all its fury. But Maximus was not conquered. He rose again, panting, it is true, but sturdy as ever, and ready to take advantage of the next lull. It came soon; and he saw a rock, or, it might be, the base of a cliff close at hand. With a quick run he reached it; and, going down on his knees, began with his gloved hands to scrape a hollow in the snow. Having made a hole big enough to contain his body, he lay down in it, and, pulling the superincumbent snow down upon him, was almost buried in the ruin. Scarcely had he drawn the hood of his coat well over his face, when another burst of the storm dashed a column of curling drift upon the rock, and the place where he lay was covered up; not a wrinkle in the drift remained to mark the spot where he was buried! All that night the storm roared among mountains with bitter fury; but next day the wind was subdued, and the sun shone brightly on the grey rocks and on the white wreaths of snow. It shone in all the lustre of an unclouded winter sky. Not only did the sun smile upon the scene, but two mock suns or parhelia, almost as bright as himself, shone on either side of him. Yet no ray of light illuminated the dwellings of the fur-traders. All was darkness there, until Stanley rose from his couch and lighted a candle, for the purpose of examining his watch. "Hallo! Frank, Frank!" he cried, entering the hall, while he hastily threw on his garments; "turn out, man; there's something wrong here. 'Tis past noon, and dark as midnight. Bring your watch; perhaps I'm wrong." Frank yawned vociferously, and sprang from his bed. In two seconds more he made his appearance in his trousers and shirt. "Past twelve, no doubt of--yea-o-ow! That accounts for my waking three times and going off again; but--" "Hey! what have we here?" cried Stanley, as he opened the front door, and disclosed to view a solid wall of snow. "Snowed up; dear me! eh! that's odd," said Frank, beginning to comprehend the state of matters. Snowed up they were, undoubtedly; so thoroughly snowed up that there was not a ray of daylight within their dwelling. Had Frank been above the snow, instead of below it, he would have seen that the whole fort was so completely buried that nothing was visible above the surface except the chimneys and the flagstaff. After the first few moments of surprise had passed, it occurred to Stanley that they might ascend to the regions above by the chimney, which was wide enough, he thought, to admit a man; but on looking up, he found that it also was full of drifted snow. This, however, could have been easily removed; but there was a bar of iron stretching across, and built into the clay walls, which rendered escape by that passage impossible. "There's nothing for it, Frank, but to dig ourselves out, so the sooner we begin the better." By this time they were joined by Edith and her mother, who, although much surprised, were not at all alarmed; for rough travelling in a wild land had taught them to regard nothing as being dangerous until it was proved to be so. Besides, Stanley had assured them that they had nothing to fear, as the only evil he anticipated would be the trouble they were sure to have in getting rid of the superabundant snow. While they were talking, the back door was opened violently, and La Roche, in a state of dishabille, burst into the room. "O messieurs, c'est fini! Oui, le world him shut up tout togedder. Oh, misere! Fat shall ye to do?" "Hold your tongue, La Roche," said Frank, "and bring the kitchen shovel." The cook instantly turned to obey, and as he rushed towards the kitchen his voice was heard exclaiming in the passage-- "Ah, c'est terrible! Mais I ver' moshe fear de shovel be out in de neige. Ah, non; here it is. C'est bien." Returning in haste to the hall, he handed a much dilapidated iron shovel to Frank, who threw off his coat and set to work with vigour. The tables and chairs, and all the furniture, were removed into the inner apartments, in order to afford room for the snow which Frank dug from the open doorway and shovelled into the centre of the room. As only one at a time could work in the narrow doorway, the three men wrought with the shovel by turns; and while one was digging the tunnel, the other two piled the debris in a compact mound beside the stove. As no fire had yet been kindled, the snow, of course, did not melt, but remained crisp and dry upon the floor. Meanwhile Edith looked on with deep interest, and occasionally assisted in piling the snow; while her mother, seeing that her presence was unnecessary, retired to her own room. "There," cried Frank, pausing and surveying an immense cavern which he had dug into the drift, "that's a good spell. Take a turn now, La Roche, and dig upwards; we should see daylight soon." "Ah, vraiment, it be time, for it am von o'clock," replied La Roche, as he plied the shovel. The tunnel was cut in such a way as that, while it ran outwards, it also sloped upwards; and, from the angle at which it lay, Stanley calculated that thirty feet or thereabouts would bring them to the surface. In this he was correct, for when La Roche had worked for half an hour, the snow above became slightly luminous. But the labour of conveying it from the end of the tunnel into the hall became, of course, greater as the work advanced. At length the light penetrated so clearly that La Roche was induced to thrust his shovel upwards, in the expectation of penetrating the mass. The effect of this action was striking and unexpected. Instantly the roof fell in, and a flood of sunshine poured into the tunnel, revealing the luckless Frenchman struggling amid the ruins. "Oh, pull me hout!" he spluttered, as Frank and Stanley stood laughing heartily at his misfortune. One of his legs happened to protrude from the mass as he made this earnest request; so Frank seized it, and dragged the poor man by main force from his uncomfortable position. Immediately afterwards they all three scrambled through the aperture, and stood in open day. The sight that met their eyes was a curious though not a satisfactory one. All that remained visible of Fort Chimo were, as we have said, the chimneys and the flagstaff. In regard to the general aspect of the neighbourhood, however, there was little alteration; for the change of position in the drifts among the mountain gorges, and the addition to their bulk, made no striking alteration in the rugged landscape. In some places the gale had cleared the sides of the mountains and left their cliffs exposed to view; in other spots the gorges and ravines were choked up, and the pine tops nearly covered; and the open water in the lake was more encumbered than usual with icebergs. "Now, La Roche," said Stanley, after they had surveyed the desolate scene for a few minutes in silence, "go fetch the shovel and we'll dig out the men. I daresay, poor fellows, they're beginning to wonder at the length of the night by this time." La Roche prepared to descend into the tunnel, when their attention was arrested by a strange sound beneath the snow. In a few minutes the crust began to crack at a spot not more than two yards from where they stood; then there was a sudden rupture, accompanied by a growl, and followed by the appearance of the dishevelled head and arms of a man. "Musha, boys, but I'm out!" Bryan coughed the snow from around his mouth, and winked it from his eyes, as he spoke. The first sight that met his bewildered gaze was three pair of expanded eyeballs and three double rows of grinning teeth, a few feet from his face. Uttering a cry of terror, he fell back into the hole, the snow closed over him, and he was gone! It need scarcely be added that Frank and Stanley commenced to dig into this hole with as much vigour as their frequent explosions of laughter would allow. In a few minutes it was re-opened, and the men issued one by one from durance vile. "Och, sirs, ye gave me a mortial start!" exclaimed Bryan, as he rose to view the second time. "I thought for sartin ye were all polar bears. Faix we've had a job o't down there. I'll be bound to say there's twinty ton o' snow--bad luck to it--in the middle o' the floor." "There's work for us here that'll last two weeks, I guess," said Massan, as he and several of the others stooped down and gazed into the tunnel leading to the hall, at the end of which Edith's laughing face met their view. "When did you awake, and begin to suspect that something was wrong?" inquired Stanley of Dick Prince. "Awake!" cried Bryan, answering the question; "we awoke at laste a dozen times. I suppose it must have bin the time for brikfust; for, ye see, although we could ha' slept on long enough; our intariors couldn't, be no manes, forgit their needcessities." "We shall have to work a bit yet ere these necessities are attended to, I fear," said Stanley. "Go, Francois, and one or two of you, and open up the dog-kennel. The rest of you get all the shovels you can lay hands on, and clear out the houses as fast as you can." "Clear out de chimbleys fust, mes garcons," cried La Roche, looking up from the tunnel. "Den ve vill git dejeuner ready toute suite." "That will we, lad," said Bryan, shouldering a spade and proceeding towards the chimney of the hall; while the rest of the party, breaking up into several groups, set to work, with spades, shovels, and such implements as were suitable, to cut passages through the square of the fort towards the doors of the several buildings. As Massan had said, it proved to be no light work. The north-west gale had launched the snow upon the exposed buildings of Fort Chimo until the drift was fifteen or sixteen feet deep, so that the mere cutting of passages was a matter of considerable time and severe labour. Meanwhile, Maximus awoke, and sought to raise himself from his lair at the foot of the rock. But his first effort failed. The drift above him was too heavy. Abandoning, therefore, the idea of freeing himself by main force, he turned round on his side and began to scrape away the snow that was directly above his head. The masses that accumulated in the course of this process he forced down past his chest; and, as his motions tended to compress and crush the drift around him in all directions, he soon made room enough to work with ease. In ten minutes he approached so near to the surface as to be able, with a powerful effort, to burst it upwards, and step out of his strange dormitory into the sunshine. This method of spending the night has been resorted to more than once by arctic travellers who had lost their way; and it is sad to think that many who have perished might have saved their lives had they known that burrowing could be practised with safety. The Esquimaux frequently spend the night in this manner, but they prefer building a snow-house to burrowing, if circumstances will permit. Cutting a slice of seal-meat, and eating as he went, Maximus resumed his journey, and soon afterwards arrived at the fort, where he found the men busied in excavating their buried dwellings. Here he stated the case of the old woman, and received such medicines as Stanley, in his amateur medical wisdom, saw fit to bestow. With these he started immediately to retrace his steps, having been directed to proceed, after administering them, to the lake where Frank meant to try the fishing under the ice. A family of Esquimaux had been established on another lake not so far distant from the fort; and having been taught by the fur-traders how to set nets under the ice, they succeeded in procuring more than enough for their subsistence. It was hoped, therefore, that the larger lake would afford a good supply; and, the weather having become decidedly fine, Frank prepared to set out on the following day. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. AN EXCURSION--IGLOO BUILDING, AND FISHING UNDER THE ICE--A SNOW-TABLE AND A GOOD FEAST--EDITH SPENDS THE NIGHT UNDER A SNOW-ROOF FOR THE FIRST BUT NOT THE LAST TIME. "Now then, Edith," cried Frank, looking in at the door of the hall, "your carriage waits, and Chimo is very restive." "Coming, coming," exclaimed a treble voice within; "I'm getting new lines put to my snow-shoes, and will be ready in two minutes." Two minutes, translated into female language, means ten, sometimes twenty. Frank knew this, and proceeded to re-adjust the sash that secured his leathern capote, as he walked towards the little sledge in front of the fort. He then tied down the ear-pieces of his fur cap more carefully, for it was very cold, though clear and sunny. The frost had set fast the lake opposite the fort, and, by thus removing the frost-cloud that overhung the open water farther out to sea, relieved the fort from the mists in which it was usually enveloped. By this time fifteen out of the "two" minutes having elapsed, he re-examined the lock of his gun, and adjusted the warm deerskin robe on Edith's little sledge, patted Chimo on the head, looked up at the clouds, and began to whistle. "Now, Frank, here I am," cried Edith, running towards him with her snow-shoes in her hand, followed by her father and mother. "Quiet, Chimo--down, sir!" said Frank, restraining the dog as it sought to bound towards its mistress. Being harnessed to the sledge, this was a very improper proceeding and was rebuked accordingly; so Chimo was fain to crouch on the snow and look back at Edith as Frank placed her in the sledge, and arranged the deerskin robes round her. Edith wore a long fur cloak and cloth leggings. Her feet were protected from the cold by two pair of blanket socks, besides very thick moccasins of deerskin. The usual head-dress of civilised females in these regions is a round fur cap; but Edith had a peculiar affection for the Cree Indian headdress, and, upon the present occasion, wore one which was lined with fur and accommodated with ear-pieces, to defy the winter cold. The child's general appearance was somewhat rotund. Painters would probably have said there was a little too much breadth, perhaps, in the picture. Her pointed cap, however, with the little bow of ribbon on the top, gave her a piquant air, and did away with the heavy appearance of her costume to some extent; in fact, Edith looked like a fat little witch. But if she looked fat before being wrapped up in the sledge furs, she looked infinitely fatter when thus placed, and nothing of her visible except her two twinkling eyes. So grotesque was she that the whole party burst into a loud laugh as they surveyed her. The laugh made Chimo start off at full gallop, which caused Frank to grasp the line of the sledge that trailed behind, and hurry over the snow at a most undignified pace. "Take care of her," cried Mr Stanley. "Ay, ay," shouted Frank.--"Softly, Chimo--softly, you rascal!" In ten minutes the travellers were round the point and fairly out of sight; but the shouts of Frank, and an occasional howl from Chimo, floated back on the breeze as Stanley and his wife returned leisurely to the hall. The road, or rather the ground, over which Frank Morton drove Edith that day was exceedingly rough and rugged--so rough that we will not try the endurance of the reader by dragging him over it. We will merely indicate its general features. First of all, they drove about three miles along the level snow at the foot of the mountains. So far the road was good; and Chimo went along merrily to the music of the little thimble-like brass bells with which his harness was garnished. Then they came to a ravine, and Edith had to get out, put on her snow-shoes, and clamber up, holding by Frank's hand; while Chimo followed, dragging the sledge as he best could. Having gained one of the terraces, Edith slipped her feet out of the snow-shoe lines, jumped into the sledge, and was swept along to the next ravine, where she got out again, resumed her snow-shoes, and ascended as before. Thus they went up the ravines and along the terraces until the summit of the first mountain range was reached. Having rested here a few minutes, Edith once more got into the sledge, and Chimo set off. But as there was now a long piece of level ground over which for some miles they could travel in the direction of the coast, Frank took the sled-line in his hand, and held the dog at a quick walking pace. Afterwards they turned a little farther inland, and came into a more broken country, where they had sometimes to mount and sometimes to descend the hills. There were many gorges and narrow fissures in the ground here, some of which were covered over and so concealed with snow that the travellers ran some risk of falling into them. Indeed, at one place, so narrow was their escape that Chimo fell through the crust of snow, and disappeared into a fissure which descended a hundred feet sheer down; and the sledge would certainly have followed had not Frank held it back by the line; and Chimo was not hauled up again without great difficulty. After this, Frank went in front with a pole, and sounded the snow in dangerous-looking places as he went along. Towards the afternoon they arrived at the lake where they intended to encamp, and, to their great delight, found Maximus there already. He had only arrived a few minutes before them, and was just going to commence the erection of a snow-house. "Glad to see you, Maximus," cried Frank, as he drove up. "How's the old woman, eh?" "She small better," replied Maximus, assisting Edith to alight. "Dis goot for fish." Maximus was a remarkably intelligent man, and, although his residence at the fort had been of short duration as yet, he had picked up a few words of English. "A good lake, I have no doubt," replied Frank, looking round. "But we need not search for camping ground. There seems to be very little wood, so you may as well build our hut on the ice. We shall need all our time, as the sun has not long to run." The lake, on the edge of which they stood, was about a mile in circumferenee, and lay in a sort of natural basin formed by savage-looking hills, in which the ravines were little more than narrow fissures, entirely devoid of trees. Snow encompassed and buried everything, so that nothing was to be seen except, here and there, crags and cliffs of gray rock, which were too precipitous for the snow to rest on. "Now, Eda, I will take a look among these rocks for a ptarmigan for supper; so you can amuse yourself watching Maximus build our house till I return." "Very well, Frank," said Edith; "but don't be long. Come back before dark; Chimo and I will weary for you." In a few minutes Frank disappeared among the rocks upon the shore; and Maximus, taking Edith by the hand, and dragging her sledge after him, led her a couple of hundred yards out on to the ice, or, more properly speaking, the hard beaten snow with which the ice was covered. Chimo had been turned loose, and, being rather tired after his journey, had coiled himself up on a mound of snow and fallen fast asleep. "Dis place for house," said Maximus, pausing near a smooth, level part of the lake. "You stop look to me," he added, turning to the little girl, who gazed up in his large face with an expression half of wonder and half of fun. "When you cold, run; when you hot, sit in sled and look at me." In compliance with this request, Edith sat down in her sledge, and from this comfortable point of view watched the Esquimau while he built a snow-hut before her. First of all, he drew out a long iron knife, which had been constructed specially far him by Bryan, who looked upon the giant with special favour. With the point of this he drew a circle of about seven feet in diameter; and so well accustomed was he to this operation that his circle, we believe, could not have been mended even by a pair of compasses. Two feet to one side of this circle he drew a smaller one, of about four feet in diameter. Next, he cut out of the snow a number of hard blocks, which were so tough that they could not be broken without a severe blow, but were as easily cut as you might have sliced a soft cheese with a sharp knife. These blocks he arranged round the large circle, and built them above each other, fashioning them, as he proceeded, in such a manner that they gradually rose into the form of a dome. The chinks between them he filled compactly with soft snow, and the last block, introduced into the top of the structure, was formed exactly on the principle of the key-stone of an arch. When the large dome was finished, he commenced the smaller; and in the course of two hours both the houses--or, as the Esquimaux call them, igloos--were completed. Long before this, however, Frank had returned, from an unsuccessful hunt, to assist him; and Edith had wondered and wearied, grown cold and taken to running with Chimo, and grown warm and returned to her sledge, several times. Two holes were left in the igloos to serve as doors; and, after they were finished, the Esquimau cut a square hole in the top of each, not far from the key-stones, and above the entrances. Into these he fitted slabs of clear ice, which formed windows as beautiful and useful as if they had been made of glass. There were two doorways in the large igloo, one of which faced the doorway of the smaller. Between these he built an arched passage, so that the two were thus connected, and the small hut formed a sort of inner chamber to the larger. "Now, dem done," said Maximus, surveying his work with a satisfied smile. "And very well done they are," said Frank. "See here, Eda, our snow-fort is finished. The big one is to be the grand hall and banqueting-room, and yonder little hut is your private boudoir." "Mine!" exclaimed Edith, running away from Chimo, with whom she had been playing, and approaching the new houses that had been so speedily put up. "Oh, how nice! what fun! only think!--a snow bedroom! But won't it be cold, Frank? And is the bed to be of snow too?" The black moustache of the giant curled with a smile at the energy with which this was said. "We will make the bedsteads of snow, Eda," replied Frank, "but I think we shall manage to find blankets of a warmer material.--Now, Maximus, get the things put inside, and the lamp lighted, for we're all tired and very hungry." The lamp to which Frank referred was one which Maximus had brought, along with a few other articles, from the Esquimau camp. It was made of soft stone, somewhat in the form of a half moon, about eight inches long and three broad, and hollowed out in the inside. Esquimaux burn seal-fat in it, and in winter have no other means of warming their houses or cooking their food. But for both purposes it is quite sufficient. The heat created by these lamps, combined with the natural warmth of the inhabitants, is frequently so great in the igloos of the Esquimaux that they are fain to throw off a great portion of their upper garments, and sit in a state of partial nudity; yet the snow-walls do not melt, owing to the counteracting influence of the intense cold without. Maximus had brought some seal-fat, or blubber, along with him. A portion of this he now put into the lamp, and, placing the latter on a snow-shelf prepared expressly for it, he set it on fire. The flame, although not very steady, was bright enough to illuminate the large igloo, and to throw a strong gleam into the smaller one. Over this lamp Frank placed a small tin kettle, filled with snow, which was speedily converted into water; and while this was being boiled, he assisted Edith in spreading out the bedding. As we have already said, the floor of this snow-house was of the same material as the walls. But one-half of it was raised about a foot above the other half, according to Esquimau rules of architecture. This elevated half was intended for the bed, which consisted of a large deer-skin robe, spread entirely over it, with the soft hair upwards. Another large robe was placed above this for a blanket, and a smaller one either for a pillow or an additional covering if required; but both of these were tossed down in a heap at the present time, to form a luxuriant seat for Frank and Edith. As their legs hung over the edge of the elevated couch, they were thus seated, as it were, on an ottoman. A mat of interlaced willows covered the floor, and on this sat Maximus, towering in his hairy garments like a huge bear, while his black shadow was cast on the pure white wall behind him. In the midst stood a small table, extemporised by Frank out of a block of snow, and covered with the ample skirt of his leathern topcoat, which the increasing temperature of the air inside the igloo rendered too warm. Beside Edith, on the most comfortable portion of the ottoman, sat Chimo, with an air of majestic solemnity, looking, as privileged dogs always do look under like circumstances, as if the chief seat belonged to him as a matter not of favour but of right. On the table was spread a solid lump of excellent pemmican--excellent, because made by the fair hands of Mrs Stanley. It stood _vis-a-vis_ to a tin plate whereon lay three large steaming cuts of boiled fresh salmon--fresh, because, although caught some months before, it had been frozen solid ever since. There was a large tin kettle of hot tea in the centre of the board--if under the circumstances we may use the term--and three tin cups out of which to drink it; besides a plate containing broken pieces of ship-biscuit and a small quantity of sugar wrapped up in a morsel of paper. Also a little salt in a tin box. All these things, and tempting delicacies, had up till now been contained within the compass of a small, compact, insignificant-looking parcel, which during the journey had occupied a retiring position in the hinder part of Edith's sledge--so true is it that the really _great_ and the _useful_ court concealment until duty calls them forth and reveals their worth and their importance to an admiring world. The admiring world on the present occasion, however, consisted only of Frank, Edith, Maximus, and Chimo; unless, indeed, we may include the moon, who at that moment poured her bright beams through the ice-window of the hut and flooded the centre of the snow-table with light. "Aren't we snug, Eda?" cried Frank, as he filled her tin with tea. "What a charming house! and so cheap, too! There's sugar beside you. Take care you don't use salt by mistake.--Maximus, hold out your pannikin. That's the true beverage to warm your heart, if you take it hot enough." "Tankee, sur," said the giant, extending his cup with one hand, while with the other he forced into his capacious mouth as much pemmican as it could hold. "Frank," said Edith, "we must build an igloo at the fort when we return." "So we will, now that I know how to do it. Hand me the salt, please, and poke Chimo's nose away from the salmon. Yes, and we'll invite papa and mamma to come and take supper at _our_ house.--Maximus, is this the exact way your friends build their winter houses?" "Yis, sur," answered the Esquimau, looking up from the cut of salmon which he lifted with his fingers in preference to a fork or knife. "Dey always buil' um so. But not dis t'ing," he added, touching the snow-table. "No, I suppose not," said Frank. "I flatter myself that that is a recent improvement." "We do great many igloo sometime," continued Maximus, "vid two, t'ree, four--plenty pass'ges goin' into von a-doder." "What does he mean by that?" inquired Edith, laughing. "I suppose he means that they connect a number of their igloos together by means of passages.--And do they keep them as clean and snug as this, Maximus?" The Esquimau replied by a loud chuckle, and a full display of his magnificent teeth, which Frank understood to signify a decided negative. When supper was ended Chimo was permitted to devour the scraps, while Frank assisted Edith to arrange her little dormitory. It was much the same in its arrangements as the larger apartment, and was really as comfortable and warm as one could desire. Returning to the large apartment, Frank spread out the couch on which he and Maximus were to repose; and then, sitting down beside the stone lamp, he drew forth his Bible, as was his wont, and began to read. Soon after lying down Edith heard the deep voices of her companions engaged in earnest conversation; but these sounds gradually died away, and she fell asleep, to dream of her berry-ravine at Fort Chimo. As the night wore on, the deep breathing of the men told that they, too, had sought and found repose. The lamp burned slowly down and went out, and, when the moon threw her parting rays over the scene, there was nothing to tell of the presence of human beings in that cold, wild spot, save two little white mounds on the frozen lake below. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. FRANK MORTON GETS INTO DIFFICULTIES. Chimo's loud bark and the angry snarl of a large wolf, as it darted away to seek the shelter of the kills, were the sounds that awoke our travellers in the grey dawn of the following morning. Frank started up, seized his gun, and darted through the doorway of the igloo; in doing which he dashed the door of snow to atoms. He had only the satisfaction, however, of seeing the wolf's tail flourish in the air, as the animal bounded over a snow-drift and disappeared in a ravine. "Ha! how cold it is!" he exclaimed, re-entering the igloo hastily; far having issued forth without his coat or cap, the two minutes during which he stood exposed to the open air cooled him down nearly to the freezing point. "Hallo, Maximus! jump up; light the lamp while I fill the kettle. Heyday! it solidifies the very marrow in one's bones. Ho, Edith! up with you, lazy thing; there has been a wolf to bid you good-morrow." While Frank rattled on thus he belted his leathern coat round him, put on his fur cap, and prepared breakfast; while Edith rose and resumed the cap and cloak which she had put off on lying down to rest. "Maximus," said Frank, after the first duties of the day were concluded, "we must now go and set the hooks; but as cutting holes in the ice will occupy you some time, I'll take a short walk along the margin of the lake with my gun. Be careful of Edith till I return." So saying, Frank went off, taking Chimo along with him; while Maximus seized the axe and ice-chisel, and began the laborious process of digging through to the water. The ice on the lake was five feet thick, but by dint of great perseverance the Esquimau succeeded in making several holes through it ere Frank returned. Each hole was large enough to contain the body of a man, but a little wider above than below. In these holes were set stout cod-lines, with hooks of about half an inch or more in diameter. They were made of white metal, and clumsy enough to look at; but fish in the lakes of Ungava are not particular. These hooks were baited with lumps of seal-fat, and ere half an hour elapsed the success of the anglers was very decided and satisfactory. Frank hauled up a white-fish of about six pounds weight at the first dip, and scarcely had he thrown it on the ice when Maximus gave a galvanic start, hauled up his line a few yards with laughable eagerness, then stopped suddenly, under the impression, apparently, that it was a false alarm; but another tug set him again in motion, and in three seconds he pulled a fine lake-trout of about ten pounds weight out of the hole. Edith, also, who had a line under her care, began to show symptoms of expectation. "Capital!" cried Frank, beating his hands violently against his shoulders; for handling wet line, with the thermometer at twenty below zero is decidedly cold work--"capital! we must set up a regular fishery here, I think; the fish are swarming. There's another,--eh? no--he's off--" "Oh! oh!! oh!!!" shrieked Edith in mingled fear and excitement, as, at each successive "oh!" she received a jerk that well-nigh pulled her into the ice-hole. "Hold hard!" cried Frank; "now then, haul away." Edith pulled, and so did the fish; but as it was not more than five pounds weight or so, she overcame it after a severe struggle, and landed a white-fish on the ice. The next shout that Edith gave was of so very decided and thrilling a character that Frank and Maximus darted to her side in alarm, and the latter caught the line as it was torn violently from her grasp. For a few minutes the Esquimau had to allow the line to run out, being unable to hold the fish--at least without the risk of breaking his tackle; but in a few seconds the motion of the line became less rapid, and Maximus held on, while his huge body was jerked violently, notwithstanding his weight and strength. Soon the line relaxed a little, and Maximus ran away from the hole as fast as he could, drawing the line after him. When the fish reached the hole it offered decided resistance to such treatment; and being influenced, apparently, by the well-known proverb, "Time about's fair play," it darted away in its turn, causing the Esquimau to give it line again very rapidly. "He must be an enormously big fellow," said Frank, as he and Edith stood close to the hole watching the struggle with intense interest. The Esquimau gave a broad grin. "Yis, he most very biggest--hie!" The cause of this exclamation of surprise was the slacking of the line so suddenly that Maximus was induced to believe the fish had escaped. "Him go be-off. Ho yis!" But he was wrong. Another violent tug convinced him that the fish was still captive--though an unwilling one--and the struggle was renewed. In about a quarter of an hour Maximus dragged this refractory fish slowly into the hole, and its snout appeared above water. "Oh! _what_ a fish!" exclaimed Edith. "Put in de spear," cried the Esquimau. Frank caught up a native spear which Maximus had provided, and just as the fish was about to recommence the struggle for its life, he transfixed it through the gills, and pinned it to the side of the ice-hole. The battle was over; a few seconds sufficed to drag the fish from its native element and lay it at full length on the ice. And few anglers have ever had the pleasure of beholding such a prize. It was a trout of fully sixty pounds weight, and although such fish are seldom if ever found in other parts of the world, they are by no means uncommon in the lakes of North America. Having secured this noble fish, Maximus cut it open and cleaned it, after which it was left to freeze. The other fish were then similarly treated; and while the Esquimau was thus engaged, Frank and Edith continued their sport. But daylight in these far northern regions is very short-lived in winter, and they were soon compelled unwillingly to leave off. "Now, Maximus," said Frank, as they rolled up their lines, "I don't intend to keep you longer with us. Edith and I can manage the fishing very well, so you may return to your friends at False River, and take the seal-flesh for the dogs up to the fort. Get the loan of some of their dogs and a sled to haul it; and come round this way in passing, so as to pick up any fish we may have ready for you. The moon will be up in a little, so be off as fast as you can." In obedience to these orders, Maximus packed up a small quantity of provisions, and bidding good-bye to his two friends, set off to make the best of his way to the coast. That night Frank and his little charge sat down to sup together in the igloo at the head of their snow-table, and Chimo acted the part of croupier in the room of the Esquimau. And a pleasant evening they spent, chatting, and laughing, and telling stories, by the light of the stone lamp, the mellow flame of which shed a warm influence over the sparkling dome of snow. Before retiring to rest, Frank said that they must be up with the first light, for he meant to have a hard day's fishing; but man little knows what a day may bring forth. Neither Frank nor Edith dreamed that night of the events that were to happen on the morrow. On awaking in the morning they were again roused by the voice of the wolf which had visited them the day before. In order to catch this wolf, Maximus had, just before starting, constructed a trap peculiar to the Esquimaux. It was simply a hole dug down through the ice at the edge of the lake, not far from the igloo. This hole was just wide enough to admit the body of a wolf, and the depth sufficient to render it absolutely impossible for the animal to thrust his snout to the bottom, however long his neck might be. At the bottom a tempting piece of blubber, in very _high_ condition, was placed. The result of this ingenious arrangement was most successful, and, we may add, inevitable. Attracted by the smell of the meat, our friend the wolf came trotting down to the lake just about daybreak, and sneaked suspiciously up to the trap. He peeped in and licked his lips with satisfaction at the charming breakfast below. One would have thought, as he showed his formidable white teeth, that he was laughing with delight. Then, spreading out his fore legs so as to place his breast on the ice, he thrust his head down into the hole and snapped at the coveted blubber. But he had mistaken the depth, and blaming himself, no doubt, for his stupidity, he slid a little further forward, and pushed his head deeper down. What! not at it yet? Oh! this is preposterous! Under this impression he rose, shook himself, and advancing his shoulders as far as prudence would allow, again thrust down his head and stretched his neck until the very sinews cracked. Then it was, but not till then, that the conviction was forced on him that that precious morsel was totally and absolutely beyond his reach altogether. Drawing himself back he sat down on his haunches and uttered a snarling bark of dissatisfaction. But the odour that ascended from that hole was too much for the powers of wolfish nature to resist. Showing his teeth with an expression of mingled disappointment and ferocity, he plunged his head into the hole once more. Deeper and deeper still it went, but the blubber was yet three inches from his eager nose. Another shove--no! dislocation alone could accomplish the object. His shoulders slid very imperceptibly into the hole. His nose was within an inch of the prize, and he could actually touch it with his tongue. Away with cowardly prudence! what recked he of the consequences? Up went his hind legs, down went his head, and the tempting bait was gained at last! Alas for wolfish misfortunes! His fore legs were jammed immovably against his ribs. A touch of his hind foot on the ice would remedy this mishap, but he was too far in for that. Vigorously he struggled, but in vain. The blood rushed to his head, and the keen frost quickly put an end to his pains. In a few minutes he was dead, and in half an hour he was frozen, solid as a block of wood, with his hind legs and tail pointing to the sky. It was at the consummation of this event that another wolf, likewise attracted by the blubber, trotted down the wild ravine and uttered a howl of delighted surprise as it rushed forward to devour its dead companion--for such is the custom among wolves. And this was the howl that called Frank forth in time to balk its purpose. Frank happened to be completely dressed at the time, and as he saw the wolf bound away up the mountain gorge, he seized his gun and snow-shoes, and hastily slung on his powder-horn and shot-belt. "Edith," he cried, as he was about to start, "I must give chase to that wolf. I won't be gone long. Light the lamp and prepare breakfast, dear--at least as much of it as you can; I'll be back to complete it.-- Hallo, Chimo! here, Chimo!" he shouted, whistling to the dog, which bounded forth from the door of the hut and followed his master up the ravine. Edith was so well accustomed to solitary wanderings among the rugged glens in the neighbourhood of Fort Chimo that she felt no alarm on finding herself left alone in this wild spot. She knew that Frank was not far off, and expected him back in a few minutes. She knew, also, that wild animals are not usually so daring as to show themselves in open ground after the break of day, particularly after the shouts of human beings have scared them to their dens; so, instead of giving a thought to any possible dangers that might threaten her, she applied herself cheerfully and busily to the preparation of their morning meal. First she lighted the lamp, which instantly removed the gloom of the interior of the igloo, whose little ice-window as yet admitted only the faint light of the grey dawn. Then she melted a little snow, and cleaned out the kettle, in which she placed two cuts of fresh trout; and having advanced thus far in her work, thought it time to throw on her hood and peep out to see if Frank was coming. But there was no sign of Frank, so she re-entered the igloo and began to set things to rights. She folded up the deerskins on which she had reposed, and piled them at the head of the willow matting that formed her somewhat rough and unyielding mattress, after which she arranged the ottoman, and laid out the breakfast things on the snow-table. Having accomplished all this to her entire satisfaction, Edith now discovered that the cuts of salmon were sufficiently well boiled, and began to hope that Frank would be quick, lest the breakfast should be spoiled. Under the influence of this feeling she threw on her hood a second time, and going out upon the lake, surveyed the shore with a scrutinising gaze. The sun was now so far above the natural horizon that the daylight was pretty clear, but the high mountains prevented any of his direct rays from penetrating the gloom of the valley of the lake. Still there was light enough to enable the solitary child to distinguish the objects on shore; but Frank's tall form was not visible anywhere. Heaving a slight sigh, Edith returned to the hut, soliloquising thus as she went--"Dear me! it is very strange that Frank should stay away so long. I fear that the trout will be quite spoiled. Perhaps it would be very good cold. No doubt of it. We shall have it cold, and then I can get the tea ready." In pursuance of this plan, the anxious little housekeeper removed the trout from the kettle, which she cleaned out and refilled with snow. When this was melted and boiled, she put in the tea. In due time this also was ready, and she sallied forth once more, with a feeling approaching to anxiety, to look for Frank. Still her companion did not make his appearance, and for the first time a feeling of dread touched her heart. She strove to avert it, however, by considering that Frank might have been obliged to follow the wolf farther than he expected or intended. Then a thrill of fear passed through her breast as the thought occurred, "What if the wolf has attacked and killed him?" As time wore on, and no sound of voice or gun or bark of dog broke the dreary stillness of that gloomy place, a feeling of intense horror took possession of the child's mind, and she pictured to herself all kinds of possible evils that might have befallen her companion; while at the same time she could not but feel how awful was her unprotected and helpless condition. One thought, however, comforted her, and this was that Maximus would certainly come to the hut on his return to the fort. This relieved her mind in regard to herself; but the very relief on that point enabled her all the more to realise the dangers to which Frank might be exposed without any one to render him assistance. The morning passed away, the sun rose above the hills, and the short-lived day drew towards its close; still Frank did not return, and the poor child who watched so anxiously for him, after many short and timid wanderings towards the margin of the lake, returned to the igloo with a heart fluttering from mingled anxiety and terror. Throwing herself on the deerskin couch, she burst into a flood of tears. As she lay there, sobbing bitterly, she was startled by a noise outside the hut, and ere she could spring from her recumbent position, Chimo darted through the open doorway, with a cry between a whine and a bark, and laid his head on Edith's lap. "Oh! what is it, my dog? Dear Chimo, where is Frank?" cried the child passionately, while she embraced her favourite with feelings of mingled delight and apprehension. "Is he coming, Chimo?" she said, addressing the dumb animal, as if she believed he understood her. Then, rising hastily, she darted out once more, to cast a longing, expectant gaze towards the place where she had seen her companion disappear in the morning. But she was again doomed to disappointment. Meanwhile Chimo's conduct struck her as being very strange. Instead of receiving with his usual quiet satisfaction the caresses she heaped upon him, he kept up a continual whine, and ran about hither and thither without any apparent object in view. Once or twice he darted off with a long melancholy howl towards the hills; then stopping short suddenly, stood still and looked round towards his young mistress. At first Edith thought that the dog must have lost his master, and had come back to the hut expecting to find him there. Then she called him to her and examined his mouth, expecting and dreading to find blood upon it. But there were no signs of his having been engaged in fighting with wolves; so Edith felt sure that Frank must be safe from _them_ at least, as she knew that Chimo was too brave to have left his master to perish alone. The dog submitted with much impatience to this examination, and at last broke away from Edith and ran yelping towards the hills again, stopping as before, and looking back. The resolute manner with which Chimo did this, and the frequency of its recurrence, at length induced Edith to believe that the animal wished her to follow him. Instantly it occurred that he might conduct her to Frank; so without bestowing a thought on the danger of her forsaking the igloo, she ran in for her snow-shoes, and putting on her hood and thick mittens, followed the dog to the margin of the lake. Chime's impatience seemed to subside immediately, and he trotted rapidly towards the ravine into which Frank had entered in pursuit of the wolf that morning. The dog paused ever and anon as they proceeded, in order to give the child time to come up with him; and so eager was Edith in her adventure, and so hopeful was she that it would terminate in her finding Frank, that she pressed forward at a rate which would have been utterly impossible under less exciting circumstances. At the foot of the ravine she found the remains of the wolf which had been caught in the snow-trap that morning. Frank had merely pulled it out and cast it on the snow in passing, and the torn fragments and scattered bones of the animal showed that its comrades had breakfasted off its carcass after Frank had passed. Here Edith paused to put on her snow-shoes, for the snow in the ravine was soft, being less exposed to the hardening action of the wind; and the dog sat down to wait patiently until she was ready. "Now, Chimo, go forward, my good dog. I will follow you without fear," she said, when the lines were properly fastened to her feet. Chimo waited no second command, but threaded his way rapidly up the ravine among the stunted willow bushes. In doing so he had frequent occasion to wait for his young mistress, whose strength was rapidly failing under the unwonted exertion she forced herself to make. At times she had to pause for breath, and as she cast her eyes upwards and around at the dreary desolation of the rugged precipices which everywhere met her view, she could with difficulty refrain from shedding tears. But Edith's heart was warm and brave. The thought of Frank being in some mysterious, unknown danger, infused new energy into her soul and strengthened her slight frame. Having now recovered somewhat from the nervous haste which urged her to travel at a rate much beyond her capacity, she advanced into the ravines of the mountains with more of that steady, regular tramp which practice in the use of her snow-shoes had taught her to assume; so that, being of a robust constitution naturally, she became stronger and more able for her undertaking as she advanced. For nearly two hours Chimo led Edith into the midst of the mountains. The scenery became, if possible, more savage as they proceeded, and at length grew so rugged and full of precipices and dark gorges, or rather _splits_ in the hills, that Edith had much difficulty in avoiding the danger of falling over many of the latter, which were partially concealed by, and in some places entirely covered over with, a crust of snow. Fortunately, as daylight waned, a brilliant galaxy of stars shone forth, enabling her to pick her steps. Hitherto they had followed Frank's snow-shoe track undeviatingly, but near the top of a cliff Chimo suddenly diverged to the left, and led his mistress by a steep and tortuous natural path to the bottom. Here he ran quickly forward, uttering a low whine or whimper, and disappeared round the corner of the precipice. Hastening after the dog with a beating heart, Edith speedily gained the projection of the cliff, on turning which she was startled and terrified by hearing a loud snarling bark mingled with a fierce growl. In another moment she beheld Chimo bounding towards a gaunt savage-looking wolf, which stood close beside the body of a man extended at full length upon the snow. At first the wolf did not seem inclined to retreat, but the shriek which Edith uttered on suddenly beholding the scene before her induced him to turn tail and fly. In another moment the terrified child sank exhausted on the snow beside the insensible form of Frank Morton. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. EDITH BECOMES A HEROINE INDEED. The shock which Edith received on beholding the bloodstained countenance of her companion completely paralysed her at first, but only for a few minutes. The feeling of certainty that Frank would perish if assistance were not rendered tended to restore her scattered faculties, and nerve her heart for the duties now required of her; and she rose with a feeling of determination to save her companion or die beside him. Pour child! she little knew the extent of her own feebleness at that moment; but she breathed an inward prayer to Him who can, and often does, achieve the mightiest results by the feeblest means. Raising Frank's head from the snow, she placed it in her lap, and with her handkerchief removed the blood from his forehead. In doing this she observed, to her inexpressible relief, that he breathed freely, and seemed rather to be in a state of stupor than insensibility. The place where he lay was a dark rent or split in the mountain, the precipices of which rose on either side to a height of between thirty and forty feet. The top of this chasm was entirely covered over with a crust of snow, through which there was a large gap immediately above the spot where Frank lay, revealing at once the cause of his present sad condition. He had evidently been crossing the ravine by means of the deceptive platform of snow, unaware of the danger of his position, and had been suddenly precipitated to the bottom. In descending, his head had struck the side of the cliff, which cut it severely; but the softness of the snow into which he fell saved him from further injury, except the stunning effect of the fall. How long he had lain in this state Edith had no means of knowing, but it must have been a considerable time, as Chimo could not have left him until after his fall. Fortunately the wolf had not touched him, and the wound in his head did not appear to be very deep. Observing that parts of his face were slightly frostbitten, Edith commenced to rub them vigorously, at the same time calling upon him in the most earnest tones to speak to her. The effect of this roused him a little. In a few minutes he opened his eyes, and gazed languidly into the child's face. "Where am I, Eda?" he said faintly, while a gentle smile played about his lips. "You are in the mountains, Frank. Dear Frank! do open your eyes again. I'm so glad to hear your voice! Are you better now?" The sound of his voice attracted Chimo, who had long ago abandoned the pursuit of the wolf, and was seated beside his master. Rising, he placed his cold nose on Frank's cheek. The action seemed to rouse him to the recollection of recent events. Starting up on his knees, with an angry shout, Frank seized the gun that lay beside him and raised it as if to strike the dog; but he instantly let the weapon fall, and exclaiming, "Ah, Chimo, is it you, good dog?" he fell back again into the arms of his companion. Edith wept bitterly for a few minutes, while she tried in vain to awaken her companion from his state of lethargy. At length she dried her tears hastily, and, rising, placed Frank's head on her warm cloak, which she wrapped round his face and shoulders. Then she felt his hands, which, though covered with thick leather mittens, were very cold. Making Chimo couch at his feet, so as to imbue them with some of his own warmth, she proceeded to rub his hands, and to squeeze and, as it were, shampoo his body all over, as vigorously as her strength enabled her. In a few minutes the effect of this was apparent. Frank raised himself on his elbow and gazed wildly round him. "Surely I must have fallen. Where am I, Edith?" Gradually his faculties returned. "Edith, Edith!" he exclaimed, in a low, anxious voice, "I must get back to the igloo. I shall freeze here. Fasten the lines of my snowshoes, dear, and I will rise." Edith did as she was desired, and immediately Frank made a violent effort and stood upright; but he swayed to and fro like a drunken man. "Let me lean on your shoulder, dear Eda," he said in a faint voice. "My head is terribly confused. Lead me; I cannot see well." The child placed his hand on her shoulder, and they went forward a few paces together--Edith bending beneath the heavy weight of her companion. "Do I lean heavily?" said Frank, drawing his hand across his forehead. "Poor child!" As he spoke he removed his hand from her shoulder; but the instant he did so, he staggered and fell with a deep groan. "O Frank! dear Frank! why did you do that?" said Edith, anxiously. "You do not hurt me. I don't mind it. Do try to rise again." Frank tried, and succeeded in walking in a sort of half-sleeping, half-waking condition for about a mile--stumbling as he went, and often unwittingly crushing his little guide to the ground. After this he fell once more, and could not again recover his upright position. Poor Edith now began to lose heart. The utter hopelessness of getting the wounded man to advance more than a few yards at a time, and her own gradually increasing weakness, induced the tears once more to start to her eyes. She observed, too, that Frank was sinking into that state of lethargy which is so dangerous in cold climates, and she had much difficulty in preventing him from falling into that sleep which, if indulged in, is indeed the sleep of death. By persevering, however, she succeeded in rousing him so far as to creep a short distance, now and then, on his hands and knees--sometimes to stagger a few paces forward; and at length, long after the cold moon had arisen on the scene, they reached the margin of the lake. Here Frank became utterly powerless, and no exertion on the part of his companion could avail to rouse him. In this dilemma, Edith once more wrapped him in her warm cloak, and causing Chimo to lie at his feet, hastened over the ice towards the igloo. On arriving she lighted the lamp and heated the tea which she had made in the morning. This took at least a quarter of an hour to do, and during the interval she endeavoured to allay her impatience by packing up a few mouthfuls of pemmican and biscuit. Then she spread the deerskins out on the couch; and when this was done, the tea was thoroughly heated. The snow on the river being quite hard, she needed not to encumber herself with snow-shoes; but she fastened the traces of her own little sledge over her shoulders, and, with the kettle in her hand, ran as fast as her feet could carry her to the place where she had left Frank and Chimo, and found them lying exactly as they lay when she left them. "Frank! Frank! here is some hot tea for you. Do try to take some." But Frank did not move, so she had recourse to rubbing him again, and had soon the satisfaction of seeing him open his eyes. The instant he did so, she repeated her earnest entreaties that he would take some tea. In a few minutes he revived sufficiently to sit up and sip a little of the warm beverage. The effect was almost magical. The blood began to course more rapidly through his benumbed limbs, and in five minutes more he was able to sit up and talk to his companion. "Now, Frank," said Edith, with an amount of decision that in other circumstances would have seemed quite laughable, "try to get on to my sled, and I'll help you. The igloo is near at hand now." Frank obeyed almost mechanically, and creeping upon the sled with difficulty, he fell instantly into a profound sleep. Edith's chief anxiety was past now. Harnessing Chimo to the sled as well as she could, she ran on before, and a very few minutes brought them to the snow-hut. Here the work of rousing Frank had again to be accomplished; but the vigour which the warm tea had infused into his frame rendered it less difficult than heretofore, and soon afterwards Edith had the satisfaction of seeing her companion extended on his deerskin couch, under the sheltering roof of the igloo. Replenishing the lamp and closing the doorway with a slab of snow, she sat down to watch by his side. Chimo coiled himself quietly up at his feet; while Frank, under the influence of the grateful warmth, fell again into a deep slumber. As the night wore on, Edith's eyes became heavy, and she too, resting her head on the deerskins, slept till the lamp on the snow-shelf expired and left the hut and its inmates in total darkness. Contrary to Edith's expectations, Frank was very little better when he awoke next day; but he was able to talk to her in a faint voice, and to relate how he had fallen over the cliff, and how afterwards he had to exert his failing powers in order to defend himself from a wolf. In all these conversations his mind seemed to wander a little, and it was evident that he had not recovered from the effects of the blow received on his head in the fall. For two days the child tended him with the affectionate tenderness of a sister, but as he seemed to grow worse instead of better, she became very uneasy, and pondered much in her mind what she should do. At last she formed a strange resolution. Supposing that Maximus must still be at the Esquimau village at the mouth of False River, and concluding hastily that this village could not be very far away, she determined to set out in search of it, believing that, if she found it, the Esquimau would convey her back to the igloo on the lake, and take Frank up to Fort Chimo, where he could be properly tended and receive medicine. Freaks and fancies are peculiar to children, but the carrying of their freaks and fancies into effect is peculiar only to those who are precocious and daring in character. Such was Edith, and no sooner had she conceived the idea of attempting to find the Esquimau camp than she proceeded to put it in execution. Frank was in so depressed a condition that she thought it better not to disturb or annoy him by arousing him so as to get him to comprehend what she was about to do; so she was obliged to commune with herself, sometimes even in an audible tone, in default of any better counsellor. It is due to her to say that, in remembrance of her mother's advice, she sought the guidance of her heavenly Father. Long and earnest was the thought bestowed by this little child on the subject ere she ventured to leave her companion alone in the snow-hut. Frank was able to sit up and to assist himself to the articles of food and drink which his little nurse placed within his reach, so that she had no fear of his being in want of anything during the day--or two at most--that she expected to be absent; for in her childlike simplicity she concluded that if Maximus could travel thither in a few hours, she could not take much longer, especially with such a good servant as Chimo to lead the way. Besides this, she had observed the way in which the Esquimau had set out, and Frank had often pointed out to her the direction in which the camp lay. She knew also that there was no danger from wild animals, but determined, nevertheless, to build up the door of the igloo very firmly, lest they should venture to draw near. She also put Frank's loaded gun in the spot where he was wont to place it, so as to be ready to his hand. Having made all her arrangements, Edith glided noiselessly from the hut, harnessed her dog, closed the door of the snow-hut, and jumping into the furs of her sledge, was soon far away from the mountain lake. At first the dog followed what she thought must be the track that Maximus had taken, and her spirits rose when, after an hour's drive, she emerged upon a boundless plain, which she imagined must be the shores of the frozen sea where the Esquimaux lived. Encouraging Chimo with her voice, she flew over the level surface of the hard frozen snow, and looked round eagerly in all directions for the expected signs of natives. But no such signs appeared, and she began to fear that the distance was greater than she had anticipated. Towards the afternoon it began to snow heavily. There was no wind, and the snow fell in large flakes, alighting softly and without any sound. This prevented her seeing any great distance, and, what was worse, rendered the ground heavy for travelling. At length she came to a ridge of rocks, and supposing that she might see to a greater distance from its summit, she got out of the sledge and clambered up, for the ground was too rough for the sledge to pass. Here the view was dreary enough--nothing but plains and hummocks of ice and snow met her view, except in one direction, where she saw, or fancied that she saw, a clump of willows and what appeared to be a hut in the midst of them. Running down the rugged declivity, she crossed the plain and reached the spot; but although the willows were there, she found no hut. Overcome with fatigue, fear, and disappointment, she sat down on a wreath of snow and wept. But she felt that her situation was much too serious to permit of her wasting time in vain regrets, so she started up and endeavoured to retrace her steps. This, however, was now a matter of difficulty. The snow fell so thickly that her footsteps were almost obliterated, and she could not see ten yards before her. After wandering about for a few minutes in uncertainty, she called aloud to Chimo, hoping to hear his bark in reply. But all was silent. Chimo was not, indeed, unfaithful. He heard the cry and responded to it in the usual way, by bounding in the direction whence it came. His progress, however, was suddenly arrested by the sledge, which caught upon and was jammed amongst the rocks. Fiercely did Chimo strain and bound, but the harness was tough and the sledge immovable. Meanwhile the wind arose, and although it blew gently, it was sufficient to prevent Edith overhearing the whining cries of her dog. For a time the child lost all self-command, and rushed about she knew not whither, in the anxious desire to find her sledge; then she stopped, and restrained the pantings of her breath, while with both hands pressed tightly over her heart, as if she would fain stop the rapid throbbing there, she listened long and intently. But no sound fell upon her ear except the sighing of the cold breeze as it swept by, and no sight met her anxious gaze save the thickly falling snow-flakes. Sinking on her knees, Edith buried her face in her hands and gave full vent to the pent-up emotions of her soul, as the conviction was at length forced upon her mind that she was a lost wanderer in the midst of that cold and dreary waste of snow. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. A DARK CLOUD OF SORROW ENVELOPS FORT CHIMO. Three days after the events narrated in the last chapter the fort of the fur-traders became a place of weeping; for on the morning of that day Maximus arrived with the prostrate form of Frank Morton, whom he had discovered alone in the igloo on the lake, and with the dreadful news that little Edith Stanley was nowhere to be found! It may be more easily imagined than described the state of mind into which the parents of the child were thrown; but after the first burst of emotion was past, Stanley felt that a thorough and immediate search was the only hope that remained to him of finding his little one alive. Still, when he considered the intensity of the cold to which she must have been exposed, and the length of time which had already elapsed since she was missed, his heart sank, and he could scarcely frame words of comfort to his prostrated partner. Maximus had examined the immediate neighbourhood of the lake, in the hope of finding the tracks of the lost one; but a heavy fall of snow had totally obliterated these, and he wisely judged that it would be better to convey the sick man to the fort as quickly as possible and give the alarm, so that parties might be sent out to scour the country in all directions. Frank was immediately put to bed on his arrival, and everything done in order to restore him. In this attempt they succeeded so far as to obtain all the information he could give concerning his fall; but he remembered nothing further than that Edith had been the means of bringing him to the snow-hut, where he lay in a deep, torpid slumber, until the voice and hand of Maximus awakened him. When Frank was told that Edith was lost, he sprang from his bed as if he had received an electric shock. The confusion of his faculties seemed swept away, and he began to put on his garments with as much vigour as if he were well and strong; but ere he belted on his leather coat his cheek grew pale, his hand trembled, and he fell in a swoon upon the bed. This convinced him of the impossibility of doing anything in the search, and he was prevailed on, after two or three similar failures, to leave the work to others. Meanwhile the mountains and valleys of Ungava were traversed far and near by the agonised father and his men. The neighbourhood of the lake was the first place searched, and they had not sought long ere they discovered the little sledge sticking fast among the rocks of the sea-coast, and Chimo lying in the traces almost dead with cold and hunger. The dog had kept himself alive by gnawing the deerskin of which the traces were made. Around this spot the search was concentrated, and the Esquimaux of the neighbouring camp were employed in traversing the country in all directions; but, although scarce a foot of ground escaped the eager scrutiny of one or other of the party, not a vestige of Edith was to be seen--not so much as a footprint in the snow. Days and nights flew by, and still the search was continued. Frank quickly recovered under the affectionate care of the almost heartbroken mother, who found some relief from her crushing sorrow in ministering to his wants. But the instant he could walk without support, and long before it was prudent to do so, Frank joined in the search. At first he could do little, but as day after day passed by his strength returned so rapidly that the only symptoms that remained to tell of his late accident were his pale cheek and the haggard expression of his countenance. But the mysterious disappearance of Edith had more to do with the latter than illness. Weeks passed away, but still the dark cloud of sorrow hung over Fort Chimo, for the merry young voice that was wont to awake the surrounding echoes was gone. The systematic search had now been given up, for every nook, every glen, and gorge, and corrie within fifteen miles of the spot where they had found the little sledge, had been searched again and again without success. But hope clung with singular tenacity to the parents' hearts long after it had fled from those of the men of the fort and of the Esquimaux. Every alternate day Stanley and Frank sallied forth with heavy steps and furrowed brows to explore more carefully those places where the child was most likely to have strayed, expecting, yet fearing, to find her dead body. But they always returned to the bereaved mother with silent lips and downcast looks. They frequently conversed together about her, and always in a hopeful tone, each endeavouring to conceal from the other the real state of his own mind. Indeed, except when necessity required it, they seldom spoke on any other subject. One day Stanley and Frank were seated by the blazing stove in the hall conversing as usual about the plan of the search for that day. Mrs Stanley was busied in preparing breakfast. "'Tis going to blow hard from the north, Frank," said Stanley, rising and looking out of the window; "I see the icebergs coming into the river with the tide. You will have a cold march, I fear." Frank made no reply, but rose and approached the window. The view from it was a strange one. During the night a more than usually severe frost had congealed the water of the lake in the centre, and the icebergs that sailed towards the Caniapuscaw River in stately grandeur went crashing through this young ice as if it had been paper, their slow but steady progress receiving no perceptible check from its opposition. Some of these bergs were of great size, and in proceeding onwards they passed so close to the fort that the inhabitants feared more than once that a falling pinnacle might descend on the stores, which were built near to the water's edge, and crush them. As the tide gradually rose it rushed with violence into the cavities beneath the solid ice on the opposite shore, and finding no escape save through a few rents and fissures, sent up columns or spouts of white spray in all directions, which roared and shrieked as they flew upwards, as if the great ocean were maddened with anger at finding a power strong enough to restrain and curb its might. At intervals the main ice rent with a crash like the firing of artillery; and as if nature had designed to carry on and deepen this simile, the shore was lined with heaps of little blocks of ice which the constantly recurring action of the tide had moulded into the shape and size of cannon balls. But such sights were common to the inhabitants of Fort Chimo, and had long ago ceased to call forth more than a passing remark. "May it not be possible," murmured Stanley, while he leant his brow on his hand, "that she may have gone up False River?" "I think not," said Frank. "I know not how it is, but I have a strange conviction that she is yet alive. If she had perished in the snow, we should certainly have found her long ago. I cannot explain my feelings, or give a reason for them, but I feel convinced that darling Eda is alive." "Oh, God grant it!" whispered Stanley in a deep voice, while his wife hastened from the room to conceal the tears which she could not restrain. While Frank continued to gaze in silence on the bleak scene without, a faint sound of sleigh-bells broke upon his ear. "Hark!" he cried, starting, and opening the door. The regular and familiar sound of the bells came floating sweetly on the breeze. They grew louder and louder, and in a few seconds a team of dogs galloped into the fort, dragging a small sled behind them. They were followed by two stalwart Indians, whose costume and manner told that they were in the habit of associating more with the fur-traders than with their own kindred. The dogs ran the sled briskly into the centre of the fort, and lay down panting on the snow, while the two men approached the hall. "'Tis a packet," cried Stanley, forgetting for the moment his sorrow in the excitement of this unexpected arrival. In a moment all the men at the fort were assembled in the square. "A packet! Where come you from?" "From Moose Fort," replied the elder Indian, while his comrade unfastened from the sled a little bundle containing letters. "Any news? Are all well?" chorused the men. "Ay, all well. It is many day since we left. The way is very rough, and we did not find much deer. We saw one camp of Indian, but they 'fraid to come. I not know why. But I see with them one fair flower which grow in the fields of the Esquimaux. I suppose the Indian pluck her, and dare not come back here." Stanley started, and his cheek grew pale. "A fair flower, say you? Speak literally, man: was it a little white girl that you saw?" "No," replied the Indian, "it was no white girl we saw. It was one young Esquimau woman." Stanley heaved a deep sigh and turned away, muttering, "Ah! I might have known that she could not have fallen into the hands of Indians so far to the south." "Well, lads, take care of these fellows," he cried, crushing down the feelings that had been for a brief moment awakened in his heart by the Indian's words, "and give them plenty to eat and smoke." So saying he went off with the packet, followed by Frank. "Niver fear ye; come along, honey," said Bryan, grasping the elder Indian by the arm, while the younger was carried off by Massan, and the dogs taken care of by Ma-istequan and Gaspard. On perusing the letters, Stanley found that it would be absolutely necessary to send a packet of dispatches to headquarters. The difficulties of his position required to be more thoroughly explained, and erroneous notions corrected. "What shall I do, Frank?" said he, with a perplexed look. "These Indians cannot return to Moose, having received orders, I find, to journey in a different direction. Our own men know the way, but I cannot spare the good ones among them, and the second-rate cannot be depended on without a leader." Frank did not give an immediate reply. He seemed to be pondering the subject in his mind. At length he said, "Could not Dick Prince be spared?" "No; he is too useful here. The fact is, Frank, I think I must send you. It will do you good, my dear boy, and tend to distract your mind from a subject which is now hopeless." Frank at first objected strongly to this plan, on the ground that it would prevent him from assisting in the forlorn search for Edith; but Stanley pointed out that he and the men could continue it, and that, on the other hand, his (Frank's) personal presence at headquarters would be of great importance to the interests of the Company. At length Frank was constrained to obey. The route by which he purposed to travel was overland to Richmond Gulf on snow-shoes; and as the way was rough, he determined to take only a few days' provisions, and depend for subsistence on the hook and gun. Maximus, Oolibuck, and Ma-istequan were chosen to accompany him; and three better men he could not have had, for they were stalwart and brave, and accustomed from infancy to live by the chase, and traverse trackless wastes, guided solely by that power of observation or instinct with which savages are usually gifted. With these men, a week's provisions, a large supply of ammunition, a small sledge, and three dogs, of whom Chimo was the leader, Frank one morning ascended the rocky platform behind the fort, and bidding adieu to Ungava, commenced his long journey over the interior of East Main. CHAPTER THIRTY. AN OLD FRIEND AMID NEW FRIENDS AND NOVELTIES--A DESPERATE BATTLE AND A GLORIOUS VICTORY. The scene of our story is now changed, and we request our patient reader to fly away with us deeper into the north, beyond the regions of Ungava, and far out upon the frozen sea. Here is an island which for many long years has formed a refuge to the roedeer during the winter, at which season these animals, having forsaken the mainland in autumn, dwell upon the islands of the sea. At the time of which we write the island in question was occupied by a tribe of Esquimaux, who had built themselves as curious a village as one could wish to see. The island had little or no wood on it, and the few willow bushes that showed their heads above the deep snow were stunted and thin. Such as they were, however, they, along with a ledge of rock over which the snow had drifted in a huge mound, formed a sort of protection to the village of the Esquimaux, and sheltered it from the cold blasts that swept over the frozen sea from the regions of the far north. There were about twenty igloos in the village, all of which were built in the form of a dome, exactly similar to the hut constructed by Maximus on the lake. They were of various sizes, and while some stood apart with only a small igloo attached, others were congregated in groups and connected by low tunnels or passages. The doorways leading into most of them were so low that the natives were obliged to creep out and in on their hands and knees; but the huts themselves were high enough to permit the tallest man of the tribe to stand erect, and some of them so capacious that a family of six or eight persons could dwell in them easily. We may remark, however, that Esquimau ideas of roominess and comfort in their dwellings differ very considerably from ours. Their chief aim is to create heat, and for this end they cheerfully submit to what we would consider the discomfort of crowding and close air. The village at a little distance bore a curious resemblance to a cluster of white beehives; and the round, soft, hairy natives, creeping out and in continually, and moving about amongst them, were not unlike (with the aid of a little imagination) to a swarm of monstrous black bees--an idea which was further strengthened by the continuous hum that floated on the air over the busy settlement. Kayaks and oomiaks lay about in several places supported on blocks of ice, and seal-spears, paddles, dans, lances, coils of walrus-line, and other implements, were intermingled in rare confusion with sledges, sealskins, junks of raw meat and bones, on which latter the numerous dogs of the tribe were earnestly engaged. In the midst of this village stood a hut which differed considerably from those around. It was built of clear ice instead of snow. There were one or two other igloos made of the same material, but none so large, clean, or elegant as this one. The walls, which were perpendicular, were composed of about thirty large square blocks, cemented together with snow, and arranged in the form of an octagon. The roof was a dome of snow. A small porch or passage, also of ice, stood in front of the low doorway, which had been made high enough to permit the owner of the mansion to enter by stooping slightly. In front and all around this hut the snow was carefully scraped, and all offensive objects--such as seal and whale blubber--removed, giving to it an appearance of cleanliness and comfort which the neighbouring igloos did not possess. Inside of this icy residence, on a couch of deerskin was seated Edith Stanley! On that terrible night when the child lost her way in the dreary plain, she had wandered she knew not whither, until she was suddenly arrested by coming to the edge of the solid ice on the shores of Ungava Bay. Here the high winds had broken up the ice, and the black waters of the sea now rolled at her feet and checked her progress. Terrified at this unexpected sight, Edith endeavoured to retrace her steps; but she found to her horror that the ice on which she stood was floating, and that the wind, having shifted a point to the eastward, was driving it across to the west side of the bay. Here, in the course of the next day, it grounded, and the poor child, benumbed with cold and faint with hunger, crept as far as she could on to the firm land, and then lay down, as she thought, to die. But it was otherwise ordained. In less than half an hour afterwards she was found by a party of Esquimaux. These wild creatures had come from the eastward in their dog-sledges, and having passed well out to the seaward in order to avoid the open water off the mouth of False River, had missed seeing their countrymen there, and therefore knew nothing of the establishment of Fort Chimo. In bending towards the land again after passing the bay they came upon Edith's tracks, and after a short search they found her lying on the snow. Words cannot convey an adequate impression of the unutterable amazement of these poor creatures as they beheld the fair child, so unlike anything they had ever seen or imagined; but whatever may have been their thoughts regarding her, they had sense enough to see that she was composed of flesh and blood, and would infallibly freeze if allowed to lie there much longer. They therefore lifted her gently upon one of the large sleighs, and placed her on a pile of furs in the midst of a group of women and children, who covered her up and chafed her limbs vigorously. Meanwhile the drivers of the sledges, of which there were six, with twenty dogs attached to each, plied their long whips energetically; the dogs yelled in consternation, and, darting away with the sledges as if they had been feathers, the whole tribe went hooting, yelling, and howling away over the frozen sea. The surprise of the savages when they found Edith was scarcely, if at all, superior to that of Edith when she opened her eyes and began to comprehend, somewhat confusedly, her peculiar position. The savages watched her movements, open-mouthed, with intense curiosity, and seemed overjoyed beyond expression when she at length recovered sufficiently to exclaim feebly,--"Where am I? where are you taking me to?" We need scarcely add that she received no reply to her questions, for the natives did not understand a word of her language, and with the exception of the names of one or two familiar objects, she did not understand a word of theirs. Of how far or how long they travelled Edith could form no idea, as she slept profoundly during the journey, and did not thoroughly recover her strength and faculties until after her arrival at the camp. For many days after reaching the Esquimau village poor Edith did nothing but weep; for, besides the miserable circumstances in which she was now placed, she was much too considerate and unselfish in her nature to forget that her parents would experience all the misery of supposing her dead, and added to this was the terrible supposition that the natives into whose hands she had fallen might never hear of Fort Chimo. The distracted child did her utmost by means of signs to make them understand that such a place existed, but her efforts were of no avail. Either she was not eloquent in the language of signs, or the natives were obtuse. As time abated the first violence of her grief, she began to entertain a hope that ere long some wandering natives might convey intelligence of her to the fur-traders. As this hope strengthened she became more cheerful, and resolved to make a number of little ornaments with her name inscribed on them, which she meant to hang round the necks of the chief men of the tribe, so that should any of them ever chance to meet with the fur-traders, these ornaments might form a clue to her strange residence. A small medal of whalebone seemed to her the most appropriate and tractable material, but it cost her many long and weary hours to cut a circular piece of this tough material with the help of an Esquimau knife. When she had done it, however, several active boys who had watched the operation with much curiosity and interest, no sooner understood what she wished to make than they set to work and cut several round pieces of ivory or walrus-tusk, which they presented to their little guest, who scratched the name EDITH on them and hung them round the necks of the chief men of the tribe. The Esquimaux smiled and patted the child's fair head kindly as they received this piece of attention, which they flattered themselves, no doubt, was entirely disinterested and complimentary. Winter wore gradually away, and the ice upon the sea began to show symptoms of decay opposite to the camp of the Esquimaux. During the high winds of spring the drift had buried the village so completely that the beehives were scarcely visible, and the big black bees walked about on the top of their igloos, and had to cut deep down in order to get into them. For some time past the natives had been unsuccessful in their seal-hunting; and as seals and walruses constituted their chief means of support, they were reduced to short allowance. Edith's portion, however, had never yet been curtailed. It was cooked for her over the stone lamp belonging to an exceedingly fat young woman whose igloo was next to that of the little stranger, and whose heart had been touched by the child's sorrow; afterwards it was more deeply touched by her gratitude and affection. This woman's name was Kaga, and she, with the rest of her tribe, having been instructed carefully by Edith in the pronunciation of her own name, ended in calling their little guest Eeduck! Kaga had a stout, burly husband named Annatock, who was the best hunter in the tribe; she also had a nephew about twelve or fourteen years old, named Peetoot, who was very fond of Edith and extremely attentive to her. Kaga had also a baby--a mere bag of fat--to which Edith became so attached that she almost constituted herself its regular nurse; and when the weather was bad, so as to confine her to the house, she used to take it from its mother, carry it off to her own igloo, and play with it the whole day, much in the same way as little girls play with dolls--with this difference, however, that she considerately restrained herself from banging its nose against the floor or punching out its eyes! It was a bright, clear, warm day. Four mock suns encircled and emulated in brilliancy their great original. The balmy air was beginning to melt the surface of the snow, and the igloos that had stood firm for full half a year were gradually becoming dangerous to walk over and unsafe to sit under. Considerable bustle prevailed in the camp, for a general seal-hunting expedition was on foot, and the men of the tribe were preparing their dog-sledges and their spears. Edith was in her igloo of ice, seated on the soft pile of deerskins which formed her bed at night and her sofa by day, and worrying Kaga's baby, which laughed vociferously. The inside of this house or apartment betokened the taste and neatness of its occupant. The snow roof, having begun to melt, had been removed, and was replaced by slabs of ice, which, with the transparent walls, admitted the sun's rays in a soft, bluish light, which cast a fairy-like charm over the interior. On a shelf of ice which had been neatly fitted into the wall by her friend Peetoot lay a rude knife, a few pieces of whalebone and ivory (the remains of the material of which her medals had been made), and an ivory cup. The floor was covered with willow matting, and on the raised half of it were spread several deerskins with the hair on. A canopy of willow boughs was erected over this. On another shelf of ice, near the head of the bed, stood a small stone lamp, which had been allowed to go out, the weather being warm. The only other articles of furniture in this simple apartment were a square table and a square stool, both made of ice blocks and covered with sealskins. While Edith and her living doll were in the height of their uproarious intercourse, they were interrupted by Peetoot, who burst into the room, more like a hairy wild-man-o'-the-wood than a human being. He carried a short spear in one hand, and with the other pointed in the direction of the shore, at the same time uttering a volley of unintelligible sounds which terminated with an emphatic "Eeduck!" Edith's love for conversation, whether she made herself understood or not, had increased rather than abated in her peculiar circumstances. "What is it, Peetoot? Why do you look so excited? Oh dear, I wish I understood you--indeed I do! But it's of no use your speaking so fast.--(Be quiet, baby darling.)--I see you want me to do or say something; what can it be, I wonder?" Edith looked into the boy's face with an air of perplexity. Again Peetoot commenced to vociferate and gesticulate violently; but seeing, as he had often seen before, that his young friend did not appear to be much enlightened, he seized her by the arm, and, as a more summary and practical way of explaining himself, dragged her towards the door of the hut. "Oh, the baby!" screamed Edith, breaking from him and placing her charge in the farthest and safest part of the couch. "Now I'll go with you, though I don't understand what you want. Well, I suppose I shall find out in time, as usual." Having led Edith towards the beach, Peetoot pointed to his uncle's sledge, to which the dogs were already harnessed, and made signs that Edith should go with them. "Oh, I understand you now. Well, it is a charming day; I think I will. Do you think Annatock will let me? Oh, you don't understand. Never mind; wait till I put on my hood and return the baby to its mother." In two minutes Edith reappeared in her fur cloak and Indian hood, with the fat baby sprawling and laughing on her shoulder. That baby never cried. It seemed as though it had resolved to substitute laughing in its stead. Once only had Edith seen tears in its little black eyes, and that was when she had given it a spoonful of soup so hot that its mouth was scalded by it. Several of the sledges had already left the island, and were flying at full speed over the frozen sea, deviating ever and anon from the straight line in order to avoid a hummock of ice or a gap of open water caused by the separation of masses at the falling of the tide, while the men shouted, and the dogs yelled as they observed the flourish of the cruelly long and heavy lash. "Shall I get in?" said Edith to Annatock, with an inquiring look, as she approached the place where the sledge was standing. The Esquimau nodded his shaggy head, and showed a row of remarkably white teeth environed by a thick black beard and moustache, by way of reply to the look of the child. With a laughing nod to Kaga, who stood watching them, Edith stepped in and seated herself on a deerskin robe; Annatock and Peetoot sat down beside her; the enormous whip gave a crack like a pistol-shot, and the team of fifteen dogs, uttering a loud cry, bounded away over the sea. The sledge on which Edith was seated was formed very much in the same manner as the little sled which had been made for her at Fort Chimo. It was very much larger, how ever, and could have easily held eight or ten persons. The runners, which were shod with frozen mud (a substance that was now becoming nearly unfit for use owing to the warm weather), were a perfect wonder of ingenuity--as, indeed, was the whole machine--being pieced and lashed together with lines of raw hide in the most complicated manner and very neatly. The dogs were each fastened by a separate line to the sledge, the best dog being placed in the centre and having the longest line, while the others were attached by lines proportionably shorter according to the distance of each from the leading dog, and the outsiders being close to the runners of the sledge. All the lines were attached to the front bar of the machine. There were many advantages attending this mode of harnessing, among which were the readiness with which any dog could be attached or detached without affecting the others, and the ease with which Annatock, when so inclined, could lay hold of the line of a refractory dog, haul him back without stopping the others, and give him a cuffing. This, however, was seldom done, as the driver could touch any member of the team with the point of his whip. The handle of this terrible instrument was not much more than eighteen or twenty inches long, but the lash was upwards of six yards! Near the handle it was about three inches broad, being thick cords of walrus-hide platted; it gradually tapered towards the point, where it terminated in a fine line of the same material. While driving, the long lash of this whip trails on the snow behind the sledge, and by a peculiar sleight of hand its serpentine coils can be brought up for instant use. No backwoodsman of Kentucky was ever more perfect in the use of his pea-rifle or more certain of his aim than was Annatock with his murderous whip. He was a dead shot, so to speak. He could spread intense alarm among the dogs by causing the heavy coil to whiz over them within a hair's-breadth of their heads; or he could gently touch the extreme tip of the ear of a skulker, to remind him of his duty to his master and his comrades; or, in the event of the warning being neglected, he could bring the point down on his flank with a crack like a pistol-shot, that would cause skin and hair to fly, and spread yelping dismay among the entire pack. And how they did run! The sledge seemed a mere feather behind the powerful team. They sprang forth at full gallop, now bumping over a small hummock or diverging to avoid a large one, anon springing across a narrow gap in the ice, or sweeping like the snowdrift over the white plain, while the sledge sprang and swung and bounded madly on behind them; and Annatock shouted as he flourished his great whip in the excitement of their rapid flight, and Peetoot laughed with wild delight, and Edith sat clasping her hands tightly over her knees--her hood thrown back, her fair hair blown straight out by the breeze, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted, and her eyes sparkling with emotion as they whirled along in their mad and swift career. In half an hour the low village was out of sight, and in half an hour more they arrived at the place where a number of the Esquimaux were scattered in twos and threes over the ice, searching for seal-holes, and preparing to catch them. "What is that man doing?" cried Edith, pointing to an Esquimau who, having found a hole, had built a semicircular wall of snow round it to protect him from the light breeze that was blowing, and was sitting, when Edith observed him, in the attitude of one who listened intently. The hood of his sealskin coat was over his head, so that his features were concealed. At his feet lay a stout, barbed seal-spear, the handle of which was made of wood, and the barb and lower part of ivory. A tough line was attached to this, and the other end of it was fastened round the man's waist; for when an Esquimau spears a seal, he prepares to conquer or to die. If he does not haul the animal out of the hole, there is every probability that it will haul him into it. But the Esquimau has laid it down as an axiom that a man is more than a match for a seal; therefore he ties the line round his waist,--which is very much like nailing the colours to the mast. There seems to be no allowance made for the chance of an obstreperously large seal allowing himself to be harpooned by a preposterously small Esquimau; but we suppose that this is the exception to the rule. As Edith gazed, the Esquimau put out his hand with the stealthy motion of a cat and lifted his spear. The next instant the young ice that covered the hole was smashed, and, in an instant after, the ivory barb was deep in the shoulder of an enraged seal, which had thus fallen a sacrifice to his desire for fresh air. The Esquimau immediately lay back almost at full length, with his heels firmly imbedded in two notches cut in the ice at the edge of the hole; the seal dived, and the man's waist seemed to be nearly cut in two. But the rope was tough and the man was stout, and although the seal was both, it was conquered in the course of a quarter of an hour, hauled out, and thrown exultingly upon the ice. This man had only watched at the seal-hole a couple of hours, but the natives frequently sit behind their snow walls for the greater part of a day, almost without moving hand or foot. Having witnessed this capture, Annatock drove on until the most of his countrymen were left behind. Suddenly he called to the dogs to halt, and spoke in a deep, earnest tone to his nephew, while both of them gazed intently towards a particular quarter of the sea. Edith looked in the same direction, and soon saw the object that attracted their attention, but the only thing it seemed like to her was an enormous cask or barrel. "What is it?" said she to Peetoot, as Annatock selected his largest spear and hastened towards the object. Of course Edith received no reply save a broad grin; but the little fellow followed up this remark, if we may so call it, by drawing his fingers through his lips, and licking them in a most significant manner. Meanwhile Annatock advanced rapidly towards the object of interest, keeping carefully behind hummocks of ice as he went, and soon drew near enough to make certain that it was a walrus, apparently sound asleep, with its blunt snout close to its hole, ready to plunge in should an enemy appear. Annatock now advanced more cautiously, and when within a hundred yards of the huge monster, lay down at full length on his breast, and began to work his way towards it after the manner of a seal. He was so like a seal in his hairy garments that he might easily have been mistaken for one by a more intellectual animal than a walrus. But the walrus did not awake, and he approached to within ten yards. Then, rising suddenly to his feet, Annatock poised the heavy weapon, and threw it with full force against the animal's side. It struck, and, as if it had fallen on an adamantine rock, it bounded off and fell upon the ice, with its hard point shattered and its handle broken in two. For one instant Annatock's face blazed with surprise; the next, it relapsed into fifty dimples, as he roared and tossed up his arms with delight at the discovery that the walrus had been frozen to death beside its hole! This catastrophe is not of unfrequent occurrence to these _elephants_ of the northern seas. They are in the habit of coming up occasionally through their holes in the ice to breathe, and sometimes they crawl out in order to sleep on the ice, secure, in the protection of their superabundant fat, from being frozen--at least easily. When they have had enough of sleep, or when the prickling sensation on their skin warns them that nothing is proof against the cold of the Polar Seas, and that they will infallibly freeze if they do not make a precipitate retreat to the comparatively warm waters below, they scramble to their holes, crush down the new ice with their tusks and thick heads, and plunge in. But sometimes the ice which forms on the holes when they are asleep is too strong to be thus broken, in which case the hapless monster lays him down and dies. Such was the fate of the walrus which Annatock was now cutting up with his axe into portable blocks of beef. For several days previous to the thaw which had now set in, the weather had been intensely cold, and the walrus had perished in consequence of its ambitious desire to repose in the regions above. Not far from the spot where this fortunate discovery had been made, there was a large sheet of recently-formed black ice, where the main ice had been broken away and the open water left. The sheet, although much melted by the thaw, was still about three inches thick, and quite capable of supporting a man. While Annatock was working with his back to this ice, he heard a tremendous crash take place behind him. Turning hastily round, he observed that the noise was caused by another enormous walrus, the glance of whose large round eyes and whose loud snort showed clearly enough that he was not frozen like his unfortunate companion. By this time the little boy had come up with Edith and the sledge. So Annatock ordered him to take the dogs behind a hummock to keep them out of sight, while he selected several strong harpoons and a lance from the sledge. Giving another lance to Peetoot, he signed to Edith to sit on the hummock while he attacked the grisly monster of the deep. While these preparations were being made, the walrus dived; and while it was under water, the man and the boy ran quickly forward a short distance, and then lay down behind a lump of ice. Scarcely had they done so when the walrus came up again with a loud snort, splashing the water with its broad, heavy flippers--which seemed a sort of compromise between legs and fins--and dashing waves over the ice as it rolled about its large, unwieldy carcass. It was truly a savage-looking monster, as large as a small elephant, and having two tusks of a foot and a half long. The face bore a horrible resemblance to that of a man. Its crown was round and bulging, its face broad and massive, and a thick, bristling moustache--rough as the spines of a porcupine--covered its upper lip, and depended in a shaggy dripping mass over its mouth. After spluttering about a short time it dived again. Now was Annatock's time. Seizing a harpoon and a coil of line, he muttered a few words to the boy, sprang up, and running out upon the smooth ice, stood by the edge of the open water. He had not waited here more than a few seconds when the black waters were cleft by the blacker head of the monster, as it once more ascended to renew its elephantine gambols in the pool. As it rose, the Esquimau threw up his arm and poised the harpoon. For one instant the surprised animal raised itself breast-high out of the water, and directed a stare of intense astonishment at the man. That moment was fatal. Annatock buried the harpoon deep under its left flipper. With a fierce bellow the brute dashed itself against the ice, endeavouring in its fury to reach its assailant; but the ice gave way under its enormous weight, while Annatock ran back as far as the line attached to the harpoon would permit him. The walrus, seeing that it could not reach its enemy in this way, seemed now to be actually endued with reason. It took a long gaze at Annatock, and then dived. But the Esquimau was prepared for this. He changed his position hastily, and played his line the meanwhile, fixing the point of his lance into the ice, in order to give him a more effective hold. Scarcely had he done so than the spot he had just left was smashed up, and the head of the walrus appeared, grinning and bellowing as if in disappointment. At this moment Peetoot handed his uncle a harpoon, and, ere the animal dived, the weapon was fixed in his side. Once more Annatock changed his position; and once again the spot on which he had been standing was burst upwards. It was a terrible sight to see that unearthly-looking monster smashing the ice around it, and lashing the blood-stained sea into foam, while it waged such mortal war with the self-possessed and wary man. How mighty and strong the one! how comparatively weak and seemingly helpless the other! It was the triumph of mind over matter--of reason over blind brute force. But Annatock fought a hard battle that day ere he came off conqueror. Harpoon after harpoon was driven into the walrus; again and again the lance pierced deep into its side and drank its life-blood; but three hours had passed away before the dead carcass was dragged from the deep by the united force of dogs and man. During this terrible combat Edith had looked on with such intense interest that she could scarcely believe her eyes when she found, from the position of the sun, that the day was far advanced. It was too late now to think of cutting up the carcasses without assistance, so Annatock determined to return home and tell his countrymen of his good fortune. It is a custom among the Esquimaux to consider every animal that is killed as the common property of all--the successful hunter being entitled to all the titbits, besides his portion of the equal dividend; so that Annatock knew he had only to give the signal, and every able-bodied man in the village, and not a few of the women and children, would descend like vultures on the spoil. Jumping into his sledge, he stretched out his exhausted frame at full length beside Edith, and committed the whip to Peetoot. "I'm so glad," cried Edith, with a beaming face, "that we have killed this beast. The poor people will have plenty to eat now." "Ha! ha! _ha_!" roared Peetoot, giving increased emphasis to each successive shout, and prolonging the last into a yell of delight, as he cracked the ponderous whip from side to side like a volley of pistolry. "O Peetoot!" exclaimed Edith, in a remonstrative tone, as the sledge swayed to and fro with the rate at which they were sweeping over the plain, "don't drive so fast; you will kill the poor dogs!" "Ho! ho! _ho-o-o_! Eeduck!" roared the boy, aiming a shot at the leader's left ear, and bringing the thick end of the whip down on the flanks of the six hindmost dogs. Thus, amid a volley of roars, remonstrances, yells, yelps, and pistolry, Edith and her friends scoured over the frozen sea, and swept into the Esquimau camp like a whirlwind. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. ANOTHER DESPERATE BATTLE, AND A DECIDED VICTORY--THE ESQUIMAUX SUFFER A SEVERE LOSS. The night that followed the day of which we have given an account in the last chapter was a night of rest to Edith, but not to the Esquimaux. Scarcely allowing themselves time to harness their dogs, after the news reached them, they set off for the scene of action in a body. Every sledge was engaged, every able-bodied male and female started. None were left in camp except the sick, of whom there were few; and the aged, of whom there were fewer. While engaged in the hurried preparations for departure the women sang with delight, for they had been living on very short allowance for some weeks past, and starvation had been threatening them; so that the present success diffused among these poor creatures a universal feeling of joy. But their preparations were not numerous. A short scene of excited bustle followed Annatock's arrival, a few yells from the dogs at starting, and the deserted camp was so silent and desolate that it seemed as if human beings had not been there for centuries. It did not continue long, however, in this state. Two or three hours later, and the first of the return parties arrived, groaning under the burdens they carried and dragged behind them. The walrus-flesh was packed on the dog-sledges; but as for the few seals that had been caught, they were sledges to themselves--cords being tied to their tails, to which a dozen natives attached themselves, and dragged the carcasses over the snow. Peetoot, whose spirit that night seemed to be intoxicated with success, and who felt that he was the lion of the night (after Annatock!), seated himself astride of one of the dead seals, and was dragged into camp on this novel sledge, shouting a volley of unintelligible jargon at the top of his voice, in the midst of which "Eeduck" frequently resounded. At length the last lingerer arrived, and then began a feast of the most extraordinary kind. The walrus-flesh was first conveyed to the igloo of Annatock, where it was cut up and distributed among the natives. The women seemed quite frantic with joy, and went about from hut to hut embracing one another, by way of congratulation. Soon the lamps of the village were swimming with oil, the steaks stewing and roasting, the children provided with pieces of raw blubber to keep them quiet while the larger portions were being cooked, and the entire community gormandising and rejoicing as savages are wont to do when suddenly visited with plenty in the midst of starvation. During all this scene, Edith went about from hut to hut enjoying herself. Nay, reader, be not horrified; thou knowest not the pliable and accommodating nature of humanity. Edith did not enjoy the filth by which she was surrounded--far from it; neither did she enjoy the sight of raw blubber being sucked by little babies, especially by her own favourite; but she _did_ enjoy the sight of so much plenty where, but a few hours ago, starvation had begun to threaten a visit; and she did enjoy and heartily sympathise with the undoubted and great happiness of her hospitable friends. A very savoury dish, with a due proportion of lean to the fat, cut specially to suit her taste, smoked on Eeduck's table that night, and Peetoot and the baby helped her to eat it. Really it would be a matter of nice calculation to ascertain whether Peetoot or the baby laughed most on this jovial occasion. Undoubtedly the former had the best of it in regard to mere noise; nevertheless the pipe of the latter was uncommonly shrill, and at times remarkably racy and obstreperous. But as the hours flew by, the children throughout the camp generally fell asleep, while their seniors sat quietly and contentedly round their kettles and lamps, eating and slumbering by turns. The amount of food consumed was enormous, and quite beyond the belief of men accustomed to the appetites of temperate zones; but we beg them to remember that arctic frosts require to be met with arctic stimulants, and of these an immense quantity of unctuous food is the best. Next morning the Esquimaux were up and away by daybreak, with their dogs and sledges, to bring home the remainder of the walrus-meat; for these poor people are not naturally improvident, and do not idle their time in luxurious indolence until necessity urges them forth again in search of food. In this respect they are superior to Indians, who are notoriously improvident and regardless of the morrow. This day was signalised by another piece of success on the part of Annatock and his nephew, who went to the scene of yesterday's battle on foot. Edith remained behind, having resolved to devote herself entirely to the baby, to make up for her neglect of the previous day. On reaching the place where the walrus had been slain, Annatock cut off and bound up a portion with which he intended to return to the camp. While he was thus employed, along with a dozen or more of his countrymen, Peetoot came running towards him, saying that he thought he saw a seal lying on the ice far ahead. Having a harpoon and two spears with them, Annatock left his work and followed his nephew to the spot where it was supposed to be lying. But on reaching the place they found that it was gone, and a few bells floating at the surface of the hole showed where it had made its descent to the element below. With the characteristic indifference of a man accustomed to the vicissitudes and the disappointments of a hunter's life, the elder Esquimau uttered a grunt and turned away. But he had not proceeded more than a few paces when his eye became riveted on the track of some animal on the ice, which appeared to his practised eye to be quite fresh. Upon examination this proved to be the case, and Annatock spoke earnestly for a few minutes with his nephew. The boy appeared from his gestures to be making some determined remarks, and seemed not a little hurt at the doubting way in which his uncle shook his head. At length Peetoot seized a spear, and, turning away, followed the track of the animal with a rapid and determined air; while Annatock, grasping the other spear, followed in the boy's track. A brisk walk of half an hour over the ice and hummocks of the sea carried them out of sight of their companions, but did not bring them up with the animal of which they were in chase. At length Peetoot halted, and stooped to scrutinise the track more attentively. As he did so an enormous white bear stalked out from behind a neighbouring hummock of ice, and after gazing at him for a second or two, turned round and walked slowly away. The elder Esquimau cast a doubtful glance at his nephew, while he lowered the point of his spear and seemed to hesitate; but the boy did not wait. Levelling his spear, he uttered a wild shout and ran towards the animal, which instantly turned towards the approaching enemy with a look of defiance. If Annatock had entertained any doubts of his nephew's courage before, he had none now; so, casting aside all further thought on the subject, he ran forward along with him to attack the bear. This was a matter attended with much danger, however, and there was some reason in the man feeling a little uncertainty as to the courage of a youth who, he was aware, now faced a bear for the first time in his life! At first the two hunters advanced side by side towards the fierce-looking monster, but as they drew near they separated, and approached one on the right, the other on the left of the bear. As it was determined that Annatock should give the death-wound, he went towards the left side and hung back a moment, while Peetoot advanced to the right. When about three yards distant the bear rose. The action had a powerful and visible effect upon the boy; for as polar bears are comparatively long-bodied and short-legged, their true proportions are not fully displayed until they rear on their hind legs. It seemed as if the animal actually grew taller and more enormous in the act of rising, and the boy's cheek blanched while he shrank backwards for a moment. It was only for a moment, however. A quick word of encouragement from Annatock recalled him. He stepped boldly forward as the bear was glancing savagely from side to side, uncertain which enemy to attack first, and, thrusting his lance forward, pricked it sharply on the side. This decided the point. With a ferocious growl the animal turned to fall upon its insignificant enemy. In doing so its left shoulder was fully exposed to Annatock, who, with a dart like lightning, plunged his spear deep into its heart. A powerful shudder shook the monster's frame as it fell dead upon the ice. Annatock stood for a few minutes leaning on his spear, and regarding the bear with a grim look of satisfaction; while Peetoot laughed, and shouted, and danced around it like a maniac. How long he would have continued these wild demonstrations it is difficult to say--probably until he was exhausted--but his uncle brought them to a speedy termination by bringing the butt-end of his spear into smart contact with Peetoot's flank. With a howl, in which consternation mingled with his glee, the boy darted away over the ice like a reindeer to convey the glad news to his friends, and to fetch a sledge for the bear's carcass. On returning to the village there was immediately instituted another royal feast, which continued from day to day, gradually decreasing in joyous intensity as the provender decreased in bulk, until the walruses, the bear, and the seals were entirely consumed. Soon after this the weather became decidedly mild, and the power of the sun's rays was so great that the snow on the island and the ice on the sea began to be resolved into water. During this period several important changes took place in the manners and customs of the Esquimaux. The women, who had worn deerskin shoes during the winter, put on their enormous waterproof summer boots. The men, when out on the ice in search of seals, used a pair of wooden spectacles, with two narrow slits to peep through, in order to protect their eyes from the snow-blindness caused by the glare of the sun on the ice and snow--a complaint which is apt to attack all arctic travellers in spring if not guarded against by some such appliance as the clumsy wooden spectacles of the Esquimaux. Active preparations were also made for the erection of skin summer tents, and the launching of kayaks and oomiaks. Moreover, little boys were forbidden to walk, as they had been wont to do, on the tops of the snow-houses, lest they should damage the rapidly-decaying roofs; but little boys in the far north inherit that tendency to disobedience which is natural to the children of Adam the world over, and on more than one occasion, having ventured to run over the igloos, were caught in the act by the thrusting of a leg now and then through the roofs thereof, to the indignation of the inmates below. A catastrophe of this sort happened to poor Peetoot not long after the slaying of the polar bear, and brought the winter camp to an abrupt termination. Edith had been amusing herself in her house of ice all the morning with her adopted baby, and was in the act of feeding it with a choice morsel of seal-fat, partially cooked, to avoid doing violence to her own prejudices, and very much under-done in order to suit the Esquimau baby's taste--when Peetoot rushed violently into the hut, shouted Eeduck with a boisterous smile, seized the baby in his arms, and carried it off to its mother. Edith was accustomed to have it thus torn from her by the boy, who was usually sent as a messenger when Kaga happened to desire the loan of her offspring. The igloo in which Kaga and her relations dwelt was the largest in the village. It was fully thirty feet in diameter. The passage leading to it was a hundred yards long, by five feet wide and six feet high, and from this passage branched several others of various lengths, leading to different storehouses and to other dwellings. The whiteness of the snow of which this princely mansion and its offices were composed was not much altered on the exterior; but in the interior a long winter of cooking and stewing and general filthiness had turned the walls and roofs quite black. Being somewhat lazy, Peetoot preferred the old plan of walking over this palace to going round by the entrance, which faced the south. Accordingly, he hoisted the fat and smiling infant on his shoulder, and bounded over the dome-shaped roof of Kaga's igloo. Alas for the result of disobedience! No sooner had his foot touched the key-stone of the arch than down it went. Dinner was being cooked and consumed by twenty people below at the time. The key-stone buried a joint of walrus-beef, and instantly Peetoot and the baby lay sprawling on the top of it. But this was not all. The roof, unable to support its own weight, cracked and fell in with a dire crash. The men, women, and children struggled to disentomb themselves, and in doing so mixed up the oil of the lamps, the soup of their kettles, the black soot of the walls and roof, the dogs that had sneaked in, the junks of cooked, half-cooked, and raw blubber, and their own hairy-coated persons, into a conglomerate so atrocious to behold, or even think upon, that we are constrained to draw a curtain over the scene and spare the reader's feelings. This event caused the Esquimaux to forsake the igloos, and pitch their skin tents on a spot a little to the southward of their wintering ground, which, being more exposed to the sun's rays, was now free from snow. They had not been encamped here more than three days when an event occurred which threw the camp into deep grief for a time. This was the loss of their great hunter, Annatock, the husband of Kaga. One of those tremendous north-west gales, which now and then visit the arctic seas and lands with such devastating fury, had set in while Annatock was out on the ice-floe in search of seals. Many of his comrades had started with him that day, but being a bold man, he had pushed beyond them all. When the gale came on the Esquimau hunters prepared to return home as fast as possible, fearing that the decaying ice might break up and drift away with them out to sea. Before starting they were alarmed to find that the seaward ice was actually in motion. It was on this ice that Annatock was employed; and his countrymen would fain have gone to warn him of his danger, but a gap of thirty feet already separated the floe from the main ice, and although they could perceive their friend in the far distance, busily employed on the ice, they could not make their voices heard. As the gale increased the floe drifted faster out to sea, and Annatock was observed running anxiously towards the land; but before he reached the edge of the ice-raft on which he stood, the increasing distance and the drifting clouds of snow hid him from view. Then his companions, fearful for their own safety, hastened back to the camp with the sad news. At first Kaga seemed quite inconsolable, and Edith exerted herself as a comforter without success; but as time wore on the poor woman's grief abated, and hope began to revive within her bosom. She recollected that the event which had befallen her husband had befallen some of her friends before in exactly similar circumstances, and that, although on many occasions the result had been fatal, there were not a few instances in which the lost ones had been driven on their ice-raft to distant parts of the shore, and after months, sometimes years, of hardship and suffering, had returned to their families and homes. Still this hope was at best a poor one. For the few instances there were of return from such dangers, there were dozens in which the poor Esquimaux were never heard of more; and the heart of the woman sank within her as she thought of the terrible night on which her husband was lost, and the great, stormy, ice-laden sea, over whose surging bosom he was drifted. But the complex machinery of this world is set in motion and guided by One whose power and wisdom infinitely transcend those of the most exalted of His creatures; and it is a truth well worthy of being reiterated and re-impressed upon our memories, that in His hands those events that seem most adverse to man often turn out to be for his good. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. EDITH WAXES MELANCHOLY, BUT HER SADNESS IS SUDDENLY TURNED INTO JOY; AND THE ESQUIMAUX RECEIVE A SURPRISE, AND FIND A FRIEND, AND LOSE ONE. The sea! How many stout hearts thrill and manly bosoms swell at the sound of that little word, or rather at the thought of all that it conveys! How many there are that reverence and love thy power and beauty, thy freedom and majesty, O sea! Wherein consists the potent charm that draws mankind towards thee with such irresistible affection? Is it in the calm tranquillity of thy waters, when thou liest like a sheet of crystal, with a bright refulgent sky reflected in thy soft bosom, and the white ships resting there as if in empty space, and the glad sea-mews rippling thy surface for a brief moment and then sailing from the blue below to the deeper blue above, and the soft song of thy wavelets as they slide upon the shingly shore or lip among the caves and hollows of the rocks! Or is it in the loud roar of thy billows, as they dash and fume and lash in fury on the coasts that dare to curb thy might?--that might which, commencing, mayhap, in the torrid zone of the south, has rolled and leaped in majesty across the waste of waters, tossed leviathans as playthings in its strength, rushed impetuously over half the globe, and burst at last in helplessness upon a bed of sand! Or does the charm lie in the yet fiercer strife of the tempest and the hurricane, when the elements, let loose, sweep round the shrinking world in fury; or in the ever-changing aspect of thy countenance, now bright and fair, now ruffled with the rising breeze, or darkened by the thunder-cloud that bodes the coming storm! Ah yes! methinks not one but all of these combined do constitute the charm which draws mankind to thee, bright ocean, and fills his soul with sympathy and love. For in the changeful aspects of thy visage there are talismans which touch the varied chords that vibrate in the hearts of men. Perchance, in the bold whistle of thy winds, and the mad rolling of thy waves, an emblem of freedom is recognised by crushed and chafing spirits longing to be free. They cannot wall thee round. They cannot map thee into acres and hedge thee in, and leave us naught but narrow roads between. No ploughshare cleaves thee save the passing keel; no prince or monarch owns thy haughty waves. In thy hidden caverns are treasures surpassing those of earth; and those who dwell on thee in ships behold the wonders of the mighty deep. We bow in adoration to thy great Creator; and we bow to thee in love and reverence and sympathy, O sea! Edith sat on the sea-shore. The glassy waves were no longer encumbered with ice, but shone like burnished gold in the light of the summer sun. Here and there, however, a large iceberg floated on the deep--a souvenir of winter past, a guarantee of winter yet to come. At the base of these blue islands the sea, calm though it was, broke in a continual roar of surf, and round their pinnacles the circling sea-birds sailed. The yellow sands on which the child sat, the green willows that fringed the background of brown rocks, and the warm sun, contrasted powerfully with the vestiges of winter on the sea, while a bright parhelia in the sky enriched and strengthened these characteristics of an arctic summer. There was busy life and commotion in the Esquimau camp, from which Edith had retired to some distance to indulge in solitude the sad reveries of home, which weighed more heavily on her mind as the time flew by and the hope of speedy delivery began to fade. "O my own dear mother," sighed the child aloud, while a tear trickled down each cheek, "shall I never see you more? My heart is heavy with wishing, always wishing. But no one comes. I never see a boat or a ship on that wide, wide sea. Oh, when, when will it come?" She paused, and, as she had often done before, laid her face on her hands and wept. But Edith soon recovered. These bursts of grief never lasted long, for the child was strong in hope. She never doubted that deliverance would come at _last_; and she never failed to supplicate at the throne of mercy, to which her mother had early taught her to fly in every time of trouble and distress. Soon her attention was attracted from the sea, over whose wide expanse she had been gazing wistfully, by the loud voices of the Esquimaux, as a number of them prepared to embark in their kayaks. Several small whales had been descried, and the natives, ever on the alert, were about to attack them. Presently Edith observed Peetoot running along the beach towards her with a seal-spear or harpoon in his hand. This youth was a remarkably intelligent fellow, and had picked up a few words and sentences of English, of which he made the most. "Eeduck! Eeduck!" he cried, pointing to one of the oomiaks which the women were launching, "you go kill whale--funny; yes, Eeduck." "I don't think it will be very funny," said Edith, laughing; "but I'll go to please you, Peetoot." "Goot, Eeduck; you is goot," shouted the boy, while he flourished his harpoon, and seizing his companion by the hand, dragged her in the direction of the kayaks. In a few minutes Edith was ensconced in the centre of the oomiak amid a pack of noisy Esquimau women, whose tongues were loosed and spirits raised by the hope of a successful hunt. They went merely for the purpose of witnessing the sport, which was to be prosecuted by twelve or thirteen men, each in his arrow-like kayak. The women sat round their clumsy boat with their faces to the bow, each wielding a short, broad paddle, with which they propelled their craft at good speed over the glassy wave; but a few alternate dips of the long double-bladed paddles of the kayaks quickly sent the men far ahead of them. In the stern of the oomiak sat an old grey-headed man, who filled the office of steersman; a duty which usually devolves upon old men after they become unfit to manage the kayak. Indeed, it requires much vigour as well as practice to paddle the kayak, for it is so easily upset that a man could not sit in it for a minute without the long paddle, in the clever use of which lies the security of the Esquimau. When the flotilla had paddled out a short distance a whale rose, and lay as if basking on the surface of the water. Instantly the men in the kayaks shot towards it, while the oomiak followed as fast as possible. On drawing near, the first Esquimau prepared his harpoon. To the barb of this weapon a stout line, from eight to twelve fathoms long, was attached, having a _dan_, or float, made of a sealskin at the other end of it. The dan was large enough to hold fifteen gallons or more. Having paddled close to the whale, the Esquimau fixed the harpoon deep in its side, and threw the dan overboard. The whale dived in an agony, carrying the dan down along with it, and the Esquimau, picking up the liberated handle of the harpoon as he passed, paddled in the direction he supposed the whale must have taken. In a short time the dan re-appeared at no great distance. The kayaks, as if shot from a bow, darted towards the spot, and before the huge fish could dive a second time, it received two more harpoons and several deep stabs from the lances of the Esquimaux. Again it dived, carrying two additional dans down with it. But the dragging tendency of these three large floats, combined with the deep wounds it had received, brought the fish sooner than before to the surface, where it was instantly met and assailed by its relentless pursuers, who, in the course of little more than an hour, killed it, and dragged it in triumph to the shore. The natives were still occupied in towing the captured fish, when one of the men uttered a wild shout, and pointed eagerly out to sea. At first Edith imagined that they must have seen another whale in the distance; but this opinion was quickly altered when she observed the eager haste with which they paddled towards the land, and the looks of surprise with which, ever and anon, they regarded the object on the horizon. This object seemed a mere speck to Edith's unaccustomed eyes; but as she gazed long and earnestly at it, a thought flashed across her mind. She sprang up; her sparkling eyes seemed as though they would burst from their sockets in her eager desire to make out this object of so great interest. At this moment the oomiak touched the land. With a bound like a gazelle Edith sprang on shore and ran panting with excitement to the top of a rocky eminence. Here she again directed her earnest gaze out to sea, while her colour went and came as she pressed her hands upon her breast in an agony of hope. Slowly but surely the speck came on; the wind shifted a point, which caused a gleam of sunlight to fall upon a sail. It was a boat! there could be no doubt of it--and making directly for the island! Unable to contain herself, Edith, uttering a piercing cry, sank upon the ground and burst into a passionate flood of tears. It was the irresistible impulse of hope long deferred at length realised; for the child did not entertain a doubt that this was at length the answer to her prayers. Meanwhile the Esquimaux ran about in a state of extraordinary excitement. These people had very probably heard of the ships which once a year pass through Hudson's Straits on their way to the depots on the shores of Hudson's Bay; but they had never met with them, or seen a Kublunat (white face) before that great day in their annals of discovery when they found little Edith fainting in the snow. Their sharp eyes had at once detected that the approaching boat was utterly different from their own kayaks or oomiaks. And truly it was; for as she drew near with her white sails bending before the evening breeze that had recently sprung up, and the Union Jack flying from her peak, and the foam curling before her sharp prow, she seemed a very model of grace and symmetry. There were only three figures in the boat, one of whom, by the violent gesticulations that he made as they approached, bespoke himself an Esquimau; the other two stood erect and motionless, the one by the tiller, the other by the sheet. "Let go," said a deep soft voice, when the boat was within a stone's-cast of the shore. The sheet flapped in the wind as the peak fell, and in another instant the keel grated on the sand. For one moment a feeling of intense disappointment filled Edith's heart as she sought in vain for the face of her father or Frank; then with a cry of joy she sprang forward and flung herself into the arms of her old enemy, Gaspard! "Thank God!" said Dick Prince, with a tremulous voice, as he leaped lightly from the boat and clasped the child in his arms; "thank God we have found you, Miss Edith! This will put new life into your poor mother's heart." "Oh! how is she? Why did she not come with you?" sobbed Edith; while Dick Prince, seating himself on a rock, drew her on his knee and stroked her fair head as she wept upon his shoulder. Meanwhile Annatock was being nearly devoured by his wife and child and countrymen, as they crowded round him to obtain information, and to heap upon him congratulations; and Gaspard, in order to restrain, and at the same time relieve his feelings, essayed to drag the boat out of the water, in which attempt, giant though he was, being single-handed, he utterly failed. After the first eager questions were answered on both sides, the natives were informed by their comrade of the nature and objects of the establishment at Ungava, and they exhibited the most extravagant signs of joy on hearing the news. When their excitement was calmed down a little, they conducted the party to their principal tent, and set before them the choicest viands they possessed, talking vehemently all the while, and indulging in a few antics occasionally, expressive of uncontrollable delight. "Ye see, Miss Edith," began Prince, when he and Gaspard were seated before a round of walrus-beef, "the way we came to know your whereabouts was this: Gaspard and me was sent down to the coast to hunt seals, for we were getting short o' blubber, and did not like to be obleeged to give deer's-meat to the dogs. Your father gave us the boat; `for,' says he, `Prince, it'll take ye down faster than the canoe with this wind; and if ye see any o' the natives, be sure ye don't forget to ask about _her_, Prince.' Ye see, Miss Edith, ever since ye was lost we never liked to mention your name, although we often spoke of you, for we felt that we might be speakin' o' the dead. Hows'ever, away we went for the shores o' the bay, and coasted along to the westward a bit. Then we landed at a place where there was a good lot o' field-ice floatin', with seals lyin' on it, and we began to catch them. One day, when we was goin' down to the ice as usual, we saw a black object sittin' on a floe that had drifted in the night before with a stiff breeze. "`That's a queer-lookin' seal,' says Gaspard. "`So 'tis,' said I. `If there was ever black bears up hereabouts, I would say it was one o' them.' "`Put a ball in yer gun,' says Gaspard; for ye see, as we had been blazin' at small birds the day before, there was nothing but shot in it. So I put in a ball, and took aim at the beast, intendin' to give it a long shot. But I was mercifully prevented from firin'. Jist as I squinted along the barrel, the beast rose straight up, and held up both its fore paws. `Stop!' roars Gaspard, in an awful fright; and sure enough I lowered my gun, and the beast hailed us in the voice of a man, and began to walk to the shore. He seemed quite worn out when he landed, and I could understand enough of his jargon to make out that he had been blown out to sea on the floe, and that his name was Annatock. "While we were talkin' to the Esquimau, Gaspard cries out, `I say, Prince, look here! There's a sort o' medal on this chap's neck with somethin' written on it. You're a larned fellow, Prince; see if ye can make it out.' So I looked at it, and rubbed my eyes once or twice, I can tell you, for, sure enough, there was EDITH as plain as the nose on my face." "Oh," exclaimed Edith, smiling through her tears, "that was the medal I hung round his neck long, long ago! I hoped that it might be seen some day by people who knew me." "I thought so, miss," returned Prince--"I thought as much, for I knew that the Esquimau could never have invented and writ that out of his own head, ye see. But Gaspard and me had most awful trouble to get him to explain how he came by it, and where he came from. Howsoever, we made out at last that he came from an island in this direction; so we just made up our minds to take the boat and come straight away for the island, which we did, takin' Annatock to pilot us." "Then does my father not know where you are, or anything about your having heard of me?" inquired Edith, in surprise. "Why, no, Miss Edith," replied Prince. "You see, it would have lost us two or three days to have gone back to Fort Chimo; and, after all, we thought it might turn out a false scent, and only raise your poor mother's hopes for nothin'. Besides, we were sent away for a week or two, so we knew they wouldn't wonder at our absence; so we thought, upon the whole, it would be best to come at once, specially since it was sich a short distance." "A short distance!" repeated Edith, starting up. "I thought we must be miles and miles, oh, ever so far away! Is the distance really short?" "Ay, that it is, little one," said Prince, patting the child on the head. "It is not more than three days' rowing from this island, and a stiff breeze on the quarter would carry us there in less than two." "And Frank, where is Frank?" said Edith,--with a look of eager inquiry. "Ah, miss," replied Prince, "he has been away almost as long as yourself. Soon after you were lost a packet came from the south, and he was obleeged to give up the sarch after you--though he was loath to do it--and set out with three o' the men for Moose. From that day to this we've heerd nothin' of him. But the journey he had to make was a long one--havin' to go round all the way to York Fort--so we didn't expect to hear o' him afore now. But I'll tell ye more about all your old friends when we git--things ready for a start to-morrow." The remainder of that day was spent in making preparation for setting sail on the following morning. The first intimation of the existence of the new trading-fort had thrown the child-like natives into rapturous delight; but when Prince told them he intended to go off the next day with the child who had been as a bright spirit in their camp so long, they fell into the depths of grief. Indeed, there was manifested a slight desire to offer forcible opposition to this; but when Edith told them, through the medium of Peetoot, who acted as her interpreter, that the distance to her father's fort was not great, and that she would expect them to come often there, and stay long, they became reconciled to her departure; and when she sought to turn their minds (a work of no great difficulty at any time) away from that subject by describing to them the treasures of the trading-store, they danced and laughed and sang like very children. Even Kaga's baby crowed with a racy richness of feeling, and smiled with an oily brilliancy of expression, compared with which all its former exhibitions were mere child's play. But when the hour of departure really came, and Edith bade farewell to her kind friends, whose rude but warm hospitality she had enjoyed so long, they were again plunged into the deepest distress; and when the little boat finally put to sea, there was not a tearless eye among the tribe, while Edith was swiftly borne from their island shore before a strong and favouring breeze. CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. THE CLOUDS ARE BROKEN, THE SUN BURSTS THROUGH AND ONCE MORE IRRADIATE PORT CHIMO--HOPES AND FEARS FOR MAXIMUS. The wings of time moved slowly and heavily along at Fort Chimo. Hope long deferred, expectation frequently reviving and as often disappointed, crushed the spirits of the little party. The song, and jest, and laugh seldom sounded from the houses of the men, who went through their daily avocations almost in silence. Not only had the loss of Edith--the bright spirit of the place, the tender rosebud in that savage wilderness--cast an overwhelming gloom upon the fort, but the failure of the trade, to a great extent, had added to the general depression, and now fresh anxiety was beginning to be felt at the non-appearance of Frank Morton. "Jessie," said Stanley one day, as he rose from the desk at which he had been writing, and put on his cap with the intention of taking a stroll along the beach, "will you come with me today? I know not how it is, but every time I go out now I expect to hear the ship's gun as it comes through the narrows." Mrs Stanley rose, and throwing on a shawl and hood, accompanied her husband in silence. "Perhaps," she said at length, "you expect to hear the gun because the vessel _ought_ to be here by this time." As she spoke, La Roche came up and touched his cap. "Please, madame, vat you vill have pour dinner?" "Whatever you please, La Roche. Repeat yesterday's," answered Mrs Stanley, with the air of one who did not wish to be troubled further on the subject. But La Roche was not to be so easily put down. "Ah, madame! pardonnez moi. Dat is impossible. Ve have fresh fish yesterday, dere be no fresh fish to-day. More de pity. C'est dommage-- dat Gaspard him gone away--" La Roche was interrupted by a sudden exclamation from his master, who pointed, while he gazed earnestly, towards the narrows of the river. It seemed as if the scene of last year were repeated in a vision. Against the dark rock appeared the white, triangular sail of a vessel. Slowly, like a phantom, it came into view, for the wind was very light; while the three spectators on the beach gazed with beating hearts, scarcely daring to credit their eyes. In a few seconds another sail appeared--a schooner floated into view; a white cloud burst from her bows, and once again the long, silent echoes of Ungava were awakened by the roaring of artillery. The men of the fort left their several employments and rushed to the beach to welcome the vessel with a cheer; but although it was heartfelt and vigorous, it was neither so prolonged nor so enthusiastic as it was on the first occasion of the ship's arrival. As the vessel dropped anchor opposite the fort, Frank Morton leaped on her bow, and along with the crew returned the cheer with a degree of energy that awakened memories of other days. "There's Frank!" cried Stanley, turning on his wife a glance of joy. "Bless the boy! It warms my heart to see him. He must have picked up some Indian woman by the way. I see the flutter of a petticoat." As he spoke, the boat pushed off from the vessel's side, and a few rapid strokes sent it bounding towards the shore. "Eh! what's this?" exclaimed Stanley, as his wife broke from him, and with a wild shriek rushed into the lake. The figure of a child stood on the boat's bow, with her arms extended to the shore. "Hurrah, lads! give way!" shouted Frank's deep voice. "Mother! mother!" cried the child. In another moment Frank bounded over the boat's side and placed Edith in her mother's arms! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Reader, there are incidents in the histories of men which cannot be minutely described without being marred. Such an one was the meeting between the father and mother and their long-lost child. We refrain from attempting to draw aside the curtain further than to say that the joy and gratitude in more than one heart at Ungava found vent that night in thanksgiving to Him who can bring light out of darkness and turn sorrow into joy. The greater part of the day was spent at the fort in that feverish excitement which cannot calm down to steady conversation, but vents itself in eager, rambling questions and abrupt replies. Meanwhile, the necessity of discharging the cargo of the vessel, and preparing the furs for shipment, served to distract the attention and occupy the hands of the whole party. As evening advanced, La Roche, true to his duty, placed supper on the table, and Stanley and his wife, along with Edith and Frank, while they partook of the meal, continued their inquiries. "Whereabouts was it, Frank, that you fell in with the boat?" said Stanley. "Not more than five miles from the mouth of the river, at about six this morning. We observed the boat beset by a pretty solid pack of ice, and you may be sure we were not a little surprised when we saw the Union Jack run up to her peak; so I ordered our boat to be lowered, intending to go to her assistance. While the men were doing this, I examined her with the glass, and then it was that I found, to my amazement and inexpressible joy, that the boat contained Prince, Gaspard, and Edith." "Ah! Frank," said Mrs Stanley, "was it not a strange providence that you, who were so sad at being compelled to give up the search, should be the one appointed to find our beloved child, and bring her back to us?" "Nay," replied Frank, "it was not I who found her. Let me not rob Dick Prince and Gaspard of the honour and gratitude which they have nobly won." "And what do you think of the non-arrival of Maximus?" said Stanley, whose feelings were still too much perturbed to allow him to dwell for more than a few minutes at a time on any subject. Frank shook his head. "I know not what to think," said he. "As I have told you already, we left him at Moose Fort with his recovered bride, and we got the missionary to marry them there in due form. Next day they started in a small canoe on their return voyage to Ungava, and the day following I left for Lake Superior. I fully expected to find them here on my return." Stanley looked grave. "I fear much," said he, "that some mischance has befallen the good-hearted Esquimau. He was well armed, you say, and amply supplied with provisions?" "Ay, most certainly. He took two guns with him, saying that his wife was as good a shot as himself." "The men wish to know where the heavy goods are to be put," said Massan, as he opened the door, and stood, cap in hand, awaiting orders. Stanley rose to leave the room. "I'll be with you in a minute, Massan.--Then, Frank, we'll expect an account of your journey to-night. Eda is very anxious that we should be told all about your wonderful adventures in the mountains. Meanwhile I shall be off to look after the men." When the sun had set that night, and the song of the sailors had ceased, and most of the wearied inhabitants of Fort Chimo were enjoying a fragrant pipe after the labours of the day, Frank and Stanley seated themselves, one on either side of the fire-place, with Mrs Stanley and Edith in front of the hearth between them. An extra pine-knot was thrown on the fire, which, in a few minutes, rendered the candle on the table unnecessary. Stanley lit his pipe, and after drawing one or two whiffs to make sure that it would keep alight, said,--"Now, Frank, my boy, we're ready for you; fire away." Frank fired away, literally, for he applied a piece of glowing charcoal to his pipe, and fired off half a dozen rapid puffs in reply, as it were, to his friend opposite. Then he began. CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. ROUGH AND TUMBLE--A POLAR BEAR MADE USEFUL--FISHING AND FLOUNDERING, AND NARROW ESCAPES--AN UNEXPECTED DISCOVERY, PRODUCTIVE OF MINGLED PERPLEXITY AND JOY. "You remember, I daresay, that the day on which I left Ungava, last spring, was an unusually fine one--just such a day, Eda, as those on which you and I and Chimo were wont to clamber up the berry-glen. But the clambering that we went through there was nothing to the work we went through on our third day from the fort. Maximus and Oolibuck were first-rate climbers, and we would have got over the ground much faster than we did but for the dogs, which could not travel easily over the rough ground with their loaded sled. Chimo, indeed, hauled like a hero, and if the other dogs had been equal to him we would have been here before to-day. Well, as I said, our third day was one of considerable toil. Leaving the river we struck into the mountains, but after nearly breaking our sled to pieces, and endangering our necks more than once, we found it necessary to return to the river and follow its windings into the interior. "After many days of as rough travelling as I ever experienced, we came to the lake district on the height of land, and travelled for some time more rapidly and with much greater ease. There were plenty of ptarmigan here, so that we saved our provisions--a matter of importance, as you know, in a country where we might have found nothing fit for food. One evening, towards sunset, as we were crossing a large lake, it came on to snow heavily, and ere long we could not see the land. "`What shall we do, Maximus?' said I; `it seems to me that if we go on we may wander out of our course and lose much time ere we find it again. Shall we turn back?' "`Better go on,' replied Maximus. "Oolibuck seemed to be of the same opinion, so I gave my whip a flourish to urge on the dogs, which were beginning to flag, owing to the difficulty of drawing the sled through the deepening snow. But the two rear dogs could hardly be prevailed on to move. Even Chimo was knocked up. In this dilemma Maximus came to my aid. He hung one of the ptarmigan at his belt, and letting the dogs smell it, walked on before. The hungry animals brightened up instantly, and went forward for a considerable distance with alacrity. "But after trudging on for two or three miles, the snow fell so thickly that we thought proper to call a halt and hold another council of war. "`Now,' said I, `it is my opinion that we should encamp on the ice; there is no use in wearying the dogs, and ourselves in uncertainty; what think you, lads?' "`Me t'ink so too,' said Oolibuck. "Maximus nodded his head by way of assent, so we immediately set to work to make our encampment. You recollect the hut we built on the lake when I was so badly hurt, and when you were lost, Eda? Well, we made a snow-house just like that one; and as we worked very hard, we had it up and were all snug under its shelter in little more than two hours. Meanwhile, the dogs were fed; and a small piece of wood, that we fortunately brought with us on the sled, was cut up, and a fire kindled. But this only served long enough to boil the kettle; and then it went out, leaving us to eat our supper in the dark, for by this time the sun had set. However, we did not mind that much; and when we had finished, and were stretched out side by side on the snow, smoking our pipes, while the dogs lay at our feet and kept us warm, I thought that a palace could not have been more comfortable than our snow-house. "As we had no wood wherewith to make another fire, and so could not procure water except by the tedious process of digging through the ice, I resolved to try an experiment which I had once heard had been attempted with success. This was, to fill a bottle with snow and take it to bed with me. During the night the heat of my body melted the snow, and in the morning we had sufficient water to give us each a draught at breakfast. "When morning came we found that it was blowing and drifting so hard that we could not venture to move; so we made up our minds to remain where we were until the weather should moderate. "`Maximus,' said I, after our breakfast of cold boiled ptarmigan was over, `set to work outside and dig a hole through the ice. I have no doubt we shall find fish in this lake. If we do, they will form an excellent addition to our fare. I will prepare the lines and hooks.' "Maximus, whose huge body was stretched out at full length, while he enjoyed his pipe, rose to obey; but as he was about to leave the hut Oolibuck said a few words to him. "`Please, sir,' said Oolibuck, with his usual oily smile, `my countrymen fish in igloo when blow hard. Pr'aps ve make hole here, if you like.' "`Very good,' said I; `make the hole where you please, and look sharp about it, else I shall have my lines prepared before you reach the water.' "The two Esquimaux immediately set to work, and in less than an hour a hole about six feet deep was yawning in the middle of our floor. Through this we set two lines, and our usual luck attended us immediately. We caught five or six excellent white-fish, and one or two trout, in the first half-hour, so that we were enabled to give the dogs a capital feed. Moreover, we froze as many as we could carry along with us for future use; but we had not the satisfaction of having a good dinner of them that day, as we had no wood wherewith to make fire. You would have been greatly amused had you peeped in at the ice-window of our igloo that day, as we sat round the hole in the floor with eager, excited looks. I confess, however, that I left the work principally to the two men, who seemed to relish it amazingly. Maximus was earnest and energetic, as he always is; but the expression of Oolibuck's face underwent the most extraordinary transformations--now beaming with intense hope, as he felt, or thought he felt, a _tug_; anon blazing with excitement, while his body jerked as if a galvanic shock had assailed it, under the influence of a decided _pull_. Then his visage was elongated as the fish escaped, and was again convulsed by another pull, or shone in triumph as he hauled the wriggling captive into the light of day. "Towards evening the wind fell, and we resumed our journey. We were not again interrupted by weather for more than a week after this, but were much perplexed by the chains of small lakes into which we came. At last we reached Clearwater Lake, and had a long consultation as to the best course to pursue, because it was now a question whether we should follow the chain of lakes by which we came up to Ungava in our canoes, or make a straight cut for the coast and take our chance of finding it. While we were yet uncertain what to do, our course was decided by a polar bear!" "A polar bear!" cried Edith, in surprise. "Ay; a polar bear and her cub settled the question for us, as you shall hear presently," replied Frank. "But first hand me papa's tobacco-pouch, please, as my pipe is exhausted. "There, now," continued Frank, re-lighting his pipe, and throwing a fresh log on the fire, "that's comfortable. Well, as I said, we were somewhat perplexed as to what we should do, when, in wandering about the lake endeavouring to find the outlet, I came upon the track of a polar bear; and by the side of it were little foot-prints, which showed me that it was a she-bear with her cub. I observed that the tracks were quite fresh. "`Now, then, Maximus,' said I, pointing to the tracks, which went to the westward, `there is a sure guide who will conduct us by the quickest route to the coast.' I could tell this, Eda, because I knew that the bear had found food rather scarce in those high regions, and would descend Clearwater River in order to fish in the open water at the falls, which are very numerous in that river. On reaching the coast it would find plenty seals in the sea. In the meantime I had nothing to do but follow its track to be conducted by the shortest route to Clearwater River, the commencement of which was difficult to find owing to the flatness of the margin of the lake at this end. Away we went then, and, as I had expected, were soon led to the river, down the banks of which we scrambled, over rocks and crags, through bushes and snow, until we came to the coast at Richmond Gulf. "But it took us many weeks to accomplish the journey which I have briefly sketched thus far, and when we reached the coast, worn with hard travel, and our clothing uncomfortably ragged, the spring was well advanced--rivers were breaking up, ducks and geese were passing to the north, and there were thousands of deer, so that we found ourselves suddenly in the midst of abundance. Just before reaching the gulf I witnessed the breaking up of a river, which was one of the grandest sights I ever saw. "The river was not a very large one. On reaching it we were much struck with a curious barrier of ice that was jammed across it. On examination I saw that the ice had given way some time before we arrived there, and an enormous cake, of many yards surface and fully six feet thick, had, while being hurled along by the swelling water, caught upon the rugged rocks and been tilted upon end. Thus it formed a temporary barrier, against which other masses were forced until the outlet was completely checked, and the water began to rise with great rapidity. As we stood on the high cliff, looking down on the wild ravine in which this was going on, I heard a loud crack. In another instant the obstructing barrier burst like a thunderclap, and the pent-up waters leaped with one mighty roar into their accustomed channel! The devastation created was inconceivably grand. Rocks of many tons weight were torn up, cast like playthings on the rushing ice, and hurled on the cliffs below, while trees, and ice, and water swept down the gorge in a mad whirl, that made my brain reel as I gazed at it. In an hour the worst of this awful scene was over, but the unutterable desolation that was left will remain for centuries, I believe, to tell of the mighty _rush_ that happened there. "Our first experience of Richmond Gulf was not by any means pleasant. When we arrived it was covered with ice; but we did not know that, although it appeared to be solid enough, it was in reality little better than frozen sludge or foam. Oolibuck happened to be walking first, with the line of his little sled over his shoulder. For a short distance we plodded on, intending to cross the gulf; but I was suddenly aroused from a reverie by a shout from Maximus. Looking hastily up, I beheld nothing of Oolibuck except his head above the ice, while Maximus was trying to pull him out by hauling at the tail-line of the sled. Luckily Oolibuck had kept fast hold of the line which was over his shoulder, and after much trouble we succeeded in dragging him out of the water. A sharp frost happened to have set in, and before we got back to the shore the poor fellow's garments were frozen so stiff that he could not run. "`This is a bad job, Maximus,' said I; `we must carry him. Do you lift his head, and I'll take the feet.' "`Oh be queek! I is frizzen up,' cried Oolibuck, casting a rueful look through his tangled locks, which were a mere mass of icicles! "Maximus gave a loud chuckle, and before I could assist him he seized his comrade in his powerful arms, heaved him over his shoulder like a sack, and ran towards the shore as lightly as if his burden were a child instead of a big over-fed Esquimau! "Arrived at the woods, we wrapped Oolibuck in our blankets; then we kindled a fire, and in two hours after his clothes were dried and himself ready to proceed. This might have turned out a more serious accident, however, and we felt very thankful when we had our damp companion steaming beside a good fire. The lesson was not thrown away, for we coasted round Richmond Gulf instead of attempting to cross it. "And now," continued Frank, stirring the fire and re-lighting his pipe, which invariably went out at the interesting parts of his narrative--"now I come to that part of my story which bears on the fate of Maximus. "As I have said, we had arrived at the coast, and began to look forward to Moose Fort as the first resting-place on our journey. By far the greater part of the journey lay before us, Eda; for, according to my calculation, I have travelled since last spring a distance of three thousand miles, nearly a thousand of which have been performed on foot, upwards of a thousand in boats and canoes, and a thousand by sea; and in the whole distance I did not see a civilised spot of ground or a single road--not so much as a bridle-path. As Bryan's favourite song has it-- "`Over mountains and rivers I was pelted to shivers.' "But I'm happy to say I have not, as the same song continues, `met on this land with a wathery grave.' I was very near it once, however, as you shall hear. "Well, away we went along the coast of James's Bay, much relieved to think that the mountains were now past, and that our road henceforth, whatever else it might be, was level. One evening, as we were plodding wearily along, after a hard day's march over soft snow alternated with sandy beach--for the spring was fast advancing--we came suddenly on a camp of Indians. At first I thought they must be some of the Moose Indians, but on inquiry I found that they were a party of Muskigons, who had wandered all over East Main, and seemed to be of a roving, unsettled disposition. However, we determined to encamp along with them for that night, and get all the information we could out of them in regard to their hunting-grounds. "We spent a great part of the night in the leathern wigwam of the principal chief, who was a sinister-looking old rascal, though I must say he received us hospitably enough, and entertained us with a good deal of small-talk, after time and the pipe had worn away his reserve. But I determined to spend part of the night in the tent of a solitary old woman who had recently been at Moose Fort, and from whom I hoped to hear some news of our friends there. You know I have had always a partiality for miserable old wives, Eda; which accounts, perhaps, for my liking for you! This dame had been named Old Moggy by the people at Moose; and she was the most shrivelled, dried-up, wrinkled old body you ever saw. She was testy too; but this was owing to the neglect she experienced at the hands of her tribe. She was good-tempered by nature, however; a fact which became apparent the longer I conversed with her. "`Well, Old Moggy,' said I, on entering her tent, `what cheer, what cheer?' "`There's no cheer here,' she replied peevishly, in the Indian tongue. "`Nay, then,' said I, `don't be angry, mother; here's a bit o' baccy to warm your old heart. But who is this you have got beside you?' I asked, on observing a good-looking young girl, with a melancholy cast of countenance, seated in a dark corner of the wigwam, as if she sought concealment. I observed that she was whiter than Indians usually are, and supposed at first that she was a half-breed girl; but a second glance convinced me that she had little if any of the Indian blood in her veins. "`She is my only friend,' said Old Moggy, her dark eye brightening as she glanced towards the girl. `She was to have been my son's wife, but the Great Spirit took my son away. She is all that is left to me now.' "The old woman's voice trembled as she spoke the last few words, and she spread her skinny hands over the small fire that smouldered in the centre of the floor. "I was proceeding to make further inquiries into this girl's history, when the curtain-door of the tent was raised and Oolibuck thrust in his shaggy head. "`Please, sir, de ole chief him wants baccy. I have smoke all mine. Vill you give some?' "`Here you are,' said I, throwing a lump to the Esquimau. `Send Maximus to me; I want to speak with him.' "`I is here,' said Maximus, outside the tent. "`Ah! that's right.--Now, Old Moggy, I'll be back in a few minutes, so don't go to sleep till I return.' "As I was about to issue from the tent, the young girl passed me hastily, and, drawing the hood over her head and face, darted through the opening. I found Maximus gazing after her in surprise. "`Hallo, Maximus! what's wrong? Do you think the girl's a witch?' "`No; but I t'ink she be funny. She look close into my face, and fly 'way when you come hout o' tent.' "`That's odd. Did you ever see her before?' "`I not see her yet. She keep face covered up.' "`Well, come along, it doesn't signify. I want you to go with me to the chief's wigwam, to ask where we are to put the dogs for the night, and to see about our own quarters.' "Old Moggy's wigwam stood at the distance of several hundred yards from the other tents of the village, from which it was separated by a belt of stunted trees and willows. Through this copsewood Maximus and I took our way, following one of the many beaten tracks made by the Indians. The night was clear, and we found no difficulty in picking our steps among the low shrubs. When we were about half-way through this wood, I observed a female form gliding among the bushes. She ran towards Maximus, who walked in advance and concealed me with his bulky form. But a slight bend in the road revealed my figure, and the woman paused, as if uncertain what to do. "`Surely that is your unknown friend again,' said I, as we both halted. Then I beckoned her to approach. At first she appeared unwilling to do so; but suddenly she seemed to change her mind, and walking boldly up to Maximus, she threw back her hood and stood before him. I observed that she was Moggy's young friend, but a wondrous change had come over her. The pale cheeks were now covered with a bright blush, and the sad eyes were sparkling with animation, as she gazed intently into the face of the Esquimau. For a few seconds Maximus looked like one thunder-struck. `Aneetka!' he exclaimed vehemently, and, striding forward with a suppressed cry, clasped the girl in his arms. "You may easily conceive my surprise at this scene. Immediately the recollection of the attack by the Indians on the Esquimau camp, and of Maximus's young bride having been carried off, flashed upon me, and I had no doubt that the Esquimau girl now stood before me. Indeed, the fact of the broken exclamations uttered by the pair being in the Esquimau tongue put this beyond a doubt. A feeling of great delight filled my heart as I looked upon the couple thus unexpectedly reunited; while they, quite oblivious of my presence, poured out a flood of question and reply, in the midst of which they ever and anon embraced, to make sure, no doubt, of their physical identity. Then it suddenly occurred to me that I was behaving very ill, so I wheeled about and sauntered away to a little distance in the direction of the shore, in order to take some astronomical observations of the sky, and gaze inquiringly up at the moon, which at that moment broke through a bank of clouds, tipping the icebergs on the sea and the branches of the overhanging trees with silver light. "In quarter of an hour Maximus came to me and presented his long-lost bride, Aneetka, whose pretty face beamed with joy, while her lover's frame appeared to expand with felicity until he looked like an exaggerated Hercules. But we had no time to waste in talking of the past. The present required our instant and earnest attention; so we sat down on the stem of a fallen tree to consult as to how we were to get Aneetka out of the hands of her Indian captors. Her brief history, after she was captured at Ungava, was as follows:-- "The Indian who had intended to make her his bride found her resolved rather to die than to marry him; but hoping that time would overcome her objection, he placed her under the care of his widowed mother, Old Moggy, on returning to his village in the interior. Soon afterwards this Indian was killed by a brown bear, and the poor mother became a sort of outcast from the tribe, having no relations to look after her. She was occasionally assisted, however, by two youths, who came to sue for the hand of the Esquimau girl. But Aneetka, true to her first love, would not listen to their proposals. One of these lovers was absent on a hunting expedition at the time we discovered Aneetka; the other, a surly fellow, and disliked by the most of his comrades, was in the camp. From the day of her son's death, a feeling of sympathy had sprung up between Old Moggy and the Esquimau girl, and this had gradually strengthened into affection. "Thus matters stood when we fell in with her. After much deliberation, it was resolved that I should go to the old chief and tell him that Old Moggy and her adopted child wished to quit the tribe and go to Moose with us, to live there; while Aneetka should go and acquaint her old protectress with our plans and her own altered circumstances. "`Adieu, then, Aneetka,' said I, as the girl pushed her lover away and bounded into the woods.--`Now, Maximus, nothing will do for it but stout hearts and strong arms. Come along, lad.' "I found, to my surprise, that the old chief had no objection to the arrangement I proposed. A few of the others did not seem inclined to part with their captive; but I explained to them the advantage it would be to them to have friends at court, as it were, and said that the fur-traders would be glad to support Moggy in her old age--which was true enough, for you all know as well as I do that there is not a post in the country where there are not one or more old or otherwise helpless Indians supported gratuitously by the Hudson's Bay Company. The only man who resolutely opposed the proposal was Meestagoosh, the rejected lover; but I silenced him in a novel manner. He was a tall, powerful fellow, of about my own size. "`Come,' said I to his assembled comrades, in the Indian language, for I found they understood my bad mixture of Cree and Sauteaux very well--`come, friends, let us deal fairly in this matter. My man there has taken a fancy to the girl--let Meestagoosh and Maximus wrestle for her.' "A loud laugh greeted this proposal, as the Indians surveyed the huge proportions of my Esquimau. "`Well, then,' I continued, `if Meestagoosh is afraid of the Esquimau, I have no objections to try him myself.' The Indian looked at me with an angry glance, and seemed, I thought, half inclined to accept the challenge; so, to cut the matter short, I took him by the throat and hurled him to the ground--a feat which was evidently enjoyed by his countrymen. "Meestagoosh rose and retired with a savage scowl on his face, and I saw no more of him. Indeed, I believe he left the camp immediately. "After this no opposition was offered, and I made the matter sure by distributing a large quantity of powder, shot, and tobacco to the chiefs. Old Moggy made no objection to our plan, so we set out the next day with an additional dog purchased from the Indians in order to make our team strong enough to haul the old woman when she got knocked up with walking. Six days brought us to Moose Fort, just as the ice on the river was breaking up. Here, as I have already told you, Maximus and Aneetka were married in due form by the Wesleyan missionary, after they had received some instruction and expressed their desire to become Christians. Then they were supplied with a canoe and all necessary provisions, and sent off to go round the coast to Ungava, accompanied by our good dog Chimo, for whom we had now no further use, and by Old Moggy, who would not consent to be separated from her friend Aneetka. They started along the coast on a fine spring day, and the back of his sealskin coat, shining in the sun's rays like velvet, as the canoe swept out to sea, and disappeared behind a low point, was the last that I saw of Maximus. "I will not weary you just now," continued Frank, "with the details of my subsequent journeying, as, although full of incidents, nothing of a very thrilling character occurred except once. At Moose I remained till the rivers were clear of ice, and then set off into the interior of the country with a small canoe and five men, Oolibuck being bowsman. For many days we voyaged by rivers and lakes, until we arrived at the Michipicoten River, which is a very rough one, and full of tremendous falls and rapids. One day, while we were descending a rapid that rushed through a dark gorge of frowning rocks, and terminated in a fall, our canoe was broken in two, and the most of us thrown into the water. We all swam ashore in safety, with the exception of one man, who clung to the canoe, poor fellow, and was carried along with it over the fall. We never saw him more, although we searched long and carefully for his body. "We now found ourselves in a very forlorn condition. We were dripping wet, without the means of making a fire, and without provisions or blankets, in the midst of a wild, uninhabited country. However, we did not lose heart, but set off on foot to follow the river to its mouth, where we knew we should find relief at Michipicoten Fort. The few days that followed were the most miserable I ever passed. We allayed the cravings of hunger by scraping off the inner bark of the trees, and by a few of last year's berries which had been frozen and so preserved. Once or twice we crossed the river on rafts of drift-wood, and at night lay down close to each other under the shelter of a tree or cliff. At length we arrived at the fort on Lake Superior, quite worn out with fatigue and starvation. Here we waited until the canoes from Canada passed; and after a somewhat similar voyage, through woods, rivers, and lakes, arrived at length, about the beginning of autumn, at York Fort, on Hudson's Bay. "Here I spent some weeks in recalling to memory and recording on paper the contents of my dispatches, which had been lost, along with our canoe and baggage, in Michipicoten River; and when these were finished and delivered, I embarked, along with our outfit of goods, in the _Beaver_, and sailed for Ungava. I need scarcely add that the voyage was a prosperous one, and that the brightest day in it all was that on which we found the boat, with our dear little Edith, beset among the ice near the entrance to Ungava Bay." While Frank was thus occupied in narrating the events of his long journey in the hall of Fort Chimo, Oolibuck was similarly employed in entertaining the men. After the day's toil of unloading the ship was over, he was placed in the middle of the circle, directly in front of the blazing fire, by Dick Prince and Massan; while Moses, Oostesimow, Gaspard, and Ma-istequan sat on his right; and Bryan, La Roche, Francois, and Augustus supported him on the left--all having pipes in their mouths, which were more or less blackened by constant use. A pipe was then handed to Oolibuck, and the order given, generally by Bryan, "to blaze away." This the oily-visaged Esquimau did with right good-will; and the shouts of laughter which issued from the house occasionally, as he proceeded with his interminable narration, proved that the spirit and humour of the stout voyageur had not been crushed by the trials and dangers of his long, eventful journey. CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. A STIRRING PERIOD IN THE LIFE OF MAXIMUS. Intermingled joy and sorrow is the lot of man. Thus it has ever been; thus, no doubt, it shall continue to be until the present economy shall have reached its termination. "Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?" is a sufficient reply to those who would fain have it otherwise. But, independently of this view of the subject, may we not, with the painter's eye, regard joy as the light, sorrow as the shade, in the picture of life? And who would have a painting _all_ light or _all_ shadow? Maximus found it so in his experience. The shadows in the picture of his life had of late been broad and dark, but a flash of vivid brilliancy had crossed it when he found his bride. Afterwards the light and shade were chequered, as we shall see. On leaving Moose, Maximus proceeded a day's journey along the coast, and at night, as the weather was fine, he encamped with his wife and Old Moggy and Chimo on the open seashore. Here he held a consultation as to their future proceedings. As long as they were on the shore of James's Bay they were in danger of being found by Indians; but once beyond Richmond Gulf they would be comparatively safe, and in the land of the Esquimaux. After mature deliberation it was resolved that they should travel during the night, and rest and cook their food during the daytime, when a fire would not be so likely to attract attention if kindled in sequestered places. This plan answered very well, and they passed stealthily along the coast when the Indians, if there were any there, were buried in repose. On approaching the camp of the tribe, however, from whom Aneetka had been taken, Maximus deemed it advisable to paddle far out to sea--the weather being fortunately calm--and to rest for a day and a night as well as they could in their frail bark. Maximus sat in the stern of the canoe and steered; his wife sat in the bow and paddled day after day as vigorously as if she had been a man. As for poor Old Moggy, she sat in the middle and paddled a little when she felt cold; but she slept during the greater part of the journey. Chimo conceived it to be his duty to enjoy himself, and did so accordingly, at all times and in every possible way. During that livelong day and night, and all the following day, the giant's arm never flagged; Aneetka, too, rested only once or twice at the earnest request of her husband; but the little bark never once slackened its speed until the second night. Then Old Moggy was awakened. "Mother," said Aneetka, who acted as interpreter between her husband and the old woman, "we want to sleep for an hour or two. You seem to have rested well. Will you wake and watch?" The old woman yawned, rubbed her eyes, and assented, after the question had been twice repeated. Then laying their heads on opposite sides of the canoe, without otherwise changing their positions, the husband and wife sank into repose. Two hours afterwards the old Indian woman, who had remained motionless as a dark statue all the time, uttered a slight sound. Instantly the sleepers awoke, for those who are in the midst of danger sleep lightly. "It is time to go on," said the old woman, as she lay back again in her lair, rolled herself up into a bundle, and went to sleep. Maximus and his wife resumed their paddles, and the light craft glided swiftly on its way to the far north. As the sun rose they neared the land, and soon after they were seated not far from a high cliff, eating their breakfast beside a small fire, which sent so thin a column of smoke into the air that it was almost dissipated ere it reached the tree-tops. It was hoped that the Indians had been now so far overshot that there was no danger of even a straggler being near them. But they took the precaution to load their two guns with ball, and lean them against a tree within reach of their hands. When the meal was over, Maximus retired from the fire a few paces, and throwing himself at full length on the green moss beneath a tree, he fell into a sound sleep. He had not lain thus more than quarter of an hour when he was startled by the report of a gun, which was followed by a wild scream and a chorus of unearthly yells. At the same instant, and ere he could attempt to rise, his legs and arms were pinioned to the ground by four powerful Indians. For an instant Maximus was paralysed. Then the terrible reality of his position, the scream of Aneetka, and the sight of the thong with which his captors were about to bind him, caused his spirit to rebound with a degree of violence that lent him for the moment the strength of a giant. With a shout, in which even a tone of contempt seemed to mingle the Esquimau hurled his captors right and left, and sprang to his feet. The Indians fled; but one, who was a moment later in rising than the others, received a blow that felled him instantly. Maximus glanced quickly round in search of his wife, and observed her being hurried away by two Indians. As the arrow leaps from the bow the Esquimau sprang forward in pursuit. The Indians saw him coming. In bitter anger they prepared to let her go and fly, for having dropped their guns in the scuffle they were unable to fire upon their approaching foe. But there were other Indians in the bush whose weapons were levelled at the breast of Maximus, and the next moment would have been his last, but for a stone thrown from the cliffs above, which struck him on the forehead and stretched him bleeding and insensible upon the ground. When Maximus recovered from the effects of the blow, he found himself lying on the cold earth in total darkness, and firmly bound hand and foot. It is impossible to describe the agony of that bold spirit as he lay writhing on the ground, in the vain effort to burst the cords that bound him. He thought of Aneetka and his own utter helplessness, while she was, no doubt, in urgent need of his strong arm to deliver her. The thought maddened him, and again he strove in vain to burst his fetters, and yelled aloud in despair. The echoing rocks gave back his cry, and then all was silence. The dreadful thought now flashed across him that the Indians had buried him alive in some dark cavern, and brave though he was, he trembled in every limb with agony. Thus Maximus lay until the grey dawn shone in upon him, and showed that he was in a cave. Scarcely had he noted this fact when the figure of a man darkened the cave's mouth and approached him. As the Indian bent over his helpless foe he revealed the savage features of Meestagoosh. For an instant he cast a look of mingled hatred and triumph on his enemy; then drawing a scalping-knife from his girdle, he stooped and cut the thong that bound his feet, at the same time signing to him to rise, for he knew that Maximus did not understand Indian. The Esquimau obeyed, and was led by the Indian through the woods towards the cliff where the struggle of the previous night had taken place. Here they came suddenly into view of the Indian camp. There were no tents: several green blankets that lay on the moss under the trees indicated where the party had lain during the night; and at a considerable distance apart from these sat Old Moggy, with her face buried in her skinny hands. Beside her stood Aneetka, with a calm but slightly anxious expression on her pale countenance. Chimo was held in a leash by an Indian. From the fact of the Indians being without tents or women, and having their faces daubed with red paint, besides being armed with knives, guns, and tomahawks, Maximus concluded that they composed a war party. On seeing her husband, Aneetka uttered a suppressed cry and bounded towards him; but ere she had proceeded two paces an Indian laid his hand on her arm, and led her back to where the old woman sat. Meestagoosh led Maximus to the same spot, and having confronted him with his wife, he said to the latter,--"Now, she-bear of the north, translate between us. If I think you tell lies, the dogs shall have your bones to pick." Aneetka replied meekly, "You cannot hurt one hair of our heads unless the Great Spirit permit you." "We shall see," retorted the Indian with a scornful laugh. "Tell the polar bear," continued Meestagoosh, in a contemptuous tone, "that I did not expect to catch him so soon. I have been fortunate. It was kind of him to come in my way, and to bring his she-bear with him. Tell him that I and my braves are going to pay a visit to his nation, to take a few scalps. I let him know this piece of good news because he will never know it from his friends, as he shall be food for dog very soon." On this being translated, the face of Maximus assumed an expression of deep gravity mingled with sadness. His mind flew to the far north, and he thought of the midnight assault and the death-cry of women and children. The nature of the Esquimau was too noble and generous to be easily ruffled by the contemptuous tone of such a man as Meestagoosh; but his heart sank within him when he thought of the power as well as the will that the Indian had to put his threat into execution. "Tell him," said Maximus quietly, "that I have no wish to talk with him, but remind him that Indians are not gods; they are men." "Yes, he says truly," retorted Meestagoosh, "the Indians are men, but Esquimaux are dogs." While this conversation was going on, and the Indians were intent upon the scene, Old Moggy, who was not deemed worthy of being noticed, contrived unobserved to possess herself of a knife, and springing suddenly towards Maximus with an agility of which she seemed utterly incapable, she endeavoured to cut the thongs that bound his arms. Her hand was caught, however, by Meestagoosh, in time to frustrate her intention. Without deigning a word of remark, the Indian struck her a heavy blow on the cheek with the back of his open hand, which nearly stunned her. Staggering backward, she fell upon the ground with a low wail. The bosom of Maximus felt as if it would burst with rage. Before any one could prevent him, he raised his foot and struck Meestagoosh so violently on the chest that he fell as if he had been shot. In a moment he recovered, drew his knife, and springing like an infuriated tiger at his enemy, drove it with deadly force at his throat. Fortunately the arms of Maximus were tied in front of him, so that by raising them he was enabled to guard his chest and receive the stab on his wrist. The knife passed quite through the fleshy part of his left arm, but in doing so it severed one of the cords that bound him. Thought is not quicker than the mighty wrench with which the Esquimau burst the remaining cord and dashed his opponent to the ground. Before the astonished Indians could level their guns, Maximus had seized Aneetka in his arms and was bounding madly towards the cliff, which was not more than fifty yards distant. Every gun poured forth its deadly contents before he gained it; but his very nearness to the Indians seemed to contribute to his safety, and the suddenness of his flight rendered their hasty aim uncertain. In another moment he was round the point and behind the sheltering cliff, while the Indians uttered a terrific yell and darted forward in pursuit. Just about thirty paces beyond the point of the cliff that hid him for a few moments from view was the cave in which Maximus had spent the night. Quick as thought he sprang up the steep short ascent that led to its narrow entrance and darted in. Scarcely had he placed Aneetka behind a projection that formed an ample shelter at the mouth of the cave, when Chimo, who had broken from his captors, also darted in and crouched at his master's feet. Meanwhile the Indians came sweeping round the point, and seeing by the entrance of the dog where the fugitives had taken shelter, they bounded up the ascent. The first who reached the cave's mouth rashly passed the entrance. Ere he could fire his piece he received a blow from the fist of the Esquimau that fractured his skull, hurled him down the steep ascent, and dashed him against his comrades in the rear. This sudden repulse effectually checked the Indians, who are notoriously bad at storming. Indeed they would never have ventured to enter the cave in this manner had they not known that Maximus was totally unarmed. Withdrawing to a distance of about forty yards, the Indians now formed in a line, and loading their guns, fired volley after volley into the cave's mouth. But Maximus and his wife crouched with the dog behind the ledge of rock at the entrance, and remained there in perfect safety. In a few minutes the Indians ceased firing, and one of their number cautiously approached the cave, supposing, no doubt, that the fusillade must have wounded if it had not killed those within; but the instant he passed the entrance, knife in hand, he was caught in the powerful arms of Maximus and hurled down the slope. A yell of indignation from the Indians followed this feat, and another volley was fired into the cave, but without effect; and the savages, seeing that it was impossible in this way to dislodge their foe, assembled in a group to consult. Meanwhile Old Moggy had made good use of the opportunity thus afforded her to effect her escape. She darted into the bushes and made for the rocky ground in the rear of the camp. In doing so she happened to pass the tree against which leaned the two guns belonging to her friends. They had escaped notice during the _melee_ of the previous day, and, with the shot-belts and powder-horns, remained where they had been placed when she and her companions landed. The old woman eagerly seized these, and clambered with them over the rocks at a rate that would have done credit to more youthful limbs. On reaching a ridge of rock that overlooked the cave where Maximus was sheltered, Old Moggy became aware of how matters stood. She could also see, from her elevated position, that a track, or the bed of a dried-up watercourse, led through the bushes towards the cave. Without a moment's delay she descended it; but, on drawing near to the cave, she found that there was a barren spot of about thirty yards in extent between the place of refuge and the edge of the bushes. This open space was completely exposed to the view of the natives, who at that time were firing across it into the cavern; for, after their consultation, they had changed their position and renewed the fusillade. Moggy was now in despair. She knew that it would be impossible to pass the open ground without being shot, and she also felt certain that, when the Indians found their present attempts were fruitless, they would resort to others, in prosecuting which they would in all probability discover her. While she meditated thus, she looked earnestly towards the cave, and observed the astonished gaze of Maximus fixed upon her; for, from his position behind the ledge of rock, he could see the old woman without exposing himself to the Indians. While they gazed at each other a thought occurred to Old Moggy. She made a series of complicated signs, which, after frequent repetition, were understood by Maximus to mean that he was to expose himself to the view of the Indians. Instantly comprehending her meaning, the Esquimau stepped boldly from his place of concealment and shook his fist contemptuously in the face of his enemies. A shower of bullets and a yell of rage followed the act. This was just what Old Moggy had expected and desired. Not a gun remained undischarged, and before they could reload, she passed quickly over the open ground and bounded into the cave, where she turned and shook aloft the two guns with a hoarse laugh of triumph ere she sought the shelter of the ledge of rock. The Indians were so filled with fury at being thus outwitted by an old woman, that they forgot for a moment their usual caution, and rushed in a body up the slope; but ere they had accomplished half the distance two of their number fell, to rise no more. This was sufficient to check their career. Howling with baffled rage, and without waiting to pick up their fallen comrades, they darted right and left to seek the shelter of the bushes, for they could no longer remain in the open ground, now that their enemies were armed. For nearly an hour after this all was silence. Maximus and his companions could only form conjectures as to the movements of the Indians, for none of them were to be seen. However, as they had no resource but to remain in their retreat until night-fall, they endeavoured to make the place as comfortable as possible, and busied themselves in cleaning their arms. It happened that from the cave's mouth they could see their canoe, which still lay on the beach where they had originally left it; and, while they were looking at it, they perceived one of the Indians stealing down towards it. Fortunately Maximus had a gun in his hand ready loaded, and the instant the Indian appeared he fired and shot him. No second Indian dared to venture towards the little craft, although it lay only a few yards distant from the edge of the forest; for they knew that the watchful eye of the Esquimau was upon them, and that instant death would be the fate of him who should make the attempt. The little canoe now became an object of intense interest to both parties. The Indians knew that if their foe should succeed in reaching it he could easily escape. This, of course, he could not hope to do as long as daylight lasted; nor even when night should arrive, unless it were a very dark one. But, on the other hand, they knew that they did not dare to venture near it so long as there was sufficient light to enable Maximus to take aim at them with his deadly gun. Both parties, therefore, remained silent and apparently inactive during the remainder of the day. But the busy brains both of Indians and Esquimaux were, during this weary interval, employed in planning how to circumvent each other. As the shades of night deepened, each became more watchful. Once only did Maximus move from his post, in order to go to the farther end of the cave, where the large powder-horn had been placed for safety. As he did so, Chimo, who was tied to a rock, tried to follow him, and on finding that he was restrained, uttered a loud, mournful howl. This cry sent a thrill to the heart of Maximus, for it immediately occurred to him that any attempt to leave the cave stealthily would instantly be intimated to the watchful foe by the dog, and to take Chimo with them was impossible. "The dog must die," said Old Moggy, who divined at once what was passing in the man's mind. Maximus shook his head sadly. "I cannot kill Chimo," he said to Aneetka; "he is Edith's dog." Aneetka made no reply, for she felt the power of her husband's objection to injure the dog of his little favourite; yet she could not but perceive that the cry--which was invariably repeated when any of the party moved away from the animal--would betray them in the moment of danger. Nothing further was said for some time, but Old Moggy, who had no tender reminiscences or feelings in regard to the dog, proceeded quietly and significantly to construct a running-noose on the stout thong of leather that encircled her waist and served as a sash. While she was thus engaged the sun's last rays faded away and the night began to deepen around them. To the satisfaction of both parties the sky was draped with heavy clouds, which gave promise of a night of intense darkness. This was absolutely essential not only to the Indians but to Maximus, who had at length formed a plan by which he hoped to turn the dreaded cry of the dog to good account, although he had little hope of saving it from the Indians, should he succeed in escaping with the women. As the night grew darker he began to put this plan in execution. Taking his station at the entrance of the cave, he took a long and steady aim at the bow of the canoe, which could now be only seen dimly. Having adjusted the gun to his satisfaction he marked its position exactly on the rock, so that, when the canoe should be entirely hid from sight, he could make certain of hitting any object directly in front of it. Then he ordered Moggy and his wife to keep moving about the cave, so that the howling of Chimo should be kept up continually, and thus not appear unusual when they should really forsake the cave and attempt their escape. In order to show that he was still on the alert, he shortly after aimed at the canoe, which was now quite invisible, and fired. The effect was more startling than had been expected. A death-cry rent the air and mingled with the reverberations of the shot, proving that it had taken deadly effect on one of the Indians, who, under cover of the darkness, had ventured to approach the coveted canoe. A volley was instantly fired in the direction of the cave from various parts of the bushes, but without effect. Maximus now kept up a continued fire, sometimes discharging a succession of rapid shots, at other times firing at irregular intervals of from three to ten minutes. This he did purposely, with a view to his future plans. In the meantime the dog was made to keep up a continuous howling. "Now, Aneetka," said Maximus, as the ring of his last shot died away, "go, and may the Great Spirit guide thee!" Without a word of reply, the two women glided noiselessly like shadows into the thick darkness. About two minutes after they had disappeared, Maximus again fired several shots, taking care, however, to point considerably to the right of the canoe. Then he ceased for three minutes, and again fired several shots irregularly. At the last shot he passed from the cave so silently and quickly that even Chimo was deceived, and snuffed the air for a moment ere it renewed its sad wailing. In less than two minutes the Esquimau had glided, with the noiseless tread of a panther, to the spot where the canoe lay. Here he found his wife and the old woman crouching beside it. The water's edge was about ten yards distant. A few seconds would suffice to lift the light bark in his powerful arms and launch it. Aneetka and the old woman, who had already received minute instructions what to do, had glided quietly into the sea the instant Maximus touched them; for, as we have said, it was intensely dark and they could not see a yard before them. The women now stood up to the knees in water, with their paddles in their hands ready to embark. Stooping down, the Esquimau seized the canoe; but, just as he was about to lift it, he observed a tall dark object close to his side. "Wah!" whispered the Indian, "you are before me. Quick! the Esquimau dog will fire again." The words of the Indian were cut short by the iron gripe of Maximus on his throat, and the next instant he was felled by a blow that would have stunned an ox. So decided and quick was the action that it was not accompanied by more noise than might have been caused by the Indian endeavouring to lift the canoe, so that his comrades were not alarmed. Next moment the canoe was in the water. But the long silence, which had now been unbroken for eight or ten minutes, except by the howling of Chimo in the cave, began to arouse the suspicion of the red men; and no sooner was this the case than they glided from the bushes in all directions with noiseless tread. In a second or two the body of their fallen comrade was discovered, and a yell of fury rent the air (for concealment was now unnecessary), while they dashed into the water in pursuit. The darkness favoured the fugitives for a few seconds, and enabled the women to embark; but just as Maximus was about to step into his place, Meestagoosh seized him by the throat! Maximus was possessed of that ready presence of mind and prompt energy of character which are so necessary to a warrior, especially to him who wars with the prowling and stealthy savage. Almost in the same instant he gave the canoe a shove that sent it bounding out to sea, and raised his hand to catch the invisible arm which he knew must be descending with the deadly knife towards his heart. He succeeded so far that, although he did not arrest it, he turned the blow aside, receiving only a slight wound on the shoulder. Ere it could be repeated, he dealt his adversary a blow on the forehead, and hurled him back insensible into the water. The Esquimau immediately glided out into deep water; and now, for the first time in his life, he felt keenly the disadvantage of not being able to swim. This is an art which the inhabitants of the icy seas have never acquired, owing probably to the shortness of the season of open water, and the intense cold of the ice-laden seas, even in summer. The Indians, on the contrary, who live beside the warm lakes and rivers of the interior, are many of them pretty expert swimmers. Thus it happened that Maximus was obliged to stand up to his neck in the water, not daring to move or utter a sound, while his friends and foes alike sought in vain for him in the darkness. While he stood thus, uncertain how to act, he heard the water rippling near to him, and distinguished the hard breathing of a swimmer. Soon he observed a dark head making straight towards him. A sarcastic smile played for a moment on the face of the gigantic Esquimau, as he thought of the ease with which he should crush his approaching foe; and his hand was already raised to strike when it was arrested by a low whine, and the next moment Chimo was endeavouring to clamber upon his shoulder! It instantly occurred to Maximus that he might turn the dog's swimming powers to good account. Seizing Chimo by the flanks with both hands, he turned its head out to sea, and keeping it in that position, was dragged into deep water. When he had been thus conveyed what appeared to be about fifty yards, he uttered a low cry. He was heard by the Indians as well as by those in the canoe; but the latter happened to be nearer to the spot, and a few strokes of the paddles sent them alongside of their comrade, who quickly caught the stern of the bark. The women plied their paddles, the Esquimau gave a shout of triumph, and half immersed in the water, was dragged away from shore. A yell of anger, and, soon after, a desultory discharge of firearms, told that the Indians had given up the chase. But it was now a question how Maximus was to be got into the canoe. The frail bark was so crank that a much lighter weight than that of the burly Esquimau would have upset it easily; and as the stern was sharp, there was no possibility of climbing over it. This was a matter of considerable anxiety, for the water was excessively cold, being laden with ice out at sea. While in this dilemma, the canoe grated on a rock, and it was discovered that in the dark they had well-nigh run against a low cape that jutted far out from the land at this part of the coast. Here Maximus and the dog landed, and while the one shook its wet sides, the other wrung the moisture from his garments; after which necessary operation he leaped, with his canine friend, into the canoe, and they pushed well out to sea. When daylight returned, they were far beyond the reach of their Indian enemies. CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. HAPPY MEETINGS AND JOYOUS FEASTINGS--LOVE, MARRIAGE, DESERTION, DESOLATION, AND CONCLUSION. After the escape narrated in the last chapter, the stout Esquimau and his companions travelled in safety; for they had passed the country of the Indians, and were now near the lands of their own people. But if Maximus had not now to fight with men, he was not exempted from doing fierce battle with the elements of these inhospitable climes. For hundreds of miles he travelled along the east coast of Hudson's Bay and the southern shores of the Straits, now driven ashore by the storm, anon interrupted by drift-ice, and obliged to carry his canoe for miles and miles on his shoulders, while the faithful Aneetka trudged by his side, happy as the day was long; for, although her load was necessarily a heavy one, her love for Maximus made it rest lighter than the eider-down that floated from her fingers when she plucked the wild birds for their evening meal. Moggy, too, waddled along after her own fashion, with a resolution and energy that said much for her strength and constitution. She only carried the light paddles and a few trifling articles that did not incommode her much. During the spring and summer and autumn they pursued their arduous journey, living from hand to mouth on the produce of their guns, nets, seal-spears, and fishing-lines, which generally supplied them with enough for their daily wants, sometimes with abundance, but not unfrequently with just sufficient to keep them alive. Three or four times they met with Esquimaux, and rendered essential service to them, and to the fur-traders, by telling them of the new fort at Ungava, recounting the wonders of the store there, and assuring them that the chief desire of the traders, after getting their furs, was to do them good, and bring about friendly intercourse between them and the Indians. Late in the autumn the three voyageurs drew near to Ungava Bay, and in passing along the coast opposite to the island on which Edith had spent the winter, they overtook Annatock and his whole tribe, with a flotilla of oomiaks and kayaks, on their way to the same place. At the mouth of the bay they were joined by the Esquimaux of False River, who were carrying supplies of seal-blubber to the fort for the use of the dogs in winter, and a few deerskins to trade. It was a bright and beautiful autumn afternoon (a rare blessing in that dreary clime) when they passed the narrows of the river, and came in sight of Fort Chimo. On that day an unusually successful deer-hunt had taken place, and the fiddle had, as Bryan expressed it, been "sarved out" to the men, for the purpose of rejoicing their hearts with sweet sounds. On that day a small band of Indians had arrived with a rich and unusually large stock of furs, among which there were one or two silver foxes and a choice lot of superb martens. This tended to gladden the heart of Stanley; and truly he needed such encouragement. At one of the Company's inland trading-posts such a bundle of furs would have been received as a matter of common occurrence; but it was otherwise with the poverty-stricken Ungava, from which so much had been expected before its dreary, barren character was known. On that day, too, a picturesque iceberg had grounded near the fort at high water, and Frank took Edith in the small canoe to paddle her among its peaked and fantastic fragments. "You will be steersman and sit in the stern, Eda," said Frank, as they embarked. "I will stand in the bow and keep you clear of ice-tongues." "How beautiful!" exclaimed the delighted child, as their light craft glided in and out among the icy pinnacles which overhung them in some places as they passed. "Don't you hear a strange noise, Frank?" Truly Frank did hear a strange noise, and beheld a strange sight, for at that moment the Esquimau flotilla passed the narrows and swept round the bay; while the natives, excited by their unusual numbers and the unexpected return of Maximus, yelled and screamed and threw about their arms in a manner that defies description. "There must be strangers among them," said Frank, as he paddled towards the shore; "they are too numerous for our friends of False River." "That seems to be an Indian canoe coming on ahead," remarked Stanley, who, along with his wife and most of the men, had hurried to the beach on hearing the shouts of the approaching multitude. "Can it be possible?" exclaimed Frank, as the canoe drew near; "does it not look like Maximus--eh?" "Oh! o-o-o-oh! there's Chimo!" screamed Edith, her eyes dancing with mingled amazement and delight. The dog in his anxiety to reach the shore had leaped into the water; but he had miscalculated his powers of swimming, for the canoe instantly darted ahead. However, he was close on the heels of Maximus. "Give him a chare, bays," cried Bryan, as he ran down to the beach waving a large hammer round his head. "Now thin, hooray!" The appeal was responded to with heartfelt energy by the whole party, as their old comrade sprang from the canoe, and leaving his wife to look after herself, ran toward Stanley and Frank and grasped them warmly by the hands, while his huge face beamed with emotion. "I hope that's your wife you've brought with you, Maximus," said Stanley. "I can answer for that," said Frank; "I know her pretty face well." "Ah! le poor chien," cried La Roche; "it vill eat Miss Edith, I ver' much b'lieve, voila!" This seemed not unlikely, for the joy manifested by poor Chimo at the sight of his young mistress was of a most outrageous character, insomuch that the child was nearly overturned by the dog's caresses. "Musha! what have ye got there, Maximus?" said Bryan, who had been gazing for some time past in solemn wonder at the figure of Old Moggy, who, regardless of the noise and excitement around her, was quietly carrying the goods and chattels from the canoe to the beach. "Shure ye've found yer ould grandmother. She's the mortial parsonification of my own mother. Faix if it wasn't that her proboscis is a taste longer, I'd swear it was herself." At this point Massan stepped forward and took Maximus by the arm. "Come along, lad; there's too much row here for a comfortable palaver; bring your wife wi' you. Ye've run out o' baccy, now? Of coorse ye have. Come, then, to the house; I'll fill yer pipe and pouch, too, boy.--See after his canoe, La Roche; and bring the old ooman, Bryan." "Mind yer own consarns an' let yer shupariors proceed ye," said Bryan, as he shoved past, and tucking Old Moggy's arm within his own, marched off in triumph to the fort. Meanwhile, the main body of Esquimaux had landed, and the noise and confusion on the shore were so great that scarcely an intelligible sound could be heard. In the midst of all this, and while yet engaged in caressing Chimo, Edith felt some one pluck her by the sleeve, and on looking round she beheld the smiling faces of her old friends Arnalooa and Okatook. Scarcely had she bestowed a hearty welcome on them, when she was startled by an ecstatic yell of treble laughter close to her ear; and turning quickly round, she beheld the oily visage of Kaga with the baby--_the_ baby--in her hood, stark naked, and revelling in mirth as if that emotion of the mind were its native element--as indeed it was, if taken in connection with seal-fat. Scarcely had she recovered from her delight at this meeting, when she was again startled by a terrific shout, and immediately after Peetoot performed a violent dance around her, expressive of unutterable joy, and finished off by suddenly seizing her in his arms, after which he fled, horrified at his own presumption. To escape from this scene of confusion the traders returned to the fort, having directed the Esquimaux to pitch their camp on the point below; after which they were to assemble in the yard, for the double purpose of palavering and receiving a present of tobacco. That night was spent by the inhabitants of Fort Chimo in rejoicing. In her own little room Edith entertained a select tea-party, composed of Arnalooa, Okatook, Peetoot, Chimo, and the baby; and really it would be difficult to say which of them made most noise or which behaved most obstreperously. Upon mature consideration we think that Chimo behaved best; but that, all things considered, is not saying much for him. We rather think the baby behaved worst. Its oily visage shone again like a lustrous blob of fat, and its dimples glided about the surface in an endless game of hide-and-seek! As for Peetoot, he laughed and yelled until the tears ran over his cheeks, and more than once, in the excess of his glee, he rubbed noses with Chimo--a piece of familiarity which that sagacious animal was at length induced to resent and put a stop to by a gentle and partial display of two tremendous rows of white ivory. In the hall Stanley held a levee that lasted the greater part of the evening; and in the men's house a ball was got up in honour of the giant's return with his long-lost Aneetka. Ah, reader! although the countenances of the men assembled there were sunburnt and rough, and their garments weather-worn and coarse, and their language and tones unpolished, think not that their hearts were less tender or sympathetic than the hearts of those who are nurtured in softer scenes than the wilds of Ungava. Their laugh was loud and uproarious, it is true, but there was genuine, heartfelt reality in it. Their sympathy was boisterously expressed, mayhap, if expressed at all, but it was truly and deeply felt, and many an unbidden tear glanced from the bronzed cheeks of these stalwart men of the north, as they shook their gigantic comrade by the hand and wished him joy, and kissed his blooming bride. Aneetka had long since laid aside her native garb, and wore the more graceful and womanly costume of the Indian women, and Maximus wore the capote and leggings of the voyageur. But there were not wanting gentlemen from the camp at the point whose hairy garments and hoods, long hair and beards, did honour to the race of the Esquimaux; and there were present ladies from the same place, each of whom could a _tail_ unfold that would have been the admiration and envy of tadpoles, had any such creatures been there to see them. They wore boots too, to which, in width at least, those worn by fishermen are nothing. Some of them carried babies in their hoods--little naked imps, whose bodies and heads were dumplings (suet dumplings, we may add, for the information of the curious), and whose arms and legs were sausages. Bryan was great that night--he was majestic! The fiddle all but spoke, and produced a sensation of dancing in the toes of even those who happened to be seated. Bryan was great as a linguist, too, and exhibited his powers in this respect with singular felicity in the vocal entertainment that followed the dancing. The Esquimau language seemed a mere trifle to him, and he conversed, while playing the violin, with several "purty craytures" in their native tongue, with an amount of volubility quite surprising. Certainly it cannot be said that those whom he addressed expressed much intelligence; but Esquimaux are not usually found to be quick in their perceptions. Perchance Bryan was metaphysical! Mirth, hearty, _real_ mirth reigned at the fort, not only that day, but for many a day afterwards; for the dangers, and troubles, and anxieties of the first year were past. Hope in the future was strong, despite the partial failures that had been experienced; and through the goodness of God, all those who composed the original band of the "forlorn hope" were reunited, after many weary months of travel, danger, and anxiety, during part of which a dark and dreary cloud (now happily dispelled) had settled down on Fort Chimo. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Years have rolled away since the song and shout of the fur-trader first awakened the echoes of Ungava. Its general aspect is still the same, for there is no change in the everlasting hills. In summer the deer still wander down the dark ravines and lave their flanks in the river's swelling tide, and in winter the frost-smoke still darkens the air and broods above the open water of the sea; but Fort Chimo, the joy and wonder of the Esquimaux and the hope of the fur-trader, is gone, and a green patch of herbage near the flat rock beside the spring alone remains to mark the spot where once it stood. In the course of time the changes that took place in the arrangements of the Fur Company required the presence of Stanley at another station, and he left Ungava with his wife and child. The gentleman who succeeded him was a bold, enterprising Scottish Highlander, whose experience in the fur trade and energy of character were a sufficient guarantee that the best and the utmost would be done for the interests of the Company in that quarter. But however resolute a man may be, he cannot make furs of hard rocks, nor convert a scene of desolation into a source of wealth. Vigorously he wrought and long he suffered, but at length he was compelled to advise the abandonment of the station. The Governor of the Company--a man of extraordinary energy and success in developing the resources of the sterile domains over which he ruled--was fain to admit at last that the trade of Ungava would not pay. The order to retreat was as prompt and decisive as the command to advance. A vessel was sent out to remove the goods, and in a brief space of time Fort Chimo was dismantled and deserted. The Esquimaux and Indians soon tore down and appropriated to their own use the frames of the buildings, and such of the materials of the fort as had been left standing; and the few remnants that were deemed worthless were finally swept away and every trace of them obliterated by the howling storms that rage almost continually around these desolate mountains. And now, reader, it remains for me to dismiss the characters who have played their part in this brief tale. Of most of them, however, I have but little to say, for they are still alive, scattered far and wide throughout the vast wilderness of Rupert's Land, each acting his busy part in a new scene; for it is frequently the fate of those who enter this wild and stirring service to be associated for a brief season under one roof, and then broken up and scattered over the land, never again to be reunited. George Stanley, after a long sojourn in the backwoods, retired from the service, and, with his family, proceeded to Canada, where he purchased a small farm. Here Edith waxed strong and beautiful, and committed appalling havoc among the hearts of the young men for thirty miles around her father's farm. But she favoured no one, and at the age of seventeen acquired the name of being the coldest as well as the most beautiful and modest girl in the far west. There was a thin young man, with weak limbs and a tendency to fall into a desponding state of mind, who lived about three miles from Mr Stanley's farm. This young man's feelings had been so often lacerated by hopes and fears in reference to the fair Edith, that he mounted his pony one evening in desperation, and galloped away in hot haste to declare his passion, and realise or blast his hopes for ever. As he approached the villa, however, he experienced a sensation of emptiness about the region of the stomach, and regretted that he had not taken more food at dinner. Having passed the garden gate, he dismounted, fastened his pony to a tree, and struck across the shrubbery towards the house with trembling steps. As he proceeded, he received a terrific shock by observing the flutter of a scarf, which he knew intuitively belonged to Edith. The scarf disappeared within a bower which stood not more than twenty yards distant from him, close beside the avenue that led to the house. By taking two steps forward he could have seen Edith, as she sat in the bower gazing with a pensive look at the distant prospect of hill and dale, river and lake, in the midst of which she dwelt; but the young man could as easily have leaped over Stanley's villa, farm and all, as have taken these two steps. He essayed to do so; but he was rooted to the ground as firmly as the noble trees under which he stood. At length, by a great effort, he managed to crawl--if we may so express it--to within a few yards of the bower, from which he was now concealed only by a few bushes; but just as he had screwed up his soul to the sticking point, and had shut his eyes preparatory to making a rush and flinging himself on his knees at Edith's feet, he was struck powerless by the sound of a deep sigh, and, a moment after, was all but annihilated by a cough! Suddenly the sound of horse-hoofs was heard clattering up the avenue. On came the rider, as if in urgent haste. In a few seconds a curve in the avenue brought him into view. He was a man of handsome and massive proportions, and bestrode a black charger that might have carried a heavy dragoon like a feather. A wheel-barrow had been left across the track, over which the steed went with an easy yet heavy bound, betokening well-balanced strength and weight; and a bright smile lighted up the rider's bronzed face for an instant, as his straw-hat blew off in the leap and permitted his curling hair to stream out in the wind. As he passed the bower at a swinging gallop, an exclamation of surprise from Edith attracted his attention. The charger's hoofs spurned the gravel while he was reined up so violently that he was thrown on his haunches, and almost before the thin young man could wink in order to clear his vision, this slashing cavalier sprang to the ground and entered the bower. There was a faint scream, which was instantly followed by a sound so peculiar that it sent a thrill of dismay to the cavity in which the heart of the weak young man had once lodged. Stretching out his hand he turned aside the branches, and was brought to the climax of consternation by beholding Edith in the arms of the tall stranger! Bewildered in the intellect, and effectually crippled about the knees and ankles, he could only gaze and listen. "So you have come--at last!" whispered Edith, while a brilliant blush overspread her fair cheek. "O Edith!" murmured the stalwart cavalier, in a deep musical voice, "how my heart has yearned for this day! How I have longed to hear your sweet and well-remembered voice! In the desolate solitudes of the far north I have thought of you. Amid the silent glades of the forest, when alone and asleep on my mossy couch or upon my bed of snow, I have dreamed of you--dreamed of you as you were, a fair, sweet, happy child, when we wandered together among the mountains of Ungava--and dreamed of you as I fancied you must have become, and as I now find you to be. Yes, beloved girl, my heart has owned but one image since we parted, years ago, on the banks of the Caniapuscaw River. Your letters have been my bosom friends in all my long, long wanderings through the wilderness; and the hope of seeing you has gladdened my heart and nerved my arm. I have heard your sighs in every gentle air that stirred the trees, and your merry laugh in the rippling waters. Even in the tempest's roar and the thundering cataract I have fancied that I heard you calling for assistance; and many a time and oft I have leaped from my couch to find that I did but dream. But they were pleasant and very precious dreams to me. O Edith! I have remembered you, and thought of you, and loved you, through months and years of banishment! And now--" Again was heard the peculiar sound that had thrilled with dismay the bosom of the weak young man. "Halo! whence came this charger?" shouted a hale, hearty voice, as Stanley walked towards the bower. "Eh! what have we here?" he exclaimed, rushing forward and seizing the stranger in his arms,--"Frank--Frank Morton!" This was too much. The weak young man suddenly became strong as Hercules. He turned and fled down the avenue like a deer. The pony, having managed to unfasten its bridle, stood in the centre of the way gazing down the avenue with its back towards its master. Unwonted fire nerved the youth's limbs; with one bound he vaulted leap frog over the animal's back into the saddle, dashed his spurs into its sides, and fled like a whirlwind from the scene of his despair. Frank Morton and George Stanley, being both men of promptitude and decision, resolved that one month was long enough to make preparations for the marriage; and Edith, being the most dutiful daughter that ever lived, did what she was bid. That beautiful cottage which stands in the midst of most exquisite scenery, about two miles from Stanley's villa, is inhabited by Frank Morton and his family. That crow which you have just heard proceed from the nursery was uttered by the youngest of five; and yonder little boy with broad shoulders, who thrusts his hands into his pockets in a decided manner, and whistles vociferously as he swaggers down the avenue, is Master George F. Morton, on his way to school. La Roche and Bryan were so fortunate as to be appointed to the same establishment after leaving Ungava--somewhere near the mouth of the Mackenzie River, and within the region of all but perpetual frost and snow. They are sometimes visited by Esquimaux, which is fortunate; for, as Bryan says, "it guves him an opportunity o' studyin' the peecoolier dialects o' their lingo." Dick Prince was the only one who lost his life in the "forlorn-hope." He was drowned while out shooting in the bay alone in his canoe. A sudden storm upset his frail bark and left him struggling in the water. Prince was a strong swimmer, and he battled long for his life; but the ice-laden sea benumbed his hardy limbs, and he sank at last, without a cry, to rise no more. He was a noble specimen of his class--a brave, modest, unobtrusive son of the forest, beloved and respected by his companions; and when his warm heart ceased to beat, it was felt by all that a bright star of the wilderness had been quenched for ever. His body was found next day on the beach, and was interred by his mourning comrades in a little spot of ground behind the fort. It was many a long day after this melancholy event ere Massan could smile; and when the fort was finally deserted, he put in practice his long-meditated intention of becoming a hunter and taking to the Rocky Mountains, where he wanders now, if he has escaped the claws of the dreaded grizzly bear and the scalping-knife of the Red Indian. Moses, finding the life of a fur-trader not quite to his taste, rejoined his countrymen, and reverted to killing seals and eating raw blubber. The two Indians also returned to a purely savage life, which, indeed, they had only forsaken for a time. Augustus and Oolibuck died; and the latter left a son, who has already rendered good service as interpreter to the arctic expeditions, as his worthy father did before him. Francois and Gaspard are still together at one of the posts of the interior. They are now fast friends, and have many a talk over the days when they quarrelled and messed together at Fort Chimo. As for the poor Esquimaux, they were for a time quite inconsolable at the departure of the fur-traders, and with a species of childlike simplicity, hung about the bay, in the hope that they might, after all, return. Then they went off in a body to the westward, and the region of Ungava, to which they had never been partial, was left in its original dreary solitude. It may be that some good had been done to the souls of these poor natives during their brief intercourse with the traders. We cannot tell, and we refrain from guessing or speculating on a subject so serious. But of this we are assured--if one grain of the good seed has been sown, it may long lie dormant, but it _cannot_ die. Maximus accompanied his countrymen, along with Aneetka and Old Moggy, who soon assumed the native costume, and completely identified herself with the Esquimaux. Maximus was now a great man among his people, who regarded with deep respect the man who had travelled through the lands of the Indians, had fought with the red men, single-handed, and had visited the fur-traders of the south. But the travelled Esquimaux was in reality a greater man than his fellows supposed him to be. He fully appreciated the advantages to be derived from a trading-post near their ice-girt lands, and resolved, when opportunity should offer, to do all in his power to strengthen the friendship now subsisting between the Indians and the Esquimaux of Ungava, and to induce his countrymen, if possible, to travel south towards the establishment on James's Bay. He still retains, however, a lingering affection for the spot where he had spent so many happy days, and at least once a year he undertakes a solitary journey to the rugged mountains that encircled Fort Chimo. As in days of yore, with wallet on shoulder and seal-spear in hand, the giant strides from rock to rock along the now silent banks of the Caniapuscaw River. Once again he seats himself on the flat rock beside the spring, and gazes round in sadness on those wild, majestic hills, or bends his eye upon the bright green spot that indicates the ancient site of the trading-post, not a vestige of which is now visible, save the little wooden cross that marks the lonely grave of Dick Prince; and the broad chest of the giant heaves with emotion as he views these records of the past, and calls to mind the merry shouts and joyous songs that used to gladden that dreary spot, the warm hearth at which he was wont to find a hearty welcome, and the kind comrades who are now gone for ever. Ungava spreads, in all its dark sterility, around him, as it did in the days before the traders landed there; and that bright interval of busy life, in which he had acted so prominent a part, seems now but the fleeting fancy of a bright and pleasant dream. THE END. 
21728	----	THE DOG CRUSOE AND HIS MASTER, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. CHAPTER ONE. THE BACKWOODS SETTLEMENT--CRUSOE'S PARENTAGE AND EARLY HISTORY--THE AGONISING PAINS AND SORROWS OF HIS PUPPYHOOD, AND OTHER INTERESTING MATTERS. The dog Crusoe was once a pup. Now do not, courteous reader, toss your head contemptuously, and exclaim, "Of course he was; I could have told _you_ that." You know very well that you have often seen a man above six feet high, broad and powerful as a lion, with a bronzed shaggy visage and the stern glance of an eagle, of whom you have said, or thought, or heard others say, "It is scarcely possible to believe that such a man was once a squalling baby." If you had seen our hero in all the strength and majesty of full-grown doghood, you would have experienced a vague sort of surprise had we told you--as we now repeat-- that the dog Crusoe was once a pup--a soft, round, sprawling, squeaking pup, as fat as a tallow candle, and as blind as a bat. But we draw particular attention to the fact of Crusoe's having once been a pup, because in connection with the days of his puppyhood there hangs a tale. This peculiar dog may thus be said to have had two tails--one in connection with his body, the other with his career. This tale, though short, is very harrowing, and, as it is intimately connected with Crusoe's subsequent history, we will relate it here. But before doing so we must beg our reader to accompany us beyond the civilised portions of the United States of America--beyond the frontier settlements of the "far west," into those wild prairies which are watered by the great Missouri river--the Father of Waters--and his numerous tributaries. Here dwell the Pawnees, the Sioux, the Delawares, the Crows, the Blackfeet, and many other tribes of Red Indians, who are gradually retreating step by step towards the Rocky Mountains as the advancing white man cuts down their trees and ploughs up their prairies. Here, too, dwell the wild horse and the wild ass, the deer, the buffalo, and the badger; all, men and brutes alike, wild as the power of untamed and ungovernable passion can make them, and free as the wind that sweeps over their mighty plains. There is a romantic and exquisitely beautiful spot on the banks of one of the tributaries above referred to--a long stretch of mingled woodland and meadow, with a magnificent lake lying like a gem in its green bosom--which goes by the name of the Mustang Valley. This remote vale, even at the present day, is but thinly peopled by white men, and is still a frontier settlement round which the wolf and the bear prowl curiously, and from which the startled deer bounds terrified away. At the period of which we write the valley had just been taken possession of by several families of squatters, who, tired of the turmoil and the squabbles of the then frontier settlements, had pushed boldly into the far west to seek a new home for themselves, where they could have "elbow room," regardless alike of the dangers they might encounter in unknown lands and of the Red-skins who dwelt there. The squatters were well armed with axes, rifles, and ammunition. Most of the women were used to dangers and alarms, and placed implicit reliance in the power of their fathers, husbands, and brothers to protect them--and well they might, for a bolder set of stalwart men than these backwoodsmen never trod the wilderness. Each had been trained to the use of the rifle and the axe from infancy, and many of them had spent so much of their lives in the woods, that they were more than a match for the Indian in his own peculiar pursuits of hunting and war. When the squatters first issued from the woods bordering the valley, an immense herd of wild horses or mustangs were browsing on the plain. These no sooner beheld the cavalcade of white men, than, uttering a wild neigh, they tossed their flowing manes in the breeze and dashed away like a whirlwind. This incident procured the valley its name. The newcomers gave one satisfied glance at their future home, and then set to work to erect log huts forthwith. Soon the axe was heard ringing through the forests, and tree after tree fell to the ground, while the occasional sharp ring of a rifle told that the hunters were catering successfully for the camp. In course of time the Mustang Valley began to assume the aspect of a thriving settlement, with cottages and waving fields clustered together in the midst of it. Of course the savages soon found it out, and paid it occasional visits. These dark-skinned tenants of the woods brought furs of wild animals with them, which they exchanged with the white men for knives, and beads, and baubles and trinkets of brass and tin. But they hated the "Pale-faces" with bitter hatred, because their encroachments had at this time materially curtailed the extent of their hunting grounds, and nothing but the numbers and known courage of the squatters prevented these savages from butchering and scalping them all. The leader of this band of pioneers was a Major Hope, a gentleman whose love for nature in its wildest aspects determined him to exchange barrack life for a life in the woods. The major was a first-rate shot, a bold, fearless man, and an enthusiastic naturalist. He was past the prime of life, and, being a bachelor, was unencumbered with a family. His first act on reaching the site of the new settlement was to commence the erection of a block-house, to which the people might retire in case of a general attack by the Indians. In this block-house Major Hope took up his abode as the guardian of the settlement,--and here the dog Crusoe was born; here he sprawled in the early morn of life; here he leaped, and yelped, and wagged his shaggy tail in the excessive glee of puppyhood, and from the wooden portals of this block-house he bounded forth to the chase in all the fire, and strength, and majesty of full-grown doghood. Crusoe's father and mother were magnificent Newfoundlanders. There was no doubt as to their being of the genuine breed, for Major Hope had received them as a parting gift from a brother officer, who had brought them both from Newfoundland itself. The father's name was Crusoe; the mother's name was Fan. Why the father had been so called no one could tell. The man from whom Major Hope's friend had obtained the pair was a poor, illiterate fisherman, who had never heard of the celebrated "Robinson" in all his life. All he knew was that Fan had been named after his own wife. As for Crusoe, he had got him from a friend, who had got him from another friend, whose cousin had received him as a marriage gift from a friend of _his_; and that each had said to the other that the dog's name was "Crusoe," without reasons being asked or given on either side. On arriving at New York the major's friend, as we have said, made him a present of the dogs. Not being much of a dog fancier, he soon tired of old Crusoe, and gave him away to a gentleman, who took him down to Florida, and that was the end of him. He was never heard of more. When Crusoe, junior, was born, he was born, of course, without a name. That was given to him afterwards in honour of his father. He was also born in company with a brother and two sisters, all of whom drowned themselves accidentally, in the first month of their existence, by falling into the river which flowed past the block-house,--a calamity which occurred, doubtless, in consequence of their having gone out without their mother's leave. Little Crusoe was with his brother and sisters at the time, and fell in along with them, but was saved from sharing their fate by his mother, who, seeing what had happened, dashed with an agonised howl into the water, and, seizing him in her mouth, brought him ashore in a half-drowned condition. She afterwards brought the others ashore one by one, but the poor little things were dead. And now we come to the harrowing part of our tale, for the proper understanding of which the foregoing dissertation was needful. One beautiful afternoon, in that charming season of the American year called the Indian summer, there came a family of Sioux Indians to the Mustang Valley, and pitched their tent close to the block-house. A young hunter stood leaning against the gate-post of the palisades, watching the movements of the Indians, who, having just finished a long "palaver" or "talk" with Major Hope, were now in the act of preparing supper. A fire had been kindled on the green sward in front of the tent, and above it stood a tripod, from which depended a large tin camp-kettle. Over this hung an ill-favoured Indian woman, or squaw, who, besides attending to the contents of the pot, bestowed sundry cuffs and kicks upon her little child, which sat near to her playing with several Indian curs that gambolled round the fire. The master of the family and his two sons reclined on buffalo robes, smoking their stone pipes or calumets in silence. There was nothing peculiar in their appearance. Their faces were neither dignified nor coarse in expression, but wore an aspect of stupid apathy, which formed a striking contrast to the countenance of the young hunter, who seemed an amused spectator of their proceedings. The youth referred to was very unlike, in many respects, to what we are accustomed to suppose a backwoods hunter should be. He did not possess that quiet gravity and staid demeanour which often characterise these men. True, he was tall and strongly made, but no one would have called him stalwart, and his frame indicated grace and agility rather than strength. But the point about him which rendered him different from his companions was his bounding, irrepressible flow of spirits, strangely coupled with an intense love of solitary wandering in the woods. None seemed so well fitted for social enjoyment as he; none laughed so heartily, or expressed such glee in his mischief-loving eye; yet for days together he went off alone into the forest, and wandered where his fancy led him, as grave and silent as an Indian warrior. After all, there was nothing mysterious in this. The boy followed implicitly the dictates of nature within him. He was amiable, straightforward, sanguine, and intensely _earnest_. When he laughed he let it out, as sailors have it, "with a will." When there was good cause to be grave, no power on earth could make him smile. We have called him boy, but in truth he was about that uncertain period of life when a youth is said to be neither a man nor a boy. His face was good-looking (_every_ earnest, candid face is) and masculine; his hair was reddish-brown, and his eye bright blue. He was costumed in the deerskin cap, leggings, moccasins, and leathern shirt common to the western hunter. "You seem tickled wi' the Injuns, Dick Varley," said a man who at that moment issued from the block-house. "That's just what I am, Joe Blunt," replied the youth, turning with a broad grin to his companion. "Have a care, lad; do not laugh at 'em too much. They soon take offence; an' them Red-skins never forgive." "But I'm only laughing at the baby," returned the youth, pointing to the child, which, with a mixture of boldness and timidity, was playing with a pup, wrinkling up its fat visage into a smile when its playmate rushed away in sport, and opening wide its jet-black eyes in grave anxiety as the pup returned at full gallop. "It 'ud make an owl laugh," continued young Varley, "to see such a queer pictur' o' itself." He paused suddenly, and a dark frown covered his face as he saw the Indian woman stoop quickly down, catch the pup by its hind-leg with one hand, seize a heavy piece of wood with the other, and strike it several violent blows on the throat. Without taking the trouble to kill the poor animal outright, the savage then held its still writhing body over the fire in order to singe off the hair before putting it into the pot to be cooked. The cruel act drew young Varley's attention more closely to the pup, and it flashed across his mind that this could be no other than young Crusoe, which neither he nor his companion had before seen, although they had often heard others speak of and describe it. Had the little creature been one of the unfortunate Indian curs, the two hunters would probably have turned from the sickening sight with disgust, feeling that, however much they might dislike such cruelty, it would be of no use attempting to interfere with Indian usages. But the instant the idea that it was Crusoe occurred to Varley he uttered a yell of anger, and sprang towards the woman with a bound that caused the three Indians to leap to their feet and grasp their tomahawks. Blunt did not move from the gate, but threw forward his rifle with a careless motion, but an expressive glance, that caused the Indians to resume their seats and pipes with an emphatic "Wah!" of disgust at having been startled out of their propriety by a trifle, while Dick Varley snatched poor Crusoe from his dangerous and painful position, scowled angrily in the woman's face, and, turning on his heel, walked up to the house, holding the pup tenderly in his arms. Joe Blunt gazed after his friend with a grave, solemn expression of countenance till he disappeared; then he looked at the ground and shook his head. Joe was one of the regular out-and-out backwoods hunters, both in appearance and in fact--broad, tall, massive, lion-like,--gifted with the hunting, stalking, running, and trail--following powers of the savage, and with a superabundance of the shooting and fighting powers, the daring and dash of the Anglo-Saxon. He was grave, too seldom smiled, and rarely laughed. His expression almost at all times was a compound of seriousness and good-humour. With the rifle he was a good, steady shot; but by no means a "crack" one. _His_ ball never failed to _hit_, but it often failed to kill. After meditating a few seconds, Joe Blunt again shook his head, and muttered to himself; "The boy's bold enough, but he's too reckless for a hunter. There was no need for that yell, now--none at all." Having uttered this sagacious remark, he threw his rifle into the hollow of his left arm, turned round, and strode off with a long, slow step towards his own cottage. Blunt was an American by birth, but of Irish extraction, and to an attentive ear there was a faint echo of the _brogue_ in his tone, which seemed to have been handed down to him as a threadbare and almost worn-out heirloom. Poor Crusoe was singed almost naked. His wretched tail seemed little better than a piece of wire filed off to a point, and he vented his misery in piteous squeaks as the sympathetic Varley confided him tenderly to the care of his mother. How Fan managed to cure him no one can tell, but cure him she did, for, in the course of a few weeks, Crusoe was as well, and sleek, and fat as ever. CHAPTER TWO. A SHOOTING MATCH AND ITS CONSEQUENCES--NEW FRIENDS INTRODUCED TO THE READER--CRUSOE AND HIS MOTHER CHANGE MASTERS. Shortly after the incident narrated in the last chapter, the squatters of the Mustang Valley lost their leader. Major Hope suddenly announced his intention of quitting the settlement, and returning to the civilised world. Private matters, he said, required his presence there--matters which he did not choose to speak of but which would prevent his returning again to reside among them. Go he must, and, being a man of determination, go he did; but before going he distributed all his goods and chattels among the settlers. He even gave away his rifle, and Fan, and Crusoe. These last, however, he resolved should go together; and as they were well worth having, he announced that he would give them to the best shot in the valley. He stipulated that the winner should escort him to the nearest settlement eastward, after which he might return with the rifle on his shoulder. Accordingly, a long level piece of ground on the river's bank, with a perpendicular cliff at the end of it, was selected as the shooting ground, and, on the appointed day, at the appointed hour, the competitors began to assemble. "Well, lad, first as usual," exclaimed Joe Blunt, as he reached the ground and found Dick Varley there before him. "I've bin here more than an hour lookin' for a new kind o' flower that Jack Morgan told me he'd seen. And I've found it too. Look here; did you ever see one like it before?" Blunt leaned his rifle against a tree, and carefully examined the flower. "Why, yes, I've seed a-many o' them up about the Rocky Mountains, but never one here-away. It seems to have gone lost itself. The last I seed, if I remimber rightly, wos near the head-waters o' the Yellowstone River, it wos--jest where I shot a grizzly bar." "Was that the bar that gave you the wipe on the cheek?" asked Varley, forgetting the flower in his interest about the bear. "It was. I put six balls in that bar's carcase, and stuck my knife into its heart ten times afore it gave out; an' it nearly ripped the shirt off my back afore I was done with it." "I would give my rifle to get a chance at a grizzly!" exclaimed Varley, with a sudden burst of enthusiasm. "Whoever got it wouldn't have much to brag of," remarked a burly young backwoodsman, as he joined them. His remark was true, for poor Dick's weapon was but a sorry affair. It missed fire, and it hung fire, and even when it did fire it remained a matter of doubt in its owner's mind whether the slight deviations from the direct line made by his bullets were the result of _his_ or _its_ bad shooting. Further comment upon it was checked by the arrival of a dozen or more hunters on the scene of action. They were a sturdy set of bronzed, bold, fearless men, and one felt, on looking at them, that they would prove more than a match for several hundreds of Indians in open fight. A few minutes after, the major himself came on the ground with the prize rifle on his shoulder, and Fan and Crusoe at his heels--the latter tumbling, scrambling, and yelping after its mother, fat and clumsy, and happy as possible, having evidently quite forgotten that it had been nearly roasted alive only a few weeks before. Immediately all eyes were on the rifle, and its merits were discussed with animation. And well did it deserve discussion, for such a piece had never before been seen on the western frontier. It was shorter in the barrel and larger in the bore than the weapons chiefly in vogue at that time, and, besides being of beautiful workmanship, was silver-mounted. But the grand peculiarity about it, and that which afterwards rendered it the mystery of mysteries to the savages, was, that it had two sets of locks--one percussion, the other flint--so that, when caps failed, by taking off the one set of locks and affixing the others, it was converted into a flint-rifle. The major, however, took care never to run short of caps, so that the flint locks were merely held as a reserve in case of need. "Now, lads," cried Major Hope, stepping up to the point whence they were to shoot, "remember the terms. He who first drives the nail obtains the rifle, Fan, and her pup, and accompanies me to the nearest settlements. Each man shoots with his own gun, and draws lots for the chance." "Agreed," cried the men. "Well, then, wipe your guns and draw lots. Henri will fix the nail. Here it is." The individual who stepped, or rather plunged forward to receive the nail was a rare and remarkable specimen of mankind. Like his comrades, he was half a farmer and half a hunter. Like them, too, he was clad in deerskin, and was tall and strong--nay, more, he was gigantic. But, unlike them, he was clumsy, awkward, loose-jointed, and a bad shot. Nevertheless Henri was an immense favourite in the settlement, for his good-humour knew no bounds. No one ever saw him frown. Even when fighting with the savages, as he was sometimes compelled to do in self-defence, he went at them with a sort of jovial rage that was almost laughable. Inconsiderate recklessness was one of his chief characteristics, so that his comrades were rather afraid of him on the war-trail or in the hunt, where caution, and frequently _soundless_ motion, were essential to success or safety. But when Henri had a comrade at his side to check him he was safe enough, being humble-minded and obedient. Men used to say he must have been born under a lucky star, for, notwithstanding his natural inaptitude for all sorts of backwoods life, he managed to scramble through everything with safety, often with success, and sometimes with credit. To see Henri stalk a deer was worth a long day's journey. Joe Blunt used to say he was "all jints together, from the top of his head to the sole of his moccasin." He threw his immense form into the most inconceivable contortions, and slowly wound his way, sometimes on hands and knees, sometimes flat, through bush and brake, as if there was not a bone in his body, and without the slightest noise. This sort of work was so much against his plunging nature, that he took long to learn it, but when, through hard practice and the loss of many a fine deer, he came at length to break himself in to it, he gradually progressed to perfection, and ultimately became the best stalker in the valley. This, and this alone, enabled him to procure game, for, being short-sighted, he could hit nothing beyond fifty yards, except a buffalo or a barn door. Yet that same lithe body, which seemed as though totally unhinged, could no more be bent, when the muscles were strung, than an iron post. No one wrestled with Henri unless he wished to have his back broken. Few could equal and none could beat him at running or leaping except Dick Varley. When Henri ran a race even Joe Blunt laughed outright, for arms and legs went like independent flails. When he leaped, he hurled himself into space with a degree of violence that seemed to insure a somersault--yet he always came down with a crash on his feet. Plunging was Henri's forte. He generally lounged about the settlement, when unoccupied, with his hands behind his back, apparently in a reverie, and when called on to act, he seemed to fancy he must have lost time, and could only make up for it by _plunging_. This habit got him into many awkward scrapes, but his herculean power as often got him out of them. He was a French-Canadian, and a particularly bad speaker of the English language. We offer no apology for this elaborate introduction of Henri, for he was as good-hearted a fellow as ever lived, and deserves special notice. But to return. The sort of rifle practice called "driving the nail," by which this match was to be decided, was, and we believe still is, common among the hunters of the far west. It consisted in this,--an ordinary large-headed nail was driven a short way into a plank or a tree, and the hunters, standing at a distance of fifty yards or so, fired at it until they succeeded in driving it home. On the present occasion the major resolved to test their shooting by making the distance seventy yards. Some of the older men shook their heads. "It's too far," said one; "ye might as well try to snuff the nose o' a mosquito." "Jim Scraggs is the only man as'll hit that," said another. The man referred to was a long, lank, lantern-jawed fellow with a cross-grained expression of countenance. He used the long, heavy, Kentucky rifle, which, from the ball being little larger than a pea, was called a pea-rifle. Jim was no favourite, and had been named Scraggs by his companions on account of his appearance. In a few minutes the lots were drawn, and the shooting began. Each hunter wiped out the barrel of his piece with his ramrod as he stepped forward; then, placing a ball in the palm of his left hand, he drew the stopper of his powder-horn with his teeth, and poured out as much powder as sufficed to cover the bullet. This was the regular _measure_ among them. Little time was lost in firing, for these men did not "hang" on their aim. The point of the rifle was slowly raised to the object, and, the instant the sight covered it, the ball sped to its mark. In a few minutes the nail was encircled by bullet-holes, scarcely two of which were more than an inch distant from the mark, and one--fired by Joe Blunt--entered the tree close beside it. "Ah, Joe!" said the major, "I thought you would have carried off the prize." "So did not I, sir," returned Blunt, with a shake of his head. "Had it a-bin a half-dollar at a hundred yards, I'd ha' done better, but I never _could_ hit the nail. It's too small to _see_." "That's cos ye've got no eyes," remarked Jim Scraggs, with a sneer, as he stepped forward. All tongues were now hushed, for the expected champion was about to fire. The sharp crack of the rifle was followed by a shout, for Jim had hit the nail-head on the edge, and part of the bullet stuck to it. "That wins if there's no better," said the major, scarce able to conceal his disappointment. "Who comes next?" To this question Henri answered by stepping up to the line, straddling his legs, and executing preliminary movements with his rifle, that seemed to indicate an intention on his part to throw the weapon bodily at the mark. He was received with a shout of mingled laughter and applause. After gazing steadily at the mark for a few seconds, a broad grin overspread his countenance, and, looking round at his companions, he said--"Ha! mes boys, I cannot behold de nail at all!" "Can ye `behold' the _tree_?" shouted a voice, when the laugh that followed this announcement had somewhat abated. "Oh! oui," replied Henri quite coolly; "I can see _him_, an' a goot small bit of de forest beyond." "Fire at it, then. If ye hit the tree ye desarve the rifle--leastwise ye ought to get the pup." Henri grinned again, and fired instantly, without taking aim. The shot was followed by an exclamation of surprise, for the bullet was found close beside the nail! "It's more be good luck than good shootin'," remarked Jim Scraggs. "Possiblement," answered Henri modestly, as he retreated to the rear and wiped out his rifle; "mais I have kill most of my deer by dat same goot luck." "Bravo! Henri," said Major Hope as he passed; "you _deserve_ to win, anyhow. Who's next?" "Dick Varley," cried several voices; "where's Varley? Come on, youngster, an' take yer shot." The youth came forward with evident reluctance. "It's of no manner o' use," he whispered to Joe Blunt as he passed, "I can't depend on my old gun." "Never give in," whispered Blunt encouragingly. Poor Varley's want of confidence in his rifle was merited, for, on pulling the trigger, the faithless lock missed fire. "Lend him another gun," cried several voices. "'Gainst rules laid down by Major Hope," said Scraggs. "Well, so it is; try again." Varley did try again, and so successfully, too, that the ball hit the nail on the head, leaving a portion of the lead sticking to its edge. Of course this was greeted with a cheer, and a loud dispute began as to which was the better shot of the two. "There are others to shoot yet," cried the major. "Make way. Look out." The men fell back, and the few hunters who had not yet fired took their shots, but without coming nearer the mark. It was now agreed that Jim Scraggs and Dick Varley, being the two best shots, should try over again; and it was also agreed that Dick should have the use of Blunt's rifle. Lots were again drawn for the first shot, and it fell to Dick, who immediately stepped out, aimed somewhat hastily, and fired. "Hit again!" shouted those who had run forward to examine the mark. "_Half_ the bullet cut off by the nail-head!" Some of the more enthusiastic of Dick's friends cheered lustily, but the most of the hunters were grave and silent, for they knew Jim's powers, and felt that he would certainly do his best. Jim now stepped up to the line, and, looking earnestly at the mark, threw forward his rifle. At that moment our friend Crusoe--tired of tormenting his mother-- waddled stupidly and innocently into the midst of the crowd of men, and, in so doing, received Henri's heel and the full weight of his elephantine body on its fore-paw. The horrible and electric yell that instantly issued from his agonised throat could only be compared, as Joe Blunt expressed it, "to the last dyin' screech o' a bustin' steam biler!" We cannot say that the effect was startling, for these backwoodsmen had been born and bred in the midst of alarms, and were so used to them that a "bustin' steam biler" itself, unless it had blown them fairly off their legs, would not have startled them. But the effect, such as it was, was sufficient to disconcert the aim of Jim Scraggs, who fired at the same instant, and missed the nail by a hair's-breadth. Turning round in towering wrath, Scraggs aimed a kick at the poor pup, which, had it taken effect, would certainly have terminated the innocent existence of that remarkable dog on the spot, but quick as lightning Henri interposed the butt of his rifle, and Jim's shin met it with a violence that caused him to howl with rage and pain. "Oh! pardon me, broder," cried Henri, shrinking back, with the drollest expression of mingled pity and glee. Jim's discretion, on this occasion, was superior to his valour; he turned away with a coarse expression of anger and left the ground. Meanwhile the major handed the silver rifle to young Varley. "It couldn't have fallen into better hands," he said. "You'll do it credit, lad, I know that full well, and let me assure you it will never play you false. Only keep it clean, don't overcharge it, aim true, and it will never miss the mark." While the hunters crowded round Dick to congratulate him and examine the piece, he stood with a mingled feeling of bashfulness and delight at his unexpected good fortune. Recovering himself suddenly he seized his old rifle, and, dropping quietly to the outskirts of the crowd, while the men were still busy handling and discussing the merits of the prize, went up, unobserved, to a boy of about thirteen years of age, and touched him on the shoulder. "Here, Marston, you know I often said ye should have the old rifle when I was rich enough to get a new one. Take it _now_, lad. It's come to ye sooner than either o' us expected." "Dick," said the boy, grasping his friend's hand warmly, "yer true as heart of oak. It's good of 'ee, that's a fact." "Not a bit, boy; it costs me nothin' to give away an old gun that I've no use for, an's worth little, but it makes me right glad to have the chance to do it." Marston had longed for a rifle ever since he could walk, but his prospects of obtaining one were very poor indeed at that time, and it is a question whether he did not at that moment experience as much joy in handling the old piece as his friend felt in shouldering the prize. A difficulty now occurred which had not before been thought of. This was no less than the absolute refusal of Dick Varley's canine property to follow him. Fan had no idea of changing masters without her consent being asked, or her inclination being consulted. "You'll have to tie her up for a while, I fear," said the major. "No fear," answered the youth. "Dog natur's like human natur'!" Saying this he seized Crusoe by the neck, stuffed him comfortably into the bosom of his hunting shirt, and walked rapidly away with the prize rifle on his shoulder. Fan had not bargained for this. She stood irresolute, gazing now to the right and now to the left, as the major retired in one direction and Dick with Crusoe in another. Suddenly Crusoe, who, although comfortable in body, was ill at ease in spirit, gave utterance to a melancholy howl. The mother's love instantly prevailed. For one moment she pricked up her ears at the sound, and then, lowering them, trotted quietly after her new master, and followed him to his cottage on the margin of the lake. CHAPTER THREE. SPECULATIVE REMARKS WITH WHICH THE READER MAY OR MAY NOT AGREE--AN OLD WOMAN--HOPES AND WISHES COMMINGLED WITH HARD FACTS--THE DOG CRUSOE'S EDUCATION BEGUN. It is pleasant to look upon a serene, quiet, humble face. On such a face did Richard Varley look every night when he entered his mother's cottage. Mrs Varley was a widow, and she had followed the fortunes of her brother, Daniel Hood, ever since the death of her husband. Love for her only brother induced her to forsake the peaceful village of Maryland, and enter upon the wild life of a backwoods settlement. Dick's mother was thin, and old, and wrinkled, but her face was stamped with a species of beauty which _never_ fades--the beauty of a loving look. Ah! the brow of snow and the peach-bloom cheek may snare the heart of man for a time, but the _loving look_ alone can forge that adamantine chain that time, age, eternity, shall never break. Mistake us not, reader, and bear with us if we attempt to analyse this look which characterised Mrs Varley. A rare diamond is worth stopping to glance at, even when one is in a hurry! The brightest jewel in the human heart is worth a thought or two! By a _loving look_, we do not mean a look of love bestowed on a beloved object. That is common enough, and thankful should we be that it is so common in a world that's over-full of hatred. Still less do we mean that smile and look of intense affection with which some people--good people too--greet friends and foe alike, and by which effort to work out their _beau ideal_ of the expression of Christian love, they do signally damage their cause, by saddening the serious and repelling the gay. Much less do we mean that _perpetual_ smile of good-will which argues more of personal comfort and self-love than anything else. No, the loving look we speak of is as often grave as gay. Its character depends very much on the face through which it beams. And it cannot be counterfeited. Its _ring_ defies imitation. Like the clouded sun of April, it can pierce through tears of sorrow; like the noontide sun of summer, it can blaze in warm smiles; like the northern lights of winter, it can gleam in depths of woe--but it is always the same, modified, doubtless, and rendered more or less patent to others, according to the natural amiability of him or her who bestows it. No one can put it on. Still less can any one put it off. Its range is universal; it embraces all mankind, though, _of course_, it is intensified on a few favoured objects; its seat is in the depths of a renewed heart, and its foundation lies in love to God. Young Varley's mother lived in a cottage which was of the smallest possible dimensions consistent with comfort. It was made of logs, as, indeed, were all the other cottages in the valley. The door was in the centre, and a passage from it to the back of the dwelling divided it into two rooms. One of these was subdivided by a thin partition, the inner room being Mrs Varley's bedroom, the outer Dick's. Daniel Hood's dormitory was a corner of the kitchen, which apartment served also as a parlour. The rooms were lighted by two windows, one on each side of the door, which gave to the house the appearance of having a nose and two eyes. Houses of this kind have literally got a sort of _expression_ on--if we may use the word--their countenances. _Square_ windows give the appearance of easy-going placidity; _longish_ ones, that of surprise. Mrs Varley's was a surprised cottage, and this was in keeping with the scene in which it stood, for the clear lake in front, studded with islands, and the distant hills beyond, composed a scene so surprisingly beautiful that it never failed to call forth an expression of astonished admiration from every new visitor to the Mustang Valley. "My boy," exclaimed Mrs Varley, as her son entered the cottage with a bound, "why so hurried to-day? Deary me! where got you the grand gun?" "Won it, mother!" "Won it, my son?" "Ay, won it, mother. Druve the nail _almost_, and would ha' druve it _altogether_ had I bin more used to Joe Blunt's rifle." Mrs Varley's heart beat high, and her face flushed with pride as she gazed at her son, who laid the rifle on the table for her inspection, while he rattled off an animated and somewhat disjointed account of the match. "Deary me! now that was good; that was cliver. But what's that scraping at the door?" "Oh! that's Fan; I forgot her. Here! here! Fan! Come in, good dog," he cried rising and opening the door. Fan entered and stopped short, evidently uncomfortable. "My boy, what do ye with the major's dog?" "Won her too, mother!" "Won her, my son?" "Ay, won her, and the pup too; see, here it is!" and he plucked Crusoe from his bosom. Crusoe, having found his position to be one of great comfort, had fallen into a profound slumber, and on being thus unceremoniously awakened, he gave forth a yelp of discontent that brought Fan in a state of frantic sympathy to his side. "There you are, Fan, take it to a corner and make yourself at home. Ay, that's right, mother, give her somethin' to eat; she's hungry, I know by the look o' her eye." "Deary me, Dick," said Mrs Varley, who now proceeded to spread the youth's mid-day meal before him, "did ye drive the nail three times?" "No, only once, and that not parfetly. Brought 'em all down at one shot--rifle, Fan, an' pup!" "Well, well, now that was cliver; but--" Here the old woman paused and looked grave. "But what, mother?" "You'll be wantin' to go off to the mountains now, I fear me, boy." "Wantin' _now_!" exclaimed the youth earnestly; "I'm _always_ wantin'. I've bin wantin' ever since I could walk; but I won't go till you let me, mother, that I won't!" And he struck the table with his fist so forcibly that the platters rung again. "You're a good boy, Dick; but you're too young yit to ventur' among the Red-skins." "An' yit, if I don't ventur' young, I'd better not ventur' at all. You know, mother dear, I don't want to leave you; but I was born to be a hunter, and everybody in them parts is a hunter, and I can't hunt in the kitchen you know, mother!" At this point the conversation was interrupted by a sound that caused young Varley to spring up and seize his rifle, and Fan to show her teeth and growl. "Hist! mother; that's like horses' hoofs," he whispered, opening the door and gazing intently in the direction whence the sound came. Louder and louder it came, until an opening in the forest showed the advancing cavalcade to be a party of white men. In another moment they were in full view--a band of about thirty horsemen, clad in the leathern costume, and armed with the long rifle of the far west. Some wore portions of the gaudy Indian dress which gave to them a brilliant, dashing look. They came on straight for the block-house, and saluted the Varleys with a jovial cheer as they swept past at full speed. Dick returned the cheer with compound interest, and calling out, "They're trappers, mother, I'll be back in an hour," bounded off like a deer through the woods, taking a short cut in order to reach the block-house before them. He succeeded, for, just as he arrived at the house, the cavalcade wheeled round the bend in the river, dashed up the slope, and came to a sudden halt on the green. Vaulting from their foaming steeds they tied them to the stockades of the little fortress, which they entered in a body. Hot haste was in every motion of these men. They were trappers, they said, on their way to the Rocky Mountains to hunt and trade furs. But one of their number had been treacherously murdered and scalped by a Pawnee chief, and they resolved to revenge his death by an attack on one of the Pawnee villages. They would teach these "red reptiles" to respect white men, they would, come of it what might; and they had turned aside here to procure an additional supply of powder and lead. In vain did the major endeavour to dissuade these reckless men from their purpose. They scoffed at the idea of returning good for evil, and insisted on being supplied. The log hut was a store as well as a place of defence, and as they offered to pay for it there was no refusing their request--at least so the major thought. The ammunition was therefore given to them, and in half an hour they were away again at full gallop over the plains on their mission of vengeance. "Vengeance is Mine, I will repay, saith the Lord." But these men knew not what God said, because they never read His Word, and did not own His sway. Young Varley's enthusiasm was considerably damped when he learned the errand on which the trappers were bent. From that time forward he gave up all desire to visit the mountains in company with such men, but he still retained an intense longing to roam at large among their rocky fastnesses, and gallop out upon the wide prairies. Meanwhile he dutifully tended his mother's cattle and sheep, and contented himself with an occasional deer-hunt in the neighbouring forests. He devoted himself also to the training of his dog Crusoe--an operation which at first cost him many a deep sigh. Every one has heard of the sagacity and almost reasoning capabilities of the Newfoundland dog. Indeed, some have even gone the length of saying that what is called instinct in these animals is neither more nor less than reason. And, in truth, many of the noble, heroic, and sagacious deeds that have actually been performed by Newfoundland dogs incline us almost to believe that, like man, they are gifted with reasoning powers. But every one does not know the trouble and patience that is required in order to get a juvenile dog to understand what its master means when he is endeavouring to instruct it. Crusoe's first lesson was an interesting, but not a very successful one. We may remark here that Dick Varley had presented Fan to his mother to be her watch-dog, resolving to devote all his powers to the training of the pup. We may also remark, in reference to Crusoe's appearance (and we did not remark it sooner, chiefly because up to this period in his eventful history he was little better than a ball of fat and hair), that his coat was mingled jet-black and pure white, and remarkably glossy, curly, and thick. A week after the shooting match Crusoe's education began. Having fed him for that period with his own hand, in order to gain his affection, Dick took him out one sunny forenoon to the margin of the lake to give him his first lesson. And here again we must pause to remark that, although a dog's heart is generally gained in the first instance through his mouth, yet, after it is thoroughly gained, his affection is noble and disinterested. He can scarcely be driven from his master's side by blows, and even when thus harshly repelled is always ready, on the shortest notice and with the slightest encouragement, to make it up again. Well, Dick Varley began by calling out, "Crusoe! Crusoe! come here, pup." Of course Crusoe knew his name by this time, for it had been so often used as a prelude to his meals, that he naturally expected a feed whenever he heard it. This portal to his brain had already been open for some days; but all the other doors were fast locked, and it required a great deal of careful picking to open them. "Now, Crusoe, come here." Crusoe bounded clumsily to his master's side, cocked his ears, and wagged his tail--so far his education was perfect. We say he bounded _clumsily_, for it must be remembered that he was still a very young pup, with soft, flabby muscles. "Now, I'm goin' to begin yer edication, pup; think o' that." Whether Crusoe thought of that or not we cannot say, but he looked up in his master's face as he spoke, cocked his ears very high, and turned his head slowly to one side, until it could not turn any further in that direction; then he turned it as much to the other side, whereat his master burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, and Crusoe immediately began barking vociferously. "Come, come," said Dick, suddenly checking his mirth, "we mustn't play, pup, we must work." Drawing a leathern mitten from his belt, the youth held it to Crusoe's nose, and then threw it a yard away, at the same time exclaiming in a loud, distinct tone, "_Fetch it_." Crusoe entered at once into the spirit of this part of his training; he dashed gleefully at the mitten, and proceeded to worry it with intense gratification. As for "_Fetch it_," he neither understood the words nor cared a straw about them. Dick Varley rose immediately, and rescuing the mitten, resumed his seat on a rock. "Come here, Crusoe," he repeated. "Oh! certainly, by all means," said Crusoe--no! he didn't exactly _say_ it, but really he _looked_ these words so evidently, that we think it right to let them stand as they are written. If he could have finished the sentence he would certainly have said, "Go on with that game over again, old boy; it's quite to my taste--the jolliest thing in life, I assure you!" At least, if we may not positively assert that he would have said that, no one else can absolutely affirm that he wouldn't. Well, Dick Varley did do it over again, and Crusoe worried the mitten over again--utterly regardless of "_Fetch it_." Then they did it again, and again, and again, but without the slightest apparent advancement in the path of canine knowledge,--and then they went home. During all this trying operation Dick Varley never once betrayed the slightest feeling of irritability or impatience. He did not expect success at first; he was not, therefore, disappointed at failure. Next day he had him out again--and the next--and the next--and the next again, with the like unfavourable result. In short, it seemed at last as if Crusoe's mind had been deeply imbued with the idea that he had been born expressly for the purpose of worrying that mitten, and he meant to fulfil his destiny to the letter. Young Varley had taken several small pieces of meat in his pocket each day, with the intention of rewarding Crusoe when he should at length be prevailed on to fetch the mitten, but as Crusoe was not aware of the treat that awaited him, of course the mitten never was "fetched." At last Dick Varley saw that this system would never do, so he changed his tactics, and the next morning gave Crusoe no breakfast, but took him out at the usual hour to go through his lesson. This new course of conduct seemed to perplex Crusoe not a little, for on his way down to the beach he paused frequently and looked back at the cottage, and then expressively up at his master's face. But the master was inexorable; he went on and Crusoe followed, for _true_ love had now taken possession of the pup's young heart, and he preferred his master's company to food. Varley now began by letting the learner smell a piece of meat which he eagerly sought to devour, but was prevented, to his immense disgust. Then the mitten was thrown as heretofore, and Crusoe made a few steps towards it, but being in no mood for play he turned back. "_Fetch it_," said the teacher. "I won't," replied the learner mutely, by means of that expressive sign--_not doing it_. Hereupon Dick Varley rose, took up the mitten, and put it into the pup's mouth. Then, retiring a couple of yards, he held out the piece of meat and said, "_Fetch it_." Crusoe instantly spat out the glove and bounded towards the meat--once more to be disappointed. This was done a second time, and Crusoe came forward _with the mitten in his mouth_. It seemed as if it had been done accidentally, for he dropped it before coming quite up. If so it was a fortunate accident, for it served as the tiny fulcrum on which to place the point of that mighty lever which was destined ere long to raise him to the pinnacle of canine erudition. Dick Varley immediately lavished upon him the tenderest caresses and gave him a lump of meat. But he quickly tried it again lest he should lose the lesson. The dog evidently felt that if he did not fetch that mitten he should have no meat or caresses. In order, however, to make sure that there was no mistake, Dick laid the mitten down beside the pup, instead of putting it into his mouth, and, retiring a few paces, cried, "_Fetch it_." Crusoe looked uncertain for a moment, then he _picked up_ the mitten and laid it at his master's feet. The lesson was learned at last! Dick Varley tumbled all the meat out of his pocket on the ground, and, while Crusoe made a hearty breakfast, he sat down on a rock and whistled with glee at having fairly picked the lock, and opened _another_ door into one of the many chambers of his dog's intellect! CHAPTER FOUR. OUR HERO ENLARGED UPON--GRUMPS. Two years passed away--the Mustang Valley settlement advanced prosperously, despite one or two attacks made upon it by the savages, who were, however, firmly repelled; Dick Varley had now become a man, and his pup Crusoe had become a full-grown dog. The "silver rifle," as Dick's weapon had come to be named, was well-known among the hunters and the Red-skins of the border-lands, and in Dick's hands its bullets were as deadly as its owner's eye was quick and true. Crusoe's education, too, had been completed. Faithfully and patiently had his young master trained his mind, until he fitted him to be a meet companion in the hunt. To "carry" and "fetch" were now but trifling portions of the dog's accomplishments. He could dive a fathom deep in the lake and bring up any article that might have been dropped or thrown in. His swimming powers were marvellous, and so powerful were his muscles, that he seemed to spurn the water while passing through it, with his broad chest high out of the curling wave, at a speed that neither man nor beast could keep up with for a moment. His intellect now was sharp and quick as a needle; he never required a second bidding. When Dick went out hunting he used frequently to drop a mitten or a powder-horn unknown to the dog, and, after walking miles away from it, would stop short and look down into the mild, gentle face of his companion. "Crusoe," he said, in the same quiet tones with which he would have addressed a human friend, "I've dropped my mitten, go fetch it, pup." Dick continued to call it "pup" from habit. One glance of intelligence passed from Crusoe's eye, and in a moment he was away at full gallop; nor did he rest until the lost article was lying at his master's feet. Dick was loath to try how far back on his track Crusoe would run if desired. He had often gone back five and six miles at a stretch; but his powers did not stop here. He could carry articles back to the spot from which they had been taken and leave them there. He could head the game that his master was pursuing and turn it back; and he would guard any object he was desired to "watch" with unflinching constancy. But it would occupy too much space and time to enumerate all Crusoe's qualities and powers. His biography will unfold them. In personal appearance he was majestic, having grown to an immense size even for a Newfoundland. Had his visage been at all wolfish in character, his aspect would have been terrible. But he possessed in an eminent degree that mild, humble expression of face peculiar to his race. When roused or excited, and especially when bounding through the forest with the chase in view, he was absolutely magnificent. At other times his gait was slow, and he seemed to prefer a _quiet_ walk with Dick Varley to anything else under the sun. But when Dick was inclined to be boisterous Crusoe's tail and ears rose at a moment's notice, and he was ready for _anything_. Moreover, he obeyed commands instantly and implicitly. In this respect he put to shame most of the _boys_ of the settlement, who were by no means famed for their habits of prompt obedience. Crusoe's eye was constantly watching the face of his master. When Dick said "Go" he went, when he said "Come" he came. If he had been in the midst of an excited bound at the throat of a stag, and Dick had called out, "Down, Crusoe," he would have sunk to the earth like a stone. No doubt it took many months of training to bring the dog to this state of perfection; but Dick accomplished it by patience, perseverance, and _love_. Besides all this, Crusoe could speak! He spoke by means of the dog's dumb alphabet in a way that defies description. He conversed, so to speak, with his extremities--his head and his tail. But his eyes, his soft brown eyes, were the chief medium of communication. If ever the language of the eyes was carried to perfection, it was exhibited in the person of Crusoe. But, indeed, it would be difficult to say which part of his expressive face expressed most. The cocked ears of expectation; the drooped ears of sorrow; the bright, full eye of joy; the half-closed eye of contentment; and the frowning eye of indignation accompanied with a slight, a very slight, pucker of the nose and a gleam of dazzling ivory--ha! no enemy ever saw this last piece of canine language without a full appreciation of what it meant. Then as to the tail--the modulations of meaning in the varied wag of that expressive member! Oh! it's useless to attempt description. Mortal man cannot conceive of the delicate shades of sentiment expressible by a dog's tail, unless he has studied the subject--the wag, the waggle, the cock, the droop, the slope, the wriggle! Away with description--it is impotent and valueless here! As we have said, Crusoe was meek and mild. He had been bitten, on the sly, by half the ill-natured curs in the settlement, and had only shown his teeth in return. He had no enmities--though several enemies--and he had a thousand friends, particularly among the ranks of the weak and the persecuted, whom he always protected and avenged when opportunity offered. A single instance of this kind will serve to show his character. One day Dick and Crusoe were sitting on a rock beside the lake--the same identical rock near which, when a pup, the latter had received his first lesson. They were conversing as usual, for Dick had elicited such a fund of intelligence from the dog's mind, and had injected such wealth of wisdom into it, that he felt convinced it understood every word he said. "This is capital weather, Crusoe; ain't it pup?" Crusoe made a motion with his head which was quite as significant as a nod. "Ha! my pup, I wish that you and I might go and have a slap at the grizzly bars and a look at the Rocky Mountains. Wouldn't it be nuts, pup?" Crusoe looked dubious. "What, you don't agree with me! Now, tell me, pup, wouldn't ye like to grip a bar?" Still Crusoe looked dubious, but made a gentle motion with his tail, as though he would have said, "I've seen neither Rocky Mountains nor grizzly bars, and know nothin' about 'em, but I'm open to conviction." "You're a brave pup," rejoined Dick, stroking the dog's huge head affectionately. "I wouldn't give you for ten times your weight in golden dollars--if there be sich things." Crusoe made no reply whatever to this. He regarded it as a truism unworthy of notice; he evidently felt that a comparison between love and dollars was preposterous. At this point in the conversation a little dog with a lame leg hobbled to the edge of the rocks in front of the spot where Dick was seated, and looked down into the water, which was deep there. Whether it did so for the purpose of admiring its very plain visage in the liquid mirror, or finding out what was going on among the fish, we cannot say, as it never told us; but at that moment a big, clumsy, savage-looking dog rushed out from the neighbouring thicket and began to worry it. "Punish him, Crusoe," said Dick quickly. Crusoe made one bound that a lion might have been proud of, and seizing the aggressor by the back, lifted him off his legs and held him, howling, in the air--at the same time casting a look towards his master for further instructions. "Pitch him in," said Dick, making a sign with his hand. Crusoe turned and quietly dropped the dog into the lake. Having regarded his struggles there for a few moments with grave severity of countenance, he walked slowly back and sat down beside his master. The little dog made good its retreat as fast as three legs would carry it, and the surly dog, having swam ashore, retired sulkily, with his tail very much between his legs. Little wonder, then, that Crusoe was beloved by great and small among the well-disposed of the canine tribes of the Mustang Valley. But Crusoe was not a mere machine. When not actively engaged in Dick Varley's service, he busied himself with private little matters of his own. He undertook modest little excursions into the woods or along the margin of the lake, sometimes alone, but more frequently with a little friend whose whole heart and being seemed to be swallowed up in admiration of his big companion. Whether Crusoe botanised or geologised on these excursions we will not venture to say. Assuredly he seemed as though he did both, for he poked his nose into every bush and tuft of moss, and turned over the stones, and dug holes in the ground--and, in short, if he did not understand these sciences, he behaved very much as if he did. Certainly he knew as much about them as many of the human species do. In these walks he never took the slightest notice of Grumps (that was the little dog's name), but Grumps made up for this by taking excessive notice of _him_. When Crusoe stopped, Grumps stopped and sat down to look at him. When Crusoe trotted on, Grumps trotted on too. When Crusoe examined a bush Grumps sat down to watch him, and when he dug a hole Grumps looked into it to see what was there. Grumps never helped him; his sole delight was in looking on. They didn't converse much, these two dogs. To be in each other's company seemed to be happiness enough--at least Grumps thought so. There was one point at which Grumps stopped short, however, and ceased to follow his friend; and that was when he rushed headlong into the lake and disported himself for an hour at a time in its cool waters. Crusoe was, both by nature and training, a splendid water-dog. Grumps, on the contrary, held water in abhorrence, so he sat on the shores of the lake disconsolate when his friend was bathing, and waited till he came out. The only time when Grumps was thoroughly nonplussed, was when Dick Varley's whistle sounded faintly in the far distance. Then Crusoe would prick up his ears, and stretch out at full gallop, clearing ditch, and fence, and brake with his strong elastic bound, and leaving Grumps to patter after him as fast as his four-inch legs would carry him. Poor Grumps usually arrived at the village, to find both dog and master gone, and would betake himself to his own dwelling, there to lie down and sleep, and dream, perchance, of rambles and gambols with his gigantic friend. CHAPTER FIVE. A MISSION OF PEACE--UNEXPECTED JOYS--DICK AND CRUSOE SET OFF FOR THE LAND OF THE RED-SKINS, AND MEET WITH ADVENTURES BY THE WAY AS A MATTER OF COURSE--NIGHT IN THE WILD WOODS. One day the inhabitants of Mustang Valley were thrown into considerable excitement by the arrival of an officer of the United States army and a small escort of cavalry. They went direct to the block-house, which, since Major Hope's departure, had become the residence of Joe Blunt-- that worthy having, by general consent, been deemed the fittest man in the settlement to fill the major's place. Soon it began to be noised abroad that the strangers had been sent by Government to endeavour to bring about, if possible, a more friendly state of feeling between the whites and the Indians, by means of presents, and promises, and fair speeches. The party remained all night in the block-house, and ere long it was reported that Joe Blunt had been requested, and had consented, to be the leader and chief of a party of three men who should visit the neighbouring tribes of Indians, to the west and north of the valley, as Government agents. Joe's knowledge of two or three different Indian dialects, and his well-known sagacity, rendered him a most fitting messenger on such an errand. It was also whispered that Joe was to have the choosing of his comrades in this mission, and many were the opinions expressed and guesses made as to who would be chosen. That same evening Dick Varley was sitting in his mother's kitchen cleaning his rifle; his mother was preparing supper and talking quietly about the obstinacy of a particular hen that had taken to laying her eggs in places where they could not be found; Fan was coiled up in a corner sound asleep, and Crusoe was sitting at one side of the fire looking on at things in general. "I wonder," remarked Mrs Varley, as she spread the table with a pure white napkin; "I wonder what the sodgers are doin' wi' Joe Blunt." As often happens when an individual is mentioned, the worthy referred to opened the door at that moment and stepped into the room. "Good-e'en t'ye, dame," said the stout hunter, doffing his cap, and resting his rifle in a corner, while Dick rose and placed a chair for him. "The same to you, Master Blunt," answered the widow; "you've jist comed in good time for a cut o' venison." "Thanks, mistress, I s'pose we're beholden to the silver rifle for that." "To the hand that aimed it, rather," suggested the widow. "Nay, then, say raither to the dog that turned it," said Dick Varley. "But for Crusoe that buck would ha' bin couched in the woods this night." "Oh! if it comes to that," retorted Joe, "I'd lay it to the door o' Fan, for if she'd niver bin born nother would Crusoe. But it's good an' tender meat, whativer ways ye got it. Howsiver, I've other things to talk about jist now. Them sodgers that are eatin' buffalo tongues up at the block-house as if they'd niver ate meat before, and didn't hope to eat agin for a twelve-month--" "Ay, what o' them?" interrupted Mrs Varley; "I've bin wonderin' what was their errand." "Of coorse ye wos, Dame Varley; and I've comed here a' purpis to tell ye. They want me to go to the Red-skins to make peace between them and us; and they've brought a lot o' goods to make them presents withal,-- beads, an' knives, an' lookin'-glasses, an vermilion paint, an' sich-like, jist as much as'll be a light load for one horse--for, ye see, nothin' can be done wi' the Red-skins without gifts." "'Tis a blessed mission," said the widow, "I wish it may succeed. D'ye think ye'll go?" "Go? ay, that will I." "I only wish they'd made the offer to me," said Dick with a sigh. "An' so they do make the offer, lad. They've gin me leave to choose the two men I'm to take with me, and I've comed straight to ask _you_. Ay or no, for we must up an' away by break o' day to-morrow." Mrs Varley started. "So soon?" she said, with a look of anxiety. "Ay; the Pawnees are at the Yellow Creek jist at this time, but I've heer'd they're 'bout to break up camp an' away west; so we'll need to use haste." "May I go, mother?" asked Dick, with a look of anxiety. There was evidently a conflict in the widow's breast, but it quickly ceased. "Yes, my boy," she said in her own low, quiet voice, "an' God go with ye. I knew the time must come soon, an' I thank Him that your first visit to the Red-skins will be on an errand o' peace. `Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.'" Dick grasped his mother's hand and pressed it to his cheek in silence. At the same moment Crusoe, seeing that the deeper feelings of his master were touched, and deeming it his duty to sympathise, rose up and thrust his nose against him. "Ah! pup," cried the young man hastily, "you must go too. Of course Crusoe goes, Joe Blunt?" "Hum! I don't know that. There's no dependin' on a dog to keep his tongue quiet in times o' danger." "Believe me," exclaimed Dick, flashing with enthusiasm, "Crusoe's more trustworthy than I am myself. If ye can trust the master yer safe to trust the pup." "Well, lad, ye may be right. We'll take him." "Thanks, Joe. And who else goes with us?" "I've bin castin' that in my mind for some time, an' I've fixed to take Henri. He's not the safest man in the valley, but he's the truest, that's a fact. And now, younker, get yer horse an' rifle ready, and come to the block-house at daybreak to-morrow. Good luck to ye, mistress, till we meet agin." Joe Blunt rose, and taking up his rifle,--without which he scarcely ever moved a foot from his own door,--left the cottage with rapid strides. "My son," said Mrs Varley, kissing Dick's cheek as he resumed his seat, "put this in the little pocket I made for it in your hunting shirt." She handed him a small pocket Bible. "Dear mother," he said, as he placed the book carefully within the breast of his coat, "the Red-skin that takes that from me must take my scalp first. But don't fear for me. You've often said the Lord would protect me. So He will, mother, for sure it's an errand o' peace!" "Ay, that's it, that's it," murmured the widow in a half-soliloquy. Dick Varley spent that night in converse with his mother, and next morning at daybreak he was at the place of meeting mounted on his sturdy little horse, with the "silver rifle" on his shoulder, and Crusoe by his side. "That's right, lad, that's right. Nothin' like keepin' yer time," said Joe, as he led out a pack-horse from the gate of the block-house, while his own charger was held ready saddled by a man named Daniel Brand, who had been appointed to the charge of the block-house in his absence. "Where's Henri?--oh! here he comes," exclaimed Dick, as the hunter referred to came thundering up the slope at a charge, on a horse that resembled its rider in size, and not a little in clumsiness of appearance. "Ah! mes boy. Him is a goot one to go," cried Henri, remarking Dick's smile as he pulled up. "No hoss on de plain can beat dis one, surement." "Now then, Henri, lend a hand to fix this pack, we've no time to palaver." By this time they were joined by several of the soldiers and a few hunters who had come to see them start. "Remember, Joe," cried one, "if you don't come back in three months we'll all come out in a band to seek you." "If we don't come back in less than that time, what's left o' us won't be worth seekin' for," said Joe, tightening the girth of his saddle. "Put a bit in yer own mouth, Henri," cried another, as the Canadian arranged his steed's bridle; "ye'll need it more than yer horse when ye git 'mong the red reptiles." "Vraiment, if mon mout' needs one bit yours will need one padlock." "Now, lads, mount!" cried Joe Blunt as he vaulted into the saddle. Dick Varley sprang lightly on his horse, and Henri made a rush at his steed and hurled his huge frame across its back with a violence that _ought_ to have brought it to the ground; but the tall, raw-boned, broad-chested roan was accustomed to the eccentricities of its master, and stood the shock bravely. Being appointed to lead the pack-horse, Henri seized its halter; then the three cavaliers shook their reins, and, waving their hands to their comrades, they sprang into the woods at full gallop, and laid their course for the "far west." For some time they galloped side by side in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts, Crusoe keeping close beside his master's horse. The two elder hunters evidently ruminated on the object of their mission and the prospects of success, for their countenances were grave and their eyes cast on the ground. Dick Varley, too, thought upon the Red-men, but his musings were deeply tinged with the bright hues of a _first_ adventure. The mountains, the plains, the Indians, the bears, the buffaloes, and a thousand other objects, danced wildly before his mind's eye, and his blood careered through his veins and flushed his forehead as he thought of what he should see and do, and felt the elastic vigour of youth respond in sympathy to the light spring of his active little steed. He was a lover of nature, too, and his flashing eyes glanced observantly from side to side as they swept along,--sometimes through glades of forest trees; sometimes through belts of more open ground and shrubbery; anon by the margin of a stream, or along the shores of a little lake, and often over short stretches of flowering prairie-land,-- while the firm, elastic turf sent up a muffled sound from the tramp of their mettlesome chargers. It was a scene of wild, luxuriant beauty, that might almost (one could fancy) have drawn involuntary homage to its bountiful Creator from the lips even of an infidel. After a time Joe Blunt reined up, and they proceeded at an easy ambling pace. Joe and his friend Henri were so used to these beautiful scenes that they had long ceased to be _enthusiastically_ affected by them, though they never ceased to delight in them. "I hope," said Joe, "that them sodgers 'll go their ways soon. I've no notion o' them chaps when they're left at a place wi' nothin' to do but whittle sticks." "Why, Joe!" exclaimed Dick Varley in a tone of surprise, "I thought you were admirin' the beautiful face o' nature all this time, and yer only thinkin' about the sodgers. Now, that's strange!" "Not so strange after all, lad," answered Joe. "When a man's used to a thing he gits to admire an' enjoy it without speakin' much about it. But it _is_ true, boy, that mankind gits in coorse o' time to think little o' the blissins he's used to." "Oui, c'est _vrai_!" murmured Henri emphatically. "Well, Joe Blunt, it may be so; but I'm thankful _I'm_ not used to this sort o' thing yet," exclaimed Varley. "Let's have another gallop--so ho! come along, Crusoe!" shouted the youth, as he shook his reins, and flew over a long stretch of prairie on which at that moment they entered. Joe smiled as he followed his enthusiastic companion, but after a short run he pulled up. "Hold on, youngster," he cried, "ye must larn to do as yer bid, lad; it's trouble enough to be among wild Injuns and wild buffaloes, as I hope soon to be, without havin' wild comrades to look after." Dick laughed and reined in his panting horse. "I'll be as obedient as Crusoe," he said, "and no one can beat him." "Besides," continued Joe, "the horses won't travel far if we begin by runnin' all the wind out o' them." "Wah!" exclaimed Henri, as the led horse became restive; "I think we must give to him de pack-hoss for to lead, eh!" "Not a bad notion, Henri. We'll make that the penalty of runnin' off again; so look out, Master Dick." "I'm down," replied Dick with a modest air, "obedient as a baby, and won't run off again--till--the next time. By the way, Joe, how many days' provisions did ye bring?" "Two. That's 'nough to carry us to the Great Prairie, which is three weeks distant from this; our own good rifles must make up the difference, and keep us when we git there." "And s'pose we neither find deer nor buffalo," suggested Dick. "I s'pose we'll have to starve." "Dat is cumfer'able to tink upon," remarked Henri. "More comfortable to think o' than to undergo," said Dick, "but I s'pose there's little chance o' that." "Well, not much," replied Joe Blunt, patting his horse's neck; "but d'ye see, lad, ye niver can count for sartin on anythin'. The deer and buffalo ought to be thick in them plains at this time--and when the buffalo _are_ thick they covers the plains till ye can hardly see the end o' them; but, ye see, sometimes the rascally Red-skins takes it into their heads to burn the prairies, and sometimes ye find the place that should ha' bin black wi' buffalo, black as a coal wi' fire for miles an' miles on end. At other times the Red-skins go huntin' in 'ticlar places, and sweeps them clean o' every hoof that don't git away. Sometimes, too, the animals seems to take a scunner at a place and keeps out o' the way. But one way or another men gin'rally manage to scramble through." "Look yonder, Joe," exclaimed Dick, pointing to the summit of a distant ridge, where a small black object was seen moving against the sky, "that's a deer, ain't it?" Joe shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed earnestly at the object in question. "Yer right, boy; and by good luck we've got the wind of him. Cut in an' take your chance now. There's a long strip o' wood as'll let ye git close to him." Before the sentence was well finished, Dick and Crusoe were off at full gallop. For a few hundred yards they coursed along the bottom of a hollow; then turning to the right they entered the strip of wood, and in a few minutes gained the edge of it. Here Dick dismounted. "You can't help me here, Crusoe. Stay where you are, pup, and hold my horse." Crusoe seized the end of the line, which was fastened to the horse's nose, in his mouth, and lay down on a hillock of moss, submissively placing his chin on his fore-paws, and watching his master as he stepped noiselessly through the wood. In a few minutes Dick emerged from among the trees, and, creeping from bush to bush, succeeded in getting to within six hundred yards of the deer, which was a beautiful little antelope. Beyond the bush behind which he now crouched all was bare open ground, without a shrub or hillock large enough to conceal the hunter. There was a slight undulation in the ground, however, which enabled him to advance about fifty yards further, by means of lying down quite flat and working himself forward like a serpent. Further than this he could not move without being seen by the antelope, which browsed on the ridge before him in fancied security. The distance was too great even for a long shot, but Dick knew of a weak point in this little creature's nature which enabled him to accomplish his purpose--a weak point which it shares in common with animals of a higher order,--namely, curiosity. The little antelope of the North American prairies is intensely curious about everything that it does not quite understand, and will not rest satisfied until it has endeavoured to clear up the mystery. Availing himself of this propensity, Dick did what both Indians and hunters are accustomed to do on these occasions,--he put a piece of rag on the end of his ramrod, and, keeping his person concealed and perfectly still, waved this miniature flag in the air. The antelope noticed it at once, and, pricking up its ears, began to advance, timidly and slowly, step by step, to see what remarkable phenomenon it could be. In a few seconds the flag was lowered, a sharp crack followed, and the antelope fell dead upon the plain. "Ha, boy! that's a good supper, anyhow," cried Joe, as he galloped up and dismounted. "Goot! dat is better nor dried meat," added Henri. "Give him to me; I will put him on my hoss, vich is strongar dan yourn. But ver is your hoss?" "He'll be here in a minute," replied Dick, putting his fingers to his mouth and giving forth a shrill whistle. The instant Crusoe heard the sound he made a savage and apparently uncalled-for dash at the horse's heels. This wild act, so contrary to the dog's gentle nature, was a mere piece of acting. He knew that the horse would not advance without getting a fright, so he gave him one in this way which sent him off at a gallop. Crusoe followed close at his heels, so as to bring the line alongside of the nag's body, and thereby prevent its getting entangled; but despite his best efforts the horse got on one side of a tree and he on the other, so he wisely let go his hold of the line, and waited till more open ground enabled him to catch it again. Then he hung heavily back, gradually checked the horse's speed, and finally trotted him up to his master's side. "'Tis a cliver cur, good sooth," exclaimed Joe Blunt in surprise. "Ah, Joe! you haven't seen much of Crusoe yet. He's as good as a man any day. I've done little else but train him for two years gone by, and he can do most anything but shoot--he can't handle the rifle nohow." "Ha! then, I tink perhaps hims could if he wos try," said Henri, plunging on to his horse with a laugh, and arranging the carcase of the antelope across the pommel of his saddle. Thus they hunted and galloped, and trotted and ambled on through wood and plain all day, until the sun began to descend below the tree-tops of the bluffs on the west--then Joe Blunt looked about him for a place on which to camp, and finally fixed on a spot under the shadow of a noble birch by the margin of a little stream. The carpet of grass on its banks was soft like green velvet, and the rippling waters of the brook were clear as crystal--very different from the muddy Missouri into which it flowed. While Dick Varley felled and cut up firewood, Henri unpacked the horses and turned them loose to graze, and Joe kindled the fire and prepared venison steaks and hot tea for supper. In excursions of this kind it is customary to "hobble" the horses; that is, to tie their fore-legs together, so that they cannot run either fast or far, but are free enough to amble about with a clumsy sort of hop in search of food. This is deemed a sufficient check on their tendency to roam, although some of the knowing horses sometimes learn to hop so fast with their hobbles as to give their owners much trouble to recapture them. But when out in the prairies where Indians are known or supposed to be in the neighbourhood, the horses are picketed by means of a pin or stake attached to the ends of their long laryats, as well as hobbled-- for Indians deem it no disgrace to steal or tell lies, though they think it disgraceful to be found out in doing either. And so expert are these dark-skinned natives of the western prairies, that they will creep into the midst of an enemy's camp, cut the laryats and hobbles of several horses, spring suddenly on their backs, and gallop away. They not only steal from white men, but tribes that are at enmity steal from each other, and the boldness with which they do this is most remarkable. When Indians are travelling in a country where enemies are prowling, they guard their camps at night with jealous care. The horses in particular are both hobbled and picketed, and sentries are posted all round the camp. Yet, in spite of these precautions, hostile Indians manage to elude the sentries, and creep into the camp. When a thief thus succeeds in effecting an entrance, his chief danger is past. He rises boldly to his feet, and, wrapping his blanket or buffalo robe round him, he walks up and down as if he were a member of the tribe. At the same time he dexterously cuts the laryats of such horses as he observes are not hobbled. He dare not stoop to cut the hobbles, as the action would be observed, and suspicion would be instantly aroused. He then leaps on the best horse he can find, and uttering a terrific war-whoop darts away into the plains, driving the loosened horses before him. No such dark thieves were supposed to be near the camp under the birch-tree, however, so Joe, and Dick, and Henri ate their supper in comfort, and let their horses browse at will on the rich pasturage. A bright ruddy fire was soon kindled, which created, as it were, a little ball of light in the midst of surrounding darkness for the special use of our hardy hunters. Within this magic circle all was warm, comfortable, and cheery. Outside all was dark, and cold, and dreary by contrast. When the substantial part of supper was disposed of, tea and pipes were introduced, and conversation began to flow. Then the three saddles were placed in a row; each hunter wrapped himself in his blanket, and, pillowing his head on his saddle, stretched his feet towards the fire and went to sleep, with his loaded rifle by his side and his hunting-knife handy in his belt. Crusoe mounted guard by stretching himself out _couchant_ at Dick Varley's side. The faithful dog slept lightly and never moved all night, but had any one observed him closely he would have seen that every fitful flame that burst from the sinking fire, every unusual puff of wind, and every motion of the horses that fed or rested hard by, had the effect of revealing a speck of glittering white in Crusoe's watchful eye. CHAPTER SIX. THE GREAT PRAIRIES OF THE "FAR WEST"--A REMARKABLE COLONY DISCOVERED, AND A MISERABLE NIGHT ENDURED. Of all the hours of the night or day the hour that succeeds the dawn is the purest, the most joyous and the best. At least so think we; and so think hundreds and thousands of the human family; and so thought Dick Varley, as he sprung suddenly into a sitting posture next morning, and threw his arms with an exulting feeling of delight round the neck of Crusoe, who instantly sat up to greet him. This was an unusual piece of enthusiasm on the part of Dick, but the dog received it with marked satisfaction, rubbed his big hairy cheek against that of his young master, and arose from his sedentary position in order to afford free scope for the use of his tail. "Ho! Joe Blunt! Henri! Up, boys, up! The sun will have the start o' us. I'll catch the nags." So saying Dick bounded away into the woods with Crusoe gambolling joyously at his heels. Dick soon caught his own horse and Crusoe caught Joe's. Then the former mounted and quickly brought in the other two. Returning to the camp he found everything packed and ready to strap on the back of the pack-horse. "That's the way to do it, lad," cried Joe. "Here Henri, look alive and git yer beast ready. I do believe yer goin' to take another snooze!" Henri was indeed, at that moment, indulging in a gigantic stretch and a cavernous yawn, but he finished both hastily, and rushed at his poor horse as if he intended to slay it on the spot. He only threw the saddle on its back, however, and then threw himself on the saddle. "Now then, all ready?" "Ay,--oui, yis!" And away they went at full stretch again on their journey. Thus day after day they travelled, and night after night they laid them down to sleep under the trees of the forest, until at length they reached the edge of the Great Prairie. It was a great, a memorable day in the life of Dick Varley, that on which he first beheld the prairie,--the vast boundless prairie. He had heard of it, talked of it, dreamed about it, but he had never,--no, he had never realised it. 'Tis always thus. Our conceptions of things that we have not seen are almost invariably wrong. Dick's eyes glittered, and his heart swelled, and his cheeks flushed, and his breath came thick and quick. "There it is," he gasped, as the great rolling plain broke suddenly on his enraptured gaze; "that's it--oh!--" Dick uttered a yell that would have done credit to the fiercest chief of the Pawnees, and, being unable to utter another word, he swung his cap in the air and sprang like an arrow from a bow over the mighty ocean of grass. The sun had just risen to send a flood of golden glory over the scene; the horses were fresh, so the elder hunters, gladdened by the beauty of all around them, and inspired by the irresistible enthusiasm of their young companion, gave the reins to the horses and flew after him. It was a glorious gallop, that first headlong dash over the boundless prairie of the "far west!" The prairies have often been compared, most justly, to the ocean. There is the same wide circle of space bounded on all sides by the horizon; there is the same swell, or undulation, or succession of long low unbroken waves that marks the ocean when it is calm; they are canopied by the same pure sky, and swept by the same untrammelled breezes. There are islands, too--clumps of trees and willow-bushes,--which rise out of this grassy ocean to break and relieve its uniformity; and these vary in size and numbers as do the isles of ocean--being numerous in some places, while in others they are so scarce that the traveller does not meet one in a long day's journey. Thousands of beautiful flowers decked the green sward, and numbers of little birds hopped about among them. "Now, lads," said Joe Blunt, reining up, "our troubles begin to-day." "Our troubles! our joys, you mean!" exclaimed Dick Varley. "P'raps I don't mean nothin' o' the sort," retorted Joe. "Man wos never intended to swaller his joys without a strong mixtur' o' troubles. I s'pose he couldn't stand 'em pure. Ye see we've got to the prairie now--" "One blind hoss might see dat!" interrupted Henri. "An' we may or may not diskiver buffalo. An' water's scarce, too, so we'll need to look out for it pretty sharp, I guess, else we'll lose our horses, in which case we may as well give out at once. Besides, there's rattlesnakes about in sandy places--we'll ha' to look out for them; an' there's badger holes--we'll need to look sharp for them lest the horses put their feet in 'em; an' there's Injuns, who'll look out pretty sharp for _us_ if they once get wind that we're in them parts." "Oui, yis, mes boys, and there's rain, and tunder, and lightin'," added Henri, pointing to a dark cloud which was seen rising on the horizon ahead of them. "It'll be rain," remarked Joe, "but there's no thunder in the air jist now; we'll make for yonder clump o' bushes and lay by till it's past." Turning a little to the right of the course they had been following, the hunters galloped along one of the hollows between the prairie waves before mentioned, in the direction of a clump of willows. Before reaching it however, they passed over a bleak and barren plain where there was neither flower nor bird. Here they were suddenly arrested by a most extraordinary sight--at least it was so to Dick Varley, who had never seen the like before. This was a colony of what Joe called "prairie-dogs." On first beholding them Crusoe uttered a sort of half growl, half bark of surprise, cocked his tail and ears, and instantly prepared to charge, but he glanced up at his master first for permission. Observing that his finger and his look commanded "silence" he dropped his tail at once and stepped to the rear. He did not, however, cease to regard the prairie-dogs with intense curiosity. These remarkable little creatures have been egregiously misnamed by the hunters of the west, for they bear not the slightest resemblance to dogs, either in formation or habits. They are, in fact, the marmot, and in size are little larger than squirrels, which animals they resemble in some degree. They burrow under the light soil and throw it up in mounds like moles. Thousands of them were running about among their dwellings when Dick first beheld them, but the moment they caught sight of the horsemen rising over the ridge, they set up a tremendous hubbub of consternation; each little beast instantly mounted guard on the top of his house and prepared, as it were, to "receive cavalry." The most ludicrous thing about them was, that although the most timid and cowardly creatures in the world, they seemed the most impertinent things that ever lived! Knowing that their holes afforded them a perfectly safe retreat they sat close beside them, and as the hunters slowly approached, they elevated their heads, wagged their little tails, showed their teeth, and chattered at them like monkeys. The nearer they came the more angry and furious did the prairie-dogs become, until Dick Varley almost fell off his horse with suppressed laughter. They let the hunters come close up, waxing louder and louder in their wrath; but the instant a hand was raised to throw a stone or point a gun, a thousand little heads dived into a thousand holes, and a thousand little tails wriggled for an instant in the air--then, a dead silence reigned over the deserted scene. "Bien, them's have dive into de bo'-els of de eart'," said Henri with a broad grin. Presently a thousand noses appeared, and nervously disappeared like the wink of an eye. Then they appeared again, and a thousand pairs of eyes followed. Instantly, like Jack in the box, they were all on the top of their hillocks again, chattering and wagging their little tails as vigorously as ever. You could not say that you _saw_ them jump out of their holes. Suddenly, as if by magic, they _were_ out; then Dick tossed up his arms, and, suddenly, as if by magic, they were gone! Their number was incredible, and their cities were full of riotous activity. What their occupations were the hunters could not ascertain, but it was perfectly evident that they visited a great deal and gossiped tremendously, for they ran about from house to house, and sat chatting in groups; but it was also observed that they never went far from their own houses. Each seemed to have a circle of acquaintance in the immediate neighbourhood of his own residence, to which in case of sudden danger he always fled. But another thing about these prairie-dogs (perhaps, considering their size, we should call them prairie-doggies), another thing about them, we say, was that each doggie lived with an owl, or, more correctly, an owl lived with each doggie! This is such an extraordinary _fact_, that we could scarce hope that men would believe us, were our statement not supported by dozens of trustworthy travellers who have visited and written about these regions. The whole plain was covered with these owls. Each hole seemed to be the residence of an owl and a doggie, and these incongruous couples lived together apparently in perfect harmony. We have not been able to ascertain from travellers _why_ the owls have gone to live with these doggies, so we beg humbly to offer our own private opinion to the reader. We assume, then, that owls find it absolutely needful to have holes. Probably prairie-owls cannot dig holes for themselves. Having discovered, however, a race of little creatures that could, they very likely determined to take forcible possession of the holes made by them. Finding, no doubt, that, when they did so, the doggies were too timid to object, and discovering, moreover, that they were sweet, innocent little creatures, the owls resolved to take them into partnership, and so the thing was settled-- that's how it came about, no doubt of it! There is a report that rattlesnakes live in these holes also; but we cannot certify our reader of the truth of this,--still it is well to be acquainted with a report that is current among the men of the backwoods. If it be true, we are of opinion that the doggie's family is the most miscellaneous and remarkable on the face of--or, as Henri said, in the bo'-els--of the earth. Dick and his friends were so deeply absorbed in watching these curious little creatures that they did not observe the rapid spread of the black clouds over the sky. _A_ few heavy drops of rain now warned them to seek shelter, so wheeling round they dashed off at speed for the clump of willows, which they gained just as the rain began to descend in torrents. "Now, lads, do it slick. Off packs and saddles," cried Joe Blunt, jumping from his horse. "I'll make a hut for ye, right off." "A hut, Joe! what sort o' hut can ye make here?" inquired Dick. "Ye'll see, boy, in a minute." "Ach! lend me hand here, Dick; de bockle am tight as de hosse's own skin. Ah! dere all right." "Hallo! what's this?" exclaimed Dick, as Crusoe advanced with something in his mouth. "I declare, it's a bird of some sort." "A prairie-hen," remarked Joe, as Crusoe laid the bird at Dick's feet; "capital for supper." "Ah! dat chien is superb! goot dog. Come here, I vill clap you." But Crusoe refused to be caressed. Meanwhile, Joe and Dick formed a sort of beehive-looking hut by bending down the stems of a tall bush and thrusting their points into the ground. Over this they threw the largest buffalo robe, and placed another on the ground below it, on which they laid their packs of goods. These they further secured against wet by placing several robes over them and a skin of parchment. Then they sat down on this pile to rest and consider what should be done next. "'Tis a bad look out," said Joe, shaking his head. "I fear it is," replied Dick in a melancholy tone. Henri said nothing, but he sighed deeply on looking up at the sky, which was now of a uniform watery grey, while black clouds drove athwart it. The rain was pouring in torrents, and the wind began to sweep it in broad sheets over the plains, and under their slight covering, so that in a short time they were wet to the skin. The horses stood meekly beside them, with their tails and heads equally pendulous, and Crusoe sat before his master, looking at him with an expression that seemed to say, "Couldn't you put a stop to this if you were to try?" "This'll never do. I'll try to git up a fire," said Dick, jumping up in desperation. "Ye may save yerself the trouble," remarked Joe, drily--at least as drily as was possible in the circumstances. However, Dick did try, but he failed signally. Everything was soaked and saturated. There were no large trees; most of the bushes were green, and the dead ones were soaked. The coverings were slobbery; the skins they sat on were slobbery; the earth itself was slobbery; so Dick threw his blanket (which was also slobbery) round his shoulders, and sat down beside his companions to grin and bear it. As for Joe and Henri, they were old hands, and accustomed to such circumstances. From the first they had resigned themselves to their fate, and wrapping their wet blankets round them sat down, side by side, wisely to endure the evils that they could not cure. There is an old rhyme, by whom composed we know not--and it matters little--which runs thus-- "For every evil under the sun There is a remedy--or there's none. If there is--try and find it; If there isn't--never mind it!" There is deep wisdom here in small compass. The principle involved deserves to be heartily recommended. Dick never heard of the lines, but he knew the principle well; so he began to "never mind it," by sitting down beside his companions and whistling vociferously. As the wind rendered this a difficult feat he took to singing instead. After that he said, "Let's eat a bite, Joe, and then go to bed." "Be all means," said Joe, who produced a mass of dried deer's meat from a wallet. "It's cold grub," said Dick, "and tough." But the hunters' teeth were sharp and strong, so they ate a hearty supper and washed it down with a drink of rain water collected from a pool on the top of their hut. They now tried to sleep, for the night was advancing, and it was so dark that they could scarce see their hands when held up before their faces. They sat back to back, and thus, in the form of a tripod, began to snooze. Joe's and Henri's seasoned frames would have remained stiff as posts till morning; but Dick's body was young and pliant, so he hadn't been asleep a few seconds when he fell forward into the mud and effectually awakened the others. Joe gave a grunt, and Henri exclaimed, "Hah!" but Dick was too sleepy and miserable to say anything. Crusoe, however, rose up to show his sympathy, and laid his wet head on his master's knee as he resumed his place. This catastrophe happened three times in the space of an hour, and by the third time they were all wakened up so thoroughly that they gave up the attempt to sleep, and amused each other by recounting their hunting experiences and telling stories. So engrossed did they become that day broke sooner than they had expected--and just in proportion as the grey light of dawn rose higher into the eastern sky did the spirits of these weary men rise within their soaking bodies. CHAPTER SEVEN. THE "WALLERING" PECULIARITIES OF BUFFALO BULLS--THE FIRST BUFFALO HUNT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES--CRUSOE COMES TO THE RESCUE--PAWNEES DISCOVERED--A MONSTER BUFFALO HUNT--JOE ACTS THE PART OF AMBASSADOR. Fortunately the day that succeeded the dreary night described in the last chapter was warm and magnificent. The sun rose in a blaze of splendour and filled the atmosphere with steam from the moist earth. The unfortunates in the wet camp were not slow to avail themselves of his cheering rays. They hung up everything on the bushes to dry, and by dint of extreme patience and cutting out the comparatively dry hearts of several pieces of wood, they lighted a fire and boiled some rain water, which was soon converted into soup. This, and the exercise necessary for the performance of these several duties, warmed and partially dried them, so that when they once more mounted their steeds and rode away they were in a state of comparative comfort and in excellent spirits. The only annoyance was the clouds of mosquitoes and large flies that assailed men and horses whenever they checked their speed. "I tell ye wot it is," said Joe Blunt, one fine morning about a week after they had begun to cross the prairie, "it's my 'pinion that we'll come on buffaloes soon. Them tracks are fresh, an' yonder's one o' their wallers that's bin used not long agone." "I'll go have a look at it," cried Dick, trotting away as he spoke. Everything in these vast prairies was new to Dick Varley, and he was kept in a constant state of excitement during the first week or two of his journey. It is true he was quite familiar with the names and habits of all the animals that dwelt there, for many a time and oft had he listened to the "yarns" of the hunters and trappers of the Mustang Valley, when they returned laden with rich furs from their periodical hunting expeditions. But this knowledge of his only served to whet his curiosity and his desire to _see_ the denizens of the prairies with his own eyes, and now that his wish was accomplished, it greatly increased the pleasures of his journey. Dick had just reached the "wallow" referred to by Joe Blunt, and had reined up his steed to observe it leisurely, when a faint hissing sound reached his ear. Looking quickly back he observed his two companions crouching on the necks of their horses, and slowly descending into a hollow of the prairie in front of them, as if they wished to bring the rising ground between them and some object in advance. Dick instantly followed their example and was soon at their heels. "Ye needn't look at the waller," whispered Joe, "for a' t'other side o' the ridge there's a bull _wallerin'_." "Ye don't mean it!" exclaimed Dick, as they all dismounted and picketed their horses to the plain. "Oui," said Henri, tumbling off his horse, while a broad grin overspread his good-natured countenance; "it is one fact! One buffalo bull be wollerin' like a enormerous hog. Also, dere be t'ousands o' buffaloes farder on." "Can ye trust yer dog keepin' back?" inquired Joe, with a dubious glance at Crusoe. "Trust him! Ay, I wish I was as sure o' myself." "Look to your primin', then, an' we'll have tongues and marrow-bones for supper to-night, I'se warrant. Hist! down on yer knees, and go softly. We might ha' run them down on horseback, but its bad to wind yer beasts on a trip like this, if ye can help it; an' it's about as easy to stalk them. Leastways, we'll try. Lift yer head slowly, Dick, an' don't show more nor the half o't above the ridge." Dick elevated his head as directed, and the scene that met his view was indeed well calculated to send an electric shock to the heart of an ardent sportsman. The vast plain beyond was absolutely blackened with countless herds of buffaloes, which were browsing on the rich grass. They were still so far distant that their bellowing, and the trampling of their myriad hoofs, only reached the hunters like a faint murmur on the breeze. In the immediate foreground, however, there was a group of about half a dozen buffalo cows feeding quietly, and in the midst of them an enormous old bull was enjoying himself in his wallow. The animals, towards which our hunters now crept with murderous intent, are the fiercest and the most ponderous of the ruminating inhabitants of the western wilderness. The name of buffalo, however, is not correct. The animal is the _bison_, and bears no resemblance whatever to the buffalo proper; but as the hunters of the far west--and, indeed, travellers generally, have adopted the misnomer, we bow to the authority of custom and adopt it too. Buffaloes roam in countless thousands all over the North American prairies, from the Hudson's Bay territories, north of Canada, to the shores of the Gulf of Mexico. The advance of white men to the west has driven them to the prairies between the Missouri and the Rocky Mountains, and has somewhat diminished their numbers; but even thus diminished, they are still innumerable in the more distant plains. Their colour is dark brown, but it varies a good deal with the seasons. The hair or fur, from its great length in winter and spring and exposure to the weather, turns quite light; but when the winter coat is shed off the new growth is a beautiful dark brown, almost approaching to jet-black. In form the buffalo somewhat resembles the ox, but its head and shoulders are much larger, and are covered with a profusion of long shaggy hair, which adds greatly to the fierce aspect of the animal. It has a large hump on the shoulder, and its fore-quarters are much larger, in proportion, than the hindquarters. The horns are short and thick; the hoofs are cloven, and the tail is short, with a tuft of hair at the extremity. It is scarcely possible to conceive a wilder or more ferocious and terrible monster than a buffalo bull. He often grows to the enormous weight of two thousand pounds. His lion-like mane falls in shaggy confusion quite over his head and shoulders, down to the ground. When he is wounded he becomes imbued with the spirit of a tiger; he stamps, bellows, roars, and foams forth his rage with glaring eyes and steaming nostrils; and charges furiously at man and horse with utter recklessness. Fortunately, however, he is not naturally pugnacious, and can be easily thrown into a sudden panic. Moreover, the peculiar position of his eye renders this creature not so terrible as he would otherwise be to the hunter. Owing to the stiff structure of the neck, and the sunken, downward-looking eyeball, the buffalo cannot, without an effort, see beyond the direct line of vision presented to the habitual carriage of his head. When, therefore, he is wounded, and charges, he does so in a straight line, so that his pursuer can leap easily out of his way. The pace of the buffalo is clumsy, and _apparently_ slow, yet, when chased, he dashes away over the plains in blind blundering terror, at a rate that leaves all but good horses far behind. He cannot keep the pace up, however, and is usually soon overtaken. Were the buffalo capable of the same alert and agile motions of head and eye peculiar to the deer or wild horse, in addition to his "bovine rage," he would be the most formidable brute on earth. There is no object, perhaps, so terrible as the headlong advance of a herd of these animals when thoroughly aroused by terror. They care not for their necks. All danger in front is forgotten, or not seen, in the terror of that from which they fly. No thundering cataract is more tremendously irresistible than the black bellowing torrent which sometimes pours through the narrow defiles of the Rocky Mountains, or sweeps like a roaring flood over the trembling plains. The wallowing, to which we have referred, is a luxury usually indulged in during the hot months of summer, when the buffaloes are tormented by flies, and heat, and drought. At this season they seek the low grounds in the prairies where there is a little stagnant water lying amongst the grass, and the ground underneath, being saturated, is soft. The leader of the herd, a shaggy old bull, usually takes upon himself to prepare the wallow. It was a rugged monster of the largest size that did so on the present occasion, to the intense delight of Dick Varley, who begged Joe to lie still and watch the operation before trying to shoot one of the buffalo cows. Joe consented with a nod, and the four spectators--for Crusoe was as much taken up with the proceedings as any of them--crouched in the grass, and looked on. Coming up to the swampy spot the old bull gave a grunt of satisfaction, and, going down on one knee, plunged his short thick horns into the mud, tore it up, and cast it aside. Having repeated this several times he plunged his head in, and brought it forth saturated with dirty water, and bedaubed with lumps of mud, through which his fierce eyes gazed, with a ludicrous expression of astonishment, straight in the direction of the hunters, as if he meant to say, "I've done it that time, and no mistake!" The other buffaloes seemed to think so too, for they came up and looked, on with an expression that seemed to say, "Well done, old fellow; try that again!" The old fellow did try it again, and again, and again, plunging, and ramming, and tearing up the earth, until he formed an excavation large enough to contain his huge body. In this bath he laid himself comfortably down, and began to roll and wallow about until he mixed up a trough full of thin soft mud, which completely covered him. When he came out of the hole there was scarcely an atom of his former self visible! The coat of mud thus put on by bulls is usually permitted by them to dry, and is not finally got rid of until long after, when oft-repeated rollings on the grass and washings by rain at length clear it away. When the old bull vacated this delectable bath, another bull, scarcely, if at all, less ferocious-looking, stepped forward to take his turn, but he was interrupted by a volley from the hunters, which scattered the animals right and left, and sent the mighty herds in the distance flying over the prairie in wild terror. The very turmoil of their own mad flight added to their panic, and the continuous thunder of their hoofs was heard until the last of them disappeared on the horizon. The family party which had been fired at, however, did not escape so well. Joe's rifle wounded a fat young cow, and Dick Varley brought it down. Henri had done his best, but, as the animals were too far distant for his limited vision, he missed the cow he fired at and hit the young bull whose bath had been interrupted. The others scattered and fled. "Well done, Dick," exclaimed Joe Blunt, as they all ran up to the cow that had fallen. "Your first shot at the buffalo was a good 'un. Come now an I'll show ye how to cut it up an' carry off the titbits." "Ah! mon dear ole bull," exclaimed Henri, gazing after the animal which he had wounded, and which was now limping slowly away. "You is not worth goin' after. Varewell,--adieu." "He'll be tough enough, I warrant," said Joe, "an' we've more meat here nor we can lift." "But wouldn't it be as well to put the poor brute out o' pain?" suggested Dick. "Oh, he'll die soon enough," replied Joe, tucking up his sleeves and drawing his long hunting-knife. Dick, however, was not satisfied with this way of looking at it. Saying that he would be back in a few minutes he re-loaded his rifle, and calling Crusoe to his side, walked quickly after the wounded bull, which was now hid from view in a hollow of the plain. In a few minutes he came in sight of it, and ran forward with his rifle in readiness. "Down, Crusoe," he whispered; "wait for me here." Crusoe crouched in the grass instantly, and Dick advanced. As he came on, the bull observed him, and turned round bellowing with rage and pain to receive him. The aspect of the brute on a near view was so terrible, that Dick involuntarily stopped too, and gazed with a mingled feeling of wonder and awe, while it bristled with passion, and blood-streaked foam dropped from its open jaws, and its eyes glared furiously. Seeing that Dick did not advance, the bull charged him with a terrific roar; but the youth had firm nerves, and although the rush of such a savage creature at full speed was calculated to try the courage of any man, especially one who had never seen a buffalo bull before, Dick did not lose presence of mind. He remembered the many stories he had listened to of this very thing that was now happening, so, crushing down his excitement as well as he could, he cocked his rifle and awaited the charge. He knew that it was of no use to fire at the head of the advancing foe, as the thickness of the skull, together with the matted hair on the forehead, rendered it impervious to a bullet. When the bull was within a yard of him he leaped lightly to one side and it passed. Just as it did so, Dick aimed at its heart and fired, but his knowledge of the creature's anatomy was not yet correct. The ball entered the shoulder too high, and the bull, checking himself as well as he could in his headlong rush, turned round and made at Dick again. The failure coupled with the excitement proved too much for Dick; he could not resist discharging his second barrel at the brute's head as it came on. He might as well have fired at a brick wall; it shook its shaggy front, and with a hideous bellow thundered forward. Again Dick sprang to one side, but in doing so a tuft of grass or a stone caught his foot, and he fell heavily to the ground. Up to this point Crusoe's admirable training had nailed him to the spot where he had been left, although the twitching of every fibre in his body and a low continuous whine showed how gladly he would have hailed permission to join in the combat; but the instant he saw his master down and the buffalo turning to charge again, he sprang forward with a roar that would have done credit to his bovine enemy, and seized him by the nose. So vigorous was the rush that he well-nigh pulled the bull down on its side. One toss of its head, however, sent Crusoe high into the air, but it accomplished this feat at the expense of its nose, which was torn and lacerated by the dog's teeth. Scarcely had Crusoe touched the ground, which he did with a sounding thump, than he sprang up and flew at his adversary again. This time, however, he adopted the plan of barking furiously and biting by rapid yet terrible snaps as he found opportunity, thus keeping the bull entirely engrossed, and affording Dick an opportunity of re-loading his rifle, which he was not slow to do. Dick then stepped close up, and, while the two combatants were roaring in each other's face; he shot the buffalo through the heart. It fell to the earth with a deep groan. Crusoe's rage instantly vanished on beholding this, and he seemed to be filled with tumultuous joy at his master's escape, for he gambolled round him, and whined and fawned upon him in a manner that could not be misunderstood. "Good dog; thank'ee, my pup," said Dick, patting Crusoe's head as he stooped to brush the dust from his leggings; "I don't know what would ha' become o' me but for your help, Crusoe." Crusoe turned his head a little to one side, wagged his tail, and looked at Dick with an expression that said quite plainly, "I'd die for you, I would--not once, or twice, but ten times, fifty times if need be--and that not merely to save your life, but even to please you." There is no doubt whatever that Crusoe felt something of this sort. The love of a Newfoundland dog to its master is beyond calculation or expression. He who once gains such love carries the dog's life in his hand. But let him who reads note well, and remember, that there is only one coin that can purchase such love, and that is _kindness_; the coin, too, must be genuine. Kindness merely _expressed_ will not do, it must be _felt_. "Hallo! boy, ye've bin i' the wars!" exclaimed Joe, raising himself from his task as Dick and Crusoe returned. "You look more like it than I do," retorted Dick, laughing. This was true, for cutting up a buffalo carcase with no other instrument than a large knife is no easy matter. Yet western hunters and Indians can do it without cleaver or saw, in a way that would surprise a civilised butcher not a little. Joe was covered with blood up to the elbows. His hair, happening to have a knack of getting into his eyes, had been so often brushed off with bloody hands, that his whole visage was speckled with gore, and his dress was by no means immaculate. While Dick related his adventure, or _mis-adventure_ with the bull, Joe and Henri completed the cutting out of the most delicate portions of the buffalo, namely, the hump on its shoulder--which is a choice piece, much finer than the best beef--and the tongue, and a few other parts. The tongues of buffaloes are superior to those of domestic cattle. When all was ready the meat was slung across the back of the pack-horse, and the party, remounting their horses, continued their journey, having first cleansed themselves as well as they could in the rather dirty waters of an old wallow. "See," said Henri, turning to Dick and pointing to a circular spot of green as they rode along, "that is one old _dry_ waller." "Ay," remarked Joe, "after the waller dries, it becomes a ring o' greener grass than the rest o' the plain, as ye see. 'Tis said the first hunters used to wonder greatly at these myster'ous circles, and they invented all sorts o' stories to account for 'em. Some said they wos fairy-rings, but at last they comed to know they wos nothin' more nor less than places where buffaloes wos used to waller in. It's often seemed to me that if we knowed the _raisons_ o' things we wouldn't be so much puzzled wi' them as we are." The truth of this last remark was so self-evident and incontrovertible that it elicited no reply, and the three friends rode on for a considerable time in silence. It was now past noon, and they were thinking of calling a halt for a short rest to the horses and a pipe to themselves, when Joe was heard to give vent to one of those peculiar hisses that always accompanied either a surprise or a caution. In the present case it indicated both. "What now, Joe?" "Injuns!" ejaculated Joe. "Eh! fat you say? ou is de?" Crusoe at this moment uttered a low growl. Ever since the day he had been partially roasted he had maintained a rooted antipathy to Red-men. Joe immediately dismounted, and placing his ear to the ground listened intently. It is a curious fact that by placing the ear close to the ground sounds can be heard distinctly which could not be heard at all if the listener were to maintain an erect position. "They're arter the buffalo," said Joe, rising, "an' I think it's likely they're a band o' Pawnees. Listen an' ye'll hear their shouts quite plain." Dick and Henri immediately lay down and placed their ears to the ground. "Now, me hear noting," said Henri, jumping up, "but me ear is like me eyes; ver' short-sighted." "I do hear something," said Dick as he got up, "but the beating o' my own heart makes row enough to spoil my hearin'." Joe Blunt smiled. "Ah! lad, yer young an' yer blood's too hot yet, but bide a bit; you'll cool down soon. I wos like you once. Now, lads, what think ye we should do?" "You know best, Joe." "Oui, nodoubtedly." "Then wot I advise is that we gallop to the broken sand hillocks ye see yonder, get behind them an' take a peep at the Red-skins. If they are Pawnees we'll go up to them at once; if not, we'll hold a council o' war on the spot." Having arranged this they mounted and hastened towards the hillocks in question, which they reached after ten minutes' gallop, at full stretch. The sandy mounds afforded them concealment, and enabled them to watch the proceedings of the savages in the plain below. The scene was the most curious and exciting that can be conceived. The centre of the plain before them was crowded with hundreds of buffaloes, which were dashing about in the most frantic state of alarm. To whatever point they galloped they were met by yelling savages on horseback, who could not have been fewer in numbers than a thousand--all being armed with lance, bow, and quiver, and mounted on active little horses. The Indians had completely surrounded the herd of buffaloes, and were now advancing steadily towards them, gradually narrowing the circle, and, whenever the terrified animals endeavoured to break through the line, they rushed to that particular spot in a body, and scared them back again into the centre. Thus they advanced until they closed in on their prey, and formed an unbroken circle round them, whilst the poor brutes kept eddying and surging to and fro in a confused mass, hooking and climbing upon each other, and bellowing furiously. Suddenly the horsemen made a rush, and the work of destruction began. The tremendous turmoil raised a cloud of dust that obscured the field in some places, and hid it from our hunters' view. Some of the Indians galloped round and round the circle, sending their arrows whizzing up to the feathers in the sides of the fattest cows. Others dashed fearlessly into the midst of the black heaving mass, and, with their long lances, pierced dozens of them to the heart. In many instances the buffaloes, infuriated by wounds, turned fiercely on their assailants and gored the horses to death, in which cases the men had to trust to their nimble legs for safety. Sometimes a horse got jammed in the centre of the swaying mass, and could neither advance nor retreat. Then the savage rider leaped upon the buffaloes' backs, and springing from one to another, like an acrobat, gained the outer edge of the circle, not failing, however, in his strange flight, to pierce with his lance several of the fattest of his stepping-stones as he sped along. A few of the herd succeeded in escaping from the blood and dust of this desperate battle, and made off over the plains, but they were quickly overtaken, and the lance or arrow brought them down on the green turf. Many of the dismounted riders were chased by bulls, but they stepped lightly to one side, and, as the animals passed, drove their arrows deep into their sides. Thus the tumultuous war went on, amid thundering tread, and yell, and bellow, till the green plain was transformed into a sea of blood and mire, and every buffalo of the herd was laid low. It is not to be supposed that such reckless warfare is invariably waged without damage to the savages. Many were the wounds and bruises received that day, and not a few bones were broken, but happily no lives were lost. "Now, lads, now's our time. A bold and fearless look's the best at all times. Don't look as if ye doubted their friendship; and mind, wotever ye do, don't use yer arms. Follow me." Saying this, Joe Blunt leaped on his horse, and, bounding over the ridge at full speed, galloped headlong across the plain. The savages observed the strangers instantly, and a loud yell announced the fact as they assembled from all parts of the field brandishing their bows and spears. Joe's quick eye soon distinguished their chief, towards whom he galloped, still at full speed, till within a yard or two of his horse's head; then he reined up suddenly. So rapidly did Joe and his comrades approach, and so instantaneously did they pull up, that their steeds were thrown almost on their haunches. The Indian chief did not move a muscle. He was a tall powerful savage, almost naked, and mounted on a coal-black charger, which he sat with the ease of a man accustomed to ride from infancy. He was, indeed, a splendid-looking savage, but his face wore a dark frown, for, although he and his band had visited the settlements and trafficked with the fur-traders on the Missouri, he did not love the "Pale-faces," whom he regarded as intruders on the hunting grounds of his fathers, and the peace that existed between them at that time was of a very fragile character. Indeed, it was deemed by the traders impossible to travel through the Indian country at that period except in strong force, and it was the very boldness of the present attempt that secured to our hunters anything like a civil reception. Joe, who could speak the Pawnee tongue fluently, began by explaining the object of his visit, and spoke of the presents which he had brought for the great chief; but it was evident that his words made little impression. As he discoursed to them the savages crowded round the little party, and began to handle and examine their dresses and weapons with a degree of rudeness that caused Joe considerable anxiety. "Mahtawa believes that the heart of the Pale-face is true," said the savage, when Joe paused, "but he does not choose to make peace. The Pale-faces are grasping. They never rest. They turn their eyes to the great mountains, and say, `There we will stop.' But even there they will not stop. They are never satisfied, Mahtawa knows them well." This speech sank like a death-knell into the hearts of the hunters, for they knew that if the savages refused to make peace, they would scalp them all and appropriate their goods. To make things worse, a dark-visaged Indian suddenly caught hold of Henri's rifle, and, ere he was aware, plucked it from his hand. The blood rushed to the gigantic hunter's forehead, and he was on the point of springing at the man, when Joe said in a deep, quiet voice-- "Be still, Henri. You will but hasten death." At this moment there was a movement in the outskirts of the circle of horsemen, and another chief rode into the midst of them. He was evidently higher in rank than Mahtawa, for he spoke authoritatively to the crowd, and stepped in before him. The hunters drew little comfort from the appearance of his face, however, for it scowled upon them. He was not so powerful a man as Mahtawa, but he was more gracefully formed, and had a more noble and commanding countenance. "Have the Pale-faces no wigwams on the great river that they should come to spy out the lands of the Pawnee?" he demanded. "We have not come to spy your country," answered Joe, raising himself proudly as he spoke, and taking off his cap. "We have come with a message from the great chief of the Pale-faces, who lives in the village far beyond the great river where the sun rises. He says, why should the Pale-face and the Red-man fight? They are brothers. The same Manitou [the Indian name for God] watches over both. The Pale-faces have more beads, and guns, and blankets, and knives, and vermilion than they require; they wish to give some of these things for the skins and furs which the Red-man does not know what to do with. The great chief of the Pale-faces has sent me to say, `Why should we fight? let us smoke the pipe of peace!'" At the mention of beads and blankets the face of the wily chief brightened for a moment. Then he said, sternly-- "The heart of the Pale-face is not true. He has come here to trade for himself. San-it-sa-rish has eyes that can see--they are not shut. Are not these your goods?" The chief pointed to the pack-horse as he spoke. "Trappers do not take their goods into the heart of an enemy's camp," returned Joe; "San-it-sa-rish is wise and will understand this. These are gifts to the chief of the Pawnees. There are more awaiting him when the pipe of peace is smoked. I have said,--What message shall we take back to the great chief of the Pale-faces?" San-it-sa-rish was evidently mollified. "The hunting field is not the council tent," he said. "The Pale-faces will go with us to our village." Of course Joe was only too glad to agree to this proposal, but he now deemed it politic to display a little firmness. "We cannot go till our rifle is restored. It will not do to go back and tell the great chief of the Pale-faces that the Pawnees are thieves." The chief frowned angrily. "The Pawnees are true--they are not thieves. They choose to _look_ at the rifle of the Pale-face. It shall be returned." The rifle was instantly restored, and then our hunters rode off with the Indians towards their camp. On the way they met hundreds of women and children going to the scene of the great hunt, for it was their special duty to cut up the meat and carry it into camp. The men, considering that they had done quite enough in killing it, returned to smoke and eat away the fatigues of the chase. As they rode along Dick Varley observed that some of the "braves," as Indian warriors are styled, were eating pieces of the bloody livers of the buffaloes in a raw state, at which he expressed not a little disgust. "Ah! boy, you're green yet," remarked Joe Blunt in an undertone. "Mayhap ye'll be thankful to do that same yerself some day." "Well, I'll not refuse to try when it is needful," said Dick with a laugh; "meanwhile I'm content to see the Red-skins do it, Joe Blunt." CHAPTER EIGHT. DICK AND HIS FRIENDS VISIT THE INDIANS AND SEE MANY WONDERS--CRUSOE, TOO, EXPERIENCES A FEW SURPRISES AND TEACHES INDIAN DOGS A LESSON--AN INDIAN DANDY--A FOOT-RACE. The Pawnee village, at which they soon arrived, was situated in the midst of a most interesting and picturesque scene. It occupied an extensive plain which sloped gently down to a creek, [In America small rivers or riverlets are termed "creeks"] whose winding course was marked by a broken line of wood, here and there interspersed with a fine clump of trees, between the trunks of which the blue waters of the lake sparkled in the distance. Hundreds of tents or "lodges" of buffalo skins covered the ground, and thousand of Indians--men, women, and children--moved about the busy scene. Some were sitting in their lodges, lazily smoking their pipes. But these were chiefly old and infirm veterans, for all the young men had gone to the hunt which we have just described. The women were stooping over their fires, busily preparing maize and meat for their husbands and brothers, while myriads of little brown and naked children romped about everywhere, filling the air with their yells and screams, which were only equalled, if not surpassed, by the yelping dogs that seemed innumerable. Far as the eye could reach were seen scattered herds of horses. These were tended by little boys who were totally destitute of clothing, and who seemed to enjoy with infinite zest the pastime of shooting-practice with little bows and arrows. No wonder that these Indians become expert bowmen. There were urchins there, scarce two feet high, with round bullets of bodies and short spindle-shanks, who could knock blackbirds off the trees at every shot, and cut the heads of the taller flowers with perfect certainty! There was much need, too, for the utmost proficiency they could attain, for the very existence of the Indian tribes of the prairies depends on their success in hunting the buffalo. There are hundreds and thousands of North American savages who would undoubtedly perish and their tribes become extinct if the buffaloes were to leave the prairies or die out. Yet, although animals are absolutely essential to their existence, they pursue and slay them with improvident recklessness, sometimes killing hundreds of them merely for the sake of the sport, the tongues, and the marrow-bones. In the bloody hunt described in the last chapter, however, the slaughter of so many was not wanton, because the village that had to be supplied with food was large, and, just previous to the hunt, they had been living on somewhat reduced allowance. Even the blackbirds, shot by the brown-bodied urchins before mentioned, had been thankfully put into the pot. Thus precarious is the supply of food among the Red-men, who on one day are starving, and the next are revelling in superabundance. But to return to our story. At one end of this village the creek sprang over a ledge of rock in a low cascade and opened out into a beautiful lake, the bosom of which was studded with small islands. Here were thousands of those smaller species of wild water-fowl which were either too brave or too foolish to be scared away by the noise of the camp. And here, too, dozens of children were sporting on the beach or paddling about in their light bark canoes. "Isn't it strange," remarked Dick to Henri, as they passed among the tents towards the centre of the village, "isn't it strange that them Injuns should be so fond o' fightin' when they've got all they can want--a fine country, lots o' buffalo, an' as far as I can see, happy homes?" "Oui, it is remarkaibel, vraiment. But dey do more love war to peace. Dey loves to be excited, I s'pose." "Humph! One would think the hunt we seed a little agone would be excitement enough. But, I say, that must be the chief's tent, by the look o't." Dick was right; the horsemen pulled up and dismounted opposite the principal chief's tent, which was a larger and more elegant structure than the others. Meanwhile an immense concourse of women, children, and dogs gathered round the strangers, and, while the latter yelped their dislike to white men, the former chattered continuously, as they discussed the appearance of the strangers and their errand, which latter soon became known. An end was put to this by San-it-sa-rish desiring the hunters to enter the tent, and spreading a buffalo robe for them to sit on. Two braves carried in their packs and then led away their horses. All this time Crusoe had kept as close as possible to his master's side, feeling extremely uncomfortable in the midst of such a strange crowd, the more especially that the ill-looking Indian curs gave him expressive looks of hatred, and exhibited some desire to rush upon him in a body, so that he had to keep a sharp look out all round him. When, therefore, Dick entered the tent Crusoe endeavoured to do so along with him, but he was met by a blow on the nose from an old squaw, who scolded him in a shrill voice and bade him begone. Either our hero's knowledge of the Indian language was insufficient to enable him to understand the order, or he had resolved not to obey it, for instead of retreating he drew a deep gurgling breath, curled his nose, and displayed a row of teeth that caused the old woman to draw back in alarm. Crusoe's was a forgiving spirit. The instant that opposition ceased he forgot the injury, and was meekly advancing when Dick held up his finger. "Go outside, pup, and wait." Crusoe's tail drooped; with a deep sigh he turned and left the tent. He took up a position near the entrance, however, and sat down resignedly. So meek, indeed, did the poor dog look, that six mangy-looking curs felt their dastardly hearts emboldened to make a rush at him with boisterous yells. Crusoe did not rise. He did not even condescend to turn his head toward them, but he looked at them out of the corner of his dark eye, wrinkled--very slightly--the skin of his nose, exhibited two beautiful fangs, and gave utterance to a soft remark, that might be described as quiet, deep-toned gargling. It wasn't much, but it was more than enough for the valiant six, who paused and snarled violently. It was a peculiar trait of Crusoe's gentle nature, that, the moment any danger ceased, he resumed his expression of nonchalant gravity. The expression on this occasion was misunderstood, however, and, as about two dozen additional yelping dogs had joined the ranks of the enemy, they advanced in close order to the attack. Crusoe still sat quiet and kept his head high, but he _looked_ at them again and exhibited four fangs for their inspection. Among the pack there was one Indian dog of large size--almost as large as Crusoe himself--which kept well in the rear, and apparently urged the lesser dogs on. The little dogs didn't object, for little dogs are generally the most pugnacious. At this big dog Crusoe directed a pointed glance, but said nothing. Meanwhile a particularly small and vicious cur, with a mere rag of a tail, crept round by the back of the tent, and, coming upon Crusoe in the rear, snapped at his tail sharply, and then fled shrieking with terror and surprise, no doubt, at its own temerity. Crusoe did not bark; he seldom barked; he usually either said nothing, or gave utterance to a prolonged roar of indignation of the most terrible character with barks, as it were, mingled through it. It somewhat resembled that peculiar and well-known species of thunder, the prolonged roll of which is marked at short intervals in its course by cannon-like cracks. It was a continuous, but, so to speak, _knotted_ roar. On receiving the snap, Crusoe gave forth _the_ roar with a majesty and power that scattered the pugnacious front rank of the enemy to the winds. Those that still remained, half stupefied, he leaped over with a huge bound and alighted, fangs first, on the back of the big dog. There was one hideous yell, a muffled scramble of an instant's duration, and the big dog lay dead upon the plain! It was an awful thing to do; but Crusoe evidently felt that the peculiar circumstances of the case required that an example should be made--and to say truth, all things considered, we cannot blame him. The news must have been carried at once through the canine portion of the camp, for Crusoe was never interfered with again after that. Dick witnessed this little incident; but he observed that the Indian chief cared not a straw about it, and as his dog returned quietly and sat down in its old place, he took no notice of it either, but continued to listen to the explanations which Joe gave to the chief, of the desire of the Pale-faces to be friends with the Red-men. Joe's eloquence would have done little for him on this occasion had his hands been empty; but he followed it up by opening one of his packs, and displaying the glittering contents before the equally glittering eyes of the chief and his squaws. "These," said Joe, "are the gifts that the great chief of the Pale-faces sends to the great chief of the Pawnees, and he bids me say that there are many more things in his stores which will be traded for skins with the Red-men, when they visit him; and he also says that if the Pawnees will not steal horses any more from the Pale-faces they shall receive gifts of knives, and guns, and powder and blankets every year." "_Wah_!" grunted the chief; "it is good. The great chief is wise. We will smoke the pipe of peace." The things that afforded so much satisfaction to San-it-sa-rish were the veriest trifles. Penny looking-glasses in yellow gilt tin frames, beads of various colours, needles, cheap scissors, and knives, vermilion paint, and coarse scarlet cloth, etcetera. They were of priceless value, however, in the estimation of the savages, who delighted to adorn themselves with leggings made from the cloth, beautifully worked with beads by their own ingenious women. They were thankful, too, for knives even of the commonest description, having none but bone ones of their own; and they gloried in daubing their faces with intermingled streaks of charcoal and vermilion. To gaze at their visages, when thus treated, in the little penny looking-glasses is their summit of delight! Joe presented the chief with a portion of these coveted goods and tied up the remainder. We may remark here, that the only thing which prevented the savages from taking possession of the whole at once, without asking permission, was the promise of the annual gifts, which they knew would not be forthcoming were any evil to befall the deputies of the Pale-faces. Nevertheless, it cost them a severe struggle to restrain their hands on this occasion, and Joe and his companions felt that they would have to play their part well in order to fulfil their mission with safety and credit. "The Pale-faces may go now and talk with the braves," said San-it-sa-rish, after carefully examining everything that was given to him; "a council will be called soon, and we will smoke the pipe of peace." Accepting this permission to retire, the hunters immediately left the tent, and being now at liberty to do what they pleased, they amused themselves by wandering about the village. "He's a cute chap that," remarked Joe, with a sarcastic smile; "I don't feel quite easy about gettin' away. He'll bother the life out o' us to get all the goods we've got, and, ye see, as we've other tribes to visit, we must give away as little as we can here." "Ha! you is right," said Henri; "dat fellow's eyes twinkle at de knives and tings like two stars." "Fire-flies, ye should say. Stars are too soft an' beautiful to compare to the eyes o' yon savage," said Dick, laughing. "I wish we were well away from them. That rascal Mahtawa is an ugly customer." "True, lad," returned Joe; "had _he_ bin the great chief our scalps had bin dryin' in the smoke o' a Pawnee wigwam afore now. What now, lad?" Joe's question was put in consequence of a gleeful smile that overspread the countenance of Dick Varley, who replied by pointing to a wigwam towards which they were approaching. "Oh! that's only a dandy," exclaimed Joe. "There's lots o' them in every Injun camp. They're fit for nothin' but dress, poor contemptible critters." Joe accompanied his remark with a sneer, for of all pitiable objects, he regarded an unmanly man as the most despicable. He consented, however, to sit down on a grassy bank and watch the proceedings of this Indian dandy, who had just seated himself in front of his wigwam for the purpose of making his toilet. He began it by greasing his whole person carefully and smoothly over with buffalo-fat, until he shone like a patent leather boot; then he rubbed himself almost dry, leaving the skin sleek and glossy. Having proceeded thus far he took up a small mirror, a few inches in diameter, which he or some other member of the tribe must have procured during one of their few excursions to the trading forts of the Pale-faces, and examined himself, as well as he could, in so limited a space. Next, he took a little vermilion from a small parcel and rubbed it over his face until it presented the somewhat demoniac appearance of a fiery red. He also drew a broad red score along the crown of his head, which was closely shaved, with the exception of the usual tuft or scalp-lock on the top. This scalp-lock stood bristling straight up a few inches, and then curved over and hung down his back about two feet. Immense care and attention was bestowed on this lock. He smoothed it, greased it, and plaited it into the form of a pigtail. Another application was here made to the glass, and the result was evidently satisfactory, to judge from the beaming smile that played on his features. But, not content with the general effect, he tried the effect of expression--frowned portentously, scowled savagely, gaped hideously, and grinned horribly a ghastly smile. Then our dandy fitted into his ears, which were bored in several places, sundry ornaments, such as rings, wampum, etcetera, and hung several strings of beads round his neck. Besides these he affixed one or two ornaments to his arms, wrists, and ankles, and touched in a few effects with vermilion on the shoulders and breast. After this, and a few more glances at the glass, he put on a pair of beautiful moccasins, which, besides being richly wrought with beads, were soft as chamois leather, and fitted his feet like gloves; a pair of leggings of scarlet cloth were drawn on, attached to a waist-belt, and bound below the knee with broad garters of variegated bead-work. It was some time before this Adonis was quite satisfied with himself. He re-touched the paint on his shoulders several times, and modified the glare of that on his wide-mouthed, high-cheek-boned visage before he could tear himself away; but at last he did so, and, throwing a large piece of scarlet cloth over his shoulders, he thrust his looking-glass under his belt, and proceeded to mount his palfrey, which was held in readiness near to the tent door by one of his wives. The horse was really a fine animal, and seemed worthy of a more warlike master. His shoulders, too, were striped with red paint, and feathers were intertwined with his mane and tail, while the bridle was decorated with various jingling ornaments. Vaulting upon his steed, with a large fan of wild goose and turkey feathers in one hand, and a whip dangling at the wrist of the other, this incomparable dandy sallied forth for a promenade--that being his chief delight when there was no buffalo hunting to be done. Other men who were not dandies sharpened their knives, smoked, feasted, and mended their spears and arrows at such seasons of leisure, or played at athletic games. "Let's follow my buck," said Joe Blunt. "Oui. Come 'long," replied Henri, striding after the rider at a pace that almost compelled his comrades to run. "Hold on!" cried Dick, laughing; "we don't want to keep him company. A distant view is quite enough o' sich a chap as that." "Mais, you forgit, I cannot see far." "So much the better," remarked Joe; "it's my opinion we've seen enough o' him. Ah! he's goin' to look on at the games. Them's worth lookin' at." The games to which Joe referred were taking place on a green level plain close to the creek, and a little above the waterfall before referred to. Some of the Indians were horse-racing, some jumping, and others wrestling; but the game which proved most attractive was throwing the javelin, in which several of the young braves were engaged. This game is played by two competitors, each armed with a dart, in an arena about fifty yards long. One of the players has a hoop of six inches in diameter. At a signal they start off on foot at full speed, and on reaching the middle of the arena the Indian with the hoop rolls it along before them, and each does his best to send a javelin through the hoop before the other. He who succeeds counts so many points--if both miss, the nearest to the hoop is allowed to count, but not so much as if he had "ringed" it. The Indians are very fond of this game, and will play at it under a broiling sun for hours together. But a good deal of the interest attaching to it is owing to the fact that they make it a means of gambling. Indians are inveterate gamblers, and will sometimes go on until they lose horses, bows, blankets, robes, and, in short, their whole personal property. The consequences are, as might be expected, that fierce and bloody quarrels sometimes arise in which life is often lost. "Try your hand at that," said Henri to Dick. "By all means," cried Dick, handing his rifle to his friend, and springing into the ring enthusiastically. A general shout of applause greeted the Pale-face, who threw off his coat and tightened his belt, while a young Indian presented him with a dart. "Now, see that ye do us credit, lad," said Joe. "I'll try," answered Dick. In a moment they were off. The young Indian rolled away the hoop, and Dick threw his dart with such vigour that it went deep into the ground, but missed the hoop by a foot at least. The young Indian's first dart went through the centre. "Ha!" exclaimed Joe Blunt to the Indians near him, "the lad's not used to that game, try him at a race. Bring out your best brave--he whose bound is like the hunted deer." We need scarcely remind the reader that Joe spoke in the Indian language, and that the above is a correct rendering of the sense of what he said. The name of Tarwicadia, or the little chief, immediately passed from lip to lip, and in a few minutes an Indian, a little below the medium size, bounded into the arena with an indiarubber-like elasticity that caused a shade of anxiety to pass over Joe's face. "Ah, boy!" he whispered, "I'm afeared you'll find him a tough customer." "That's just what I want," replied Dick. "He's supple enough, but he wants muscle in the thigh. We'll make it a long heat." "Right, lad, yer right." Joe now proceeded to arrange the conditions of the race with the chiefs around him. It was fixed that the distance to be run should be a mile, so that the race would be one of two miles, out and back. Moreover, the competitors were to run without any clothes, except a belt and a small piece of cloth round the loins. This to the Indians was nothing, for they seldom wore more in warm weather, but Dick would have preferred to keep on part of his dress. The laws of the course, however, would not permit of this, so he stripped and stood forth, the beau-ideal of a well-formed, agile man. He was greatly superior in size to his antagonist, and more muscular, the savage being slender and extremely lithe and springy. "Hah! I will run too," shouted Henri, bouncing forward with clumsy energy, and throwing off his coat just as they were going to start. The savages smiled at this unexpected burst and made no objection, considering the thing in the light of a joke. The signal was given, and away they went. Oh! it would have done you good to have seen the way in which Henri manoeuvred his limbs on this celebrated occasion! He went over the ground with huge elephantine bounds, runs, and jumps. He could not have been said to have one style of running; he had a dozen styles, all of which came into play in the course of half as many minutes. The other two ran like the wind; yet, although Henri _appeared_ to be going heavily over the ground, he kept up with them to the turning point. As for Dick, it became evident in the first few minutes that he could outstrip his antagonist with ease, and was hanging back a little all the time. He shot ahead like an arrow when they came about half-way back, and it was clear that the real interest of the race was to lie in the competition between Henri and Tarwicadia. Before they were two-thirds of the way back, Dick walked in to the winning point, and turned to watch the others. Henri's wind was about gone, for he exerted himself with such violence that he wasted half his strength. The Indian, on the contrary, was comparatively fresh, but he was not so fleet as his antagonist, whose tremendous strides carried him over the ground at an incredible pace. On they came neck and neck, till close on the score that marked the winning point. Here the value of enthusiasm came out strongly in the case of Henri. He _felt_ that he could not gain an inch on Tarwicadia to save his life; but, just as he came up, he observed the anxious faces of his comrades and the half-sneering countenances of the savages. His heart thumped against his ribs, every muscle thrilled with a gush of conflicting feelings, and he _hurled_ himself over the score like a cannon shot, full six inches ahead of the little chief! But the thing did not by any means end here. Tarwicadia pulled up the instant he had passed. Not so our Canadian. Such a clumsy and colossal frame was not to be checked in a moment. The crowd of Indians opened up to let him pass, but unfortunately a small tent that stood in the way was not so obliging. Into it he went, head-foremost, like a shell, carried away the corner-post with his shoulder, and brought the whole affair down about his own ears, and those of its inmates, among whom were several children and two or three dogs. It required some time to extricate them all from the ruins, but when this was effected, it was found that no serious damage had been done to life or limb! CHAPTER NINE. CRUSOE ACTS A CONSPICUOUS AND HUMANE PART--A FRIEND GAINED--A GREAT FEAST. When the foot-race was concluded, the three hunters hung about, looking on at the various games for some time, and then strolled towards the lake. "Ye may be thankful yer neck's whole," said Joe, grinning, as Henri rubbed his shoulder with a rueful look. "An' we'll have to send that Injun and his family a knife and some beads to make up for the fright they got." "Hah! an' fat is to be give to me for my broke shoulder?" "Credit, man, credit," said Dick Varley, laughing. "Credit! fat is dat?" "Honour and glory, lad, and the praises of them savages." "Ha! de praise? more probeebale de ill-vill of de rascale. I seed dem scowl at me not ver' pritty." "That's true, Henri, but sich as it is it's all ye'll git." "I vish," remarked Henri after a pause--"I vish I could git de vampum belt de leetle chief had on. It vas superb. Fat place do vampums come from?" "They're shells--" "Oui," interrupted Henri. "I know _fat_ de is. Dey is shells, and de Injuns tink dem goot monish; mais, I ask you _fat place_ de come from." "They are thought to be gathered on the shores o' the Pacific," said Joe; "the Injuns on the west o' the Rocky Mountains picks them up and exchanges them wi' the fellows here-away for horses and skins--so I'm told." At this moment there was a wild cry of terror heard a short distance ahead of them. Rushing forward they observed an Indian woman flying frantically down the river's bank towards the waterfall, a hundred yards above which an object was seen struggling in the water. "'Tis her child," cried Joe, as the mother's frantic cry reached his ear. "It'll be over the fall in a minute! Run, Dick, you're quickest." They had all started forward at speed, but Dick and Crusoe were far ahead, and abreast of the spot in a few seconds. "Save it, pup," cried Dick, pointing to the child, which had been caught in an eddy, and was for a few moments hovering on the edge of the stream that rushed impetuously towards the fall. The noble Newfoundland did not require to be told what to do. It seems a natural instinct in this sagacious species of dog to save man or beast that chances to be struggling in the water, and many are the authentic stories related of Newfoundland dogs saving life in cases of shipwreck. Indeed, they are regularly trained to the work in some countries, and nobly, fearlessly, disinterestedly, do they discharge their trust, often in the midst of appalling dangers. Crusoe sprang from the bank with such impetus that his broad chest ploughed up the water like the bow of a boat, and the energetic workings of his muscles were indicated by the force of each successive propulsion as he shot ahead. In a few seconds he reached the child and caught it by the hair. Then he turned to swim back, but the stream had got hold of him. Bravely he struggled, and lifted the child breast-high out of the water in his powerful efforts to stem the current. In vain. Each moment he was carried inch by inch down until he was on the brink of the fall, which, though not high, was a large body of water and fell with a heavy roar. He raised himself high out of the stream with the vigour of his last struggle, and then fell back into the abyss. By this time the poor mother was in a canoe as close to the fall as she could with safety approach, and the little bark danced like a cockle-shell on the turmoil of waters as she stood with uplifted paddle and staring eyeballs awaiting the rising of the child. Crusoe came up almost instantly, but _alone_, for the dash over the fall had wrenched the child from his teeth. He raised himself high up and looked anxiously round for a moment. Then he caught sight of a little hand raised above the boiling flood. In one moment he had the child again by the hair, and, just as the prow of the Indian woman's canoe touched the shore, he brought the child to land. Springing towards him, the mother snatched her child from the flood and gazed at its death-like face with eyeballs starting from their sockets; then she laid her cheek on its cold breast and stood like a statue of despair. There was one slight pulsation of the heart and a gentle motion of the hand! The child still lived. Opening up her blanket she laid her little one against her naked, warm bosom, drew the covering close around it, and, sitting down on the bank, wept aloud for joy. "Come,--come 'way quick," cried Henri, hurrying off to hide the emotion which he could not crush down. "Ay, she don't need our help now," said Joe, following his comrade. As for Crusoe, he walked along by his master's side with his usual quiet, serene look of good-will towards all mankind. Doubtless a feeling of gladness at having saved a human life filled his shaggy breast, for he wagged his tail gently, after each shake of his dripping sides, but his meek eyes were downcast, save when raised to receive the welcome and unusually fervent caress. Crusoe did not know that those three men loved him as though he had been a brother. On their way back to the village the hunters were met by a little boy, who said that a council was to be held immediately, and their presence was requested. The council was held in the tent of the principal chief, towards which all the other chiefs and many of the noted braves hurried. Like all Indian councils, it was preceded by smoking the "medicine pipe," and was followed by speeches from several of the best orators. The substance of the discourse differed little from what has been already related in reference to the treaty between the Pale-faces, and upon the whole it was satisfactory. But Joe Blunt could not fail to notice that Mahtawa maintained sullen silence during the whole course of the meeting. He observed, also, that there was a considerable change in the tone of the meeting when he informed them that he was bound on a similar errand of peace to several of the other tribes, especially to one or two tribes which were the Pawnees' bitter enemies at that time. These grasping savages having quite made up their minds that they were to obtain the entire contents of the two bales of goods, were much mortified on hearing that part was to go to other Indian tribes. Some of them even hinted that this would not be allowed, and Joe feared at one time that things were going to take an unfavourable turn. The hair of his scalp, as he afterwards said, "began to lift a little and feel oneasy." But San-it-sa-rish stood honestly to his word; said that it would be well that the Pale-faces and the Pawnees should be brothers, and hoped that they would not forget the promise of annual presents from the hand of the great chief who lived in the big village near the rising sun. Having settled this matter amicably, Joe distributed among the Indians the proportion of his goods designed for them, and then they all adjourned to another tent where a great feast was prepared for them. "Are ye hungry?" inquired Joe of Dick as they walked along. "Ay, that am I. I feel as if I could eat a buffalo alive. Why, it's my 'pinion we've tasted nothin' since daybreak this mornin'." "Well, I've often told ye that them Red-skins think it a disgrace to give in eatin' till all that's set before them at a feast is bolted. We'll ha' to stretch oursel's, we will." "I'se got a plenty room," remarked Henri. "Ye have, but ye'll wish ye had more in a little." "Bien, I not care!" In a quarter of an hour all the guests invited to this great _medicine_ feast were assembled. No women were admitted. They never are at Indian feasts. We may remark in passing, that the word "medicine," as used among the North American Indians, has a very much wider signification than it has with us. It is an almost inexplicable word. When asked, they cannot give a full or satisfactory explanation of it themselves. In the general, we may say that whatever is mysterious is "medicine." Jugglery and conjuring, of a noisy, mysterious, and, we must add, rather silly nature, is "medicine," and the juggler is a "medicine-man." These medicine-men undertake cures, but they are regular charlatans, and know nothing whatever of the diseases they pretend to cure, or their remedies. They carry bags containing sundry relics; these are "medicine bags." Every brave has his own private medicine bag. Everything that is incomprehensible, or supposed to be supernatural, religious, or medical, is "medicine." This feast, being an unusual one, in honour of strangers, and in connection with a peculiar and unexpected event, was "medicine." Even Crusoe, since his gallant conduct in saving the Indian child, was "medicine"; and Dick Varley's double-barrelled rifle, which had been an object of wonder ever since his arrival at the village, was tremendous "medicine!" Of course the Indians were arrayed in their best; several wore necklaces of the claws of the grizzly bear, of which they are extremely proud; and a gaudily picturesque group they were. The chief, however, had undergone a transformation that well-nigh upset the gravity of our hunters, and rendered Dick's efforts to look solemn quite abortive. San-it-sa-rish had once been to the trading forts of the Pale-faces, and while there had received the customary gift of a blue surtout with brass buttons, and an ordinary hat, such as gentlemen wear at home. As the coat was a good deal too small for him, a terrible length of dark, bony wrist appeared below the cuffs. The waist was too high, and it was with great difficulty that he managed to button the garment across his broad chest. Being ignorant of the nature of a hat, the worthy savage had allowed the paper and string with which it had been originally covered, to remain on, supposing them to be part and parcel of the hat; and this, together with the high collar of the coat, which gave him a crushed-up appearance, the long black naked legs, and the painted visage, gave to him a _tout ensemble_ which we can compare to nothing, as there was nothing in nature comparable to it. Those guests who assembled first passed their time in smoking the medicine pipe until the others should arrive; for so long as a single invited guest is absent the feast cannot begin. Dignified silence was maintained while the pipe thus circulated from hand to hand. When the last guest arrived they began. The men were seated in two rows, face to face. Feasts of this kind usually consist of but one species of food, and on the present occasion it was an enormous cauldron full of maize which had to be devoured. About fifty sat down to eat a quantity of what may be termed thick porridge, that would have been ample allowance for a hundred ordinary men. Before commencing, San-it-sa-rish desired an aged medicine-man to make an oration, which he did fluently and poetically. Its subject was the praise of the giver of the feast. At the end of each period there was a general "Hou! hou!" of assent--equivalent to the hear! hear! of civilised men. Other orators then followed, all of whom spoke with great ease and fluency, and some in the most impassioned strains, working themselves and their audience up to the highest pitch of excitement, now shouting with frenzied violence till their eyes glared from their sockets, and the veins of their foreheads swelled almost to bursting as they spoke of war and chase--anon breaking into soft modulated and pleasing tones, while they dilated upon the pleasures of peace and hospitality. After these had finished, a number of wooden bowls full of maize porridge were put down between the guests--one bowl to each couple facing each other. But before commencing, a portion was laid aside and dedicated to their gods, with various mysterious ceremonies; for here, as in other places where the gospel is not known, the poor savages fancied that they could propitiate God with sacrifices. They had never heard of the "sacrifice of a broken spirit and a contrite heart." This offering being made, the feast began in earnest. Not only was it a rule in this feast that every mouthful should be swallowed by each guest, however unwilling and unable he should be to do so, but he who could dispose of it with greatest speed was deemed the greatest man--at least on that occasion--while the last to conclude his supper was looked upon with some degree of contempt! It seems strange that such a custom should ever have arisen, and one is not a little puzzled in endeavouring to guess at the origin of it. There is one fact that occurs to us as the probable cause. The Indian is, as we have before hinted, frequently reduced to a state bordering on starvation, and in a day after he may be burdened with superabundance of food. He oftentimes, therefore, eats as much as he can stuff into his body when he is blessed with plenty, so as to be the better able to withstand the attacks of hunger that may possibly be in store for him. The amount that an Indian will thus eat at a single meal is incredible. He seems to have the power of distending himself for the reception of a quantity that would kill a civilised man. Children, in particular, become like tightly inflated little balloons after a feast, and as they wear no clothing, the extraordinary rotundity is very obvious, not to say ridiculous. We conclude, therefore, that unusual powers of gormandising, being useful, come at last to be cultivated as praiseworthy. By good fortune Dick and Joe Blunt happened to have such enormous gluttons as _vis-a-vis_, that the portions of their respective bowls which they could not devour were gobbled up for them. By good capacity and digestion, with no small amount of effort, Henri managed to dispose of his own share; but he was last of being done, and fell in the savages' esteem greatly. The way in which that sticky compost of boiled maize went down was absolutely amazing. The man opposite Dick, in particular, was a human boa-constrictor. He well-nigh suffocated Dick with suppressed laughter. He was a great raw-boned savage, with a throat of indiarubber, and went quickly and quietly on swallowing mass after mass, with the solemn gravity of an owl. It mattered not a straw to him that Dick took comparatively small mouthfuls, and nearly choked on them too for want of liquid to wash them down. Had Dick eaten none at all he would have uncomplainingly disposed of the whole. Jack the Giant-Killer's feats were nothing to his, and when at last the bowl was empty, he stopped short like a machine from which the steam had been suddenly cut off, and laid down his buffalo horn spoon _without_ a sigh. Dick sighed, though, with relief and gratitude when his bowl was empty. "I hope I may never have to do it again," said Joe that night as they wended their way back to the chief's tent after supper. "I wouldn't be fit for anything for a week arter it." Dick could only laugh, for any allusion to the feast instantly brought back that owl-like gourmand to whom he was so deeply indebted. Henri groaned. "Oh! mes boy, I am speechless! I am ready for bust! Oui,--hah! I veesh it vas to-morrow." Many a time that night did Henri "veesh it vas to-morrow," as he lay helpless on his back, looking up through the roof of the chief's tent at the stars, and listening enviously to the plethoric snoring of Joe Blunt. He was entertained, however, during those waking hours with a serenade such as few civilised ears ever listen to. This was nothing else than a vocal concert performed by all the dogs of the village, and as they amounted to nearly two thousand, the orchestra was a pretty full one. These wretches howled as if they had all gone mad. Yet there was "method in their madness," for they congregated in a crowd before beginning, and sat down on their haunches. Then one, which seemed to be the conductor, raised his snout to the sky, and uttered a long, low, melancholy wail. The others took it up by twos and threes, until the whole pack had their noses pointing to the stars, and their throats distended to the uttermost, while a prolonged yell filled the air. Then it sank gradually, one or two (bad performers probably) making a yelping attempt to get it up again at the wrong time. Again the conductor raised his nose, and out it came--full swing. There was no vociferous barking. It was simple wolfish howling increased in fervour to an electric yell, with slight barks running continuously through it like an obbligato accompaniment. When Crusoe first heard the unwonted sound he sprang to his feet, bristled up like a hyena, showed all his teeth, and bounded out of the tent blazing with indignation and astonishment. When he found out what it was he returned quite sleek, and with a look of profound contempt on his countenance as he resumed his place by his master's side and went to sleep. CHAPTER TEN. PERPLEXITIES--OUR HUNTERS PLAN THEIR ESCAPE--UNEXPECTED INTERRUPTION-- THE TABLES TURNED--CRUSOE MOUNTS GUARD--THE ESCAPE. Dick Varley sat before the fire ruminating. We do not mean to assert that Dick had been previously eating grass. By no means. For several days past he had been mentally subsisting on the remarkable things that he heard and saw in the Pawnee village, and wondering how he was to get away without being scalped; he was now chewing the cud of this intellectual fare. We therefore repeat emphatically--in case any reader should have presumed to contradict us--that Dick Varley sat before the fire _ruminating_! Joe Blunt likewise sat by the fire along with him, ruminating too, and smoking besides. Henri also sat there smoking, and looking a little the worse of his late supper. "I don't like the look o' things," said Joe, blowing a whiff of smoke slowly from his lips, and watching it as it ascended into the still air. "That blackguard Mahtawa is determined not to let us off till he gits all our goods, an' if he gits them, he may as well take our scalps too, for we would come poor speed in the prairies without guns, horses, or goods." Dick looked at his friend with an expression of concern. "What's to be done?" said he. "Ve must escape," answered Henri; but his tone was not a hopeful one, for he knew the danger of their position better than Dick. "Ay, we must escape; at least we must try," said Joe; "but I'll make one more effort to smooth over San-it-sa-rish, an' git him to snub that villain Mahtawa." Just as he spoke the villain in question entered the tent with a bold, haughty air, and sat down before the fire in sullen silence. For some minutes no one spoke, and Henri, who happened at the time to be examining the locks of Dick's rifle, continued to inspect them with an appearance of careless indifference that he was far from feeling. Now, this rifle of Dick's had become a source of unceasing wonder to the Indians,--wonder which was greatly increased by the fact that no one could discharge it but himself. Dick had, during his short stay at the Pawnee village, amused himself and the savages by exhibiting his marvellous powers with the "silver rifle." Since it had been won by him at the memorable match in the Mustang Valley, it had scarce ever been out of his hand, so that he had become decidedly the best shot in the settlement, could "bark" squirrels (that is, hit the bark of the branch on which a squirrel happened to be standing, and so kill it by the concussion alone), and could "drive the nail" every shot. The silver rifle, as we have said, became "great medicine" to the Red-men, when they saw it kill at a distance which the few wretched guns they had obtained from the fur-traders could not even send a spent ball to. The double shot, too, filled them with wonder and admiration; but that which they regarded with an almost supernatural feeling of curiosity was the percussion cap, which in Dick's hands always exploded, but in theirs was utterly useless! This result was simply owing to the fact, that Dick after firing handed the rifle to the Indians without renewing the cap. So that when they loaded and attempted to fire, of course it merely snapped. When he wished again to fire, he adroitly exchanged the old cap for a new one. He was immensely tickled by the solemn looks of the Indians at this most incomprehensible of all "medicines," and kept them for some days in ignorance of the true cause, intending to reveal it before he left. But circumstances now arose which banished all trifling thoughts from his mind. Mahtawa raised his head suddenly, and said, pointing to the silver rifle, "Mahtawa wishes to have the two-shotted medicine gun. He will give his best horse in exchange." "Mahtawa is liberal," answered Joe, "but the pale-faced youth cannot part with it. He has far to travel, and must shoot buffaloes by the way." "The pale-faced youth shall have a bow and arrows to shoot the buffalo," rejoined the Indian. "He cannot use the bow and arrow," answered Joe; "he has not been trained like the Red-man." Mahtawa was silent for a few seconds, and his dark brows frowned more heavily than ever over his eyes. "The Pale-faces are too bold," he exclaimed, working himself into a passion; "they are in the power of Mahtawa. If they will not give the gun he will take it." He sprang suddenly to his feet as he spoke, and snatched the rifle from Henri's hand. Henri, being ignorant of the language, had not been able to understand the foregoing conversation, although he saw well enough that it was not an agreeable one but no sooner did he find himself thus rudely and unexpectedly deprived of the rifle, than he jumped up, wrenched it in a twinkling from the Indian's grasp, and hurled him violently out of the tent. In a moment Mahtawa drew his knife, uttered a savage yell, and sprang on the reckless hunter, who, however, caught his wrist, and held it as if in a vice. The yell brought a dozen warriors instantly to the spot, and before Dick had time to recover from his astonishment, Henri was surrounded and pinioned despite his herculean struggles. Before Dick could move, Joe Blunt grasped his arm, and whispered quickly, "Don't rise! You can't help him! They daren't kill him till San-it-sa-rish agrees." Though much surprised, Dick obeyed, but it required all his efforts, both of voice and hand, to control Crusoe, whose mind was much too honest and straightforward to understand such subtle pieces of diplomacy, and who strove to rush to the rescue of his ill-used friend. When the tumult had partly subsided, Joe Blunt rose and said--"Have the Pawnee braves turned traitors that they draw the knife against those who have smoked with them the pipe of peace and eaten their maize? The Pale-faces are three; the Pawnees are thousands. If evil has been done, let it be laid before the chief. Mahtawa wishes to have the medicine gun. Although we said No, we could not part with it, he tried to take it by force. Are we to go back to the great chief of the Pale-faces, and say that the Pawnees are thieves? Are the Pale-faces henceforth to tell their children when they steal, `That is bad; that is like the Pawnee?' No! this must not be. The rifle shall be restored, and we will forget this disagreement. Is it not so?" There was an evident disposition on the part of many of the Indians, with whom Mahtawa was no favourite, to applaud this speech; but the wily chief sprang forward, and, with flashing eye, sought to turn the tables. "The Pale-face speaks with soft words, but his heart is false. Is he not going to make peace with the enemies of the Pawnee? Is he not going to take goods to them, and make them gifts and promises? The Pale-faces are spies. They come to see the weakness of the Pawnee camp, but they have found that it is strong. Shall we suffer the false-hearts to escape? Shall they live? No! we will hang their scalps in our wigwams, for they have _struck a chief_ and we will keep all their goods for our squaws--wah!" This allusion to keeping all the goods had more effect on the minds of the vacillating savages than the chiefs eloquence. But a new turn was given to their thoughts by Joe Blunt remarking in a quiet, almost contemptuous tone-- "Mahtawa is not the _great_ chief." "True, true," they cried, and immediately hurried to the tent of San-it-sa-rish. Once again this chief stood between the hunters and the savages, who wanted but a signal to fall on them. There was a long palaver, which ended in Henri being set at liberty, and the rifle being restored. That evening, as the three friends sat beside their fire eating their supper of boiled maize and buffalo meat, they laughed and talked as carelessly as ever; but the gaiety was assumed, for they were at the time planning their escape from a tribe which, they foresaw, would not long refrain from carrying out their wishes, and robbing, perhaps murdering them. "Ye see," said Joe with a perplexed air, while he drew a piece of live charcoal from the fire with his fingers and lighted his pipe,--"ye see, there's more difficulties in the way o' gettin' off than ye think--" "Oh! nivare mind de difficulties," interrupted Henri, whose wrath at the treatment he had received had not yet cooled down. "Ve must jump on de best horses ve can git hold, shake our fist at de red reptiles, and go away fast as ve can. De best hoss _must_ vin de race." Joe shook his head. "A hundred arrows would be in our backs before we got twenty yards from the camp. Besides, we can't tell which are the best horses. Our own are the best in my 'pinion, but how are we to git 'em?" "I know who has charge o' them," said Dick; "I saw them grazing near the tent o' that poor squaw whose baby was saved by Crusoe. Either her husband looks after them or some neighbours." "That's well," said Joe. "That's one o' my difficulties gone." "What are the others?" "Well, d'ye see, they're troublesome. We can't git the horses out o' camp without bein' seen, for the red rascals would see what we were at in a jiffy. Then, if we do git 'em out, we can't go off without our bales, an' we needn't think to take 'em from under the nose o' the chief and his squaws without bein' axed questions. To go off without them would niver do at all." "Joe," said Dick, earnestly, "I've hit on a plan." "Have ye, Dick? what is't?" "Come and I'll let ye see," answered Dick, rising hastily and quitting the tent, followed by his comrades and his faithful dog. It may be as well to remark here, that no restraint whatever had yet been put on the movements of our hunters as long as they kept to their legs, for it was well-known that any attempt by men on foot to escape from mounted Indians on the plains would be hopeless. Moreover, the savages thought that as long as there was a prospect of their being allowed to depart peaceably with their goods, they would not be so mad as to fly from the camp, and, by so doing, risk their lives and declare war with their entertainers. They had, therefore, been permitted to wander unchecked, as yet, far beyond the outskirts of the camp, and amuse themselves in paddling about the lake in the small Indian canoes and shooting wild-fowl. Dick now led the way through the labyrinths of tents in the direction of the lake, and they talked and laughed loudly, and whistled to Crusoe as they went, in order to prevent their purpose being suspected. For the purpose of further disarming suspicion they went without their rifles. Dick explained his plan by the way, and it was at once warmly approved of by his comrades. On reaching the lake they launched a small canoe, into which Crusoe was ordered to jump; then, embarking, they paddled swiftly to the opposite shore, singing a canoe song as they dipped their paddles in the moonlit waters of the lake. Arrived at the other side, they hauled the canoe up and hurried through the thin belt of wood and willows that intervened between the lake and the prairie. Here they paused. "Is that the bluff, Joe?" "No, Dick, that's too near. T'other one'll be best. Far away to the right. It's a little one, and there's others near it. The sharp eyes o' the Red-skins won't be so likely to be prowlin' there." "Come on, then; but we'll have to take down by the lake first." In a few minutes the hunters were threading their way through the outskirts of the wood at a rapid trot, in the opposite direction from the bluff, or wooded knoll, which they wished to reach. This they did lest prying eyes should have followed them. In a quarter of an hour they turned at right angles to their track, and struck straight out into the prairie, and after a long run they edged round and came in upon the bluff from behind. It was merely a collection of stunted but thick-growing willows. Forcing their way into the centre of this they began to examine it. "It'll do," said Joe. "De very ting," remarked Henri. "Come here, Crusoe." Crusoe bounded to his master's side, and looked up in his face. "Look at this place, pup; smell it well." Crusoe instantly set off all round among the willows, in and out, snuffing everywhere, and whining with excitement. "Come here, good pup; that will do. Now, lads, we'll go back." So saying, Dick and his friends left the bluff and retraced their steps to the camp. Before they had gone far, however, Joe halted, and said-- "D'ye know, Dick, I doubt if the pup's so cliver as ye think. What if he don't quite onderstand ye?" Dick replied by taking off his cap and throwing it down, at the same time exclaiming, "Take it yonder, pup," and pointing with his hand towards the bluff. The dog seized the cap, and went off with it at full speed towards the willows, where it left it, and came galloping back for the expected reward--not now, as in days of old, a bit of meat, but a gentle stroke of its head and a hearty clap on its shaggy side. "Good pup, go now an' _fetch it_." Away he went with a bound, and, in a few seconds, came back and deposited the cap at his master's feet. "Will that do?" asked Dick, triumphantly. "Ay, lad, it will. The pup's worth its weight in goold." "Oui, I have said, and I say it agen, de dog is _human_, so him is. If not--fat am he?" Without pausing to reply to this perplexing question, Dick stepped forward again, and in half an hour or so they were back in the camp. "Now for _your_ part of the work, Joe; yonder's the squaw that owns the half-drowned baby. Everything depends on her." Dick pointed to the Indian woman as he spoke. She was sitting beside her tent, and playing at her knee was the identical youngster that had been saved by Crusoe. "I'll manage it," said Joe, and walked towards her, while Dick and Henri returned to the chiefs tent. "Does the Pawnee woman thank the Great Spirit that her child is saved?" began Joe as he came up. "She does," answered the woman, looking up at the hunter. "And her heart is warm to the Pale-faces." After a short silence Joe continued-- "The Pawnee chiefs do not love the Pale-faces. Some of them hate them." "The Dark Flower knows it," answered the woman; "she is sorry. She would help the Pale-faces if she could." This was uttered in a low tone, and with a meaning glance of the eye. Joe hesitated again--could he trust her? Yes; the feelings that filled her breast and prompted her words were not those of the Indian just now--they were those of a _mother_, whose gratitude was too full for utterance. "Will the Dark Flower," said Joe, catching the name she had given herself, "help the Pale-face if he opens his heart to her? Will she risk the anger of her nation?" "She will," replied the woman; "she will do what she can." Joe and his dark friend now dropped their high-sounding style of speech, and spoke for some minutes rapidly in an undertone. It was finally arranged that on a given day, at a certain hour, the woman should take the four horses down the shores of the lake to its lower end, as if she were going for firewood, there cross the creek at the ford, and drive them to the willow-bluff, and guard them till the hunters should arrive. Having settled this, Joe returned to the tent and informed his comrades of his success. During the next three days Joe kept the Indians in good-humour by giving them one or two trinkets, and speaking in glowing terms of the riches of the white men, and the readiness with which they would part with them to the savages if they would only make peace. Meanwhile, during the dark hours of each night, Dick managed to abstract small quantities of goods from their pack, in room of which he stuffed in pieces of leather to keep up the size and appearance. The goods thus taken out he concealed about his person, and went off with a careless swagger to the outskirts of the village, with Crusoe at his heels. Arrived there, he tied the goods in a small piece of deerskin, and gave the bundle to the dog, with the injunction, "Take it yonder, pup." Crusoe took it up at once, darted off at full speed with the bundle in his mouth, down the shore of the lake towards the ford of the river, and was soon lost to view. In this way, little by little, the goods were conveyed by the faithful dog to the willow-bluff and left there, while the stuffed pack still remained in safekeeping in the chief's tent. Joe did not at first like the idea of thus sneaking off from the camp; and more than once made strong efforts to induce San-it-sa-rish to let him go, but even that chief's countenance was not so favourable as it had been. It was clear that he could not make up his mind to let slip so good a chance of obtaining guns, powder, and shot, horses and goods, without any trouble; so Joe made up his mind to give them the slip at once. A dark night was chosen for the attempt, and the Indian woman went off with the horses to the place where firewood for the camp was usually cut. Unfortunately the suspicion of that wily savage Mahtawa had been awakened, and he stuck close to the hunters all day--not knowing what was going on, but feeling convinced that something was brewing which he resolved to watch, without mentioning his suspicions to any one. "I think that villain's away at last," whispered Joe to his comrades; "it's time to go, lads, the moon won't be up for an hour. Come along." "Have ye got the big powder-horn, Joe?" "Ay, ay, all right." "Stop! stop! my knife, my couteau. Ah! here it be. Now, boy." The three set off as usual, strolling carelessly to the outskirts of the camp; then they quickened their pace, and, gaining the lake, pushed off in a small canoe. At the same moment Mahtawa stepped from the bushes, leaped into another canoe and followed them. "Hah! he must die," muttered Henri. "Not at all," said Joe, "we'll manage him without that." The chief landed and strode boldly up to them, for he knew well that whatever their purpose might be, they would not venture to use their rifles within sound of the camp at that hour of the night; as for their knives, he could trust to his own active limbs and the woods to escape and give the alarm if need be. "The Pale-faces hunt very late," he said with a malicious grin. "Do they love the dark better than the sunshine?" "Not so," replied Joe, coolly, "but we love to walk by the light of the moon. It will be up in less than an hour, and we mean to take a long ramble to-night." "The Pawnee chief loves to walk by the moon too, he will go with the Pale-faces." "Good," ejaculated Joe. "Come along, then." The party immediately set forward, although the savage was a little taken by surprise at the indifferent way in which Joe received his proposal to accompany them. He walked on to the edge of the prairie, however, and then stopped. "The Pale-faces must go alone," said he; "Mahtawa will return to his tent." Joe replied to this intimation by seizing him suddenly by the throat and choking back the yell that would otherwise have brought the Pawnee warriors rushing to the scene of action in hundreds. Mahtawa's hand was on the handle of his scalping-knife in a moment, but before he could draw it, his arms were glued to his sides by the bear-like embrace of Henri, while Dick tied a handkerchief quickly yet firmly round his mouth. The whole thing was accomplished in two minutes. After taking his knife and tomahawk away, they loosened their gripe and escorted him swiftly over the prairie. Mahtawa was perfectly submissive after the first convulsive struggle was over. He knew that the men who walked on each side of him grasping his arms were more than his match singly, so he wisely made no resistance. Hurrying him to a clump of small trees on the plain which was so far distant from the village that a yell could not be heard, they removed the bandage from Mahtawa's mouth. "_Must_ he be kill?" inquired Henri, in a tone of commiseration. "Not at all" answered Joe, "we'll tie him to a tree and leave him there." "Then he vill be starve to deat'. Oh! dat is more horrobell!" "He must take his chance o' that. I've no doubt his friends'll find him in a day or two, an' he's game to last for a week or more. But you'll have to run to the willow-bluff, Dick, and bring a bit of line to tie him. We can't spare it well; but there's no help." "But there _is_ help," retorted Dick. "Just order the villain to climb into that tree." "Why so, lad?" "Don't ask questions, but do what I bid ye." The hunter smiled for a moment as he turned to the Indian, and ordered him to climb up a small tree near to which he stood. Mahtawa looked surprised, but there was no alternative. Joe's authoritative tone brooked no delay, so he sprang into the tree like a monkey. "Crusoe," said Dick, "_watch him_!" The dog sat quietly down at the foot of the tree, and fixed his eyes on the savage with a glare that spoke unutterable things. At the same time he displayed his full compliment of teeth, and uttered a sound like distant thunder. Joe almost laughed, and Henri did laugh outright. "Come along, he's safe now," cried Dick, hurrying away in the direction of the willow-bluff, which they soon reached, and found that the faithful squaw had tied their steeds to the bushes, and, moreover, had bundled up their goods into a pack, and strapped it on the back of the pack-horse; but she had not remained with them. "Bless yer dark face," ejaculated Joe as he sprang into the saddle and rode out of the clump of bushes. He was followed immediately by the others, and in three minutes they were flying over the plain at full speed. On gaining the last far-off ridge, that afforded a distant view of the woods skirting the Pawnee camp, they drew up, and Dick, putting his fingers to his mouth, drew a long, shrill whistle. It reached the willow-bluff like a faint echo. At the same moment the moon arose and more clearly revealed Crusoe's catalyptic glare at the Indian chief, who, being utterly unarmed, was at the dog's mercy. The instant the whistle fell on his ear, however, he dropped his eyes, covered his teeth, and, leaping through the bushes, flew over the plains like an arrow. At the same instant Mahtawa, descending from his tree, ran as fast as he could towards the village, uttering the terrible war-whoop when near enough to be heard. No sound sends such a thrill through an Indian camp. Every warrior flew to arms, and vaulted on his steed. So quickly was the alarm given that in less than ten minutes a thousand hoofs were thundering on the plain, and faintly reached the ears of the fugitives. Joe smiled. "It'll puzzle them to come up wi' nags like ours. They're in prime condition too, lots o' wind in 'em. If we only keep out o' badger holes we may laugh at the red varmints." Joe's opinion of Indian horses was correct. In a very few minutes the sound of hoofs died away, but the fugitives did not draw bridle during the remainder of that night, for they knew not how long the pursuit might be continued. By pond, and brook, and bluff they passed, down in the grassy bottoms and over the prairie waves,--nor checked their headlong course till the sun blazed over the level sweep of the eastern plain as if it arose out of the mighty ocean. Then they sprang from the saddle and hastily set about the preparation of their morning meal. CHAPTER ELEVEN. EVENING MEDITATIONS AND MORNING REFLECTIONS--BUFFALOES, BADGERS, ANTELOPES, AND ACCIDENTS--AN OLD BULL AND THE WOLVES--"MAD-TAILS"--HENRI FLOORED, ETCETERA. There is nothing that prepares one so well for the enjoyment of rest, both mental and physical, as a long-protracted period of excitement and anxiety, followed up by bodily fatigue. Excitement alone banishes rest; but, united with severe physical exertion, it prepares for it. At least, courteous reader, this is our experience, and certainly this was the experience of our three hunters as they lay on their backs beneath the branches of a willow bush, and gazed serenely up at the twinkling stars, two days after their escape from the Indian village. They spoke little; they were too tired for that; also, they were too comfortable. Their respective suppers of fresh antelope steak, shot that day, had just been disposed of; their feet were directed towards the small fire on which the said steaks had been cooked, and which still threw a warm, ruddy glow over the encampment. Their blankets were wrapped comfortably round them, and tucked in as only hunters and mothers know _how_ to tuck them in. Their respective pipes delivered forth, at stated intervals, three richly yellow puffs of smoke, as if a three-gun battery were playing upon the sky from that particular spot of earth. The horses were picketted and hobbled in a rich grassy bottom close by, from which the quiet munch of their equine jaws sounded pleasantly, for it told of healthy appetites, and promised speed on the morrow. The fear of being overtaken during the night was now past, and the faithful Crusoe, by virtue of sight, hearing, and smell, guaranteed them against sudden attack during the hours of slumber. A perfume of wild flowers mingled with the loved odours of the "weed," and the tinkle of a tiny rivulet fell sweetly on their ears. In short, the "Pale-faces" were supremely happy, and disposed to be thankful for their recent deliverance and their present comforts. "I wonder what the stars are," said Dick, languidly taking the pipe out of his mouth. "Bits o' fire," suggested Joe. "I tink dey are vorlds," muttered Henri, "an' have peepels in dem. I have hear men say dat." A long silence followed, during which, no doubt, the star-gazers were working out various theories in their own minds. "Wonder," said Dick again, "how far off they be." "A mile or two, maybe," said Joe. Henri was about to laugh sarcastically at this; but, on further consideration, he thought it would be more comfortable not to, so he lay still. In another minute he said--"Joe Blunt, you is ver' igrant. Don't you know dat de books say de stars be hondreds, tousands,--oh! milleryons of mile away to here, and dat de is more bigger dan dis vorld?" Joe snored lightly, and his pipe fell out of his mouth at this point, so the conversation dropped. Presently Dick asked, in a low tone, "I say, Henri, are ye asleep?" "Oui," replied Henri, faintly. "Don't speak, or you vill vaken me." "Ah! Crusoe, you're not asleep, are you, pup?" No need to ask that question. The instantaneous wag of that speaking fail, and the glance of that wakeful eye, as the dog lifted his head and laid his chin on Dick's arm, showed that he had been listening to every word that was spoken. We cannot say whether he understood it, but beyond all doubt he heard it. Crusoe never presumed to think of going to sleep until his master was as sound as a top; then he ventured to indulge in that light species of slumber which is familiarly known as "sleeping with one eye open." But, comparatively, as well as figuratively speaking, Crusoe slept usually with one eye and a-half open, and the other half was never very tightly shut. Gradually Dick's pipe fell out of his mouth, an event which the dog, with an exercise of instinct almost, if not quite, amounting to reason, regarded as a signal for him to go off. The campfire went slowly out, the stars twinkled down at their reflections in the brook, and a deep breathing of wearied men was the only sound that rose in harmony with the purling stream. Before the sun rose next morning, and while many of the brighter stars were still struggling for existence with the approaching day, Joe was up and buckling on the saddle-bags, while he shouted to his unwilling companions to rise. "If it depended on you," he said, "the Pawnees wouldn't be long afore they got our scalps. Jump, ye dogs, an' lend a hand, will ye!" A snore from Dick and a deep sigh from Henri was the answer to this pathetic appeal. It so happened, however, that Henri's pipe, in falling from his lips, had emptied the ashes just under his nose, so that the sigh referred to drew a quantity thereof into his throat, and almost choked him. Nothing could have been a more effective awakener. He was up in a moment coughing vociferously. Most men have a tendency to vent ill-humour on some one, and they generally do it on one whom they deem to be worse than themselves. Henri, therefore, instead of growling at Joe for rousing him, scolded Dick for not rising. "Ha, mauvais dog! bad chien, vill you dare to look to me?" Crusoe did look with amiable placidity, as though to say, "Howl away, old boy, I won't budge till Dick does." With a mighty effort Giant Sleep was thrown off at last, and the hunters were once more on their journey, cantering lightly over the soft turf. "Ho! let's have a run," cried Dick, unable to repress the feelings aroused by the exhilarating morning air. "Have a care, boy," cried Joe, as they stretched out at full gallop. "Keep off the ridge; it's riddled wi' badger--Hah! I thought so." At that moment Dick's horse put its foot into a badger hole, and turned completely over, sending its rider through the air in a curve that an East Indian acrobat would have envied. For a few seconds Dick lay flat on his back; then he jumped up and laughed, while his comrades hurried up anxiously to his assistance. "No bones broke?" inquired Joe. Dick gave a hysterical gasp. "I--I think not." "Let's have a look. No, nothin' to speak o', be good luck. Ye should niver go slap through a badger country like that, boy; always keep i' the bottoms, where the grass is short. Now then, up ye go. That's it!" Dick remounted, though not with quite so elastic a spring as usual, and they pushed forward at a more reasonable pace. Accidents of this kind are of common occurrence in the prairies. Some horses, however, are so well trained that they look sharp out for these holes, which are generally found to be most numerous on the high and dry grounds. But in spite of all the caution both of man and horse, many ugly falls take place, and sometimes bones are broken. They had not gone far after this accident, when an antelope leaped from a clump of willows and made for a belt of woodland that lay along the margin of a stream not half a mile off. "Hurrah!" cried Dick, forgetting his recent fall. "Come along, Crusoe." And away they went again full tilt, for the horse had not been injured by its somersault. The antelope which Dick was thus wildly pursuing was of the same species as the one he had shot some time before, namely, the prong-horned antelope. These graceful creatures have long, slender limbs, delicately formed heads, and large, beautiful eyes. The horns are black, and rather short; they have no branches like the antlers of the red-deer, but have a single projection on each horn, near the head, and the extreme points of the horns curve suddenly inwards, forming the hook or prong from which the name of the animal is derived. Their colour is dark yellowish brown. They are so fleet that not one horse in a hundred can overtake them, and their sight and sense of smell are so acute, that it would be next to impossible to kill them, were it not for the inordinate curiosity which we have before referred to. The Indians manage to attract these simple little creatures by merely lying down on their backs and kicking their heels in the air, or by waving any white object on the point of an arrow, while the hunter keeps concealed by lying flat in the grass. By these means a herd of antelopes may be induced to wheel round and round an object in timid, but intense, surprise, gradually approaching until they come near enough to enable the hunter to make sure of his mark. Thus the animals, which of all others _ought_ to be the most difficult to slay, are, in consequence of their insatiable curiosity, more easily shot than any other deer of the plains. May we not gently suggest to the reader for his or her consideration that there are human antelopes, so to speak, whose case bears a striking resemblance to the prong-horn of the North American prairie? Dick's horse was no match for the antelope; neither was Crusoe, so they pulled up shortly and returned to their companions to be laughed at. "It's no manner o' use to wind yer horse, lad, after sich game. They're not much worth, an', if I mistake not, we'll be among the buffalo soon. There's fresh tracks everywhere, and the herds are scattered now. Ye see, when they keep together in bands o' thousands ye don't so often fall in wi' them. But when they scatters about in twos, an' threes, an sixes, ye may shoot them every day as much as ye please." Several groups of buffalo had already been seen on the horizon; but as a red-deer had been shot in a belt of woodland the day before, they did not pursue them. The red-deer is very much larger than the prong-horned antelope, and is highly esteemed both for its flesh and its skin, which latter becomes almost like chamois leather when dressed. Notwithstanding this supply of food, the hunters could not resist the temptation to give chase to a herd of about nine buffaloes that suddenly came into view as they overtopped an undulation in the plain. "It's no use," cried Dick, "I _must_ go at them!" Joe himself caught fire from the spirit of his young friend, so calling to Henri to come on and let the pack-horse remain to feed, he dashed away in pursuit. The buffaloes gave one stare of surprise, and then fled as fast as possible. At first it seemed as if such huge, unwieldy carcases could not run very fast; but in a few minutes they managed to get up a pace that put the horses to their mettle. Indeed, at first it seemed as if the hunters did not gain an inch, but by degrees they closed with them, for buffaloes are not long-winded. On nearing the herd, the three men diverged from each other and selected their animals. Henri, being short-sighted, naturally singled out the largest; and the largest--also naturally,--was a tough old bull. Joe brought down a fat young cow at the first shot, and Dick was equally fortunate. But he well-nigh shot Crusoe, who, just as he was about to fire, rushed in unexpectedly and sprang at the animal's throat, for which piece of recklessness he was ordered back to watch the pack-horse. Meanwhile, Henri, by dint of yelling, throwing his arms wildly about, and digging his heels into the sides of his long-legged horse, succeeded in coming close up with the bull, which once or twice turned his clumsy body half round and glared furiously at its pursuer with its small black eyes. Suddenly it stuck out its tail, stopped short, and turned full round. Henri stopped short also. Now, the sticking out of a buffalo's tail has a peculiar significance which it is well to point out. It serves, in a sense, the same purpose to the hunter that the compass does to the mariner; it points out where to go and what to do. When galloping away in ordinary flight the buffalo carries his tail like ordinary cattle, which indicates that you may push on. When wounded, he lashes it from side to side, or carries it over his back, up in the air; this indicates "Look out! haul off a bit!" But when he carries it stiff and horizontal, with a _slight curve_ in the middle of it, it says plainly, "Keep back, or kill me as quick as you can," for that is what Indians call the _mad-lazy_, and is a sign that mischief is brewing. Henri's bull displayed the mad-tail just before turning, but he didn't observe it, and, accordingly, waited for the bull to move and show his shoulder for a favourable shot. But instead of doing this he put his head down, and, foaming with rage, went at him full tilt. The big horse never stirred; it seemed to be petrified. Henri had just time to fire at the monster's neck, and the next moment was sprawling on his back, with the horse rolling over four or five yards beyond him. It was a most effective tableau. Henri rubbing his shins and grinning with pain, the horse gazing in affright as he rose trembling from the plain, and the buffalo bull looking on half stunned, and, evidently, very much surprised at the result of his charge. Fortunately, before he could repeat the experiment, Dick galloped up and put a ball through his heart. Joe and his comrades felt a little ashamed of their exploit on this occasion, for there was no need to have killed three animals; they could not have carried with them more than a small portion of one, and they upbraided themselves several times during the operation of cutting out the tongues and other choice portions of the two victims. As for the bull, he was almost totally useless, so they left him as a gift to the wolves. Now that they had come among the buffalo, wolves were often seen sneaking about and licking their hungry jaws; but although they approached pretty near to the camp at nights, they did not give the hunters any concern. Even Crusoe became accustomed to them at last, and ceased to notice them. These creatures are very dangerous sometimes, however, and when hard pressed by hunger will even attack man. The day after this hunt the travellers came upon a wounded old buffalo which had evidently escaped from the Indians (for a couple of arrows were sticking in its side), only to fall a prey to his deadly enemies, the white wolves. These savage brutes hang on the skirts of the herds of buffaloes to attack and devour any one that may chance, from old age, or from being wounded, to linger behind the rest. The buffalo is tough and fierce, however, and fights so desperately that although surrounded by fifty or a hundred wolves, he keeps up the unequal combat for several days before he finally succumbs. The old bull that our travellers discovered had evidently been long engaged with his ferocious adversaries, for his limbs and flesh were torn in shreds in many places, and blood was streaming from his sides. Yet he had fought so gallantly that he had tossed and stamped to death dozens of the enemy. There could not have been fewer than fifty wolves round him; and they had just concluded another of many futile attacks, when the hunters came up, for they were ranged in a circle round their huge adversary--some lying down, some sitting on their haunches to rest, and others sneaking about, lolling out their red tongues, and licking their chops as if impatient to renew the combat. The poor buffalo was nearly spent, and it was clear that a few hours more would see him torn to shreds and his bones picked clean. "Ugh! de brutes," ejaculated Henri. "They don't seem to mind us a bit," remarked Dick, as they rode up to within pistol shot. "It'll be merciful to give the old fellow a shot," said Joe. "Them varmits are sure to finish him at last." Joe raised his rifle as he spoke, and fired. The old bull gave his last groan and fell, while the wolves, alarmed by the shot, fled in all directions; but they did not run far. They knew well that some portion, at least, of the carcase would fall to their share, so they sat down at various distances all round, to wait as patiently as they might for the hunters to retire. Dick left the scene with a feeling of regret that the villanous wolves should have their feast so much sooner than they expected. Yet after all, why should we call these wolves villanous? They did nothing wrong--nothing contrary to the laws of their peculiar nature. Nay, if we come to reason upon it, they rank higher in this matter than man, for while the wolf does no violence to the laws of its instincts, man often deliberately silences the voice of conscience, and violates the laws of his own nature. But we will not insist on the term, good reader, if you object strongly to it. We are willing to admit that the wolves are _not_ villanous, but, _assuredly_, they are unlovable. In the course of the afternoon the three horsemen reached a small creek, the banks of which were lined with a few stunted shrubs and trees. Having eaten nothing since the night before, they dismounted here to "feed," as Joe expressed it. "Cur'ous thing," remarked Joe, as he struck a light by means of flint, steel, and tinder-box,--"curious thing that we're made to need sich a lot o' grub. If we could only get on like the sarpints, now, wot can breakfast on a rabbit, and then wait a month or two for dinner! Ain't it cur'ous?" Dick admitted that it was, and stooped to blow the fire into a blaze. Here Henri uttered a cry of consternation, and stood speechless, with his mouth open. "What's the matter? what is't?" cried Dick and Joe, seizing their rifles instinctively. "De--grub--him--be--forgat!" There was a look of blank horror, and then a burst of laughter from Dick Varley. "Well, well," cried he, "we've got lots o' tea an' sugar, an' some flour; we can git on wi' that till we shoot another buffalo, or a-ha!" Dick observed a wild turkey stalking among the willows as he spoke. It was fully a hundred yards off, and only its head was seen above the leaves. This was a matter of little moment, however, for by aiming a little lower he knew that he must hit the body; but Dick had driven the nail too often to aim at its body; he aimed at the bird's eye and cut its head off. "Fetch it, Crusoe." In three minutes it was at Dick's feet, and it is not too much to say that in five minutes more it was in the pot. As this unexpected supply made up for the loss of the meat which Henri had forgotten at their last halting-place, their equanimity was restored, and while the meal was in preparation Dick shouldered his rifle and went into the bush to try for another turkey. He did not get one, however, but he shot a couple of prairie-hens, which are excellent eating. Moreover, he found a large quantity of wild grapes and plums. These were unfortunately not nearly ripe, but Dick resolved to try his hand at a new dish, so he stuffed the breast of his coat full of them. After the pot was emptied Dick washed it out, and put a little clean water in it. Then he poured some flour in, and stirred it well. While this was heating, he squeezed the sour grapes and plums into what Joe called a "mush," mixed it with a spoonful of sugar, and emptied it into the pot. He also skimmed a quantity of the fat from the remains of the turkey soup, and added that to the mess, which he stirred with earnest diligence till it boiled down into a sort of thick porridge. "D'ye think it'll be good?" asked Joe gravely; "I've me doubts of it." "We'll see. Hold the tin dish, Henri." "Take care of de fingers. Ha! it looks magnifique--superb!" The first spoonful produced an expression on Henri's face that needed not to be interpreted. It was as sour as vinegar. "Ye'll ha' to eat it yerself, Dick, lad," cried Joe, throwing down his spoon, and spitting out the unsavoury mess. "Nonsense," cried Dick, bolting two or three mouthfuls, and trying to look as if he liked it. "Try again; it's not so bad as you think." "Ho--o--o--o--o!" cried Henri, after the second mouthful. "'Tis vinaigre. All de sugare in de pack would not make more sweeter one bite of it." Dick was obliged to confess the dish a failure, so it was thrown out after having been offered to Crusoe, who gave it one sniff and turned away in silence. Then they mounted and resumed their journey. At this place mosquitoes and horse-flies troubled our hunters and their steeds a good deal. The latter--especially were very annoying to the poor horses. They bit them so much that the blood at last came trickling down their sides. They were troubled also, once or twice, by cockchafers and locusts, which annoyed them, not indeed by biting, but by flying blindly against their faces, and often narrowly missed hitting them in the eyes. Once particularly they were so bad, that Henri in his wrath opened his lips to pronounce a malediction on the whole race, when a cockchafer flew straight into his mouth, and, to use his own forcible expression, "nearly knocked him off de hoss." But these were minor evils, and scarcely cost the hunters a thought. CHAPTER TWELVE. WANDERINGS ON THE PRAIRIE--A WAR-PARTY--CHASED BY INDIANS--A BOLD LEAP FOR LIFE. For many days the three hunters wandered over the trackless prairie in search of a village of the Sioux Indians, but failed to find one, for the Indians were in the habit of shifting their ground, and following the buffalo. Several times they saw small isolated bands of Indians, but these they carefully avoided, fearing they might turn out to be war-parties, and if they fell into their hands the white men could not expect civil treatment, whatever nation the Indians might belong to. During the greater portion of this time they met with numerous herds of buffalo and deer, and were well supplied with food, but they had to cook it during the day, being afraid to light a fire at night while Indians were prowling about. One night they halted near the bed of a stream which was almost dry. They had travelled a day and a night without water, and both men and horses were almost choking, so that when they saw the trees on the horizon which indicated the presence of a stream, they pushed forward with almost frantic haste. "Hope it's not dry," said Joe anxiously as they galloped up to it. "No, there's water, lads," and they dashed forward to a pool that had not yet been dried up. They drank long and eagerly before they noticed that the pool was strongly impregnated with salt. Many streams in those parts of the prairies are quite salt, but fortunately this one was not utterly undrinkable, though it was very unpalatable. "We'll make it better, lads," said Joe, digging a deep hole in the sand with his hands, a little below the pool. In a short time the water filtered through, and though not rendered fresh, it was, nevertheless, much improved. "We may light a fire to-night, d'ye think?" inquired Dick; "we've not seed Injuns for some days." "Pr'aps 'twould be better not," said Joe, "but I daresay we're safe enough." A fire was therefore lighted in as sheltered a spot as could be found, and the three friends bivouacked as usual. Towards dawn they were aroused by an angry growl from Crusoe. "It's a wolf likely," said Dick, but all three seized and cocked their rifles nevertheless. Again Crusoe growled more angrily than before, and springing out of the camp snuffed the breeze anxiously. "Up, lads; catch the nags! There's something in the wind, for the dog niver did that afore." In a few seconds the horses were saddled and the packs secured. "Call in the dog," whispered Joe Blunt; "if he barks they'll find out our whereabouts." "Here, Crusoe, come--" It was too late; the dog barked loudly and savagely at the moment, and a troop of Indians came coursing over the plain. On hearing the unwonted sound they wheeled directly and made for the camp. "It's a war-party; fly, lads; nothin' 'll save our scalps now but our horses' heels," cried Joe. In a moment they vaulted into the saddle, and urged their steeds forward at the utmost speed. The savages observed them, and with an exulting yell dashed after them. Feeling that there was now no need of concealment, the three horsemen struck off into the open prairie, intending to depend entirely on the speed and stamina of their horses. As we have before remarked, they were good ones, but the Indians soon proved that they were equally well if not better mounted. "It'll be a hard run," said Joe in a low, muttering tone, and looking furtively over his shoulder. "The varmints are mounted on wild horses, leastways they were wild not long agone. Them chaps can throw the lasso and trip a mustang as well as a Mexican. Mind the badger holes, Dick. Hold in a bit, Henri, yer nag don't need drivin'--a foot in a hole just now would cost us our scalps. Keep down by the creek, lads." "Hah! how dey yell," said Henri in a savage tone, looking back, and shaking his rifle at them--an act that caused them to yell more fiercely than ever. "Dis old pack-hoss give me moche trobel." The pace was now tremendous. Pursuers and pursued rose and sank on the prairie billows as they swept along, till they came to what is termed a "dividing ridge," which is a cross wave, as it were, which cuts the others in two, thus forming a continuous level. Here they advanced more easily, but the advantage was equally shared with their pursuers, who continued the headlong pursuit with occasional yells, which served to show the fugitives that they at least did not gain ground. A little to the right of the direction in which they were flying a blue line was seen on the horizon. This indicated the existence of trees to Joe's practised eyes; and feeling that if the horses broke down they could better make a last manful stand in the wood than on the plain he urged his steed towards it. The savages noticed the movement at once, and uttered a yell of exultation, for they regarded it as an evidence that the fugitives doubted the strength of their horses. "Ye haven't got us yet," muttered Joe, with a sardonic grin. "If they get near us, Dick, keep yer eyes open, an' look out for yer neck, else they'll drop a noose over it; they will, afore ye know they're near, an' haul ye off like a sack." Dick nodded in reply, but did not speak, for at that moment his eye was fixed on a small creek ahead which they must necessarily leap or dash across. It was lined with clumps of scattered shrubbery, and he glanced rapidly for the most suitable place to pass. Joe and Henri did the same, and having diverged a little to the different points chosen, they dashed through the shrubbery, and were hid from each other's view. On approaching the edge of the stream, Dick found to his consternation that the bank was twenty feet high opposite him, and too wide for any horse to clear. Wheeling aside without checking speed, at the risk of throwing his steed, he rode along the margin of the stream for a few hundred yards until he found a ford--at least such a spot as might be cleared by a bold leap. The temporary check, however, had enabled an Indian to gain so close upon his heels, that his exulting yell sounded close in his ear. With a vigorous bound his gallant little horse went over. Crusoe could not take it, but he rushed down the one bank and up the other, so that he only lost a few yards. These few yards, however, were sufficient to bring the Indian close upon him as he cleared the stream at full gallop. The savage whirled his lasso swiftly round for a second, and in another moment Crusoe uttered a tremendous roar as he was tripped up violently on the plain. Dick heard the cry of his faithful dog, and turned quickly round, just in time to see him spring at the horse's throat, and bring both steed and rider down upon him. Dick's heart leaped to his throat. Had a thousand savages been rushing on him, he would have flown to the rescue of his favourite; but an unexpected obstacle came in the way. His fiery little steed, excited by the headlong race and the howls of the Indians, had taken the bit in his teeth and was now unmanageable. He tore at the reins like a maniac, and in the height of his frenzy even raised the butt of his rifle with the intent to strike the poor horse to the earth, but his better nature prevailed. He checked the uplifted hand, and with a groan dropped the reins, and sank almost helplessly forward on the saddle, for several of the Indians had left the main body and were pursuing him alone, so that there would have been now no chance of his reaching the place where Crusoe fell, even if he could have turned his horse. Spiritless, and utterly indifferent to what his fate might be, Dick Varley rode along with his head drooping, and keeping his seat almost mechanically, while the mettlesome little steed flew on over wave and hollow. Gradually he awakened from this state of despair to a sense of danger. Glancing round he observed that the Indians were now far behind him, though still pursuing. He also observed that his companions were galloping miles away on the horizon to the left, and that he had foolishly allowed the savages to get between him and them. The only chance that remained for him was to outride his pursuers, and circle round towards his comrades, and this he hoped to accomplish, for his little horse had now proved itself to be superior to those of the Indians, and there was good running in him still. Urging him forward, therefore, he soon left the savages still further behind, and feeling confident that they could not now overtake him, he reined up and dismounted. The pursuers quickly drew near, but short though it was, the rest did his horse good. Vaulting into the saddle, he again stretched out, and now skirted along the margin of a wood which seemed to mark the position of a river of considerable size. At this moment his horse put his foot into a badger hole, and both of them came heavily to the ground. In an instant Dick rose, picked up his gun, and leaped unhurt into the saddle. But on urging his poor horse forward, he found that its shoulder was badly sprained. There was no room for mercy, however,--life and death were in the balance,--so he plied the lash vigorously, and the noble steed warmed into something like a run, when again it stumbled, and fell with a crash on the ground, while the blood burst from its mouth and nostrils. Dick could hear the shout of triumph uttered by his pursuers. "My poor, poor horse!" he exclaimed, in a tone of the deepest commiseration, while he stooped and stroked its foam-studded neck. The dying steed raised his head for a moment, it almost seemed as if to acknowledge the tones of affection, then it sank down with a gurgling groan. Dick sprang up, for the Indians were now upon him, and bounded like an antelope into the thickest of the shrubbery, which was nowhere thick enough, however, to prevent the Indians following. Still, it sufficiently retarded them to render the chase a more equal one than could have been expected. In a few minutes Dick gained a strip of open ground beyond, and found himself on the bank of a broad river, whose evidently deep waters rushed impetuously along their unobstructed channel. The bank at the spot where he reached it was a sheer precipice of between thirty and forty feet high. Glancing up and down the river he retreated a few paces, turned round and shook his clenched fist at the savages, accompanying the action with a shout of defiance, and then running to the edge of the bank, sprang far out into the boiling flood and sank. The Indians pulled up on reaching the spot. There was no possibility of galloping down the wood-encumbered banks after the fugitive, but quick as thought each Red-man leaped to the ground, and fitting an arrow to his bow, awaited Dick's re-appearance with eager gaze. Young though he was, and unskilled in such wild warfare, Dick knew well enough what sort of reception he would meet with on coming to the surface, so he kept under water as long as he could, and struck out as vigorously as the care of his rifle would permit. At last he rose for a few seconds, and immediately half a dozen arrows whizzed through the air; but most of them fell short; only one passed close to his cheek, and went with a "whip" into the river. He immediately sank again, and the next time he rose to breathe he was far beyond the reach of his Indian enemies. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. ESCAPE FROM INDIANS--A DISCOVERY--ALONE IN THE DESERT. Dick Varley had spent so much of his boyhood in sporting about among the waters of the rivers and lakes near which he had been reared, and especially during the last two years had spent so much of his leisure time in rolling and diving with his dog Crusoe in the lake of the Mustang Valley, that he had become almost as expert in the water as a south-sea islander; so that when he found himself whirling down the rapid river, as already described, he was more impressed with a feeling of gratitude to God for his escape from the Indians, than anxiety about getting ashore. He was not altogether blind, or indifferent, to the danger into which he might be hurled if the channel of the river should be found lower down to be broken with rocks, or should a waterfall unexpectedly appear. After floating down a sufficient distance to render pursuit out of the question, he struck in to the bank opposite to that from which he had plunged, and, clambering up to the green sward above, stripped off the greater part of his clothing and hung it on the branches of a bush to dry. Then he sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree to consider what course he had best pursue in his present circumstances. These circumstances were by no means calculated to inspire him with hope or comfort. He was in the midst of an unknown wilderness, hundreds of miles from any white man's settlement; surrounded by savages; without food or blanket; his companions gone, he knew not whither; perhaps taken and killed by the Indians; his horse dead, and his dog, the most trusty and loving of all his friends, lost to him, probably, for ever! A more veteran heart might have quailed in the midst of such accumulated evils, but Dick Varley possessed a strong, young, and buoyant constitution, which, united with a hopefulness of disposition that almost nothing could overcome, enabled him very quickly to cast aside the gloomy view of his case and turn to its brighter aspects. He still grasped his good rifle, that was some comfort, and as his eye fell upon it, he turned with anxiety to examine into the condition of his powder-horn and the few things that he had been fortunate enough to carry away with him about his person. The horn in which western hunters carry their powder is usually that of an ox. It is closed up at the large end with a piece of hard wood fitted tightly into it, and the small end is closed with a wooden peg or stopper. It is, therefore, completely water-tight, and may be for hours immersed without the powder getting wet unless the stopper should chance to be knocked out. Dick found, to his great satisfaction, that the stopper was fast, and the powder perfectly dry. Moreover, he had by good fortune filled it full two days before from the package that contained the general stock of ammunition, so that there were only two or three charges out of it. His percussion caps, however, were completely destroyed, and even though they had not been, it would have mattered little, for he did not possess more than half a dozen. But this was not so great a misfortune as at first it might seem, for he had the spare flint locks and the little screw-driver necessary for fixing and unfixing them stowed away in his shot pouch. To examine his supply of bullets was his next care, and slowly he counted them out, one by one, to the number of thirty. This was a pretty fair supply, and with careful economy would last him many days. Having relieved his mind on these all-important points, he carefully examined every pouch and corner of his dress to ascertain the exact amount and value of his wealth. Besides the leather-leggings, moccasins, deerskin hunting shirt, cap, and belt which composed his costume, he had a short heavy hunting-knife, a piece of tinder, a little tin pannikin, which he had been in the habit of carrying at his belt, and a large cake of maple sugar. This last is a species of sugar which is procured by the Indians from the maple-tree. Several cakes of it had been carried off from the Pawnee village, and Dick usually carried one in the breast of his coat. Besides these things, he found that the little Bible, for which his mother had made a small inside breast pocket, was safe. Dick's heart smote him when he took it out and undid the clasp, for he had not looked at it until that day. It was firmly bound with a brass clasp, so that although the binding and edges of the leaves were soaked, the inside was quite dry. On opening the book to see if it had been damaged, a small paper fell out. Picking it up quickly, he unfolded it, and read, in his mother's handwriting, "_Call upon me in the time of trouble, and I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me. My son, give me thine heart_." Dick's eyes filled with tears while the sound, as it were, of his mother's voice thus reached him unexpectedly in that lonely wilderness. Like too many whose hearts are young and gay, Dick had regarded religion, if not as a gloomy, at least as not a cheerful thing. But he felt the comfort of these words at that moment, and he resolved seriously to peruse his mother's parting gift in time to come. The sun was hot, and a warm breeze gently shook the leaves, so that Dick's garments were soon dry. A few minutes served to change the locks of his rifle, draw the wet charges, dry out the barrels, and re-load. Then, throwing it across his shoulder, he entered the wood, and walked lightly away. And well he might, poor fellow, for at that moment he felt light enough in person if not in heart. His worldly goods were not such as to oppress him, but the little note had turned his thoughts towards home, and he felt comforted. Traversing the belt of woodland that marked the course of the river, Dick soon emerged on the wide prairie beyond, and here he paused in some uncertainty as to how he should proceed. He was too good a backwoodsman, albeit so young, to feel perplexed as to the points of the compass. He knew pretty well what hour it was, so that the sun showed him the general bearings of the country, and he knew that when night came he could correct his course by the pole star. Dick's knowledge of astronomy was limited; he knew only one star by name, but that one was an inestimable treasure of knowledge. His perplexity was owing to his uncertainty as to the direction in which his companions and their pursuers had gone, for he had made up his mind to follow their trail if possible, and render all the succour his single arm might afford. To desert them, and make for the settlement, he held, would be a faithless and cowardly act. While they were together Joe Blunt had often talked to him about the route he meant to pursue to the Rocky Mountains, so that, if they had escaped the Indians, he thought there might be some chance of finding them at last. But, to set against this, there was the probability that they had been taken and carried away in a totally different direction, or they might have taken to the river, as he had done, and gone further down without his observing them. Then, again, if they had escaped, they would be sure to return and search the country round for him, so that if he left the spot he might miss them. "Oh, for my dear pup Crusoe!" he exclaimed aloud in this dilemma; but the faithful ear was shut now, and the deep silence that followed his cry was so oppressive that the young hunter sprang forward at a run over the plain, as if to fly from solitude. He soon became so absorbed, however, in his efforts to find the trail of his companions, that he forgot all other considerations, and ran straight forward for hours together, with his eyes eagerly fixed on the ground. At last he felt so hungry, having tasted no food since supper-time the previous evening, that he halted for the purpose of eating a morsel of maple sugar. A line of bushes in the distance indicated water, so he sped on again, and was soon seated beneath a willow, drinking water from the cool stream. No game was to be found here; but there were several kinds of berries, among which wild grapes and plums grew in abundance. With these and some sugar he made a meal, though not a good one, for the berries were quite green, and intensely sour. All that day Dick Varley followed up the trail of his companions, which he discovered at a ford in the river. They had crossed, therefore, in safety, though still pursued, so he ran on at a regular trot, and with a little more hope than he had felt during the day. Towards night, however, Dick's heart sank again, for he came upon innumerable buffalo tracks, among which those of the horses soon became mingled up, so that he lost them altogether. Hoping to find them again more easily by broad daylight, he went to the nearest clump of willows he could find, and encamped for the night. Remembering the use formerly made of the tall willows, he set to work to construct a covering to protect him from the dew. As he had no blanket or buffalo-skin, he used leaves and grass instead, and found it a better shelter than he had expected, especially when the fire was lighted, and a pannikin of hot sugar and water smoked at his feet; but as no game was to be found, he was again compelled to sup off unripe berries. Before lying down to rest he remembered his resolution, and, pulling out the little Bible, read a portion of it by the fitful blaze of the fire, and felt great comfort in its blessed words. It seemed to him like a friend with whom he could converse in the midst of his loneliness. The plunge into the river having broken Dick's pipe and destroyed his tobacco, he now felt the want of that luxury very severely, and, never having wanted it before, he was greatly surprised to find how much he had become enslaved to the habit. It cost him more than an hour's rest that night, the craving for his wonted pipe. The sagacious reader will doubtless not fail here to ask himself the question, whether it is wise in man to create in himself an unnatural and totally unnecessary appetite, which may, and often does, entail hours--ay, sometimes months--of exceeding discomfort; but we would not for a moment presume to suggest such a question to him. We have a distinct objection to the ordinary method of what is called "drawing a moral." It is much better to leave wise men to do this for themselves. Next morning Dick rose with the sun, and started without breakfast, preferring to take his chance of finding a bird or animal of some kind before long, to feeding again on sour berries. He was disappointed, however, in finding the tracks of his companions. The ground here was hard and sandy, so that little or no impression of a distinct kind was made on it; and, as buffaloes had traversed it in all directions, he was soon utterly bewildered. He thought it possible that, by running out for several miles in a straight line, and then taking a wide circuit round, he might find the tracks emerging from the confusion made by the buffaloes. But he was again disappointed, for the buffalo tracks still continued, and the ground became less capable of showing a footprint. Soon Dick began to feel so ill and weak from eating such poor fare, that he gave up all hope of discovering the tracks, and was compelled to push forward at his utmost speed in order to reach a less barren district, where he might procure fresh meat; but the further he advanced the worse and more sandy did the district become. For several days he pushed on over this arid waste without seeing bird or beast, and, to add to his misery, he failed at last to find water. For a day and a night he wandered about in a burning fever, and his throat so parched that he was almost suffocated. Towards the close of the second day he saw a slight line of bushes away down in a hollow on his right. With eager steps he staggered towards them, and, on drawing near, beheld--blessed sight!--a stream of water glancing in the beams of the setting sun. Dick tried to shout for joy, but his parched throat refused to give utterance to the voice. It mattered not; exerting all his remaining strength he rushed down the bank, dropped his rifle, and plunged head-foremost into the stream. The first mouthful sent a thrill of horror to his heart; it was salt as brine. The poor youth's cup of bitterness was now full to overflowing. Crawling out of the stream, he sank down on the bank in a species of lethargic torpor, from which he awakened next morning in a raging fever. Delirium soon rendered him insensible to his sufferings. The sun rose like a ball of fire, and shone down with scorching power on the arid plain. What mattered it to Dick? He was far away in the shady groves of the Mustang Valley, chasing the deer at times, but more frequently cooling his limbs and sporting with Crusoe in the bright blue lake. Now he was in his mother's cottage, telling her how he had thought of her when far away on the prairie, and what a bright, sweet word it was she had whispered in his ear,--so unexpectedly, too. Anon he was scouring over the plains on horseback, with the savages at his heels; and at such times Dick would spring with almost supernatural strength from the ground, and run madly over the burning plain; but, as if by a species of fascination, he always returned to the salt river, and sank exhausted by its side, or plunged helplessly into its waters. These sudden immersions usually restored him for a short time to reason, and he would crawl up the bank and gnaw a morsel of the maple sugar; but he could not eat much, for it was in a tough, compact cake, which his jaws had not power to break. All that day and the next night he lay on the banks of the salt stream, or rushed wildly over the plain. It was about noon of the second day after his attack that he crept slowly out of the water, into which he had plunged a few seconds before. His mind was restored, but he felt an indescribable sensation of weakness, that seemed to him to be the approach of death. Creeping towards the place where his rifle lay, he fell exhausted beside it, and laid his cheek on the Bible, which had fallen out of his pocket there. While his eyes were closed in a dreamy sort of half-waking slumber, he felt the rough, hairy coat of an animal brush against his forehead. The idea of being torn to pieces by wolves flashed instantly across his mind, and with a shriek of terror he sprang up,--to be almost overwhelmed by the caresses of his faithful dog. Yes, there he was, bounding round his master, barking and whining, and giving vent to every possible expression of canine joy. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. CRUSOE'S RETURN AND HIS PRIVATE ADVENTURES AMONG THE INDIANS--DICK AT A VERY LOW EBB--CRUSOE SAVES HIM. The means by which Crusoe managed to escape from his two-legged captors, and rejoin his master, requires separate and special notice. In the struggle with the fallen horse and Indian, which Dick had seen begun but not concluded, he was almost crushed to death; and the instant the Indian gained his feet, he sent an arrow at his head with savage violence. Crusoe, however, had been so well used to dodging the blunt-headed arrows that were wont to be shot at him by the boys of the Mustang Valley, that he was quite prepared, and eluded the shaft by an active bound. Moreover, he uttered one of his own peculiar roars, flew at the Indian's throat, and dragged him down. At the same moment the other Indians came up, and one of them turned aside to the rescue. This man happened to have an old gun, of the cheap sort at that time exchanged for peltries by the fur-traders. With the butt of this he struck Crusoe a blow on the head that sent him sprawling on the grass. The rest of the savages, as we have seen, continued in pursuit of Dick until he leaped into the river; then they returned, took the saddle and bridle off his dead horse, and rejoined their comrades. Here they held a court-martial on Crusoe, who was now bound, foot and muzzle, with cords. Some were for killing him; others, who admired his noble appearance, immense size, and courage, thought it would be well to carry him to their village and keep him. There was a pretty violent dispute on the subject; but at length it was agreed that they should spare his life in the mean time, and perhaps have a dog-dance round him when they got to their wigwams. This dance, of which Crusoe was to be the chief, though passive performer, is peculiar to some of the tribes east of the Rocky Mountains, and consists in killing a dog and cutting out its liver, which is afterwards sliced into shreds or strings and hung on a pole about the height of a man's head. A band of warriors then come and dance wildly round this pole, and each one in succession goes up to the raw liver and bites a piece off it, without, however, putting his hands near it. Such is the dog-dance, and to such was poor Crusoe destined by his fierce captors, especially by the one whose throat still bore very evident marks of his teeth. But Crusoe was much too clever a dog to be disposed of in so disgusting a manner. He had privately resolved in his own mind that he would escape, but the hopelessness of his ever carrying that resolution into effect would have been apparent to any one who could have seen the way in which his muzzle was secured, and his four paws were tied together in a bunch, as he hung suspended across the saddle of one of the savages! This particular party of Indians who had followed Dick Varley determined not to wait for the return of their comrades who were in pursuit of the other two hunters, but to go straight home, so for several days they galloped away over the prairie. At nights, when they encamped, Crusoe was thrown on the ground like a piece of old lumber, and left to lie there with a mere scrap of food till morning, when he was again thrown across the horse of his captor and carried on. When the village was reached, he was thrown again on the ground, and would certainly have been torn to pieces in five minutes by the Indian curs which came howling round him, had not an old woman come to the rescue and driven them away. With the help of her grandson--a little naked creature, just able to walk, or rather to stagger--she dragged him to her tent, and, undoing the line that fastened his mouth, offered him a bone. Although lying in a position that was unfavourable for eating purposes, Crusoe opened his jaws and took it. An awful crash was followed by two crunches--and it was gone; and Crusoe looked up in the old squaw's face with a look that said plainly, "Another of the same, please, and as quick as possible." The old woman gave him another and then a lump of meat, which latter went down with a gulp--but he coughed after it! and it was well he didn't choke. After this the squaw left him, and Crusoe spent the remainder of that night gnawing the cords that bound him. So diligent was he that he was free before morning and walked deliberately out of the tent. Then he shook himself, and with a yell that one might have fancied was intended for defiance, he bounded joyfully away, and was soon out of sight. To a dog with a good appetite which had been on short allowance for several days, the mouthful given to him by the old squaw was a mere nothing. All that day he kept bounding over the plain from bluff to bluff in search of something to eat, but found nothing until dusk, when he pounced suddenly and most unexpectedly on a prairie-hen fast asleep. In one moment its life was gone. In less than a minute its body was gone too--feathers and bones and all--down Crusoe's ravenous throat. On the identical spot Crusoe lay down and slept like a top for four hours. At the end of that time he jumped up, bolted a scrap of skin that somehow had been overlooked at supper, and flew straight over the prairie to the spot where he had had the scuffle with the Indian. He came to the edge of the river, took precisely the same leap that his master had done before him, and came out on the other side a good deal higher up than Dick had done, for the dog had no savages to dodge, and was, as we have said before, a powerful swimmer. It cost him a good deal of running about to find the trail, and it was nearly dark before he resumed his journey; then, putting his keen nose to the ground, he ran step by step over Dick's track, and at last found him, as we have shown, on the banks of the Salt Creek. It is quite impossible to describe the intense joy which filled Dick's heart on again beholding his favourite. Only those who have lost and found such an one can know it. Dick seized him round the neck and hugged him as well as he could, poor fellow, in his feeble arms; then he wept, then he laughed, and then he fainted. This was a consummation that took Crusoe quite aback! Never having seen his master in such a state before he seemed to think at first that he was playing some trick, for he bounded round him, and barked, and wagged his tail. But as Dick lay quite still and motionless, he went forward with a look of alarm; snuffed him once or twice and whined piteously; then he raised his nose in the air and uttered a long melancholy wail. The cry seemed to revive Dick, for he moved, and with some difficulty sat up, to the dog's evident relief. There is no doubt whatever that Crusoe learned an erroneous lesson that day, and was firmly convinced thenceforth that the best cure for a fainting-fit is a melancholy yell. So easy is it for the wisest of dogs as well as men to fall into gross error! "Crusoe," said Dick, in a feeble voice, "dear good pup, come here." He crawled, as he spoke, down to the water's edge where there was a level patch of dry sand. "Dig," said Dick, pointing to the sand. Crusoe looked at him in surprise, as well he might, for he had never heard the word "dig" in all his life before. Dick pondered a minute; then a thought struck him. He turned up a little of the sand with his fingers, and, pointing to the hole cried, "_Seek him out, pup_!" Ha! Crusoe understood _that_. Many and many a time had he unhoused rabbits, and squirrels, and other creatures at that word of command, so, without a moment's delay, he commenced to dig down into the sand, every now, and then stopping for a moment and shoving in his nose, and snuffing interrogatively, as if he fully expected to find a buffalo at the bottom of it. Then he would resume again, one paw after another so fast that you could scarce see them going "hand over hand" as sailors would have called it--while the sand flew out between his hind-legs in a continuous shower. When the sand accumulated so much behind him as to impede his motions he scraped it out of his way, and set to work again with tenfold earnestness. After a good while he paused and looked up at Dick with an "it--won't--do,--I--fear,--there's--nothing--here" expression on his face. "Seek him out, pup!" repeated Dick. "Oh! very good," mutely answered the dog, and went at it again, tooth and nail, harder than ever. In the course of a quarter of an hour there was a deep yawning hole in the sand, into which Dick peered with intense anxiety. The bottom appeared slightly _damp_. Hope now reanimated Dick Varley, and by various devices he succeeded in getting the dog to scrape away a sort of tunnel from the hole, into which he might roll himself and put down his lips to drink when the water should rise high enough. Impatiently and anxiously he lay watching the moisture slowly accumulate in the bottom of the hole, drop by drop, and while he gazed he fell into a troubled, restless slumber, and dreamed that Crusoe's return was a dream, and that he was alone again perishing for want of water. When he awakened the hole was half full of clear water, and Crusoe was lapping it greedily. "Back, pup!" he shouted, as he crept down to the hole and put his trembling lips to the water. It was brackish, but drinkable, and as Dick drank deeply of it he esteemed it at that moment better than nectar. Here he lay for half an hour alternately drinking and gazing in surprise at his own emaciated visage as reflected in the pool. The same afternoon Crusoe, in a private hunting excursion of his own, discovered and caught a prairie-hen, which he quietly proceeded to devour on the spot, when Dick, who saw what had occurred, whistled to him. Obedience was engrained in every fibre of Crusoe's mental and corporeal being. He did not merely answer at once to the call--he _sprang_ to it, leaving the prairie-hen untasted. "Fetch it, pup," cried Dick eagerly as the dog came up. In a few moments the hen was at his feet. Dick's circumstances could not brook the delay of cookery; he gashed the bird with his knife and drank the blood, and then gave the flesh to the dog, while he crept to the pool again for another draught. Ah! think not, reader, that although we have treated this subject in a slight vein of pleasantry, because it ended well, that therefore our tale is pure fiction. Not only are Indians glad to satisfy the urgent cravings of hunger with raw flesh, but many civilised men and delicately nurtured, have done the same--ay, and doubtless, will do the same again, as long as enterprising and fearless men shall go forth to dare the dangers of flood and field in the wild places of our wonderful world! Crusoe had finished his share of the feast before Dick returned from the pool. Then master and dog lay down together side by side and fell into a long, deep, peaceful slumber. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. HEALTH AND HAPPINESS RETURN--INCIDENTS OF THE JOURNEY--A BUFFALO SHOT--A WILD HORSE "CREASED"--DICK'S BATTLE WITH A MUSTANG. Dick Varley's fears and troubles, in the meantime, were ended. On the day following he awoke refreshed and happy--so happy and light at heart, as he felt the glow of returning health coursing through his veins, that he fancied he must have dreamed it all. In fact, he was so certain that his muscles were strong that he endeavoured to leap up, but was powerfully convinced of his true condition by the miserable stagger that resulted from the effort. However, he knew he was recovering, so he rose, and thanking God for his recovery and for the new hope that was raised in his heart, he went down to the pool and drank deeply of its water. Then he returned, and, sitting down beside his dog, opened the Bible and read long--and, for the first time, _earnestly_--the story of Christ's love for sinful man. He at last fell asleep over the book, and when he awakened felt so much refreshed in body and mind that he determined to attempt to pursue his journey. He had not proceeded far when he came upon a colony of prairie-dogs. Upon this occasion he was little inclined to take a humorous view of the vagaries of these curious little creatures, but he shot one, and, as before, ate part of it raw. These creatures are so active that they are difficult to shoot, and even when killed generally fall into their holes and disappear. Crusoe, however, soon unearthed the dead animal on this occasion. That night the travellers came to a stream of fresh water, and Dick killed a turkey, so that he determined to spend a couple of days there to recruit. At the end of that time he again set out, but was able only to advance five miles when he broke down. In fact, it became evident to him that he must have a longer period of absolute repose ere he could hope to continue his journey, but to do so without food was impossible. Fortunately there was plenty of water, as his course lay along the margin of a small stream, and, as the arid piece of prairie was now behind him, he hoped to fall in with birds, or perhaps deer, soon. While he was plodding heavily and wearily along, pondering these things, he came to the brow of a wave from which he beheld a most magnificent view of green grassy plains, decked with flowers, and rolling out to the horizon, with a stream meandering through it, and clumps of trees scattered everywhere far and wide. It was a glorious sight; but the most glorious object in it to Dick, at that time, was a fat buffalo which stood grazing not a hundred yards off. The wind was blowing towards him, so that the animal did not scent him, and, as he came up very slowly, and it was turned away, it did not see him. Crusoe would have sprung forward in an instant, but his master's finger imposed silence and caution. Trembling with eagerness Dick sank flat down in the grass, cocked both barrels of his piece, and, resting it on his left hand with his left elbow on the ground, he waited until the animal should present its side. In a few seconds it moved; Dick's eye glanced along the barrel, but it trembled--his wonted steadiness of aim was gone. He fired, and the buffalo sprang off in terror. With a groan of despair he fired again,--almost recklessly,--and the buffalo fell! It rose once or twice and stumbled forward a few paces, then it fell again. Meanwhile Dick re-loaded with trembling hand, and advanced to give it another shot, but it was not needful, the buffalo was already dead. "Now, Crusoe," said Dick, sitting down on the buffalo's shoulder and patting his favourite on the head, "we're all right at last. You and I shall have a jolly time o't, pup, from this time for'ard." Dick paused for breath, and Crusoe wagged his tail and looked as if to say--pshaw! "_as if_!" We tell ye what it is, reader, it's of no use at all to go on writing "as if," when we tell you what Crusoe said. If there is any language in eyes whatever,--if there is language in a tail; in a cocked ear; in a mobile eyebrow; in the point of a canine nose;--if there is language in any terrestrial thing at all, apart from that which flows from the tongue--then Crusoe _spoke_! Do we not speak at this moment to _you_? and if so, then tell me, wherein lies the difference between a written _letter_ and a given _sign_? Yes, Crusoe spoke. He said to Dick as plain as dog could say it, slowly and emphatically, "That's my opinion precisely, Dick. You're the dearest, most beloved, jolliest fellow that ever walked on two legs, you are; and whatever's your opinion is mine, no matter _how_ absurd it may be." Dick evidently understood him perfectly, for he laughed as he looked at him and patted him on the head, and called him a "funny dog." Then he continued his discourse--"Yes, pup, we'll make our camp here for a long bit, old dog, in this beautiful plain. We'll make a willow wigwam to sleep in, you and me, jist in yon clump o' trees, not a stone's throw to our right, where we'll have a run o' pure water beside us, and be near our buffalo at the same time. For, ye see, we'll need to watch him lest the wolves take a notion to eat him--that'll be _your_ duty, pup. Then I'll skin him when I get strong enough, which'll be in a day or two I hope, and we'll put one half of the skin below us and t'other half above us i' the camp, an' sleep, an' eat, an' take it easy for a week or two-- won't we, pup?" "Hoora-a-a-y!" shouted Crusoe, with a jovial wag of his tail, that no human arm with hat, or cap, or kerchief ever equalled. Poor Dick Varley! He smiled to think how earnestly he had been talking to the dog, but he did not cease to do it, for, although he entered into discourses, the drift of which Crusoe's limited education did not permit him to follow, he found comfort in hearing the sound of his own voice, and in knowing that it fell pleasantly on another ear in that lonely wilderness. Our hero now set about his preparations as vigorously as he could. He cut out the buffalo's tongue--a matter of great difficulty to one in his weak state--and carried it to a pleasant spot near to the stream where the turf was level and green, and decked with wild flowers. Here he resolved to make his camp. His first care was to select a bush whose branches were long enough to form a canopy over his head when bent, and the ends thrust into the ground. The completing of this exhausted him greatly, but after a rest he resumed his labours. The next thing was to light a fire--a comfort which he had not enjoyed for many weary days. Not that he required it for warmth, for the weather was extremely warm, but he required it to cook with, and the mere _sight_ of a blaze in a dark place is a most heart-cheering thing as every one knows. When the fire was lighted he filled his pannikin at the brook and put it on to boil, and, cutting several slices of buffalo tongue, he thrust short stakes through them and set them up before the fire to roast. By this time the water was boiling, so he took it off with difficulty, nearly burning his fingers and singeing the tail of his coat in so doing. Into the pannikin he put a lump of maple sugar and stirred it about with a stick, and tasted it. It seemed to him even better than tea or coffee. It was absolutely delicious! Really one has no notion what he can do if he makes believe _very hard_. The human mind is a nicely balanced and extremely complex machine, and when thrown a little off the balance can be made to believe almost anything, as we see in the case of some poor monomaniacs, who have fancied that they were made of all sorts of things--glass and porcelain, and suchlike. No wonder then that poor Dick Varley, after so much suffering and hardship, came to regard that pannikin of hot syrup as the most delicious beverage he ever drank. During all these operations Crusoe sat on his haunches beside him and looked. And you haven't--no, you haven't--got the most distant notion of the way in which that dog manoeuvred with his head and face! He opened his eyes wide, and cocked his ears, and turned his head first a little to one side, then a little to the other. After that he turned it a _good deal_ to one side and then a good deal more to the other. Then he brought it straight and raised one eyebrow a little, and then the other a little, and then both together very much. Then, when Dick paused to rest and did nothing, Crusoe looked mild for a moment, and yawned vociferously. Presently Dick moved--up went the ears again and Crusoe came--in military parlance--"to the position of attention!" At last supper was ready and they began. Dick had purposely kept the dog's supper back from him, in order that they might eat it in company. And between every bite and sup that Dick took, he gave a bite--but not a sup--to Crusoe. Thus lovingly they ate together; and, when Dick lay that night under the willow branches looking up through them at the stars, with his feet to the fire, and Crusoe close along his side, he thought it the best and sweetest supper he ever ate, and the happiest evening he ever spent--so wonderfully do circumstances modify our notions of felicity! Two weeks after this "Richard was himself again." The muscles were springy, and the blood coursed fast and free, as was its wont. Only a slight, and, perhaps, salutary feeling of weakness remained, to remind him that young muscles might again become more helpless than those of an aged man or a child. Dick had left his encampment a week ago, and was now advancing by rapid stages towards the Rocky Mountains, closely following the trail of his lost comrades, which he had no difficulty in finding and keeping, now that Crusoe was with him. The skin of the buffalo that he had killed was now strapped to his shoulders, and the skin of another animal that he had shot a few days after was cut up into a long line and slung in a coil round his neck. Crusoe was also laden. He had a little bundle of meat slung on each side of him. For some time past numerous herds of mustangs or wild horses, had crossed their path, and Dick was now on the look out for a chance to _crease_ one of those magnificent creatures. On one occasion a band of mustangs galloped close up to him before they were aware of his presence, and stopped short with a wild snort of surprise on beholding him; then, wheeling round, they dashed away at full gallop, their long tails and manes flying wildly in the air, and their hoofs thundering on the plain. Dick did not attempt to crease one upon this occasion, fearing that his recent illness might have rendered his hand too unsteady for so extremely delicate an operation. In order to crease a wild horse the hunter requires to be a perfect shot, and it is not every man of the west who carries a rifle that can do it successfully. Creasing consists in sending a bullet through the gristle of the mustang's neck, just above the bone, so as to stun the animal. If the ball enters a hair's-breadth too low, the horse falls dead instantly. If it hits the exact spot the horse falls as instantaneously, and dead to all appearance; but, in reality, he is only stunned, and if left for a few minutes will rise and gallop away nearly as well as ever. When hunters crease a horse successfully they put a rope, or halter, round his under jaw, and hobbles round his feet, so that when he rises he is secured, and, after considerable trouble, reduced to obedience. The mustangs which roam in wild freedom on the prairies of the far west, are descended from the noble Spanish steeds that were brought over by the wealthy cavaliers who accompanied Fernando Cortez, the conqueror of Mexico, in his expedition to the new world in 1518. These bold, and, we may add, lawless cavaliers, were mounted on the finest horses that could be procured from Barbary and the deserts of the Old World. The poor Indians of the New World were struck with amazement and terror at these awful beings, for, never having seen horses before, they believed that horse and rider were one animal. During the wars that followed many of the Spaniards were killed and their steeds bounded into the wilds of the new country to enjoy a life of unrestrained freedom. These were the forefathers of the present race of magnificent creatures which are found in immense droves all over the western wilderness, from the Gulf of Mexico to the confines of the snowy regions of the far north. At first the Indians beheld these horses with awe and terror, but gradually they became accustomed to them, and finally succeeded in capturing great numbers and reducing them to a state of servitude. Not, however, to the service of the cultivated field, but to the service of the chase and war. The savages soon acquired the method of capturing wild horses by means of the lasso--as the noose at that end of a long line of raw hide is termed--which they adroitly threw over the heads of the animals and secured them, having previously run them down. At the present day many of the savage tribes of the west almost live upon horseback, and without these useful creatures they could scarcely subsist, as they are almost indispensable in the chase of the buffalo. Mustangs are regularly taken by the Indians to the settlements of the white men for trade, but very poor specimens are these of the breed of wild horses. This arises from two causes. First, the Indian cannot overtake the finest of a drove of wild mustangs, because his own steed is inferior to the best among the wild ones, besides being weighted with a rider, so that only the weak and inferior animals are captured. And, secondly, when the Indian does succeed in lassoing a first-rate horse he keeps it for his own use. Thus, those who have not visited the far-off prairies and seen the mustang in all the glory of untrammelled freedom, can form no adequate idea of its beauty, fleetness, and strength. The horse, however, was not the only creature imported by Cortez. There were priests in his army who rode upon asses, and, although we cannot imagine that the "fathers" charged with the cavaliers and were unhorsed, or, rather, un-assed in battle, yet, somehow, the asses got rid of their riders and joined the Spanish chargers in their joyous bound into a new life of freedom. Hence wild asses also are found in the western prairies. But think not, reader, of those poor miserable wretches we see at home, which seem little better than rough door-mats sewed up and stuffed; with head, tail, and legs attached, and just enough of life infused to make them move! No, the wild ass of the prairie is a large, powerful, swift creature. He has the same long ears, it is true, and the same hideous, exasperating bray, and the same tendency to flourish his heels; but, for all that he is a very fine animal, and often wages _successful_ warfare with the wild horse! But to return. The next drove of mustangs that Dick and Crusoe saw were feeding quietly and unsuspectingly in a rich green hollow in the plain. Dick's heart leaped up as his eyes suddenly fell on them, for he had almost discovered himself before he was aware of their presence. "Down, pup!" he whispered, as he sank and disappeared among the grass which was just long enough to cover him when lying quite flat. Crusoe crouched immediately, and his master made his observations of the drove, and the dispositions of the ground that might favour his approach, for they were not within rifle range. Having done so he crept slowly back until the undulation of the prairie hid him from view; then he sprang to his feet, and ran a considerable distance along the bottom until he gained the extreme end of a belt of low bushes, which would effectually conceal him while he approached to within a hundred yards or less of the troop. Here he made his arrangements. Throwing down his buffalo robe, he took the coil of line and cut off a piece of about three yards in length. On this he made a running noose. The longer line he also prepared with a running noose. These he threw in a coil over his arm. He also made a pair of hobbles and placed them in the breast of his coat, and then, taking up his rifle, advanced cautiously through the bushes--Crusoe following close behind him. In a few minutes he was gazing in admiration at the mustangs which were now within easy shot, and utterly ignorant of the presence of man, for Dick had taken care to approach in such a way that the wind did not carry the scent of him in their direction. And well might he admire them. The wild horse of these regions is not very large, but it is exceedingly powerful, with prominent eye, sharp nose, distended nostril, small feet, and a delicate leg. Their beautiful manes hung at great length down their arched necks, and their thick tails swept the ground. One magnificent fellow in particular attracted Dick's attention. It was of a rich dark brown colour, with black mane and tail, and seemed to be the leader of the drove. Although not the nearest to him, he resolved to crease this horse. It is said that creasing generally destroys or damages the spirit of the horse, so Dick determined to try whether his powers of close shooting would not serve him on this occasion. Going down on one knee he aimed at the creature's neck, just a hair-breadth above the spot where he had been told that hunters usually hit them, and fired. The effect upon the group was absolutely tremendous. With wild cries and snorting terror they tossed their proud heads in the air, uncertain for one moment in which direction to fly; then there was a rush as if a hurricane swept over the place, and they were gone. But the brown horse was down. Dick did not wait until the others had fled. He dropped his rifle, and with the speed of a deer, sprang towards the fallen horse, and affixed the hobbles to his legs. His aim had been true. Although scarcely half a minute elapsed between the shot and the fixing of the hobbles the animal recovered, and with a frantic exertion rose on his haunches, just as Dick had fastened the noose of the short line in his under jaw. But this was not enough. If the horse had gained his feet before the longer line was placed round his neck, he would have escaped. As the mustang made the second violent plunge that placed it on its legs, Dick flung the noose hastily; it caught on one ear, and would have fallen off, had not the horse suddenly shaken its head, and unwittingly sealed its own fate by bringing the noose round its neck. And now the struggle began. Dick knew well enough, from hearsay, the method of "breaking down" a wild horse. He knew that the Indians choke them with the noose round the neck until they fall down exhausted and covered with foam, when they creep up, fix the hobbles and the line in the lower jaw, and then loosen the lasso to let the horse breathe, and resume its plungings till it is almost subdued, when they gradually draw near and breathe into its nostrils. But the violence and strength of this animal rendered this an apparently hopeless task. We have already seen that the hobbles and noose in the lower jaw had been fixed, so that Dick had nothing now to do but to choke his captive, and tire him out, while Crusoe remained a quiet, though excited spectator of the scene. But there seemed to be no possibility of choking this horse. Either the muscles of his neck were too strong, or there was something wrong with the noose which prevented it from acting, for the furious creature dashed and bounded backwards and sidewise in its terror for nearly an hour, dragging Dick after it, till he was almost exhausted, and yet, at the end of that time, although flecked with foam and panting with terror, it seemed as strong as ever. Dick held both lines, for the short one attached to its lower jaw gave him great power over it. At last he thought of seeking assistance from his dog. "Crusoe," he cried, "lay hold, pup." The dog seized the long line in his teeth, and pulled with all his might. At the some moment Dick let go the short line and threw all his weight upon the long one. The noose tightened suddenly under this strain, and the mustang, with a gasp, fell choking to the ground. Dick had often heard of the manner in which the Mexicans "break" their horses, so he determined to abandon the method which had already almost worn him out, and adopt the other, as far as the means in his power rendered it possible. Instead, therefore, of loosening the lasso and re-commencing the struggle, he tore a branch from a neighbouring bush, cut the hobbles, strode with his legs across the fallen steed, seized the end of the short line or bridle, and then, ordering Crusoe to quit his hold, he loosened the noose which compressed the horse's neck, and had already well-nigh terminated its existence. One or two deep sobs restored it, and in a moment it leaped to its feet with Dick firmly on its back! To say that the animal leaped and kicked in its frantic efforts to throw this intolerable burden would be a tame manner of expressing what took place. Words cannot adequately describe the scene. It reared, plunged, shrieked, vaulted into the air, stood straight up on its hind-legs, and then almost as straight upon its fore ones, but its rider held on like a burr. Then the mustang raced wildly forwards a few paces, then as wildly back, and then stood still and trembled violently. But this was only a brief lull in the storm, so Dick saw that the time was now come to assert the superiority of his race. "Stay back, Crusoe, and watch my rifle, pup," he cried, and, raising his heavy switch he brought it down with a sharp cut across the horse's flank, at the same time loosening the rein which hitherto he had held tight. The wild horse uttered a passionate cry, and sprang forward like the bolt from a cross-bow. And now commenced a race, which, if not as prolonged, was at least as furious as that of the far-famed Mazeppa. Dick was a splendid rider, however,--at least as far as "sticking on" goes. He might not have come up to the precise pitch desiderated by a riding-master in regard to carriage, etcetera, but he rode that wild horse of the prairie with as much ease as he had formerly ridden his own good steed, whose bones had been picked by the wolves not long ago. The pace was tremendous, for the youth's weight was nothing to that muscular frame which bounded with cat-like agility from wave to wave of the undulating plain in ungovernable terror. In a few minutes the clump of willows where Crusoe and his rifle lay were out of sight behind, but it mattered not, for Dick had looked up at the sky and noted the position of the sun at the moment of starting. Away they went on the wings of the wind, mile after mile over the ocean-like waste--curving slightly aside now and then to avoid the bluffs that occasionally appeared on the scene for a few minutes and then swept out of sight behind them. Then they came to a little rivulet; it was a mere brook of a few feet wide, and two or three yards, perhaps, from bank to bank. Over this they flew, so easily that the spring was scarcely felt, and continued the headlong course. And now a more barren country was around them. Sandy ridges and scrubby grass appeared everywhere, reminding Dick of the place where he had been so ill. Rocks, too were scattered about, and at one place the horse dashed with clattering hoofs between a couple of rocky sand-hills which, for a few seconds, hid the prairie from view. Here the mustang suddenly shied with such violence that his rider was nearly thrown, while a rattlesnake darted from the path. Soon they emerged from this pass, and again the plains became green and verdant. Presently a distant line of trees showed that they were approaching water, and in a few minutes they were close on it. For the first time Dick felt alarm; he sought to check his steed, but no force he could exert had the smallest influence on it. Trees and bushes flew past in bewildering confusion; the river was before him; what width, he could not tell, but he was reckless now, like his charger, which he struck with the willow rod with all his force as they came up. One tremendous bound, and they were across, but Dick had to lie flat on the mustang's back as it crashed through the bushes to avoid being scraped off by the trees. Again they were on the open plain, and the wild horse began to show signs of exhaustion. Now was its rider's opportunity to assert his dominion. He plied the willow rod and urged the panting horse on, until it was white with foam and laboured a little in its gait. Then Dick gently drew the halter, and it broke into a trot; still tighter--and it walked--and in another minute stood still, trembling in every limb. Dick now quietly rubbed its neck, and spoke to it in soothing tones, then he wheeled it gently round and urged it forward. It was quite subdued and docile. In a little time they came to the river and forded it, after which they went through the belt of woodland at a walk. By the time they reached the open prairie, the mustang was recovered sufficiently to feel its spirit returning, so Dick gave it a gentle touch with the switch, and away they went on their return journey. But it amazed Dick not a little to find how long that journey was. Very different was the pace, too, from the previous mad gallop, and often would the poor horse have stopped had Dick allowed him. But this might not be. The shades of night were approaching, and the camp lay a long way ahead. At last it was reached, and Crusoe came out with great demonstrations of joy, but was sent back lest he should alarm the horse. Then Dick jumped off his back, stroked his head, put his cheek close to his mouth, and whispered softly to him, after which he fastened him to a tree and rubbed him down slightly with a bunch of grass. Having done this, he left him to graze as far as his tether would permit, and, after supping with Crusoe, lay down to rest, not a little elated with his success in this first attempt at "creasing" and "breaking" a mustang. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. DICK BECOMES A HORSE TAMER--RESUMES HIS JOURNEY--CHARLIE'S DOINGS-- MISFORTUNES WHICH LEAD TO, BUT DO NOT TERMINATE IN, THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS--A GRIZZLY BEAR. There is a proverb--or a saying--or at least somebody or book has told us, that some Irishman once said--"Be aisy, or, if ye can't be aisy, be as aisy as ye can." Now, we count that good advice, and strongly recommend it to all and sundry. Had we been at the side of Dick Varley on the night after his taming of the wild horse, we would have strongly urged that advice upon him. Whether he would have listened to it or not is quite another question--we rather think not. Reader, if you wish to know why, go and do what he did, and if you feel no curious sensations about the region of the loins after it, we will tell you why Dick Varley wouldn't have listened to that advice. Can a man feel as if his joints were wrenched out of their sockets, and listen to advice--be that advice good or bad? Can he feel as though these joints were trying to re-set and re-dislocate themselves perpetually--and listen to advice? Can he feel as if he were sitting down on red-hot iron, when he's not sitting down at all--and listen to advice? Can he--but no! why pursue the subject? Poor Dick spent that night in misery, and the greater part of the following day in sleep, to make up for it. When he got up to breakfast in the afternoon, he felt much better, but shaky. "Now, pup," he said, stretching himself, "we'll go and see our horse. _Ours_, pup; yours and mine: didn't you help to catch him, eh! pup?" Crusoe acknowledged the fact with a wag, and a playful "bow-wow-wow-oo-ow!" and followed his master to the place where the horse had been picketted. It was standing there quite quiet, but looking a little timid. Dick went boldly up to it, and patted its head and stroked its nose, for nothing is so likely to alarm either a tame or a wild horse as any appearance of timidity or hesitation on the part of those who approach them. After treating it thus for a short time, he stroked down its neck, and then its shoulders--the horse eyeing him all the time nervously. Gradually he stroked its back and limbs gently, and walked quietly round and round it once or twice, sometimes approaching and sometimes going away, but never either hesitating or doing anything abruptly. This done, he went down to the stream and filled his cap with water and carried it to the horse, which snuffed suspiciously and backed a little, so he laid the cap down, and went up and patted him again. Presently he took up the cap and carried it to his nose; the poor creature was almost choking with thirst, so that, the moment he understood what was in the cap, he buried his lips in it and sucked it up. This was a great point gained, he had accepted a benefit at the hands of his new master; he had become a debtor to man, and no doubt he felt the obligation. Dick filled the cap, and the horse emptied it again, and again, and again, until its burning thirst was slaked. Then Dick went up to his shoulder, patted him, undid the line that fastened him, and vaulted lightly on his back! We say _lightly_, for it was so, but it wasn't _easily_, as Dick could have told you! However, he was determined not to forego the training of his steed on account of what _he_ would have called a "little bit pain." At this unexpected act the horse plunged and reared a good deal, and seemed inclined to go through the performance of the day before over again, but Dick patted and stroked him into quiescence, and having done so, urged him into a gallop over the plains, causing the dog to gambol round in order that he might get accustomed to him. This tried his nerves a good deal, and no wonder, for if he took Crusoe for a wolf, which no doubt he did, he must have thought him a very giant of the pack. By degrees they broke into a furious gallop, and after breathing him well, Dick returned and tied him to the tree. Then he rubbed him down again, and gave him another drink. This time the horse smelt his new master all over, and Dick felt that he had conquered him by kindness. No doubt the tremendous run of the day before could scarcely be called kindness, but without this subduing run he never could have brought the offices of kindness to bear on so wild a steed. During all these operations Crusoe sat looking on with demure sagacity-- drinking in wisdom and taking notes. We know not whether any notes made by the canine race have ever been given to the world, but certain are we that, if the notes and observations made by Crusoe on that journey were published, they would--to say the least--surprise us! Next day Dick gave the wild horse his second lesson, and his name. He called him "Charlie," after a much loved companion in the Mustang Valley. And long and heartily did Dick Varley laugh as he told the horse his future designation in the presence of Crusoe, for it struck him as somewhat ludicrous that a mustang, which, two days ago, pawed the earth in all the pride of independent freedom, should suddenly come down so low as to carry a hunter on his back and be named Charlie! The next piece of instruction began by Crusoe being led up under Charlie's nose, and while Dick patted the dog with his right hand he patted the horse with his left. It backed a good deal at first and snorted, but Crusoe walked slowly and quietly in front of him several times, each time coming nearer, until he again stood under his nose, then the horse smelt him nervously, and gave a sigh of relief when he found that Crusoe paid no attention to him whatever. Dick then ordered the dog to lie down at Charlie's feet, and went to the camp to fetch his rifle, and buffalo robe, and pack of meat. These and all the other things belonging to him were presented for inspection, one by one, to the horse, who arched his neck, and put forward his ears, and eyed them at first, but smelt them all over, and seemed to feel more easy in his mind. Next, the buffalo robe was rubbed over his nose, then over his eyes and head, then down his neck and shoulder, and lastly was placed on his back. Then it was taken off and _flung_ on; after that it was strapped on, and the various little items of the camp were attached to it. This done, Dick took up his rifle and let him smell it; then he put his hand on Charlie's shoulder, vaulted on to his back, and rode away. Charlie's education was completed; and now our hero's journey began again in earnest, and with some prospect of its speedy termination. In this course of training through which Dick put his wild horse, he had been at much greater pains and had taken far longer time than is usually the case among the Indians, who will catch, and "break," and ride a wild horse into camp in less than _three hours_. But Dick wanted to do the thing well, which the Indians are not careful to do; besides, it must be borne in remembrance that this was his first attempt, and that his horse was one of the best and most high spirited, while those caught by the Indians, as we have said, are generally the poorest of a drove. Dick now followed the trail of his lost companions at a rapid pace, yet not so rapidly as he might have done; being averse to exhausting his good dog and his new companion. Each night he encamped under the shade of a tree or a bush when he could find one, or in the open prairie when there were none, and, picketting his horse to a short stake or pin which he carried with him for the purpose, lit his fire, had supper, and lay down to rest. In a few days Charlie became so tame and so accustomed to his master's voice that he seemed quite reconciled to his new life. There can be no doubt whatever that he had a great dislike to solitude, for on one occasion, when Dick and Crusoe went off a mile or so from the camp where Charlie was tied, and disappeared from his view, he was heard to neigh so loudly that Dick ran back thinking the wolves must have attacked him. He was all right, however, and exhibited evident tokens of satisfaction when they returned. On another occasion his fear of being left alone was more clearly demonstrated. Dick had been unable to find wood or water that day, so he was obliged to encamp upon the open plain. The want of water was not seriously felt, however, for he had prepared a bladder in which he always carried enough to give him one pannikin of hot syrup, and leave a mouthful for Crusoe and Charlie. Dried buffalo dung formed a substitute for fuel. Spreading his buffalo robe, he lit his fire, put on his pannikin to boil, and stuck up a piece of meat to roast, to the great delight of Crusoe, who sat looking on with much interest. Suddenly Charlie, who was picketted a few hundred yards off in a grassy spot, broke his halter close by the head-piece, and with a snort of delight bounded away, prancing and kicking up his heels! Dick heaved a deep sigh, for he felt sure that his horse was gone. However, in a little Charlie stopped, and raised his nose high in the air, as if to look for his old equine companions. But they were gone; no answering neigh replied to his; and he felt, probably for the first time, that he was really alone in the world. Having no power of smell, whereby he might have traced them out as the dog would have done, he looked in a bewildered and excited state all round the horizon. Then his eye fell on Dick and Crusoe sitting by their little fire. Charlie looked hard at them, and then again at the horizon; and then, coming to the conclusion, no doubt, that the matter was quite beyond his comprehension, he quietly took to feeding. Dick availed himself of the chance, and tried to catch him; but he spent an hour with Crusoe in the vain attempt, and at last they gave it up in disgust and returned to the fire, where they finished their supper and went to bed. Next morning they saw Charlie feeding close at hand; so they took breakfast, and tried to catch him again. But it was of no use; he was evidently coquetting with them, and dodged about and defied their utmost efforts, for there was only a few inches of line hanging to his head. At last it occurred to Dick that he would try the experiment of forsaking him. So he packed up his things, rolled up the buffalo robe, threw it and the rifle on his shoulder, and walked deliberately away. "Come along, Crusoe!" he cried, after walking a few paces. But Crusoe stood by the fire with his head up, and an expression on his face that said, "Hello, man! what's wrong? You've forgot Charlie! Hold on! Are you mad?" "Come here, Crusoe!" cried his master in a decided tone. Crusoe obeyed at once. Whatever mistake there might be, there was evidently none in that command; so he lowered his head and tail humbly, and trotted on with his master; but he perpetually turned his head as he went, first on this side and then on that, to look and wonder at Charlie. When they were far away on the plain, Charlie suddenly became aware that something was wrong. He trotted to the brow of a slope with his head and tail very high up indeed, and looked after them; then he looked at the fire and neighed; then he trotted quickly up to it, and, seeing that everything was gone, he began to neigh violently, and at last started off at full speed, and overtook his friends, passing within a few feet of them, and wheeling round a few yards off, stood trembling like an aspen leaf. Dick called him by his name and advanced, while Charlie met him half-way, and allowed himself to be saddled, bridled, and mounted forthwith. After this Dick had no further trouble with his wild horse. At his next camping-place, which was in the midst of a cluster of bushes close beside a creek, Dick came unexpectedly upon a little wooden cross, which marked the head of a grave. There was no inscription on it, but the Christian symbol told that it was the grave of a white man. It is impossible to describe the rush of mingled feelings that filled the soul of the young hunter as he leaned on the muzzle of his rifle and looked at this solitary resting-place of one who, doubtless like himself, had been a roving hunter. Had he been young or old when he fell?--had he a mother in the distant settlement, who watched, and longed, and waited for the son that was never more to gladden her eyes?--had he been murdered, or had he died there and been buried by his sorrowing comrades? These and a thousand questions passed rapidly through his mind as he gazed at the little cross. Suddenly he started. "Could it be the grave of Joe or Henri?" For an instant the idea sent a chill to his heart; but it passed quickly, for a second glance showed that the grave was old, and that the wooden cross had stood over it for years. Dick turned away with a saddened heart; and that night, as he pored over the pages of his Bible, his mind was filled with many thoughts about eternity and the world to come. He, too, must come to the grave one day, and quit the beautiful prairies and his loved rifle. It was a sad thought; but while he meditated he thought upon his mother. "After all," he murmured, "there must be happiness _without_ the rifle, and youth, and health, and the prairie! My mother's happy, yet she don't shoot, or ride like wildfire over the plains." Then that word which had been sent so sweetly to him through her hand came again to his mind, "My son, give me thine heart;" and as he read God's book, he met with the word, "Delight thyself in the Lord, and he shall give thee the desire of thine heart." "The _desire of thine heart_." Dick repeated this, and pondered it till he fell asleep. A misfortune soon after this befell Dick Varley, which well-nigh caused him to give way to despair. For some time past he had been approaching the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains--those ragged, jagged, mighty hills, which run through the whole continent from north to south in a continuous chain, and form, as it were, the backbone of America. One morning, as he threw the buffalo robe off his shoulders and sat up, he was horrified to find the whole earth covered with a mantle of snow. We say he was horrified, for this rendered it absolutely impossible any further to trace his companions either by scent or sight. For some time he sat musing bitterly on his sad fate, while his dog came and laid his head sympathisingly on his arm. "Ah! pup," he said, "I know ye'd help me if ye could! But it's all up now; there's no chance of findin' them--none." To this Crusoe replied by a low whine. He knew full well that something distressed his master, but he hadn't yet ascertained what it was. As something had to be done, Dick put the buffalo robe on his steed, and, mounting, said, as he was in the habit of doing each morning, "Lead on, pup." Crusoe put his nose to the ground and ran forward a few paces, then he returned and ran about snuffing and scraping up the snow. At last he looked up, and uttered a long melancholy howl. "Ah! I knowed it," said Dick, pushing forward. "Come on, pup, you'll have to _follow_ now. Any way we must go on." The snow that had fallen was not deep enough to offer the slightest obstruction to their advance. It was, indeed, only one of those occasional showers common to that part of the country in the late autumn, which season had now crept upon Dick almost before he was aware of it, and he fully expected that it would melt away in a few days. In this hope he kept steadily advancing, until he found himself in the midst of those rocky fastnesses which divide the waters that flow into the Atlantic from those that flow into the Pacific Ocean. Still the slight crust of snow lay on the ground, and he had no means of knowing whether he was going in the right direction or not. Game was abundant, and there was no lack of wood now, so that his night bivouac was not so cold or dreary as might have been expected. Travelling, however, had become difficult, and even dangerous, owing to the rugged nature of the ground over which he proceeded. The scenery had completely changed in its character. Dick no longer coursed over the free, open plains, but he passed through beautiful valleys filled with luxuriant trees, and hemmed in by stupendous mountains, whose rugged sides rose upward until the snow-clad peaks pierced the clouds. There was something awful in these dark solitudes, quite overwhelming to a youth of Dick's temperament; his heart began to sink lower and lower every day, and the utter impossibility of making up his mind what to do became at length agonising. To have turned and gone back the hundreds of miles over which he had travelled would have caused him some anxiety under any circumstances, but to do so while Joe and Henri were either wandering about there or in the power of the savages, was, he felt, out of the question. Yet, in which way should he go? Whatever course he took might lead him further and further away from them. In this dilemma he came to the determination of remaining where he was, at least until the snow should leave the ground. He felt great relief even when this hopeless course was decided upon, and set about making himself an encampment with some degree of cheerfulness. When he had completed this task, he took his rifle, and leaving Charlie picketted in the centre of a dell, where the long, rich grass rose high above the snow, went off to hunt. On turning a rocky point his heart suddenly bounded into his throat, for there, not thirty yards distant, stood a huge grizzly bear! Yes, there he was at last, the monster to meet which the young hunter had so often longed,--the terrible size and fierceness of which he had heard so often spoken about by the old hunters. There it stood at last; but little did Dick Varley think that the first time he should meet with his foe should be when alone in the dark recesses of the Rocky Mountains, and with none to succour him in the event of the battle going against him. Yes! there was one. The faithful Crusoe stood by his side, with his hair bristling, all his formidable teeth exposed, and his eyes glaring in their sockets. Alas! for poor Crusoe, had he gone into that combat alone. One stroke of that monster's paw would have hurled him dead upon the ground. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. DICK'S FIRST FIGHT WITH A GRIZZLY--ADVENTURE WITH A DEER--A SURPRISE. There is no animal in all the land so terrible and dangerous as the grizzly bear. Not only is he the largest of the species in America, but he is the fiercest, the strongest, and the most tenacious of life, facts which are so well understood that few of the western hunters like to meet him single-handed, unless they happen to be first-rate shots; and the Indians deem the encounter so dangerous, that to wear a collar composed of the claws of a grizzly bear of his own killing, is counted one of the highest honours to which a young warrior can attain. The grizzly bear resembles the brown bear of Europe, but it is larger, and the hair is long, the points being of a paler shade. About the head there is a considerable mixture of grey hair, giving it the "grizzly" appearance, from which it derives its name. The claws are dirty white, arched, and very long, and so strong that when the animal strikes with its paw they cut like a chisel. These claws are not embedded in the paw, as is the case with the cat, but always project far beyond the hair, thus giving to the foot a very ungainly appearance; they are not sufficiently curved to enable the grizzly bear to climb trees, like the black and brown bears, and this inability on their part is often the only hope of the pursued hunter, who, if he succeeds in ascending a tree, is safe, for the time at least, from the bear's assaults; but "Caleb" is a patient creature, and will often wait at the foot of the tree for many hours for his victim. The average length of his body is about nine feet, but he sometimes attains to a still larger growth. Caleb is more carnivorous in his habits than other bears; but, like them, he does not object to indulge occasionally in vegetable diet, being partial to the bird-cherry, the choke-berry, and various shrubs. He has a sweet tooth, too, and revels in honey--when he can get it. The instant the grizzly bear beheld Dick Varley standing in his path, he rose on his hind-legs, and made a loud hissing noise, like a man breathing quick, but much harsher. To this Crusoe replied by a deep growl, and showing the utmost extent of his teeth, gums and all; and Dick cocked both barrels of his rifle. To say that Dick Varley felt no fear would be simply to make him out that sort of hero which does not exist in nature, namely a _perfect_ hero. He _did_ feel a sensation as if his bowels had suddenly melted into water! Let not our reader think the worse of Dick for this. There is not a man living who, having met with a huge grizzly bear for the first time in his life, in a wild, solitary place, all alone, has not experienced some such sensation. There was no cowardice in this feeling. Fear is not cowardice. Acting in a wrong and contemptible manner because of our fear, is cowardice. It is said that Wellington or Napoleon, we forget which, once stood watching the muster of the men who were to form the forlorn hope in storming a citadel. There were many brave, strong, stalwart men there, in the prime of life, and flushed with the blood of high health and courage. There were also there a few stern-browed men of riper years, who stood perfectly silent, with lips compressed, and as pale as death. "Yonder veterans," said the general, pointing to these soldiers, "are men whose courage I can depend on; they _know_ what they are going to, the others _don't_!" Yes, these young soldiers _very probably_ were brave; the others _certainly_ were. Dick Varley stood for a few seconds as if thunderstruck, while the bear stood hissing at him. Then the liquefaction of his interior ceased, and he felt a glow of fire gush through his veins. Now, Dick knew well enough that to fly from a grizzly bear was the sure and certain way of being torn to pieces, as when taken thus by surprise they almost invariably follow a retreating enemy. He also knew that if he stood where he was, perfectly still, the bear would, get uncomfortable under his stare, and would retreat from him. But he neither intended to run away himself nor to allow the bear to do so; he intended to kill it, so he raised his rifle quickly, "drew a bead," as the hunters express it, on the bear's heart, and fired. It immediately dropped on its fore-legs and rushed at him. "Back, Crusoe, out of the way, pup," shouted Dick, as his favourite was about to spring forward. The dog retired, and Dick leaped behind a tree. As the bear passed he gave it the contents of the second barrel behind the shoulder, which brought it down, but in another moment it rose and again rushed at him. Dick had no time to load, neither had he time to spring up the thick tree beside which he stood, and the rocky nature of the ground out of which it grew rendered it impossible to dodge round it. His only resource was flight; but where was he to fly to? If he ran along the open track, the bear would overtake him in a few seconds; on the right was a sheer precipice, a hundred feet high; on the left was an impenetrable thicket. In despair he thought for an instant of clubbing his rifle and meeting the monster in close conflict; but the utter hopelessness of such an effort was too apparent to be entertained for a moment. He glanced up at the overhanging cliffs. There were one or two rents and projections close above him. In the twinkling of an eye he sprang up and grasped a ledge of about an inch broad, ten or twelve feet up, to which he clung while he glanced upward. Another projection was within reach,--he gained it, and in a few seconds he stood upon a ledge about twenty feet up the cliff, where he had just room to plant his feet firmly. Without waiting to look behind he seized his powder-horn and loaded one barrel of his rifle; and well was it for him that his early training had fitted him to do this with rapidity, for the bear dashed up the precipice after him at once. The first time it missed its hold, and fell back with a savage growl, but, on the second attempt, it sunk its long claws into the fissures between the rocks, and ascended steadily till within a foot of the place where Dick stood. At this moment Crusoe's obedience gave way before a sense of Dick's danger. Uttering one of his lion-like roars, he rushed up the precipice with such violence that, although naturally unable to climb, he reached and seized the bear's flank, despite his master's stern order to "keep back," and in a moment the two rolled down the face of the rock together, just as Dick completed loading. Knowing that one stroke of the bear's paw would be certain death to his poor dog, Dick leaped from his perch, and, with one bound reached the ground at the same moment with the struggling animals, and close beside them, and, before they had ceased rolling, he placed the muzzle of his rifle into the bear's ear, and blew out its brains. Crusoe, strange to say, escaped with only one scratch on the side. It was a deep one, but not dangerous, and gave him but little pain at the time, although it caused him many a smart for some weeks after. Thus happily ended Dick's first encounter with a grizzly bear; and although, in the course of his wild life he shot many specimens of "Caleb," he used to say that "he an' pup were never so near goin' under as on the day he dropped _that_ bar!" Having refreshed himself with a long draught from a neighbouring rivulet, and washed Crusoe's wound, Dick skinned the bear on the spot. "We chawed him up that time, didn't we, pup?" said Dick, with a smile of satisfaction, as he surveyed his prize. Crusoe looked up and assented to this. "Gave us a hard tussle, though; very nigh sent us both under, didn't he, pup!" Crusoe agreed entirely, and, as if the remark reminded him of honourable scars, he licked his wound. "Ah, pup!" cried Dick, sympathetically, "does it hurt ye, eh, poor dog?" Hurt him! such a question! No, he should think not; better ask if that leap from the precipice hurt yourself. So Crusoe might have said, but he didn't; he took no notice of the remark whatever. "We'll cut him up now, pup," continued Dick. "The skin 'll make a splendid bed for you an me o' nights, and a saddle for Charlie." Dick cut out all the claws of the bear by the roots, and spent the remainder of that night in cleaning them and stringing them on a strip of leather to form a necklace. Independently of the value of these enormous claws (the largest as long as a man's middle finger) as an evidence of prowess, they formed a remarkably graceful collar, which Dick wore round his neck ever after with as much pride as if he had been a Pawnee warrior. When it was finished he held it out at arm's length, and said, "Crusoe, my pup, ain't ye proud of it? I'll tell ye what it is, pup, the next time you an' I floor Caleb, I'll put the claws round _your_ neck, an' make ye wear 'em ever arter, so I will." The dog did not seem quite to appreciate this piece of prospective good fortune. Vanity had no place in his honest breast, and, sooth to say, it had not a large place in that of his master either, as we may well grant when we consider that this first display of it was on the occasion of his hunter's soul having at last realised its brightest day-dream. Dick's dangers and triumphs seemed to accumulate on him rather thickly at this place, for on the very next day he had a narrow escape of being killed by a deer. The way of it was this. Having run short of meat, and not being particularly fond of grizzly bear steak, he shouldered his rifle and sallied forth in quest of game, accompanied by Crusoe, whose frequent glances towards his wounded side showed that, whatever may have been the case the day before, it "hurt" him now. They had not gone far when they came on the track of a deer in the snow, and followed it up till they spied a magnificent buck about three hundred yards off, standing in a level patch of ground which was everywhere surrounded either by rocks or thicket. It was a long shot; but as the nature of the ground rendered it impossible for Dick to get nearer without being seen, he fired, and wounded the buck so badly that he came up with it in a few minutes. The snow had drifted in the place where it stood bolt upright, ready for a spring, so Dick went round a little way, Crusoe following, till he was in a proper position to fire again. Just as he pulled the trigger, Crusoe gave a howl behind him, and disturbed his aim, so that he feared he had missed; but the deer fell, and he hurried towards it. On coming up, however, the buck sprang to its legs, rushed at him with its hair bristling, knocked him down in the snow, and deliberately commenced stamping him to death. Dick was stunned for a moment, and lay quite still, so the deer left off pommelling him, and stood looking at him. But the instant he moved it plunged at him again and gave him another pounding, until he was content to lie still. This was done several times, and Dick felt his strength going fast. He was surprised that Crusoe did not come to his rescue, and once he cleared his mouth and whistled to him; but as the deer gave him another pounding for this, he didn't attempt it again. He now for the first time bethought him of his knife, and quietly drew it from his belt; but the deer observed the motion, and was on him again in a moment. Dick, however, sprang up on his left elbow, and, making several desperate thrusts upward, succeeded in stabbing the animal to the heart. Rising and shaking the snow from his garments, he whistled loudly to Crusoe, and, on listening, heard him whining piteously. He hurried to the place whence the sound came, and found that the poor dog had fallen into a deep pit or crevice in the rocks, which had been concealed from view by a crust of snow, and he was now making frantic but unavailing efforts to leap out. Dick soon freed him from his prison by means of his belt, which he let down for the dog to grasp, and then returned to camp with as much deer-meat as he could carry. Dear meat it certainly was to him, for it had nearly cost him his life, and left him all black and blue for weeks after. Happily no bones were broken, so the incident only confined him a day to his encampment. Soon after this the snow fell thicker than ever, and it became evident that an unusually early winter was about to set in among the mountains. This was a terrible calamity, for, if the regular snow of winter set in, it would be impossible for him either to advance or retreat. While he was sitting on his bear-skin by the campfire one day, thinking anxiously what he should do, and feeling that he must either make the attempt to escape, or perish miserably in that secluded spot, a strange, unwonted sound struck upon his ear, and caused both him and Crusoe to spring violently to their feet and listen. Could he be dreaming? it seemed like the sound of human voices. For a moment he stood with his eyes rivetted on the ground, his lips apart and his nostrils distended, as he listened with the utmost intensity. Then he darted out and bounded round the edge of a rock which concealed an extensive but narrow valley from his view, and there, to his amazement, he beheld a band of about a hundred human beings advancing on horseback slowly through the snow! CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. A SURPRISE AND A PIECE OF GOOD NEWS--THE FUR-TRADERS--CRUSOE PROVED, AND THE PEIGANS PURSUED. Dick's first and most natural impulse, on beholding this band, was to mount his horse and fly, for his mind naturally enough recurred to the former rough treatment he had experienced at the hands of Indians. On second thoughts, however, he considered it wiser to throw himself upon the hospitality of the strangers; "for," thought he, "they can but kill me, an' if I remain here I'm like to die at any rate." So Dick mounted his wild horse, grasped his rifle in his right hand, and, followed by Crusoe, galloped full tilt down the valley to meet them. He had heard enough of the customs of savage tribes, and had also of late experienced enough, to convince him that when a man found himself in the midst of an overwhelming force, his best policy was to assume an air of confident courage. He therefore approached them at his utmost speed. The effect upon the advancing band was electrical; and little wonder, for the young hunter's appearance was very striking. His horse, from having rested a good deal of late, was full of spirit; its neck was arched, its nostrils expanded, and its mane and tail, never having been checked in their growth, flew wildly around him in voluminous curls. Dick's own hair, not having been clipped for many months, appeared scarcely less wild as they thundered down the rocky pass at what appeared a break-neck gallop. Add to this the grandeur of the scene out of which they sprang, and the gigantic dog that bounded by his side, and you will not be surprised to hear that the Indian warriors clustered together, and prepared to receive this bold horseman as if he, in his own proper person, were a complete squadron of cavalry. It is probable, also, that they fully expected the tribe of which Dick was the chief to be at his heels. As he drew near the excitement among the strangers seemed very great, and, from the peculiarity of the various cries that reached him, he knew that there were women and children in the band--a fact which, in such a place and at such a season, was so unnatural, that it surprised him very much. He noted also that, though the men in front were Indians, their dresses were those of trappers and hunters, and he almost leaped out of his saddle when he observed that "_Pale-faces_" were among them. But he had barely time to note these facts when he was up with the band. According to Indian custom, he did not check his speed till he was within four or five yards of the advance-guard, who stood in a line before him, quite still, and with their rifles lying loosely in their left palms; then he reined his steed almost on _its_ haunches. One of the Indians advanced and spoke a few words in a language which was quite unintelligible to Dick, who replied, in the little Pawnee he could muster, that he didn't understand him. "Why, you must be a trapper!" exclaimed a thick-set, middle-aged man, riding out from the group. "Can you speak English?" "Ay, that can I," cried Dick, joyfully, riding up and shaking the stranger heartily by the hand; "an' right glad am I to fall in wi' a white-skin an' a civil tongue in his head." "Good sooth, sir," replied the stranger, with a quiet smile on his kind, weather-beaten face, "I can return you the compliment, for when I saw you come thundering down the corrie with that wonderful horse and no less wonderful dog of yours, I thought you were the wild man o' the mountain himself, and had an ambush ready to back you. But, young man, do you mean to say that you live here in the mountain all alone after this fashion?" "No, that I don't. I've comed here in my travels; but, truly, this bean't my home. But, sir (for I see you are what the fur-traders call a bourgeois), how comes it that such a band as this rides i' the mountains! D'ye mean to say that _they_ live here?" Dick looked round in surprise, as he spoke, upon the crowd of mounted men and women, with children and pack-horses, that now surrounded him. "'Tis a fair question, lad. I am a principal among the fur-traders whose chief trading-post lies near the Pacific Ocean, on the west side of these mountains, and I have come with these trappers and their families, as you see, to hunt the beaver and other animals for a season in the mountains. We've never been here before; but that's a matter of little moment, for it's not the first time I've been on what may be called a discovery-trading expedition. We are somewhat entangled, however, just now, among these wild passes, and, if you can guide us out of our difficulties to the east side of the mountains, I'll thank you heartily and pay you well. But first tell me who and what you are, if it's a fair question." "My name is Dick Varley, and my home's in the Mustang Valley, near the Missouri river. As to _what_ I am--I'm nothin' yet, but I hope to desarve the name o' a hunter some day. I can guide you to the east side o' the mountains, for I've comed from there; but more than that I can't do, for I'm a stranger to the country here, like yourself. But you're on the east side o' the mountains already, if I mistake not; only these mountains are so rugged and jumbled up, that it's not easy tellin' where ye are. And what," continued Dick, "may be the name o' the bourgeois who speaks to me?" "My name is Cameron--Walter Cameron--a well-known name among the Scottish hills, although it sounds a little strange here. And now, young man, will you join my party as guide, and afterwards remain as trapper? It will pay you better, I think, than roving about alone." Dick shook his head and looked grave. "I'll guide you," said he, "as far as my knowledge 'll help me; but after that I must return to look for two comrades whom I have lost. They have been driven into the mountains by a band of Injuns. God grant they may not have bin scalped." The trader's face looked troubled, and he spoke with one of his Indians for a few minutes in earnest, hurried tones. "What were they like, young man?" Dick described them. "The same," continued the trader; "they've been seen, lad, not more than two days ago, by this Indian here, when he was out hunting alone some miles away from our camp. He came suddenly on a band of Indians, who had two prisoners with them, such as you describe. They were stout, said you?" "Yes, both of them," cried Dick, listening with intense eagerness. "Ay. They were tied to their horses, an' from what I know of these fellows I'm sure they're doomed. But I'll help you, my friend, as well as I can. They can't be far from this. I treated my Indian's story about them as a mere fabrication, for he's the most notorious liar in my company; but he seems to have spoken truth for once." "Thanks, thanks, good sir," cried Dick. "Had we not best turn back and follow them at once?" "Nay, friend, not quite so fast," replied Cameron, pointing to his people. "These must be provided for first, but I shall be ready before the sun goes down. And now, as I presume you don't bivouac in the snow, will you kindly conduct us to your encampment, if it be not far hence?" Although burning with impatience to fly to the rescue of his friends, Dick felt constrained to comply with so reasonable a request, so he led the way to his camping-place, where the band of fur-traders immediately began to pitch their tents, cut down wood, kindle fires, fill their kettles with water, cook their food, and, in fact, make themselves comfortable. The wild spot which, an hour before, had been so still, and grand, and gloomy, was now, as if by magic, transformed into a bustling village, with bright fires blazing among the rocks and bushes, and merry voices of men, women, and children ringing in the air. It seemed almost incredible, and no wonder Dick, in his bewilderment, had difficulty in believing it was not all a dream. In days long gone by the fur-trade in that country was carried on in a very different way from the manner in which it is now conducted. These wild regions, indeed, are still as lonesome and untenanted (save by wild beasts and wandering tribes of Indians), as they were then; but the Indians of the present day have become accustomed to the "pale-faced" trader, whose little wooden forts or trading-posts are dotted here and there, at wide intervals, all over the land. But in the days of which we write it was not so. The fur-traders at that time went forth in armed bands into the heart of the Indians' country, and he who went forth did so "with his life in his hand." As in the case of the soldier who went out to battle, there was great probability that he might never return. The band of which Walter Cameron was the chief had, many months before, started from one of the distant posts of Oregon on a hunting expedition into the then totally unknown lands of the Snake Indians. It consisted of about sixty men, thirty women, and as many children of various ages,--about a hundred and twenty souls in all. Many of the boys were capable of using the gun and setting a beaver-trap. The men were a most motley set. There were Canadians, half-breeds, Iroquois, and Scotchmen. Most of the women had Indian blood in their veins, and a few were pure Indians. The equipment of this strange band consisted of upwards of two hundred beaver-traps--which are similar to our rat-traps, with this difference, that they have two springs and no teeth--seventy guns, a few articles for trade with the Indians, and a large supply of powder and ball; the whole--men, women, children, goods, and chattels--being carried on the backs of nearly four hundred horses. Many of these horses, at starting, were not laden, being designed for the transport of furs that were to be taken in the course of the season. For food this adventurous party depended entirely on their guns, and during the march hunters were kept constantly out ahead. As a matter of course their living was precarious. Sometimes their kettles were overflowing; at others they scarce refrained from eating their horses. But, during the months they had already spent in the wilderness, good living had been the rule, starvation the exception. They had already collected a large quantity of beaver-skins, which at that time were among the most valuable in the market, although they are now scarcely saleable! Having shot two wild horses, seven elks, six small deer, and four big-horned sheep, the day before they met Dick Varley, the camp-kettles were full, and the people consequently happy. "Now, Master Dick Varley," said Cameron, touching the young hunter on the shoulder as he stood ready equipped by one of the campfires; "I'm at your service. The people won't need any more looking after to-night. I'll divide my men--thirty shall go after this rascally band of Peigans, for such I believe they are, and thirty shall remain to guard the camp. Are you ready?" "Ready! ay, this hour past." "Mount then, lad; the men have already been told off and are mustering down yonder where the deer gave you such a licking." Dick needed no second bidding. He vaulted on Charlie's back and along with their commander joined the men, who were thirty as fine, hardy, reckless-looking fellows as one could desire for a forlorn hope. They were chatting and laughing while they examined their guns and saddle girths. Their horses were sorry-looking animals compared with the magnificent creature that Dick bestrode, but they were hardy, nevertheless, and well fitted for their peculiar work. "My! wot a blazer," exclaimed a trapper as Dick rode up. "Where you git him?" inquired a half-breed. "I caught him," answered Dick. "Baw!" cried the first speaker. Dick took no notice of this last remark. "No, did ye though?" he asked again. "I did," answered Dick, quietly; "I creased him in the prairie--you can see the mark on his neck if you look." The men began to feel that the young hunter was perhaps a little beyond them at their own trade, and regarded him with increased respect. "Look sharp now, lads," said Cameron, impatiently, to several dilatory members of the band. "Night will be on us ere long." "Who sold ye the bear-claw collar?" inquired another man of Dick. "I didn't buy it. I killed the bear and made it." "Did ye, though, all be yer lone?" "Ay, that wasn't much, was it?" "You've begun well, yonker," said a tall middle-aged hunter, whose general appearance was not unlike that of Joe Blunt. "Jest keep clear o' the Injuns an' the grog bottle an' ye've a glor'ous life before ye." At this point the conversation was interrupted by the order being given to move on, which was obeyed in silence, and the cavalcade, descending the valley, entered one of the gorges in the mountains. For the first half mile Cameron rode a little ahead of his men, then he turned to speak to one of them and for the first time observed Crusoe trotting close beside his master's horse. "Ah! Master Dick," he exclaimed with a troubled expression, "that won't do. It would never do to take a dog on an expedition like this." "Why not?" asked Dick, "the pup's quiet and peaceable." "I doubt it not, but he will betray our presence to the Indians, which might be inconvenient." "I've travelled more than a thousand miles through prairie and forest, among game an' among Injuns, an' the pup never betrayed me yet," said Dick, with suppressed vehemence; "he has saved my life more than once though." "You seem to have perfect confidence in your dog, but as this is a serious matter you must not expect me to share in it without proof of his trustworthiness." "The pup may be useful to us; how would you have it proved?" inquired Dick. "Any way you like." "You forgot your belt at starting, I think I heered ye say." "Yes, I did," replied the trader, smiling. Dick immediately took hold of Cameron's coat, and bade Crusoe smell it, which the dog did very carefully. Then he showed him his own belt and said: "Go back to the camp and fetch it, pup." Crusoe was off in a moment, and in less than twenty minutes returned with Cameron's belt in his mouth. "Well, I'll trust him," said Cameron, patting Crusoe's head. "Forward, lads!" and away they went at a brisk trot along the bottom of a beautiful valley on each side of which the mountains towered in dark masses. Soon the moon rose and afforded light sufficient to enable them to travel all night in the track of the Indian hunter who said he had seen the Peigans, and who was constituted guide to the party. Hour after hour the horsemen pressed on without check, now galloping over a level plain, now bounding by the banks of a rivulet, or bending their heads to escape the boughs of overhanging trees, and anon toiling slowly up among the rocks of some narrow defile. At last the moon set, and the order was given to halt in a little plain where there was wood and water. The horses were picketted, a fire kindled, a mouthful of dried meat hastily eaten, the watch was set, and then each man scraped away the snow, spread some branches on the ground, and, wrapping himself in his blanket, went to sleep with his feet presented towards the fire. Two hours were allowed for rest; then they were awakened, and in a few minutes were off again by the grey light of dawn. In this way they travelled two nights and a day. At the end of that time they came suddenly on a small party of nine Indians who were seated on the ground with their snow-shoes and blankets by their sides. They had evidently been taken by surprise, but they made no attempt to escape, knowing that it was useless. Each sat still with his bow and arrows between his legs on the ground ready for instant use. As soon as Cameron spoke, however, in their own language they felt relieved and began to talk. "Where do you come from, and what are you doing here?" asked the trader. "We have come to trade with the white men," one of them replied, "and to hunt. We have come from the Missouri. Our country is far away." "Do Peigans hunt with _war-arrows_?" asked Cameron, pointing to their weapons. This question seemed to perplex them, for they saw that their interrogator knew the difference between a war and a hunting arrow--the former being barbed in order to render its extraction from the wound difficult, while the head of the latter is round and can be drawn out of game that has been killed, and used again. "And do Peigans," continued Cameron, "come from a far country to trade with the white men _with nothing_?" Again the Indians were silent, for they had not an article of trade about them. Cameron now felt convinced that this party of Peigans, into whose hands Joe Blunt and Henri had fallen, were nothing else than a war-party, and that the men now before him were a scouting-party sent out from them, probably to spy out his own camp, on the trail of which they had fallen, so he said to them-- "The Peigans are not wise men, they tell lies to the traders. I will tell you that you are a war-party, and that you are only a few warriors sent out to spy the traders' camp. You have also two _Pale-face_ prisoners in your camp. You cannot deceive me. It is useless to try. Now, conduct me to your camp. My object is not war; it is peace. I will speak with your chiefs about trading with the white men, and we will smoke the pipe of peace. Are my words good?" Despite their proverbial control of muscle, these Indians could not conceal their astonishment at hearing so much of their affairs thus laid bare, so they said that the Pale-face chief was wise, that he must be a great medicine-man, and that what he said was all true except about the white men. They had never seen any Pale-faces, and knew nothing whatever about those he spoke of. This was a terrible piece of news to poor Dick, and at first his heart fairly sank within him, but by degrees he came to be more hopeful. He concluded that if these men told lies in regard to one thing they would do it in regard to another, and perhaps they might have some strong reason for denying any knowledge of Joe and Henri. The Indians now packed up the buffalo robes on which they had slept, and the mouthful of provisions they had taken with them. "I don't believe a word of what they say about your friends," said Cameron to Dick in a low tone while the Indians were thus engaged. "Depend upon it they hope to hide them till they can send to the settlements and get a ransom, or till they get an opportunity of torturing them to death before their women and children when they get back to their own village. But we'll baulk them, my friend, do not fear." The Indians were soon ready to start, for they were lumbered with marvellously little camp equipage. In less than half an hour after their discovery they were running like deer ahead of the cavalcade in the direction of the Peigan camp. CHAPTER NINETEEN. ADVENTURES WITH THE PEIGANS--CRUSOE DOES GOOD SERVICE AS A DISCOVERER-- THE SAVAGES OUTWITTED--THE RESCUE. A run of twenty miles brought the travellers to a rugged defile in the mountains, from which they had a view of a beautiful valley of considerable extent. During the last two days a steady thaw had been rapidly melting away the snow, so that it appeared only here and there in the landscape in dazzling patches. At the distance of about half a mile from where they halted to breathe the horses before commencing the descent into this vale, several thin wreaths of smoke were seen rising above the trees. "Is that your camp?" inquired Cameron, riding up to the Indian runners who stood in a group in front, looking as fresh after their twenty miles' run as though they had only had a short walk. To this they answered in the affirmative, adding that there were about two hundred Peigans there. It might have been thought that thirty men would have hesitated to venture to attack so large a number as two hundred; but it had always been found in the experience of Indian life, that a few resolute white men well armed were more than a match for ten times their number of Indians. And this arose not so much from the superior strength or agility of the whites over their red foes, as from that bull-dog courage and utter recklessness of their lives in combat,--qualities which the crafty savage can neither imitate nor understand. The information was received with perfect indifference by most of the trappers, and with contemptuous laughter by some, for a large number of Cameron's men were wild, evil-disposed fellows, who would have as gladly taken the life of an Indian as a buffalo. Just as the word was given to resume the march, Dick Varley rode up to Cameron, and said in a somewhat anxious tone--"D'ye obsarve, sir, that one o' the Red-skins has gone off ahead o' his comrades?" "I see that, Master Dick, and it was a mistake of mine not to have stopped him, but he was gone too far before I observed it, and I thought it better to appear unconcerned. We must push on, though, and give him as short time as possible to talk with his comrades in the camp." The trappers pressed forward accordingly at a gallop, and were soon in front of the clump of trees amongst which the Peigans were encamped. Their approach had evidently spread great alarm among them, for there was a good deal of bustle and running to and fro, but by the time the trappers had dismounted and advanced in a body on foot, the savages had resumed their usual quiet dignity of appearance, and were seated calmly round their fires with their bows and arrows beside them. There were no tents, no women or children, and the general aspect of the men showed Cameron conclusively that his surmise about their being a war-party was correct. A council was immediately called; the trappers ranged themselves on one side of the council-fire and the Indians on the other. Meanwhile, our friend Crusoe had been displaying considerable irritability against the Indians, and he would certainly have attacked the whole two hundred single-handed if he had not been ordered by his master to lie still, but never in his life before had Crusoe obeyed with such a bad grace. He bristled and whined in a low tremulous tone, and looked imploringly at Dick as if for permission to fly at them. "The Pale-faced traders are glad to meet with the Peigans," began Cameron, who determined to make no allusion to his knowledge that they were a war-party, "for they wish to be friends with all the children of the woods and prairies. They wish to trade with them; to exchange blankets, and guns, and beads, and other goods which the Peigans require, for furs of animals which the Pale-faces require." "Ho! ho!" exclaimed the Indians; which expression might be translated, "Hear, hear." "But," continued Cameron, "we wish to have no war. We wish to see the hatchet buried, and to see all the Red-men and the white men smoking the pipe of peace, and hunting like brothers." The "Ho-ho-ing" at this was very emphatic. "Now," resumed the trader, "the Peigans have got two prisoners--two Pale-faces--in their camp, and, as we cannot be on good terms while our brothers are detained, we have come to ask for them, and to _present some gifts_ to the Peigans." To this there was no "Ho" at all, but a prolonged silence, which was at length interrupted by a tall chief stepping forward to address the trappers. "What the Pale-face chief has said is good," began the Indian. "His words are wise, and his heart is not double. The Red-men are willing to smoke the pipe of peace, and to hunt with all men as brothers, but they cannot do it while many of their scalps are hanging in the lodges of their enemies and fringing the robes of the warriors. The Peigans must have vengeance; then they will make peace." After a short pause he continued--"The chief is wrong when he says there are Pale-faces in the Peigan camp. The Peigans are not at war with the Pale-faces; neither have they seen any on their march. The camp is open. Let the Pale-faces look round and see that what we say is true." The chief waved his hand towards his warriors as he concluded, as if to say, "Search amongst them. There are no Pale-faces there." Cameron now spoke to Dick in a low tone. "They speak confidently," he said, "and I fear greatly that your poor comrades have either been killed or conveyed away from the camp and hidden among the mountains, in which case, even though they should not be far off, it would be next to impossible to find them, especially when such a band o' rascals is near, compelling us to keep together. But I'll try what a little tempting them with goods will do. At any rate we shan't give in without a scuffle." It now, for the first time, flashed across Dick Varley that there was something more than he imagined in Crusoe's restless anxiety, which had not in the least abated, and the idea of making use of him now occurred to his mind. "I've a notion that I'll settle this matter in a shorter time than you think," he said hurriedly, "if you'll agree to try what _threatening_ will do." The trader looked grave and undecided. "I never resort to that except as a last hope," he answered, "but I've a good deal of confidence in your prudence, what would you advise?" Dick and the trader whispered a few minutes together, while some of the men, in order to show the Indians how perfectly unconcerned they were, and how ready for _anything_, took out their pipes and began to smoke. Both parties were seated on the ground, and during this interval the Indians also held eager discussion. At length Cameron stood up, and said to his men in a quiet tone, "Be ready, lads, for instant action; when I give the word `Up,' spring to your feet and cock your guns, but _don't fire a shot till you get the word_." He then stepped forward and said-- "The Peigan warriors are double-tongued; they know that they have hid the Pale-face prisoners. We do not wish to quarrel, but if they are not delivered up at once, the Pale-faces and the Peigans will not be friends." Upon this the Indian chief again stood forward and said, "The Peigans are _not_ double-tongued. They have not seen Pale-faces till to-day. They can say no more." Without moving hand or foot, Cameron then said in a firm tone, "The first Peigan that moves shall die! Up, lads, and ready!" In the twinkling of an eye the trappers sprang to their feet, and cocking their rifles stood perfectly motionless, scowling at the savages, who were completely taken by surprise at the unusual suddenness and informality of such a declaration of war. Not a man moved, for, unlike white men, they seldom risk their lives in open fight; and as they looked at the formidable row of muzzles that waited but a word to send instant death into their midst, they felt that discretion was at that time the better part of valour. "Now," said Cameron, while Dick Varley and Crusoe stepped up beside him, "my young warrior will search for the Pale-face prisoners. If they are found, we will take them and go away. If they are not found, we will ask the Peigans to forgive us, and will give them gifts. But in the meantime, if a Peigan moves from the spot where he sits, or lifts a bow, my young men shall fire, and the Peigans know that the rifle of the Pale-face always kills." Without waiting for an answer, Dick immediately said, "Seek 'em out, pup," and Crusoe bounded away. For a few minutes he sprang hither and thither through the camp, quite regardless of the Indians, and snuffed the air several times, whining in an excited tone, as if to relieve his feelings. Then he put his nose to the ground and ran straight forward into the woods. Dick immediately bounded after him like a deer, while the trappers kept silent guard over the savages. For some time Crusoe ran straight forward. Then he came to a spot where there was a good deal of drifted snow on the ground. Here he seemed to lose the trail for a little, and ran about in all directions, whining in a most piteous tone. "Seek 'em out, pup," repeated Dick encouragingly, while his own breast heaved with excitement and expectation. In a few seconds the dog resumed its onward course, and led the way into a wild, dark spot, which was so overshadowed by trees and precipitous cliffs that the light of the sun scarce found entrance. There were many huge masses of rock scattered over the ground, which had fallen from the cliffs. Behind one of these lay a mound of dried leaves, towards which Crusoe darted and commenced scraping violently. Trembling with dread that he should find this to be the grave of his murdered companions, Dick rushed forward and hastily cleared away the leaves. The first handful thrown off revealed part of the figure of a man. Dick's heart beat audibly as he cleared the leaves from the face, and he uttered a suppressed cry on beholding the well-known features of Joe Blunt! But they were not those of a dead man. Joe's eyes met his with a scowl of anger, which instantly gave place to one of intense surprise. "Joe Blunt!" exclaimed Dick in a voice of intense amazement, while Crusoe sniffed round the heap of leaves, and whined with excitement. But Joe did not move, neither did he speak a word in reply--for the very good reasons that his mouth was tightly bound with a band of leather, his hands and feet were tied, and his whole body was secured in a rigid, immovable position by being bound to a pole of about his own length. In a moment Dick's knife was out, bands and cords were severed, and Joe Blunt was free. "Thank God," exclaimed Joe with a deep, earnest sigh, the instant his lips were loosened, "and thanks to _you_, lad," he added, endeavouring to rise, but his limbs had become so benumbed in consequence of the cords by which they had been compressed that for some time he could not move. "I'll rub ye, Joe--I'll soon rub ye into a right state," said Dick, going down on his knees. "No, no, lad, look sharp and dig up Henri. He's just beside me here." Dick immediately rose, and, pushing aside the heap of leaves, found Henri securely bound in the same fashion. But he could scarce refrain from laughing at the expression of that worthy's face. Hearing the voices of Joe and Dick Varley in conversation, though unable to see their persons, he was filled with such unbounded amazement that his eyes, when uncovered, were found to be at their largest possible stretch, and as for the eyebrows, they were gone, utterly lost among the roots of his voluminous hair. "Henri, friend, I knew I should find ye," said Dick, cutting the thongs that bound him. "Get up if ye can, we haven't much time to lose, an' mayhap we'll have to fight afore we're done wi' the Red-skins. Can ye rise?" Henri could do nothing but lie on his back and gasp, "Eh! possible! mon frere! Oh, non, non, _not_ possible. Oui! my broder Deek!" Here he attempted to rise, but, being unable, fell back again, and the whole thing came so suddenly, and made so deep an impression on his impulsive mind, that he incontinently burst into tears; then he burst into a long laugh. Suddenly he paused, and, scrambling up to a sitting posture, looked earnestly into Dick's face through his tearful eyes. "Oh, non, non!" he exclaimed, stretching himself out at full length again, and closing his eyes; "it are too goot to be true. I am dream. I vill wait till I am wake." Dick roused him out of this resolute sleep, however, somewhat roughly. Meanwhile Joe had rubbed and kicked himself into a state of animation, exclaiming that he felt as if he wos walkin' on a thousand needles and pins, and in a few minutes they were ready to accompany their overjoyed deliverer back to the Peigan camp. Crusoe testified his delight in various elephantine gambols round the persons of his old friends, who were not slow to acknowledge his services. "They haven't treated us overly well," remarked Joe Blunt, as they strode through the underwood. "Non, de rascale, vraiment, de am villains. Oui! How de have talk, too, 'bout--oh-o-oo-ooo-wah!--roastin' us alive, an' puttin' our scalp in de vigvam for de poopoose to play wid!" "Well, niver mind, Henri, we'll be quits wi' them now," said Joe, as they came in sight of the two bands, who remained in precisely the same position in which they had been left, except that one or two of the more reckless of the trappers had lit their pipes and taken to smoking, without, however, laying down their rifles or taking their eyes off the savages. A loud cheer greeted the arrival of the prisoners, and looks of considerable discomfort began to be evinced by the Indians. "Glad to see you, friends," said Cameron, as they came up. "Ve is 'appy ov de same," replied Henri, swaggering up in the joviality of his heart, and seizing the trader's hand in his own enormous fist. "Shall ve go to york an' slay dem all at vonce, or von at a time?" "We'll consider that afterwards, my lad. Meantime go you to the rear, and get a weapon of some sort." "Oui. Ah! c'est charmant," he cried, going with an immense flounder into the midst of the amused trappers, and slapping those next to him on the back. "Give me veapon, do, mes ami--gun, pistol, anyting--cannon, if you have von." Meanwhile Cameron and Joe spoke together for a few moments. "You had goods with you, and horses, I believe, when you were captured," said the former. "Ay, that we had. Yonder stand the horses under the pine-tree, along wi' the rest o' the Red-skin troop, an a hard time they've had o't, as their bones may tell without speakin'. As for the goods," he continued, glancing round the camp, "I don't know where--ah! yes, there they be in the old pack. I see all safe." Cameron now addressed the Indians. "The Peigans," he said, "have not done well. Their hearts have not been true to the Pale-faces. Even now I could take your scalps where you sit; but white men do not like war, they do not like revenge. The Peigans may go free." Considering the fewness of their numbers, this was bold language to use towards the Indians; but the boldest is generally the best policy on such occasions. Moreover, Cameron felt that, being armed with rifles, while the Indians had only bows and arrows, the trappers had a great advantage over them. The Indian who had spoken before now rose and said he was sorry there should be any cause of difference between them, and added he was sorry for a great many more things besides, but he did not say he was sorry for having told a lie. "But, before you go, you must deliver up the horses and goods belonging to these men," said Cameron pointing to Joe and Henri. This was agreed to. The horses were led out, the two little packs containing Joe's goods were strapped upon them, and then the trappers turned to depart. The Indians did not move until they had mounted; then they rose and advanced in a body to the edge of the wood, to see the Pale-faces go away. Meanwhile Joe spoke a few words to Cameron, and the men were ordered to halt, while the former dismounted and led his horse towards the band of savages. "Peigans," he said, "you know the object for which I came into this country was to make peace between you and the Pale-faces. I have often told you so when you would not listen, and when you told me that I had a double heart, and told lies. You were wrong when you said this; but I do not wonder, for you live among nations who do not fear God, and who think it right to lie. I now repeat to you what I said before. It would be good for the Red-men if they would make peace with the Pale-faces, and if they would make peace with each other. I will now convince you that I am in earnest, and have all along been speaking the truth." Hereupon Joe Blunt opened his bundle of goods, and presented fully one-half of the gaudy and brilliant contents to the astonished Indians, who seemed quite taken aback by such generous treatment. The result of this was that the two parties separated with mutual expressions of esteem and good will. The Indians then returned to the forest, and the white men galloped back to their camp among the hills. CHAPTER TWENTY. NEW PLANS--OUR TRAVELLERS JOIN THE FUR-TRADERS, AND SEE MANY STRANGE THINGS--A CURIOUS FIGHT--A NARROW ESCAPE, AND A PRISONER TAKEN. Not long after the events related in the last chapter, our four friends, Dick, and Joe, and Henri, and Crusoe, agreed to become for a time members of Walter Cameron's band of trappers. Joe joined because one of the objects which the traders had in view was similar to his own mission, namely, the promoting of peace among the various Indian tribes of the mountains and plains to the west. Joe, therefore, thought it a good opportunity of travelling with a band of men who could secure him a favourable hearing from the Indian tribes they might chance to meet with in the course of their wanderings. Besides, as the traders carried about a large supply of goods with them, he could easily replenish his own nearly exhausted pack by hunting wild animals and exchanging their skins for such articles as he might require. Dick joined because it afforded him an opportunity of seeing the wild, majestic scenery of the Rocky Mountains, and shooting the big-horned sheep which abounded there, and the grizzly "bars," as Joe named them, or "Caleb," as they were more frequently styled by Henri and the other men. Henri joined because it was agreeable to the inclination of his own rollicking, blundering, floundering, crashing disposition, and because he would have joined anything that had been joined by the other two. Crusoe's reason for joining was single, simple, easy to be expressed, easy to be understood, and commendable. _He_ joined--because Dick did. The very day after the party left the encampment where Dick had shot the grizzly bear and the deer, he had the satisfaction of bringing down a splendid specimen of the big-horned sheep. It came suddenly out from a gorge of the mountain, and stood upon the giddy edge of a tremendous precipice, at a distance of about two hundred and fifty yards. "_You_ could not hit that," said a trapper to Henri, who was rather fond of jeering him about his short-sightedness. "Non!" cried Henri, who didn't see the animal in the least; "say you dat? ve shall see;" and he let fly with a promptitude that amazed his comrades, and with a result that drew from them peals of laughter. "Why, you have missed the mountain!" "Oh, non! dat am eempossoble." It was true, nevertheless, for his ball had been arrested in its flight by the stem of a tree not twenty yards before him. While the shot was yet ringing, and before the laugh above referred to had pealed forth, Dick Varley fired, and the animal, springing wildly into the air, fell down the precipice, and was almost dashed to pieces at their feet. This Rocky Mountain or big-horned sheep was a particularly large and fine one, but, being a patriarch of the flock, was not well suited for food. It was considerably larger in size than the domestic sheep, and might be described as somewhat resembling a deer in the body and a ram in the head. Its horns were the chief point of interest to Dick; and, truly, they were astounding! Their enormous size was out of all proportion to the animal's body, and they curved backwards and downwards, and then curled up again in a sharp point. These creatures frequent the inaccessible heights of the Rocky Mountains, and are difficult to approach. They have a great fondness for salt, and pay regular visits to the numerous caverns of these mountains, which are encrusted with a saline substance. Walter Cameron now changed his intention of proceeding to the eastward, as he found the country not so full of beaver at that particular spot as he had anticipated. He therefore turned towards the west, penetrated into the interior of the mountains, and took a considerable sweep through the lovely valleys on their western slopes. The expedition which this enterprising fur-trader was conducting was one of the first that ever penetrated these wild regions in search of furs. The ground over which they travelled was quite new to them, and having no guide they just moved about at haphazard, encamping on the margin of every stream or river on which signs of the presence of beaver were discovered, and setting their traps. Beaver-skins at this time were worth 25 shillings a piece in the markets of civilised lands, and in the Snake country, through which our friends were travelling, thousands of them were to be had from the Indians for trinkets and baubles that were scarce worth a farthing. A beaver-skin could be procured from the Indians for a brass finger ring or a penny looking-glass. Horses were also so numerous that one could be procured for an axe or a knife. Let not the reader, however, hastily conclude that the traders cheated the Indians in this traffic, though the profits were so enormous. The ring or the axe was indeed a trifle to the trader, but the beaver-skin and the horse were equally trifles to the savage, who could procure as many of them as he chose with very little trouble, while the ring and the axe were in his estimation of priceless value. Besides, be it remembered, to carry that ring and that axe to the far distant haunts of the Red-man cost the trader weeks and months of constant toil, trouble, anxiety, and, alas! too frequently cost him his life! The state of trade is considerably modified in these regions at the present day. It is not more _justly_ conducted, for, in respect of the value of goods given for furs, it was justly conducted _then_, but time and circumstances have tended more to equalise the relative values of articles of trade. The snow which had prematurely fallen had passed away, and the trappers now found themselves wandering about in a country so beautiful and a season so delightful, that it would have seemed to them a perfect paradise, but for the savage tribes who hovered about them, and kept them ever on the _qui vive_. They soon passed from the immediate embrace of stupendous heights and dark gorges to a land of sloping ridges, which divided the country into a hundred luxuriant vales, composed part of woodland and part of prairie. Through these numerous rivers and streams flowed deviously, beautifying the landscape and enriching the land. There were also many lakes of all sizes, and these swarmed with fish, while in some of them were found the much-sought-after and highly esteemed beaver. Salt springs and hot springs of various temperatures abounded here, and many of the latter were so hot that meat could be boiled in them. Salt existed in all directions in abundance, and of good quality. A sulphurous spring was also discovered, bubbling out from the base of a perpendicular rock three hundred feet high, the waters of which were dark-blue, and tasted like gunpowder. In short, the land presented every variety of feature calculated to charm the imagination and delight the eye. It was a mysterious land, too, for broad rivers burst in many places from the earth, flowed on a short space, and then disappeared as if by magic into the earth from which they rose. Natural bridges spanned the torrents in many places, and some of these were so correctly formed that it was difficult to believe they had not been built by the hand of man. They often appeared opportunely to our trappers, and saved them the trouble and danger of fording rivers. Frequently the whole band would stop in silent wonder and awe as they listened to the rushing of waters under their feet, as if another world of streams, and rapids, and cataracts were flowing below the crust of earth on which they stood. Some considerable streams were likewise observed to gush from the faces of precipices, some twenty or thirty feet from their summits, while on the top no water was to be seen. Wild berries of all kinds were found in abundance, and wild vegetables, besides many nutritious roots. Among other fish splendid salmon were found in the lakes and rivers; and animal life swarmed on hill and dale. Woods and valleys, plains, and ravines, teemed with it. On every plain the red-deer grazed in herds by the banks of lake and stream; wherever there were clusters of poplar and elder-trees and saplings, the beaver was seen nibbling industriously with his sharp teeth, and committing as much havoc in the forests as if they had been armed with the woodman's axe; otters sported in the eddies; racoons sat in the tree-tops; the marten, the black fox, and the wolf, prowled in the woods in quest of prey; mountain sheep and goats browsed on the rocky ridges, and badgers peeped from their holes. Here, too, the wild horse sprang snorting and dishevelled from his mountain retreats--with flourishing mane and tail, spanking step, and questioning gaze,--and thundered away over the plains and valleys, while the rocks echoed back his shrill neigh. The huge, heavy, ungainly elk, or moose-deer, _trotted_ away from the travellers with speed equal to that of the mustang. Elks seldom gallop; their best speed is attained at the trot. Bears, too, black, and brown, and grizzly, roamed about everywhere. So numerous were all these creatures, that on one occasion the hunters of the party brought in six wild horses, three bears, four elks, and thirty red-deer; having shot them all a short distance ahead of the main body, and almost without diverging from the line of march. And this was a matter of every-day occurrence--as it had need to be, considering the number of mouths that had to be filled. The feathered tribes were not less numerous. Chief among these were eagles and vultures of uncommon size, the wild goose, wild duck, and the majestic swan. In the midst of such profusion the trappers spent a happy time of it, when not molested by the savages, but they frequently lost a horse or two in consequence of the expertness of these thievish fellows. They often wandered, however, for days at a time without seeing an Indian, and at such times they enjoyed to the full the luxuries with which a bountiful God had blessed these romantic regions. Dick Varley was almost wild with delight. It was his first excursion into the remote wilderness; he was young, healthy, strong, and romantic; and it is a question whether his or his dog's heart, or that of the noble wild horse he bestrode, bounded most with joy at the glorious sights, and sounds, and influences by which they were surrounded. It would have been perfection had it not been for the frequent annoyance and alarms caused by the Indians. Alas! alas! that we who write and read about those wondrous scenes should have to condemn our own species as the most degraded of all the works of the Creator there! Yet so it is. Man, exercising his reason and conscience in the path of love and duty which his Creator points out, is God's noblest work; but man, left to the freedom of his own fallen will, sinks morally lower than the beasts that perish. Well may every Christian wish and pray that the name and the gospel of the blessed Jesus may be sent speedily to the dark places of the earth; for you may read of, and talk about, but you _cannot conceive_ the fiendish wickedness and cruelty which causes tearless eyes to glare, and maddened hearts to burst, in the lands of the heathen. While we are on this subject let us add (and our young readers will come to know it if they are spared to see many years) that _civilisation_ alone will never improve the heart. Let history speak and it will tell you that deeds of darkest hue have been perpetrated in so-called civilised, though pagan lands. Civilisation is like the polish that beautifies inferior furniture, which water will wash off if it be but _hot enough_. Christianity resembles dye, which permeates every fibre of the fabric, and which nothing can eradicate. The success of the trappers in procuring beaver here was great. In all sorts of creeks and rivers they were found. One day they came to one of the curious rivers before mentioned, which burst suddenly out of a plain, flowed on for several miles, and then disappeared into the earth as suddenly as it had risen. Even in this strange place beaver were seen, so the traps were set, and a hundred and fifty were caught at the first lift. The manner in which the party proceeded was as follows: They marched in a mass in groups or in a long line, according to the nature of the ground over which they travelled. The hunters of the party went forward a mile or two in advance, and scattered through the woods. After them came the advance-guard, being the bravest and most stalwart of the men mounted on their best steeds, and with rifle in hand; immediately behind followed the women and children, also mounted, and the pack-horses with the goods and camp equipage. Another band of trappers formed the rear-guard to this imposing cavalcade. There was no strict regimental order kept, but the people soon came to adopt the arrangements that were most convenient for all parties, and at length fell naturally into their places in the line of march. Joe Blunt usually was the foremost and always the most successful of the hunters. He was therefore seldom seen on the march except at the hour of starting, and at night when he came back leading his horse, which always groaned under its heavy load of meat, Henri, being a hearty, jovial soul and fond of society, usually kept with the main body. As for Dick, he was everywhere at once, at least as much so as it is possible for human nature to be! His horse never wearied; it seemed to delight in going at full speed; no other horse in the troop could come near Charlie, and Dick indulged him by appearing now at the front, now at the rear, anon in the centre, and frequently _nowhere_!--having gone off with Crusoe, like a flash of lightning, after a buffalo or a deer. Dick soon proved himself to be the best hunter of the party, and it was not long before he fulfilled his promise to Crusoe, and decorated his neck with a collar of grizzly bear claws. Well, when the trappers came to a river where there were signs of beaver, they called a halt, and proceeded to select a safe and convenient spot, near wood and water, for the camp. Here the property of the band was securely piled in such a manner as to form a breastwork or slight fortification, and here Walter Cameron established head-quarters. This was always the post of danger, being exposed to sudden attack by prowling savages, who often dogged the footsteps of the party in their journeyings to see what they could steal. But Cameron was an old hand, and they found it difficult to escape his vigilant eye. From this point all the trappers were sent forth in small parties every morning in various directions, some on foot and some on horseback, according to the distances they had to go; but they never went further than twenty miles, as they had to return to camp every evening. Each trapper had ten steel traps allowed him. These he set every night, and visited every morning, sometimes oftener, when practicable, selecting a spot in the stream where many trees had been cut down by beavers for the purpose of damming up the water. In some places as many as fifty tree stumps were seen in one spot, within the compass of half an acre, all cut through at about eighteen inches from the root. We may remark, in passing, that the beaver is very much like a gigantic water-rat, with this marked difference, that its tail is very broad and flat like a paddle. The said tail is a greatly esteemed article of food, as, indeed, is the whole body at certain seasons of the year. The beaver's fore-legs are very small and short, and it uses its paws as hands to convey food to its mouth, sitting the while in an erect position on its hind-legs and tail. Its fur is a dense coat of a greyish-coloured down, concealed by long coarse hair, which lies smooth, and is of a bright chestnut colour. Its teeth and jaws are of enormous power; with them it can cut through the branch of a tree as thick as a walking-stick at one snap; and, as we have said, it gnaws through thick trees themselves. As soon as a tree falls, the beavers set to work industriously to lop off the branches, which, as well as the smaller trunks, they cut into lengths, according to their weight and thickness. These are then dragged by main force to the water side, launched, and floated to their destination. Beavers build their houses, or "lodges," under the banks of rivers and lakes, and always select those of such depth of water that there is no danger of their being frozen to the bottom; when such cannot be found, and they are compelled to build in small rivulets of insufficient depth, these clever little creatures dam up the waters until they are deep enough. The banks thrown up by them across rivulets for this purpose are of great strength, and would do credit to human engineers. Their "lodges" are built of sticks, mud, and stones, which form a compact mass; this freezes solid in winter, and defies the assaults of that house-breaker, the wolverine, an animal which is the beaver's implacable foe. From this "lodge," which is capable often of holding four old and six or eight young ones, a communication is maintained with the water below the ice, so that, should the wolverine succeed in breaking up the lodge, he finds the family "not at home," they having made good their retreat by the back-door. When man acts the part of house-breaker, however, he cunningly shuts the back-door _first_, by driving stakes through the ice, and thus stopping the passage. Then he enters, and, we almost regret to say, finds the family at home. We regret it, because the beaver is a gentle, peaceable, affectionate, hairy little creature, towards which one feels an irresistible tenderness! But, to return from this long digression. Our trappers having selected their several localities, set their traps in the water, so that when the beavers roamed about at night, they put their feet into them, and were caught and drowned; for, although they can swim and dive admirably, they cannot live altogether under water. Thus the different parties proceeded, and in the mornings the camp was a busy scene indeed, for then the whole were engaged in skinning the animals. The beavers thus taken were always skinned, stretched, dried, folded up with the hair in the inside, laid by, and the flesh used for food. But oftentimes the trappers had to go forth with the gun in one hand and their traps in the other, while they kept a sharp look out on the bushes to guard against surprise. Despite their utmost efforts a horse was occasionally stolen before their very eyes, and sometimes even an unfortunate trapper was murdered, and all his traps carried off. An event of this kind occurred soon after the party had gained the western slopes of the mountains. Three Iroquois Indians, who belonged to the band of trappers, were sent to a stream about ten miles off. Having reached their destination, they all entered the water to set their traps, foolishly neglecting the usual precaution of one remaining on the bank to protect the others. They had scarcely commenced operations, when three arrows were discharged into their backs, and a party of Snake Indians rushed upon and slew them, carrying away their traps, and horses, and scalps. This was not known for several days, when, becoming anxious about their prolonged absence, Cameron sent out a party which found their mangled bodies affording a loathsome banquet to the wolves and vultures. After this sad event the trappers were more careful to go in larger parties, and keep watch. As long as beaver were taken in abundance the camp remained stationary, but whenever the beaver began to grow scarce, the camp was raised, and the party moved on to another valley. One day Dick Varley came galloping into camp with the news that there were several bears in a valley not far distant, which he was anxious not to disturb until a number of the trappers were collected together to go out and surround them. On receiving the information Walter Cameron shook his head. "We have other things to do, young man," said he, "than go a-hunting after bears. I'm just about making up my mind to send off a party to search out the valley on the other side of the Blue Mountains yonder, and bring back word if there are beaver there, for if not, I mean to strike away direct south. Now, if you've a mind to go with them, you're welcome. I'll warrant you'll find enough in the way of bear-hunting to satisfy you; perhaps a little Indian hunting to boot, for if the Banattees get hold of your horses, you'll have a long hunt before you find them again. Will you go?" "Ay, right gladly," replied Dick. "When do we start?" "This afternoon." Dick went off at once to his own part of the camp to replenish his powder-horn and bullet pouch, and wipe out his rifle. That evening the party, under command of a Canadian named Pierre, set out for the Blue Hills. They numbered twenty men, and expected to be absent three days, for they merely went to reconnoitre, not to trap. Neither Joe nor Henri were of this party, both having been out hunting when it was organised. But Crusoe and Charlie were, of course! Pierre, although a brave and trusty man, was of a sour, angry disposition, and not a favourite with Dick, but the latter resolved to enjoy himself and disregard his sulky comrade. Being so well mounted, he not unfrequently shot far ahead of his companions, despite their warnings that he ran great risk by so doing. On one of these occasions he and Crusoe witnessed a very singular fight, which is worthy of record. Dick had felt a little wilder in spirit that morning than usual, and on coming to a pretty open plain he gave the rein to Charlie, and with an "_Adieu mes comerades_," he was out of sight in a few minutes. He rode on several miles in advance without checking speed, and then came to a wood where rapid motion was inconvenient, so he pulled up, and, dismounting, tied Charlie to a tree, while he sauntered on a short way on foot. On coming to the edge of a small plain he observed two large birds engaged in mortal conflict. Crusoe observed them too, and would soon have put an end to the fight had Dick not checked him. Creeping as close to the belligerents as possible, he found that one was a wild turkey-cock, the other a white-headed eagle! These two stood with their heads down and all their feathers bristling for a moment, then they dashed at each other, and struck fiercely with their spurs as our domestic cocks do, but neither fell, and the fight was continued for about five minutes without apparent advantage on either side. Dick now observed that, from the uncertainty of its motions, the turkey-cock was blind, a discovery which caused a throb of compunction to enter his breast for standing and looking on, so he ran forward. The eagle saw him instantly, and tried to fly away, but was unable from exhaustion. "At him, Crusoe," cried Dick, whose sympathies all lay with the other bird. Crusoe went forward at a bound, and was met by a peck between the eyes that would have turned most dogs, but Crusoe only winked, and the next moment the eagle's career was ended. Dick found that the turkey-cock was quite blind, the eagle having thrust out both its eyes, so, in mercy, he put an end to its sufferings. The fight had evidently been a long and severe one for the grass all round the spot, for about twenty yards, was beaten to the ground, and covered with the blood and feathers of the fierce combatants. Meditating on the fight which he had just witnessed, Dick returned towards the spot where he had left Charlie, when he suddenly missed Crusoe from his side. "Hallo, Crusoe! here, pup, where are you?" he cried. The only answer to this was a sharp whizzing sound, and an arrow, passing close to his ear, quivered in a tree beyond. Almost at the same moment Crusoe's angry roar was followed by a shriek from some one in fear or agony. Cocking his rifle, the young hunter sprang through the bushes towards his horse, and was just in time to save a Banattee Indian from being strangled by the dog. It had evidently scented out this fellow, and pinned him just as he was in the act of springing on the back of Charlie, for the halter was cut, and the savage lay on the ground close beside him. Dick called off the dog, and motioned to the Indian to rise, which he did so nimbly that it was quite evident he had sustained no injury beyond the laceration of his neck by Crusoe's teeth, and the surprise. He was a tall strong Indian, for the tribe to which he belonged, so Dick proceeded to secure him at once. Pointing to his rifle and to the Indian's breast, to show what he might expect if he attempted to escape, Dick ordered Crusoe to keep him steady in that position. The dog planted himself in front of the savage, who began to tremble for his scalp, and gazed up in his face with a look which, to say the least of it, was the reverse of amiable, while Dick went towards his horse for the purpose of procuring a piece of cord to tie him with. The Indian naturally turned his head to see what was going to be done, but a peculiar _gurgle_ in Crusoe's throat made him turn it round again very smartly, and he did not venture, thereafter, to move a muscle. In a few seconds Dick returned with a piece of leather and tied his hands behind his back. While this was being done the Indian glanced several times at his bow, which lay a few feet away, where it had fallen when the dog caught him, but Crusoe seemed to understand him, for he favoured him with such an additional display of teeth, and such a low-- apparently distant, almost, we might say, subterranean--_rumble_, that he resigned himself to his fate. His hands secured, a long line was attached to his neck with a running noose, so that if he ventured to run away the attempt would effect its own cure by producing strangulation. The other end of this line was given to Crusoe, who at the word of command marched him off, while Dick mounted Charlie and brought up the rear. Great was the laughter and merriment when this apparition met the eyes of the trappers; but when they heard that he had attempted to shoot Dick their ire was raised, and a court-martial was held on the spot. "Hang the reptile!" cried one. "Burn him!" shouted another. "No, no," said a third; "don't imitate them villains; don't be cruel. Let's shoot him." "Shoot 'im," cried Pierre; "Oui, dat is de ting; it too goot pour lui, mais, it shall be dooed." "Don't ye think, lads, it would be better to let the poor wretch off?" said Dick Varley; "he'd p'raps give a good account o' us to his people." There was a universal shout of contempt at this mild proposal. Unfortunately, few of the men sent on this exploring expedition were imbued with the peacemaking spirit of their chief; and most of them seemed glad to have a chance of venting their hatred of the poor Indians on this unhappy wretch, who although calm, looked sharply from one speaker to another, to gather hope, if possible, from the tones of their voices. Dick was resolved at the risk of a quarrel with Pierre to save the poor man's life, and had made up his mind to insist on having him conducted to the camp to be tried by Cameron, when one of the men suggested that they should take the savage to the top of a hill about three miles further on, and there hang him up on a tree as a warning to all his tribe. "Agreed, agreed," cried the men; "come on." Dick, too, seemed to agree to this proposal, and hastily ordered Crusoe to run on ahead with the savage, an order which the dog obeyed so vigorously that before the men had done laughing at him, he was a couple of hundred yards ahead of them. "Take care that he don't get off!" cried Dick, springing on Charlie and stretching out at a gallop. In a moment he was beside the Indian. Scraping together the little of the Indian language he knew, he stooped down, and, cutting the thongs that bound him, said--"Go, white men love the Indians." The man cast on his deliverer one glance of surprise, and the next moment bounded aside into the bushes and was gone. A loud shout from the party behind showed that this act had been observed, and Crusoe stood with the end of the line in his mouth, and an expression on his face that said, "You're absolutely incomprehensible, Dick! It's all right, I _know_; but to my feeble capacity it _seems_ wrong." "Fat for, you do dat?" shouted Pierre in a rage, as he came up with a menacing look. Dick confronted him. "The prisoner was mine. I had a right to do with him as it liked me." "True, true," cried several of the men who had begun to repent of their resolution, and were glad the savage was off. "The lad's right. Get along, Pierre." "You had no right, you vas wrong. Oui, et I have goot vill to give you one knock on de nose." Dick looked Pierre in the face, as he said this, in a manner that cowed him. "It is time," he said quietly, pointing to the sun, "to go on. Your bourgeois expects that time won't be wasted." Pierre muttered something in an angry tone, and, wheeling round his horse, dashed forward at full gallop followed by the rest of the men. The trappers encamped that night on the edge of a wide grassy plain, which offered such tempting food for the horses that Pierre resolved to forego his usual cautious plan of picketting them close to the camp, and set them loose on the plain, merely hobbling them to prevent their straying far. Dick remonstrated, but in vain. An insolent answer was all he got for his pains. He determined, however, to keep Charlie close beside him all night, and also made up his mind to keep a sharp look out on the other horses. At supper he again remonstrated. "No fraid," said Pierre, whose pipe was beginning to improve his temper. "The red reptiles no dare to come in open plain when de moon so clear." "Dun know that," said a taciturn trapper, who seldom ventured a remark of any kind; "them varmints 'ud steal the two eyes out o' you' head when they set their hearts on't." "Dat ar' umposs'ble, for de have no hearts," said a half-breed; "dey have von hole vere de heart vas be." This was received with a shout of laughter, in the midst of which an appalling yell was heard, and, as if by magic, four Indians were seen on the backs of four of the best horses, yelling like fiends, and driving all the other horses furiously before them over the plain. How they got there was a complete mystery, but the men did not wait to consider that point. Catching up their guns they sprang after them with the fury of madmen, and were quickly scattered far and wide. Dick ordered Crusoe to follow and help the men, and turned to spring on the back of Charlie, but at that moment he observed an Indian's head and shoulders rise above the grass, not fifty yards in advance from him, so without hesitation he darted forward, intending to pounce upon him. Well would it have been for Dick Varley had he at that time possessed a little more experience of the wiles and stratagems of the Banattees. The Snake nation is subdivided into several tribes, of which those inhabiting the Rocky Mountains, called the Banattees, are the most perfidious. Indeed, they are confessedly the banditti of the hills, and respect neither friend nor foe, but rob all who come in their way. Dick reached the spot where the Indian had disappeared in less than a minute, but no savage was to be seen! Thinking he had crept ahead he ran on a few yards further, and darted about hither and thither, while his eye glanced from side to side. Suddenly a shout in the camp attracted his attention, and looking back he beheld the savage on Charlie's back turning to fly. Next moment he was off and away far beyond the hope of recovery. Dick had left his rifle in the camp, otherwise the savage would have gone but a short way--as it was, Dick returned, and sitting down on a mound of grass, stared straight before him with a feeling akin to despair. Even Crusoe could not have helped him had he been there, for nothing on four legs, or on two, could keep pace with Charlie. The Banattee achieved this feat by adopting a stratagem which invariably deceives those who are ignorant of their habits and tactics. When suddenly pursued the Banattee sinks into the grass, and, serpentlike, creeps along with wonderful rapidity, not _from_ but _towards_ his enemy, taking care, however, to avoid him, so that when the pursuer reaches the spot where the pursued is supposed to be hiding, he hears him shout a yell of defiance far away in the rear. It was thus that the Banattee eluded Dick and gained the camp almost as soon as the other reached the spot where he had disappeared. One by one the trappers came back weary, raging, and despairing. In a short time they all assembled, and soon began to reproach each other. Ere long one or two had a fight, which resulted in several bloody noses and black eyes, thus adding to the misery which, one would think, had been bad enough without such additions. At last they finished their suppers and their pipes, and then lay down to sleep under the trees till morning, when they arose in a particularly silent and sulky mood, rolled up their blankets, strapped their things on their shoulders, and began to trudge slowly back to the camp on foot. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. WOLVES ATTACK THE HORSES, AND CAMERON CIRCUMVENTS THE WOLVES--A BEAR-HUNT, IN WHICH HENRI SHINES CONSPICUOUS--JOE AND THE "NATTER-LIST"--AN ALARM--A SURPRISE AND A CAPTURE. We must now return to the camp where Walter Cameron still guarded the goods, and the men pursued their trapping avocations. Here seven of the horses had been killed in one night by wolves while grazing in a plain close to the camp, and on the night following a horse that had strayed was also torn to pieces and devoured. The prompt and daring manner in which this had been done convinced the trader that white wolves had unfortunately scented them out, and he set several traps in the hope of capturing them. White wolves are quite distinct from the ordinary wolves that prowl through woods and plains in large packs. They are much larger, weighing sometimes as much as a hundred and thirty pounds; but they are comparatively scarce, and move about alone, or in small bands of three or four. Their strength is enormous, and they are so fierce that they do not hesitate, upon occasions, to attack man himself. Their method of killing horses is very deliberate. Two wolves generally undertake the cold-blooded murder. They approach their victim with the most innocent looking and frolicsome gambols, lying down and rolling about, and frisking pleasantly until the horse becomes a little accustomed to them. Then one approaches right in front, the other in rear, still frisking playfully, until they think themselves near enough, when they make a simultaneous rush. The wolf which approaches in rear is the true assailant; the rush of the other is a mere feint; then both fasten on the poor horse's haunches and never let go till the sinews are cut and he is rolling on his side. The horse makes comparatively little struggle in this deadly assault. He seems paralysed and soon falls to rise no more. Cameron set his traps towards evening in a circle with a bait in the centre and then retired to rest. Next morning he called Joe Blunt and the two went off together. "It is strange that these rascally white wolves should be so bold when the smaller kinds are so cowardly," remarked Cameron, as they walked along. "So 'tis," replied Joe, "but I've seed them other chaps bold enough too in the prairie when they were in large packs and starvin'." "I believe the small wolves follow the big fellows and help them to eat what they kill, though they generally sit round and look on at the killing." "Hist!" exclaimed Joe, cocking his gun, "there he is, an' no mistake." There he was, undoubtedly. A wolf of the largest size with one of his feet in the trap. He was a terrible-looking object, for, besides his immense size and naturally ferocious aspect, his white hair bristled on end and was all covered with streaks and spots of blood from his bloody jaws. In his efforts to escape he had bitten the trap until he had broken his teeth and lacerated his gums, so that his appearance was hideous in the extreme. And when the two men came up he struggled with all his might to fly at them. Cameron and Joe stood looking at him in a sort of wondering admiration. "We'd better put a ball in him," suggested Joe after a time. "Mayhap the chain won't stand sich tugs long." "True, Joe; if it breaks we might get an ugly nip before we killed him." So saying Cameron fired into the wolf's head and killed it. It was found, on examination, that four wolves had been in the traps, but the rest had escaped. Two of them, however, had gnawed off their paws and left them lying in the traps. After this the big wolves did not trouble them again. The same afternoon, a bear-hunt was undertaken, which well-nigh cost one of the Iroquois his life. It happened thus:-- While Cameron and Joe were away after the white wolves, Henri came floundering into camp tossing his arms like a maniac, and shouting that "seven bars wos be down in de bush close bye!" It chanced that this was an idle day with most of the men, so they all leaped on their horses, and taking guns and knives sallied forth to give battle to the bears. Arrived at the scene of action they found the seven bears busily engaged in digging up roots, so the men separated in order to surround them, and then closed in. The place was partly open and partly covered with thick bushes into which a horseman could not penetrate. The moment the bears got wind of what was going forward they made off as fast as possible, and then commenced a scene of firing, galloping, and yelling, that defies description! Four out of the seven were shot before they gained the bushes; the other three were wounded, but made good their retreat. As their places of shelter, however, were like islands in the plain, they had no chance of escaping. The horsemen now dismounted and dashed recklessly into the bushes, where they soon discovered and killed two of the bears; the third was not found for some time. At last an Iroquois came upon it so suddenly that he had not time to point his gun before the bear sprang upon him and struck him to the earth, where it held him down. Instantly the place was surrounded by eager men, but the bushes were so thick and the fallen trees among which the bear stood were so numerous, that they could not use their guns without running the risk of shooting their companion. Most of them drew their knives and seemed about to rush on the bear with these, but the monster's aspect, as it glared round, was so terrible that they held back for a moment in hesitation. At this moment Henri, who had been at some distance engaged in the killing of one of the other bears, came rushing forward after his own peculiar manner. "Ah! fat is eet--hay? de bar no go under yit?" Just then his eye fell on the wounded Iroquois with the bear above him, and he uttered a yell so intense in tone that the bear himself seemed to feel that something decisive was about to be done at last. Henri did not pause, but with a flying dash he sprang like a spread eagle, arms and legs extended, right into the bear's bosom. At the same moment he sent his long hunting-knife down into its heart. But Bruin is proverbially hard to kill, and although mortally wounded, he had strength enough to open his jaws and close them on Henri's neck. There was a cry of horror, and at the same moment a volley was fired at the bear's head, for the trappers felt that it was better to risk shooting their comrades than see them killed before their eyes. Fortunately the bullets took effect, and tumbled him over at once without doing damage to either of the men, although several of the balls just grazed Henri's temple and carried off his cap. Although uninjured by the shot, the poor Iroquois had not escaped scatheless from the paw of the bear. His scalp was torn almost off, and hung down over his eyes, while blood streamed down his face. He was conveyed by his comrades to the camp, where he lay two days in a state of insensibility, at the end of which time he revived and recovered daily. Afterwards when the camp moved he had to be carried, but in the course of two months he was as well as ever, and quite as fond of bear-hunting! Among other trophies of this hunt there were two deer, and a buffalo, which last had probably strayed from the herd. Four or five Iroquois were round this animal whetting their knives for the purpose of cutting it up when Henri passed, so he turned aside to watch them perform the operation, quite regardless of the fact that his neck and face were covered with blood which flowed from one or two small punctures made by the bear. The Indians began by taking off the skin, which certainly did not occupy them more than five minutes. Then they cut up the meat and made a pack of it, and cut out the tongue, which is somewhat troublesome, as that member requires to be cut out from under the jaw of the animal, and not through the natural opening of the mouth. One of the fore-legs was cut off at the knee joint, and this was used as a hammer with which to break the skull for the purpose of taking out the brains, these being used in the process of dressing and softening the animal's skin. An axe would have been of advantage to break the skull, but in the hurry of rushing to the attack the Indians had forgotten their axes, so they adopted the common fashion of using the buffalo's hoof as a hammer, the shank being the handle. The whole operation of flaying, cutting up, and packing the meat, did not occupy more than twenty minutes. Before leaving the ground these expert butchers treated themselves to a little of the marrow and warm liver in a raw state! Cameron and Joe walked up to the group while they were indulging in this little feast. "Well, I've often seen that eaten, but I never could do it myself," remarked the former. "No!" cried Joe in surprise; "now that's oncommon cur'us. I've _lived_ on raw liver an' marrow-bones for two or three days at a time, when we wos chased by the Camanchee Injuns and didn't dare to make a fire, an' it's ra'al good it is. Won't ye try it _now_?" Cameron shook his head. "No, thankee; I'll not refuse when I can't help it, but until then I'll remain in happy ignorance of how good it is." "Well, it _is_ strange how some folk can't abide anything in the meat way they han't bin used to. D'ye know I've actually knowd men from the cities as wouldn't eat a bit o' horseflesh for love or money. Would ye believe it?" "I can well believe that, Joe, for I have met with such persons myself; in fact, they are rather numerous. What are you chuckling at, Joe?" "Chucklin'? if ye mean be that `larfin' in to myself' it's because I'm thinkin' o' a chap as once comed out to the prairies." "Let us walk back to the camp, Joe, and you can tell me about him as we go along." "I think," continued Joe, "he comed from Washington, but I never could make out right whether he wos a government man or not. Anyhow, he wos a pheelosopher--a natter-list I think he call his-self." "A naturalist," suggested Cameron. "Ay, that wos more like it. Well, he wos about six feet two in his moccasins, an' as thin as a ramrod, an' as blind as a bat--leastways he had weak eyes an wore green spectacles. He had on a grey shootin' coat and trousers and vest and cap, with rid whiskers an' a long nose as rid at the point as the whiskers wos. "Well, this gentleman engaged me an' another hunter to go a trip with him into the prairies, so off we sot one fine day on three hosses with our blankets at our backs--we wos to depend on the rifle for victuals. At first I thought the Natter-list one o' the cruellest beggars as iver went on two long legs, for he used to go about everywhere pokin' pins through all the beetles, and flies, an' creepin' things he could sot eyes on, an' stuck them in a box; but he told me he comed here a-purpose to git as many o' them as he could; so says I, `If that's it, I'll fill yer box in no time.' "`Will ye?' says he, quite pleased like. "`I will,' says I, an' galloped off to a place as was filled wi' all sorts o' crawlin' things. So I sets to work, and whenever I seed a thing crawlin' I sot my fut on it and crushed it, and soon filled my breast pocket. I coched a lot o' butterflies too, an' stuffed them into my shot pouch, and went back in an hour or two an' showed him the lot. He put on his green spectacles and looked at them as if he'd seen a rattlesnake. "`My good man,' says he, `you've crushed them all to pieces!' "`They'll taste as good for all that,' says I, for somehow I'd taken't in me head that he'd heard o' the way the Injuns make soup o' the grasshoppers, an was wantin' to try his hand at a new dish! "He laughed when I said this, an' told me he wos collectin' them to take home to be _looked_ at. But that's not wot I wos goin' to tell ye about him," continued Joe; "I wos goin' to tell ye how we made him eat horseflesh. He carried a revolver, too, this Natter-list did, to load wi' shot as small as dust a-most, and shoot little birds with. I've seed him miss birds only three feet away with it. An' one day he drew it all of a suddent and let fly at a big bum-bee that wos passin', yellin' out that it wos the finest wot he had iver seed. He missed the bee, of coorse, cause it was a flyin' shot, he said, but he sent the whole charge right into Martin's back--Martin was my comrade's name. By good luck Martin had on a thick leather coat, so the shot niver got the length o' his skin. "One day I noticed that the Natter-list had stuffed small corks into the muzzles of all the six barrels of his revolver. I wondered what they wos for, but he wos al'ays doin' sich queer _things_ that I soon forgot it. `May be,' thought I, jist before it went out o' my mind,--`may be he thinks that 'll stop the pistol from goin' off by accident,' for ye must know he'd let it off three times the first day by accident, and well-nigh blowed off his leg the last time, only the shot lodged in the back o' a big toad he'd jist stuffed into his breeches' pocket. Well, soon after, we shot a buffalo bull, so when it fell, off he jumps from his horse an runs up to it. So did I, for I wasn't sure the beast was dead, an' I had jist got up when it rose an' rushed at the Natter-list. "`Out o' the way,' I yelled, for my rifle was empty; but he didn't move, so I rushed forward an' drew the pistol out o' his belt and let fly in the bull's ribs jist as it ran the poor man down. Martin came up that moment an' put a ball through its heart, and then we went to pick up the Natter-list. He came to in a little, an' the first thing he said was, `Where's my revolver?' When I gave it to him he looked at it, an' said with a solemcholy shake o' the head, `There's a whole barrel-full lost!' It turned out that he had taken to usin' the barrels for bottles to hold things in, but he forgot to draw the charges, so sure enough I had fired a charge o' bum-bees, an' beetles, an' small shot into the buffalo! "But that's not what I wos goin' to tell ye yet. We comed to a part o' the plains where we wos well-nigh starved for want o' game, an' the Natter-list got so thin that ye could a-most see through him, so I offered to kill my horse, an' cut it up for meat; but you niver saw sich a face he made. `I'd rather die first,' says he, `than eat it;' so we didn't kill it. But that very day Martin got a shot at a wild horse and killed it. The Natter-list was down in the bed o' a creek at the time gropin' for creepers, an' he didn't see it. "`He'll niver eat it,' says Martin. "`That's true,' says I. "`Let's tell him it's a buffalo,' says he. "`That would be tellin' a lie,' says I. "So we stood lookin' at each other, not knowin' what to do. "`I'll tell ye what,' cries Martin, `we'll cut it up, and take the meat into camp and cook it without _sayin' a word_.' "`Done,' says I, `that's it;' for ye must know the poor creature wos no judge o' meat. He couldn't tell one kind from another, an' he niver axed questions. In fact he niver a-most spoke to us all the trip. Well, we cut up the horse and carried the flesh and marrow-bones into camp, takin' care to leave the hoofs and skin behind, and sot to work and roasted steaks and marrow-bones. "When the Natter-list came back ye should ha' seen the joyful face he put on when he smelt the grub, for he was all but starved out, poor critter. "`What have we got here?' cried he, rubbin' his hands and sittin' down. "`Steaks an' marrow-bones,' says Martin. "`Capital!' says he. `I'm _so_ hungry.' "So he fell to work like a wolf. I niver seed a man pitch into anything like as that Natter-list did into that horseflesh. "`These are first-rate marrow-bones,' says he, squintin' with one eye down the shin bone o' the hind-leg to see if it was quite empty. "`Yes, sir, they is,' answered Martin, as grave as a judge. "`Take another, sir,' says I. "`No, thankee,' says he with a sigh, for he didn't like to leave off. "Well, we lived for a week on horseflesh, an' first-rate livin' it wos; then we fell in with buffalo, an' niver ran short again till we got to the settlements, when he paid us our money an' shook hands, sayin' we'd had a nice trip an' he wished us well. Jist as we wos partin' I said, says I, `D'ye know what it wos we lived on for a week arter we wos well-nigh starved in the prairies?' "`What,' says he, `when we got yon capital marrow-bones?' "`The same,' says I; `yon was _horseflesh_,' says I, `an' I think ye'll sur'ly niver say again that it isn't first-rate livin'.' "`Yer jokin',' says he, turnin' pale. "`It's true, sir, as true as yer standin' there.' "Well, would ye believe it; he turned--that Natter-list did--as sick as a dog on the spot wot he wos standin' on, an' didn't taste meat again for three days!" Shortly after the conclusion of Joe's story they reached the camp, and here they found the women and children flying about in a state of terror, and the few men who had been left in charge arming themselves in the greatest haste. "Hallo! something wrong here," cried Cameron hastening forward followed by Joe. "What has happened, eh?" "Injuns comin', monsieur, look dere," answered a trapper, pointing down the valley. "Arm and mount at once, and come to the front of the camp," cried Cameron in a tone of voice that silenced every other, and turned confusion into order. The cause of all this outcry was a cloud of dust seen far down the valley, which was raised by a band of mounted Indians who approached the camp at full speed. Their numbers could not be made out, but they were a sufficiently formidable band to cause much anxiety to Cameron, whose men, at the time, were scattered to the various trapping grounds, and only ten chanced to be within call of the camp. However, with these ten he determined to show a bold front to the savages, whether they came as friends or foes. He therefore ordered the women and children within the citadel formed of the goods and packs of furs piled upon each other, which point of retreat was to be defended to the last extremity. Then galloping to the front he collected his men and swept down the valley at full speed. In a few minutes they were near enough to observe that the enemy only numbered four Indians, who were driving a band of about a hundred horses before them, and so busy were they in keeping the troop together that Cameron and his men were close upon them before they were observed. It was too late to escape. Joe Blunt and Henri had already swept round and cut off their retreat. In this extremity the Indians slipped from the backs of their steeds and darted into the bushes, where they were safe from pursuit, at least on horseback, while the trappers got behind the horses and drove them towards the camp. At this moment one of the horses sprang ahead of the others and made for the mountain, with its mane and tail flying wildly in the breeze. "Marrow-bones and buttons!" shouted one of the men, "there goes Dick Varley's horse." "So it am!" cried Henri, and dashed off in pursuit, followed by Joe and two others. "Why, these are our own horses," said Cameron in surprise, as they drove them into a corner of the hills from which they could not escape. This was true, but it was only half the truth, for, besides their own horses, they had secured upwards of seventy Indian steeds, a most acceptable addition to their stud, which, owing to casualties and wolves, had been diminishing too much of late. The fact was, that the Indians who had captured the horses belonging to Pierre and his party were a small band of robbers who had travelled, as was afterwards learned, a considerable distance from the south, stealing horses from various tribes as they went along. As we have seen, in an evil hour they fell in with Pierre's party and carried off their steeds, which they drove to a pass leading from one valley to the other. Here they united them with the main band of their ill-gotten gains, and while the greater number of the robbers descended further into the plains in search of more booty, four of them were sent into the mountains with the horses already procured. These four, utterly ignorant of the presence of white men in the valley, drove their charge, as we have seen, almost into the camp. Cameron immediately organised a party to go out in search of Pierre and his companions, about whose fate he became intensely anxious, and in the course of half an hour as many men as he could spare with safety were despatched in the direction of the Blue Mountains. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. CHARLIE'S ADVENTURES WITH SAVAGES AND BEARS--TRAPPING LIFE. It is one thing to chase a horse; it is another thing to catch it. Little consideration and less sagacity is required to convince us of the truth of that fact. The reader may perhaps venture to think this rather a trifling fact. We are not so sure of that. In this world of fancies, to have _any_ fact incontestably proved and established is a comfort, and whatever is a source of comfort to mankind is worthy of notice. Surely our reader won't deny that! Perhaps he will, so we can only console ourself with the remark that there are people in this world who would deny _anything_--who would deny that there was a nose on their face if you said there was! Well, to return to the point, which was the chase of a horse in the abstract; from which we will rapidly diverge to the chase of Dick Varley's horse in particular. This noble charger, having been ridden by savages until all his old fire, and blood, and metal were worked up to a red heat, no sooner discovered that he was pursued than he gave a snort of defiance, which he accompanied with a frantic shake of his mane, and a fling of contempt in addition to a magnificent wave of his tail; then he thundered up the valley at a pace which would speedily have left Joe Blunt and Henri out of sight behind if--ay! that's the word, _if_! what a word that _if_ is! what a world of if's we live in! There never was anything that wouldn't have been something else _if_ something hadn't intervened to prevent it! Yes, we repeat, Charlie would have left his two friends miles and miles behind in what is called "no time," _if_ he had not run straight into a gorge which was surrounded by inaccessible precipices, and out of which there was no exit except by the entrance, which was immediately barred by Henri, while Joe advanced to catch the runaway. For two hours at least did Joe Blunt essay to catch Charlie, and during that space of time he utterly failed. The horse seemed to have made up his mind for what is vulgarly termed "a lark." "It won't do, Henri," said Joe, advancing towards his companion, and wiping his forehead with the cuff of his leathern coat. "I can't catch him. The wind's a-most blowed out o' me body." "Dat am vexatiable," replied Henri, in a tone of commiseration. "S'pose I wos make try?" "In that case I s'pose ye would fail. But go ahead an' do what ye can. I'll hold yer horse." So Henri began by a rush and a flourish of legs and arms that nearly frightened the horse out his wits. For half an hour he went through all the complications of running and twisting of which he was capable, without success, when Joe Blunt suddenly uttered a stentorian yell that rooted him to the spot on which he stood. To account for this, we must explain that in the heights of the Rocky Mountains vast accumulations of snow take place among the crevices and gorges during winter. Such of these masses as form on steep slopes are loosened by occasional thaws, and are precipitated in the form of avalanches into the valleys below, carrying trees and stones along with them in their thundering descent. In the gloomy gorge where Dick's horse had taken refuge, the precipices were so steep that many avalanches had occurred, as was evident from the mounds of heaped snow that lay at the foot of most of them. Neither stones nor trees were carried down here, however, for the cliffs were nearly perpendicular, and the snow slipping over their edges had fallen on the grass below. Such an avalanche was now about to take place, and it was this that caused Joe to utter his cry of alarm and warning. Henri and the horse were directly under the cliff over which it was about to be hurled, the latter close to the wall of rock, the other at some distance away from it. Joe cried again, "Back, Henri! back _vite_!" when the mass _flowed over_ and fell with a roar like prolonged thunder. Henri sprang back in time to save his life, though he was knocked down and almost stunned, but poor Charlie was completely buried under the avalanche, which now presented the appearance of a _hill_ of snow. The instant Henri recovered sufficiently, Joe and he mounted their horses and galloped back to the camp as fast as possible. Meanwhile, another spectator stepped forward upon the scene they had left, and surveyed the snow hill with a critical eye. This was no less than a grizzly bear which had, unobserved, been a spectator, and which immediately proceeded to dig into the mound with the purpose, no doubt, of disentombing the carcase of the horse for purposes of his own. While he was thus actively engaged, the two hunters reached the camp where they found that Pierre and his party had just arrived. The men sent out in search of them had scarcely advanced a mile when they found them trudging back to the camp in a very disconsolate manner. But all their sorrows were put to flight on hearing of the curious way in which the horses had been returned to them with interest. Scarcely had Dick Varley, however, congratulated himself on the recovery of his gallant steed, when he was thrown into despair by the sudden arrival of Joe with the tidings of the catastrophe we have just related. Of course there was a general rush to the rescue. Only a few men were ordered to remain to guard the camp, while the remainder mounted their horses and galloped towards the gorge where Charlie had been entombed. On arriving, they found that Bruin had worked with such laudable zeal that nothing but the tip of his tail was seen sticking out of the hole which he had dug. The hunters could not refrain from laughing as they sprang to the ground, and standing in a semicircle in front of the hole, prepared to fire. But Crusoe resolved to have the honour of leading the assault. He seized fast hold of Bruin's flank, and caused his teeth to meet therein. Caleb backed out at once and turned round, but before he could recover from his surprise a dozen bullets pierced his heart and brain. "Now, lads," cried Cameron, setting to work with a large wooden shovel, "work like niggers. If there's any life left in the horse it'll soon be smothered out unless we set him free." The men needed no urging, however. They worked as if their lives depended on their exertions. Dick Varley, in particular, laboured like a young Hercules, and Henri hurled masses of snow about in a most surprising manner. Crusoe, too, entered heartily into the spirit of the work, and, scraping with his forepaws, sent such a continuous shower of snow behind him that he was speedily lost to view in a hole of his own excavating. In the course of half an hour a cavern was dug in the mound almost close up to the cliff, and the men were beginning to look about for the crushed body of Dick's steed, when an exclamation from Henri attracted their attention. "Ha! mes ami, here am be one hole." The truth of this could not be doubted, for the eccentric trapper had thrust his shovel through the wall of snow into what appeared to be a cavern beyond, and immediately followed up his remark by thrusting in his head and shoulders. He drew them out in a few seconds, with a look of intense amazement. "Voila! Joe Blunt. Look in dere, and you shall see fat you will behold." "Why, it's the horse, I do b'lieve!" cried Joe. "Go ahead, lads." So saying, he resumed his shovelling vigorously, and in a few minutes the hole was opened up sufficiently to enable a man to enter. Dick sprang in, and there stood Charlie close beside the cliff, looking as sedate and unconcerned as if all that had been going on had no reference to him whatever. The cause of his safety was simple enough. The precipice beside which he stood when the avalanche occurred overhung its base at that point considerably, so that when the snow descended, a clear space of several feet wide was left all along its base. Here Charlie had remained in perfect comfort until his friends dug him out. Congratulating themselves not a little on having saved the charger and bagged a grizzly bear, the trappers remounted, and returned to the camp. For some time after this nothing worthy of particular note occurred. The trapping operations went on prosperously and without interruption from the Indians, who seemed to have left the locality altogether. During this period, Dick, and Crusoe, and Charlie had many excursions together, and the silver rifle full many a time sent death to the heart of bear, and elk, and buffalo, while, indirectly, it sent joy to the heart of man, woman, and child in camp, in the shape of juicy steaks and marrow-bones. Joe and Henri devoted themselves almost exclusively to trapping beaver, in which pursuit they were so successful that they speedily became wealthy men, according to backwood notions of wealth. With the beaver that they caught, they purchased from Cameron's store powder and shot enough for a long hunting expedition and a couple of spare horses to carry their packs. They also purchased a large assortment of such goods and trinkets as would prove acceptable to Indians, and supplied themselves with new blankets, and a few pairs of strong moccasins, of which they stood much in need. Thus they went on from day to day, until symptoms of the approach of winter warned them that it was time to return to the Mustang Valley. About this time an event occurred which totally changed the aspect of affairs in these remote valleys of the Rocky Mountains, and precipitated the departure of our four friends, Dick, Joe, Henri, and Crusoe. This was the sudden arrival of a whole tribe of Indians. As their advent was somewhat remarkable, we shall devote to it the commencement of a new chapter. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. SAVAGE SPORTS--LIVING CATARACTS--AN ALARM--INDIANS AND THEIR DOINGS--THE STAMPEDO--CHARLIE AGAIN. One day Dick Varley was out on a solitary hunting expedition near the rocky gorge, where his horse had received temporary burial a week or two before. Crusoe was with him, of course. Dick had tied Charlie to a tree, and was sunning himself on the edge of a cliff, from the top of which he had a fine view of the valley and the rugged precipices that hemmed it in. Just in front of the spot on which he sat, the precipices on the opposite side of the gorge rose to a considerable height above him, so that their ragged outlines were drawn sharply across the clear sky. Dick was gazing in dreamy silence at the jutting rocks and dark caverns, and speculating on the probable number of bears that dwelt there, when a slight degree of restlessness on the part of Crusoe attracted him. "What is't, pup?" said he, laying his hand on the dog's broad back. Crusoe looked the answer, "I don't know, Dick, but it's _something_, you may depend upon it, else I would not have disturbed you." Dick lifted his rifle from the ground, and laid it in the hollow of his left arm. "There must be something in the wind," remarked Dick. As wind is known to be composed of two distinct gases, Crusoe felt perfectly safe in replying "Yes," with his tail. Immediately after he added, "Hallo! did you hear that?"--with his ears. Dick did hear it, and sprang hastily to his feet, as a sound like, yet unlike, distant thunder came faintly down upon the breeze. In a few seconds the sound increased to a roar in which was mingled the wild cries of men. Neither Dick nor Crusoe moved, for the sounds came from behind the heights in front of them, and they felt that the only way to solve the question, "What can the sounds be?" was to wait till the sounds should solve it themselves. Suddenly the muffled sounds gave place to the distinct bellowing of cattle, the clatter of innumerable hoofs, and the yells of savage men, while at the same moment the edges of the opposite cliffs became alive with Indians and buffaloes rushing about in frantic haste--the former almost mad with savage excitement, the latter with blind rage and terror. On reaching the edge of the dizzy precipice, the buffaloes turned abruptly and tossed their ponderous heads as they coursed along the edge. Yet a few of them, unable to check their headlong course, fell over, and were dashed to pieces on the rocks below. Such falls, Dick observed, were hailed with shouts of delight by the Indians, whose sole object evidently was to enjoy the sport of driving the terrified animals over the precipice. The wily savages had chosen their ground well for this purpose. The cliff immediately opposite to Dick Varley was a huge projection from the precipice that hemmed in the gorge, or species of cape or promontory several hundred yards wide at the base, and narrowing abruptly to a point. The sides of this wedge-shaped projection were quite perpendicular; indeed, in some places the top overhung the base, and they were at least three hundred feet high. Broken and jagged rocks, of that peculiarly chaotic character which probably suggested the name to this part of the great American chain, projected from, and were scattered all round, the cliffs. Over these the Indians, whose numbers increased every moment, strove to drive the luckless herd of buffaloes that had chanced to fall in their way. The task was easy. The unsuspecting animals, of which there were hundreds, rushed in a dense mass upon the cape referred to. On they came with irresistible impetuosity, bellowing furiously, while their hoofs thundered on the turf with the muffled continuous roar of a distant, but mighty cataract--the Indians, meanwhile, urging them on by hideous yell and frantic gesture. The advance-guard came bounding madly to the edge of the precipice. Here they stopped short, and gazed affrighted at the gulf below. It was but for a moment. The irresistible momentum of the flying mass behind pushed them over. Down they came, absolutely a living cataract, upon the rocks below. Some struck on the projecting rocks in the descent, and their bodies were dashed almost in pieces, while their blood spurted out in showers. Others leaped from rock to rock with awful bounds, until, losing their foot-hold, they fell headlong, while others descended sheer down into the sweltering mass that lay shattered at the base of the cliffs. Dick Varley and his dog remained rooted to the rock, as they gazed at the sickening sight, as if petrified. Scarce fifty of that noble herd of buffaloes escaped the awful leap, but they escaped only to fall before the arrows of their ruthless pursuers. Dick had often heard of this tendency of the Indians, where buffaloes were very numerous, to drive them over precipices in mere wanton sport and cruelty, but he had never seen it until now, and the sight filled his soul with horror. It was not until the din and tumult of the perishing herd and the shrill yells of the Indians had almost died away that he turned to quit the spot. But the instant he did so another shout was raised. The savages had observed him, and were seen galloping along the cliffs towards the head of the gorge, with the obvious intention of gaining the other side and capturing him. Dick sprang on Charlie's back, and the next instant was flying down the valley towards the camp. He did not, however, fear being overtaken, for the gorge could not be crossed, and the way round the head of it was long and rugged; but he was anxious to alarm the camp as quickly as possible, so that they might have time to call in the more distant trappers and make preparations for defence. "Where away now, youngster," inquired Cameron, emerging from his tent as Dick, taking the brook that flowed in front at a flying leap, came crashing through the bushes into the midst of the fur-packs at full speed. "Injuns!" ejaculated Dick, reining up, and vaulting out of the saddle. "Hundreds of 'em. Fiends incarnate every one!" "Are they near?" "Yes; an hour 'll bring them down on us. Are Joe and Henri far from camp to-day?" "At Ten-mile Creek," replied Cameron with an expression of bitterness, as he caught up his gun and shouted to several men, who hurried up on seeing our hero's burst into camp. "Ten-mile Creek!" muttered Dick. "I'll bring 'em in, though," he continued, glancing at several of the camp horses that grazed close at hand. In another moment he was on Charlie's back, the line of one of the best horses was in his hand, and almost before Cameron knew what he was about he was flying down the valley like the wind. Charlie often stretched out at full speed to please his young master, but seldom had he been urged forward as he was upon this occasion. The led horse being light and wild, kept well up, and, in a marvellously short space of time, they were at Ten-mile Creek. "Hallo, Dick, wot's to do?" inquired Joe Blunt, who was up to his knees in the water, setting a trap at the moment his friend galloped up. "Injuns! Where's Henri?" demanded Dick. "At the head o' the dam there." Dick was off in a moment, and almost instantly returned with Henri galloping beside him. No word was spoken. In time of action these men did not waste words. During Dick's momentary absence, Joe Blunt had caught up his rifle and examined the priming, so that when Dick pulled up beside him, he merely laid his hand on the saddle, saying, "All right!" as he vaulted on Charlie's back behind his young companion. In another moment they were away at full speed. The mustang seemed to feel that unwonted exertions were required of him. Double weighted though he was, he kept well up with the other horse, and in less than two hours after Dick's leaving the camp the three hunters came in sight of it. Meanwhile Cameron had collected nearly all his forces, and put his camp in a state of defence before the Indians arrived, which they did suddenly, and, as usual, at full gallop, to the amount of at least two hundred. They did not at first seem disposed to hold friendly intercourse with the trappers, but assembled in a semicircle round the camp in a menacing attitude, while one of their chiefs stepped forward to hold a palaver. For some time the conversation on both sides was polite enough, but by degrees the Indian chief assumed an imperious tone, and demanded gifts from the trappers, taking care to enforce his request by hinting that thousands of his countrymen were not far distant. Cameron stoutly refused, and the palaver threatened to come to an abrupt and unpleasant termination just at the time that Dick and his friends appeared on the scene of action. The brook was cleared at a bound; the three hunters leaped from their steeds and sprang to the front with a degree of energy that had a visible effect on the savages, and Cameron, seizing the moment, proposed that the two parties should smoke a pipe and hold a council. The Indians agreed, and in a few minutes they were engaged in animated and friendly intercourse. The speeches were long, and the compliments paid on either side were inflated, and, we fear, undeserved; but the result of the interview was, that Cameron made the Indians a present of tobacco and a few trinkets, and sent them back to their friends to tell them that he was willing to trade with them. Next day the whole tribe arrived in the valley, and pitched their deerskin tents on the plain opposite to the camp of the white men. Their numbers far exceeded Cameron's expectation, and it was with some anxiety that he proceeded to strengthen his fortifications as much as circumstances and the nature of the ground would admit. The Indian camp, which numbered upwards of a thousand souls, was arranged with great regularity, and was divided into three distinct sections, each section being composed of a separate tribe. The Great Snake Nation at that time embraced three tribes or divisions--namely, the Shirry-dikas, or dog-eaters; the War-are-ree-kas, or fish-eaters; and the Banattees, or robbers. These were the most numerous and powerful Indians on the west side of the Rocky Mountains. The Shirry-dikas dwelt in the plains, and hunted the buffaloes; dressed well; were cleanly; rich in horses; bold, independent, and good warriors. The War-are-ree-kas lived chiefly by fishing, and were found on the banks of the rivers and lakes throughout the country. They were more corpulent, slovenly, and indolent than the Shirry-dikas, and more peaceful. The Banattees, as we have before mentioned, were the robbers of the mountains. They were a wild and contemptible race, and at enmity with every one. In summer they went about nearly naked. In winter they clothed themselves in the skins of rabbits and wolves. Being excellent mimics, they could imitate the howling of wolves, the neighing of horses, and the cries of birds, by which means they could approach travellers, rob them, and then fly to their rocky fastnesses in the mountains, where pursuit was vain. Such were the men who now assembled in front of the camp of the fur-traders, and Cameron soon found that the news of his presence in the country had spread far and wide among the natives, bringing them to the neighbourhood of his camp in immense crowds, so that, during the next few days, their numbers increased to thousands. Several long palavers quickly ensued between the red men and the white, and the two great chiefs who seemed to hold despotic rule over the assembled tribes were extremely favourable to the idea of universal peace which was propounded to them. In several set speeches of great length and very considerable power, these natural orators explained their willingness to enter into amicable relations with all the surrounding nations as well as with the white men. "But," said Pee-eye-em, the chief of the Shirry-dikas, a man above six feet high, and of immense muscular strength,--"but my tribe cannot answer for the Banattees, who are robbers, and cannot be punished, because they dwell in scattered families among the mountains. The Banattees are bad; they cannot be trusted." None of the Banattees were present at the council when this was said; and if they had been it would have mattered little, for they were neither fierce nor courageous, although bold enough in their own haunts to murder and rob the unwary. The second chief did not quite agree with Pee-eye-em; he said that it was impossible for them to make peace with their natural enemies, the Peigans and the Blackfeet on the east side of the mountains. It was very desirable, he admitted, but neither of these tribes would consent to it, he felt sure. Upon this Joe blunt rose and said, "The great chief of the War-are-ree-kas is wise, and knows that enemies cannot be reconciled unless deputies are sent to make proposals of peace." "The Pale-face does not know the Blackfeet," answered the chief. "Who will go into the lands of the Blackfeet? My young men have been sent once and again, and their scalps are now fringes to the leggings of their enemies. The War-are-ree-kas do not cross the mountains but for the purpose of making war." "The chief speaks truth," returned Joe, "yet there are three men round the council-fire who will go to the Blackfeet and the Peigans with messages of peace from the Snakes if they wish it." Joe pointed to himself, Henri, and Dick as he spoke, and added, "We three do not belong to the camp of the fur-traders; we only lodge with them for a time. The Great Chief of the white men has sent us to make peace with the Red-men, and to tell them that he desires to trade with them--to exchange hatchets, and guns, and blankets for furs." This declaration interested the two chiefs greatly, and after a good deal of discussion they agreed to take advantage of Joe Blunt's offer, and appoint him as a deputy to the court of their enemies. Having arranged these matters to their satisfaction, Cameron bestowed a red flag and a blue surtout with brass buttons on each of the chiefs, and a variety of smaller articles on the other members of the council, and sent them away in a particularly amiable frame of mind. Pee-eye-em burst the blue surtout at the shoulders and elbows in putting it on, as it was much too small for his gigantic frame, but, never having seen such an article of apparel before, he either regarded this as the natural and proper consequence of putting it on, or was totally indifferent to it, for he merely looked at the rents with a smile of satisfaction, while his squaw surreptitiously cut off the two back buttons and thrust them into her bosom. By the time the council closed the night was far advanced, and a bright moon was shedding a flood of soft light over the picturesque and busy scene. "I'll go to the Injun camp," said Joe to Walter Cameron, as the chiefs rose to depart. "The season's far enough advanced already; it's time to be off; and if I'm to speak for the Red-skins in the Blackfeet Council, I'd need to know what to say." "Please yourself, Master Blunt," answered Cameron. "I like your company and that of your friends, and if it suited you I would be glad to take you along with us to the coast of the Pacific; but your mission among the Indians is a good one, and I'll help it on all I can. I suppose you will go also?" he added, turning to Dick Varley, who was still seated beside the council-fire caressing Crusoe. "Wherever Joe goes, I go," answered Dick. Crusoe's tail, ears and eyes demonstrated high approval of the sentiment involved in this speech. "And your friend Henri?" "He goes too," answered Joe. "It's as well that the Red-skins should see the three o' us before we start for the east side o' the mountains. Ho! Henri, come here, lad." Henri obeyed, and in a few seconds the three friends crossed the brook to the Indian camp, and were guided to the principal lodge by Pee-eye-em. Here a great council was held, and the proposed attempt at negotiations for peace with their ancient enemies fully discussed. While they were thus engaged, and just as Pee-eye-em had, in the energy of an enthusiastic peroration burst the blue surtout _almost_ up to the collar, a distant rushing sound was heard, which caused every man to spring to his feet, run out of the tent, and seize his weapons. "What can it be, Joe?" whispered Dick, as they stood at the tent door leaning on their rifles, and listening intently. "Dunno," answered Joe shortly. Most of the numerous fires of the camp had gone out, but the bright moon revealed the dusky forms of thousands of Indians, whom the unwonted sound had startled, moving rapidly about. The mystery was soon explained. The Indian camp was pitched on an open plain of several miles in extent, which took a sudden bend half a mile distant, where a spur of the mountains shut out the further end of the valley from view. From beyond this point the dull rumbling sound proceeded. Suddenly there was a roar as if a mighty cataract had been let loose upon the scene. At the same moment a countless herd of wild horses came thundering round the base of the mountain and swept over the plain straight towards the Indian camp. "A stampedo!" cried Joe, springing to the assistance of Pee-eye-em, whose favourite horses were picketted near the tent. On they came like a living torrent, and the thunder of a thousand hoofs was soon mingled with the howling of hundreds of dogs in the camp, and the yelling of Indians, as they vainly endeavoured to restrain the rising excitement of their steeds. Henri and Dick stood rooted to the ground, gazing in silent wonder at the fierce and uncontrollable gallop of the thousands of panic-stricken horses that bore down upon the camp with the tumultuous violence of a mighty cataract. As the maddened troop drew nigh, the camp horses began to snort and tremble violently, and when the rush of the wild steeds was almost upon them, they became ungovernable with terror, broke their halters and hobbles, and dashed wildly about. To add to the confusion at that moment, a cloud passed over the moon and threw the whole scene into deep obscurity. Blind with terror, which was probably increased by the din of their own mad flight, the galloping troop came on, and, with a sound like the continuous roar of thunder that for an instant drowned the yell of dog and man, they burst upon the camp, trampling over packs and skins, and dried meat, etcetera, in their headlong speed, and overturning several of the smaller tents. In another moment they swept out upon the plain beyond, and were soon lost in the darkness of the night, while the yelping of dogs, as they vainly pursued them, mingled and gradually died away with the distant thunder of their retreat. This was a "_stampedo_," one of the most extraordinary scenes that can be witnessed in the western wilderness. "Lend a hand, Henri," shouted Joe, who was struggling with a powerful horse. "Wot's comed over yer brains, man? This brute 'll git off if ye don't look sharp." Dick and Henri both answered to the summons, and they succeeded in throwing the struggling animal on its side and holding it down until its excitement was somewhat abated. Pee-eye-em had also been successful in securing his favourite hunter, but nearly every other horse belonging to the camp had broken loose and joined the whirlwind gallop, but they gradually dropped out, and, before morning, the most of them were secured by their owners. As there were at least two thousand horses and an equal number of dogs in the part of the Indian camp which had been thus over-run by the wild mustangs, the turmoil, as may be imagined, was prodigious! Yet, strange to say, no accident of a serious nature occurred beyond the loss of several chargers. In the midst of this exciting scene there was one heart there which beat with a nervous vehemence that well-nigh burst it. This was the heart of Dick Varley's horse, Charlie. Well-known to him was that distant rumbling sound that floated on the night air into the fur-trader's camp where he was picketted close to Cameron's tent. Many a time had he heard the approach of such a wild troop, and often, in days not long gone by, had his shrill neigh rung out as he joined and led the panic-stricken band. He was first to hear the sound, and by his restive actions, to draw the attention of the fur-traders to it. As a precautionary measure they all sprang up and stood by their horses to soothe them, but as a brook with a belt of bushes and quarter of a mile of plain intervened between their camp and the mustangs as they flew past, they had little or no trouble in restraining them. Not so, however, with Charlie. At the very moment that his master was congratulating himself on the supposed security of his position, he wrenched the halter from the hand of him who held it, burst through the barrier of felled trees that had been thrown round the camp, cleared the brook at a bound, and, with a wild hilarious neigh, resumed his old place in the ranks of the free-born mustangs of the prairie. Little did Dick think, when the flood of horses swept past him, that his own good steed was there, rejoicing in his recovered liberty. But Crusoe knew it. Ay, the wind had borne down the information to his acute nose before the living storm burst upon the camp, and when Charlie rushed past with the long tough halter trailing at his heels, Crusoe sprang to his side, seized the end of the halter with his teeth, and galloped off along with him. It was a long gallop and a tough one, but Crusoe held on, for it was a settled principle in his mind _never_ to give in. At first the check upon Charlie's speed was imperceptible, but by degrees the weight of the gigantic dog began to tell, and, after a time, they fell a little to the rear; then, by good fortune, the troop passed through a mass of underwood, and the line, getting entangled, brought their mad career forcibly to a close; the mustangs passed on, and the two friends were left to keep each other company in the dark. How long they would have remained thus is uncertain, for neither of them had sagacity enough to undo a complicated entanglement; fortunately, however, in his energetic tugs at the line, Crusoe's sharp teeth partially severed it, and a sudden start on the part of Charlie caused it to part. Before he could escape, Crusoe again seized the end of it and led him slowly but steadily back to the Indian camp, never halting or turning aside until he had placed the line in Dick Varley's hand. "Hallo, pup! where have ye bin. How did ye bring him here?" exclaimed Dick, as he gazed in amazement at his foam-covered horse. Crusoe wagged his tail, as if to say, "Be thankful that you've got him, Dick, my boy, and don't ask questions that you know I can't answer." "He must ha' broke loose and jined the stampedo," remarked Joe, coming out of the chief's tent at the moment; "but tie him up, Dick, and come in, for we want to settle about startin' to-morrow or nixt day." Having fastened Charlie to a stake, and ordered Crusoe to watch him, Dick re-entered the tent where the council had re-assembled, and where Pee-eye-em--having, in the recent struggle, split the blue surtout completely up to the collar, so that his backbone was visible throughout the greater part of its length--was holding forth in eloquent strains on the subject of peace in general and peace with the Blackfeet, the ancient enemies of the Shirry-dikas, in particular. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. PLANS AND PROSPECTS--DICK BECOMES HOME-SICK, AND HENRI METAPHYSICAL--THE INDIANS ATTACK THE CAMP--A BLOW-UP. On the following day the Indians gave themselves up to unlimited feasting, in consequence of the arrival of a large body of hunters with an immense supply of buffalo meat. It was a regular day of rejoicing. Upwards of six hundred buffaloes had been killed, and as the supply of meat before their arrival had been ample, the camp was now overflowing with plenty. Feasts were given by the chiefs, and the medicine-men went about the camp uttering loud cries, which were meant to express gratitude to the Great Spirit for the bountiful supply of food. They also carried a portion of meat to the aged and infirm who were unable to hunt for themselves, and had no young men in their family circle to hunt for them. This arrival of the hunters was a fortunate circumstance, as it put the Indians in great good-humour, and inclined them to hold friendly intercourse with the trappers, who for some time continued to drive a brisk trade in furs. Having no market for the disposal of their furs, the Indians of course had more than they knew what to do with, and were therefore glad to exchange those of the most beautiful and valuable kind for a mere trifle, so that the trappers laid aside their traps for a time and devoted themselves to traffic. Meanwhile Joe Blunt and his friends made preparations for their return journey. "Ye see," remarked Joe to Henri and Dick, as they sat beside the fire in Pee-eye-em's lodge, and feasted on a potful of grasshopper soup, which the great chiefs squaw had just placed before them,--"ye see, my calc'lations is as follows. Wot with trappin' beavers and huntin', we three ha' made enough to sot us up, an it likes us, in the Mustang Valley--" "Ha!" interrupted Dick, remitting for a few seconds the use of his teeth in order to exercise his tongue,--"ha! Joe, but it don't like _me_! What, give up a hunter's life and become a farmer? I should think not!" "Bon!" ejaculated Henri, but whether the remark had reference to the grasshopper soup or the sentiment, we cannot tell. "Well," continued Joe, commencing to devour a large buffalo steak with a hunter's appetite, "ye'll please yourselves, lads, as to that; but, as I wos sayin', we've got a powerful lot o' furs, an' a big pack o' odds and ends for the Injuns we chance to meet with by the way, an' powder and lead to last us a twelve-month, besides five good horses to carry us an' our packs over the plains; so if it's agreeable to you, I mean to make a bee-line for the Mustang Valley. We're pretty sure to meet with Blackfeet on the way, and if we do we'll try to make peace between them an' the Snakes. I 'xpect it'll be pretty well on for six weeks afore we git to home, so we'll start to-morrow." "Dat is fat vill do ver' vell," said Henri; "vill you please donnez me one petit morsel of steak." "I'm ready for anything, Joe," cried Dick, "you are leader. Just point the way, and I'll answer for two o' us followin' ye--eh! won't we, Crusoe?" "We will," remarked the dog quietly. "How comes it," inquired Dick, "that these Indians don't care for our tobacco?" "They like their own better, I s'pose," answered Joe; "most all the western Injuns do. They make it o' the dried leaves o' the shumack and the inner bark o' the red-willow, chopped very small an' mixed together. They call this stuff _Kinnekinnik_, but they like to mix about a fourth o' our tobacco with it, so Pee-eye-em tells me, an' he's a good judge; the amount that red-skinned mortal smokes _is_ oncommon." "What are they doin' yonder?" inquired Dick, pointing to a group of men who had been feasting for some time past in front of a tent within sight of our trio. "Goin' to sing, I think," replied Joe. As he spoke, six young warriors were seen to work their bodies about in a very remarkable way, and give utterance to still more remarkable sounds, which gradually increased until the singers burst out into that terrific yell, or war-whoop, for which American savages have long been famous. Its effect would save been appalling to unaccustomed ears. Then they allowed their voices to die away in soft, plaintive tones, while their action corresponded thereto. Suddenly the furious style was revived, and the men wrought themselves into a condition little short of madness, while their yells rung wildly through the camp. This was too much for ordinary canine nature to withstand, so all the dogs in the neighbourhood joined in the horrible chorus. Crusoe had long since learned to treat the eccentricities of Indians and their curs with dignified contempt. He paid no attention to this serenade, but lay sleeping by the fire until Dick and his companions rose to take leave of their host, and return to the camp of the fur-traders. The remainder of that night was spent in making preparations for setting forth on the morrow, and when, at grey dawn, Dick and Crusoe lay down to snatch a few hours' repose, the yells and howling in the Snake camp were going on as vigorously as ever. The sun had arisen, and his beams were just tipping the summits of the Rocky Mountains, causing the snowy peaks to glitter like flame, and the deep ravines and gorges to look sombre and mysterious by contrast, when Dick, and Joe, and Henri mounted their gallant steeds, and, with Crusoe gambolling before, and the two pack-horses trotting by their side, turned their faces eastward, and bade adieu to the Indian camp. Crusoe was in great spirits. He was perfectly well aware that he and his companions were on their way home, and testified his satisfaction by bursts of scampering over the hills and valleys. Doubtless he thought of Dick Varley's cottage, and of Dick's mild, kind-hearted mother. Undoubtedly, too, he thought of his own mother, Fan, and felt a glow of filial affection as he did so. Of this we feel quite certain. He would have been unworthy the title of hero if he hadn't. Perchance he thought of Grumps, but of this we are not quite so sure. We rather think, upon the whole, that he did. Dick, too, let his thoughts run away in the direction of _home_. Sweet word! Those who have never left it cannot, by any effort of imagination, realise the full import of the word "home." Dick was a bold hunter, but he was young, and this was his first long expedition. Oftentimes, when sleeping under the trees and gazing dreamily up through the branches at the stars, had he thought of home, until his longing heart began to yearn to return. He repelled such tender feelings, however, when they became too strong, deeming them unmanly, and sought to turn his mind to the excitements of the chase, but latterly his efforts were in vain. He became thoroughly home-sick, and, while admitting the fact to himself, he endeavoured to conceal it from his comrades. He thought that he was successful in this attempt. Poor Dick Varley! as yet he was sadly ignorant of human nature. Henri knew it, and Joe Blunt knew it. Even Crusoe knew that something was wrong with his master, although he could not exactly make out what it was. But Crusoe made memoranda in the note-book of his memory. He jotted down the peculiar phases of his master's new disease with the care and minute exactness of a physician; and, we doubt not, ultimately added the knowledge of the symptoms of homesickness to his already well-filled stores of erudition. It was not till they had set out on their homeward journey that Dick Varley's spirits revived, and it was not till they reached the beautiful prairies on the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains, and galloped over the green sward towards the Mustang Valley, that Dick ventured to tell Joe Blunt what his feelings had been. "D'ye know, Joe," he said confidentially, reining up his gallant steed after a sharp gallop, "d'ye know I've bin feelin' awful low for some time past." "I know it, lad," answered Joe, with a quiet smile, in which there was a dash of something that implied he knew more than he chose to express. Dick felt surprised, but he continued, "I wonder what it could have bin. I never felt so before." "'Twas homesickness, boy," returned Joe. "How d'ye know that?" "The same way as how I know most things, by experience an' obsarvation. I've bin home-sick myself once--but it was long, long agone." Dick felt much relieved at this candid confession by such a bronzed veteran, and, the chords of sympathy having been struck, he opened up his heart at once, to the evident delight of Henri, who, among other curious partialities, was extremely fond of listening to and taking part in conversations that bordered on the metaphysical, and were hard to be understood. Most conversations that were not connected with eating and hunting were of this nature to Henri. "Hom'-sik," he cried, "veech mean bein' sik of hom'! hah! dat is fat I am always be, ven I goes hout on de expedition. Oui, vraiment." "I always packs up," continued Joe, paying no attention to Henri's remark,--"I always packs up an' sots off for home when I gits home-sick; it's the best cure, an' when hunters are young like you, Dick, it's the only cure. I've know'd fellers a'most die o' homesickness, an' I'm told they _do_ go under altogether sometimes." "Go onder!" exclaimed Henri; "oui, I vas all but die myself ven I fust try to git away from hom'. If I have not git away, I not be here to-day." Henri's idea of homesickness was so totally opposed to theirs, that his comrades only laughed, and refrained from attempting to set him right. "The fust time I was took bad with it wos in a country somethin' like that," said Joe, pointing to the wide stretch of undulating prairie, dotted with clusters of trees and wandering streamlets, that lay before them; "I had bin out about two months, an wos makin' a good thing of it, for game wos plenty, when I began to think somehow more than usual o' home. My mother wos alive then." Joe's voice sank to a deep, solemn tone as he said this, and for a few minutes he rode on in silence. "Well, it grew worse and worse, I dreamed o' home all night, an' thought of it all day, till I began to shoot bad, an' my comrades wos gittin' tired o' me; so says I to them one night, says I, `I give out, lads, I'll make tracks for the settlement to-morrow.' They tried to laugh me out of it at first, but it was no go, so I packed up, bid them good-day, an' sot off alone on a trip o' five hundred miles. The very first mile o' the way back I began to mend, and before two days I wos all right again." Joe was interrupted at this point by the sudden appearance of a solitary horseman on the brow of an eminence not half a mile distant. The three friends instantly drove their pack-horses behind a clump of trees, but not in time to escape the vigilant eye of the Red-man, who uttered a loud shout, which brought up a band of his comrades at full gallop. "Remember, Henri," cried Joe Blunt, "our errand is one of _peace_." The caution was needed, for in the confusion of the moment Henri was making preparation to sell his life as dearly as possible. Before another word could be uttered, they were surrounded by a troop of about twenty yelling Blackfeet Indians. They were, fortunately, not a war-party, and, still more fortunately, they were peaceably disposed, and listened to the preliminary address of Joe Blunt with exemplary patience; after which the two parties encamped on the spot, the council-fire was lighted, and every preparation made for a long palaver. We will not trouble the reader with the details of what was said on this occasion. The party of Indians was a small one, and no chief of any importance was attached to it. Suffice it to say that the pacific overtures made by Joe were well received, the trifling gifts made thereafter were still better received, and they separated with mutual expressions of good will. Several other bands which were afterwards met with were equally friendly, and only one war-party was seen. Joe's quick eye observed it in time to enable them to retire unseen behind the shelter of some trees, where they remained until the Indian warriors were out of sight. The next party they met with, however, were more difficult to manage, and, unfortunately, blood was shed on both sides before our travellers escaped. It was at the close of a beautiful day that a war-party of Blackfeet were seen riding along a ridge on the horizon. It chanced that the prairie at this place was almost destitute of trees or shrubs large enough to conceal the horses. By dashing down the grassy wave into the hollow between the two undulations, and dismounting, Joe hoped to elude the savages, so he gave the word,--but at the same moment a shout from the Indians told that they were discovered. "Look sharp, lads, throw down the packs on the highest point of the ridge," cried Joe, undoing the lashings, seizing one of the bales of goods, and hurrying to the top of the undulation with it; "we must keep them at arm's length, boys--be alive. War-parties are not to be trusted." Dick and Henri seconded Joe's efforts so ably, that in the course of two minutes the horses were unloaded, the packs piled in the form of a wall in front of a broken piece of ground, the horses picketted close beside them, and our three travellers peeping over the edge, with their rifles cocked, while the savages--about thirty in number--came sweeping down towards them. "I'll try to git them to palaver," said Joe Blunt, "but keep yer eye on 'em, Dick, an' if they behave ill, shoot the _horse_ o' the leadin' chief. I'll throw up my left hand as a signal. Mind, lad, don't hit human flesh till my second signal is given, and see that Henri don't draw till I git back to ye." So saying, Joe sprang lightly over the slight parapet of their little fortress, and ran swiftly out, unarmed, towards the Indians. In a few seconds he was close up with them, and in another moment was surrounded. At first the savages brandished their spears and rode round the solitary man, yelling like fiends, as if they wished to intimidate him; but as Joe stood like a statue, with his arms crossed, and a grave expression of contempt on his countenance, they quickly desisted, and, drawing near, asked him where he came from, and what he was doing there. Joe's story was soon told; but instead of replying, they began to shout vociferously, and evidently meant mischief. "If the Blackfeet are afraid to speak to the Pale-face, he will go back to his braves," said Joe, passing suddenly between two of the warriors and taking a few steps towards the camp. Instantly every bow was bent, and it seemed as if our bold hunter were about to be pierced by a hundred arrows, when he turned round and cried:-- "The Blackfeet must not advance a single step. The first that moves his _horse_ shall die. The second that moves _himself_ shall die." To this the Blackfoot chief replied scornfully, "The Pale-face talks with a big mouth. We do not believe his words. The Snakes are liars, we will make no peace with them." While he was yet speaking, Joe threw up his hand; there was a loud report, and the noble horse of the savage chief lay struggling in death agony on the ground. The use of the rifle, as we have before hinted, was little known at this period among the Indians of the far west, and many had never heard the dreaded report before, although all were aware, from hearsay, of its fatal power. The fall of the chief's horse, therefore, quite paralysed them for a few moments, and they had not recovered from their surprise when a second report was heard, a bullet whistled past, and a second horse fell. At the same moment there was a loud explosion in the camp of the Pale-faces, a white cloud enveloped it, and from the midst of this a loud shriek was heard, as Dick, Henri, and Crusoe bounded over the packs with frantic gestures. At this the gaping savages wheeled their steeds round, the dismounted horsemen sprang on behind two of their comrades, and the whole band dashed away over the plains as if they were chased by evil spirits. Meanwhile Joe hastened towards his comrades in a state of great anxiety, for he knew at once that one of the powder-horns must have been accidentally blown up. "No damage done, boys, I hope?" he cried on coming up. "Damage!" cried Henri, holding his hands tight over his face. "Oh! oui, great damage--moche damage, me two eyes be blowed out of dere holes." "Not quite so bad as that, I hope," said Dick, who was very slightly singed, and forgot his own hurts in anxiety about his comrade. "Let me see?" "My eye!" exclaimed Joe Blunt, while a broad grin overspread his countenance, "ye've not improved yer looks, Henri." This was true. The worthy hunter's hair was singed to such an extent that his entire countenance presented the appearance of a universal frizzle. Fortunately the skin, although much blackened, was quite uninjured, a fact which, when he ascertained it beyond a doubt, afforded so much satisfaction to Henri, that he capered about shouting with delight, as if some piece of good fortune had befallen him. The accident had happened in consequence of Henri having omitted to replace the stopper of his powder-horn, and when, in his anxiety for Joe, he fired at random amongst the Indians, despite Dick's entreaties to wait, a spark communicated with the powder-horn and blew him up. Dick and Crusoe were only a little singed, but the former was not disposed to quarrel with an accident which had sent their enemies so promptly to the right-about. This band followed them for some nights, in the hope of being able to steal their horses while they slept; but they were not brave enough to venture a second time within range of the death-dealing rifle. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. DANGERS OF THE PRAIRIE--OUR TRAVELLERS ATTACKED BY INDIANS, AND DELIVERED IN A REMARKABLE MANNER. There are periods in the life of almost all men when misfortunes seem to crowd upon them in rapid succession, when they escape from one danger only to encounter another, and when, to use a well-known expression, they succeed in leaping out of the frying-pan at the expense of plunging into the fire. So was it with our three friends upon this occasion. They were scarcely rid of the Blackfeet, who found them too watchful to be caught napping, when, about daybreak one morning they encountered a roving band of Camanchee Indians, who wore such a warlike aspect that Joe deemed it prudent to avoid them if possible. "They don't see us yit, I guess," said Joe, as he and his companions drove the horses into a hollow between the grassy waves of the prairie, "any if we only can escape their sharp eyes till we're in yonder clump o' willows, we're safe enough." "But why don't you ride up to them, Joe," inquired Dick, "and make peace between them and the Pale-faces, as you ha' done with other bands?" "Because it's o' no use to risk our scalps for the chance o' makin' peace wi' a rovin' war-party. Keep yer head down, Henri! If they git only a sight o' the top o' yer cap, they'll be down on us like a breeze o' _wind_." "Hah! let dem come!" said Henri. "They'll come without askin' yer leave," remarked Joe drily. Notwithstanding his defiant expression, Henri had sufficient prudence to induce him to bend his head and shoulders, and in a few minutes they reached the shelter of the willows unseen by the savages. At least so thought Henri, Joe was not quite sure about it, and Dick hoped for the best. In the course of half an hour the last of the Camanchees was seen to hover for a second on the horizon, like a speck of black against the sky, and then to disappear. Immediately the three hunters bolted on their steeds and resumed their journey; but before that evening closed they had sad evidence of the savage nature of the band from which they had escaped. On passing the brow of a slight eminence, Dick, who rode first, observed that Crusoe stopped and snuffed the breeze in an anxious, inquiring manner. "What is't, pup?" said Dick, drawing up, for he knew that his faithful dog never gave a false alarm. Crusoe replied by a short, uncertain bark, and then bounding forward, disappeared behind a little wooded knoll. In another moment a long, dismal howl floated over the plains. There was a mystery about the dog's conduct which, coupled with his melancholy cry, struck the travellers with a superstitious feeling of dread, as they sat looking at each other in surprise. "Come, let's clear it up," cried Joe Blunt, shaking the reins of his steed, and galloping forward. A few strides brought them to the other side of the knoll where, scattered upon the torn and bloody turf, they discovered the scalped and mangled remains of about twenty or thirty human beings. Their skulls had been cleft by the tomahawk, and their breasts pierced by the scalping-knife; and from the position in which many of them lay, it was evident that they had been slain while asleep. Joe's brow flushed, and his lips became tightly compressed, as he muttered between his set teeth, "Their skins are white." A short examination sufficed to show that the men who had thus been barbarously murdered while they slept had been a band of trappers, or hunters; but what their errand had been, or whence they came, they could not discover. Everything of value had been carried off, and all the scalps had been taken. Most of the bodies, although much mutilated, lay in a posture that led our hunters to believe they had been killed while asleep; but one or two were cut almost to pieces, and from the blood-bespattered and trampled sward around, it seemed as if they had struggled long and fiercely for life. Whether or not any of the savages had been slain, it was impossible to tell, for if such had been the case, their comrades, doubtless, had carried away their bodies. That they had been slaughtered by the party of Camanchees who had been seen at daybreak, was quite clear to Joe; but his burning desire to revenge the death of the white men had to be stifled, as his party was so small. Long afterwards it was discovered that this was a band of trappers who, like those mentioned at the beginning of this volume, had set out to avenge the death of a comrade; but God, who has retained the right of vengeance in His own hand, saw fit to frustrate their purpose, by giving them into the hands of the savages whom they had set forth to slay. As it was impossible to bury so many bodies, the travellers resumed their journey, and left them to bleach there in the wilderness; but they rode the whole of that day almost without uttering a word. Meanwhile the Camanchees, who had observed the trio, and had ridden away at first for the purpose of deceiving them into the belief that they had passed unobserved, doubled on their track, and took a long sweep in order to keep out of sight until they could approach under the shelter of a belt of woodland towards which the travellers now approached. The Indians adopted this course instead of the easier method of simply pursuing so weak a party, because the plains at this part were bordered by a long stretch of forest into which the hunters could have plunged, and rendered pursuit more difficult, if not almost useless. The detour thus taken was so extensive that the shades of evening were beginning to descend before they could put their plan into execution. The forest lay about a mile to the right of our hunters, like some dark mainland, of which the prairie was the sea, and the scattered clumps of wood the islands. "There's no lack o' game here," said Dick Varley, pointing to a herd of buffaloes which rose at their approach, and fled away towards the wood. "I think we'll ha' thunder soon," remarked Joe. "I never feel it onnatteral hot like this without looking out for a plump." "Hah! den ve better look hout for one goot tree to get b'low," suggested Henri. "Voila!" he added, pointing with his finger towards the plain; "dere am a lot of wild hosses." A troop of about thirty wild horses appeared, as he spoke, on the brow of a ridge, and advanced slowly towards them. "Hist!" exclaimed Joe, reining up; "hold on, lads. Wild horses! my rifle to a pop-gun there's wilder men on t'other side o' them." "What mean you, Joe?" inquired Dick, riding close up. "D'ye see the little lumps on the shoulder o' each horse?" said Joe. "Them's Injun's _feet_; an' if we don't want to lose our scalps we'd better make for the forest." Joe proved himself to be in earnest by wheeling round and making straight for the thick woods as fast as his horse could run. The others followed, driving the pack-horses before them. The effect of this sudden movement on the so-called "wild horses" was very remarkable, and to one unacquainted with the habits of the Camanchee Indians, must have appeared almost supernatural. In the twinkling of an eye every steed had a rider on its back, and before the hunters had taken five strides in the direction of the forest, the whole band were in hot pursuit, yelling like furies. The manner in which these Indians accomplish this feat is very singular, and implies great activity and strength of muscle on the part of the savages. The Camanchees are low in stature, and usually are rather corpulent. In their movements on foot they are heavy and ungraceful, and they are, on the whole, a slovenly and unattractive race of men. But the instant they mount their horses they seem to be entirely changed, and surprise the spectator with the ease and elegance of their movements. Their great and distinctive peculiarity as horsemen is the power they have acquired of throwing themselves suddenly on either side of their horse's body, and clinging on in such a way that no part of them is visible from the other side save the foot by which they cling. In this manner they approach their enemies at full gallop, and without rising again to the saddle, discharge their arrows at them over their horses' backs, or even under their necks. This apparently magical feat is accomplished by means of a halter of horsehair, which is passed round under the neck of the horse, and both ends braided into the mane, on the withers, thus forming a loop which hangs under the neck and against the breast. This being caught by the hand, makes a sling, into which the elbow falls, taking the weight of the body on the middle of the upper arm. Into this loop the rider drops suddenly and fearlessly, leaving his heel to hang over the horse's back, to steady him, and also to restore him to his seat when desired. By this stratagem the Indians had approached on the present occasion almost within rifle range before they were discovered, and it required the utmost speed of the hunters' horses to enable them to avoid being overtaken. One of the Indians, who was better mounted than his fellows, gained on the fugitives so much that he came within arrow range, but reserved his shaft until they were close on the margin of the wood, when, being almost alongside of Henri, he fitted an arrow to his bow. Henri's eye was upon him, however; letting go the line of the pack-horse which he was leading, he threw forward his rifle, but at the same moment the savage disappeared behind his horse, and an arrow whizzed past the hunter's ear. Henri fired at the horse, which dropped instantly, hurling the astonished Camanchee upon the ground, where he lay for some time insensible. In a few seconds pursued and pursuers entered the wood, where both had to advance with caution, in order to avoid being swept off by the overhanging branches of the trees. Meanwhile the sultry heat of which Joe had formerly spoken increased considerably, and a rumbling noise, as if of distant thunder, was heard; but the flying hunters paid no attention to it, for the led horses gave them so much trouble, and retarded their flight so much, that the Indians were gradually and visibly gaining on them. "We'll ha' to let the packs go," said Joe, somewhat bitterly, as he looked over his shoulder. "Our scalps 'll pay for't if we don't." Henri uttered a peculiar and significant _hiss_ between his teeth, as he said, "P'raps ve better stop and fight!" Dick said nothing, being resolved to do exactly what Joe Blunt bid him; and Crusoe, for reasons best known to himself, also said nothing, but bounded along beside his master's horse, casting an occasional glance upwards to catch any signal that might be given. They had passed over a considerable space of ground, and were forcing their way, at the imminent hazard of their necks, through a densely-clothed part of the wood, when the sound above referred to increased, attracting the attention of both parties. In a few seconds the air was filled with a steady and continuous rumbling sound, like the noise of a distant cataract. Pursuers and fugitives drew rein instinctively, and came to a dead stand, while the rumbling increased to a roar, and evidently approached them rapidly, though as yet nothing to cause it could be seen, except that there was a dense, dark cloud overspreading the sky to the southward. The air was oppressively still and hot. "What can't be?" inquired Dick, looking at Joe, who was gazing with an expression of wonder, not unmixed with concern, at the southern sky. "Dunno, boy. I've bin more in the woods than in the clearin' in my day, but I niver heerd the likes o' that." "It am like t'ondre," said Henri; "mais it nevair do stop." This was true. The sound was similar to continuous, uninterrupted thunder. On it came with a magnificent roar that shook the very earth, and revealed itself at last in the shape of a mighty whirlwind. In a moment the distant woods bent before it, and fell like grass before the scythe. It was a whirling hurricane, accompanied by a deluge of rain such as none of the party had ever before witnessed. Steadily, fiercely, irresistibly, it bore down upon them, while the crash of falling, snapping, and uprooting trees mingled with the dire artillery of that sweeping storm like the musketry on a battle-field. "Follow me, lads!" shouted Joe, turning his horse and dashing at full speed towards a rocky eminence that offered shelter. But shelter was not needed. The storm was clearly defined. Its limits were as distinctly marked by its Creator as if it had been a living intelligence sent forth to put a belt of desolation round the world; and, although the edge of devastation was not five hundred yards from the rock behind which the hunters were stationed, only a few drops of ice-cold rain fell upon them. It passed directly between the Camanchee Indians and their intended victims, placing between them a barrier which it would have taken days to cut through. The storm blew for an hour, then it travelled onward in its might, and was lost in distance. Whence it came and whither it went none could tell; but, far as the eye could see on either hand, an avenue a quarter of a mile wide was cut through the forest. It had levelled everything with the dust; the very grass was beaten flat, the trees were torn, shivered, snapped across, and crushed; and the earth itself in many places was ploughed up and furrowed with deep scars. The chaos was indescribable, and it is probable that centuries will not quite obliterate the work of that single hour. While it lasted, Joe and his comrades remained speechless and awe-stricken. When it passed, no Indians were to be seen. So our hunters remounted their steeds, and, with feelings of gratitude to God for having delivered them alike from savage foes and from the destructive power of the whirlwind, resumed their journey towards the Mustang Valley. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. ANXIOUS FEARS FOLLOWED BY A JOYFUL SURPRISE--SAFE HOME AT LAST, AND HAPPY HEARTS. One fine afternoon, a few weeks after the storm of which we have given an account in the last chapter, old Mrs Varley was seated beside her own chimney corner in the little cottage by the lake, gazing at the glowing logs with the earnest expression of one whose thoughts were far away. Her kind face was paler than usual, and her hands rested idly on her knee, grasping the knitting wires to which was attached a half-finished stocking. On a stool near to her sat young Marston, the lad to whom, on the day of the shooting match, Dick Varley had given his old rifle. The boy had an anxious look about him, as he lifted his eyes from time to time to the widow's face. "Did ye say, my boy, that they were _all_ killed?" inquired Mrs Varley, awaking from her reverie with a deep sigh. "Every one," replied Marston. "Jim Scraggs, who brought the news, said they wos all lyin' dead with their scalps off. They wos a party o' white men." Mrs Varley sighed again, and her face assumed an expression of anxious pain as she thought of her son Dick being exposed to a similar fate. Mrs Varley was not given to nervous fears; but as she listened to the boy's recital of the slaughter of a party of white men, news of which had just reached the valley, her heart sank, and she prayed inwardly to Him who is the husband of the widow that her dear one might be protected from the ruthless hand of the savage. After a short pause, during which young Marston fidgeted about and looked concerned, as if he had something to say which he would fain leave unsaid, Mrs Varley continued:-- "Was it far off where the bloody deed was done?" "Yes; three weeks off, I believe. And Jim Scraggs said that he found a knife that looked like the one wot belonged to--to--" the lad hesitated. "To whom, my boy? Why don't ye go on?" "To your son Dick." The widow's hands dropped by her side, and she would have fallen had not Marston caught her. "O mother dear, don't take on like that!" he cried, smoothing down the widow's hair as her head rested on his breast. For some time Mrs Varley suffered the boy to fondle her in silence, while her breast laboured with anxious dread. "Tell me all," she said at last, recovering a little. "Did Jim see-- Dick?" "No," answered the boy. "He looked at all the bodies, but did not find his; so he sent me over here to tell ye that p'raps he's escaped." Mrs Varley breathed more freely, and earnestly thanked God; but her fears soon returned when she thought of his being a prisoner, and recalled the tales of terrible cruelty often related of the savages. While she was still engaged in closely questioning the lad, Jim Scraggs himself entered the cottage, and endeavoured in a gruff sort of way to re-assure the widow. "Ye see, mistress," he said, "Dick is a oncommon tough customer, an' if he could only git fifty yards start, there's not a Injun in the west as could git hold o' him agin; so don't be takin' on." "But what if he's bin taken prisoner?" said the widow. "Ay, that's jest wot I've comed about. Ye see it's not onlikely he's bin took; so about thirty o' the lads o' the valley are ready jest now to start away and give the red riptiles chase, an' I come to tell ye; so keep up heart, mistress." With this parting word of comfort, Jim withdrew, and Marston soon followed, leaving the widow to weep and pray in solitude. Meanwhile an animated scene was going on near the block-house. Here thirty of the young hunters of the Mustang Valley were assembled, actively engaged in supplying themselves with powder and lead, and tightening their girths, preparatory to setting out in pursuit of the Indians who had murdered the white men, while hundreds of boys and girls, and not a few matrons, crowded round and listened to the conversation, and to the deep threats of vengeance that were uttered ever and anon by the younger men. Major Hope, too, was among them. The worthy major, unable to restrain his roving propensities, determined to revisit the Mustang Valley, and had arrived only two days before. Backwoodsmen's preparations are usually of the shortest and simplest. In a few minutes the cavalcade was ready, and away they went towards the prairies, with the bold major at their head. But their journey was destined to come to an abrupt and unexpected close. A couple of hours' gallop brought them to the edge of one of those open plains which sometimes break up the woodland near the verge of the great prairies. It stretched out like a green lake towards the horizon, on which, just as the band of horsemen reached it, the sun was descending in a blaze of glory. With a shout of enthusiasm, several of the younger members of the party sprang forward into the plain at a gallop; but the shout was mingled with one of a different tone from the older men. "Hist!--hallo!--hold on, ye cat-a-mounts! There's Injuns ahead!" The whole band came to a sudden halt at this cry, and watched eagerly, and for some time in silence, the motions of a small party of horsemen who were seen in the far distance, like black specks on the golden sky. "They come this way, I think," said Major Hope, after gazing steadfastly at them for some minutes. Several of the old hands signified their assent to this suggestion by a grunt, although to unaccustomed eyes the objects in question looked more like crows than horsemen, and their motion was for some time scarcely perceptible. "I sees pack-horses among them," cried young Marston in an excited tone; "an' there's three riders; but there's somethin' else, only wot it be I can't tell." "Ye've sharp eyes, younker," remarked one of the men, "an' I do b'lieve yer right." Presently the horsemen approached, and soon there was a brisk fire of guessing as to who they could be. It was evident that the strangers observed the cavalcade of white men, and regarded them as friends, for they did not check the headlong speed at which they approached. In a few minutes they were clearly made out to be a party of three horsemen driving pack-horses before them, and _somethin'_ which some of the hunters guessed was a buffalo calf. Young Marston guessed too, but his guess was different. Moreover, it was uttered with a yell that would have done credit to the fiercest of all the savages. "Crusoe!" he shouted, while at the same moment he brought his whip heavily down on the flank of his little horse, and sprang over the prairie like an arrow. One of the approaching horsemen was far ahead of his comrades, and seemed as if encircled with the flying and voluminous mane of his magnificent horse. "Hah! ho!" gasped Marston in a low tone to himself, as he flew along. "Crusoe! I'd know ye, dog, among a thousand! A buffalo calf! Ha! git on with ye!" This last part of the remark was addressed to his horse, and was followed by a whack that increased the pace considerably. The space between two such riders was soon devoured. "Hallo! Dick,--Dick Varley!" "Eh! why, Marston, my boy!" The friends reined up so suddenly, that one might have fancied they had met like the knights of old in the shock of mortal conflict. "Is't yerself, Dick Varley?" Dick held out his hand, and his eyes glistened, but he could not find words. Marston seized it, and pushing his horse close up, vaulted nimbly off and alighted on Charlie's back behind his friend. "Off ye go, Dick! I'll take ye to yer mother." Without reply, Dick shook the reins, and in another minute was in the midst of the hunters. To the numberless questions that were put to him he only waited to shout aloud, "We're all safe! They'll tell ye all about it," he added, pointing to his comrades, who were now close at hand; and then, dashing onward, made straight for home, with little Marston clinging to his waist like a monkey. Charlie was fresh, and so was Crusoe; so you may be sure it was not long before they all drew up opposite the door of the widow's cottage. Before Dick could dismount, Marston had slipped off, and was already in the kitchen. "Here's Dick, mother!" The boy was an orphan, and loved the widow so much that he had come at last to call her mother. Before another word could be uttered, Dick Varley was in the room. Marston immediately stepped out, and softly shut the door. Reader, we shall not open it! Having shut the door, as we have said, Marston ran down to the edge of the lake, and yelled with delight--usually terminating each paroxysm with the Indian war-whoop, with which he was well acquainted. Then he danced, and then he sat down on a rock, and became suddenly aware that there were other hearts there, close beside him, as glad as his own. Another mother of the Mustang Valley was rejoicing over a long-lost son. Crusoe and his mother Fan were scampering round each other in a manner that evinced powerfully the strength of their mutual affection. Talk of holding converse! Every hair on Crusoe's body, every motion of his limbs, was eloquent with silent language. He gazed into his mother's mild eyes as if he would read her inmost soul (supposing that she had one). He turned his head to every possible angle, and cocked his ears to every conceivable elevation, and rubbed his nose against Fan's, and barked softly, in every imaginable degree of modulation, and varied these proceedings by bounding away at full speed over the rocks of the beach, and in among the bushes and out again, but always circling round and round Fan, and keeping her in view! It was a sight worth seeing, and young Marston sat down on a rock, deliberately and enthusiastically, to gloat over it. But perhaps the most remarkable part of it has not yet been referred to. There was yet another heart there that was glad--exceeding glad--that day. It was a little one too, but it was big for the body that held it. Grumps was there, and all that Grumps did was to sit on his haunches and stare at Fan and Crusoe, and wag his tail as well as he could in so awkward a position! Grumps was evidently bewildered with delight, and had lost nearly all power to express it. Crusoe's conduct towards him, too, was not calculated to clear his faculties. Every time he chanced to pass near Grumps in his elephantine gambols, he gave him a passing touch with his nose, which always knocked him head over heels; whereat Grumps invariably got up quickly and wagged his tail with additional energy. Before the feelings of those canine friends were calmed, they were all three ruffled into a state of comparative exhaustion. Then young Marston called Crusoe to him, and Crusoe, obedient to the voice of friendship, went. "Are you happy, my dog?" "You're a stupid fellow to ask such a question; however, it's an amiable one. Yes, I am." "What do _you_ want, ye small bundle o' hair?" This was addressed to Grumps, who came forward innocently, and sat down to listen to the conversation. On being thus sternly questioned, the little dog put down its ears flat, and hung its head, looking up at the same time with a deprecatory look as if to say, "Oh, dear! I beg pardon; I--I only want to sit near Crusoe, please, but if you wish it I'll go away, sad and lonely, with my tail _very_ much between my legs--indeed I will, only say the word, but--but I'd _rather_ stay if I might." "Poor bundle!" said Marston, patting its head, "you can stay then. Hooray! Crusoe, are you happy, I say? Does your heart bound in you like a cannon ball that wants to find its way out and can't--eh?" Crusoe put his snout against Marston's cheek, and, in the excess of his joy, the lad threw his arms round the dog's neck and hugged it vigorously, a piece of impulsive affection which that noble animal bore with characteristic meekness, and which Grumps regarded with idiotic satisfaction. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. REJOICINGS--THE FEAST AT THE BLOCK-HOUSE--GRUMPS AND CRUSOE COME OUT STRONG--THE CLOSING SCENE. The day of Dick's arrival with his companions was a great day in the annals of the Mustang Valley, and Major Hope resolved to celebrate it by an impromptu festival at the old block-house; for many hearts in the valley had been made glad that day, and he knew full well that, under such circumstances, some safety-valve must be devised for the escape of overflowing excitement. A messenger was sent round to invite the population to assemble without delay in front of the block-house. With backwoods-like celerity the summons was obeyed; men, women, and children hurried towards the central point wondering, yet more than half suspecting, what was the major's object in calling them together. They were not long in doubt. The first sight that presented itself as they came trooping up the slope in front of the log hut, was an ox roasting whole before a gigantic bonfire. Tables were being extemporised on the broad level plot in front of the gate. Other fires there were, of smaller dimensions, on which sundry steaming pots were placed, and various joints of wild horse, bear, and venison roasted, and sent forth a savoury odour as well as a pleasant hissing noise. The inhabitants of the block-house were self-taught brewers, and the result of their recent labours now stood displayed in a row of goodly casks of beer--the only beverage with which the dwellers in these far-off regions were wont to regale themselves. The whole scene--as the cooks moved actively about upon the lawn, and children romped round the fires, and settlers came flocking through the forests--might have recalled the revelry of merry England in the olden time, though the costumes of the far west were, perhaps, somewhat different from those of old England. No one of all the band assembled there on that day of rejoicing required to ask what it was all about. Had any one been in doubt for a moment, a glance at the centre of the crowd assembled round the gate of the western fortress would have quickly enlightened him; for there stood Dick Varley, and his mild-looking mother, and his loving dog, Crusoe. There, too, stood Joe Blunt, like a bronzed warrior returned from the fight, turning from one to another as question poured in upon question almost too rapidly to permit of a reply. There, too, stood Henri, making enthusiastic speeches to whoever chose to listen to him,--now glaring at the crowd, with clenched fists and growling voice, as he told of how Joe and he had been tied hand and foot, and lashed to poles and buried in leaves, and threatened with a slow death by torture,--at other times bursting into a hilarious laugh as he held forth on the predicament of Mahtawa when that wily chief was treed by Crusoe in the prairie. Young Marston was there too, hanging about Dick, whom he loved as a brother and regarded as a perfect hero. Grumps, too, was there, and Fan. Do you think, reader, that Grumps looked at any one but Crusoe? If you do you are mistaken. Grumps on that day became a regular, an incorrigible, utter, and perfect nuisance to everybody--not excepting himself, poor beast! Grumps was a dog of one idea, and that idea was Crusoe. Out of that great idea there grew one little secondary idea, and that idea was, that the only joy on earth worth mentioning was to sit on his haunches, exactly six inches from Crusoe's nose, and gaze steadfastly into his face. Wherever Crusoe went Grumps went. If Crusoe stopped Grumps was down before him in an instant. If Crusoe bounded away, which, in the exuberance of his spirits, he often did, Grumps was after him like a bundle of mad hair. He was in everybody's way--in Crusoe's way, and being, so to speak, "beside himself," was also in his own way. If people trod upon him accidentally, which they often did, Grumps uttered a solitary heart-rending yell, proportioned in intensity to the excruciating nature of the torture he endured, then instantly resumed his position and his fascinated stare. Crusoe generally held his head up, and gazed over his little friend at what was going on around him, but if for a moment he permitted his eye to rest on the countenance of Grumps, that creature's tail became suddenly imbued with an amount of wriggling vitality that seemed to threaten its separation from the body. It was really quite interesting to watch this unblushing, and disinterested, and utterly reckless display of affection on the part of Grumps, and the amiable way in which Crusoe put up with it--we say put up with it, advisedly, because it must have been a very great inconvenience to him, seeing that if he attempted to move, his satellite moved in front of him, so that his only way of escaping, temporarily, was by jumping over Grumps's head. Grumps was everywhere all day. Nobody, almost, escaped trampling on part of him. He tumbled over everything, into everything, and against everything. He knocked himself, singed himself, and scalded himself, and in fact forgot himself altogether; and when, late that night, Crusoe went with Dick into his mother's cottage, and the door was shut, Grumps stretched his ruffled, battered, ill-used, and dishevelled little body down on the doorstep, thrust his nose against the opening below the door, and lay in humble contentment all night, for he knew that Crusoe was there. Of course such an occasion could not pass without a shooting match. Rifles were brought out after the feast was over, just before the sun went down into its bed on the western prairies, and "the nail" was soon surrounded by bullets, tipped by Joe Blunt and Jim Scraggs, and, of course, driven home by Dick Varley, whose silver rifle had now become, in its owner's hand, a never-failing weapon. Races, too, were started, and here again Dick stood pre-eminent, and when night spread her dark mantle over the scene, the two best fiddlers in the settlement were placed on empty beer-casks, and some danced by the light of the monster fires, while others listened to Joe Blunt as he recounted their adventures on the prairies and among the Rocky Mountains. There were sweethearts, and wives, and lovers at the feast, but we question whether any heart there was so full of love, and admiration, and gratitude as that of the Widow Varley as she watched her son Dick, throughout that merry evening. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Years rolled by, and the Mustang Valley prospered. Missionaries went there, and a little church was built, and to the blessings of a fertile land were added the far greater blessings of Christian light and knowledge. One sad blow fell on the Widow Varley's heart. Her only brother, Daniel Hood, was murdered by the Indians. Deeply and long she mourned, and it required all Dick's efforts and those of the pastor of the settlement to comfort her. But from the first the widow's heart was sustained by the loving hand that dealt the blow, and when time blunted the keen edge of her feelings, her face became as sweet and mild, though not so lightsome, as before. Joe Blunt and Henri became leading men in the councils of the Mustang Valley, but Dick Varley preferred the woods, although, as long as his mother lived, he hovered round her cottage--going off sometimes for a day, sometimes for a week, but never longer. After her head was laid in the dust, Dick took altogether to the woods with Crusoe and Charlie the wild horse as his only companions, and his mother's Bible in the breast of his hunting shirt. And soon Dick, the bold hunter, and his dog Crusoe, became renowned in the frontier settlements from the banks of the Yellow Stone River to the Gulf of Mexico. Many a grizzly bear did the famous "silver rifle" lay low, and many a wild exciting chase and adventure did Dick go through, but during his occasional visits to the Mustang Valley, he was wont to say to Joe Blunt and Henri--with whom he always sojourned--that "nothin' he ever felt or saw came up to his first grand dash over the Western Prairies into the heart of the Rocky Mountains." And in saying this, with enthusiasm in his eye and voice, Dick invariably appealed to, and received a ready affirmative glance from, his early companion, and his faithful loving friend--the dog Crusoe. THE END. 
14172	----	[Illustration] WILLIS THE PILOT, A Sequel to the Swiss Family Robinson: OR, ADVENTURES OF AN EMIGRANT FAMILY WRECKED ON AN UNKNOWN COAST OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN. INTERSPERSED WITH TALES, INCIDENTS OF TRAVEL, AND ILLUSTRATIONS OF NATURAL HISTORY. BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. NEW YORK: LEE, SHEPARD AND DILLINGHAM. 1875. LITHOTYPED BY COWLES AND COMPANY At the Office of the American Stereotype Company, PHOENIX BUILDING, BOSTON. ILLUSTRATED BY KILBURN & MALLORY PREFACE. The love of adventure that characterises the youth of the present day, and the growing tendency of the surplus European population to seek abroad the comforts that are often denied at home, gives absorbing interest to the narratives of old colonists and settlers in the wonderful regions of the New World. Accordingly, the work known as the _Swiss Family Robinson_ has long enjoyed a well-merited popularity, and has been perused by a multitude of readers, young and old, with profit as well as pleasure. A Swiss clergyman resolved to better his fortune by emigration. In furtherance of this resolution, he embarked with his wife and four sons--the latter ranging from eight to fifteen years of age--for one of the newly-discovered islands in the Pacific Ocean. As far as the coast of New Guinea the voyage had been favorable, but here a violent storm arose, which drove the ill-fated vessel out of its course, and finally cast it a wreck upon an unknown coast. The family succeeded in extricating themselves from the stranded ship, and landed safely on shore; but the remaining passengers and crew all perished. For many years these six individuals struggled alone against a variety of trials and privations, till at length another storm brought the English despatch-boat _Nelson_ within reach of their signals. Such is a brief outline of the events recorded in the _Swiss Family Robinson_. The present volume is virtually a continuation of this narrative. The careers of the four sons--Frank, Ernest, Fritz, and Jack--are taken up where the preceding chronicler left them off. The subsequent adventures of these four young men, by flood and field, are faithfully detailed. With these particulars are mingled the experiences of another interesting family that afterwards became dwellers in the same territory; as are also the sayings and doings of a weather-beaten sailor--Willis the Pilot. The scene is laid chiefly in the South Seas, and the narrative illustrates the geography and ethnology of that section of the Far-West. The difficulties, dangers, and hardships to be encountered in founding a new colony are truthfully set forth, whilst it is shown how readily these are overcome by perseverance and intelligent labor. It will be seen that a liberal education has its uses, even under circumstances the least likely to foster the social amenities, and that, too, not only as regards the mental well-being of its possessors, but also as regards augmenting their material comforts. In the _Swiss Family Robinson_ the resources of Natural History have been largely, and perhaps somewhat freely, drawn upon. This branch of knowledge has, therefore, been left throughout the present volume comparatively untouched. Nevertheless, as it is the aim of the narrator to combine instruction with amusement, the more elementary phenomena of the Physical Sciences have been blended with the current of the story--thus garnishing, as it were, the dry, hard facts of Owen, Liebig, and Arago, with the more attractive, groupings of life and action. The reader has, consequently, in hand a _mélange_ of the useful and agreeable--a little for the grave and a little for the gay--so that, should our endeavors to impart instruction prove unavailing, _en revanche_ we may, perhaps, be more successful in our efforts to amuse. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. The Colony--Reflections on the Past--Ideas of Willis the Pilot--Sophia Wolston CHAPTER II. To what extent Willis the Pilot had Ideas on certain Subjects--The Knights of the Ocean CHAPTER III. Wherein Willis the Pilot proves "Irrefragably" that Ephemerides die of Consumption and Home-Sickness--The Canoe and its Young ones--The Search after the Sloop--Found--The Sword-Fish--Floating Atoms--Admiral Socrates CHAPTER IV. A Landscape--Sad Houses and Smiling Houses--Politeness in China--Eight Soups at Dessert--Wind Merchants--Another Idea of the Pilot's--Susan, vice Sophia CHAPTER V. Allotment of Quarters--A Horse Marine--Travelling Plants--Change of Dynasty in England--A Woman's Kingdom--Sheep converted into Chops--Resurrection of the Fried Fish--A Secret CHAPTER VI. The Queen's Doll--Rockhouse to Falcon's Nest--The Wind--Grasses--Admiral Homer--The Three Frogs--Oat Jelly--Esquimaux Astronomy--An Unknown CHAPTER VII. The Search for the Unknown--Three Fleets on Dry Land--The Indiscretions of a Sugar Cane--Larboard and Starboard--The supposed Sensibility of Plants--The Fly-trap--Vendetta--Root and Germ--Mine and Countermine--The Polypi--Oviparous and Viviparous--A Quid pro Quo CHAPTER VIII. Inhabitant of the Moon, Anthropophagian or Hobgoblin?--The Lacedemonian Stew of Madame Dacier--Utile Dulci--Tête-à-tête between Willis and his Pipe--Tobacco versus Birch--Is it for Eating?--Mosquitoes--The Alarm--Toby--The Nocturnal Expedition--We've got him CHAPTER IX. The Chimpanzee--Imperfect Negro, or Perfect Ape--The Harmonies of Nature--A Handful of Paws--A Stone Skin--Seventeen Spectacles on one Nose--Animalculæ--Pelion on Ossa--Ptolemy--Copernicus to Galileo--Metaphysics and Cosmogonies--A live Tiger CHAPTER X. The Pioneers--Excursion to Coromandel--Hindoo Fancies--A Caged Hunter--Louis XI and Cardinal Balue--A Furlong of News--Carnage--The Baronet and his seventeen Tigers--Fifty-four feet of Celebrity--Sterne's Window--Promenade of the Consciences--Emulation and Vanity CHAPTER XI. On the Watch--Fecundity of Plants and Animals--Latest News from the Moon--A Death-Knell every Second--The Inconveniences of being too near the Sun--Narcotics--Willis contralto--Hunting turned upside down--Electric Clouds--Partialities of Lightning--Bells and Bellringers--Conducting Rods--The Return--The Two Sisters--Toby becomes a Dragoman CHAPTER XII. Man proposes, but God disposes--The Choice of a Profession--Conqueror--Orator--Astronomer--Composer--Painter--Poet--Village Curate--The Kafirs--Occupations of Women--The Alpha and Omega of the Sea CHAPTER XIII. Herbert and Cecilia--The little Angels--A Catastrophe--The Departure--Marriage of the Doge with the Adriatic--Sovereigns of the Sea--Dante and Beatrix--Eleonora and Tasso--Laura and Petrarch--The Return--Surprises--What one finds in Turbots--A Horror--The Price of Crime--Ballooning--Philipson and the Cholera--A Metamorphosis--Adventure of the Chimpanzee--Are you Rich? CHAPTER XIV. The Tears of Childhood and Rain of the Tropics--Charles' Wain--Voluntary Enlistment--A Likeness Guaranteed--The World at Peace--Alas, poor Mary!--The same Breath for two Beings--The first Pillow--The Logic of the Heart--How Fritz supported Grief--A Grain of Sand and the Himalaya CHAPTER XV. God's Government--King Stanislaus--The Dauphin son of Louis XV.--The shortest Road--New Year's Day--A Miracle--Clever Animals--The Calendar--Mr. Julius Cæsar and Pope Gregory XIII.--How the day after the 4th of October was the 15th--Olympiads--Lustres--The Hegira--A Horse made Consul--Jack's Dream CHAPTER XVI. Separation--Guelphs and Ghibelines--Montagues and Capulets--Sadness--The Reunion--Jocko and his Education--The Entertainments of a King--The Mules of Nero and the Asses of Poppæa--Hercules and Achilles--Liberty and Equality--Semiramis and Elizabeth--Christianity and the Religion of Zoroaster--The Willisonian Method--Moral Discipline versus Birch CHAPTER XVII. Where there's a Will there's a Way--Mucius Scævola--What's to be done?--Brutus Torquatus and Peter the Great--Australia, Botany Bay, and the Flying Dutchman--New Guinea and the Buccaneer--Vancouver's Island--White Skins--Danger of Landing on a Wave--Hanged or Drowned--Route to Happiness--Omens CHAPTER XVIII. Bacon and Biscuit--Let Sleeping Dogs Lie--The Paternal Benediction--An Apparition--A Mother not easily deceived--The Adieu--The Emperor Constantine--hoc signo vinces--The Sailor's Postscript--Cæsar and his Fortunes--Recollections--Mrs. Becker plucks Stockings and Knits Ortolans--How delightful it is to be Scolded--The Bodies vanish, but the Souls remain CHAPTER XIX. Eighteen Hundred and Twelve--The _Mary_--Count Ugolino--The Sources of Rivers--The Alps demolished--No more Pyrenees--The First Ship--Admiral Noah--Fleets of the Israelites--The Compass--Printing--Gunpowder--Actium and Salamis--Dido and Æolus--Steam--Don Garay and Roger Bacon--Melchthal, Furst, and William Tell--Going a-pleasuring--Upset versus blown up--A Dead Calm--The Log--Willis's Archipelago--The Island of Sophia--The Bread Fruit-tree--Natives of Polynesia--Striped Trowsers--Abduction of Willis--Is he to be Roasted or Boiled?--When the Wine is poured out, we must Drink it CHAPTER XX. Jupiter Tonans--The Thunders of the Pilot--Worshippers of the Far West--A late Breakfast--Rono the Great--A Polynesian Legend--Manners and Customs of Oceanica Mr. and Mrs. Tamaidi--Regal Pomp--Elbow Room--Katzenmusik--Queen Tonico and the Shaving Glass--Consequences of a Pinch of Snuff--Disgrace of the Great Rono--Marins--Coriolanus--Hannibal--Alcibiades--Cimon--Aristides--A Sop for the Thirsty--Air something else besides Oxygen and Hydrogen--Maryland and Whitechapel--Half-way up the Cordilleras--Human Machines--Star of the Sea, pray for us! CHAPTER XXI. Lying-to--Heart and Instinct--Sparrows viewed as Consumers--Migrations--Posting a Letter in the Pacific--Cannibals--Adventures of a Locket CHAPTER XXII. The Utility of Adversity--An Encounter--The _Hoboken_--Bill alias Bob CHAPTER XXIII. In which Willis shows, that the term Press-gang means something else besides the Gentlemen of the Press CHAPTER XXIV. Another Idea of the Pilot's--The _Boudeuse_ CHAPTER XXV. Delhi--William of Normandy and King John--Isabella of Bavaria and Joan of Arc--Poitier and Bovines--History of a Ghost, a Gridiron, and a Chest of Guineas CHAPTER XXVI. Willis falls in with the Sloop on terra firma, instead of at the bottom of the Sea, as might have been expected--Admiral Cicero--The Defunct not yet Dead CHAPTER XXVII. Captain Littlestone is found, and the Rev. Mr. Wolston is seen for the first time CHAPTER XXVIII. Willis proves that the only way to be free is to get sent to Prison--An Escape--A Discovery--Promotions--Somnambulism Conclusion CHAPTER I. THE COLONY--REFLECTIONS ON THE PAST--IDEAS OF WILLIS THE PILOT--SOPHIA WOLSTON. The early adventures of the Swiss family, who were wrecked on an unknown coast in the Pacific Ocean, have already been given to the world. There are, however, many interesting details in their subsequent career which have not been made public. These, and the conversations with which they enlivened the long, dreary days of the rainy season, we are now about to lay before our readers. Becker, his wife, and their four sons had been fifteen years on this uninhabited coast, when a storm drove the English despatch sloop _Nelson_ to the same spot. Before this event occurred, the family had cleared and enclosed a large extent of country; but, whether the territory was part of an island or part of a continent, they had not yet ascertained. The land was naturally fertile; and, amongst other things that had been obtained from the wreck of their ship, were sundry packages of European seeds: the produce of these, together with that of two or three heads of cattle they had likewise rescued from the wreck, supplied them abundantly with the necessaries of life. They had erected dwellings here and there, but chiefly lived in a cave near the shore, over the entrance to which they had built a sort of gallery. This structure, conjointly with the cave, formed a commodious habitation, to which they had given the name of _Rockhouse_. In the vicinity, a stream flowed tranquilly into the sea; this stream they were accustomed to call _Jackal River_, because, a few days after their landing, they had encountered some of these animals on its banks. Fronting Rockhouse the coast curved inwards, the headlands on either side enclosing a portion of the ocean; to this inlet they had given the name of _Safety Bay_, because it was here they first felt themselves secure after having escaped the dangers of the storm. In the centre of the bay there was a small island which they called _Shark's Island_, to commemorate the capture of one of those monsters of the deep. Safely Bay, had, a second time, acquired a legitimate title to its name, for in it Providence had brought the _Nelson_ safely to anchor. By unwearying perseverance, indefatigable industry, and an untiring reliance on the goodness of God, Becker and his family had surrounded themselves with abundance. There was only one thing left for them to desire, and that was the means of communicating with their kindred; and now this one wish of their hearts was gratified by the unexpected appearance of the _Nelson_ on their shore. The fifteen years of exile they had so patiently endured was at once forgotten. Every bosom was filled with boundless joy; so true it is, that man only requires a ray of sunshine to change his most poignant griefs into smiles and gladness. The first impressions of their deliverance awakened in the minds of the young people a flood of projects. The mute whisperings that murmured within them had divulged to their understandings that they were created for a wider sphere than that in which they had hitherto been confined. Europe and its wonders--society, with its endearing interchanges of affection--that vast panorama of the arts and of civilization, of the trivial and the sublime, of the beautiful and terrible, that is called the world--came vividly into their thoughts. They felt as a man would feel when dazzled all at once by a spectacle, the splendor of which the eyes and the mind can only withstand by degrees. They had spelt life in the horn-book of true and simple nature--they were now about to read it fluently in the gilded volume of a nature false and vitiated, perhaps to regret their former tranquil ignorance. Becker himself had, for an instant, given way to the general enthusiasm, but reflection soon regained her sway; he asked himself whether he had solid reasons for wishing to return to Europe, whether it would be advisable to relinquish a certain livelihood, and abandon a spot that God appeared to bless beyond all others, to run after the doubtful advantages of civilized society. His wife desired nothing better than to end her days there, under the beautiful sky, where, from the bosom of the tempest, they had been guided by the merciful will of Him who is the source of all things. Still the solitude frightened her for her children. "Might it not," she asked herself, "be egotism to imprison their young lives in the narrow limits of maternal affection?" It occurred to her that the dangers to which they were constantly exposed might remove them from her; to-day this one, to-morrow another; what, then, would be her own desolation, when there remained to her no bosom on which to rest her head--no heart to beat in unison with her own--no kindly hand to grasp--and no friendly voice to pray at her pillow, when she was called away in her turn! At length, after mature deliberation, it was resolved that Becker himself, his wife, Fritz and Jack, two of their sons, should remain where they were, whilst the two other young men should return to Europe with a cargo of cochineal, pearls, coral, nutmegs, and other articles that the country produced of value in a commercial point of view. It was, however, understood that one of the two should return again as soon as possible, and bring back with him any of his countrymen who might be induced to become settlers in this land of promise, Becker hoping, by this means, to found a new colony which might afterwards flourish under the name of _New Switzerland_. The mission to Europe was formally confided to Frank and Ernest, the two most sedate of the family. Besides the captain and crew, there was on board the ship now riding at anchor in the bay a passenger, named Wolston, with his wife and two daughters. This gentleman was on his way to join his son at the Cape of Good Hope, but had been taken seriously ill previous to the _Nelsons_ arrival on the coast. He and his family were invited on shore by Becker, and had taken up their quarters at Rockhouse. Wolston was an engineer by profession, but his wife belonged to a highly aristocratic family of the West of England; she had been brought up in a state of ease and refinement, was possessed of all the accomplishments required in fashionable society, but she was at the same time gifted with strong good sense, and could readily accommodate herself to the circumstances in which she was now placed. Her two daughters, Sophia the youngest, a lively child of thirteen, and Mary the eldest, a demure girl of sixteen, had been likewise carefully, but somewhat elaborately, educated. Attracted no less by the hearty and warm reception of the Swiss family, than determined by the state of his health and the pure air of the country, Wolston resolved to await there the return of the sloop, the official destination of which was the Cape of Good Hope, where it had to land despatches from Sidney. Captain Littlestone, of H.B.M.'s sloop _Nelson_, had kindly consented to all these arrangements; he agreed to convey Ernest and Frank Becker and their cargo to the Cape, to aid them there with his experience, and, finally, to recommend them to some trustworthy correspondents he had at Liverpool. He likewise promised to bring back young Wolston with him on his return voyage. Everything being prepared, the departure was fixed for the next day: the sloop, with the blue Peter at the fore, was ready, as soon as the anchor was weighed, to continue her voyage. The cargo had been stowed under hatches. Becker had just given the farewell dinner to Captain Littlestone and Lieutenant Dunsley, his second in command. These two gentlemen had discreetly taken their leave, not to interrupt by their presence the final embraces of the family, the ties of which, after so many long years of labor and hardship, were for the first time to be broken asunder. During the voyage, Wolston had formed an intimacy with the boatswain of the _Nelson_, named Willis, and he, on his side, held Wolston and his family in high esteem. Willis was likewise a great favorite with his captain--they had served in the same ship together when boys; Willis was known to be a first-rate seaman; so great, indeed, was his skill in steering amongst reefs and shoals, that he was familiarly styled the "Pilot," by which cognomen he was better known on board than any other. At the particular request of Wolston, who had some communications to make to him respecting his son, Willis remained on shore, the captain promising to send his gig for him and his two passengers the following morning. Whilst Wolston was busy charging the pilot with a multitude of messages for his son, Mrs. Becker was invoking the blessings of Heaven upon the heads of her two boys; praying that the hour might be deferred that was to separate her from these idols of her soul. Becker himself, upon whom his position, as head of the family, imposed the obligation of exhibiting, at least outwardly, more courage, instilled into their minds such principles of truth and rules of conduct as the solemnity of the moment was calculated to engrave on their hearts. The dial now marked three o'clock, tropical time. Willis, wiping, with the cuff of his jacket, a drop that trickled from the corner of his eye, laid hold of his seal-skin sou'-wester as a signal of immediate departure. Ernest and Frank were bending their heads to receive the parting benediction of their parents, when suddenly a fierce torrent of wind shook the gallery of Rockhouse to its foundation, and uprooted some of the bamboo columns by which it was supported. "Only a squall," said Willis quietly. "A squall!" exclaimed Becker, "what do you call a hurricane then?" "Oh, a hurricane, I mean a downright reefer, all square and close-hauled, that is a very different affair; but, after all, this begins to look very like the real article." Now came a succession of gusts, each succeeding one more powerful than its predecessor, till every beam of the gallery bent and quivered; dense copper-colored clouds appeared in the atmosphere, rolling against each other, and disengaging by their shock, the thunder and lightnings. Then fell, not the slender needles of water we call rain, but veritable floods, that were to our heaviest European showers what the cataracts of the Rhine, at Staubach, or the falls of Niagara, are to the gushings of a sylvan rivulet. In a few minutes the Jackal river had converted the valley into a lake, in which the plantations and buildings appeared to be afloat, and rendering egress from Rockhouse nearly impossible. However much of a colorist Willis might be, he could not have painted a storm with the eloquence of the elements that had cut short his observation. "You will not attempt to embark in weather like this?" inquired Mrs. Becker anxiously. "My duty it is to be on board," replied the Pilot. "The craft that ventures to take you there will get swamped twenty times on the way," observed Becker. "The worst of it is, the wind is from the east, and evidently carries waterspouts with it. These waterspouts strike a ship without the slightest warning, play amongst the rigging, whirl the sails about like feathers--sometimes carry them off bodily, or, if they do not do that, tear them to shreds and shiver the masts. In either case, the consequences are disagreeable." "A reason for you to be thankful you are safe on shore with us!" remarked Mrs. Wolston. "It is all very well for you, Mrs. Wolston, and you, Mrs. Becker, to talk in that way; your business in life is that of wives and mothers. But what will the Lords of the Admiralty say, when they hear that the sloop _Nelson_ was wrecked whilst Master Willis, the boatswain, was skulking on shore like a land-rat?" "Oh, they would only say there was one useful man more, and a victim the less," replied Fritz. "Why, not exactly, Master Fritz; they would say that Willis was a poltroon or a deserter, whichever he likes; they would very likely condemn him to the yard-arm by default, and carry out the operation when they get hold of him. But I will not endanger any one else; all I want is the use of your canoe." "What! brave this storm in a wretched seal-skin cockle-shell like that?" "Would it not be offending Providence," hazarded Mary Wolston, "for one of God's creatures to abandon himself to certain death?" "It would, indeed," added Mrs. Wolston; "true courage consists in facing danger when it is inevitable, but not in uselessly imperiling one's life; there stops courage, and temerity begins." "If it is not pride or folly. I do not mean that with reference to you, Willis," hastily added Wolston; "I know that you are open as day, and that all your impulses arise from the heart." "That is all very fine--but I must act; let me have the canoe. I want the canoe: that is my idea." "Having lived fifteen years cut off from society," gravely observed Becker, "it may be that I have forgotten some of the laws it imposes; nevertheless, I declare upon my honor and conscience--" "Let me have the canoe, otherwise I must swim to the ship." "I declare," continued Becker, "that Willis exaggerates the requirements of his duty. There are stronger forces to which the human will must yield. It is one thing to desert one's post in the hour of danger, and another to have come on shore at the express desire of a superior officer, when the weather was fine, and nothing presaged a storm." "If there is danger," continued the obstinate sailor, whom the united strength of the four men could scarcely restrain, "I ought to share it; that is my duty and I must." "But," said Wolston, "all the boatswains and pilots in the world can do nothing against hurricanes and waterspouts; their duty consists in steering the ship clear of reefs and quicksands, and not in fighting with the elements." "There is one thing you forget, Mr. Wolston." "And what is that, Willis?" "It is to be side by side with your comrades in the hour of calamity, to aid them if you can, and to perish with them if such be the will of Fate. At this moment, poor Littlestone may be on the point of taking up his winter quarters in the body of a shark. But there, if the sloop is lost while I am here on shore, I will not survive her; all that you can say or do will not prevent me doing myself justice." At this moment Jack, who had disappeared during this discussion, unobserved, came in saturated to the skin with water, and in a state difficult to describe. Like the boots of Panurge, his feet were floating in the water that flowed from the rim of his cap. "What is this?" exclaimed his mother. "You wilful boy, may I ask where, in all the world, you have been?" "I have just come from the bay. O father and mother! O Mr. and Mrs. Wolston! O Master Willis! if you had only seen! The sea is furious; sometimes the waves rise to the skies and mingle with the clouds, so that it is impossible to say where the one begins and the other ends. It is frightful, but it is magnificent!" "And the sloop?" demanded Willis. "She is not to be seen; she is no longer at anchor in the bay." "Gone to the open sea, to avoid being driven ashore," said Wolston. "Captain Littlestone is not the man to remain in a perilous position whilst there remained a means of escape; besides, nothing that science, united with courage and presence of mind, could do, would have been neglected by him to save his ship." "In addition to which," observed Becker, "if he had found himself in positive danger, he would have fired a gun; and in that case, though we are not pilots, every one of us would have hastened to his assistance." "You see, Willis," said Mrs. Wolston, "God comes to ease your mind; were we to allow you to go to the sloop now, the thing is simply impossible." "I have my own idea about that," insisted Willis, whilst he kept beating a tatoo on the isinglass window panes. Whilst thus chafing like a caged lion, Wolston's youngest daughter went towards him, and gently putting her hand in his, said, "Sweetheart" (for so she had been accustomed to address him), "do you remember when, during the voyage, you used to look at me very closely, and that one evening I went boldly up to you and asked you why you did so?" "Yes, Miss Sophia, I recollect." "Do you remember the answer you gave me?" "Yes, I told you that I had left in England, on her mother's bosom, a little girl who would now be about your own age, and that I could not observe the wind play amongst the curls of your fair hair without thinking of her, and that it sometimes made my breast swell like the mizen-top-sail before the breeze." "Yes, and when I promised to keep out of your sight, not to reawaken your grief, you told me it was a kind of grief that did you more good than harm, and that the more it made you grieve, the happier you would be." "All true:" replied the sailor, whose excitement was melting away before the soft tones of the child like hoar frost in the sunshine. "Then I promised to come and talk to you about your Susan every day; and did I not keep my word?" "Certainly, Miss Sophia; and it is only bare justice to say that you gracefully yielded to all my fatherly whims, and even went so far as to wear a brown dress oftener than another, because I said that my little Susan wore that color the last time I kissed her." "Oh, but that is a secret, Willis." "Yes, but I am going to tell all our secrets--that is an idea of mine. You then went and learned Susan's mother's favorite song, with which you would sometimes sing me to sleep, like a great baby that I am, and make me fancy that I was surrounded by my wife and daughter, and was comfortably smoking my pipe in my own cottage, with a glass of grog at my elbow." Willis said this so earnestly, that the smile called forth by the oddness of the remark scarcely dared to show itself on the lips of the listeners. "Very well," resumed the little damsel, "if you are not more reasonable, and if you keep talking of throwing your life away, I will never again place my hand in yours as now; I shall not love you any more, and shall find means of letting Susan's mother know that you went away and killed yourself, and made her a widow." Men can only speak coldly and appeal to reason--logic is their panacea in argument. Women alone possess those inspirations, those simple words without emphasis, that find their way directly to the heart, and for which purpose God has doubtless endowed them with those soft, mild tones, whose melodies cause our most cherished resolutions to vanish in the air; like those massive stone gates we have seen in some of the old castles in Germany, that resist the most powerful effort to push them open, but which a spring of the simplest construction causes to move gently on their formidable hinges. Willis was silent; but no openly-expressed submission could have been more eloquent than this mute acquiescence. In the meantime the tempest raged with increased fury, the winds howled, and the water splashed; it appeared at each shock as if the elements had reached the utmost limit of the terrific; that the sea, as the poet says, had lashed itself into exhaustion! But, anon, there came another outburst more terrible still, to declare that, in his anger as in his blessings, the All-Powerful has no other limit than the infinite. "If it is not in the power of human beings to aid the crew of the _Nelson_," said Mrs. Becker kneeling, "there are other means more efficacious which we are guilty in not having sought before." Every one followed this example, and it was a touching scene to behold the rough sailor yield submissively to the gentle violence of the child's hand, and bend his bronzed and swarthy visage humbly beside her cherub head. CHAPTER II. TO WHAT EXTENT WILLIS THE PILOT HAD IDEAS ON CERTAIN SUBJECTS--THE KNIGHTS OF THE OCEAN. The storm continued to rage without intermission for three entire days. During this interval, not only was it impossible to send the canoe or pinnace to sea, but even to venture a step beyond the threshold, so completely had the tempest broken up the burning soil, the thirst of which the great Disposer of all things had proportioned to the deluges that were destined to assuage it. All had at length yielded to bodily fatigue and mental anxiety, for the seeming eternity of these three days and three nights had been passed in prayer, and in the most fearful apprehensions as to the fate of the _Nelson_ and her crew. Nothing in the horizon as yet indicated that the thunders were tired of roaring, the clouds of rending themselves asunder, the winds of howling, or the waves of frantically beating on the cliffs. Towards evening the ladies had retired to the sick-room with a view of seeking some repose. Becker, Willis, and the young men bivouacked in the hall, where some mattresses and bear-skins had been laid down. Here it was arranged that, for the common safety, each during the night should watch in turn. But about two in the morning, Ernest had no sooner relieved Fritz than, fatigue overcoming his sense of duty, the poor fellow fell comfortably asleep, and he was soon perfectly unconscious of all that was passing around him. Becker awoke first--it was broad daylight. "Where is Willis?" he cried, on getting up. "Holloa!" exclaimed Fritz, running towards the magazine, "the canoe has disappeared!" In an instant all were on their feet. "Some one of you has fallen asleep then," said Becker to his children; "for when the pilot watched I watched with him, and never lost sight of him for a moment." "I am the culprit," said Ernest; "and if any mischief arises out of this imprudence, I shall never forgive myself. But who could have dreamt of any one being foolhardy enough to attempt the rescue of a ship in a nutshell that scarcely holds two persons?" "I pray Heaven that your sleepy-headedness may not result in the loss of human life! You see, my son, that there is no amount of duty, be it ever so trifling in importance, that can be neglected with impunity. It is the concurrent devotion of each, and the sacrifices of one for another, that constitutes and secures the mutual security. Society on a small, as on a large scale, is a chain of which each individual is a link, and when one fails the whole is broken." "I will go after him," said Ernest. "Fritz and I will go with you," added Frank. "No," said Ernest; "I alone am guilty, and I wish alone to remedy my fault--that is, as far as possible." "I could not hide the canoe," observed Fritz, "but I hid the oars, and I find them in their place." "That, perhaps, will have prevented him embarking," remarked one of the boys. "A man like Willis," replied Becker, "is not prevented carrying out his intentions by such obstacles; he will have taken the first thing that came to hand; but let us go." "What, father, am I not then to go alone, and so bear the penalty of my own fault?" "No, Ernest, that would be to inflict two evils upon us instead of one; it is sufficient that you have shown your willingness to do so. Besides, three will not be over many _to convince_ Willis, even if yet in time." "And mother? and the ladies?" inquired Fritz. "I shall leave Frank and Jack to see to them; a mere obstinate freak, or a catastrophe, it will be time enough, when over, to inform them of this new idea of the Pilot's." "It is something more than an idea this time," remarked Jack. Just as Becker and his two sons were issuing from the grotto, the report of a cannon-shot resounded through the air. Awoke and startled by the explosion, Becker's wife and Mrs. Wolston came running towards them. As for the girls, their guardian angel had too closely enveloped them in its wings to admit of their sleep being disturbed. "The sloop on the coast!" said Frank; "for the sound is too distinct to come from a distance." "Unless Willis has got upon Shark's Island," objected Fritz, running towards the terrace, armed with a telescope. "Just so; he is there, I see him distinctly; he is recharging our four-pounder." "God be praised! you relieve my conscience of a great burden," said Ernest, placing his hand on his breast. "He is going to discharge it," cried Fritz--boom. Then a second shot reverberated in the air. "If Captain Littlestone be within hearing of that signal, he will be sure to reply to it." said Becker. "Listen!" They hushed themselves in silence, each retaining his respiration, as if their object had been to hear the sound of a fly's wing rather than the report of a cannon. "Nothing!" said Becker sadly, at the expiration of a few minutes. "Nothing!" reiterated successively all the voices. "How in all the world did Willis contrive to get transported to Shark's Island?" inquired Mrs. Becker. "Simply, wife, by watching when asleep, whilst one of our gentlemen slept when he watched." "Yes, mother," said Ernest, "and if you would not have me blush before Mrs. Wolston, you will not insist upon an explanation of the mystery." "Mrs. Wolston," she replied, "is not so exacting as you seem to think, Master Ernest--the only difference that her presence here should make amongst you is that you have two mothers instead of one." "That is," said Mrs. Wolston smiling, "if Mrs. Becker has no objections to dividing the office with me." "Shall I not have compensation in your daughters?" said Mrs. Becker, taking her by the hand. "Still," interrupted Fritz, "I cannot yet conceive how Willis managed to reach Shark's Island in a wretched canoe, without oars, through waves that ought to have swallowed him up over and over again." "Bah!" exclaimed Jack; "what use has a pilot for oars?" "There is a question! You, who modestly call yourself the best horseman on the island, how would you do, if you had nothing to ride upon?" "I could at least fall back upon broomsticks," retorted the imperturbable Jack. "Besides, in Willis's case, the canoe was the steed, the oars the saddle--nothing more." "We shall not stay here to solve the riddle," said Becker; "the storm seems disposed to abate; and the more that it was unreasonable to face certain destruction in a vain endeavor to assist a problematical shipwreck, the more it is incumbent upon us now to go in quest of the _Nelson_." "But the sea will still be very terrible!" quickly added Mrs. Becker. "If all danger were over, wife, the enterprise would do us little credit. It is our duty to do the best we can, according to the strength and means at our command. Fritz, Ernest, and Jack, go and put on your life-preservers--we shall take up Willis in passing." "I must not insist," said Mrs. Becker; "the sacrifice would, indeed, be no sacrifice, if it could be easily borne; and yet--" "Remember the time, wife, when I was obliged, in order to secure the precious remains of our ship, to venture with our eldest sons on a float of tubs, leaving you exposed, alone with a child of seven, to the chance of eternal isolation!" "That is very true, husband: I am unjust towards Providence, which has never ceased blessing us; but I am only a weak woman, and my heart often gets the better of my head." "To-day I leave Frank with you; but, instead of your being his protector, as was the case fifteen years ago, he will be yours. Then there is Mrs. Wolston, her daughters, and husband, quite a new world of sympathies and consolations, by which our island has been so miraculously peopled." "Go then, husband, and may God bring back in safety both the pinnace and the _Nelson_!" "By the way, Mrs. Wolston, how does our worthy invalid get on? We live in such a turmoil of events and consternations, that I must beg a thousand pardons for not having asked after him before." "His sleep appears untroubled; and, notwithstanding all the terrors of the last few days, I entertain sanguine hopes of his immediate recovery." "You will at least return before night?" said Mrs. Becker to her husband. "Rely upon my not prolonging my stay beyond what the exigencies of the expedition imperiously require." "Good gracious! what are these?" exclaimed Mrs. Wolston as the three brothers entered, equipped in seal-gut trowsers, floating stays of the same material, and Greenland caps. "The Knights of the Ocean," replied Jack gravely, "who, like the heroes of Cervantes, go forth to redress the wrongs done by the tempest, and to break lances--oars, I mean--in favor of persecuted sloops." Mrs. Becker herself could scarcely refrain from smiling. Such is the power of the smile that, in season or out of season, it often finds its way to the most pallid lips, in the midst of the greatest disasters and the deepest grief. It appears as if always listening at the door ready to take its place on the slightest notice. This diversion had the good effect of mixing a little honey with--if the expression may be used--the bitterness of the parting adieus. Becker took the lead in hiding his sorrow; the three young Greenlanders tore themselves from the maternal embrace, and affectionately kissed the hand held out to them by Mrs. Wolston. Then, between those that departed and those that remained behind, there was nothing more than the ties of recollection, the common sadness, and the endless links of mutual affection. CHAPTER III. WHEREIN WILLIS THE PILOT PROVES "IRREFRAGABLY" THAT EPHEMERIDES DIE OF CONSUMPTION AND HOME-SICKNESS--THE CANOE AND ITS YOUNG ONES--THE SEARCH AFTER THE SLOOP--FOUND--THE SWORD-FISH--FLOATING ATOMS--ADMIRAL SOCRATES. When they had come within a short distance of the bay, Jack thought he saw a large black creature moving in the bushes that lined the shore. "A sea monster!" he cried, levelling his musket; "I discovered it, and have the right to the first shot." "No, sir," said Fritz, whose keen eye was a sort of locomotive telescope, "I object to that, for I do not want you to kill or wound my canoe." "Nonsense, it moves." "Whether it moves or not, we shall all see by and by; but do you not observe this monster's young ones gambolling by its side?" "Which proves I am right, unless you mean to say your canoe has been hatching," and Jack again levelled his rifle. "Don't fire, it is the hat and jacket of Willis!" "What!" exclaimed Ernest, "is the Pilot a triton then, that he could dispense with the canoe?" "Well, yes, unless the canoe has found its way back of its own accord, which would indeed make it an intelligent creature." "The Pilot has evidently reached Shark's Island by swimming, in spite of surf and breakers--a feat almost without a parallel." "Bah!" said Ernest, parodying Jack's witticism about the oars, "what does a pilot care about surf and breakers?" Strongly moored in a creek of the Jackal River, and protected by a bluff, forming a screen between it and the sea, the pinnace had in no way suffered from the storm. The swell was so violent, that they had a world of trouble in making the island; as they approached, Willis, who had made a speaking-trumpet by joining his hands round his mouth, was roaring out alternately, "starboard," "larboard," "hard-a-port," just as if these terms had not been Hebrew to the impromptu mariners. At last, tired of holloaing, "Stop a bit," he said, "I shall find a quicker way;" with that he threw himself directly into the sea, and cut through the waves towards them as if his arms had been driven by a steam engine. Arrived on board, he gave a vigorous turn to the tiller, laid hold of the sheet, let out a reef here, took in another there; the pinnace was soon completely at his command, and behaved admirably; true, she pitched furiously, and the gunwale was under water at every plunge. He headed along the coast till the point beyond which Fritz had first observed the _Nelson_ was fairly doubled; some days before this point was called Cape Deliverance, it was now, perhaps, about to acquire the term of Cape Disappointment, but for the moment its future designation was in embryo. Leaping on the poop, Willis carefully scanned the horizon as the boat rose upon the summit of the waves; but seeing nothing, he at last leapt down again with an expression of rage that, under other circumstances, would have been irresistibly comic. Abandoning the direction of the pinnace, he went and sat down on a bulk-head, and covered his face with his hands, in an attitude of profound desolation. "Willis! Willis!" cried Jack, "I shall tell Sophia." But there was neither the soft voice there, the caressing hand, nor the sweet fascination of the young girl's presence, and Willis continued immovable. Becker saw that his was one of those minds that grew less calm the more they were urged, and the excitement of which must be permitted to wear itself out; he therefore beckoned his sons to leave him to his own reflections. The wind still blew a gale, and the pinnace pitched heavily; but the sun was now beginning to break through the masses of lurid cloud, and the air was becoming less and less charged with vapor. "I can descry nothing either," said Becker; "and yet this is the direction the storm must have driven the sloop." "The sea is very capricious," suggested Fritz. "True, but not to the extent of carrying a ship against the wind." "Unfortunately," said Jack, "it is not on sea as on land, where the slightest indications of an object lost may lead to its discovery; a word dropped in the ear of a passer-by might put you on the track, but here it is no use saying, 'Sir, did you not see the _Nelson_ pass this way?'" "Fire a shot," said Ernest; "it may perhaps be heard, now that the air is less humid." The two-pounder was ready charged; Fritz struck a light and set fire to a strip of mimosa bark, with which he touched the piece, and the report boomed across the waters. Willis raised his head and listened anxiously, but soon dropped it again, and resumed his former attitude of hopeless despair. "It may be," said Ernest, "that the _Nelson_ hears our signal, though we do not hear hers." "How can that be?" inquired Jack. "Why, very easily. Sound increases or diminishes in intensity according as the wind carries it on or retards it." "What, then, is sound, that the wind can blow it about, most learned brother?" "It is a result of the compression of the air, that from its elasticity extends and expands, and which causes a sort of trembling or undulation, similar to that which is observed in water when a stone is thrown into it." "And you may add," said Becker, "that bodies striking the air excite sonorous vibrations in this fluid; thus it rings under the lash that strikes it with violence, and whistles under the rapid impulsion of a switch: it likewise becomes sonorous when it strikes itself with force against any solid body, as the wind when it blows against the cordage of ships, houses, trees, and generally every object with which it comes in contact." "I can understand," replied Jack, "how this sonorous effect is produced on the particles of air in immediate contact with the object struck; but how this sound is propagated, I do not see." "Very likely; but still it travels from particle to particle, in a circle, at the rate of three hundred and forty yards in a second." "Three hundred and forty yards in a second!" said Willis, who was beginning by degrees to recover his self-possession. "Well, that is what I should call going a-head." "And by what sort of compasses has this speed been measured, Master Ernest?" "The first accurate measurement, Master Jack, was made at Paris in 1738. There are there two tolerably elevated points, namely, Montmartre and Montlhéry--the distance between these, in a direct line, is 14,636 _toises_. Cannons were fired during the night, and the engineers on one of the elevations observed that an interval of eighty-six seconds and a half elapsed between the flash and the report of a cannon fired on the other." "That half-second is very amusing," said Jack laughing; "if there had been only eighty or eighty-six net, one might still be permitted to entertain some doubts; but eighty-six and a half admits nothing of the kind. But why not three-quarters or six-eighths, they would do as well?" "What is more natural than to reckon the fraction, if we are desirous of obtaining absolute precision? Is six months of your time of no value? Are thirty minutes more or less on the dial of your watch of no signification to you?" "Your brother is perfectly right, Jack; you are not always successful in your jokes." "Other experiments have been made since then," continued Ernest, "and the results have always been the same, making allowances for the wind, and a slight variation that is ascribed to temperature." "To confirm the accuracy of this statement, the speed of light would have to be taken into consideration." "True; but the velocity of light is so great, that the instant a cannon is fired the flash is seen." "Whatever the distance?" "Yes, whatever the distance. Bear in mind that the rays of the sun only require eight minutes to traverse the thirty-four millions of leagues that extend between us and that body. Hence it follows that the time light takes to travel from one point to another on the earth may be regarded as _nil_." "That is something like distance and speed," remarked Willis, "and may be all right as regards the sun, but I should not be disposed to admit that there are any other instances of the same kind." "Very good, Master Willis; and yet the sun is only a step from us in comparison to the distance of some stars that we see very distinctly, but which are, nevertheless, so remote, that their rays, travelling at the same rate as those of the sun, are several years in reaching us." Willis rose abruptly, whistling "the Mariner's March," and went to join Fritz, who was steering the pinnace. At this _naïve_ mark of disapprobation on the part of the Pilot, Becker, Ernest, and Jack burst involuntarily into a violent peal of laughter. "Laugh away, laugh away." said Willis; "I will not admit your calculations for all that." The sky had now assumed an opal or azure tint, the wind had gradually died away into a gentle breeze, the waves were now swelling gently and regularly, like the movements of the infant's cradle that is being rocked asleep. Never had a day, opening in the convulsions of a tempest, more suddenly lapsed into sunshine and smiles: it was like the fairies of Perrault's Tales, who, at first wrapped in sorry rags, begging and borne down with age, throw off their chrysalis and appear sparkling with youth, gaiety, and beauty, their wallet converted into a basket of flowers, and their crutch to a magic wand. "Father" inquired Fritz, "shall we go any farther?" Since the weather had calmed down, and there was no longer any necessity for exertion, the expedition had lost its charm for the young man. "I think it is useless; what say you, Willis?" "Ah," said the latter, taking Becker by the hand, "in consideration of the eight days' friendship that connects you even more intimately with Captain Littlestone than my affection for him of twenty years' standing, keep still a few miles to the east." "If the sloop has been driven to a distance by the storm, and is returning towards us, which is very likely, I do not see that we can be of much use." "But if dismasted and leaky?" "That would alter the case, only I am afraid the ladies will be uneasy about us." "But they were half prepared, father." "Jack is right," added Fritz, whose energies were again called into play by the thought of the _Nelson_ in distress; "let us go on." "Besides, on the word of a pilot, the sea will be very calm and gentle for some time to come: there is not the slightest danger." "And what if there were?" replied Fritz. "Well, Willis, I shall give up the pinnace to you till dark," said Becker, "and may God guide us; we shall return to-night, so as to arrive at Rockhouse early in the morning." "Hurrah for the captain!" cried Willis, throwing a cap into the air. The evolutions of a cap, thrown up towards the sky or down upon the ground, were very usual modes with Willis of expressing his joy or sorrow. This homage rendered to Becker, he hastened to let a reef out of the sheet, and the pinnace, for a moment at rest, redoubled its speed, like post-horses starting from the inn-door under the combined influence of a cheer from the postillion and a flourish of the whip. "There is a cockle-shell that skips along pretty fairly," said Willis; "but it wants two very important things." "What things?" "A caboose and a nigger." "A caboose and a nigger?" "Yes, I mean a pantry and a cook; a gale for breakfast is all very well, one gets used to it, it is light and easily digested; but the same for dinner is rather too much of a good thing in one day." "I observed your thoughtful mother hang a sack on one of your shoulders, which appeared tolerably well filled--where is it?" "Here it is," said Jack, issuing from the hatchway; "here are our stores: a ham, two Dutch cheeses, two callabashes full of Rockhouse malaga, and there is plenty of fresh water in the gourds; with these, we have wherewithal to defy hunger till to-morrow." "Capital!" said Willis. This time, however, a cap did not appear in the air, as the last one had not been seen since the former ovation. "Let us lay the table," said Jack, arranging the coils of rope that crowded the deck. "Well, you see, Willis, we want for nothing on board the pinnace, not even a what-do-you-call-it?" "A caboose, Master Jack." "Well, not even a caboose." "Quite true; and if the _Nelson_ were in the offing, I would not exchange my pilot's badge for the epaulettes of a commodore; but, alas! she is not there." "Cheer up, Willis, cheer up; one is either a man or one is not. What is the good of useless regrets?" "Very little, but it is hard to be yard-armed while absent at my time of life--and afterwards--your health, Mr. Becker." "That would be hard at any age, Willis; but I rather think it has not come to that yet." "When it has come to it, there will be very little time left to talk it over." "Did you not say, brother, that the _Nelson_ might hear our signals without our hearing hers? If so, there is a chance for Willis yet." "Certainly, Jack, because she has the wind in her favor to act as a speaking-trumpet, whilst we had it against us acting as a deafener." "Is there any other influence that affects sound besides the wind?" "Yes, I have already mentioned that temperature has something to do with it. Sound varies in intensity according to the state of the atmosphere. If, for example, we ring a small bell in a closed vessel filled with air, it has been observed that, as the air is withdrawn by the pump, the sound gradually grows less and less distinct." "And if a vacuum be formed?" "Then the sound is totally extinguished." "So, then," objected Willis, "if two persons were to talk in what you call a vacuum, they would not hear each other?" "Two persons could not talk in a vacuum," replied Ernest. "Why not?" "Because they would die as soon as they opened their mouths." "Ah, that alters the case." "If, on the contrary, a quantity of air or gas were compressed into a space beyond what it habitually held, then the sound," continued Ernest, "would be more intense than if the air were free." "In that case a whisper would be equal to a howl!" "You think I am joking, Willis; but on the tops of high mountains, such as the Himalaya and Mont Blanc, where the air is much rarified, voices are not heard at the distance of two paces." "Awkward for deaf people!" "Whilst, on the icy plains of the frozen regions, where the air is condensed by the severe cold, a conversation, held in the ordinary tone, may be easily carried on at the distance of half a league." "Awkward for secrets!" "And how does sound operate with regard to solid bodies?" inquired Jack. "According to the degree of elasticity possessed by their veins or fibres." "Explain yourself." "That is, solid bodies, whose structure is such that the vibration communicated to some of their atoms circulates through the mass, are susceptible of conveying sound." "Give us an instance." "Apply your ear to one end of a long beam, and you will hear distinctly the stroke of a pin's head on the other; whilst the same stroke will scarcely be heard through the breadth of the wood." "So that, in the first case, the sound runs along the longitudinal fibres where the contiguity of parts is closer, than when the body is taken transversely?" "Just so." "And across water?" "It is heard, but more feebly." For some time Fritz had been closely observing with the telescope a particular part of the horizon, when all at once he cried, "This time I see him distinctly; he is bearing down upon us." "Who? the sloop?" cried Willis, starting up and letting fall the glass he had in his hand. "What an extraordinary pace! he bounds into the air, then plumps into the water, then leaps up again, just like an India-rubber ball, that touches the ground only to take a fresh spring!" "Impossible, Master Fritz; the _Nelson_ tops the waves honestly and gallantly; but as to leaping into the air, she is a little too bulky for that." "Ah, poor Willis, it is not the _Nelson_ that is under my glass at present, but an enormous fish, ten or twelve feet in length." "Oh, how you startled me!" "Father! Ernest! prepare to fire! Jack, the harpoon! he is coming this way." Fritz stood at the stern of the pinnace, his rifle levelled, following with his eyes the movements of the monster; when within reach, he fired with so much success and address that he hit the creature on the head. It then changed its course, leaving behind a train of blood. "Let us after him, Willis; quick!" The Pilot turned the head of the pinnace, and Jack immediately threw his harpoon. "Struck!" cried he joyfully. By the hissing of the line, and then the rapid impulsion of the pinnace, it was felt that the monster had more strength than the craft and its crew together. Ernest and his father fired at the same time; the ball of the former was lost in the animal's flesh, that of the latter rebounded off a horny protuberance that armed the monster's upper lip. Fritz had time to recharge his rifle; he levelled it a second time, and the ball went to join the former; but, for all that, the pinnace continued to cleave the water at a furious rate. Becker seized an axe and cut the rope. "Oh, father, what a pity! such a splendid capture for our museum of natural history!" "It is a sword-fish, children; a monster of a dangerous species, and of extreme voracity. If, by way of reciprocity, the fish have a museum at the bottom of the sea, they will have some fine specimens of the human race that have become the prey of this creature; and it may be that we were on the way to join the collection." "Did you observe the formidable dentilated horn?" "It is by means of this horn or sword, from which it takes its name, that it wages a continual war with the whale, whose only mode of escape is by flourishing its enormous tail; but the sword-fish, being very agile, easily avoids this, bounds into the air as Fritz saw it doing just now, then, falling down upon its huge adversary, pierces him with its sword." "By the way, talking about the whale," said Jack, "all naturalists seem agreed, and we ourselves are convinced from our own observation, that its throat is very narrow, and that it can only swallow molluscs, or very small fishes--what, in that case, becomes of the history of Jonah?" "It is rather unfortunate," replied Becker, "that the whale has been associated with this miracle. There is now no possibility of separating the whale from Jonah, or Jonah from the whale; yet, in the Greek translation of the Chaldean text, there is _Ketos_--in the Latin, there is _Cete_--and both these words were understood by the ancients to signify a fish of enormous size, but not the whale in particular. The shark, for example, can swallow a man, and even a horse, without mangling it." "I have heard," said Jack, "of navigators who have landed on the back of a whale, and walked about on it, supposing it a small island." "There is nothing impossible about that," observed Willis. "One thing is certain, that we had just now within reach a sea monster who has carried off four leaden bullets in his body without seeming to be in the least inconvenienced by them; on the contrary, he seemed to move all the quicker for the dose." "Life is a very different thing with those fellows than with us. The carp is said to live two hundred years, and it is supposed that a whale might live for ten centuries if the harpoon did not come in the way to shorten the period." "Ah!" exclaimed Willis, with a sigh that might have moved a train of waggons, "these fellows have no cares." "And the ephemeride, that dies an instant after its birth, do you suppose that it dies of grief?" "Who knows, Master Jack?" "The ephemeride does not die so quickly as you think," said Becker; "it commences by living three years under water in the form of a maggot. It afterwards becomes amphibious, when it has a horny covering, on which the rudiments of wings may be observed. Then, four or five months after this first metamorphosis, generally in the month of August, it issues from its skin, almost as rapidly as we throw off a jacket; attached to the rejected skin are the teeth, lips, horns, and all the apparatus that the creature required as a water insect; then it is no sooner winged, gay, and beautiful, than, as you observe, it dies--hence it is called the day-fly, its existence being terminated by the shades of night." "I was certain of it," said Willis. "Certain of what?" "That it died of grief at being on land. When one has been accustomed to the water, you see, under such circumstances life is not worth the having." "The day-fly," continued Becker, "is an epitome of those men who spend a life-time hunting after wealth and glory, and who perish themselves at the moment they reach the pinnacle of their ambitious desires. Whence I conclude, my dear children, that there are nothing but beginnings and endings of unhappiness in this world, and that true felicity is only to be hoped for in another sphere." "What a curious series of transformations! First an aquatic insect, next amphibious, then throwing away the organs for which it has no further use, and becoming provided with those suited to its new state!" "Yes, my dear Fritz; and yet those complicated and beautiful operations of Nature have not prevented philosophers from asserting that the world resulted from _floating atoms_, which, by force of combination, and after an infinity of blind movements, conglomerate into plants, animals, men, heaven, and earth." "I am only a plain sailor," said Willis "yet the eye of a worm teaches me more than these philosophers seem to have imagined in their philosophy." "Such a system could only have originated in Bedlam or Charenton." "No, Ernest, it is the system of Epicurus and Lucretius. Without going so far back, there are a thousand others quite as ridiculous, with which it is unnecessary to charge your young heads." "All madmen are not in confinement, and it may be that Epicurus and Lucretius had arrived at those limits of human reason, where genius begins in some and folly in others." "It is not that, Fritz; but if men, says Malebranche somewhere,[A] are interested in having the sides of an equilateral triangle unequal, and that false geometry was as agreeable to them as false philosophy, they would make the problems equally false in geometry as in morality, for this simple reason, that their errors afford them gratification, whilst truth would only hurt and annoy them." "Very good," observed Willis; "this Malebranche, as you call him, must have been an admiral?" "No, Willis, nothing more than a simple philosopher, but one of good faith, like Socrates, who admitted that what he knew best was, that he knew nothing." The sun had gradually disappeared in the midst of purple tinged clouds, leaving along the horizon at first a fringe of gold, then a simple thread, and finally nothing but the reflection of his rays, sent to the earth by the layers of atmosphere,[B] like the adieu we receive at the turning of a road from a friend who is leaving us. There was a festival in the sky that night; the firmament brought out, one by one, her circlet of diamonds, till the whole were sparkling like a blaze of light; the pinnace also left a fiery train in her wake, caused partly by electricity and partly by the phosphorescent animalculae that people the ocean. "Willis," said Becker, "I leave it entirely to you to decide the instant of our return." The Pilot changed at once the course of the boat, without attempting to utter a word, so heavy was his heart at this unsuccessful termination of the expedition. "It will be curious," observed Fritz, "if we find the _Nelson_, on our return, snugly at anchor in Safety Bay." "I have a presentiment," said Jack; "and you will see that we have been playing at hide-and-seek with the _Nelson_." Willis shook his head. "Are there not a thousand accidents to cause a ship to deviate from her route?" "Yes, Master Ernest, there are typhoons, and the waterspouts of which I spoke to you before. In such cases, ships often deviate from their route, but generally by going to the bottom." Willis concluded this sentence with a gesture that defies description, implying annihilation. "Remember Admiral Socrates, Willis," said Jack; "_what I know best is, that I know nothing_, and avow that God has other means of accomplishing his decrees besides typhoons and waterspouts." "My excellent young friends, I know you want to inspire me with hope, as they give a toy to a child to keep it from crying, and I thank you for your good intentions. Now, for three days you have, so to speak, had no rest, and I insist on your profiting by this night to take some repose; and you also, Mr. Becker; I am quite able to manage the pinnace alone." "Yes providing you do not play us some trick, like that of this morning, for instance." "All stratagems are justifiable in war. Master Ernest had fair warning that I had an idea to work out. Besides, a prisoner, when under hatches, has the right to escape if he can: under parole, the case is quite different." "Well, Willis, if you give me your simple promise to steer straight for New Switzerland, and awake me in two hours to take the bearings--" "I give it, Mr. Becker." The three Greenlanders then descended into the hold, for tropical nights are as chilly as the days are hot, and Becker, rolling himself up in a sail, lay on deck. In less than five minutes they were all fast asleep, and Willis paced the deck, his arms crossed, and mechanically gazing upon a star that was mirrored in the water. "Several years to come to us, and that at the rate of seventy thousand leagues a second--that is _a little_ too much." Then he went to the rudder, his head leaning upon his breast, and glancing now and then with distracted eye at the course of the boat, buried in a world of thought, sad and confused, doubtless beholding in succession visions of the _Nelson_, of Susan, and of Scotland. FOOTNOTES: [A] "Search after Truth," book ix. [B] The twilight is entirely owing to this. CHAPTER IV. A LANDSCAPE--SAD HOUSES AND SMILING HOUSES--POLITENESS IN CHINA--EIGHT SOUPS AT DESSERT--WIND MERCHANTS--ANOTHER IDEA OF THE PILOT'S--SUSAN, VICE SOPHIA. Towards five o'clock next morning everything about Rockhouse was beginning to assume life and motion--within, all its inhabitants were already astir--without, little remained of the recent storm and inundation except that refreshing coolness, which, conjointly with the purified air, infuses fresh vigor, not only into men, but also into every living thing. The citrous, the aloes, and the Spanish jasmines perfumed the landscape. The flexible palms, the tall bananas, with their unbrageous canopy, the broad, pendant-leaved mangoes, and all the rank but luxuriant vegetation that clothed the land to the water's edge, waved majestically under the gentle breeze that blew from the sea. The Jackal River unfolded its silvery band through the roses, bamboos, and cactii that lined its banks. The sun--for that luminary plays an important part in all Nature's festivals--darted its rays on the soil still charged with vapor. Diamond drops sparkled in the cups of the flowers and on the points of the leaves. In the distance, pines, cedars, and richly-laden cocoa-nut trees filled up the background with their dark foliage. The swans displayed their brilliant plumage on the lake, the boughs of the trees were alive with parroquets and other winged creatures of the tropics. Add to the charms of this scene, Mrs. Becker returning from the prairie with a jar of warm, frothy milk--Mrs. Wolston and Mary busied in a multiplicity of household occupations, to which their white hands and ringing voices gave elegance and grace--Sophia tying a rose to the neck of a blue antelope which she had adopted as a companion--Frank distributing food to the ostriches and large animals, and admit, if there is a paradise on earth, it was this spot. Compare this scene with that presented by any of our large cities at the same hour in the morning. In London or Paris, our dominion rarely extends over two or three dreary-looking rooms--a geranium, perhaps, at one of the windows to represent the fields and green lanes of the country; above, a forest of smoking chimneys vary the monotony of the zig-zag roofs; below, a thousand confused noises of waggons, cabs, and the hoarse voices of the street criers; probably the lamps are just being extinguished, and the dust heaps carted away, filling our rooms, and perhaps our eyes, with ashes; the chalk-milk, the air, and the odors are scarcely required to fill up the picture. Breakfast was spread a few paces from Mr. Wolston's bed, whom the two young girls were tending with anxious solicitude, and whose sickness was almost enviable, so many were the cares lavished upon him. "You are wrong, Mrs. Becker," said Mrs. Wolston, "to make yourself uneasy, the sea has become as smooth as a mirror since their departure." "Ah, yes, I know that, my dear Mrs. Wolston, but when one has already undergone the perils of shipwreck, the impression always remains, and makes us see storms in a glass of water." "I am certain," remarked Mr. Wolston, "the cause of their delay is a concession made to Willis." "Very likely he would not consent to return, unless they went as far as possible." "By the way, madam," said Mary, "now that you have got two great girls added to your establishment, I hope you are going to make them useful in some way--we can sew, knit, and spin." "And know how to make preserves," added Sophia. "Yes, and to eat them too," said her mother. "If you can spin, my dears, we shall find plenty of work for you; we have here the Nankin cotton plant, and I intend to dress the whole colony with it." "Delightful!" exclaimed Sophia, clapping her hands; "Nankin dresses just as at the boarding-school, with a straw hat and a green veil." "To be sure, it must be woven first," reflected Mrs. Becker; "but I dare say we shall be able to manage that." "By the way, girls," said Mrs. Wolston, "have you forgotten your lessons in tapestry?" "Not at all, mamma; and now that we think of it, we shall handsomely furnish a drawing-room for you." "But where are the tables and chairs to come from?" inquired Mrs. Becker. "Oh, the gentlemen will see to them." "And the room, where is that to be?" "There is the gallery, is there not?" "And the wool for the carpet?" "Have you not sheep?" "That is true, children; you speak as if we had only to go and sit down in it." "The piano, however, I fear will be wanting, unless we can pick up an Erard in the neighboring forest." "True, mamma, all the overtures that we have had so much trouble in learning will have to go for nothing." "But," said Mrs. Becker, "by way of compensation, there is the vegetable and fruit garden, the pantry, the kitchen, the dairy, and the poultry yard; these are all my charges, and you may have some of them if you like." "Excellent, each shall have her own kingdom and subjects." "It being understood," suggested Mrs. Wolston, "that you are not to eat everything up, should the fruit garden or pantry come under your charge." "That is not fair, mamma; you are making us out to be a couple of cannibals." "You see," continued Mrs. Wolston, "these young people have not the slightest objection to my parading their accomplishments, but the moment I touch their faults they feel aggrieved." "I am persuaded," rejoined Mrs. Becker laughing, "that there are no calumniators in the world like mothers." "Therefore, mamma, to punish you we shall come and kiss you." And accordingly Mrs. Wolston was half stifled under the embraces of her two daughters. "I am certainly not the offender," said Mrs. Becker, "but I should not object to receive a portion of the punishment; these great boys--pointing to Frank--are too heavy to hang on my neck now; you will replace them, my dears, will you not?" "Most willingly, madam; but not to deprive them of their places in your affection." "In case you should lose that, Master Frank," said Mrs. Wolston, "you must have recourse to mine." "But now, my friends, what do you say to going down to the shore to meet the pinnace, and perhaps the _Nelson_?" said Mrs. Becker. "Ah, yes," said Sophia; "and I will stay at home to wait upon father." "No," said Mary; "I am the eldest--that is my right." "Well, my children, do not quarrel about that," said Wolston; "I feel rather better; and I dare say a walk will do me good. Perhaps, when I get tired, Frank will lend me his arm." "Better than that," hastily added Frank; "I shall saddle Blinky; and lead him gently, and you will be as comfortable as in an arm-chair." "What is that you call Blinky?" "Oh, one of our donkeys." "Ah, very good; I was afraid you meant one of your ostriches, and I candidly admit that my experiences in equitation do not extend to riding a winged horse." "In that case," said Mrs. Becker, "to keep Blinky's brother from being jealous, I, shall charge him with a basket of provisions; and we shall lay a cloth under the mangoes, so that our ocean knights, as Jack will have it, may have something to refresh themselves withal as soon as they dismount." The little caravan was soon on the march; the two dogs cleared the way, leaping, bounding, and scampering on before, sniffing the bushes with their intelligent noses; then, returning to their master, they read in his face what was next to be done. Mary walked by the side of Blinky, amusing her father with her prattle. Sophia, with her antelope, was gambolling around them, the one rivalling the other in the grace of their movements, not only without knowing it, but rather because they did not know it. The two mothers were keeping an eye on the donkey; whilst Frank, with his rifle charged, was ready to bring down a quail or encounter a hyena. Some hours after the pinnace hove in sight, the voyagers landed, and received the warm congratulations of those on shore. When Willis had secured the boat, he took a final survey of the coast, penetrating with his eyes every creek and crevice. "Is there no trace of the _Nelson_?" inquired Wolston. "None!" "Well, I had all along thought you would find it so; the wind for four days has been blowing that it would drive the _Nelson_ to her destination. Captain Littlestone, being charged with important despatches, having already lost a fortnight here, has, no doubt, taken advantage of the gale, and made sail for the Cape, trusting to find us all alive here on his return voyage." "Yes," said the Pilot, "I know very well that you have all good hearts, and that you are desirous of giving me all the consolation you can." "Would you not have acted, under similar circumstances, precisely as we suppose Captain Littlestone to have done?" "I admit that the thing, is not only possible, but also that, if alive, it is just what he would have done. I trust, if it be so, that when he gets into port he will report me keel-hauled?" "Keel-hauled?" "Yes, I mean dead. It is a thousand times better to pass for a dead man than a deserter." "The wisest course he could pursue, it appears to me, would be to hold his tongue--probably you will not be missed." "Ah! you think that her Majesty's blue jackets can disappear in that way, like musk-rats? But no such thing. When the captain in command at the station hails on board, every man and boy of the crew, from the powder-monkey to the first-lieutenant, are mustered in pipe-clay on the quarter-deck, and there, with the ship's commission in his hand, every one must report himself as he calls over the names. "Then the captain will tell the simple truth." "Well, you see, truth has nothing at all to do with the rules of the service, the questions printed in the orderly-book only will be asked, and he may not have an opportunity of stating the facts of the case; besides, discipline on board a ship in commission could not be maintained if irregularities could be patched up by a few words from the captain. When it is found that I had been left on shore, the questions will be, 'Was the _Nelson_ in want of repairs?' 'No.' 'Did she require water?' 'No.' 'Provisions?' 'No.' 'Then Willis has deserted?' 'Yes.' And his condemnation will follow as a matter of course." "In that case, the Captain would be more to blame than you are." "So he would, and it is for that reason I hope he will be able to show by the log that I was seized with cholera, tied up in a sack, and duly thrown overboard with a four-pound shot for ballast." "I cannot conceive," said Becker, "that the discipline of any service can be so cruelly unreasonable as you would have us believe." "No, perhaps you think that just before the anchor is heaved, and the ship about to start on a long voyage, the cabin boys are asked whether they have the colic--that lubbers, who wish to back out have only to say the word, and they are free--that the pilot may go a-hunting if he likes, and that the officers may stay on shore and amuse themselves in defiance of the rules of the service? In that case the navy would be rather jolly, but not much worth." When Willis was once fairly started there was no stopping him. "Dead," he continued; "that is to say, without a berth, pay, or even a name, nothing! My wife will have the right to marry again, my little Susan will have another father, and I shall only be able to breathe by stealth, and to consider that as more than I deserve. You must admit that all this is rather a poor look-out a-head." "Really, Willis," said Mrs. Wolston, "you seem to take a pride in making things worse than they are, conjuring up phantoms that have no existence." "It is true, madam. I may be going upon a wrong tack. Judging from all appearances, the sloop, instead of being on her way to the Cape, is tranquilly reposing at the bottom of the sea. But it is only death for death; hanged by a court-martial or drowned with the sloop, it comes, in the end, to the same thing." "I dare say, Willis, had there really been an accident, and you had been on board, you would not have felt yourself entitled to escape?" "Certainly not, madam; unless the crew could be saved, it would look anything but well for the pilot to escape alone." Willis, however, to do him justice, seemed trying to smother his grief; and, in the meanwhile, the two girls had been spreading a pure white cloth on a neighboring rock, cutting fruit plates out of the thick mangoe leaves, cooling the Rockhouse malaga in the brook, and giving to the repast an air of elegance and refinement which had the effect of augmenting the appetite of the company. The viands were not better than they had been on many similar occasions, but they were now more artistically displayed, and consequently more inviting. Who has not remarked, in passing through a street of dingy-looking houses, one of them distinguished from the others by its fresh and cheerful aspect, the windows garnished with a luxuriant screen of flowers, with curtains on either side of snowy whiteness and elaborate workmanship? Very likely the passer-by has asked himself, Why is this house not as neglected, tattered, and dirty as its wretched neighbors? The answer is simple; there dwells in this house a young girl, blithe, frolicsome, and joyous, singing with the lark, and, like a butterfly, floating from her book to her work-box--from her mother's cheek to her father's, leaving an impress of her youthfulness and purity on whatever she touches. For a like reason the _al fresco_ dinner of this day had a charm that no such feast had been observed to possess before. "We are not presentable," said Fritz, referring to his seal-gut uniform. "Ah," replied Mrs. Wolston, "it is your costume of war, brave knights; and, for my part, I admire you more in it than in the livery of Hyde Park or Bond Street." "In that case," said Ernest, "we shall do as they do in China." "And what is that?" "Well, the most profound remark of respect a host can pay to his guests, is to go and dress after dinner." "Just when they are about to leave?" "Exactly so, madam." "That is very decidedly a Chinese observance. Are they not somewhat behind in cookery?" "By no means, madam; on the contrary, they have attained a very high degree of perfection in that branch of the arts. It is customary, at every ceremonious dinner, to serve up fifty-two distinct dishes. And when that course is cleared off, what do you think is produced next?" "The dessert, I suppose." "Eight kinds of soup, never either one more or one less. If the number were deficient, the guests would consider themselves grossly insulted, the number of dishes denoting the degree of respect entertained by the host for his guests." "I beg, Mrs. Wolston," said Mrs. Becker laughing, "that you will not estimate our esteem for you by the dinner we offer you." "Well," replied Mrs. Wolston in the same tone, "let me see; to be treated as we ought to be, there are fifty-seven dishes wanting, therefore we must go and dine at home. John, call my carriage." At this sally they all laughed heartily, and even Willis chimed in with the general hilarity. "Then, after the soups," continued Ernest, "comes the tea, and with that the dessert, as also sixty square pieces of silver paper to wipe the mouth. It is then that the host vanishes, to reappear in a brilliant robe of gold brocade and a vest of satin." "These people ought all to perish of indigestion." "No; they are moderate eaters, their dishes consist of small saucers, each containing only a few mouthfuls of meat, and, as for Europeans, the want of forks and spoons--" "What! have they no forks?" "Not at table--nor knives either; but, on the other hand, they are exceedingly expert in the use of two slender sticks of ivory, which they hold in the first three fingers of the right hand, and with which they manage to convey solids, and even liquids, to their mouths." "Ah! I see," said Jack; "the Europeans would be obliged, like Mrs. Wolston, to call their carriage, in spite of the fifty-two saucers of meat: it puts me in mind of the stork inviting the fox to dine with her out of a long-necked jar." "We are apt to judge the Chinese by the pictures seen of them on their own porcelain, and copied upon our pottery," said Becker; "but this conveys only a ludicrous idea of them. They are the most industrious, but at the same time the vainest, most stupid, and most credulous people in the world; they worship the moon, fire, fortune, and a thousand other things; people go about amongst them selling wind, which they dispose of in vials of various sizes." "That is a trade that will not require an extraordinary amount of capital." "True; and besides, as they carry on their trade in the open air, they have no rent to pay." "Their bonzes or priests," continued Becker, "to excite charity, perambulate the streets in chains, sometimes with some inflammable matter burning on their heads, whilst, instead of attempting to purify the souls of dying sinners, they put rice and gold in their mouths when the vital spark has fled. They have a very cruel mode of punishing renegade Lamas: these are pierced through the neck with a red-hot iron." "What is a Lama, father?" "It is a designation of the Tartar priests." For some time Willis had been closely examining a particular point in the bay with increasing anxiety; at last he ran towards the shore and leapt into the sea. Becker and his four sons were on the point of starting off in pursuit of him. "Stop," said Wolston, "I have been watching Willis's movements for the last ten minutes, and I guess his purpose--let him alone." Willis swam to some object that was floating on the water, and returned in about a quarter of an hour, bringing with him a plank. "Well," he inquired, on landing, "was I wrong?" "Wrong about what?" inquired Wolston. "The _Nelson_ is gone." "The proof, Willis." "That plank." "Well, what about the plank?" "I recognise it." "How, Willis?" "How! Well," replied the obstinate pilot, "fish don't breed planks, and--and--I scarcely think this one could escape from a dockyard, and float here of its own accord." "Then, Willis, according to you, there are no ships but the _Nelson_, no ships wrecked but the _Nelson_, and no planks but the _Nelson's_. Willis, you are a fool." "Every one has his own ideas, Mr. Wolston." Towards evening, when they were on their way back to Rockhouse, Sophia confidentially called Willis aside, and he cheerfully obeyed the summons. "Pilot," said she, "I have made up my mind about one thing." "And what is that, Miss Sophia?" "Why, this--in future, when we are alone, as just now, you must call me Susan, as you used to call your own little girl when at home, not Miss Susan." "Oh, I cannot do that, Miss Sophia." "But I insist upon it." "Well, Miss Sophia, I will try." "What did you say?" "Miss Sus--" "What?" "Susan, I mean." "There now, that will do." CHAPTER V. ALLOTMENT OF QUARTERS--A HORSE MARINE--TRAVELLING PLANTS--CHANGE OF DYNASTY IN ENGLAND--A WOMAN'S KINGDOM--SHEEP CONVERTED INTO CHOPS--RESURRECTION OF THE FRIED FISH--A SECRET. After some days more of anxious but fruitless expectation, it was finally concluded that either the _Nelson_ had sailed for the Cape, or, as Willis would have it, she had gone to that unexplored and dread land where there were neither poles nor equator, and whence no mariner was ever known to return. It was necessary, therefore, to make arrangements for the surplus population of the colony--whether for a time or for ever, it was then impossible to say. At first sight, it might appear easy enough to provide accommodation for the eleven individuals that constituted the colony of New Switzerland. It is true that land might have been marked off, and each person made sovereign over a territory as large as some European kingdoms; but these sovereignties would have resembled the republic of St. Martin--there would have been no subjects. What, then, would they have governed? it may be asked. Themselves, might be answered; and it is said to be a far more difficult task to govern ourselves than to rule others. Though space was ample enough as regards the colony in general, it was somewhat limited as regards detail. To live _pêle-mêle_ in Rockhouse was entirely out of the question. Independently of accommodation, a thousand reasons of propriety opposed such an arrangement. Whether or not there might be another cave in the neighborhood, hollowed out by Nature, was not known; if there were, it had still to be discovered. Chance would not be chance, if it were undeviating and certain in its operations. To consign the Wolstons to Falcon's Nest or Prospect Hill, and leave them there alone, even though under the protection of Willis, could not be thought of; they knew nothing of the dangers that would surround them, and as yet they were ignorant of the topography of the island. It was, therefore, requisite that both families should continue in proximity, so as to aid each other in moments of peril, but without, at the same time, outraging propriety, or shackling individual freedom of action. Under ordinary circumstances, these difficulties might have been solved by taking apartments on the opposite side of the street, or renting a house next door. But, alas! the blessings of landlords and poor-rates had not yet been bestowed on the island. One day after dinner, when these points were under consideration, Willis, who was accustomed to disappear after each meal, no one knew why or whereto, came and took his place amongst them under the gallery. "As for myself," said the Pilot, "I do not wish to live anywhere. Since I am in your house, Mr. Becker, and cannot get away honestly for a quarter of an hour, I must of course remain; but as for becoming a mere dependant on your bounty, that I will not suffer." "What you say there is not very complimentary to me," said Mr. Wolston. "Your position, Mr. Wolston, is a very different thing: besides, you are an invalid and require attention, whilst I am strong and healthy, for which I ought to be thankful." "You are not in my house," replied Becker "any more than I am in yours; the place we are in is a shelter provided by Providence for us all, and I venture to suppose that such a host is rich enough to supply all our wants. I am only the humble instrument distributing the gifts that have been so lavishly bestowed on this island." "What you say is very kind and very generous," added Willis, "but I mean to provide for myself--that is my idea." "And not a bad one either," continued Becker; "but how? You are welcome here to do the work for four--if you like; and then, supposing you eat for two, I will be your debtor, not you mine." "Work! and at what? walking about with a rifle on my shoulder; airing myself, as I am doing now under your gallery, in the midst of flowers, on the banks of a river: or opening my mouth for quails to jump down my throat ready roasted--would you call that work?" "Look there, Willis--what do you see?" "A bear-skin." "Well, suppose, by way of a beginning, I were to introduce you to a fine live bear, with claws and tusks to match, ready to spring on you, having as much right to your skin as you have to his--now, were I to say to you, I want that animal's skin, to make a soft couch similar to the one you see yonder, would you call that work?" "Certainly, Mr. Becker." "Very good, then; it is in the midst of such labors that we pass our lives. Before we fell comfortably asleep on feather beds, those formidable bones which you see in our museum were flying in the air; the cup which I now hold in my hand was a portion of the clay on which you sit; the canoe with which you ran away the other day was a live seal; the hats that we wear, were running about the fields in the form of angola rabbits. So with everything you see about you; for fifteen years, excepting the Sabbath, which is our day of rest and recreation as well as prayer, we have never relapsed from labor, and you are at liberty to adopt a similar course, if you feel so disposed." "No want of variety," said Jack; "if you do not like the saw-pit, you can have the tannery." "Neither are very much in my line," replied Willis. "What then do you say to pottery?" "I have broken a good deal in my day." "Yes, but there is a difference between breaking it and making it." "What appears most needful," remarked Fritz, "is, three or four acres of fresh land, to double our agricultural produce." "Is land dear in these parts?" inquired Mrs. Wolston, smiling. "It is not to be had for nothing, madam; there is the trouble of selecting it." "And the labor of rendering it productive," added Ernest. "But how do you manage for a lawyer to convey it?" "I was advising Ernest to adopt that profession," said Mrs. Becker; "wills and contracts would be in harmony with his studious temperament." "At present, the question before us," said Becker, "is the allotment of quarters; in the meantime, Mr. and Mrs. Wolston, with the young ladies, will continue to occupy our room." "No, no," said Wolston "that would be downright expropriation." "In that case the matter comes within the sphere of our lawyer, and I therefore request his advice." To this Ernest replied, by slowly examining his pockets; after this operation was deliberately performed, he said, in a _nisi prius_ tone, "That he had forgotten his spectacles, and consequently that it was impossible for him to look into the case in the way its importance demanded, otherwise he was quite of the same opinion as his learned brother--his father, he meant." "And what if we refuse?" said Mrs. Wolston. "If you refuse, Mrs. Wolston, there is only one other course to adopt." "And what is that, Master Frank?" "Why, simply this," and rising, he cried out lustily, "John, call Mrs. Wolston's carriage." "Ah, to such an argument as that, there can be no reply; so I see you must be permitted to do what you like with us." "Very good," continued Becker; "then there is one point decided: my wife and I will occupy the children's apartment." "And the children," said Jack, "will occupy the open air. For my own part, I have no objection: that is a bedroom exactly to my taste." "Spacious," remarked Ernest. "Well-aired," suggested Fritz. "Hangings of blue, inlaid with stars of gold," observed Frank. "Any thing else?" inquired Becker. "No, father, I believe the extent of accommodation does not go beyond that." "Therefore I have decided upon something less vast, but more comfortable for you; you will go every night to our _villa_ of Falcon's Nest." "On foot?" "On horseback, if you like and under the direction of Willis, whom I name commander-in-chief of the cavalry." "Of the cavalry!" cried the sailor; "what! a pilot on horseback?" "Do not be uneasy, Willis," replied Jack, "we have no horses." "Ah, well, that alters the case." "But then we have zebras and ostriches." "Ostriches! worse and worse." "Say not so, good Willis; when once you have tried Lightfoot or Flyaway, you would never wish to travel otherwise: they run so fast that the wind is fairly distanced, and scarcely give us time to breathe--it is delightful." "Thank you, but I would rather try and get the canoe to travel on land." "Ah, Willis," said Fritz, "that would be an achievement that would do you infinite credit--if you only succeed." "Will you allow me to make a request, Mrs. Becker?" "Listen to Willis," said Jack, "he has an idea." "The request I have to urge is, that you will permit me to encamp on Shark's Island, and there establish a lighthouse for the guidance of the _Nelson_, in case she should return." "What! the commander-in-chief of cavalry on an island?" "No, not of the cavalry, but of the fleet; it is only necessary for Mr. Becker to change my position into that of an admiral, which will not give him much extra trouble." "I shall do so with pleasure, Willis." "In that case, since I am an admiral, the first thing I shall do, is to pardon myself for the faults I committed whilst I was a pilot." "Capital!" said Ernest, "that puts me in mind of Louis XII., who, on ascending the throne, said that it was not for the King of France to revenge the wrongs of the Duke of Orleans." "What, then, is to become of the boys? I intended to make you their compass--on land, of course." "The boys," cried the latter, "are willing to enlist as seamen, and accompany the admiral on his cruise." "You will spin yarns for us, Willis, will you not?" "Well, my lads, if you want a sleeping dose, I will undertake to do that." "But there are objections to this arrangement," Mrs. Becker hastily added. "What are they, mother?" "In the first place, a storm might arise some fine night--one of those dreadful hurricanes that continue several days, like the one that terrified us so much lately--and then all communication would be cut off between us." "You could always see one another." "How so, Willis?" "From a distance--with the telescope." "Then," continued Mrs. Becker, "you would be a prey to famine, for though the telescope, good Master Willis, might enable you to see our dinner--from a distance--I doubt whether that would prevent you dying of starvation." "We might easily guard against that, by taking over a sufficient quantity of provisions with us every night, and bringing them back next morning." "But could you carry over my kisses, Willis, and distribute them amongst my children every morning and evening, like rations of rice?" "If the arrangement will really make you uneasy, Mrs. Becker, I give it up," said Willis, polishing with his arm the surface of his oil-skin sou'-wester. "Not at all, Willis. It is for me to give up my objections. Besides, I observe Miss Sophia staring at me with her great eyes; she will never forgive me for tormenting her sweetheart." "Ah! since I have been staring at you, I have only now to eat you up like the wolf in Little Red Ridinghood," and in a moment her slender arms were clasped round Mrs. Becker's neck. "Good," said Becker, "there is another point settled--temporarily." "In Europe," observed Wolston, "there is nothing so durable as the temporary." "In Europe, yes, but not here. To-morrow morning we shall select a tree near Falcon's Nest, and in eight days you shall be permanently housed in an aerial tenement close to ours, so that we may chat to each other from our respective balconies." "That will be a castle in the air a little more real than those I have built in Spain." "Then you have been in Spain, papa?" "Every one has been less or more in the Spain I refer to. Sophy--it is the land of dreams." "And of castanets," remarked Jack. "Then my sweetheart will be alone on his island, like an exile?" "No, Miss Sophia, we are incapable of such ingratitude. After enjoying the hospitality of Willis in Shark's Island, he will surely deign to accept ours at Falcon's Nest; so, whether here or there, he shall always have four devoted followers to keep him company." The Pilot shook Fritz by the hand, at the same time nearly dislocating his arm. "I wonder why God, who is so good, has not made houses grow of themselves, like pumpkins and melons?" said Ernest. "Rather a lazy idea that," said his father; "our great Parent has clearly designed that we should do something for ourselves; he has given us the acorn whence we may obtain the oak." "Nevertheless, there are uninhabited countries which are gorged with vegetation--the territory we are in, for example." "True; but still no plant has ever sprung up anywhere without a seed has been planted, either by the will of God or by the hands of man. With regard, however, to the distribution of vegetation in a natural state, that depends more upon the soil and climate than anything else; wherever there is a fertile soil and moist air, there seeds will find their way." "But how?" "The seeds of a great many plants are furnished with downy filaments, which act as wings; these are taken up by the wind and carried immense distances; others are inclosed in an elastic shell, from which, when ripe, they are ejected with considerable force." "The propagation of plants that have wings or elastic shells may, in that way, be accounted for; but there are some seeds that fall, by their own weight, exactly at the foot of the vegetable kingdom that produces them." "It is often these that make the longest voyages." "By what conveyance, then?" "Well, my son, for a philosopher, I cannot say that your knowledge is very profound; seeds that have no wings borrow them." "Not from the ant, I presume?" "No, not exactly; but from the quail, the woodcock, the swallow, and a thousand others, that are apparently more generous than the poor ant, to which Æsop has given a reputation for avarice that it will have some trouble to shake off. The birds swallow the seeds, many of which are covered with a hard, horny skin, that often resists digestion; these are carried by the inhabitants of the air across rivers, seas, and lakes, and are deposited by them in the neighborhood of their nests--it may be on the top of a mountain, or in the crevice of a rock." "True, I never thought of that." "There are a great many philosophers who know more about the motions of stars than these humbler operations of Nature." "You are caught there," said Jack. "There are philosophers, too, who can do nothing but ridicule the knowledge of others." "Caught you there," retaliated Ernest. "It was in this way that a bird of the Moluccas has restored the clove tree to the islands of this archipelago, in spite of the Dutch, who destroyed them everywhere, in order that they might enjoy the monopoly of the trade." "Still, I must fall back upon my original idea; by sowing a brick, we ought to reap a wall." "And if a wall, a house," suggested another of the young men. "Or if a turret, a castle," proposed a third. "Or a hall to produce a palace," remarked the fourth. "There are four wishes worthy of the four heads that produced them! What do you think of those four great boys, Mrs. Wolston?" "Well, madam, as they are wishing, at any rate they may as well wish that chinchillas and marmots wore their fur in the form of boas and muffs, that turkeys produced perigord pies, and that the fish were drawn out of the sea ready roasted or boiled." "Or that the sheep walked about in the form of nicely grilled chops," suggested Becker. "And you, young ladies, what would you wish?" Mary, who was now beyond the age of dolls, and was fast approaching the period of young womanhood, felt that it was a duty incumbent upon her to be more reserved than her sister, and rarely took part in the conversation, unless she was directly addressed, ceased plying her needle, and replied, smiling, "I wish I could make some potent elixir in the same way as gooseberry wine, that would restore sick people to health, then I would give a few drops to my father, and make him strong and well, as he used to be." "Thank you for the intention, my dear child." "And you, Miss Sophia? It is your turn." "I wish that all the little children were collected together, and that every papa and mamma could pick out their own from amongst them." Here Willis took out his pocket-handkerchief and appeared to be blowing his nose, it being an idea of his that a sailor ought not to be caught with a tear in his eye. "Now then, Willis, we must have a wish from you." "I wish three things: that there had not been a hurricane lately, that canoes could be converted into three masters, and that Miss Sophia may be Queen of England." "Granted," cried Jack. And laying hold of a wreath of violets that the young girl had been braiding, he solemnly placed it on her head. "You will make her too vain," said Mrs. Wolston. "Ah mamma, do not scold," and gracefully taking the crown from her own fair curls, she placed it on the silvery locks of her mother; "I abdicate in your favor, and, sweetheart, I thank you for placing our dynasty on the throne. Mary, you are a princess." "Yes," she replied, "and here is my sceptre," holding up her spindle. "Well answered, my daughter, that is a woman's best sceptre, and her kingdom is her house." "Our conversation," said Becker, "is like those small threads of water which, flowing humbly from the hollow of a rock, swell into brooks, then become rivers, and, finally, lose themselves in the ocean." "It was Ernest that led us on." "Well, it is time now to get back to your starting-point again. God has said that we shall earn our bread by the sweat of our brow, and consequently that our enjoyments should be the result of our own industry; that is the reason that venison is given to us in the form of the swift stag, and palaces in the form of clay; man is endowed with reason, and may, by labor, convert all these blessings to his use." "Your notion," said Mr. Wolston, "of drawing the fish out of the sea ready cooked, puts me in mind of an incident of college life which, with your permission, I will relate." "Oh yes, papa, a story!" "There was at Cambridge, when I was there, a young man, who, instead of study and sleep, spent his days and nights in pistol practice and playing on the French horn, much to the annoyance of an elderly maiden lady, who occupied the apartments that were immediately under his own." "These are inconveniences that need not be dreaded here." "Our police are too strict." "And our young men too well-bred," added Mrs. Wolston. "Not only that," continued Mr. Wolston, "this young student, who never thought of study, had a huge, shaggy Newfoundland dog, and the old lady possessed a chubby little pug, which she was intensely fond of; now, when these two brutes happened to meet on the stairs, the large one, by some accident or other, invariably sent the little one rolling head over heels to the bottom; and, much to the horror of the old lady, her favorite, that commenced its journey down stairs with four legs, had sometimes to make its way up again with three." "I always understood that dogs were generous animals, and would not take advantage of an animal weaker than themselves; our dogs would not have acted so." "Well, perhaps the dog was not quite so much to blame in these affairs as its master; besides, in making advances to its little friend, it might not have calculated its own force." "Yes, and perhaps might have been sorry afterwards for the mischief it had done." "Very likely; still the point was never clearly explained, and, whether or no, the elderly lady could not put up with this sort of thing any longer; she complained so often and so vigorously, that her troublesome neighbor was served in due form with a notice to quit. The young scapegrace was determined to be revenged in some way on the party who was the cause of his being so summarily ejected from his quarters. Now, right under his window there was a globe belonging to the old lady, well filled with good-sized gold fish. His eye by chance having fallen upon this, and spying at the same time his fishing-rod in a corner, the coincidence of vision was fatal to the gold-fish; they were very soon hooked up, rolled in flour, fried, and gently let down again one by one into the globe." "I should like to have seen the old lady when she first became aware of this transformation!" "Well, one of the fish had escaped, and was floating about, evidently lamenting the fate of its finny companions." "It was very cruel," observed Mary. "Elderly ladies who have no family and live alone are very apt to bestow upon animals the love and affection that is inherent in us all." "Which is very much to be deprecated." "Why so, Master Frank?" "Are there not always plenty of poor and helpless human beings upon whom to bestow their love? are there not orphans and homeless creatures whom they might adopt?" "There are; but it requires wealth for such benevolences, and the goddess Fortune is very capricious; whilst one must be very poor indeed that cannot spare a few crumbs of bread once a day. Besides, admitting that this mania is blamable when carried to excess, still it must be respected, for it behoves us to reverence age even in its foibles." Frank, whose nature was so very susceptible, that a single grain of good seed soon ripened into a complete virtue, bent his head in token of acquiescence. "Now the old lady loved these gold-fish as the apples of her eyes, and her astonishment and grief, in beholding the state they were in, was indescribable." "And yet it was a loss that might have been easily repaired." "Ah, you think so, Jack, do you? If you were to lose Knips, would the first monkey that came in your way replace him in your affections?" "That is a very different thing--I brought Knips up." "No; it is precisely the same thing. She had the fish when they were very small, had seen them grow, spoke to them, gave each of them a name, and believed them to be endowed with a supernatural intelligence." "Therefore, I contend the student was a savage." "Not he, my friend, he was one of the best-hearted fellows in the world: hasty, ardent, inconsiderate, he resisted commands and threats, but yielded readily to a tear or a prayer. As soon as he saw the sorrowful look of the old woman, he regretted what he had done, and undertook to restore the inhabitants of the globe to life." "With what sort of magic wand did he propose to do that?" "All the inhabitants of the house had collected round the old lady and her globe, endeavoring to console her, and at the same time trying to account for the phenomenon; some ascribed the transformation to lightning, others went so far as to suggest witchcraft. Our scapegrace now joined the throng, took the globe in his hands, gravely examined his victims, and declared, with the utmost coolness that they were not dead. 'Not dead, sir! are you sure?' 'Confident, madam; it is only a lethargy, a kind of coma or temporary transformation, that will be gradually shaken off; I have seen many cases of the same kind, and, if proper care be taken as to air, repose, and diet, particularly as regards the latter, your fish will be quite well again to-morrow.'" "Did she believe that?" "One readily believes what one wishes to be true; besides, in twenty-four hours, all doubt on the subject would be at an end; added to which, the young man was ostensibly a student of medicine, and had the credit in the house of having cured the washerwoman's canary of a sore throat." "Well, how did he manage about the fish?" "Very simply; he went and bought some exactly the same size that were not in a lethargy; he then, at the risk of breaking his neck or being taken for a burglar, scaled the balcony, and substituted them for the defunct. Next morning, when he called to inquire after his patients, he found the old lady quite joyful." "Had she no doubts as to their identity?" "Well, one was a little paler and another was a trifle thinner, but she was easily persuaded that this difference might arise from their convalescence. The young man immediately became a great favorite; and the old lady would rather have shared her own apartments with him, than allow him to quit the house; he consequently remained." "What, then, became of the pistols and the French horn?" inquired Jack. "From that time on there sprung up a close friendship between the two; he was induced by her to convert his weapons of war into pharmacopoeas. Always, when she made some nice compound of jelly and cream, he had a share of it; he, on his side, scarcely ever passed her door without softening his tread; and both himself and his dog managed, eventually, to acquire the favor of the old lady's pug." "He appears to have been one of those medical gentlemen WHO profess to cure every conceivable disease by one kind of medicine." "And who generally contrive to remove both the disease and the patient at the same time." "You mistake the individual altogether; he is now one of the most esteemed physicians in London, remarkable alike for his skill and benevolence. It is even strongly suspected by his friends that he is not a little indebted for his present eminent position to his first patients--the canary and the gold-fish." It was now the usual hour for retiring to rest. After the evening prayer, which Mary and Sophia said alternately aloud, Willis and the four brothers prepared to start for Shark's Island, to pass their first night in the store-room and cattle-shed that had been erected there. Of course they could not expect to be so comfortable in such quarters as at Rockhouse or Falcon's Nest; but then novelty is to young people what ease is to the aged. Black bread appears delicious to those who habitually eat white; and we ourselves have seen high-bred ladies delighted when they found themselves compelled to dine in a wretched hovel of the Tyrol--true, they were certain of a luxurious supper at Inspruck. So grief breaks the monotony of joy, just as a rock gives repose to level plain. Whilst the pinnace was gradually leaving the shore, loaded with mattresses and other movables adapted for a temporary encampment, Jack signalled a parting adieu to Sophia, and, putting his fingers to his lips, seemed to enjoin silence. "All right, Master Jack," cried she. "What is all this signalling about?" inquired Mrs. Wolston. "A secret," said the young girl, leaping with joy; "I have a secret!" "And with a young man? that is very naughty, miss." "Oh, mamma, you will know it to-morrow." "What if I wanted to know it to-night?" "Then, mamma, if you insisted--that is--absolutely--" "No, no, child, I shall wait till to-morrow; keep it till then--if you can." "Sophia dear," said Mary to her sister, when their two heads, enveloped in snowy caps with an embroidered fringe, were reclining together on the same pillow, "you know I have always shared my _bon-bons_ with you." "Yes, sister." "In that case, make me a partner in your secret." "Will you promise not to speak of it?" "Yes, I promise." "To no one?" "To no one." "Not even to the paroquette Fritz gave you?" "No, not even to my paroquette." "Well, it is very likely I shall speak about it in my dreams--you listen and find it out." "Slyboots!" "Curiosity!" Like those delicate flowers that shrink when they are touched, each then turned to her own side; but it would have cost both too much not to have fallen asleep as usual, with their arms round each other's necks;--consequently this tiff soon blew over, and, after a prolonged chat, their lips finally joined in the concluding "Good-night." CHAPTER VI. THE QUEEN'S DOLL--ROCKHOUSE TO FALCON'S NEST--THE WIND--GLASSES--ADMIRAL HOMER--THE THREE FROGS--OAT JELLY--ESQUIMAUX ASTRONOMY--AN UNKNOWN. Next morning, Sophia came running in with a sealed letter in her hand, which she opened and read as follows:-- "HEAD QUARTERS, SAFETY BAY, DAYBREAK. "The Admiral commanding the Fleet stationed in Safety Bay to her Most gracious Majesty Sophia, Queen of Great Britain and Ireland. "May it please your Majesty, "The crews of your Majesty's yachts, the _Elizabeth_ and the _Morse_, are quite entire and in perfect health. The enemy having kept at a respectful distance, we have not had as yet an opportunity of proving our courage and devotion. Mr. Midshipman Jack fell asleep on the carriage of a four-pounder, like Marshal Turenne before his first battle; but, in all other respects, the conduct of the officers has been most exemplary, and merits the utmost commendation. "It is the admiral's intention to push out a reconnaissance towards the east, in the direction of Pearl Bay, which he has not yet explored. If, however, your Majesty should regard this expedition as likely to interfere with the good understanding that subsists between that government and your own, it will be only necessary to fire a gun, in which case we shall return to port. Under other circumstances, the squadron will proceed with the enterprise, and endeavor to obtain a collar for your Majesty's doll." "For my doll!" exclaimed Sophia angrily; "when did Jack find out that I had a doll?" "Is that, then, your secret?" inquired her mother. "Yes, mamma, Master Jack took a pigeon with him for the express purpose of playing me this trick." "And what is worse, included yourself in the conspiracy. Dreadful!" "Is it not--to speak of a young person of thirteen's doll?" "Say nearer fourteen, my dear." "Therefore, to punish your confederates, I shall fire a gun, and put a stop to their excursion," said Becker, turning to one of the six-pounders that flanked Rockhouse in the direction of the river. "Clemency being one of the dearest rights of the royal prerogative," replied Sophia, "I shall pardon them, and I pray you not; to throw any obstacle in the way of their expedition." "Very good, your Majesty; but there are state reasons which should be allowed to overrule the impulses of your heart; those gentlemen have forgotten that we were to go and lay the first stone, or rather to cut, to-day, the first branch of your aerial residence at Falcon's Nest." Admiral Willis and his officers having obeyed the preconcerted signal, the whole party started on their land enterprise. One of the young men was harnessed to a sledge, containing saws, hatchets, a bamboo ladder that had formerly done duty as a staircase to the Nest, and everything else requisite for the contemplated project. Jack had already started when Sophia called him back, and he hastily obeyed the summons. "What are your Majesty's commands?" "Oh, nothing particular, only should you meet my doll in company with your go-cart, be pleased to pay my respects to them." Saying this, she made a low curtsy, and turned her back upon him. "Your Majesty's behests shall be obeyed," said Jack, and he ran off to rejoin the caravan. The sad ravages of the tempest presented themselves as they proceeded; tall chestnuts lay stretched on the ground, and seemed, by their appearance, to have struggled hard with the storm. "After all," inquired Frank, "what is the wind?" "Wind is nothing more than air rushing in masses from one point to another." "And what causes this commotion in the elements?" "The equilibrium of the atmosphere is disturbed by a variety of actions;--the diurnal motion of the sun, whose rays penetrate the air at various points; absorption and radiation, which varies according to the nature of the soil and the hour of the day; the inequality of the solar heat, according to seasons and latitude; the formation and condensation of vapor, that absorbs caloric in its formation, and disengages it when being resolved into liquid." "I never thought," remarked Willis, "that there were so many mysteries in a sou'-easter. Does it blow? is it on the starboard or larboard? was all, in fact, that I cared about knowing." "In a word, the various circumstances that change the actual density of the air, making it more rarefied at one point than another, produce currents, the force and direction of which depend upon the relative position of hot and cold atmospheric beds. Again, the winds acquire the temperature and characteristics of the regions they traverse." "That," observed Frank, "is like human beings; you may generally judge, by the language and manners of a man, the places that he is accustomed to frequent." "There are hot and cold winds, wet and dry; then there are the trade winds." "Ah, yes," cried Willis, "these are the winds to talk of, especially when sailing with them--that is, from east to west; but when your course is different, they are rather awkward affairs to get ahead of. The way to catch them is to sail from Peru to the Philippines." "Or from Mexico to China." "Yes, either will do; then there is no necessity for tacking, you have only to rig your sails and smoke your pipe, or go to sleep; you may, in that way, run four thousand leagues in three months." "Stiff sailing that, Willis." "Yes, Master Ernest, but it does not come up to your yarn about the stars, you recollect, ever so many millions of miles in a second!" "The trade winds, I was going to observe," continued Becker, "that blow from the west coast of Africa, carry with them a stifling heat." "That might be expected," remarked Frank, "since they pass over the hot sands of the desert." "Well, can you tell me why the same wind is cooler on the east coast of America?" "Because it has been refreshed on crossing the ocean that separates the two continents?" "By taking a glass of grog on the way," suggested Willis. "Yes; and so in Europe the north wind is cold because it carries, or rather consists of, air from the polar regions; and the same effect is produced by the south wind in the other hemisphere." "It is for a like reason," suggested Ernest, "that the south wind in Europe, and particularly the south-west wind, is humid, and generally brings rain, because it is charged with vapor from the Atlantic Ocean." "How is it, father, that the almanac makers can predict changes in the weather?" "The almanac makers can only foresee one thing with absolute certainty, and that is, that there are always fools to believe what they say. A few meteorological phenomena may be predicted with tolerable accuracy; but these are few in number, and range within very narrow limits." "Their predictions, nevertheless, sometimes turn out correct." "Yes, when they predict by chance a hard frost on a particular day in January, it is just possible the prediction may be verified; out of a multitude of such prognostications a few may be successful, but the greater part of them fail. Their few successes, however, have the effect with weak minds of inspiring confidence, in defiance of the failures which they do not take the trouble to observe." "At what rate does the wind travel?" "The speed of the wind is very variable; when it is scarcely felt, the velocity does not exceed a foot a second; but it is far otherwise in the cases of hurricanes and tornados, that sweep away trees and houses. "And sink his Majesty's ships," observed Willis. "In those cases the wind sometimes reaches the velocity of forty-five yards in a second, or about forty leagues in an hour." "Therefore," remarked Jack, "the wind is a blessing that could very well be dispensed with." "Your conclusions, Jack, do not always do credit to your understanding. The wind re-establishes the equilibrium of the temperature, and purifies the air by dispersing in the mass exhalations that would be pernicious if they remained in one spot; it clears away miasma, it dissipates the smoke of towns, it waters some countries by driving clouds to them, it condenses vapor on the frozen summits of mountains, and converts it into rivers that cover the land with fruitfulness." "It likewise fills the sails of ships and creates pilots," observed Willis. "And brings about shipwrecks," remarked Jack. "It conveys the pollen of flowers, and, as I had occasion to state the other day, sows the seeds of Nature's fields and forests. It is likewise made available by man in some classes of manufactures--mills, for example." "And it causes the simoon," persisted Jack, "that lifts the sand of the desert and overwhelms entire caravans; how can you justify such ravages?" "I do not intend to plead the cause of either hurricanes or simoons; but I contend that, if the wind sometimes terrifies us by disasters, we have, on the other hand, to be grateful for the infinite good it does. In it, as in all other phenomena of the elements, the evils are rare and special, whilst the good is universal and constant." Fritz, as usual, with the dogs and his rifle charged, acted as pioneer for the caravan, now and then bringing down a bird, sometimes adding a plant to their collection, and occasionally giving them some information as to the state of the surrounding country. "Father," said he, "I chased this quail into our corn-field; the grain is lying on the ground as if it had been passed over by a roller, but I am happy to say that it is neither broken nor uprooted." "Now, Jack, do you see how gallantly the wind behaves, prostrating the strong and sparing the weak? If you had been charged with the safety of the grain, no doubt you would have placed it in the tops of the highest trees." "Very likely; and, until taught by experience, everybody else would have done precisely the same thing." "True; therefore in this, as in all other things, we should admire the wisdom of Providence, and mistrust our own." "Whoever would have thought of trusting the staff of human life to such slender support as stalks of straw?" "If grain had been produced by forests, these, when destroyed by war, burned down by imprudence, uprooted by hurricanes, or washed away by inundations, we should have required ages to replace." "Very true." "The fruits of trees are, besides, more liable to rot than those of grain; the latter have their flowers in the form of spikes, often bearded with prickly fibres, which not only protect them from marauders, but likewise serve as little roofs to shelter them from the rain; and besides, as Fritz has just told us, owing to the pliancy of their stalks, strengthened at intervals by hard knots and the spear-shaped form of their leaves, these plants escape the fury of the winds." "That," said Willis, "is like a wretched cock-boat, which often contrives to get out of a scrape when all the others are swamped." "Therefore," continued Becker, "their weakness is of more service to them than the strength of the noblest trees, and they are spread and multiplied by the same tempests that devastate the forests. Added to this, the species to which this class of plants belong--the grasses--are remarkably varied in their characteristics, and better suited than any other for universal propagation." "Which was remarked by Homer," observed Ernest "who usually distinguishes a country by its peculiar fruit, but speaks of the earth generally as _zeidoros_, or grain-bearing." "There, Willis," exclaimed Jack, "is another great admiral for you." "An admiral, Jack?" "It was he who led the combined fleets of Agamemnon, Diomedes, and others, to the city of Troy." "Not in our time, I suppose?" "How old are you, Willis?" "Forty-seven." "In that case it was before you entered the navy." "I know that there is a Troy in the United States, but I did not know it was a sea-port." "There is another in France, Willis; but the Troy I mean is, or rather was, in Asia Minor, capital of Lesser Phrygia, sometimes called Ilion, its citadel bearing the name of Pergamos." "Never heard of it," said Willis. "To return to grain," continued Becker, laughing. "Nature has rendered it capable of growing in all climates, from the line to the pole. There is a variety for the humid soils of hot countries, as the rice of Asia; immense quantities of which are produced in the basin of the Ganges. There is another variety for marshy and cold climates--as a kind of oat that grows wild on the banks of the North American lakes, and of which the natives gather abundant harvests." "God has amply provided for us all," said Frank. "Other varieties grow best in hot, dry soils, as the millet in Africa, and maize or Indian corn in Brazil. In Europe, wheat is cultivated universally, but prefers rich lands, whilst rye takes more readily to a sandy soil; buckwheat is most luxuriant where most exposed to rain; oats prefer humid soils, and barley comes to perfection on rocky, exposed lands, growing well on the cold, bleak plains of the north. And, observe, that the grasses suffice for all the wants of man." "Yes," observed Ernest, "with the straw are fed his sheep, his cows, his oxen, and his horses; with the seeds, he prepares his food and his drinks. In the north, grain is converted into excellent beer and ale, and spirits are extracted from it as strong as brandy." "The Chinese obtain from rice a liquor that they prefer to the finest wines of Spain." "That is because they have not yet tasted our Rockhouse malaga." "Then of roasted oats, perfumed with vanilla, an excellent jelly may be made." "Ah! we must get mamma to try that--it will delight the young ladies." "And, no doubt, you will profit by the occasion to partake thereof yourself, Master Jack." "Certainly; but I would not, for all that, seek to gratify my own appetite under pretence of paying a compliment to our friends." "I know an animal," said Willis, "that, for general usefulness, beats grain all to pieces." "Good! let us hear what it is, Willis." "It is the seal of the Esquimaux; they live upon its flesh, and they drink its blood." "I scarcely think," said Jack, "that I should often feel thirsty under such circumstances." "The skin furnishes them with clothes, tents, and boats." "Of which our canoe and life-preservers are a fair sample," said Fritz. "The fat furnishes them with fire and candle, the muscles with thread and rope, the gut with windows and curtains, the bones with arrow heads and harness; in short, with everything they require." "True, Willis, in so far as regards their degree of civilization, which is not very great, when we consider that they bury their sick whilst alive, because they are afraid of corpses; that they believe the sun, moon, and stars to be dead Esquimaux, who have been translated from earth to heaven." Whilst chatting in this way, the party had imperceptibly arrived at Falcon's Nest, wherein they had not set foot for a fortnight previously. Fritz went up first, and before the others had ascended, came running down again as fast as his legs would carry him. "Father," he cried, in an accent of alarm, "there is a fresh litter of leaves up stairs, which has been recently slept upon, and I miss a knife that I left the last time we were here!" CHAPTER VII. THE SEARCH FOR THE UNKNOWN--THREE FLEETS ON DRY LAND--THE INDISCRETIONS OF A SUGAR CANE--LARBOARD AND STARBOARD--THE SUPPOSED SENSIBILITY OF PLANTS--THE FLY-TRAP--VENDETTA--ROOT AND GERM--MINE AND COUNTERMINE--THE POLYPI--OVIPAROUS AND VIVIPAROUS--A QUID PRO QUO. "Have any of you been at Falcon's Nest lately?" inquired Becker, when he had verified the truth of Fritz's intelligence. "None of us," unanimously replied all the boys. "You will understand that the question I put to you is, under the circumstances in which we are placed, one of the greatest moment. If, therefore, there is any unseemly joking, any trick, or secret project in contemplation, with which this affair is connected, do not conceal it any longer." All the boys again reiterated their innocence of the matter in question. Becker then called to mind the mysterious disappearance of Willis, and, although they were too short in duration to admit of his having been at Falcon's Nest, still he deemed it advisable to put the question to him individually. Willis declared that the present was the first time he had been in the vicinity of the Nest, and his word was known to be sacred. "There can be no mistake then," said Becker; "the traces are self-evident. This is altogether a circumstance calculated to give us serious uneasiness. Nevertheless, we must view the matter calmly, and consider what steps we should take to unravel the mystery." "Let us instantly beat up the island," suggested Fritz. "It appears to me," remarked Willis, "that the _Nelson_ has been wrecked after all, and that one of the men has escaped." "That," replied Ernest, "is very unlikely. All the crew knew that the island was inhabited, and consequently, had any one of them been thrown on shore, he would have come at once to Rockhouse, and not stopped here." "As regards the Captain or Lieutenant Dunsley," said Willis, "who were on shore, and could easily find their way, what you say is quite true; but the men were kept on board; and if we suppose that a sailor had been thrown on the opposite coast, he would not be able to determine his position in fifteen days." "Much less could he expect to find a villa in a fig-tree." "To say nothing of the light that has been kept burning recently on Shark's Island, nor of the buildings with which the land is strewn, nor the fields and plantations that are to be met with in all directions. For, although a swallow alone is sufficient to convey the seeds of a forest from one continent to another, still it requires the hand of man to arrange the trees in rows and furnish them with props." "Perhaps we may have crossed each other on the way; and the stranger, after passing the night here, has steered, by some circuitous route, in the direction of Safety Bay." "May it not have been a large monkey," suggested Jack, "who has resolved to play us a trick for having massacred its companions at Waldeck?" "Monkeys," replied Ernest, "do not generally open doors, and, seeing no bed prepared for them, go down stairs and collect material for a mattress. You may just as well fancy that the monkey, in this case, came to pass the night at Falcon's Nest with a cigar in its mouth." "Then he must have been dreadfully annoyed to find neither slippers nor a night-cap." "There is, unquestionably, a wide field of supposition open for us," said Becker; "but that need not prevent us taking active measures to arrive at the truth. Our first duty is to care for the safety of the ladies; Mr. Wolston is still ailing and feeble, so that, if a stranger were suddenly to appear amongst them, they might be terribly alarmed." "There are six of us here," remarked Willis, "the cream of our sea and land forces; we could divide ourselves into three squadrons, one of which might sail for Rockhouse." "Just so; let Fritz and Frank start for Rockhouse." "And what shall we say to the ladies, father?" inquired the latter; "it does not seem to me necessary to alarm our mother, Mrs. Wolston, and the young ladies, until something more certain is ascertained." "Your idea is good, my son, and I thank you for bringing it forward; it is one of those that arise from the heart rather than the head." "We have, only to find a pretext for their sudden return," observed Ernest. "Very well," said Jack, "they have only to say it is too hot to work." "Just as if it were not quite as hot for us as for them. Your excuse, Jack, is not particularly artistic." "Might they not as well say they had forgotten a tool or a pocket handkerchief?" "Or, better still, that they had forgotten to shut the door when they left, and came back to repair the omission." "We shall say," replied Fritz, "that, finding there were twelve strong arms here to do what my father accomplished fifteen years ago by himself--for the assistance of us boys could not then be reckoned--we were ashamed of ourselves, and had returned to Rockhouse to make ourselves useful in repairing the damage to the gallery caused by the tempest." "Well, that excuse has, at least, the merit of being reasonable; and let it be so. Fritz and Frank will return to Rockhouse; Ernest and myself will continue the work in hand, and receive the friend or enemy which God has sent us, should he return to resume his quarters; Willis and Jack will investigate the neighborhood." "By land or water, Willis?" inquired Jack. "By land, Master Jack, for this cruise. I shall abandon the helm to you, for I know nothing of the shoals here-abouts." "If," continued Becker, "though highly improbable, any thing important should have happened, or should happen at Rockhouse, you will fire a cannon, and we will be with you immediately. Willis and Jack will discharge a rifle if threatened with danger; and we shall do the same on our side, if we require assistance." "It is a pity," remarked Jack, "that we had not two or three four-pounders amongst the provisions." "I scarcely regard this matter as altogether a subject for joking," continued Becker, "and sincerely hope that all our precautions may prove useless. Take each of you a rifle and proceed with caution; above all, do not go far apart from each other; do not fire without taking good aim, and only in case of self-defence or absolute necessity; for this time it does not appear to be a question of bears and hyenas, but, as far as we are able to judge, one of our own species." Two of the squadrons then hauled off in different directions, carefully examining the ground as they went, beating up the thickets, and endeavoring to obtain some further trace of the stranger, in order to confirm those at Falcon's Nest. The squadron of observation, in the meanwhile set diligently to work. A tree having been selected at about fifteen paces from that already existing, it was necessary, as on the former occasion, to discharge an arrow carrying the end of a line, and in such a way that the cord might fall across some of the strongest branches; this done, the bamboo ladder was drawn up from the opposite side and held fast until Ernest had ascended and fastened it with nails to the top of the tree. Ernest then commenced lopping off the branches to the right and left, so as to form a space in the centre for their contemplated dwelling; whilst Becker himself below was making an entrance into the trunk, taking care to avoid an accident that formerly happened, by assuring himself that a colony of bees had not already taken possession of the ground. The gigantic fig-trees at Falcon's Nest being for the most part hollow, and supported in a great measure by the bark--like the willows in Europe when they reach a certain stage of their growth--it was easy to erect a staircase in the interior; still this was a work of time, and Becker had resolved in the meantime to give up the habitation already constructed to Wolston and his family, at least until such time as an entrance was attached to the new one that did not require any extraordinary amount of gymnastics. [Illustration] A portion of the day had been occupied in these operations, when Willis and Jack returned to the camp. "We have seen no one," said the Pilot. "But," said Jack, "we are on the track of Fritz's knife." "Be good enough to explain yourself." "Well, father, at the entrance to the cocoa-nut tree wood we stumbled upon two sugar canes completely divested of their juice." "Which proves--" said Ernest; but his remark was cut short by Jack, who continued-- "Not a bit of it; a philosopher would have passed these two worthless sugar canes just as a place-hunter passes an overthrown minister, that is, as unworthy of notice." "And what did you do?" "Well, I, the headless, the thoughtless, the stupid--for these are the epithets I am usually favored with--I took them up, scrutinized them carefully, and discovered--" "That they were sugar canes." "In the first instance, yes." "Very clever, that!" "And then that they had not been torn up--_they had been cut_." "Is that all?" "Yes, most wise and learned brother, that is all; and I leave you to draw the inferences." "I may add," observed the sailor, "that, as we were steering for the plantation, myself on the starboard and Jack on the larboard--" "On the what?" "Master Jack on the left and myself on the right." "That I pitched right over these canes without ever noticing them." "Which is not much to be wondered at; Willis has been so long at sea that he has no confidence in the solidity of the land; during our cruise, he kept a look-out after the wind, expecting, I suppose, that it would perform some of the wonderful things you spoke of this morning." "After all," observed Becker, "this is another link in the chain of evidence, and I congratulate Jack on his sagacity in tracing it." "But the affair is as much a mystery as ever." "True; and the solution may probably be awaiting us at Rockhouse." The united squadrons then started on their homeward voyage, Jack thrusting his nose into every bush, and carefully scanning all the stray objects that seemed to be out of their normal position. "If these plants and bushes had tongues," said Jack, "they could probably give us the information we require." "Do you think," inquired Ernest, "that plants and bushes are utterly without sensation?" "Faith, I can't say," replied Jack; "perhaps they can speak if they liked--probably they have an idiom of their own. You, that know all languages, and a great many more besides, possibly can converse with them." "I should like to know," said Becker, "why you two gentlemen are always snarling at each other; it is neither amusing nor amiable." "Ernest is continually showing me up, father, and it is but fair that I should be allowed to retort now and then. But to return to plants, Ernest; you say they have nerves?" "If they have," said Willis, "they do not seem to possess the bottle of salts that most nervous ladies usually have." "No," replied Ernest, "they have no nerves, properly so called; but there are plants, and I may add many plants, which, by their qualities--I may almost say by their intelligence--seem to be placed much higher in the scale of creation than they really are. The sensitive plant, for example, shrinks when it is touched; tulips open their petals when the weather is fine, and shut them again at sunset or when it rains; wild barley, when placed on a table, often moves by itself, especially when it has been first warmed by the hand; the heliotrope always turns the face of its flowers to the sun." "A still more singular instance of this kind was recently discovered in Carolina," remarked Becker; "it is called the _fly-trap_. Its round leaves secrete a sugary fluid, and are covered with a number of ridges which are extremely irritable: whenever a fly touches the surface the leaf immediately folds inwards, contracts, and continues this process till its victim is either pierced with its spines or stifled by the pressure." "It is probably a Corsican plant," observed Jack, "whose ancestors have had a misunderstanding with the brotherhood of flies, and have left the _Vendetta_ as a legacy to their descendants." "There is nothing in Nature," continued Ernest, "so obstinate as a plant. Let us take one, for example, at its birth, that is, to-day, at the age when animals modify or acquire their instincts, and you will find that your own will must yield to that of the plant." "If you mean to say that the plant will refuse to play on the flute or learn to dance, were I to wish it to do so, I am entirely of your opinion." "No, but suppose you were to plant it upside down, with the plantule above and the radicle below; do you think it would grow that way?" "Plantule and radicle are ambitious words, my dear brother; recollect that you are speaking to simple mortals." "Well, I mean root uppermost." "Right; I prefer that, don't you, Willis?" "Yes, Master Jack." "At first the radicle or root would begin by growing upwards, and the plantule or germ would descend." "That is quite in accordance with my revolutionary idiosyncracies." "You accused me just now of using ambitious words." "Well, I understand a revolution to mean, placing those above who should be below." "Nature then," continued Ernest, "very soon begins to assert her rights; the bud gradually twists itself round and ascends, whilst the root obeys a similar impulse and descends--is not this a proof of discernment?" "I see nothing more in it than a proof of the wonderful mechanism God has allotted to the plant, and is analogous to the movements of a watch, the hands of which point out the hours, minutes, and seconds of time, and are yet not endowed with intelligence." "Very good, Jack," said Becker. "Suppose," continued Ernest, "that the ground in the neighborhood of your plant was of two very opposite qualities, that on the right, for example, damp, rich, and spongy; that on the left, dry, poor, and rocky; you would find that the roots, after growing for a time up or down, as the case might be, will very soon change their route, and take their course towards the rich and humid soil." "And quite right too," said Willis; "they prefer to go where they will be best fed." "If, then, these roots stretched out to points where they would withdraw the nourishment from other plants in the neighborhood--how could you prevent it?" "By digging a ditch between them and the plants they threaten to impoverish." "And do you suppose that would be sufficient?" "Yes, unless the plant you refer to was an engineer." "Therein lies the difficulty. Plants are engineers; they would send their roots along the bottom of the ditch, or they would creep under it--at all events, the roots would find their way to the coveted soil in spite of you; if you dug a mine, they would countermine it, and obtain supplies from the opposite territory, and revenge themselves there for the scurvy treatment to which they had been subjected. What could you do then?" "In that case, I should admit myself defeated." "If," continued Ernest, "we present a sponge saturated with water to the naked roots of a plant, they will slowly, but steadily, direct themselves towards it; and, turn the sponge whichever way you will, they will take the same direction." "It has been concluded," remarked Becker, "from these incontestable facts, that plants are not devoid of sensibility; and, in fact, when we behold them lying down at sunset as if dead, and come to life again next morning, we are forced to recognise a degree of irritability in the vegetable organs which very closely resemble those of the animal economy." "In future," said Jack, "I shall take care not to tread upon a weed, lost, being hurt, it should scream." "On the other hand, they have not been found to possess any other sign of this supposed sensibility. All their other functions seem perfectly mechanical." "Ah then, father," exclaimed Jack, "you are a believer in my system!" "We make them grow and destroy them, without observing anything analogous to the sensation we feel in rearing, wounding, or killing an animal." "But the fly-trap, father, what of that?" "It is no exception. The fly-trap seizes any small body that touches it, as well as an insect, and with the same tenacity; hence, we may readily conclude that these actions, so apparently spontaneous, are in reality nothing more than remarkable developments of the laws of irritability peculiar to plants." "It does not, then, spring from a family feud, as Jack supposed?" remarked Willis. "Besides," continued Becker, "if plants really existed, possessing what is understood by the term sensation, they would be animals." "For a like reason, animals without sensation would be plants." "Evidently. Moreover, the transition from vegetable to animal life is almost imperceptible, so much so, that polypi, such as corals and sponges, were for a long time supposed to be marine plants." "And what are they?" inquired Willis. "Insects that live in communities that form a multitude of contiguous cells; some of these are begun at the bottom of the sea and accumulated perpendicularly, one layer being continually deposited over another till the surface is reached." "Then the coral reefs, that render navigation so perilous in unknown seas, are the work of insects?" "Exactly so, Willis." "Might they not as well consist of multitudes of insects piled heaps upon heaps?" "It is in a great measure as you say, Willis." "Not I--I do not say it--quite the contrary." "Well, Willis, you are at liberty to believe it or not, as you think proper." "I hope so; we shall, therefore, put the polypi with Ernest's stars and Jack's admirals." "So be it, Willis; but to resume the subject. There is a remarkable analogy in many respects between the lower orders of animals and plants, the bulb is to the latter what the egg is to the former. The germ does not pierce the bulb till it attains a certain organization, and it remains attached by fibres to the parent substance, from which, for a time, it receives nourishment." "Not unlike the young of animals," remarked Willis. "When the germ has shot out roots and a leaf or two, it then, but not till then, relinquishes the parent bulb. The plant then grows by an extension and multiplication of its parts, and this extension is accompanied by an increasing induration of the fibres. The same phenomena are observed as regards animals." "Curious!" said Willis. "Animals, however, are sometimes oviparous." "Oviparous?" inquired Willis. "Yes, that is, they lay eggs; others are viviparous, producing their young alive. A few are multiplied like plants by cuttings, as in the case of the polypi." "Bother the polypi," said Willis, laughing, "since we have to thank them for destroying some of his Majesty's ships." "Then again," continued Becker, "both plants and animals are subject to disease, decay, and death." "But, father, if the analogies are remarkable, the differences are not less marked." "Well, Ernest, I shall leave you to point them out." "Without reckoning the faculty of feeling, that cannot be denied to the one nor granted to the other, the most striking of these distinctions consists in the circumstance that animals can change place, whilst this faculty is absolutely refused to plants." "If we except those," remarked Jack, "that insist upon travelling to the succulent parts of the earth, and are as indefatigable in digging tunnels as the renowned Brunel." "Then plants are obliged to accept the nourishment that their fixed position furnishes to them; whilst animals, on the contrary, by means of their external organs, can range far and near in search of the aliments most congenial to their appetites." "Which is often very capricious," remarked Willis. "Then, considered with regard to magnitude, the two kingdoms present remarkable distinctions; the interval between a whale and a mite is greater than between the moss and the oak." "Ho!" cried Jack, "there is Miss Sophia coming to meet us, Willis." "Perhaps they have news at the grotto." "Well," inquired the child, "have you seen them?" "Good," thought Becker, "our chatterers have not been able to hold their tongues; I am surprised at that as regards Frank." "We expected to have found them at Rockhouse." "To have found whom?" "The sailors from the wreck." "What wreck?" "The _Nelson_." "I sincerely hope that the _Nelson_ has not been wrecked." "In that case, whom do you refer to yourself, Miss Sophia?" "To your go-cart and my doll, Master Jack." CHAPTER VIII. HABITANT OF THE MOON, ANTHROPOPHAGIAN OR HOBGOBLIN?--THE LACEDEMONIAN STEW OF MADAME DACIER--UTILE DULCI--TETE-A-TETE BETWEEN WILLIS AND HIS PIPE--TOBACCO VERSUS BIRCH--IS IT FOR EATING?--MOSQUITOES--THE ALARM--TOBY--THE NOCTURNAL EXPEDITION--WE'VE GOT HIM. Some days passed without anything having occurred to ruffle the tranquil existence of the island families. Every morning the _élite_ of the sea and land forces continued to divide themselves into three squadrons of observation; one of which remained at Rockhouse on some pretext or other, whilst the other two were occupied in exploring the country, or in carrying on the works at Falcon's Nest. The mysterious stranger, whether shipwrecked seaman, savage, or hobgoblin, who kept all the bearded inhabitants of Rockhouse on the alert, had reappeared in his old quarters, where another litter of leaves had been miraculously strewn exactly in the same place the former had occupied. Beyond this, however, and sundry gashes here and there--of which Fritz's knife was clearly guilty, but which could not have been perpetrated without an accomplice--nothing had transpired to enable them to arrive at a satisfactory conclusion as to who or what this personage could be. Though the hypothesis was highly improbable, still Willis persisted in his theory of the shipwreck; he only doubted whether the individual on shore was a marine or the cabin-boy, an officer or a foremast man, and, if the latter, whether it was Bill, Tom, Bob, or Ned. Ernest rather inclined to think that the invisible stranger was an inhabitant of the moon, who, in consequence of a false step, had tumbled from his own to our planet. The warlike Fritz was impatient and irritated. He would over and over again have preferred an immediate solution of the affair, even were it bathed in blood, rather than be kept any longer in suspense. Frank, on the contrary, took a metaphysical view of the case; and, believing that Providence had not entirely dispensed with miracles in dealing with the things of this world, came to the conclusion that it was no earthly visitor they had to deal with; and he even went so far as to hint that prayer was a more efficacious means of solving the mystery than the methods his brothers were pursuing. Jack, coinciding in some degree with Ernest, shifted his view from an ape to an anthropophagian, and blamed the latter for not coming earlier; when he and his brothers were younger, and consequently more tender, they would have made a better meal, and been more easily digested. As to what opinion Becker himself entertained, with regard to the occurrence at Falcon's Nest that kept his sons in a feverish state of anxiety, and had awakened all the fears of the Pilot for the safety of his friends on board the _Nelson_, nothing could be clearly ascertained; in so far as this matter was concerned he kept his own counsel; and, to use an expression of Madame de Sevigné, "had thrown his tongue to the dogs." The close of the day had, as usual, collected all the members of the family round the domestic hearth; and it may be stated here that Mrs. Wolston, Mary, and Mrs. Becker alternately undertook the preparations of the viands for the diurnal consumption of the community. By this means, uniformity, that palls the appetite, was entirely banished from their dishes. One day they would have the cooked, or rather half-cooked, British joints of Mrs. Wolston and her daughter, varied occasionally, to the great delight of Willis, with a tureen of hotch-potch or cocky-leekie. The next there would be a display of the cosmopolite and somewhat picturesque cookery of Mrs. Becker; there was her famous peccary pie, with ravansara sauce, followed by her delicious preserved mango and seaweed jelly. Nor did she hesitate to draw upon the raw material of the colony now and then for a new hash or soup, taking care, however, to keep in view the maxim that prudence is the mother of safety--an adage that was rather roughly handled by the renowned French linguist, Madame Dacier, who, on one occasion nearly poisoned her husband with a Lacedemonian stew, the receipt for which she had found in Xenophon. Luckily Becker's wife did not know Greek, consequently he ran no risk of being entertained with a classic dinner; but he was often reminded by his thoughtful partner of Meg Dod's celebrated receipt: before you cook your hare, first--catch it. Sophia desired earnestly to have a share in the culinary government; but having shown on her first trial, too decided a leaning towards puddings and pancakes, her second essay was put off till she became more thoroughly penetrated with the value of the eternal precept _utile dulci_, which signifies that, before dessert it is requisite to have something substantial. As soon as they had finished their afternoon meal, Willis departed on one of his customary mysterious excursions; and Jack, who, like the birds that no sooner hop upon one branch than they leap upon another, had also disappeared. It was not long, however, before he made his appearance again; he came running in almost out of breath, and cried at the top of his voice, "I have discovered him!" "Whom?" exclaimed half a dozen voices. "The inhabitant of the moon?" inquired Ernest. "No." "I know," said Sophia playfully, "your go-cart and my doll." "No, I have discovered Willis' secret." "If you have been watching him, it is very wrong." "No, father; seeing some thin columns of smoke rising out of a thicket, I thought a bush was on fire; but on going nearer, I saw that it was only a tobacco-pipe." "Was the pipe alone, brother?" "No, not exactly, it was in Willis' mouth; and there he sat, so completely immersed in ideas and smoke, that he neither heard nor saw me." "That he does not smoke here," remarked Becker, "I can easily understand; but why conceal it?" "Ah," replied Mrs. Wolston, "you do not know Willis yet;--beneath that rough exterior there are feelings that would grace a coronet: he is, no doubt, afraid of leading your sons into the habit." "That is very thoughtful and considerate on his part." "He was always smoking on board ship, and it must have been a great sacrifice for him to leave it off to the extent he has done lately." "Then we shall not allow him to punish himself any longer; and as for the danger of contagion from his smoking here, that evil may perhaps be avoided." "Do not be afraid, father; it will not be necessary to establish either a quarantine or a lazaretto on our account." "Besides, any of the boys," said Mrs. Becker, "that acquire the habit, will, by so doing, voluntarily banish themselves from my levees." "It is an extraordinary habit that, smoking," observed Mrs. Wolston. "Yes," said Becker; "and what makes the habit more singular is, that it holds out no allurements to seduce its votaries. Generally, the path to vice, or to a bad habit, is strewn with roses that hide their thorns, but such is not the case with smoking; in order to acquire this habit, a variety of disagreeable difficulties have to be overcome, and a considerable amount of disgust and sickness must be borne before the stomach is tutored to withstand the nauseous fumes." "In point of fact," observed Wolston, "if, instead of being made part and parcel of the appliances of a fashionable man, cigars and meershaums were classed in the pharmacopoeia with emetics and cataplasms, there is not a human being but would bemoan his fate if compelled to undergo a dose." "Just so," added Becker; "the great and sole attraction of tobacco to young people consists in its being to them a forbidden thing; the apple of Eve is of all time--it hangs from every tree, and takes myriads of shapes. If I had the honor of being principal of a college I should no more think of forbidding the pupils to use tobacco than I should think of commanding them not to use the birch for purposes of self-chastisement." "Perhaps you would be quite right." "Instead of lecturing them on the pernicious effects of tobacco, I should hang up a pipe of punishment in the class-room, and oblige offending pupils to inhale a fixed number of whiffs proportionate to the gravity of their delinquency." "An excellent idea," observed Wolston; "for it is often only necessary to show some things in a different light in order to give them a new aspect and value. This puts me in mind of an illustration in point; these two girls, when children, were the parties concerned, and I will relate the circumstance to you." "In that case," said Mary, "I shall go and feed the fowls." "And I," said Sophia, "must go and water the flowers." "Oh, then," cried Jack laughing, "it is another doll story, is it?" "No, Master Jack, it is not a doll story; and, besides, we girls were no bigger at the time than that." On saying this Sophia placed her two hands about a foot and a half from the floor and then the two girls vanished. "When Mary was about six years old," began Wolston, "a slight rash threatened to develope itself, and the doctor ordered a small blister to be applied to one of her arms. Now, there was likely to be some difficulty about getting her to submit quietly to this operation, so, after an instant's reflection, I called both her and her sister, and told them that the most diligent of the two should have a vesicatory put on her arm at night. 'Oh,' cried both the girls quite delighted, 'it will be me, papa, I shall be so good. Mamma, mamma--such a treat--papa has promised us a vesicatory for to-night!'" "That was simplicity itself," said Mrs. Becker, laughing till the tears came into her eyes. "The day passed, the one endeavoring to excel the other in the quantity of leaves they turned over; and, from time to time, I heard the one asking the other in a low voice, 'Have you ever seen a vesicatory? What is it made of? Is it for eating? And each in turn regarded her arms, to judge in advance the effect of the marvellous ornament." "I should like much to have seen them." "Night came, and I declared gravely that the eldest was fairly entitled to the prize. The latter jumped about with joy, and Sophia began to cry. 'Don't cry,' said Mary, 'if you are good, papa will, perhaps, give you one to-morrow, too,' Then the joyful patient, turning to me, said, 'On which arm, papa?' and I told her that the ceremony of placing it on must take place when she was in bed. To bed accordingly she went, the ornament was applied, she looked at it, was pleased with it, thanked me for it, and fell asleep as happy as a queen. But, alas! like that of many queens, the felicity did not last long; before morning, I heard her saying to her sister, in a doleful tone, 'Soffy, will you have my vesicatory?' 'Oh, yes, just lend it to me for a tiny moment.' At this I hurried to the spot, and, as you may readily suppose, opposed the transfer." "Poor Sophia!" "Yes; she was quite heart-broken, and said, sobbing, 'It is always Mary that gets everything, nobody ever gives anything to me.'" Next day, Willis laid hold of his sou'-wester, and was starting off on his customary pilgrimage, when Becker stopped him. "Willis," said he, "have you any objections to state what the engagements are, that require you to leave us at pretty much the same hour every day?" "I merely go for a walk, Mr. Becker." "Ah!" "You see I require to take a turn just after dinner for the sake of my health." "A habit that you contracted on board ship; eh, Willis?" "On board ship; yes Mr. Becker, that is to say--" "Just so," observed Mrs. Wolston; "and by the way, Willis, I regret that you do not smoke now; they say there is plenty of tobacco on the island." "Smoke!" cried Willis, raising his ears like a war-horse at the sound of the trumpet, "why so, Mrs. Wolston?" "Because we are dreadfully tormented with those horrid mosquitoes, and you might help us to get rid of them. You smoked at sea, did you not?" "Yes, madam; but then my constitution--" "Bah!" said Wolston, "I thought you were as strong as a horse, Willis." "Well, I have no cause to complain neither; but then they say tobacco would kill even a horse." "Of course, Willis, your health is a most necessary consideration." "Still for all that, if the mosquitoes really do annoy Mrs. Wolston, I should have no objection to take a whiff now and then." "You must not put yourself about though, on our account, Willis." "About; no, it would not put me about." "Very good; then it only remains to be seen whether there is a pipe in the colony." "Ah," said Willis, feeling his pockets, "yes, exactly--here is one." "Curious how things do turn up, isn't it, Willis?" said Becker; "but the mosquitoes would not be frightened away by the smoke, if applied at long intervals, so you will have to repeat the dose at least two or three times every day, always supposing it does not affect your constitution." "Sailors, you see," replied Willis, "are like chimneys, they always smoke when you want them, and sometimes a great deal more than you want them," And on turning round, he beheld Sophia holding a light, and a good-sized case of Maryland, which had been preserved from the wreck. Ever after that time the mosquitoes had a most persevering enemy in Willis; and, notwithstanding his health, his daily walks entirely ceased. For some time the Pilot and the four young men passed the night in a tent erected about midway between Rockhouse and the Jackal River. The apparent reason for this modification of their plans was the greater facility it afforded for their all meeting at daybreak, breakfasting together, and setting out for Falcon's Nest before the temperature reached ninety degrees in the shade, which junction could not be so easily effected with one party encamped at Rockhouse and the other bivouacked on Shark's Island, with an arm of the sea between them. The real motive, however, was that all might be within hail of each other, and prepared for every emergency, in the event of the stranger appearing in a more palpable shape, and assuming a hostile attitude. We say the stranger, because, judging from the indications, there was only one--still that did not prove that there might not be several. One night, as Fritz was lying with one eye open, he observed Mary's little black terrier suddenly prick up the fragments of its ears, and begin sniffing at the edge of the tent. This shaggy little cur was called Toby; it had accompanied the Wolstons on their voyage, and was Mary's exclusive property; but Fritz had found the way to the animal's heart as usual through its stomach, and Mary was in no way jealous of his attentions to her favorite, but rather the reverse. Fritz, feeling convinced by the actions of the dog, which was of the true Scotch breed, that something extraordinary was passing outside the tent, seized his rifle, hastened out, and was just in time to distinguish a human figure on the opposite bank of the Jackal River, which, on seeing him, took to its heels and disappeared in the forest. He was soon joined by the Pilot and his brothers; the dogs leaped about them, and the alarm became general throughout the encampment. Fritz re-established order, enjoined silence, and said, "I am determined this time to follow the affair up; who will accompany me?" "I will!" said all the four voices at once. "Scouting parties ought not to be numerous," said Fritz; "I will, therefore, take Willis, in case this mystification has anything to do with the _Nelson_." "And me," said Jack, "to serve as a dessert, in case the individual should turn out to be an anthropophagian." "Be it so; but no more. Frank and Ernest will remain to tranquilize our parents, in case we should not return before they are up." "And if so, what shall we say?" "Tell them the truth. We shall proceed direct to Falcon's Nest; and if the stranger--confiding in our habit of sleeping during the night--be there as usual, we shall do ourselves the honor of helping him to get up." "Providing he does not nightly change his quarters like Oliver Cromwell--not so much to avoid enemies, as to calm his uneasy conscience." "Well, we shall be no worse than before; we shall have tried to restore our wonted quietude, and, if we fail, we can say, like Francis I. at Pavia, '_All is lost except our honor_.'" Some minutes after this conversation, three shadows might have been seen stealing through the glades in the direction of Falcon's Nest. Nothing was to be heard but the rustling of the leaves--the deafened beating of the sea upon the rocks--and, to use the words of Lamartine, "those unknown tongues that night and the wind whisper in the air." The trees were mirrored in the rays of the moon, and the ground, at intervals, seemed strewn with monstrous giants; their hearts beat, not with fear, but with that feverish impatience that anticipates decisive results. When they arrived at the foot of the tree on which the aerial dwelling was situated, Fritz opened the door, and resolutely, but stealthily, ascended. Willis and Jack followed him with military precision. They reached the top of the staircase, and held the latch of the door that opened into the apartment. A train of mice, in the strictest incognito, could not have performed these operations with a greater amount of secretiveness. On opening the door they stood and listened. Not a sound. Jack fired off a pistol, and the fraudulent occupier of the room instantly started up on his feet. Fritz rushed forward, and clasped him tightly round the body. "Ho, ho, comrade," said he, "this time you do not get off so easily!" CHAPTER IX. THE CHIMPANZEE--IMPERFECT NEGRO, OR PERFECT APE--THE HARMONIES OF NATURE--A HANDFUL OF PAWS--A STONE SKIN--SEVENTEEN THOUSAND SPECTACLES ON ONE NOSE--ANIMALCULÆ--PELION ON OSSA--PTOLEMY--COPERNICUS TO GALILEO--METAPHYSICS AND COSMOGONIES--ISAIAH--A LIVE TIGER. "The chimpanzé or chimpanzee," says Buffon, the French naturalist, "is much more sagacious than the _ourang outang_, with which it has been inaccurately confounded; it likewise bears a more marked resemblance to the human being; the height is the same, and it has the same aspect, members, and strength; it always walks on two feet, with the head erect, has no tail, has calves to its legs, hair on its head, a beard on its chin, a face that Grimaldi would have envied, hands and nails like those of men, whose manners and habits it is susceptible of acquiring." Buffon knew an individual of the species that sat demurely at table, taking his place with the other guests; like them he would spread out his napkin, and stick one corner of it into his button-hole just as they did, and he was exceedingly dexterous in the use of his knife, fork, and spoon. Spectators were not a little surprised to see him go to a bed made for him, tie up his head in a pocket-handkerchief, place it sideways on a pillow, tuck himself carefully in the bed-clothes, pretend to be sick, stretch out his pulse to be felt, and affect to undergo the process of being bled. The naturalist adds that he is very easily taught, and may be made a useful domestic servant, at least as regards the humbler operations of the kitchen; he promptly obeys signs and the voice, whilst other species of apes only obey the stick; he will rinse glasses, serve at table, turn the spit, grind coffee, or carry water. Add to his virtues as a domestic, that he is not much addicted to chattering about the family affairs, has no followers, and is very accommodating in the matter of wages. It was neither more nor less than a chimpanzee that Fritz had caught in the dark at Falcon's Nest. "Now then, old fellow," said he, "you will help us to clear up this mysterious affair." The caged stranger made no reply to this observation; Willis and Jack then questioned him, the one in English and the other in French. Still no reply. He did not submit, however, to be interrogated quietly; on the contrary, his struggles to get away were most vigorous, so much so that Fritz adopted the precaution of binding him. "If it had been one of our sailors," said Willis, "he would have recognized my voice long ago." "Who are you?" asked one. "Where do you come from?" inquired another. "Do not attempt to escape," said a third. "We mean you no harm; on the contrary, we are friends, disposed to do you good if we can." "If all his brothers and sisters are as talkative as himself," remarked Jack, "they must be a very amusing sort of people." "He can walk at all events," said Fritz giving him a smart push. The chimpanzee fell flat on the floor. "It appears, sir, that you are determined to have your own way, we must therefore wait till daylight." An hour passed in polyglot expostulations with the stranger on the score of his obstinacy, but all to no purpose; to use a popular expression, he was as dumb as the Doges. He deigned, however, to empty at a single draught a calabash of Malaga that Willis gave him, but there his condescension stopped. The Pilot, who now encountered mosquitoes in all directions, made preparations for smoking; the light he struck, however, instead of clearing up the mystery, only perplexed them more and more; there lay their new companion, stretched on the ground, staring at them with a ludicrous grin. If, on the one hand, it occurred to them this man was an animal, on the other the animal was a man, and Buffon did not happen to be there at the time to assign him officially a place in the former kingdom. The next difficulty that presented itself was, how they were to get him along; when they broke in the onagra, they ran a prong through his ear; in reducing the buffalo to subjection, they did not feel the slightest compunction in thrusting a pin through the cartilage of his nose; then, in order to give elasticity to the legs of the ostrich, they yoked him to two or three other animals, and, willing or unwilling, he was compelled ultimately to yield obedience to the lords of creation. But whether the creature before them was a lower order of negro or a higher order of ape, there was too great a resemblance between the captured and the capturers to admit of any of these methods of impulsion being adopted. It was, therefore, stretched on a plank, like a nabob in his palanquin, that the chimpanzee made his first appearance at Rockhouse. When the cavalcade arrived there, all the family, with the exception of Ernest and Frank, were still asleep. The first thing they did was to clothe the creature they had captured in a sailor's pantaloons and jacket, with which he seemed rather pleased, and the result of this operation was, that he began to assume a less ferocious aspect, and behave more respectfully towards his captors. All the family had sat down to breakfast, when Fritz and Jack, taking him by the hands, led him gravely into the gallery. A cord was attached to his legs, allowing him to walk, but was so arranged that he could not run. On his appearance the young girls fled at once; and, more accustomed to drawing-rooms than the rude realities of savage life, Mrs. Wolston's first impulse was to do the same. "Goodness gracious!" she cried with an air of alarm, "what horror is that?" "That, madam, is precisely what we have been anxious for the last two or three hours to find out," replied Fritz. "Does the creature speak?" "Up till now, madam," replied Willis, "he has only opened his mouth to swallow my calabash of Malaga; beyond that, he has kept as close as a purser's locker." When the first shock had passed, and the company had regained their self-possession, Jack related, with his customary originality, the incidents of the nocturnal expedition, of which Fritz was the originator, leader, and hero. The ladies then, for the first time, were made acquainted with the doubts, fears, perplexities, and battues, which, out of gallantry, they had hitherto been kept in ignorance of. Becker then, having carefully investigated the creature, pronounced it to be (as we already know) a full-grown specimen of a kind of ape, called by the Africans "the wild man of the woods," and by naturalists the _jocko_ or chimpanzee. "It is naturally very savage," added Becker; "but this individual seems already to have received some degree of education." As a proof of this, the chimpanzee seated himself amongst them very much at his ease; he scanned the faces surrounding him with an air of curiosity, and seemed to search for a particular countenance that it annoyed him not to find. Some fruit and nuts that were given him put him in excellent humor. "He has, without doubt, been on board some ship, wrecked on the coast," said Wolston, "for I recollect having read that his kindred are only found in Western Africa and the adjacent islands; do you not recognize him, Willis, to belong to the _Nelson_, like the plank of the other day?" "No, sir." "So much the better." "We do not ship such cattle on board his Majesty's ships," added the Pilot. The girls, ashamed of their fear, now came peeping in at the door, and, seeing that nobody had been devoured, took refuge by the side of their mother. "Look here, father," said Ernest, feeling the creature's crania, after having facetiously begged pardon for the liberty, "its head is precisely like our own; that is very humiliating." "Yes, my son, but his tongue and other organs are also exactly like ours, yet he cannot utter a word. His head is of the same form and proportion, but he does not for all that possess human intelligence. Is this not a very striking proof that mere matter, though perfectly organized, neither produces words nor thought; and that it requires a special manifestation of the Divine will to call these attributes into existence?" "True; but, father, some writers say that apes have been observed to profit by fires lighted in the forest, and have gone and warmed themselves when the travellers left." "That, my son, is instinct, nothing more; the operation of keeping up a fire, by throwing a few branches upon it, is exceedingly simple, but their instinct has never been known to rise to that amount of intelligence." "You recollect, father, that heathcock we saw some years ago displaying his glossy plumage to the dazzled hens; is that not a well-marked proof of coquetry? and is not this coquetry an indication of something more than mere instinct?" "You will permit me to believe, my son, at least till the contrary has been proved, that these actions to which you refer have nothing at all to do with coquetry. Those brilliant colors are designed for a purpose other than that which you suppose; they serve as signals to keep the community together, or, in other words, they are a common centre round which the hens may revolve." "The transition from apes to heathcocks," remarked Jack, "appears to me somewhat abrupt." "Not so abrupt as you think, Master Jack," said Wolston; "those who take the trouble to study Nature, observe an admirable gradation and easy progression from a simple to a complex organization. There is no race or species that is not connected by a perceptible link with that which precedes and that which follows." "What relation is there, for example," inquired Jack, "between an oyster and a horse?" "No immediate relation certainly, but there are intermediate links by which the two are brought together: they may be regarded, however, as the opposite extremes of the brotherhood--the two poles in the chain of existence. A horse bears even less resemblance to a turnip than to an oyster; a relationship may, nevertheless, be traced, step by step, between them, dissimilar as they are. There is the polypus, that singular product of Nature, which, regarded in one light, performs all the functions of animal life, whilst, when regarded in another, it has the ordinary attributes of a plant; does this not clearly and distinctly mark the transition from the vegetable to the animal kingdom? Again, certain species of worms blend the animal with the insect tribe, those which are covered with a horny substance unite them with the crustaceae. These approach fish on the one hand, and reptiles on the other, whilst reptiles in some species become moluscs." "And what is a molusc?" inquired Willis. "The term _molusc_ is applied by naturalists to creatures which have no vertebrae, as for example, the cuttle fish and the oyster." "I believe _you_, Mr. Wolston; but if I had asked Ernest or Jack, they would have told me that it was a commodore or an admiral." "Reptiles, I was going to say, are connected at one end of the chain with moluscs by the slug, and at the other with fish by the eel. From flying-fish to birds the transition is by no means abrupt. The ostrich, whose legs are like goat's, and runs rather than flies, connects birds with quadrupeds; these again return to fish through the cetacea." "Yes, but the interval between such creatures and man is still great." "True; to connect the two would be a process replete with insurmountable difficulties, and only possible to creative power. The projecting snout would have to be flattened, and the features of humanity imprinted upon it--that head bent upon the ground would have to be directed upwards--that narrow breast would have to be flattened out--those legs would have to be converted into flexible arms, and those horny hoofs into nimble fingers." "To accomplish which," remarked Frank, "God had only to say, 'Let it be so.'" "Assuredly; and as there is nothing incongruous in Nature, as everything is admirably adapted for its purpose, as unity of design is perceptible in all things, as every effect proceeds from a cause, and becomes a cause in its turn of succeeding effects, so God has willed that there should be a chain of resemblance running through all his works, and the link that connects man with the animal kingdom--the highest type of the mammiferous race, and the nearest approach to humanity amongst the brutes--is the creature before you." As if to illustrate this position, and prove his title to the place awarded him, the chimpanzee quietly laid hold of Mr. Wolston's straw hat and stuck it on his crispy head. "He is, perhaps, afraid of catching cold," said Jack, thrusting a mat under his feet. "Compare birds with quadrupeds," continued Mr. Wolston, "and you will find analogies at every step. Does the powerful and kingly eagle not resemble the noble and generous lion?--the cruel vulture, the ferocious tiger?--the kite, buzzard, and crow preying upon carrion, hyenas, jackals, and wolves? Are not falcons, hawks, and other birds used in the chase, types of foxes and dogs? Is the owl, which prowls about only at night, not a type of the cat? The cormorants and herons, that live upon fish, are they not the otters and beavers of the air? Do not peacocks, turkeys, and the common barn-door fowl bear a striking affinity to oxen, cows, sheep, and other ruminating animals?" During these remarks, Jack's monkey, Knips, had found its way into the gallery, and, observing the newcomer, went forward to accost him as if an old friend; the latter, however, uttered a menacing cry, and was about to seize Knips with evidently no amiable design, but was prevented by the cords that bound his legs. Knips leaped upon the back of one of the boys, and there, as if on the tower of an impregnable fortress, commenced making a series of grimaces at the chimpanzee, these being the only missiles within reach that he could launch at his relation. The enemy retorted, and kept up a smart fire of like ammunition. "It appears," remarked Mrs Wolston, "that apes are something like men: the great and the little do not readily amalgamate." "We must make them amalgamate," said Jack, taking one of Knips's paws, whilst Ernest held that of the chimpanzee; thus they compelled them to shake hands, but with what degree of cordiality we are unable to state. "You ought to oblige them now to take an oath of fealty," said Mrs. Wolston. "Chimpanzee," said Jack, speaking for Knips, "I promise always to treat you in future with smiles, delicacies, and respect." "Knips," replied the wild man of the woods, through the organs of Ernest, "I promise to have for you only the most generous intentions; to share with you the nuts I may have occasion to crack, that is, by giving you the shells and keeping the kernel; I promise, moreover, not to immolate you at the altar of my just rage, unless it is impossible for me to avoid an outburst of temper." "Now the embrace of peace." "Ah, madam," said Jack, "you must excuse that ceremony, their friendship is too new for such intimacy, and Knips don't much like being bitten." "Need we other proofs," remarked Becker, when the scene between the monkeys was concluded, "that everything has been premeditated, weighed, and calculated? It was necessary for that most arid country, Arabia, that we should have a sober animal, susceptible of existing a long time without water, and capable of treading the hot sands of the desert. God has accordingly given us the camel." "And the dromedary," remarked Ernest. "So everywhere," continued Becker; "and add to these evidences of Divine wisdom the brilliant colors, the silken furs, the golden plumage, and the ever-varying forms, yet, in all this diversity, there is unison--a harmony. Like the various objects which a clever artist introduces into his sketch, they are placed without uniformity, but still with reference to their effect upon each other, and so to the unity of the general design." "Therefore," remarked Ernest, "we have an animal whose skin is of stone, which it throws off annually to assume a new one--whose flesh is its tail and in its feet--whose hair is found inside in its breast--whose stomach is in its head, which, like the skin, is renewed every year, the first function of the new being to digest the old one." Here the Pilot manifested some symptoms of incredulity. "That is not all, Willis," continued Ernest, "the animal of which I speak carries its eggs in the interior of its body till they are hatched, and then transfers them to its tail. It has pebbles in its stomach, can throw off its limbs when they incommode it, and replace them with others more to its fancy. To finish the portrait, its eyes are placed at the tip of long flexible horns." "Do you really mean me to believe that yarn?" inquired Willis. "Yes, Willis, unless you intend to deny the existence of lobsters." "Lobsters! Ah! you are talking of them, are you!" "Have not," continued Ernest, "six thousand three hundred and sixty-two eyes been counted in one beetle? sixteen thousand in a fly? and as many as thirty-four thousand six hundred in a butterfly? Of course, facets understood." "Supposing these facets myope or presbyte," observed Jack, "that gives seventeen thousand three hundred and twenty-five pairs of spectacles on one nose!" "How wonderfully varied are the forms of Nature. If, from the mastodon and the fossil mammoth, to which Buffon attributes five or six times the bulk and size of the elephant, we descend to those animalculae, of which Leuwenhoek estimates that a thousand millions of them would not occupy the place of an ordinary grain of sand." Here Willis lost all patience and left the gallery, whistling as usual, under such circumstances, the "Mariner's March." "Malesieu has detected animals by the microscope twenty-seven times smaller than a mite. A single drop of water under this instrument assumes the aspect of a lake, peopled by an infinite multitude of living creatures." "Therefore," observed Wolston, "it is not the great works of Nature, or those of which the organization is most perfect, that alone presents to the mind of man the unfathomable mysteries of creation; atoms become to him problems, that utterly defy the utmost efforts of his intelligence." "Which," suggested Becker, "does not prevent us believing ourselves a well of science, nor hinder us from piling Pelion on Ossa to scale the skies." "What becomes, in the presence of these facts, of the metaphysics and cosmogonies that have succeeded each other for two thousand years? What of all the theories, from Ptolemy to Copernicus, from Copernicus to Galileo, Descartes and his zones, Leibnitz and his monads, Wolf and his fire forces, Maupertuis and his intelligent elements, Broussais, who, in his anatomical lectures, has oftener than once shown to his pupils, on the point of his scalpel, the source of thought; what, I say, becomes of all these?" "There is less wisdom in such vain speculation than in these simple words: '_I believe in God the Father, the Creator of all things_.'" "Worlds," says Isaiah, "are, before Him, like the dew-drops on a blade of grass." "We are now, however, getting into the clouds," remarked Wolston; "let us return to the earth by the shortest route. What do you mean to do with the chimpanzee?" "Why, we must cage him in some way," replied Becker; "to let him loose again would be to create fresh uneasiness for ourselves. To kill him would be almost a kind of homicide." "Can I come in now?" inquired Willis, thrusting his head into the gallery. "Yes, with perfect safety." "You see, when Master Ernest begins to spin, he gets into the chapter of miracles, and forgets that we have ears." "I cannot help seeing them sometimes though, Willis; when they are a little longer than usual, it is difficult to hide them altogether." "Well," replied Willis, "I confess I am a bit of a fool, and as you are at a loss what to do with our friend here, I shall take him over with me to Shark's Island: there will be a pair of us there then." "If you will undertake to be his guide and instructor, he is yours, Willis." "What shall I call him?" "Jocko." "It shall go hard with me if I do not make a gentleman of him in a month's time." "I should like," said Frank, "if you could convert him into a tiger." "A tiger?" "Yes, we want a footman in livery to fetch Mrs. Wolston's carriage next time she calls for it." "I feel highly flattered by the compliment," said Mrs. Wolston, "but fear you will not be able to turn him out entire." "Why so, madam?" "Where are the top boots to come from?" CHAPTER X. THE PIONEERS--EXCURSION TO COROMANDEL--HINDOO FANCIES--A CAGED HUNTER--LOUIS XI. AND CARDINAL BALUE--A FURLONG OF NEWS--CARNAGE--THE BARONET AND HIS SEVENTEEN TIGERS--FIFTY-FOUR FEET OF CELEBRITY--STERNE'S WINDOW--PROMENADE OF THE CONSCIENCES--EMULATION AND VANITY. When a country is released from the presence of an enemy that annoyed and harassed them, the people feel as if a weight had been taken off their shoulders; so the inhabitants of New Switzerland had breathed more freely since the capture of the chimpanzee. The works at Falcon's Nest were completed, and the two families had taken possession of their aerial dwellings, where they were perched like a pair of rookeries within call of each other. The confined air of towns has a tendency to plunge men into lethargy and indolence, and to precipitate the decadence of a constitution in which the seeds of disease have been sown; whilst, on the other hand, the pure air of the country braces the nerves, excites a healthy action in the system, and invigorates a shattered frame; so it was with Mr. Wolston--under the benign influences of the genial climate and the refreshing sea breeze, he gradually, but steadily, recovered health and strength. A larger breadth of land had been cleared and fitted for receiving grain, which it was susceptible of reproducing a hundred-fold. Such is the sublime contract God has made with man, that, in exchange for his labor and skill, a single grain of wheat will produce seven or eight stalks, each bearing an ear containing fifty grains; a single grain has been known to yield twenty-eight ears, and Pliny states that Nero received a grain bearing the enormous number of three hundred and sixty ears. Strange that such a singular instance of fecundity should present itself during the domination of a man, or rather monster, who dared to wish that the Roman people had only one head, so that he might cut it off at a single blow! Willis and the Wolstons were as yet ignorant of the extent and limits of the colony; there were two inclosed and cultivated sections, named respectively Waldeck and Prospect Hill, which they had not yet inspected. With a view to enable them to form a more accurate conception of the boundaries of the territory they inhabited, a grand excursion was decided upon that would enable them leisurely to investigate every nook and cranny of the settlement. The storehouse was accordingly overhauled, and the ladies called in to prepare viands for the journey; they were likewise invited to furnish a supply of certain enchanted travelling bags, in which the gentlemen were often astonished to find, during their distant expeditions, a thousand and one useful things that they would never have dreamt of bringing with them of their own accord. Becker, Wolston, Ernest, and Frank set about the construction of a vehicle on four wheels for the luggage and the ladies; they did not contemplate erecting a machine with elastic springs and gilded panels, like the Lord Mayor's state coach--their object was to produce a machine that would ease, without dislocating, the limbs of the travellers, and that would move at least more gently than a gardener's cart, loaded with hampers of greens for Covent Garden Market. It may readily be supposed that Ernest's Latin was not of much service in these operations, for even Wolston's mechanical skill was sorely tried in elaborating the design. Fritz, Willis, and Jack had already started as pioneers of the expedition to examine the buildings, and to see that no more apes or other piratical marauders had established themselves on their premises; and, in compliance with a request made by Willis, who strongly objected to becoming a bushranger, they had gone by water. It was further arranged that, on their return, all should start together--the entire community in one cavalcade, like an army on the march. The young ladies were as much pleased in anticipation with this journey as if the destination of the travellers had been Brighton or Ramsgate. To children of their age, change is always pleasing. Often, in consequence of a death, the collapse of a bank, the loss of a law-suit, or some dire disaster of that sort, parents have seen themselves compelled to abandon the home of their fathers, endeared to them by many gentle recollections, perhaps to embark for some far distant land; they stifle their sighs, and bid a mute farewell to each stone and each tree, familiar to them as household words; they depart with reluctance, and often turn to cast a lingering look behind at objects so dear to their memory. Not so the children; they issue from the door like a flock of caged pigeons just let loose; they sing and leap and laugh with glee; the old house has no charms for them, they are as glad to depart as their elders are wishful to stay; the trunk desires to multiply its roots on the soil, but the buds prefer to blow elsewhere--for the latter life resolves itself into the word FUTURE, and for the former into the word PAST. Leaving Wolston, Becker, and his two sons hard at work on the carriage, let us turn to the pinnace which was now making its way along the shore under the guidance of the Pilot. "I should like much," said Fritz, "to present Mr. and Mrs. Wolston with a couple of bear, leopard, or tiger skins." "So should I," said Jack. "I wish you could think of some other sort of gift," suggested Willis; "what do you say to a couple of seal or shark skins?" "Won't do," replied both Fritz and Jack in one voice. "What objections have you to the others?" "Well, you are in some sort consigned to my care; I should like you to return to your parents with your own skins entire." "Then you think it is a terrific affair to kill a tiger or two? You have been accustomed to the sea, and fancy landsmen are good for nothing but shooting crows and wild-cats; that is a mistake, however; we are familiar with larger game." "Shiver my timbers! do you call bears and tigers game?" "I am afraid, Willis, you are a bit of a milksop." "Avast heaving there, Master Fritz! as it is, I am a half-hanged man already, so death has now no terrors Dov me; it is the first pang that is most felt." "Yes; but in the case of tigers, they never give you time to feel a second pang; miss your aim, and it is all over with you." "True; and therefore I wish you would give up the project. As for myself, I would face anything with a four-pounder, but rifle practice on board ship is mostly confined to the marines; it is not that, however, I am troubled about; I am certain your worthy father would never forgive me if I countenance this project." "You need not tell him anything about it." "Where, then, are the skins to come from? Can you say you bought them at the furrier's? You must really hit upon some other fancy." "But it is not a fancy, Willis, it is a necessity; it is not our own amusement we are consulting. Just imagine yourself what will happen during the excursion now being arranged. Our parents will, of course, offer their bear skins to Mr. and Mrs. Wolston; there will be refusals on the one side and entreaties on the other." "And, as is usual in these sort of discussions," added Jack, "Mrs. Wolston will call her carriage." "Yes," continued Fritz, "and my mother will most certainly deprive herself of a covering that is absolutely indispensable during the cold nights of this climate." "There is reason in what you say," observed Willis, scratching his ear. "You see, Willis, the thing ought and must be done." "As you put it, yes; but it will take time to prepare the skins." "They will not be ready in time for this expedition certainly, and my mother must do without her skin this journey; but it is our duty to prevent anything of the sort happening in future." "Were I to consent to this project," said Willis, "there is still something more required." "What, Willis?" "Why, the tigers and what's-a-names; it is necessary to find the brute before you can get its skin." "Granted; there would be a difficulty in the case had we not here quite handy a magnificent covering of wild animals, all ready to kill or to be killed. Just steer a point to the east, Willis; there, that will do. Just beyond that bluff you see yonder, there is a low flat plain covered with brushwood and tufted with trees; on the left, this prairie is bounded by a chain of low hills, and on the right a broad river, which last we have named the St. John, because it bears some resemblance to a stream of that name in Florida; beyond this plain there is a swamp." "And," added Jack, "behind this swamp there is a magnificent forest of cedars, peopled with the finest furs imaginable, but garnished, however, with formidable claws and rows of teeth." "I was not aware," said Willis, "that we were within reach of such amiable neighbors." "Oh, they cannot reach us; thanks to the conformation of that chain of hills you see yonder, there is only one pass that opens into our settlement, and that we have taken care to shut up and fortify." "It appears then," said Willis, "that there will be no difficulty in finding the animals, but--" "Come, Willis, no more buts; you hunt in your own way from morning till night, let us for once hunt in ours." "I go a-hunting?" "Yes, there you are, charging your piece just now." "Oh, my pipe you mean; but look at the difference; mosquitoes bite human beings, they don't eat them!" "And, you may add, their skins don't make bed-clothes. Besides, if my mother takes rheumatism or the ague, it will be you that is to blame." "I would rather face all the tigers in Bengal and all the lions in Africa than incur such a responsibility. I will, therefore, take a part in your cruise, and if any accident happens to either of you, I shall stay in the forest till nothing is left of me but my cap and my bones. In this way I will escape all reproach in this world, and I may as well, after all, rejoin my old commander, Captain Littlestone, by this road as by any other." In the meantime, they had reached the coast of Waldeck, and having landed, they found the outhouses and sheds that had been erected there in satisfactory order; the apes had not forgotten a battue that had once been got up for their special behoof, as not an individual was to be seen in the neighborhood. A morass of the district that had been converted into a rice plantation, promised an abundant crop; and the cotton plants, that Frank had once mistaken for flakes of snow, reared their woolly blossoms, looking for all the world like the powdered heads of our ancestors. After a slight repast, the pinnace was once more in motion, and the party steering for Prospect Hill. "Ah," sighed Willis, "I wish we had only Sir Marmaduke Travers' cage here." "Cage!" cried Fritz, laughing, "what, to shut up the game first and shoot it afterwards?" "No, quite the reverse: to shut up the hunters." "Ah, you would serve us in the same way as Louis XI. served Cardinal Balue." "I know nothing of either Louis XI. or Cardinal Balue; but the cage I speak of was an excellent invention, for all that." "Which you would like to prove to us by caging ourselves, eh?" "Sir Marmaduke Travers," continued Willis, "was an English gentleman, and he was travelling in Coromandel, no one knew why or for what purpose." "For the fun of the thing, probably," suggested Jack; the English are said to be great oddities." "At that time there happened to be a Hindoo widow somewhere in those parts. This lady was very rich, very young, very beautiful, and very fond of tormenting her admirers. And, as fate would have it, the travelling Englishman was completely taken captive by this dark beauty; and taking advantage of the hold she had obtained upon his heart, she amused herself by making him do all sorts of out of the way things. Sometimes she would bid him let his moustache grow, then she would order him to cut it off; he had to worship Brahma, adopt the fashion of the Hindoos, and had even to undergo the indignity of having his head tied up in a dirty pocket-handkerchief." "That is to say," remarked Jack, "that the lady, not having a pug or a monkey, made Sir Marmaduke a substitute for both." "Very likely, but still Sir Marmaduke was no fool; he was, on the contrary, a gentleman and a philosopher." "I doubt that," said Jack. "You are wrong, then. You have been brought up in an out of the way part of the world, and are not familiar with the usages of civilized society. When once a man has allowed the tender passion to take root in his breast, it cannot afterwards be extinguished at will; it grows and grows like an oil spot, so that what might easily have been mastered at first, makes us in time its devoted slave." "I cannot admit," said Fritz, "that any sensible man would allow himself to be treated in the way you state." "The wisest and bravest have often, for all that, been obliged to bend their heads to such circumstances; in fact, those only escape whose hearts have been steeled by time or adversity. Well, nothing would please the lady in one of her caprices short of Sir Marmaduke's going alone to the jungle and killing a tiger or two for her. This caused him some little uneasiness." "I should think so," remarked Jack, "unless he had been accustomed to face the animals." "However, the widow's hand was to be the reward of the achievement, and the thing must consequently be done. Being, however, as I have said, a bit of a philosopher, he considered with himself that if, by chance, he should perish in the attempt he would lose the widow all the same, and that he could not think of with any thing like equanimity. To extricate himself from this dilemma he sent a despatch to an enterprising friend of his, then stationed with his regiment at Calcutta, requesting his advice." "And this friend, no doubt, sent him a couple of tigers all ready trussed?" "No, better than that; he sent him a strong iron cage fifteen feet square, very solid. This was shipped on board a cutter commanded by Captain Littlestone, and I was entrusted with the task of erecting it on shore, whilst an express was sent off to Sir Marmaduke." "Ah!" said Jack, "I begin to understand now." "Well, he rigged himself in tiger-hunting costume, went and bade the lady good-bye, who coolly wished him good sport, mounted a horse, and rode off to conquer a lady who, as a proof of her affection, had so cavalierly consigned him to the tender mercies of the wild beasts." "Why, it was dooming him to certain destruction," said Fritz. "In the meantime the cage had been conveyed to a valley surrounded with mountains, the caves of which were known to shelter entire colonies of tigers. Here also came Sir Marmaduke. The cage was firmly embedded in the soil, the exterior was thickly studded over with sharp spikes screwed into the bars; inside were placed a table and a sofa, with crimson velvet cushions." "A lady's boudoir in the wilderness," said Jack. "In one corner there was a case containing a dozen bottles of pale ale, and as many of champagne; in another was a second case containing curry pies and a variety of preserved meats; in a third case were five and twenty loaded rifles, together with a complete magazine in miniature of powder and shot. On the table were sundry cases of havannahs, a box of _allumettes_, the last number of the _Edinburgh Review_, and a copy of the _Times_." "What is the _Times_?" inquired Jack. "It is a furlong of paper, folded up and covered with news, advertisements, and letters from the oldest inhabitant of everywhere. Leaving, then, Sir Marmaduke seated in the centre of his cage, we towards night returned to the cutter, first scattering two or three quarters of fresh beef in the vicinity of the cage." "That should have assembled all the tigers in Coromandel," said Fritz. "Anyhow, it brought enough. Towards midnight Sir Marmaduke could count thirty noble brutes capering in the moonlight and feasting upon the beef that had been provided for them." "What did the Englishman do then?" "He took aim at the most magnificent specimen of the herd and fired. No sooner had he done this than the whole pack came scampering towards the cage, thinking, doubtless, they had nothing to do but scrunch the bones of the solitary hunter. This was the signal for a regular slaughter. Sir Marmaduke discharged his rifles point blank in the noses of the animals that environed him on all sides; those who were not wounded by the balls were severely injured by the spikes of the cage in their furious efforts to seize their enemy. The howling, yelling, and fury was quite a new sensation for Sir Marmaduke; he rather enjoyed the thing whilst the excitement lasted. However, all things must have an end; when the sun appeared on the horizon the wounded retired, leaving the dead masters of the situation." "I suppose, in the meantime," remarked Fritz, "that the amiable Hindoo was considering whether or not, under the circumstances, she should wear mourning for her defunct cavalier." "Be that as it may, the defunct made his appearance, safe and sound, that same day, whilst the cutter stood out to sea with every vestige of the cage except the dead tigers. Shortly after, the widow was astonished to see an army of coolies marching in procession towards her door, all, like the slaves of Aladdin, heavily laden; and she was not awakened from her surprise till the master of the ceremonies had placed the following letter in her hands: "Madam,--With this you will receive seventeen fall-grown tigers, which I have had the honour of shooting for you. "Marmaduke Travers." "That was a choice bijou for a lady," said Jack. [Illustration] "Yes," added Fritz; "and if the ladies of Coromandel have stands in their drawing-rooms, to display the tributes to their charms, Sir Marmaduke's present afforded abundant material for adorning those of the widow." "Well, the consequence was, that Sir Marmaduke's name rung from one end of India to the other. The feat of killing, single-handed, seventeen tigers, converted him into a hero of the first magnitude. No festival was complete without him, he was courted by the fashionables and worshipped by the mob; some enthusiasts even proposed to erect a tomb for him, that being the way they honor their great men in eastern nations." "Every country," remarked Fritz, "has its own peculiarities in this respect. The memory of the illustrious men of Greece and Rome was perpetuated in the intrinsic merit of the works of art erected in their names. In England quantity takes the place of quality; there is said to be in London a statue of a hero disguised as Achilles, six yards in height, and perched upon a pedestal twelve yards high." "Making in all," remarked Jack, "exactly eighteen yards of fame." "The handsome Hindoo," continued Willis, "was proud of the feat her charms had inspired. She gloried in showing off the redoubtable tiger-slayer at her _réunions_, and ended in being completely fascinated herself with her former slave. The match that she had formerly sneezed at she now earnestly desired, and, as Sir Marmaduke did not declare himself so speedily as she desired, she determined to give him a little encouragement by sending one of the most inviting and most odoriferous of notes." "Sir Marmaduke must then have considered himself one of the happiest of men," said Fritz. "Well," continued Willis, "neither man nor woman can, in affairs of this kind, depend upon themselves for two consecutive hours. The aspirations of a whole life-time may be dispelled in five minutes, and the wishes of to-day may become the detestations of to-morrow. The new sensations awakened in Sir Marmaduke by the affair of the cage--his recollection of the ferocious brutes as they clung with expiring energy to the bars of the cage, their streaked skins streaming with blood, the fearful howling and terrific death yells, the formidable claws that were often within an inch of his face--had, somehow or other, chased the passion he had felt for the widow completely out of his breast." "Oh, the scamp of a Travers!" said Jack, energetically. "He began to ask himself coolly what a lady, who had made such extraordinary demands upon him before marriage, might not require him to do after; and the result of his cogitations is expressed in the following reply that he sent to the now smiling widow:-- "'Sir Marmaduke Travers is highly flattered by the charming note of the adorable daughter of Brahma; he shall gladly continue to bask in the sunshine of her smiles, out his ambition desires and will accept nothing more.'" "Flowery and laconic," said Fritz. "Well," inquired Willis, "was I not right in wishing to have the cage of Sir Marmaduke here?" "Yes, but we cannot get it. We have no ingenious trend at Calcutta to send us such a machine, and furnish it with crimson-cushioned sofas and pale ale, so we shall have to rest satisfied with our own ingenuity, tact, and agility." Fritz and Jack were justified in relying upon their own resources. They had been often sorely tried, and never had been found wanting in cases of emergency. Since the arrival of the Wolstons their courage had become almost temerity; previous to that event, they had been content to meet danger bravely when it was inevitable, and never went deliberately in search of it. Now, however, if we apply the glass of which Sterne speaks to their breasts and spy what is passing therein, we shall fad that an imperious desire to become heroes had taken possession of their inward souls--a determination to make themselves conspicuous at all hazards was burning within them; that, in fact, they were courting the admiration of the new audience that Providence had sent to the colony, the praise of which found more favor in their hearts than the paternal admonitions. This was far from being commendable; but, although emulation and vanity have some features in common, still they must not be confounded: the former consists in generous efforts to equal or surpass some one in something praiseworthy; the second is a kind of self-love, that seeks to purchase respect or flattery at no matter what cost;--the one is a vice, the other a virtue. Fritz and Jack were not actuated by vanity; they were urged on by their impulses, without weighing the circumstances that gave them rise; and indeed they were not even conscious of being more desirous of renown now than they had been hitherto. The temperament of Ernest and Frank was of another kind. Their natures were much less excitable, and it did not appear that the recent arrivals had altered their outward demeanor in the slightest degree; they continued calm, staid, and reflective, as they had ever been. All four were a singular mixture of the child and the man--knowing many things that young people are ignorant of, they were yet almost totally unacquainted with the ordinary attributes of social life--unsophisticated and naive to an extreme degree, they would have appeared in a fashionable drawing-room downright fools. On the other hand, they possessed great clearness of perception, presence of mind in danger, promptitude in action, and the utmost coolness in the face of apparently insurmountable obstacles--qualities that would have utterly confounded the young men who shine in the saloons of Europe, whose chief merit often consists in their being familiar with the unmeaning conventionalisms of fashionable life. At Prospect Hill they found the outhouses and plantations in much the same position as at Waldeck. Here the crimson flowers of the caper plant, the white flowers of the tea plant, and the rich blossoms of the clove tree, perfumed the air and promised a fragrant harvest. This was a charming caravansary, all ready with its smiles to welcome the illustrious colonists as soon as they presented themselves. These points being settled to the satisfaction of the three pioneers, a sheep was taken on board the pinnace at the request of Willis--who seemed to have taken a violent fancy for mutton chops--and they set sail towards the east. In the first instance they made for a projecting head-land that seemed to bar their progress in that direction, and, much to the astonishment of the Pilot, they entered a cavern that formed the entrance to a natural tunnel. This, besides being an interesting feature in the coast scenery, was one of the treasures of the colony, for it contained vast quantities of edible birds' nests, so much prized by the Chinese. The voyagers did not, however, tarry here; these were not the objects they were now in search of. Nautilus Bay and the Bay of Pearls were likewise traversed unheeded, nor could the attractive banks of the St. John, fringed with verdant foliage, divert them from the project they had in contemplation. Wise men, when they indulge in folly, are often more foolish than real fools; so it was with Willis: now that he had joined in the scheme, he evinced more ardor in its execution than the young men themselves. He said that it would not be enough to capture skins for Mr. and Mrs. Wolston, they must also capture one a-piece for Mary and Sophia likewise, and talked as if the adventure of Sir Marmaduke and his seventeen tigers had been a bagatelle. Some hours before dark they landed at a spot well known to both Fritz and Jack; it was a place where Becker and his sons had some time before been engaged in deadly conflict with a herd of lions, and where one of their dogs had fallen a victim to the enraged monarchs of the forest. "My plan," said Willis, "is to kill the sheep and place the quarters on the shore, just as bait is thrown into the water to bring the fish within the net." "A reminiscence of Sir Marmaduke," said Jack. "Then," continued Willis, "we shall light a fire to take the place of the sun, who is about to retire for the night. This done, I propose that we should return to the pinnace, keep the mutton within rifle range, and riddle the skins that come to feast upon it." After some opposition on the part of Fritz and Jack, who preferred to encounter their antagonists on more equal terms, the proposal of Willis was ultimately agreed to. CHAPTER XI. ON THE WATCH--FECUNDITY OF PLANTS AND ANIMALS--LATEST NEWS FROM THE MOON--A DEATH-KNELL EVERY SECOND--THE INCONVENIENCES OF BEING TOO NEAR THE SUN--NARCOTICS--WILLIS CONTRALTO--HUNTING TURNED UPSIDE DOWN--ELECTRIC CLOUDS--PARTIALITIES OF LIGHTNING--BELLS AND BELL-RINGERS--CONDUCTING RODS--THE RETURN--THE TWO SISTERS--TOBY BECOMES A DRAGOMAN. As is usual in tropical climates, a blazing hot day was succeeded by an intensely dark night. The fire that the hunters had made on shore cast a lurid glare on the prominent objects round about. The flames, as they fitfully lit up the landscape into that dim distinctness termed by artists the _chiar oscuro_, made the bushes and trunks of trees appear like monsters issuing stealthily from the forest that lined the background. There seemed to be some attraction, however, elsewhere for the real monsters, not a single wild beast having as yet appeared on the scene. The two young men were eagerly straining their eyes from the stern of the pinnace, whilst the dogs kept diligently wagging their tails in expectation of a signal for the onset. The position of Willis could be ascertained now and then by an eye of fire, which opened and shut as he inhaled or exhaled the fumes of his Maryland. The ripple beat gently on the sea-line of the boat, which oscillated with the regularity and softness of a cradle. "It is always so," said Jack, impatiently; "if we don't want wild beasts, there are shoals of them to be seen; but if we do want them, then they are all off to their dens." "Perhaps, there are none now," suggested Willis. "Say rather," observed Fritz, "that there ought to be thousands; for on the one hand they multiply rapidly, and on the other there is no one to destroy them. Spaniards once left a few cattle on St. Domingo, and they increased at such a rate, that the island very soon would not have been able to support them, had they not been kept down by constant slaughter." "Besides," remarked Jack, "the bovine race reproduce themselves more slowly than other animals; a single sow, according to a calculation made by Vauban, if allowed to live eleven years, would produce six millions of pigs." "What a cargo of legs of pork and sides of bacon!" exclaimed Willis, laughing. "Then fish; there are more than a hundred and sixty thousand eggs in a single carp. A sturgeon contains a million four hundred and sixty-seven thousand eight hundred and fifty, whilst in some codfish the number exceeds nine millions." "Oh, you need not favor us with the 'Mariner's March,' Willis; what my brother says is perfectly correct." "What, then, do these shoals of creatures live upon?" "The big ones upon the little ones; fish devour each other." "A beautiful harmony of Nature," remarked Fritz drily. "Then plants," continued Jack, "are still more prolific than animals. Some trees can produce as many of their kind as they have branches, or even leaves. An elm tree, twelve years old, yields sometimes five hundred thousand pods; and, by the way, Willis, to encourage you in carrying on the war against the mosquitoes, a single stalk of tobacco produces four thousand seeds." "The leaves, however, are of more use to me than the seeds," replied Willis. "This admirable proportion between the productiveness of the two kingdoms demonstrates the far-seeing wisdom of Providence. If the power of multiplication in vegetables had been less considerable, the fields, gardens, and prairies would have been deserts, with only a plant here and there to hide the nakedness of the land. Had God permitted animals to multiply in excess of plants, the entire vegetation would soon have been devoured, and then the animals themselves would of necessity have ceased to exist." "How is it, then," inquired Willis, "with this continual multiplication always going on, the inhabitants of land and sea do not get over-crowded?" "Why, as regards man, for example, if thirteen or fourteen human beings are born within a given period, death removes ten or eleven others; but though this leaves a regular increase, still the population of the globe always continues about the same." "It may be so, Master Jack, but when I was a little boy at school, I generally came in for a whipping, if I made out two and two to be anything else than four." "And served you right too, Willis; but if the human family did not continually increase, if the number of deaths exceeded continually that of the births, at the end of a few centuries the world would be unpeopled." "Very good; but if, on the other hand, there is a continual increase, how can the population continue the same?" "Because the increase supposes a normal state; that is to say, the births are only estimated as compared with deaths from disease or old age. But then there are shipwrecks, inundations, plagues, and war, which sometimes exterminate entire communities at one fell swoop. Then whole nations die out and give place to the redundant populations of others; phenomena now observed in the cases of the aborigines of Australia and America." "Very true." "No signs of furs yet," cried Fritz, who was every now and then levelling his rifle at the phantoms on shore. "We need not dread," continued Jack, "ever being hustled or jostled on the earth; life will fail us before space. There are now eight hundred millions of human beings in existence, and, according to the most moderate computation, room enough for twice that number. As it is, the most fertile sections of the earth are not the most populous; there are four hundred millions in Asia, sixty millions in Africa, forty in America, two hundred and thirty in Europe, and only seventy millions in the islands and continent of Oceanica!" "To which," remarked Fritz, "you may add the eleven inhabitants of New Switzerland." "Assuming, then, this calculation to be nearly accurate, though authorities vary materially in their computations of the earth's inhabitants, and regarding it in connexion with the average duration of human life, a thousand millions of mortals must perish in thirty-three years; to descend to detail, thirty millions every year, three thousand four hundred every hour, sixty every minute, or ONE EVERY SECOND." "Aye," remarked Willis, "we are here to-day and gone to-morrow." "Suppose, then, that the population of the earth were twice as great, cultivation would be extended, territories that are now lying waste would be teeming with life and covered with fertile fields, but the same beautiful equilibrium would be maintained." "And the inhabitants of the planets," said Fritz, "what are they about?" "What planets do you mean?" inquired Willis. "Well, all in general; the moon, for example, in particular." "The moon," replied Jack, "has, in the first place, no atmosphere. This we know, because the rays of the stars passing behind her are not, in the slightest degree, refracted; and this proves that neither men, nor animals, nor vegetables of any kind, are to be found in that planet, for they could not exist without air." "That should settle the question," remarked Willis. "Yes," remarked Fritz; "but some theorists, nevertheless, insist that there may be living creatures in the moon, for all that--of course, differently constituted from the inhabitants of our earth, and susceptible of existing without air. There is, however, no evidence of any kind to support such a theory; it is a mere fancy, the dream of an imaginative brain. Upon the same grounds, it may be argued, that the interior of the earth is inhabited, and that elves and gnomes are possible beings. Besides, the telescope has been brought to so high a degree of perfection, that objects the size of a house can now be detected in the moon." "It seems, I am afraid," remarked Jack, who, like his brother, was getting annoyed by the phantasmagoria on shore, "that we were about as well supplied with wild beasts here as they are with men in the planets." "In speaking of the moon, however," continued Fritz, "I do not imply all the planets; for, certain as we are that the moon has no atmosphere, so we are equally certain that some of the planets possess that attribute. Still there are other circumstances that render the notion of their being inhabited by beings like ourselves exceedingly improbable. Mercury, for example, is so embarrassed by the solar rays, that lead must always be in a state of fusion, and water, if not reduced to a state of vapor, will be hot enough to boil the fish that are in it. Uranus, at the other extremity of the system, receives four hundred times less heat and light than we do, consequently neither water nor any thing else can exist there in a liquid state; what is fluid on our earth must be frozen up into a solid mass. Good, I declare my brother has fallen asleep!" "It is very--interesting--however," said Willis, making ineffectual efforts to smother a yawn. "The same difficulty with comets; there must have been some very urgent necessity for human beings in order to have peopled them. When they pass the perihelion--" "The what?" inquired Willis. "The point where they approach nearest the sun--when they pass the perihelion, I was going to say, the heat they endure must be terrific; when on the other hand, at their extreme distance from that body, the cold must be intense. The comet of 1680 did not approach within five thousand _myriamètres_ of the sun." "Friends coming within that distance of each other should at least shake hands," said Willis. "Still, even at that distance, the heat, according to Newton, must be like red-hot iron, and if constituted like our earth, when heated to that degree, must take fifty thousand years to cool." "Fifty thousand years!" said Willis, yawning from ear to ear. "The central position between these extremes, which would either congeal our earth into a mass of ice or burn it up into a heap of cinders, is therefore the most congenial to such beings as ourselves. Whence I conclude--" Here the crimson flashes of Willis's pipe, which had been gradually diminishing in brilliance suddenly ceased; _contralto_ notes issued from the profundities of his breast, and it became evident to the orator that all his audience were sound asleep. "Whence I conclude," said Fritz, addressing himself, "that my orations must be somewhat soporiferous." Being thus left alone to keep a look-out on shore, his thoughts gradually receded within his own breast, where all was rose-colored and smiling, for at his age rust has not had time to corrupt, nor moths to eat away. And it was not long before he himself, like his two companions, was fast locked in the arms of sleep. How long this state of things lasted the chronicle saith not; but the three sleepers were eventually awakened by a simultaneous howl of the dogs. They were instantly on their feet, with their rifles levelled. It was too late; day had broken, and there was light enough to convince them that nothing was to be seen. The sheep's quarters had, however, entirely disappeared, and they had the satisfaction of knowing that they had politely given the denizens of the forest a feast gratis. "Ah, they shall pay us for it yet," said Jack. "This is a case of the hunters being caught instead of the game," remarked Fritz. "The poor sheep! If Ernest had been here, he would have erected a monument to its memory." "I doubt that; epitaphs are generally made rather to please the living than to compliment the defunct. But, Willis, we must deprive you of your office of huntsman in chief--I shall go into the forest and revenge this insult." "I have no objection to abdicate the office of huntsman, but must retain that of admiral, in which capacity I announce to you that there will be a storm presently, and that we shall just have time to make Rockhouse before it overtakes us." "That is rather a reason for our remaining where we are." "We have come for skins, and skins we must have." "Besides, we are two to one, and in all constitutional governments the majority rules." "Have you both made up your minds?" inquired Willis. "Yes, we are quite decided." "In that case," said Willis, "let us hoist the anchor and be off home." "Home! but we are determined to have the skins first." "No, you are not," said Willis; "I know you better than you know yourselves. You are both brave fellows, but I know you would not, for all the skins in the world, have your good mother suppose that you were buffeted about by the waves in a storm." "True; up with the anchor, Willis," said Fritz. "Be it so," said Jack, shaking his fist menacingly at the silent forest, "but we shall lose nothing by waiting." The sailor had not erred in his calculations, for they had scarcely unfurled the sail before they heard the distant rumbling of the storm. As soon as the first flash of lightning shot across the sky, Jack put his forefinger of one hand on the wrist of the other, and began counting one--two--three. "Do you feel feverish?" inquired Willis. "No, not personally," replied Jack; "I am feeling the pulse of the storm--twenty-four--twenty-five--twenty-six--it is a mile off." "Aye! how do you make that out?" "Very easily; you recollect Ernest telling us that light travelled so rapidly, that the time it occupied in passing from one point to another of the earth's surface was scarcely perceptible to our senses?" "Yes, but I thought he was spinning a yarn at the time." "You were wrong, Willis; he likewise told us that sound travels at the rate of four hundred yards in a second." "Well, but--" "Have patience, Willis! When the lightning flashes, the electric spark is discharged, is it not?" "Well, I was never high enough aloft to see." "But others have been; Newton and Franklin have seen it. Now, if the sound reaches our ears a second after the flash, it has travelled four hundred yards. If we hear it twelve or thirteen seconds after, it has travelled twelve or thirteen times four hundred yards, or about half a mile, and so on." "But what has that to do with your pulse?" "In the first place, I am in perfect health, am I not?" "I hope so, Master Jack." "Then when our systems are in good order, the pulse, keeping fractions out of view, beats once in every second; and consequently, though we do not always carry a watch, we always have our arteries about us, and may therefore always reckon time." "Now I understand." "Ah! then we are to escape this time without the 'Mariner's March.'" "It appears, Master Jack, that you have turned philosopher as well as your brothers. Can you tell me what causes lightning?" "Yes, I can, Willis. You must know, in the first place, that all the layers of the atmosphere are, more or less, charged with electricity." "Ask him how," said Fritz drily. "Ah, you hope to puzzle me," replied Jack, "but thanks to Mr. Wolston, I am too well up in physics to be easily driven off my perch, and therefore may safely take my turn in philosophising." "Well, we are listening." "The air, by means of the vapor it contains, absorbs electricity from terrestrial bodies, and so becomes a sort of reservoir of this invisible fluid. All chemical combinations evolve electricity, the air collects it and stores it up in the clouds. There, worshipful brother, your question is answered." "Good, go on." "Well, Willis, you must know, in the second place, the clouds are very good fellows, and share with each other the good things they possess. When one cloud meets another, the one over-supplied with this fluid and the other in its normal state, there is an immediate interchange of courtesies, the negative electricity of the one is exchanged for the positive of the other." "There does not appear, however, to be much generosity in this transaction, since the surcharged cloud does not cede its superfluous abundance without a consideration." "It is very rarely that philanthropy amongst us goes much further," remarked Fritz. "No, everybody is not like Willis," rejoined Jack, "who acts like a prince, and gives legs of mutton gratis to hyenas and tigers. The discharges of electricity from one cloud to another are the flashes of lightning, and it is to be observed that the thunder is nothing more than the noise made by the fluid rushing through the air." "What, then, is the thunderbolt?" "There is no such thing as what is popularly understood by the term thunderbolt. The lightning itself, however, often does mischief. This happens when the discharge, instead of being between two clouds in the air, takes place between a cloud and the ground--a cloud surcharged with electricity understood. Then all intervening objects are struck by the fluid." "There, however, you are wrong," said Fritz. "All objects are not struck; on the contrary, the fluid avoids some things and searches out others, even moving in a zig-zag direction to manifest these caprices; it often discharges itself on or into hard substances, and passes by those which are soft or feeble." "I might say this arose from a sentiment of generosity," added Jack, "but I have other reasons to assign." "So much the better," said Fritz, "as I should scarcely be satisfied with the first." "Well," continued Jack, "lightning has its likings and dislikings." "Like men and women," suggested Willis. "It has a partiality for metal." "An affection that is not returned, however," observed Fritz. "If the fluid enters a room, for example, it runs along the bell wires, inspects the works of the clock, and sometimes has the audacity to pounce upon the money in your purse, even though a policeman should happen to be in the kitchen at the time." "Perhaps," remarked Willis, "it is Socialist or Red Republican in its notions." "It does not, however, patronise war," replied Jack; "I once heard of it having melted a sword and left the scabbard intact." "That, to say the least of it, is improbable," remarked Fritz. "The hilt, or even the point, might have been fused; but even supposing the electric fluid to have been capable of such flagrant preference, the scabbard could not have held molten metal without being itself consumed." "Aye," remarked Willis, "there are plenty of non-sensical stories of that kind in circulation, because nobody takes the trouble to test their truth. Still, according to your own account, a man or woman runs no danger from the lightning." "I beg your pardon there, Willis; the electric fluid does not go out of its way to attack a human being, but if one should-happen to be in its way, it does not take time to request that individual to stand aside, it simply passes through him, and leaves him or her, as the case may be, a coagulated mass of inanimate tissues." "What a variety of ways there are of getting out of the world!" said Willis lugubriously. "Again," continued Jack, "anything that happens to be in the vicinity of the clouds when this interchange of courtesies is going on, is apt to draw the storm upon itself, hence the continual war that is carried on between the lightning and the steeples." "Something like an individual coming within range of a cloud of mosquitoes," suggested Willis. "A learned German--one of us," said the scapegrace, laughing, "calculated, in 1783, that in the space of thirty-three years there had been, to his own knowledge, three hundred and eighty-six spires struck, and a hundred and twenty bell-ringers killed by lightning, without reckoning a much larger number wounded." "And yet," remarked Willis, "I never heard of an insurance against accidents by lightning." "There are plenty of them, however, in Roman Catholic countries," said Fritz. "Every village has one, and the charge is almost nominal." "How, then, do these companies make it pay?" "They find it answer somehow, and they never collapse." "Then everybody ought to insure." "Yes, but there are some obstinate people who do not see the good of it." "If my life had not already been forfeited, I should insure it. But how is it done?" "Well, you have only to go into a church, fall down on your knees before the priest, he will make you invulnerable by a sign of the cross; then, come storms that pulverize the body or crush the mind, you are perfectly safe." "Ah! that is the way you insure your lives, is it, trusting to the priests rather than to Providence? For my own part, I should prefer a policy of insurance--that is to say, if my life were of any value." "Next to steeples," continued Jack, "come tall trees, such as poplars and pines. Should you ever be caught by a storm in the open country, Willis, never take shelter under a tree; face the storm bravely, and submit to be deluged by the rain. Dread even bushes, if they are isolated. An entire forest is less dangerous than a single reed when it stands alone." "But you forget, brother, that when a man stands alone he is quite as prominent an object as the trunk of a tree four or five feet high, particularly in an open plain." "Quite so. It is therefore advisable, when severe storms are close upon us, to lie down flat on the ground." "Suppose," remarked Fritz, smiling, "a brigade of soldiers on the march suddenly to collapse in this way, as if before a discharge of grape." "And why not? If it is done in the case of grape-shot, why may it not be done when the artillery is a thousand times more effective?" "Well, I suspect it would rather astonish the commanding officer, that is all." "Then, Willis," continued Jack, "you must not run during a storm, because the air you put in motion by so doing may draw the electricity into the current." "Do the conductors not prevent the lightning from doing harm?" "Yes, but you cannot carry one of them on your hat. These rods are only useful in protecting buildings, and then to nothing more than double the area of their length; it is for this last reason that roofs of public buildings have them projecting in all directions." "They are a sort of trap set for the lightning, are they not?" "Yes, and into which it is pretty sure to fall. Franklin, of whom I spoke just now, was the first to suggest that bars of steel would draw lightning out of a cloud surcharged with electricity." "What becomes of it when it is caught?" "Keeping in view its partiality for bell-pulls, a wire is attached to the rod down which the unconscious fluid glides." "Like a powder-monkey from the main-top." "Exactly; till it enters a well, and there it is left at the bottom in company with Truth." A practical storm had begun to mix itself up with the theory as developed by Jack, but not before they had very nearly reached their destination, where they were waited for with the greatest anxiety. No sooner had they landed than Sophia ran to meet Willis, who was advancing with Jack. "Ah, sweetheart," she said, "Susan has been so uneasy about you." "You are a good girl, Miss Soph--Susan." "Oh, if you only knew how frightened we have been!" "What, do you admit fear to be one of your accomplishments, Miss Sophia?" inquired Jack. "Certainly, when others are concerned, Master Jack. But, by the way, do you recollect the chimpanzee?" "Yes, what about the rascal?" [Illustration] "Oh, I must not tell you, mamma would call me a chatterbox; you will know by-and-by." In the meanwhile Mary, on her side, was congratulating Toby, who kept scampering between herself and Fritz, at one moment receiving the caresses of the one and at the next of the other, with every demonstration of joy. This had become an established mode of communication between the young people when Fritz arrived from a lengthened ramble; the intelligent, brute, in point of fact, had assumed the office of dragoman. "Ah, ah, Becker, glad to see you again," said Willis. "Your sons are fountains of knowledge, whilst I am--" "A very worthy fellow, Willis, and I know it," replied Becker, shaking him heartily by the hand. CHAPTER XII. MAN PROPOSES, BUT GOD DISPOSES--THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION--CONQUEROR--ORATOR--ASTRONOMER--COMPOSER--PAINTER--POET--VILLAGE CURATE--THE KAFIRS--OCCUPATIONS OF WOMEN--THE ALPHA AND OMEGA OF THE SEA. To the storm succeeded one of those diluvian showers that have already been described. Rain being merely a result of evaporation, it was evident that sea and land in those climates must perspire at an enormous rate to effect such cataclysms. In consequence of this deluge, the proposed excursion was indefinitely postponed. The provisions, the marvellous kits, the waggon, were all ready; but Nature, as often happens under such circumstances, had assumed a menacing attitude, and for the present forbade the execution of the project. A sort of vague sadness, that generally accompanies a gloomy atmosphere, weighed upon the spirits of the colonists. Recollections of the _Nelson_ and her sudden disappearance thrust themselves more vividly than ever upon their memory; and Willis was observed to throw his sou'-wester unconsciously on the ground--a proof that remembrances of the past occupied his thoughts. One of the ladies was occupied in the needful domestic operations of the household, whilst the other sat with a stocking on her left arm, busily occupied in repairing the ravages of tear and wear upon that useful though humble garment. The two young ladies spun, as used to do the great ladies of the court of King Alfred, and as Hercules himself is said to have done when he changed his club and lion's skin for a spindle and distaff with the Queen of Lybia; Jack was apparently sketching, Fritz had a collection of hunting apparatus before him, and the other two young men, each with a book, were deeply immersed in study. This state of things was by no means cheerful, and Wolston determined to break up the monotony by introducing a subject of conversation likely to interest them all, the old as well as the young. "By the way, gentlemen," said he, "it occurs to me that you have not yet thought of selecting a profession; your future career seems at present somewhat obscure." "What would you have?" inquired Jack; "there is no use for lawyers and judges in our colony, except to try plundering monkeys or protect jackal orphans." "True; but suppose you were to find yourselves, by some chance, again in the great world, there it is necessary to possess a qualification of some kind; a blacksmith or a carpenter, expert in his handicraft, has a better chance of acquiring wealth and position than a man without a profession, however great his talents may be; an idler is a mere clog in the social machine, and is often thrust aside to browse in a corner with monks and donkeys." "But to acquire a profession, is not instruction and practice necessary?" "Certainly; it is impossible to become a proficient in any art or science by mere study alone; but before sowing a field, what is done?" "It is ploughed and manured." "And should there be only a few seeds?" "We can sow what we have, and reserve the harvest till next season. By economising each crop in this way, we shall soon have seeds enough to cover any extent of land." "May I request you, Master Ernest, to draw a conclusion from that as regards sowing the seeds of a future career?" "I would infer, from your suggestion, that we might adapt ourselves for such and such a profession by preparing our minds to receive instruction in it, and we might also avail ourselves in the meantime of such sources of information regarding it as are at present open to us. The physician in prospective, for example, might make himself familiar with the medical properties of such plants as are within his reach; he might likewise examine the bones of an ape, and thus, by analogy, become acquainted with the framework of the human body. The would-be lawyer might, in the same way, avail himself of the library to obtain an insight into those social mysteries that bind men in communities and necessitate human laws for the preservation of peace and order. Thus, by directing our thoughts into one line of study, we may form a basis upon which the superstructure may be easily erected, and the necessary academical degrees or sanction of the university obtained." "And, when you see this, why not adopt so commendable a course?" "Because we may probably be destined to remain here, where, according to Jack, the learned professions, at least, are not likely to be much in demand." "The study of a particular science or art has charms in itself, which amply compensate the student for his labor. But, even admitting you do not return to the Old World, you forget that it is your intention to colonise this territory." "It seems, however, that God has willed it otherwise." "What God does not will in one way, he may bring about in another. What reason have you for supposing that the _Nelson_ may not return with colonists?" "It will be from the other world then," said Willis. "Yes, from the other world," replied Jack, "but not in the sense you imply." "Besides, should the _Nelson_ not reappear, that is no reason why another accident may not drive another ship upon the coast that will be more fortunate; what has happened to-day may surely happen again to-morrow. And in the event of colonists arriving, will there not be sick to cure, boundaries to determine, differences of opinion to decide, and opposing claims to adjudge." "Certainly, Mr. Wolston." "Well, admitting these necessities, what profession will each of you select? Let us begin with you, Master Fritz." "The career," replied Fritz, "that would be most congenial to my taste is that of a conqueror." "A conqueror!" "Yes; Alexander, Scipio, Timour the Tartar, and Gengis Khan are the sort of men I should like to resemble. They have made a tolerable figure in the world, and I should have no objection to follow in their footsteps." "But you forget that their footsteps are marked with tears, disasters, terror, and bloodshed." "These are indispensable." "Why?" "Once, when a great commander was asked the same question, he replied, that you cannot make omelets without breaking eggs." "Yes," remarked Becker, "but if you had read the anecdote entire, you would have seen that he was asked in return, 'What use there was for so many omelets.'" "Added to which," continued Wolston, "that is not a normal career; there is no diploma required for it; it is an accident arising out of adventitious circumstances, sometimes fostered by ambition, but no course of study can produce a conqueror." "What, then, is the use of military schools?" "They are, to the best of my knowledge, instituted for rearing defenders for one's country, and not with a view to the subjugation of another's." "My poor Fritz," said Mrs. Becker laughing, "I hope when you conquer half the world, you will find an occupation for your mother more in consonance with your dignity than mending your stockings." "Then, again," continued Wolston, "war cannot be waged by a single individual." "There must be an enemy somewhere," suggested Willis. "The difficulty does not, however, lie there," observed Jack; "for, if we have no enemies, it is easy enough to make them." "There must, at all events, be armies, magazines, and a treasury--or eggs, as the great commander in question hinted." "True," replied Fritz; "but there is the same difficulty as regards all professions; there can be no barristers without briefs, no physicians without patients." "You will admit, however, that clients and patients are not so rare as hundreds of thousands of armed men and millions of money." "Brother," said Jack, "your cavalry are routed and your infantry outflanked." "If you are determined to be a conqueror, let it be by the pen rather than by the sword--or, what do you say to oratory? It is not easier, perhaps, but, at all events, eloquence is not denied to ordinary mortals. You will not then, to be sure, rank with the Hannibals, the Tamerlanes, or the Cæsars; but you may attain a place with Demosthenes, who was more dreaded by Philip of Macedon than an army of soldiers." "Or Cicero," remarked Becker, "who preserved his country from the rapacity of Cataline." "Or Peter the Hermit," remarked Frank, "who by his eloquence roused Europe against the Saracens." "Or Bossuet," added Wolston, "and then you may venture to assert in the face of kings that _God alone is Great_, should they, like Louis XIV., assume the sun as an emblem, and adopt such a silly scroll as '_Nec pluribus impar_.'" "Bossuet, Peter the Hermit, Cicero, and Demosthenes, are not so bad, after all, as a last resource," remarked Mrs. Wolston, "and I would recommend you to enrol yourself in that list of conquerors, Master Fritz." "The more especially," observed Jack, "as you have no impediment in your voice, and would not have to undergo a course of pebbles like Demosthenes." "So far as that goes, Jack," replied Fritz, "you would possess a like advantage for the profession as myself; but I will take time to reflect." Then, turning towards his mother, he said, "Conqueror or Jack Pudding, mother, you shall always find me a dutiful son." His mother was more gratified by this expression of attachment than she would have been had he laid at her feet the four thousand golden spurs found, in 1302, on the field of Courtray. "And now, Ernest, what profession do you intend to adopt? what is your dream of the future?" "I, Mr. Wolston! Well, having no taste for artillery, brilliant charges, blood-stained ruins, and the other _agrémens_ of war, I cannot be a hero. Do you know when I feel most happy?" "No, let us hear." "It is towards evening, when I am reposing tranquilly on the banks of the Jackal." "Ah, I thought so," cried Jack; "no position so congenial to the true philosopher as the horizontal." "When the sun," continued Ernest, gravely, "is retiring behind the forest of cedars that bounds the horizon; when the palms, the mangoes, and gum trees, mass their verdure in distinct and isolated groups; when nature is making herself heard in a thousand melodious voices; when the hum of the insect is ringing in my ears, and the breeze is gently murmuring through the foliage; when thousands of birds are fluttering from grove to grove, sometimes breaking with their wings the smooth surface of the river; when the fish, leaping out of their own element, reflect for an instant from their silvery scales the departing rays of the sun; when the sea, stretching away like a vast plain of boundless space, loses itself in the distance, then my eyes and thoughts are sometimes turned upwards towards the azure of the firmament, and sometimes towards the objects around me, and I feel as if my mind were in search of something which has hitherto eluded its grasp, but which it is sure of eventually finding. Under these circumstances, I assure you, I would not exchange the moss on which I sat for the greatest throne in Christendom." "But surely you do not call such a poetical exordium a profession?" remarked Becker. "It must be admitted," said Wolston, "that the sun and trees have their uses, especially when the one protects us from the other; the sun, for example, dries up the moisture that falls from the trees, and the trees shelter us from the burning rays of the sun. Still, I am at a loss myself to connect these things with a profession in a social point of view." "What would you have thought," inquired Ernest, "if you had seen Newton and Kepler gazing at the sky, before the one had determined the movements of the celestial bodies, and the other the laws of gravitation? What would you have thought of Parmentier passing hours and days in manipulating a rough-looking bulb, that possessed no kind of value in the eyes of the vulgar, but which afterwards, as the potato, became the chief food of two-thirds of the population of Europe? What would you think of Jenner, with his finger on his brow, searching for a means of preserving humanity from the scourge of the small-pox?" "But these men had an object in view." "Jenner, yes; but not the other two. They thought, studied, contemplated, and reflected, satisfied that one day their thoughts, calculations, and reflections would aid in disclosing some mystery of Nature; but it would have perplexed them sorely to have named beforehand the nature and scope of their discoveries." "According to you, then," said Jack, "there could not be a more dignified profession than that of the scarecrow. The greatest dunderhead in Christendom might simply, by going a star-gazing, pass himself off as an adept in the occult sciences, and claim the right of being a benefactor of mankind in embryo." "At all events," replied Ernest, "you will admit that, so long as I am ready to bear my share of the common burdens, and take my part in providing for the common wants, and in warding of the common dangers, it is immaterial whether I occupy my leisure hours in reflection or in rifle practice." "Well," said Jack, "when you have made some discovery that will enrol your name with Descartes, Huygens, Cassini, and such gentlemen, you will do us the honor of letting us know." "With the greatest pleasure." "It is a pity that Herschell has invented the telescope: he might have left you a chance for the glory of that invention." "If I have not discovered a new star, brother, I discovered long ago that you would never be one." "Well, I hope not; their temperature is too unequal for me--they are either freezing or boiling: at least, so said Fritz the other day, whilst we were--all, what were we doing, Willis?" "We were supposed to be hunting." "Ah, so we were." "Now, Master Jack, it is your turn to enlighten us as to your future career." "It is quite clear, Mr. Wolston, that, since my brothers are to be so illustrious, I cannot be an ordinary mortal; the honor of the family is concerned, and must be consulted. I am, therefore, resolved to become either a great composer, like Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven; a renowned painter, like Titian, Carrache, or Veronese; or a great poet, like Homer, Virgil, Shakspeare, Dante, Milton, Goethe, and Racine." "That is to say," remarked Mrs. Wolston, "that you are resolved to be a great something or other." "Decidedly, madam; on reflection, however, as I value my eyesight, I must except Homer and Milton." "But have you not determined to which of the muses you will throw the handkerchief?" "I thought of music at first. It must be a grand thing, said I to myself, that can charm, delight, and draw tears from the eyes of the multitude--that can inspire faith, courage, patriotism, devotion and energy, and that, too, by means of little black dots with tails, interspersed with quavers, crotchets, sharps and flats." "Have you composed a sonata yet?" "No, madam; I was going to do so, but it occurred to me that I should require an orchestra to play it." "And not having that, you abandoned the idea?" "Exactly, madam. I then turned to poetry. That is an art fit for the gods; it puts you on a level with kings, and makes you in history even more illustrious than them. You ascend the capitol, and there you are crowned with laurel, like the hero of a hundred fights." "What is the subject of your principal work in this line?" "Well, madam, I once finished a verse, and was going on with a second, but, somehow or other, I could not get the words to rhyme." "Then it occurred to you that you had neither a printer nor readers, and you broke your lyre?" "I was about to reproach you, Master Jack," said Wolston, "for undertaking too many things at once; but I see the ranks are beginning to thin." "Beautiful as poetry may be," continued Jack, one gets tired of reading and re-reading one's own effusions." "It is even often intensely insipid the very first time," remarked Mrs. Wolston. "There still remains painting," continued Jack. "Painting is vastly superior to either music or poetry. In the first place, it requires no interpreter between itself and the public;--what, for example, remains of a melody after a concert? nothing but the recollection. Poesy may excite admiration in the retirement of one's chamber; your nostrils are, as it were, reposing on the bouquet, though often you have still a difficulty in smelling anything. But if once you give life to canvas, it is eternal." "Eternal is scarcely the proper word," remarked Wolston: "the celebrated fresco of Leonardo da Vinci, in the refectory of the Dominicans at Milan, is nothing but a confused mass of colors and figures." "I answer that by saying that the painting in question is only a fresco. Besides, I use the word eternal in a modified or relative sense. A painting is preserved from generation to generation, whilst its successive races of admirers are mingled with the dust. Then suppose a painter in his studio; he cannot look around him without awakening some memory of the past. He can associate with those he loves when they are absent, nay, even when they are dead, and they always remain young and beautiful as when he first delineated them." "Take care," cried Ernest, pushing back his seat, "if you go on at that rate you will take fire." "No fear of that, brother, unless you have a star or a comet in your pocket, in which case you are not far enough away yet." These occasional bickerings between Ernest and Jack were always given and taken in good part, and had only the effect of raising a good-humored laugh. "Let the painter," he continued, "fall in with a spot that pleases him, he can take it with him and have it always before his eyes. The hand of God or of man may alter the original, the forest may lose its trees, the old castle may be destroyed by fire or time, the green meadow may be converted into a dismal swamp, but to him the landscape always retains its pristine freshness, the same butterfly still flutters about the same bush, the same bee still sucks at the same flower." "Really," said Mrs. Wolston, "it is a pity, after all, that you did not achieve your second verse." "And yet," continued Jack, "that is only a copy. How much more sublime when we regard the painter as a creator! If there is in the past or present a heroic deed--if there is in the infinity of his life one moment more blessed than another, like Pygmalion he breathes into it the breath of life, and it becomes imperishable. Who would think a century or two hence of the victories of Fritz, unless the skill of the painter be called in to immortalize them!" "I agree with you in thinking that the arts you name are the source of beautiful and legitimate emotions. But generally it is better to view them as a recreation or pastime, rather than a profession. They have doubtless made a few men live in posterity, but, on the other hand, they have embittered and shortened the lives of thousands." "You will never guess what led me to adopt this art in preference to the two others. It was the discovery, that we made some years ago, of a gum tree, the name of which I do not recollect." "The myrica cerifera," said Ernest. "From the gum of this tree the varnish may be made. Now, like my brother, who, when he sees the sun overhead, considers he ought to profit by the circumstance and become a discoverer, so I said to myself: You have varnish, all you want, therefore, to produce a magnificent painting is canvas, colors, and talent; consequently, you must not allow such an opportunity to pass--it would be unpardonable. Accordingly, I set to work with an energy never before equalled; and," added he, showing the design he had just finished, "here are two eyes and a nose, that I do not think want expression." "Capital!" said Mrs. Wolston; "your painting will be in admirable keeping with the hangings my daughters have promised to work for your mamma." "Nobody can deny," continued Jack, laughing, "that the colony is advancing in civilization; it already possesses a conqueror, a member of the Royal Society minus the diploma, and an Apelles in embryo." "It is now your turn, Frank." "I," replied Frank, in his mild but penetrating voice, "if I may be allowed to liken the flowers of the garden to the occupations of human life, I should prefer the part of the violet." "It hides itself," said Mrs. Wolston, "but its presence is not the less felt." "When I have allowed myself to indulge in dreams of the future, I have pictured myself dwelling in a modest cottage, partially shrouded in ivy, not very far from the village church. My coat is a little threadbare." "Why threadbare?" inquired Sophia. "Because there are a number of very poor people all round me, and I cannot make up my mind to lay out money on myself when it is wanted by them." "Such a coat would be sacred in our eyes," said Mrs. Wolston. "In the morning I take a walk in my little garden; I inspect the flowers one after the other; chide my dog, who is not much of a florist; then, perhaps, I retire to my study, where I am always ready to receive those who may require my aid, my advice, or my personal services." Here Mrs. Wolston shook Frank very warmly by the hand. "Sometimes I go amongst the laborers in the fields, talk to them of the rain, of the fine weather, and of HIM who gives both. I enter the home of the artizan, cheer him in his labors, and interest myself in the affairs of his family; I call the children by their names, caress them, and make them my friends. I talk to them of our Redeemer, and thus, in familiarly conversing with the young, I find means of instructing the old. They, perhaps, tell me of a sick neighbor; I direct my steps there, and endeavor to mitigate the pangs of disease by words of consolation and hope; I strive to pour balm on the wounded spirit, and, if the mind has been led away by the temptations of the world, I urge repentance as a means of grace. If death should step in, then I kneel with those around, and join them in soliciting a place amongst the blessed for the departed soul." "We shall all gladly aid you in such labors of love," said Mrs. Wolston. "When death has deprived a family of its chief support, then I appeal to those whom God has blessed with the things of this world for the means of assisting the widow and the fatherless. To one I say, 'You regret having no children, or bemoan those you have lost; here are some that God has sent you.' I say to another, 'You have only one child, whilst you have the means of supporting ten; you can at least charge yourself with two.' Thus I excite the charity of some and the pity of others, till the bereaved family is provided for. I obtain work for those that are desirous of earning an honest living, I bring back to the fold the sheep that are straying, and rescue those that are tottering on the brink of infidelity." Here the girls came forward and volunteered to assist Frank in such works of mercy. "I accept your proffered aid, my dear girls, but, as yet, I am only picturing a future career for myself. After a day devoted to such labors as these, I return to my home, perhaps to be welcomed by a little circle of my own, for I hope to be received as a minister of the Protestant Church, and, as such, may look forward to a partner in my joys and troubles. Should Providence, however, shape my destiny otherwise, I shall have the poor and afflicted--always a numerous family--to bestow my affections upon. But, whilst much of my time is thus passed amongst the sorrowing and the sick, still there are hours of gaiety amongst the gloom--there are weddings, christenings, and merrymakings--there are happy faces to greet me as well as sad ones--and I am no ascetic. I take part in all the innocent amusements that are not inconsistent with my years or the gravity of my profession--but you seem sad, Mrs. Wolston." "Yes, Frank; you have recalled my absent son, Richard, so vividly to my memory, that I cannot help shedding a tear." "Is your son in orders then, madam?" "He is precisely what you have pictured yourself to be, a minister of the gospel, and a most exemplary young man." "If," remarked Becker, "we have hitherto refrained from inquiring after your son, madam, it was because we had no wish to recall to your mind the distance that separated you from him, and we should be glad to know his history." "There is little to relate; he is very young yet, and as soon as he had obtained his ordination, he was offered a mission to Oregon, which he accepted; but the ship having been detained at the Cape of Good Hope, he regarded the accident as a divine message, to convert the heathen of Kafraria, where he now is." "It is no sinecure to live amongst these copper-colored rascals," said Willis; "they are constantly stealing the cattle of the Dutch settlers in their neighborhood. About twelve years ago, our ship was stationed at the Cape, and I was sent with a party of blue jackets into the interior, as far as Fort Wiltshire, on the Krieskamma, the most remote point of the British possessions in South Africa. There we dispersed a cloud of them that had been for weeks living upon other people's property. They are tall, wiry fellows, as hardy as a pine tree, and as daring as buccaneers. The chief of the _kraals_, or huts, wear leopard or panther skins, and profess to have the power of causing rain to fall, besides an endless number of other miraculous attributes. Amongst them, a wife of the ordinary class costs eight head of cattle, but the price of a young lady of the higher ranks runs as high as twenty cows. When a Kafir is suspected of a crime, his tongue is touched seven times with hot iron, and if it is not burnt he is declared innocent." "I am afraid," said Jack, "if they were all subjected to that test, they would be found to be a very bad lot. But now, since we have all decided upon a profession, let us hear what the young ladies intend doing with themselves; let them consult their imagination for a beautiful future gilded with sunshine, and embroidered with gold." "There is only one occupation for women," said Mrs. Becker, "and that is too well defined to admit of speculation, and too important to admit of fanciful embellishments." "Well, then, mother, let us hear what it is." "It is to nurse you, and rear you, when you are unable to help yourselves; to guide your first steps, and teach you to lisp your first syllables. For this purpose, God has given her qualities that attract sympathy and engender love. She is so constituted as to impart a charm to your lives, to share in your labors, to soothe you when you are ruffled, to smooth your pillow when you are in pain, and to cherish you in old age; bestowing upon you, to your last hour, cares that no other love could yield. These, gentlemen, are the duties and occupations of women; and you must admit, that if it is not our province to command armies, or to add new planets to the galaxy of the firmament; that if we have not produced an Iliad or an Ænead, a Jerusalem Delivered, or a Paradise Lost, an Oratorio of the Creation, a Transfiguration, or a Laocoon, we have not the less our modest utility." "I should think so, mother," replied Jack; "it would take no end of philosophers to do the work of one of you." "It surprises me," said Willis, "that not one of you has selected the finest profession in the world--that of a sailor." "The finest profession of the sea, you mean, Willis. There is no doubt of its being the finest that can be exercised on the ocean, since it is the only one. If it is the best, Willis, it is also the worst." "It has also produced great men," continued Willis; "there are Columbus, Vasco de Gama, and Captain Cook, to whom you are indebted for a new world." "No thanks to them for that," said Jack; "if they had not discovered a new world we should have been in an old one." "That does not follow," remarked Ernest; "the new world would have existed even if it had not been discovered, and you might have found your way there all the same." "Not very likely," replied Jack, "unless one of the stars you intend to discover had shown us the way; otherwise it would only have existed in conjecture; and as nobody under such circumstances would have dreamt of settling in it, they would not have been shipwrecked during the voyage." "Very true," remarked Fritz; "if we had not been here we should, very probably, have been somewhere else, and perhaps in a much worse plight. Let me ask if there is any one here who regrets his present position?" Willis was about to reply to this question, but Sophia observing that there was something wrong with the handkerchief that he wore round his neck, hastened towards him to put it to rights, and he was silent. The hour had now arrived when the families separated for the night. Mary was preparing as usual to recite the evening prayer, but before doing so she whispered a few words in her mother's ear. "Yes, my child;" and, turning to Frank, she added, "Since you are determined to adopt the ministry as a profession, it is but right that we should for the future entrust ourselves to your prayers." The two families were now located in their respective eyries; and Jack, whilst escorting the Wolstons to the foot of their tree, said to Sophia, "I thought the chimpanzee had been playing some prank." "So he has. Has nobody told you of it?" "No, not a soul." "Then I will be as discreet as my neighbors; good night, Master Jack." CHAPTER XIII. HERBERT AND CECILIA--THE LITTLE ANGELS--A CATASTROPHE--THE DEPARTURE--MARRIAGE OF THE DOGE WITH THE ADRIATIC--SOVEREIGNS OF THE SEA--DANTE AND BEATRIX--ELEONORA AND TASSO--LAURA AND PETRARCH--THE RETURN--SURPRISES--WHAT ONE FINDS IN TURBOTS--A HORROR--THE PRICE OF CRIME--BALLOONING--PHILIPSON AND THE CHOLERA--A METAMORPHOSIS--ADVENTURE OF THE CHIMPANZEE--ARE YOU RICH? Next day the sky was shrouded in dense masses of cloud, some grey as lead, some livid as copper, and some black as ink. Towards evening the two families, as usual, resolved themselves into a talking party, and Wolston, requesting them to listen, began as follows:-- "There were two rich merchants in Bristol, between whom a very close intimacy had for a long time existed. One of them, whom I shall call Henry Foster, had a daughter; and the other, Nicholas Philipson, had a son, and the two fathers had destined these children for one another. The boy was a little older than the girl, and their tastes, habits, and dispositions seemed to fit them admirably for each other, and so to ratify the decision of the parents. Little Herbert and Cecilia were almost constantly together. They had a purse in common, into which they put all the pieces of bright gold they received as presents on birthdays and other festive occasions. In summer, when the two families retired to a retreat that one of them had in the country, the children were permitted to visit the cottagers, and to assist the distressed, if they chose, out of their own funds--a permission which they availed themselves of so liberally that they were called by the country people the two little angels." "What a pity there are no poor people here!" said Sophia, dolefully. "Why?" inquired her mother. "Because we might assist them, mamma." "It is much better, however, as it is, my child; our assistance might mitigate the evils of poverty, but might not be sufficient to remove them." This reasoning did not seem conclusive to Sophia, who shook her head and commenced plying her wheel with redoubled energy. "When Herbert Philipson was twelve years of age he was sent off to school, and Cecilia was confided to the care of a governess, who, under the direction of Mrs. Foster, was to undertake her education. But neither music nor drawing, needlework, grammars nor exercises, could make little Cecilia forget her absent companion. Absence, that cools older friendships, had a contrary effect on her heart; the months, weeks, days, and hours that were to elapse before Herbert returned for the holidays, were counted and recounted. When that period--so anxiously desired--at length arrived, there was no end of rejoicing: she told Herbert of all the little boys and little girls she had clothed and fed, of the old people she had relieved, of the tears she had shed over tales of woe and misery, how she had carried every week a little basket covered with a white napkin to widow Robson, how often she had gone into the damp and dismal cottage of the dying miner, and how happy she always made his wife and their nine pitiful looking children." "That is a way of conquering human hearts," remarked Mrs. Becker, "often more effective than those referred to the other day." "Once, when Herbert was at home for the holidays, he accompanied Cecilia on her charitable visits, and was greatly surprised to find that blessings were showered upon his own head wherever they went; people, whom he had never seen before, insisted upon his being their benefactor. This he could not make out. At last, by an accident, he discovered the secret--Cecilia had been distributing her gifts in his name! He remonstrated warmly against this, declaring that he had no wish to be praised and blessed for doing things that he had no hand in. Finding that his protestations were of no avail, he determined, on the eve of his returning to school, to have his revenge." "He did not buy Cecilia a doll, did he?" inquired Jack. "No; he collected all the eatables, clothing, blankets, and money he could obtain; went amongst the poorest of the cottages, and distributed the whole in Cecilia's name." "Ah," remarked Mrs. Becker, "it is a pity we could not all remain at the age of these children, with the same purity, the same innocence, and the same freshness of sensation; the world would then be a veritable Paradise." "For some years this state of things continued, the affection between the young people strengthened as they grew older, the occasional holiday time was always the happiest of their lives. Herbert, in due course, was transferred from school to college, where he obtained a degree, and rapidly verged into manhood. Cecilia from the girl at length bloomed into the young lady. A day was finally fixed when they were to be bound together by the holy ties of the church; everything was prepared for their union, when the commercial world was startled by the announcement that Philipson was a ruined man. A ship in which he had embarked a valuable freight had been wrecked, and an agent to whom he had entrusted a large sum of money had suddenly disappeared." "How deplorable!" cried Fritz. "Not so very unfortunate, after all," remarked Mary. "What makes you think so?" "Because nothing had occurred to interrupt the marriage; only one of the families was ruined, and there was still enough left for both." "But," said Fritz, "even admitting that the friendship between the two families continued uninterrupted, and that the father of Cecilia was willing to share his property with the father of Herbert, still the young man, in the parlance of society, was a beggar; and it is always hard for a man to owe his position to a woman, and to become, as it were, the _protégé_ of her whom he ought rather to protect." "If that is the view you take, Master Fritz, then I agree with you that the misfortune was deplorable," said Mary, bending at the same time to hide her blushes, under pretence of mending a broken thread. "And what if Cecilia's father had been ruined instead of Herbert's?" inquired Jack. "I should say," replied Sophia, "that we have as much right to be proud and dignified as you have." "The best way in such a case," observed Willis, laughing, "would be for both parties to get ruined together." "Herbert," continued Wolston, "was a youth of resolution and energy. He entertained the same opinion as Fritz; and instead of wasting his time in idle despondency, got together some articles of merchandise, and sailed for the Indian Archipelago, promising his friends that he would return to his native land in two years." "Two years is a long time," remarked Mary; "but sometimes it passes away very quickly." "Ah!" observed Sophia, Cecilia, in the meantime, would redouble her charities and her prayers." "The two years passed away, then a third, and then a fourth, but not a single word had either been heard of or from the absentee. Cecilia was rich, and her hand was sought by many wealthy suitors, but hitherto she had rejected them all." "The dear, good Cecilia," cried Sophia. "Up till this period the family had permitted her to have her own way. But as it is necessary for authority to prevent excesses of all kinds, they thought it time now to interfere; they could not allow her to sacrifice her whole life for a shadow. Her parents, therefore, insisted upon her making a choice of one or other of the suitors for her hand. She requested grace for one year more, which was granted." "Come back, truant, quick; come back, Master Herbert!" cried Sophia. "There now, Willis," cried Jack, "you see the effect of your new world; people go away there, and never come back again." "Oh, but you must bring him back in time, father; you must indeed," urged Sophia. "If it were only a romance I were relating to you, Sophia, I could very easily bring him back; but the narrative I am giving you is a matter of fact, which I cannot alter at will. There would be no difficulty in bringing a richly-laden East Indiaman, commanded by Captain Philipson, into the Severn, and making Herbert and Cecilia conclude the story in each other's arms, but it would not be true." "Then if I had been Cecilia, I should have become a nun," said Mary, timidly. "Exaggeration, my daughter, is an enemy to truth. It is easy to say, 'I would become a nun,' and in Roman Catholic countries it is quite as easy to become one; but, though it may be sublime to retire in this way from the world, it is frightful when a woman has afterwards to regret the inconsiderate step she has taken, and which is often the case with these poor creatures." "As you said of myself," remarked Willis, "it is a crime to go down with a sinking ship so long as there is a straw to cling to." "I presume," continued Wolston, "that during this year poor Cecilia prayed fervently for the return of her old playfellow; but her prayers were all in vain, the year expired, and still no news of the young man; at last she despaired of ever seeing him again, and, after a severe struggle with herself, she decided upon complying with the desire of her parents and her friends. A few months after the expiring of the year of grace, she was the affianced bride of a highly respectable, well-to-do, middle-aged gentleman. John Lindsey, her intended husband, could not boast of his good looks; he was little, rather stout, was deeply pitted in the face with the small-pox, and had a very red nose, but he was considered by the ladies of Bristol as a very good match for all that." "Oh, Cecilia, how ridiculous!" exclaimed Sophia. "Better, at all events, than turning nun," said Jack. "The family this season had gone to pass the summer at the sea-coast; and one day that Cecilia and her intended were taking their accustomed walk along the shore--" "Holloa!" cried Jack, "the truant is going to appear, after all." "John Lindsey, observing a ring of some value upon Cecilia's finger, politely asked her if she had any objections to tell him its history. She replied that she had none, and told him it was a gift of young Philipson's. 'I am well acquainted with your story,' said Lindsey, 'and do not blame the constancy with which you have treasured the memory of that young man; on the contrary, I respect you for it--in fact, it was the knowledge of your self-sacrifice to this affection and all its attendant circumstances, that led me to solicit the honor of your hand; for, said I to myself, one who has evinced so much devotion for a mere sentiment, is never likely to prove unfaithful to sacred vows pledged at the altar,' 'Come what may, you may at least rely upon that, sir,' she answered. 'Then,' continued Lindsey, 'as an eternal barrier is about to be placed between yourself and your past affections, perhaps you will pardon my desire to separate you, as much as possible, from everything that is likely to recal them to your mind.' Saying that, he gently drew the ring from her finger, and threw it into the sea." It was strongly suspected that Mary shed a tear at this point of the recital. "It is all over with you now, Herbert," cried Fritz. "You had better make a bonfire of your ships, like Fernando Cortez in Mexico; or, if you are on your way home, better pray for a hurricane to swallow you up, than have all your bright hopes dashed to atoms, when you arrive in port." "I am only a little girl," said Sophia; "but I know what I should have said, if the gentleman had done the same thing to me." "And what would you have said, child?" inquired her mother. "I should have said, that I was not the Doge of Venice, and had no intention of marrying the British Channel." "Can you describe the ceremony to which you refer?" "Yes; but it would interrupt papa's story, and Jack would laugh at me." "Never mind my story," replied her father, "there is plenty of time to finish that." "And as for me," said Jack, "though I do not wear a cocked hat and knee breeches, and though, in other respects, my tailor has rather neglected my outward man, still I know what is due to a lady and a queen." "There, he begins already!" said Sophia. "Never mind him, child; go on with your account of the marriage." "Well," began Sophia, "for a long time, there had been disputes between the states of Bologna, Ancona, and Venice, as to which possessed the sovereignty of the Adriatic." "If it had been a dispute about the Sovereignty of the ocean in general," remarked Willis, "there would have been another competitor." "Venice," continued Sophia, "carried the day, and about 1275 or 76 she resolved to celebrate her victory by an annual ceremony. For this purpose, a magnificent galley was built, encrusted with gold, silver, and precious stones. This floating _bijou_ was called the _Bucentaure_, was guarded in the arsenal, whence it was removed on the eve of the Ascension. Next day the Doge, the patriarch, and the Council of Ten embarked, and the galley was towed out to the open sea, but not far from the shore. There, in the presence of the foreign ambassadors, whilst the clergy chanted the marriage service, the Doge advanced majestically to the front of the galley, and there formally wedded the sea." "He might have done worse," observed Willis. "The ceremony," continued Sophia, "consisted in the Doge throwing a ring into the sea, saying, 'We wed thee, O sea! to mark the real and perpetual dominion we possess over thee.'" "And it may be added," observed Becker, "that the history of Venice shows how religiously the spouses of the Adriatic kept their vows." "Now," said Sophia, "that I have told my tale, let us hear what became of Cecilia." "Well, the marriage took place the morning after Herbert's ring had been thrown to the fishes. Whilst the bride, bridegroom, and their friends were congratulating each other over the wedding breakfast, as is usual in England on such occasions, Cecilia's father was called out of the room." "Too late," remarked Fritz. "Herbert Philipson had arrived that same morning; but, as Fritz observes, he was just an hour too late. He had acquired a fortune, but his long-cherished hopes of happiness were completely blasted." "Why did he stay away five years without writing?" inquired Mrs. Wolston. "He had written several times, but at that time no regular post had been established, and his letters had never reached their destination." "When did he find out that Cecilia was married?" "Well, some people think it more humane to kill a man by inches rather than by a single blow of the axe. Not so with Herbert's friends; the first news that greeted him on landing were, that his ever-remembered Cecilia was probably at that moment before the altar pledging her vows to another." "I should rather have had a chimney-pot tumble on my head," remarked Willis. "Herbert was a man in every sense of the word--the mode of his departure proves that. On hearing this painful intelligence, he simply covered his face with his hands, and, after a moment's thought, resolved to see his lost bride at least once more." "Poor Herbert!" sighed Mary. "Foster was thunderstruck when the stranger declared himself to be the son of his old friend; and, after cordially bidding him welcome, sorrowfully asked him what he meant to do. 'I should wish to see Mrs. Lindsey in presence of her husband,' he replied, 'providing you have no objections to introduce me to the company.'" "Bravo!" ejaculated Willis. "Foster could not refuse this favor to an unfortunate, who had just been disinherited of his dearest hopes. He, therefore, took Herbert by the hand and led him into the room. Nobody recognized him. 'Ladies and gentlemen,' said he, 'permit me to introduce Mr. Herbert Philipson, who has just arrived from Sumatra.' You may readily conceive the dismay this unexpected announcement called up into the countenances of the guests. There was only one person in the room who was calm, tranquil, and unmoved--that person was Cecilia herself. She rose courteously, bade him welcome, hoped he was well, coolly asked him why he had not written to his friends, and politely asked him to take a seat beside herself and husband, just, for all the world, as if he had been some country cousin or poor relation to whom she wished to show a little attention." "I would rather have been at the bottom of the sea than in her place, for all that," said Mary. "Why? She had nothing to reproach herself with. Had she not waited long enough for him?" "Young heads," remarked Becker, "are not always stored with sense. A foolish pledge, given in a moment of thoughtlessness is often obstinately adhered to in spite of reason and argument. The young idea delights in miraculous instances of fidelity. What more charming to a young and ardent mind than the loves of Dante and Beatrix, of Eleonora and Tasso, of Petrarch and Laura, of Abelard and Heloise, or of Dean Swift and Stella? Young people do not reflect that most of these stories are apocryphal, and that the men who figure in them sought to add to their renown the prestige of originality; they put on a passion as ordinary mortals put on a new dress, they yielded to imagination and not to the law of the heart, and almost all of them paid by a life of wretchedness the penalty of their dreams." "That is, I presume," remarked Mrs. Wolston, "you do not object to any reasonable amount of constancy, but you object to its being carried to an unwarrantable excess." "Exactly so, madam," replied Becker; "constancy, like every thing else when reasonable limits are exceeded, becomes a vice." "The merriments of the marriage breakfast," continued Wolston "slightly interrupted by the arrival of the new guest, were resumed. Fresh dishes were brought in, and, amongst others, a fine turbot was placed on the table. The gentleman who was engaged in carving the turbot struck the fish-knife against a hard substance." "I know what!" exclaimed two or three voices. "I rather think not," said Wolston, drily. "Oh, yes, the ring! the ring!" "No, it was merely the bone that runs from the head to the tail of the fish." "Oh, father," cried Sophia, "how can you tease us so?" "If they had found the ring," replied Wolston, laughing, "I should have no motive for concealing it. Fruit was afterwards placed before Herbert, and, when nobody was looking, he pulled a clasped dagger out of his pocket." Here Sophia pressed her hands closely on her ears, in order to avoid hearing what followed. "It was a very beautiful poignard," continued Wolston, "and rather a bijou than a weapon; and, as the servants had neglected to hand him a fruit-knife, he made use of it in paring an apple." "Is it all over?" inquired Sophia, removing a hand from one ear. "Alas! yes!" said Jack, lugubriously, "he has been and done it." "O the monster!" "Travelling carriages having arrived at the door for the bridal party, Herbert quietly departed." "What!" exclaimed Sophia, "did they not arrest and drag him to prison?" "Oh," replied Jack, "the crime was not so atrocious as it appears." "Not atrocious!" "No; you must bear in mind that young Philipson had passed the preceding five years of his life amongst demi-savages, whose manners and customs he had, to a certain extent, necessarily contracted. In some countries, what we call crimes are only regarded as peccadillos. In France, for example, till very lately, there existed what was called the law of _combette_, by right of which pardon might be obtained for any misdeed on payment of a certain sum of money. There was a fixed price for every imaginable crime. A man might consequently be a Blue Beard if he liked, it was only necessary to consult the tariff in the first instance, and see to what extent his means would enable him to indulge his fancy for horrors." "On quitting the house," continued Wolston, "Herbert Philipson bent his way to the shore, and shortly after was observed to plunge into the sea." "So much the better," exclaimed Sophia; "it saved his friends a more dreadful spectacle." "The weather being fine and the water warm, Herbert enjoyed his bath immensely; he then returned to his hotel, went early to bed, and slept soundly till next morning." "The wretch!" cried Sophia, "to sleep soundly after assassinating his old playfellow, who had suffered so much on his account." "It is pretty certain," continued Wolston, "that, if Philipson had been left entirely to himself, he would always have shown the same degree of moderation he had hitherto displayed." "Oh, yes, moderation!" said Sophia. "But his friends began to prate to him about the shameful way he had been jilted by Cecilia, and, by constantly reiterating the same thing, they at last succeeded in persuading him that he was an ill-used man. His self-esteem being roused by this silly chatter, he began to affect a ridiculous desolation, and to perpetrate all manner of outrageous extravagances." "Bad friends," remarked Willis, "are like sinking ships; they drag you down to their own level." "The first absurd thing he did was to purchase a yacht, and when a storm arose that forced the hardy fishermen to take shelter in port, he went out to sea, and it is quite a miracle that he escaped drowning. Then, if there were a doubtful scheme afloat, he was sure to take shares in it. Nothing delighted him more than to go up in a balloon; he would have gladly swung himself on the car outside if the proprietor had allowed him." "I have often seen balloons in the air," remarked Willis, "but I could never make out their dead reckoning." "A balloon," replied Ernest, "is nothing more than an artificial cloud, and its power of ascension depends upon the volume of air it displaces. "Very good, Master Ernest, so far as the balloon itself is concerned; but then there is the weight of the car, passengers, provisions, and apparatus to account for." "Hydrogen gas, used in the inflation of balloons, is forty times lighter than air. If a balloon is made large enough, the weight of the car and all that it contains, added to that of the gas, will fall considerably short of the weight of the air displaced by the machine." "I suppose it rises in the air just as an empty bottle well corked rises in the water?" "Very nearly. Air is lighter than water; consequently, any vessel filled with the one will rise to the surface of the other. So in the case of balloons. The gas, in the first place, must be inclosed in an envelope through which it cannot escape. Silk prepared with India-rubber is the material usually employed. As the balloon rises, the gas in the interior distends, because the air becomes lighter the less it is condensed by its superincumbent masses; hence it is requisite to leave a margin for this increase in the volume of the gas, otherwise the balloon would burst in the air." "If a balloon were allowed to ascend without hindrance where would it stop?" "It would continue ascending till it reached a layer of air as light as the gas; beyond that point it could not go." "And if the voyagers do not wish to go quite so far?" "Then there is a valve by which the gas may be allowed to escape, till the weight of the machine and its volume of air are equal, when it ceases to ascend. If a little more is permitted to escape, the balloon descends." "And should it land on the roof of a house or the top of a tree, the voyagers have their necks broken." "That can only happen to bunglers; there is not the least necessity for landing where danger is to be apprehended. When the aeronaut is near the ground, and sees that the spot is unfavorable for debarkation, he drops a little ballast, the balloon mounts, and he comes down again somewhere else." "The fellow that made the first voyage must have been very daring." "The first ascent was made by Montgolfier in 1782, and he was followed by Rosiers and d'Arlandes." "With your permission, father," said Ernest, "I will claim priority in aerial travelling for Icarus, Doedalus, and Phaeton." "Certainly; you are justified in doing so. Gay-Lussac, a philosophic Frenchman, rose, in 1804, to the height of seven thousand yards." "He must have felt a little giddy," remarked Jack. "Most of the functions of the body were affected, more or less, by the extreme rarity of the air at that height. Its dryness caused wet parchment to crisp. He observed that the action of the magnetic needle diminished as he ascended, sounds gradually ceased to reach his ear, and the wind itself ceased to be felt." "That, of course," remarked Ernest, "was when he was travelling in the same direction and at the same speed." "Well," said Jack, "we can find materials here for a balloon; the ladies have silk dresses, there is plenty of India-rubber--we used to make boots and shoes of it; hydrogen gas can be obtained from a variety of substances. What, then, is to prevent us paying a visit to some of Ernest's friends in the skies?" "Unfortunately for your project, Jack, no one has discovered the art of guiding a balloon; consequently, instead of finding yourself at _Cassiope_, you might land at _Sirius_, where your reception would be somewhat cool." "But what became of Herbert?" inquired one of the ladies. "Singularly enough, he escaped all the dangers he so recklessly braved, and all the bad speculations he embarked in turned out good. Somehow or other, the moment he took part in a desperate scheme it became profitable." "Ah!" exclaimed Sophia, "his victim, like a guardian angel, continued to watch over him." "When the cholera appeared in England, he was sure to be found where the cases were most numerous. He followed up the pest with so much pertinacity and publicity, that it was no unusual thing to find it announced in the newspapers that Philipson and the cholera had arrived in such and such a town." "The bane and the antidote," remarked Jack. "If Cecilia had been one of those women who delight in horse-racing, fox-hunting, opera-boxes, and public executions, she would have been highly amused to see her old friend's name constantly turning up under such extraordinary circumstances." "Is she not dead, then?" inquired Sophia, with astonishment, "It appears that her wounds were not mortal," quietly replied her mother. "Besides," observed Jack, "there are human frames so constituted that they can bear an immense amount of cutting and slashing. So in the case of animals; there, for instance, is the fresh-water polypus--if you cut this creature lengthwise straight through the middle, a right side will grow on the one half and a left side on the other, so that there will be two polypi instead of one. The same thing occurs if you cut one through the middle crosswise, a head grows on the one half and a tail on the other, so that you have two entire polypi either way." "And you may add," observed Ernest, "since so interesting a subject is on the _tapis_, that if two of these polypi happen to quarrel over their prey, the largest generally swallows the smallest, in order to get it out of the way; and the latter, with the exception of being a little cramped for space, is not in the slightest degree injured by the operation." "And does that state of matters continue any length of time?" "The polypus that is inside the other may probably get tired of confinement, in which case it makes its exit by the same route it entered; but, if too lazy to do that, it makes a hole in the body of its antagonist and gets out that way. But, what is most curious of all, these processes do not appear to put either of the creatures to the slightest inconvenience." "I am quite at a loss to make you all out," said Sophia. "Well, my child," replied her mother, "you should not close up your ears in the middle of a story." "Cecilia, or rather Mrs. Lindsey, however," continued Wolston, "was a pious, painstaking, simple-minded woman, who devoted her whole attention to her domestic duties. Notwithstanding her fortune, she did not neglect the humblest affairs of the household, and thought only of making her husband pleased with his home. When she was told of the vagaries of Philipson, she prayed in private that he might be led from his evil ways, and could not help thanking Providence that she was not the wife of such a dreadful scapegrace." "I should think so," remarked Mrs. Becker. "At last, Herbert Philipson astonished even his own companions by a crowning act of folly. There was then a young woman in Bristol, of good parentage, but an unmitigated virago; her family were thoroughly ashamed of her temper and her exploits. They allowed her to have her own way, simply for fear that, through contradiction, she might plunge herself into even worse courses than those she now habitually followed. In short, she was the talk and jest of the whole town." "What a charming creature!" remarked Mrs. Becker. "No servant of her own sex could put up with her for two days together; she styled everybody that came near her fools and asses, and did not hesitate to strike them if they ventured to contradict her. She got on, however, tolerably well with ostlers, stable-boys, cabmen, and such like, because they could treat her in her own style, and were not ruffled by her abuse." "How amiable!" exclaimed Mrs. Wolston. "Herbert heard of this young person, and, through a fast friend of his own, obtained an introduction to her, and on the very first interview he offered her his hand. He was known still to be a wealthy man, so neither the lady herself nor anybody connected with her made the slightest objection to the match, thinking probably that, if there were six of the one, there were at least half a dozen of the other." "They ought to have gone to Bedlam, instead of to church," said Willis; "that is my idea." "Nevertheless, they went to church; and, after the marriage, Cecilia sought and obtained an introduction to the lady, and, whether by entreaties or by her good example, I cannot say; be this as it may, the unpromising personage in question became one of the best wives and the best mothers that ever graced a domestic circle--in this respect even excelling the pattern Cecilia herself; and, what is still more to the purpose, she succeeded in completely reforming her husband. When I left England there was not a more prosperous merchant, nor a more estimable man in the whole city of Bristol, than Herbert Philipson." "From which we may conclude," remarked Mrs. Becker, "it is always advisable to have angels for friends." "We may also conclude," remarked Mrs. Wolston, "that when a stroke of adversity, or any other misfortune, overturns the edifice of happiness we had erected for the future, we may build a new structure with fresh material, which may prove more durable than the first." "Talking of having angels for friends," said Becker, "puts me in mind of the association of Saint Louis Gonzaga, at Rome. On the anniversary of this saint, the young and merry phalanx forming the association march in procession to one of the public gardens. In the centre of this garden a magnificent altar has been previously erected, on which is placed a chafing-dish filled with burning coals. The procession forms itself into an immense ring round the altar, broken here and there by a band of music. These bands play hymns in honor of the saints, and other _morceaux_ of a sacred character. Each member of the association holds a letter inclosed in an embossed and highly ornamented envelope, bound round with gay-colored ribbons and threads of gold. These letters are messages from the young correspondents to their friends in heaven, and are addressed to 'Il Santo Giovane Luigi Gonzaga, in Paradiso.' At a given signal, the letters, in the midst of profound silence, are placed on the chafing-dish. This done, the music resounds on all sides, and the assembly burst out into loud acclamations, during which the letters are supposed to be carried up into heaven by the angels." "A curious and interesting ceremony," remarked Mrs. Wolston, "and one that may possibly do good, inasmuch as it may induce the young people composing the association to persevere in generous resolutions." The two families again separated for the night. And whilst the young men were escorting the Wolstons to their tree, Sophia went towards Jack. "Will you tell me," inquired she, "what happened whilst I had my ears closed up, Jack?" "Yes, with all my heart, if you will tell me first what the chimpanzee had been about during our absence." "Well, he got up into our tree when we were out of the way. After soaping his chin, he had taken one of papa's razors, and just as he was beginning to shave himself, some one entered and caught him." "Oh, is that all? What I have to tell you is a great deal more appalling than that." "Well, then, be quick." "But I am afraid you will be shocked." "Is it very dreadful?" "More so than you would imagine. If you dream about it during the night, you will not be angry with me for telling you?" "No, I will be courageous, and am prepared to hear the worst." "What was your father saying when you shut up your ears?" "Herbert had just pulled out a dagger." "And when you took your hands away?" "All was then over; Herbert had done some dreadful thing with the dagger, and I want to know what it was." "He pared an apple with it," replied Jack, bursting into a roar of laughter, and, running off, he left Sophia to her reflections. A few seconds after he returned. This time he had almost a solemn air, the laughter had vanished from his visage, like breath from polished steel. "Miss Sophia," inquired he gravely, "are you rich?" "I don't know, Master Jack; are you?" "Well, I have not the slightest idea either." CHAPTER XIV. THE TEARS OF CHILDHOOD AND RAIN OF THE TROPICS--CHARLES'S WAIN--VOLUNTARY ENLISTMENT--A LIKENESS GUARANTEED--THE WORLD AT PEACE--ALAS, POOR MARY!--THE SAME BREATH FOR TWO BEINGS--THE FIRST PILLOW--THE LOGIC OF THE HEART--HOW FRITZ SUPPORTED GRIEF--A GRAIN OF SAND AND THE HIMALAYA. At daybreak next morning, all the eyes in the colony were busily engaged in scrutinizing the sky. This time the operation seemed satisfactory, for immediately afterwards, all the hands were, with equal diligence, occupied in packing up and making other preparations for the meditated excursion to the remote dependencies of New Switzerland. The dense veil that the day before had shrouded them in gloom was now broken up into shreds. The azure depths beyond had assumed the appearance of a blue tunic bespattered with white, and the clouds suggested the idea of a celestial shepherd, driving myriads of sheep to the pasture. Children alone can dry up their tears with the rapidity of Nature in the tropics; perhaps we may have already made the remark, and must, therefore, beg pardon for repeating the simile a second time. In a short time, the two families were assembled on the lawn, in front of the domestic trees of Falcon's Nest, ready to start on their journey. The cow and the buffalo were yoked to the carriage, which was snugly covered over with a tarpauling, thrown across circular girds, like the old-fashioned waggons of country carriers. Frank mounted the box in front; Mrs. Becker, Wolston, and Sophia got inside; whilst Ernest and Jack, mounted on ostriches that had been trained and broken in as riding horses, took up a position on each side, where the doors of the vehicle ought to have been. These dispositions made, after a few lashes from the whip, this party started off at a brisk rate in the direction of Waldeck. It had been previously arranged that one half of the expedition should go by land, and the other half by water, and that on their return this order should be reversed, so that both the interior and the coast might be inspected at one and the same time. The only exception was made in favor of Willis, who was permitted both to go and return by sea. The second party, consisting of Mrs. Wolston, Becker, Mary, and Fritz, started on foot in the direction of the coast. They had not gone far before Becker observed a large broadside plastered on a tree. "What is that?" he inquired. Nobody could give a satisfactory reply. "Perhaps," suggested Mrs. Wolston, "paper grows ready made on the trees of this wonderful country." "They all approached, and, much to their astonishment, read as follows:-- "TAKE NOTICE. "The renowned Professor Ernest Becker is about to enlighten the benighted inhabitants of this country, by giving a course of lectures on optics. The agonizing doubts that have hitherto enveloped astronomical science, particularly as regards the interiors of the moon and the stars, have arisen from the absurd practice of looking at them during the night. These doubts are about to be removed for ever by the aforesaid professor, as he intends to exhibit the luminaries in question in open day. He will also place Charles's Wain[C] at the disposal of any one who is desirous of taking a drive in the Milky Way. The learned professor will likewise stand for an indefinite period on his head; and whilst in this position will clearly demonstrate the rotundity of the earth, and the tendency of heavy bodies to the centre of gravity. In order that the prices of admission may be in accordance with the intrinsic value of the lectures, nothing will be charged for the boxes, the entrance to the pit will be gratis, and the gallery will be thrown open for the free entry of the people. The audience will be expected to assume a horizontal position. Persons given to snoring are invited to stay at home." "I rather think I should know that style," remarked Willis. "It is a pity Ernest is not with us," observed Fritz; "but the placard will keep for a day or two." "They say laughing is good for digestion," remarked Mrs. Wolston; "and if so, it must be confessed that Master Jack is a useful member of the colony in a sanitary point of view." The party had scarcely advanced a hundred paces farther, when Fritz called out, "Holloa! there is another broadside in sight." This one was headed by a smart conflict between two ferocious looking hussars, and was couched in the following terms:-- "PROCLAMATION. "All the inhabitants of this colony capable of bearing arms, who are panting after glory, are invited to the Fig Tree, at Falcon's Nest, there to enrol themselves in the registry of Fritz Becker, who is about to undertake the conquest of the world. Nobody is compelled to volunteer, but those who hold back will be reckoned contumacious, and will be taken into custody, and kept on raw coffee till such time as they evince a serious desire to enlist. There will be no objection to recruits returning home at the end of the war, if they come out of it alive. Neither will there be any objections to the survivors bringing back a marshal's baton, if they can get one. The Commander-in-chief will charge himself with the fruits of the victory. Surgical operations will be performed at his cost, and cork legs will be served out with the rations. In the event of a profitable campaign, a monument will be erected to the memory of the defunct, by way of a reward for their heroism on the field of battle." "Well, Fritz," said Becker, with a merry twinkle in his eye, "you were sorry that Ernest was not present to hear the last placard read; fortunately, you are on the spot yourself this time." Fritz tried to look amused, but the attempt was a decided failure. When the party had gone a little farther, another announcement met their gaze; all were curious to know whose turn was come now; as they approached, the following interesting question, in large letters, stared them in the face:-- "HAVE YOU HAD YOUR PORTRAIT TAKEN YET? "It has been reserved for the present age, and for this prolific territory, so exuberant in cabbages, turnips, and other potables, to produce the greatest of living artists--real genius--who is destined to outshine all the Michel Angelos and Rubenses of former ages. Not that these men were entirely devoid of talent, but because they could do nothing without their palette and their paint brushes. Now that illustrious _maestro_, Mr. Jack Becker, has both genius and ingenuity, for he has succeeded in dispensing with the aforementioned troublesome auxiliaries of his art. His plan which has the advantage of not being patented, consists in placing his subject before a mirror, where he is permitted to stay till the portrait takes root in the glass. By this novel method the original and the copy will be subject alike to the ravages of time, so that no one, on seeing a portrait, will be liable to mistake the grand-mother for the grand-daughter. Likenesses guaranteed. Payments, under all circumstances, to be made in advance. "Ah, well," said Becker, laughing, "it appears that the scapegrace has not spared himself." "I hope there is not a fourth proclamation," said Mrs. Wolston. "There are no more trees on our route, at all events," replied Becker. "Glad to hear that; Jack must respect the avocation chosen by Frank, since he sees nothing in it to ridicule." As they drew near the Jackal River, in which the pinnace was moored, Mary and Fritz were a little in advance of the party. "Are you really determined to turn the world upside down, Master Fritz?" "At present, Miss Wolston, I am myself the sum and substance of my army, in addition to which I have not yet quite made up my mind." "It is an odd fancy to entertain to say the least of it." "Does it displease you?" "In order that it could do that, I must first have the right to judge your projects." "And if I gave you that right?" "I should find the responsibility too great to accept it. Besides, a determination cannot be properly judged, without putting one's self in the position of the person that makes it. You imagine happiness consists in witnessing the shock of armies, whilst I fancy enjoyment to consist in the calm tranquility of one's home. You see our views of felicity are widely different." "Not so very widely different as you seem to think, Miss Wolston. As yet my victories are _nil_; I have not yet come to an issue with my allies; to put my troops on the peace establishment I have only to disembody myself, and I disembody myself accordingly." "Oh!" exclaimed Mary, "you are very easily turned from your purpose." "Easily! no, Miss Wolston, not easily; you cannot admit that an objection urged by yourself is a matter of no moment, or one that can be slighted with impunity." "Ah! here we are at the end of our journey." "Already! the road has never appeared so short to me before." "What!" exclaimed Mrs. Wolston, coming up to her daughter, "you appear very merry." "Well, not without reason, mamma; I have just restored peace to the world." The pinnace was soon launched, and, under the guidance of Willis, was making way in the direction of Waldeck. The sea had not yet recovered from the effects of the recent storm; it was still, to use an expression of Willis, "a trifle ugly." Occasionally the waves would catch the frail craft amidships, and make it lurch in an uncomfortable fashion, especially as regarded the ladies, which obliged Willis to keep closer in shore than was quite to his taste. The briny element still bore traces of its recent rage, just as anger lingers on the human face, even after it has quitted the heart. Whilst the pinnace was in the midst of a series of irregular gyrations, a shrill scream suddenly rent the air, and at the same instant Fritz and Willis leaped overboard. _Mary had fallen into the sea_. Becker strained every nerve to stay the boat. Mrs. Wolston fell on her knees with outstretched hands, but, though in the attitude of prayer, not a word escaped her pallid lips. The two men floated for a moment over the spot where the poor girl had sunk; suddenly Fritz disappeared, his keen eye had been of service here, for it enabled him to descry the object sought. In a few seconds he rose to the surface with Mary's inanimate body in his left arm. Willis hastened to assist him in bearing the precious burden to the boat, and Becker's powerful arms drew it on deck. The joy that all naturally would have felt when this was accomplished had no time to enter their breasts, for they saw that the body evinced no signs of life, and a fear that the vital spark had already fled caused every frame to shudder. They felt that not a moment was to be lost; the resources of the boat were hastily put in requisition; mattresses, sheets, blankets, and dry clothes were strewn upon the deck. Mrs. Wolston had altogether lost her presence of mind, and could do nothing but press the dripping form of her daughter to her bosom. "Friction must be tried instantly," cried Becker; "here, take this flannel and rub her body smartly with it--particularly her breast and back." Mrs. Wolston instinctively followed these directions. "It is of importance to warm her feet," continued Becker; "but, unfortunately, we have no means on board to make a fire." Mrs. Wolston, in her trepidation, began breathing upon them. "I have heard," said the Pilot, "that persons rescued from drowning are held up by the feet to allow the water to run out." "Nonsense, Willis; a sure means of killing them outright. It is not from water that any danger is to be apprehended, but from want of air, or, rather, the power of respiration. What we have to do is to try and revive this power by such means as are within our reach." The Pilot, meantime, endeavored to introduce a few drops of brandy between the lips of the patient. Fritz stood trembling like an aspen leaf and deadly pale; he regarded these operations as if his own life were at stake, and not the patient's. "There remains only one other course to adopt, Mrs. Wolston," said Becker, "you must endeavor to bring your daughter to life by means of your own breath." "Only tell me what to do, Mr. Becker, and, if every drop of blood in my body is wanted, all is at your disposal." "You must apply your mouth to that of your daughter, and, whilst her nostrils are compressed, breathe at intervals into her breast, and so imitate the act of natural respiration." Stronger lungs than those of a woman might have been urgent under such circumstances, but maternal love supplied what was wanting in physical strength. The Pilot had turned the prow of the pinnace towards home; he felt that, in the present case at least, the comforts of the land were preferable to the charms of the sea. "This time it is not my breath, but her own," said Mrs. Wolston. "Her pulse beats," said Becker; "she lives." "Thank God!" exclaimed Fritz and Willis in one voice. A quarter of an hour had scarcely yet elapsed since the patient's first immersion in the sea; but this brief interval had been an age of agony to them all. As yet, her head lay quiescent on her mother's bosom, that first pillow, common alike to rich and poor, at the threshold of life. The%signs of returning animation gradually became more and more evident; at length, the patient gently raised her head, and glanced vacantly from one object to another; then, her eyes were turned upon herself, and finally rested upon Fritz and Willis, who still bore obvious traces of their recent struggle with the waves. Here she seemed to become conscious, for her body trembled, as if some terrible thought had crossed her mind. After this paroxysm had passed, she feebly inclined her head, as if to say--"I understand--you have saved my life--I thank you." Then, like those jets of flame that are no sooner alight than they are extinguished, she again became insensible. As soon as they reached the shore, Fritz hastened to Rockhouse, and made up a sort of palanquin of such materials as were at hand, into which Mary was placed, and thus was conveyed, with all possible care and speed, on the shoulders of the men to Falcon's Nest. A few hours afterwards she returned to consciousness and found herself in a warm bed, surrounded with all the comforts that maternal anxiety and Becker's intelligent mind could suggest. Fritz was unceasing in his exertions; no amount of fatigue seemed to wear him out. As soon as he saw that everything had been done for the invalid that their united skill could accomplish, he bridled an untrained ostrich, and rode or rather flew off in search of the land portion of the expedition. "Mary is saved," he cried, as he came up with them. "From what?" inquired Wolston, anxiously. "From the sea, that was about to swallow her up." "And by whom?" "By Willis, myself, and us all." The same evening, the two families were again assembled at Falcon's Nest, and thus, for a second time, the long talked-of expedition was brought to an abrupt conclusion. "Ah," said Willis, "we must cast anchor for a bit; yesterday it was the sky, to-day it was the sea, to-morrow it will be the land, perhaps--the wind is clearly against us." How often does it not happen, in our pilgrimage through life, that we have the wind against us? We make a resolute determination, we set out on our journey, but the object we seek recedes as we advance; it is no use going any farther--the wind is against us. We re-commence ten, twenty, a hundred times, but the result is invariably the same. How is this? No one can tell. What are the obstacles? It is difficult to say. Perhaps, we meet with a friend who detains us; perhaps, a recollection that our memory has called, induces us to swerve from the path--the blind man that sung under our window may have something to do with it--perhaps, it was merely a fly, less than nothing. It is not our minor undertakings, but rather our most important enterprises, that are frustrated by such trifles as these; for it must be allowed that we strive less tenaciously against an obstacle that debars us from a pleasure, than against one that separates us from a duty--in the one case we have to stem the torrent, in the other we sail with the current. When we observe some deplorable instance of a wrecked career--when we see a man starting in life with the most brilliant prospects collapsing into a dead-weight on his fellows, we are apt to suppose that some insurmountable barrier must have crossed his path--some Himalaya, or formidable wall, like that which does not now separate China from Tartary; but no such thing. Trace the cause to its source, and what think you is invariably found? A grain of sand; the unfortunate wretch has had the wind against him--nothing more. Rescued from the sea, Mary Wolston was now a prey to a raging fever. Ill or well, at her age there is no medium, either exuberant health or complete prostration; the juices then are turbulent and the blood is ardent. Somehow or other, a good action attaches the doer to the recipient; so, in the case of Fritz, apart from the brotherly affection which he had vaguely vowed to entertain for the two young girls that had so unexpectedly appeared amongst them, he now regarded the life of Mary as identical with his own, and felt that her death would inevitably shorten his own existence; "for," said he to himself, "should she die, I was too late in drawing her out of the water." In his tribulation and irreflection, he drew no line between the present and the past, but simply concluded, that if he saved her too late, he did not save her at all. Hope, nevertheless, did not altogether abandon him. He would sometimes fancy her restored to her wonted health, abounding in life and vigour. Then the pleasing thought would cross his mind that, but for himself, that charming being, in all probability, would have been a tenant of the tomb. Would that those who do evil only knew the delight that sometimes wells up in the breasts of those who do good! The first day of Mary's illness, Fritz bore up manfully. On the second, he joined his father and brothers in their field labors; but, whilst driving some nails into a fence, he had so effectually fixed himself to a stake that it was only with some difficulty that he could be detached. The third day, at sunrise, he called Mary's dog, shouldered his rifle, and was about to quit the house. "Where are you going?" inquired Jack. "I don't know--anywhere." "Anywhere! Well, I am rather partial to that sort of place; I will go with you." "But I must do something that will divert my thoughts. There may be danger." "Well I can help you to look up a difficulty." Every day the two brothers departed at sunrise, and returned together again in the evening. Mrs. Becker felt acutely their sufferings. She watched anxiously for the return of the two wanderers, and generally went a little way to meet them when they appeared in the distance. "She does not run to meet us," said Fritz, one day; "that is a bad sign." "Not a bit of it," replied Jack. "If she had any bad news to give us, she would not come at all." FOOTNOTES: [C] The constellation known in astronomy as the _Great Bear_ is in, some parts of England termed the _Plough_, and in others _Charles's Wain_ or _Waggon_. It may be added, that the same constellation is popularly known in France as the _Chariot of David_. CHAPTER XV. GOD'S GOVERNMENT--KING STANISLAUS--THE DAUPHIN SON OF LOUIS XV.--THE SHORTEST ROAD--NEW YEAR'S DAY--A MIRACLE--CLEVER ANIMALS--THE CALENDAR--MR. JULIUS CÆSAR AND POPE GREGORY XIII.--HOW THE DAY AFTER THE 4TH OF OCTOBER WAS THE 15TH--OLYMPIAD--LUSTRES--THE HEGIRA--A HORSE MADE CONSUL--JACK'S DREAM. Some men, when they regard the sinister side of events, are apt to call in question the axiom, Nothing is accomplished without the will of God. Why, they ask, do the wicked triumph? Why are the just oppressed? Why this evil? What is the use of that disaster? Was it necessary that Mary Wolston should be thrown into the sea, and that she should afterwards die in consequence of the accident? To these questions we reply, that God does not interrupt the ordinary course of His works. Man is a free agent in so far as regards his own actions; were it otherwise, we should not be responsible for our own crimes. We might as well plunge into vice as adhere to virtue; for we could not be called upon to expiate the one, nor could we hope to be rewarded for the other. It is not to be expected that God is to perform miracles at every instant for our individual benefit. It is unreasonable in us to suppose that, in obedience to our wishes or desires, He will alter His immutable laws. A foot slips on the brink of a precipice, and we are dashed to atoms. Our boat is upset in a squall, and we are drowned. Like Stanislaus Leszinsky, King of Poland, we fall asleep in the corner of a chimney, our clothes take fire, and we are burned to death. We go a hunting; we mistake a grey overcoat for the fur of a deer, and we kill our friend or his gamekeeper, as once happened to the son of Louis XV., who in consequence almost died of grief, and renounced forever a sport of which he was passionately fond. Did Providence will, exact, or pre-ordain all these calamities? Certainly not; but our Creator has seen fit to tolerate and permit them, since he did not interpose to prevent them. The government of God is a conception so wonderful, so sublime, that none but Himself can fathom its depths. Human intelligence is too finite to penetrate or comprehend a system so complex, and yet so uniform. The mind of man can only form a just idea of a cause when the effect has been made manifest to his understanding. There might have been a reason for the death of Mary Wolston--who knows? But if it were so, that reason was beyond the pale of mortal ken. Let us not, however, anticipate. Mary Wolston is not yet dead. On the contrary, when the ninth day of her illness had passed, Fritz and Jack were returning from an expedition, the nature of which was only known to themselves, but which, to judge from the packs that they bore on their backs, had been tolerably productive. The two young men observed their mother advancing, as usual, to meet them, but this time _she ran_. They had no need to be told in words that Mary Wolston was now out of danger; the serenity of their mother's countenance was more eloquent than the most elaborate discourse that ever stirred human souls. Mrs. Becker herself felt that words were superfluous, so she quietly took her son's arm, and they walked gently homewards, whilst Jack strode on before. On turning a corner of the road, the latter stumbled upon Wolston and Ernest, who, in the exuberance of their joy, had also come out to meet the hunters. They were, however, a little behind; but that was nothing new. These two members of the colony had become quite remarkable for procrastination and absence of mind. When Wolston the mechanician, and Ernest the philosopher, travelled in company, it was rare that some pebble or plant, or question in physics, did not induce them to deviate from their route or tarry on their way. One day they both started for Rockhouse to fetch provisions for the family dinner, but instead of bringing back the needful supplies of beef and mutton, they returned in great glee with the solution of an intricate problem in geometry. All fared very indifferently on that occasion, and, in consequence, Wolston and Ernest were, from that time on, deprived of the office of purveyors. In the present instance, instead of running like Mrs. Becker, they had philosophically seated themselves on the trunk of a tree. At their feet was a diagram that Wolston had traced with the end of his stick; this was neither a tangent nor a triangle, as might have been expected, but a figure denoting how to carve one's way to a position, amidst the rugged defiles of life. "In all things," observed Wolston, "in morals as well as physics, the shortest road from one point to another, is the straight line." "Unless," objected Ernest, "the straight line were encumbered with obstacles, that would require more time to surmount than to go round. Two leagues of clear road would be better than one only a single league in length, if intersected by ditches and strewn with wild beasts." "Bah!" cried Jack, who had just come up out of breath, "you might leap the one and shoot the others." "Your argument," replied Wolston, "is that of the savage, who can imagine no obstacles that are not solid and tangible. The obstacles that retard our progress in life neither display yawning chasms nor rows of teeth; they dwell within our own minds--they are versatility, disgust, ennui, thirst after the unknown, and love of change. These lead us to take bye-paths and long turnings, and fritter away the strength that should be used in promoting a single aim. Hence arise a multiplicity of hermaphrodite avocations and desultory studies, that terminate in nothing but vexation of spirit. Let us suppose, for example, that Peter has made up his mind to be a lawyer." "I do not see any particular reason why Peter should not be a lawyer," said Jack. "Nor I either; but unfortunately when Peter has pored a certain time over Coke upon Littleton, and other abstruse legal authorities, he accidentally witnesses a review; he throws down his books, and resolves to become a soldier." "After the manner and style of our Fritz," suggested Jack. "He changes the Pandects for Polybius, and Gray's Inn for a military school. All goes well for awhile; the idea of uniform helps him over the rudiments of fortification and the platoon exercise. He passes two examinations creditably, but breaks down at the third, in consequence of which he throws away his sword in disgust. He does not like now to rejoin his old companions in the Inn, who have been working steadily during the years he has lost. He therefore, perhaps, adopts a middle course, and gets himself enrolled in the society of solicitors, which does not exact a very elaborate diploma." "Well, after all, the difference between a barrister and a solicitor is not so great." "True; but the exercises to which he has been accustomed previously unfit him for the drudgeries of his new employment, and he soon abandons that, just as he abandoned the other two." "Your friend Peter is somewhat difficult to please," said Jack. "He then goes into business, a term which may mean a great deal or nothing at all; it admits of one's going about idle with the appearance of being fully occupied. Then a few unsuccessful speculations bring him back, at the end of his days, to the point whence he started--that is, zero." "Ah, yes, I see now," cried Jack, whilst he traced a diagram on the ground. "Poor Peter has always stopped in the middle of each profession and gone back to the starting point of another, thus passing his life in making zig-zags, and only moving from one zero to another." "Exactly," added Wolston: "whilst those who persevered in following up the profession they chose at first finally succeeded in attaining a position, and that simply by adhering to a straight line." Here Fritz and his mother arrived, arm in arm. "Ha! there you are," cried Ernest. "We were on our way to meet you." "You surely do not call sitting down there being on your way to meet us, do you?" "Well, yes, mother," suggested Jack, "on the principle that two bodies coming into contact meet each other." Like those flowers that droop during a storm, but recover their brilliancy with the first rays of the sun, so a few days more sufficed to restore Mary Wolston to better health than she had ever enjoyed in her life before. Some months now elapsed without giving rise to any event of note. All the men, women, and children in the colony had been busily employed from early morn to late at e'en. No sooner had one field been sown than there was another to plant; then came the grain harvest and its hard but healthy toil; next, much to the delight of Willis, herrings appeared on the coast, followed by their attendant demons, the sea-dogs; salmon-fishing, hunting ortolans, the foundries and manufactories, likewise exacted a portion of their time. Frequently parties were occupied for weeks together in the remote districts; so that, with the exception of one day each week--the Sabbath--the two families had of late been rarely assembled together in one spot. The hope of ever again beholding the _Nelson_ had gradually ceased to be entertained by anybody. Like an echo that resounds from rock to rock until it is lost in the distance, this hope had died away in their breasts. Willis nevertheless continued to keep the beacon on Shark's Island alight; but he regarded it more as a sepulchral lamp in commemoration of the dead, than as a signal for the living. One morning, the break of day was announced by a cannon-shot. All instantly started on their feet and gazed inquiringly in each other's faces. One thing forced itself upon all their thoughts--daybreak generally arrives without noise; it is not accustomed to announce itself with gunpowder; like real merit, it requires no flourish of trumpets to announce its advent. "Good," said Becker; "Fritz and Jack are not visible, therefore we may easily guess who fired that shot." "Particularly," added Wolston, "as this is the first of January. Last night I observed an unusual amount of going backwards and forwards, so, I suppose, nobody need be much at a loss to solve the mystery." "Aye," sighed Willis, "New Year's Day brings pleasing recollections to many, but sad ones to those who are far away from their own homes." Shortly after, the absentees arrived, each mounted on his favorite ostrich. "Mrs. Wolston," said Fritz, spreading out a fine leopard's skin, "be good enough to accept this, with the compliments of the season." "Mr. Wolston," said Jack, at the same time, "here is the outer covering of a panther, who, stifling with heat, commissioned me to present you with his overcoat." "I am very proud of your gift, Master Fritz," said Mrs. Wolston; "it is really very handsome." "It may, perhaps, be useful at all events, madam," said Fritz; "for, in the absence of universal pills and such things, it is a capital preventative of coughs and colds." "You have been over the way again, then?" inquired Willis. "Yes; but, as you see, we adopted a more efficacious mode of operations than the one you suggested." "Ah," replied Willis, drily, "you did not light a fire this time to frighten the brutes away, and go to sleep when it went out!" Sophia then presented Willis with a handsome tobacco pouch, on which the words, "From Susan," were embroidered. "Bless your dear little heart!" said the sailor, whilst a tear sparkled in the corner of his eye, "you make me almost think I am in Old England again." "What is the matter?" inquired Mrs. Wolston, as Mary came running in. "Oh, such a miracle, mamma! my parrot commenced talking this morning." "And what did it say, child?" Here Mary blushed and hesitated; Mrs. Wolston glanced at Fritz, and thought it might be as well not to inquire any further. "Perhaps somebody has changed it," suggested Jack. "Not very likely that a strange parrot could pronounce my own name." "Well, perhaps your own has been learning to spell for a long time, and has just succeeded in getting into words of two or more syllables. These creatures abound in sell-esteem; and yours, perhaps, would not speak till it could speak well." "Odd, that it should pitch upon New Year's morning to say all sorts of pretty things. They do not carry an almanack in their pockets, do they?" "Well," remarked Willis, "parrots do say and do odd things. I heard of one that once frightened away a burglar, by screaming out, 'The Campbells are coming;' so, Miss Wolston, perhaps yours does keep a log." "By counting its knuckles," suggested Jack. "Counting one's knuckles is an ingenious, but rather a clumsy substitute for the calendar," remarked Wolston. "And who invented the calendar?" inquired Willis. "I am not aware that the calendar was ever invented," replied Wolston. "Fruit commences by being a seed, the admiral springs from the cabin-boy, words and language succeed naturally the babble of the infant; so, I presume, the calendar has grown up spontaneously to its present degree of perfection." "Yes, Mr. Wolston, but some one must have laid the first plank." "The motions of the sun, moon, and stars would, in all probability, suggest to the early inhabitants of our globe a natural means of measuring time. God, in creating the heavenly bodies, seems to have reflected that man would require some index to regulate his labors and the acts of his civil life. The primary and most elementary subdivisions of time are day and night, and it demanded no great stretch of human ingenuity to divide the day into two sections, called forenoon and afternoon, or into twelve sections, called hours. Such subdivisions of time would probably suggest themselves simultaneously to all the nations of the earth. Necessity, who is the mother of all invention, doubtless called the germs of our calendar into existence." "Yes, so far as the days and hours are concerned. There are other divisions--weeks, for example." "The division of time into weeks is a matter that belongs entirely to revelation; the Jews keep the last day of every seven as a day of rest, in accordance with the law of Moses, and the Christians dedicate the first day of every seven to our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ." "Then there are months." "The month is another natural division. The return of the moon in conjunction with the sun, was observed to occur at regular intervals of twenty-nine days, twelve hours, and some minutes. This interval is called the _lunar month_, which for a long time was regarded as the radical unit in the admeasurement of time." "But the year is now the unit, is it not?" "Yes, in course of time the moon, in this respect, gave place to the sun. It was observed that the earth, in performing her revolution round the sun, always arrived at the same point of her orbit at the end of three hundred and sixty-five days, five hours, fifty-eight minutes, and forty-five seconds." "Does the earth invariably pass the same point at that interval?" "Yes, invariably; and the interval in question is termed the solar year." "After all," remarked Jack, "the perseverance of the earth is very much to be admired. It goes on eternally, always performing the same journey, never deviates from its path, and is never a minute too late." "If the earth had performed her annual voyage in a certain number of entire days, the solar year would have been an exact unit of time; but the odd fraction defied all our systems of calculation. Originally, we reckoned the year to consist of three hundred and sixty-five days." "And left the fraction to shift for itself!" "Yes, but the consequence was, that the civil year was always nearly a quarter of a day behind; so that at the end of a hundred and twenty-one years the civil year had become an entire month behind. The first month of winter found itself in autumn, the first month of spring in the middle of winter, and so on. "Rather a lubberly sort of log, that," remarked Willis. "This confusion became, with time, more and more embarrassing. Another evil was, likewise, eventually to be apprehended, for it was seen that, on the expiring of fourteen hundred and sixty revolutions of the earth round the sun, fourteen hundred and sixty-one civil years would be counted." "But where would have been the evil?" "All relations between the dates and the seasons would have been obliterated, astronomical calculations would have become inaccurate, and the calendar virtually useless." "Well, Willis, you that are so fertile in ideas, what would you have done in such a case?" inquired Jack. "I! Why I scarcely know--perhaps run out a fresh cable and commenced a new log." "Your remedy," continued Wolston, "might, perhaps, have obviated the difficulty; but Julius Cæsar thought of another that answered the purpose equally well. It was simply to add to every fourth civil year an additional day, making it to consist of three hundred and sixty-six instead of three hundred and sixty-five, This supplementary day was given to the month of February." "Why February?" "Because February, at that time, was reckoned the last month of the year. It was only in the reign of Charles IX. of France, or in the second half of the sixteenth century, that the civil year was made to begin on the 1st of January. As the end of February was five days before the 1st or kalends of March, the extra day was known by the phrase _bis sexto_ (_ante_) _calendus martii_. Hence the fourth year is termed in the calendar _bissextile_, but is more usually called by us in England _leap year_." "The remedy is certainly simple; but are your figures perfectly square? If you add a day every four years, do you not overleap the earth's fraction?" "Yes, from ten to eleven minutes." "And what becomes of these minutes? Are they allowed to run up another score?" "No, not exactly. In 1582, the civil year had got ten clear days the start of the solar year, and Pope Gregory XIII. resolved to cancel them, which he effected by calling the day after the 4th of October the 15th." "That manner of altering the rig and squaring the yards," said Willi laughing, "would make the people that lived then ten days older. If it had been ten years, the matter would have been serious. Had the Pope said to me privately, 'Willis, you are now only forty-seven, but to-morrow, my boy, you will fill your sails and steer right into fifty-seven,' I should have turned 'bout ship and cleared off. Few men care about being put upon a short allowance of life, any more than we sailors on short rations of rum." "But you forget, Willis, that, though ten years were added to your age, you would not have died a day sooner for all that." "Still, it is my idea that the Pope was not much smarter at taking a latitude than Mr. Julius Cæsar--but what are you laughing at?" "Nothing; only Julius Cæsar is not generally honored with the prefix _Mr_. It is something like the French, who insist upon talking of _Sir Newton_ and _Mr. William Shakespeare_; the latter, however, by way of amends, they sometimes style the _immortal Williams_.'" "Not so bad, though, as a Frenchman I once met, who firmly believed the Yankees lived on a soup made of bunkum and soft-sawder. But who was Julius Cæsar." "Julius Cæsar," replied Jack, sententiously, "was first of all an author, Laving published at Rome an Easy Introduction to the Latin Language; he afterwards turned general, conquered France and England, and gave _Mr._ Pompey a sound thrashing at the battle of Pharsalia." "He must have been a clever fellow to do all that; still, my idea continues the same. When he began to caulk the calendar, he ought to have finished the business in a workmanlike manner." "That, however," continued Wolston, "he left to Pope Gregory, who decreed that three leap years should be suppressed in four centuries. Thus, the years 1700 and 1800, which should have been leap years, did not reckon the extra day; so the years 2000 and 2400 will likewise be deprived of their supplementary four-and-twenty hours." "There is one difficulty about this mode of stowing away extra days; these leap years may be forgotten." "Not if you keep in mind that leap years alone admit of being divided by four." "Did the Pope manage to get entirely rid of the fraction?" "Not entirely; but the error does not exceed one day in four thousand years, and is so small that it is not likely to derange ordinary calculations; and so, Willis, you now know the origin of the calendar, and likewise how time came to be divided into weeks, months, and years." "You have only spoken of the Christian calendar," remarked Ernest. "There have been several other systems in use. Those curious people that call themselves the children of the sun and moon, possess a mode of reckoning that carries them back to a period anterior to the creation of the world. Then, the Greeks computed by Olympiads, or periods of four years. The Romans reckoned by lustri of five years, the first of which corresponds with the 117th year of the foundation of Rome." "And when does our calendar begin?" "It dates only from the birth of Christ, but may be carried back to the creation, which event, to the best of our knowledge, occurred four thousand and four years before the birth of our Savior. This period, added to the date of the present, or any future year, gives us, as nearly as we can ascertain, the interval that has elapsed since our first parents found themselves in the garden of Eden." "Our calendar," remarked Jack, "appears simple enough; it is to be regretted that there have been, and are, so many other modes of reckoning extant. What with the Greek Olympiads, the Roman lustres, the Mahometan hegira, and Chinese moonshine, there is nothing but perplexity and confusion." "It is possible, however," said Becker, "to accommodate all these systems with each other. Leaving the Chinese out of the question, we have only to bear in mind, that the Christian era begins on the first year of the 194th Olympiad, 753 years after the building of Rome, and 622 years before the Mahometan hegira. These three figures will serve us as flambeaux to all the dates of both ancient and modern history." The discourse was here interrupted by Toby, who entered the room, and was gleefully frisking and bounding round Mary. "Really," observed Mrs. Becker, "Toby does seem to know that this is New Year's Day, he looks so lively and so smart." The animal, in point of fact, wore a new collar, and seemed conscious that he was more than usually attractive that particular morning. At a sign from Mary, the intelligent brute went and wagged his tail to Fritz. Hereupon the young man, observing the collar more closely, noticed the following words embroidered upon it: _I belong now entirely to Master Fritz, who rescued my mistress from the sea_. "Ah, Miss Wolston," said Fritz, "you forget I only did my duty; you must not allow your gratitude to over-estimate the service I rendered you." "Well, I declare," cried Mrs. Wolston, laughing "here is another animal that speaks." "The age of Aesop revived," suggested Mrs. Becker. "What do you say, Master Jack?" inquired Mrs. Wolston. "Do you suppose that Toby has learned embroidery in the same way that the parrot learned grammar?" "Oh, more astonishing things than that have happened! Mr. Wolston there will tell you that he has seen a wooden figure playing at chess; why, therefore, should the most sagacious of all the brutes not learn knitting?" "I fear, in speaking so highly of the dog," replied Mrs. Wolston, "you are doing injustice to other animals. Marvellous instances of sagacity, gratitude, and affection, have been shown by other brutes beside the dog. A horse of Caligula's was elevated to the dignified office of consul." "Yes, and talking of the affection of animals," observed Ernest, "puts me in mind of an anecdote related by Aulus Gellius. It seems that a little boy, the son of a fisher man, who had to go from Baiæ to his school at Puzzoli, used to stop at the same hour each day on the brink of the Lucrine lake. Here he often threw a bit of his breakfast to a Dolphin that he called Simon, and if the creature was not waiting for him when he arrived, he had only to pronounce this name, and it instantly appeared." "Nothing very wonderful in that," said Jack; "the common gudgeon, which is the stupidest fish to be found in fresh water, would do that much." "Yes; but listen a moment. The dolphin, after having received his pittance, presented his back to the boy, after having tacked in all his spines and prickles as well as he could, and carried him right across the lake, thus saving the little fellow a long roundabout walk; and not only that, but after school hours it was waiting to carry him back again. This continued almost daily for a year or two; but at last the boy died, and the dolphin, after waiting day after day for his reappearance, pined away, and was found dead at the usual place of rendezvous. The affectionate creature was taken out of the lake, and buried beside its friend.[D] "And, on the other hand," added Jack, "if animals sometimes attach themselves to us, we attach ourselves to them. We are told that Crassus wore mourning for a dead ferret, the death of which grieved him as much as if it had been his own daughter.[E] Augustus crucified one of his slaves, who had roasted and eaten a quail, that had fought and conquered in the circus.[F] Antonia, daughter-in-law of Tiberius, fastened ear-rings to some lampreys that she was passionately fond of."[G] "That, at all events, was attachment in one sense of the word," said Mrs. Wolston. "Without reference to the dog in particular," continued Jack, "proofs of sagacity in animals are very numerous. The nautilus, when he wants to take an airing, capsizes his shell, and converts it into a gondola; then he hoists a thin membrane that serves for a sail; two of his arms are resolved into oars, and his tail performs the functions of a rudder. There are insects ingenious enough to make dwellings for themselves in the body of a leaf as thin as paper. At the approach of a storm some spiders take in a reef or two of their webs, so as to be less at the mercy of the wind. Beavers will erect walls, and construct houses more skilfully than our ablest architects. Chimpanzees have been known spontaneously to sit themselves down, and perform the operation of shaving." "Stop, Jack," cried Mrs. Wolston; "I must yield to such a deluge of argument, and admit that Toby may have acquired the art of embroidery with or without a master, only I should like to see some other specimen of his skill." "Probably you will by-and-by," replied Jack, laughing, "if you keep your eyes open." Here Sophia came into the room leading her gazelle. "Ah, just in time," said Mrs. Wolston; "here is another animal that probably has something to say." "Wrong, mamma," replied Sophia; "my gazelle is as mute as a mermaid. Very provoking, is it not, when all the other animals in the house talk?" "You had better apply to Master Jack; he may, probably, be able to hit upon a plan to make your gazelle communicative." "Will you, Master Jack?" "Certainly, Miss Sophia. The plan I would suggest is very simple. Feed him for a week or two with nouns, adjectives, and verbs." Here Sophia, addressing her gazelle, said, "Master Jack Becker is a goose." Meantime Fritz was leaning on the back of Mary's chair. "Miss Wolston," said he, "did you not tell me that you had brought Toby up, and that you were very fond of him?" "Yes, Fritz." "Then it would be unfair in me to withdraw his allegiance from you now, and, consequently, I must refuse your present" "But where would have been the merit of the gift if I did not hold him in some esteem? Besides, I thought you were fond of Toby." "So I am, Miss Wolston." "Then you will not be indebted to me for anything--I owe you much." "No such thing; you owe me nothing." "My life, then, is nothing?" "Oh, I did not mean that; I must beg your pardon." "Which I will only grant on condition you accept my gift." "Well, if you insist upon it, I will." "I can see him as before; the only difference will be that you are his master, in all other respects he will belong to us both." "May I know what your knight-errant is saying to you, Mary?" inquired Mrs. Becker. "Oh, I have been so angry with him; he was going to refuse my present." "That was very naughty of him, certainly." "He has, however, consented, like a dutiful squire, to obey my behests." "Yes, mother, Toby is henceforth to be divided between us." "Divided?" "Yes; that is, he is to be nominally mine, but virtually to belong to us both. Is it not so, Miss Wolston?" "Yes, Master Fritz." On his side, Jack had approached Miss Sophia. "So you won't give me your gazelle?" he whispered. "No, certainly not, Mr. Jack," replied Sophia; "if you had saved my life, as Fritz saved my sister's, I should then have had the right to make you a present. But you know it is not my fault." "Nor mine either," said Jack. "Perhaps not; but if I had fallen into the sea, you would have allowed the sharks to swallow me, would you not?" "I only wish we had been attacked by a hyena or a bear on our way to Waldeck." "God be thanked, that we were not!" "Well, but look here, Miss Sophia; let me paint the scene. You have fainted, as a matter of course, and fallen prostrate on the ground, insensible." "That is likely enough, if we had encountered one of the animals you mention." "Then I throw myself between you and the savage brute." "Supposing you were not half a mile off at the time." "No fear of that--he rises, on his hind legs, and glares." "Is it a hyena or a bear?" "Oh, whichever you like--he opens his jaws, and growls." "Like the wolf at Little Red Riding Hood." "I plunge my arm down his throat and choke him." "Clever, very; but are you not wounded?" "I beg your pardon, however; all my thoughts are centred in you--I think of nothing else." "I am insensible, am I not?" "Yes, more than ever--we all run towards you, and exert ourselves to bring you back to your senses." "Then I come to life again." "No, stop a bit." "But it is tiresome to be so long insensible." "My mother has luckily a bottle of salts, which she holds to your nose--I run off to the nearest brook, and return with water in the crown of my cap, with which I bathe your temples." "Oh, in that case, I should open one eye at least. Which eye is opened first after fainting?" "I really don't know." "In that case, to avoid mistakes, I should open both." "It is only then, when I find you are recovering, that I discover the brute has severely bitten my arm." "Then comes my turn to nurse you." "You express your thanks in your sweetest tones, and I forget my wounds." "Sweet tones do no harm, if they are accompanied with salves and ointment." "In short, I am obliged to carry my arm in a sling for three months after." "Is that not rather long?" "No; because your arm, in some sort, supplies, meantime, the place of mine." "Your picture has, at least, the merit of being poetic. Is it finished?" "Not till next New Year's Day, when you present me with an embroidered scarf, as the ladies of yore used to do to the knights that defended them from dragons and that sort of thing." "What a pity all this should be only a dream!" "Well, I am not particularly extravagant, at all events; others dream of fortune, honor, and glory." "Whilst you confine your aspirations to a bear, a bite, and a scarf." "You see nothing was wanted but the opportunity." "And foresight." "Foresight?" "Yes; if you had previously made arrangements with a bear, the whole scene might have been realized." "You are joking, whilst I am taking the matter _au serieux_." "That order is usually reversed; generally you are the quiz and I am the quizzee." "You will admit, at all events, that I would not have permitted the bear to eat you." Here Sophia burst into a peal of laughter, and vanished with her gazelle. FOOTNOTES: [D] Aulus Gellius, VII., 8. [E] Macrobius, _Saturn_, XL, 4. [F] Plutarch. [G] Pliny, IX., 53. CHAPTER XVI. SEPARATION--GUELPHS AND GHIBELINES--MONTAGUES AND CAPULETS--SADNESS--THE REUNION--JOCKO AND HIS EDUCATION--THE ENTERTAINMENTS OF A KING--THE MULES OF NERO AND THE ASSES OF POPPÆA--HERCULES AND ACHILLES--LIBERTY AND EQUALITY--SEMIRAMIS AND ELIZABETH--CHRISTIANITY AND THE RELIGION OF ZOROASTER--THE WILLISONIAN METHOD--MORAL DISCIPLINE VERSUS BIRCH. Winter was now drawing near, with its storms and deluges. Becker therefore felt that it was necessary to make some alterations in their domestic arrangements; and he saw that, for this season at all events, the two families must be separated--this was to create a desert within a desert; but propriety and convenience demanded the sacrifice. It was decided that Wolston and his family should be quartered at Rockhouse, whilst Becker and his family should pass the rainy season at Falcon's Nest, where, though these aerial dwellings were but indifferently adapted for winter habitations, they had passed the first year of their sojourn in the colony. The rains came and submerged the country between the two families, thus, for a time, cutting off all communication between them. The barriers that separated the Guelphs from the Ghibelines, the Montagues from the Capulets, the Burgundians from the Armagnacs, and the House of York from that of Lancaster, could not have been more impenetrable than that which now existed between the Wolstons and Beckers. Whenever a lull occurred in the storm, or a ray of sunshine shot through the murky clouds, all eyes were mechanically turned to the window, but only to turn them away again with a sigh; so completely had the waters invaded the land, that nothing short of the dove from Noah's Ark could have performed the journey between Rockhouse and Falcon's Nest. Dulness and dreariness reigned triumphant at both localities. The calm tranquility that Becker's family formerly enjoyed under similar circumstances had fled. They felt that happiness was no longer to be enjoyed within the limits of their own circle. Study and conversation lost their charms; and if they laughed now, the smile never extended beyond the tips of their lips. The young people often wished they possessed Fortunatus's cap, or Aladdin's wonderful lamp, to transport them from the one dwelling to the other; but as they could obtain no such occult mode of conveyance, there was no remedy for their miseries but patience. To the Wolstons this interval of compulsory separation was particularly irksome, as this was the first time in their lives that they had been entirely isolated for any length of time. At Falcon's Nest, Ernest was the most popular member of the domestic circle. His astronomical predilections made him the Sir Oracle of the storm, and he was constantly being asked for information relative to the progress and probable duration of the rains. Every morning he was called upon for a report as to the state of the weather; but, with all his skill, he could afford them very little consolation. But all things come to an end, as well as regards our troubles as our joys. One morning, Ernest reported that less rain had fallen during the preceding than any former night of the season; the next morning a still more favorable report was presented; and on the third morning the floods had subsided, but had left a substratum of mud that obliterated all traces of the roads. Notwithstanding this, and a smart shower that continued to fall, Fritz and Jack determined to force a passage to Rockhouse. Towards evening, the two young men returned, soaking with wet and covered with mud, but with light hearts, for they had found their companions in the enjoyment of perfect health and in the best spirits. They brought back with them a missive, couched in the following terms:-- "Mr. and Mrs. Wolston, greeting, desire the favor of Mr. and Mrs. Becker's company to dinner, together with their entire family, this day se'nnight, weather permitting." Ernest was hereupon consulted, and stated that, in so far as the rain was concerned, they should in eight days be able to undertake the journey to Rockhouse. This assurance was not, however, entirely relied upon, for between this and then many an anxious eye was turned skywards, as if in search of some more conclusive evidence. Those who possess a garden--and he who has not, were it only a box of mignionette at the window--will often have observed, in consequence of absence or forgetfulness, that their flowers have begun to droop; they hasten to sprinkle them with water, then watch anxiously for signs of their revival. So both families continued unceasingly during these eight days to note the ever-varying modifications of the clouds. At length the much wished-for day arrived; the morning broke with a blaze of sunshine, and though hidden with a dense mist, the ground was sufficiently hardened to bear their weight. Wolston awaited his guests at a bridge of planks that had been thrown across the Jackal River, where he and Willis had erected a sort of triumphal arch of mangoe leaves and palm branches. Here Becker and his family were welcomed, as if the one party had just arrived from Tobolsk, and the other from Chandernagor, after an absence of ten years. Another warm reception awaited them at Rockhouse, where an abundant repast was already spread in the gallery. Mrs. Becker had often intended to work herself a pair of gloves, but the increasing demand for stockings had hitherto prevented her. She was pleased, therefore, on sitting down to dinner, to discover a couple of pairs under her plate, with her own initials embroidered upon them. "Ah," said she, "I was almost afraid I had lost my daughters, but I have found them again." After dinner the girls showed her a quantity of cotton they had spun, which proved that, though they might have been dull, they had, at least, been industrious. "Mary span the most of it," said Sophia; "but you know, Mrs. Becker, she is the biggest." "Oh, then," said Jack, "the power of spinning depends upon the bulk of the spinner?" "Oh, Master Jack, I thought you had been ill, that you had not commenced quizzing us before." "Never mind him, Soffy," said her father; "to quote Hudibras, "There's nothing on earth hath so perfect a phiz, As not to give birth to a passable quiz." Here Willis led in the chimpanzee, who made a grimace to the assembled company. "Now, ladies and gentlemen," said Willis, "Jocko is about to show you the progress he has made in splicing and bracing." "Good!" said Becker, "you have been able to make something of him, then?" "You will see presently. Jocko, bring me a plate." Hereupon the chimpanzee seized a bottle of Rockhouse malaga, and filled a glass. "He has erred on the safe side there," said Jack, drily. "Well," added Willis, laughing, "we must let that pass. Jocko," said he, assuming a sententious tone, "I asked you for a plate." The chimpanzee looked at him, hesitated a moment, then seized the glass, and drank the contents off at a single draught. A box on the ears then sent him gibbering into a corner. "Your servant," remarked Mrs. Wolston, "has been taking lessons from Dean Swift as well as yourself, Willis." "I will serve him out for that, the swab; he does not play any of those tricks when we are alone. I must admit, however, that I am generally in the habit of helping myself." Here attention was called to the parrot, who was screaming out lustily, "I love Mary, I love Sophia." "Holloa," exclaimed Fritz, "Polly loves everybody now, does she?" "Well, you see," replied Sophia, "I grew tired of hearing him scream always that he loved my sister, so by means of a little coaxing, and a good deal of sugar, I got him to love me too." The poultry were next mustered for the inspection of their old masters. These did not consist of the ordinary domestic fowls alone; amongst them were a beautiful flamingo, some cranes, bustards, and a variety of tame tropical birds. With the fowls came the pigeons, which were perching about them in all directions. "We are now something like the court of France in the fourteenth century," said Wolston. "How so?" inquired Becker. "In the reign of Charles V., they were obliged to place a trellis at the windows of the Palace of St. Paul to prevent the poultry from invading the dining room." "Rural anyhow," observed Jack. "Of course, most other features of the palace were in unison with this primitive state of matters. The courtiers sat on stools. There was only one chair in the palace, that was the arm-chair of the king, which was covered with red leather, and ornamented with silk fringes." "So that we may console ourselves with the reflection, that we are as comfortable here as kings were at that epoch in Europe," remarked Ernest. "Yes; historians report, that when Alphonso V. of Portugal went to Paris to solicit the aid of Louis XI. against the King of Arragon, who had taken Castile from him, the French monarch received him with great honor, and endeavored to make his stay as agreeable as possible." "Reviews, I suppose, feasts, tournaments, spectacles, and so forth." "A residence was assigned him in the Rue de Prouvaires, at the house of one Laurent Herbelot, a grocer." "What! amongst dried peas and preserved plums?" "Precisely; but the house of Herbelot might then have been one of the most commodious buildings in all Paris. Alphonso was afterwards conducted to the palace, where he pleaded his cause before the king. Next day he was entertained at the archiepiscopal residence, where he witnessed the induction of a doctor in theology. The day after that a procession to the university was organized, which passed under the grocer's windows." "These were singular marvels to entertain a king withal," said Jack. "Such were the amusements peculiar to the epoch. It must be observed that the Louis in question was somewhat close-fisted, and rarely drew his purse-strings unless he was certain of a good interest for his money. But courts in those days were very simple and frugal. The sumptuary laws of Philip le Bel (1285) had fixed supper at three dishes and a lard soup. The king's own dinner was likewise limited to three dishes." "These three dishes might, however, have yielded a better repast than the fifty-two saucers of the Chinese," remarked Jack. "No one could obtain permission to give his wife four dresses a year, unless he had an income of six thousand francs." "What business had the laws to interfere with these things, I should like to know?" inquired Mrs. Wolston. "Those who possessed two thousand francs income were only allowed to wear one dress a year, the cloth for which was not permitted to exceed tenpence a yard; but ladies of rank could go as high as fifteen pence." "Philip le Bel must have been an old woman," insisted Mrs. Wolston. "No private citizen was permitted to use a carriage, and such persons were likewise interdicted the use of flambeaux." "They were permitted to break their necks at all events, that is something." "In England, the same primitive simplicity prevailed; Queen Elizabeth is said to have breakfasted on a gallon of ale, her dining-room floor was strewn every day with fresh straw or rushes, and she had only one pair of silk stockings in her entire wardrobe." "At the same time," observed Ernest, "these usages stand in singular contradiction to those that prevailed at an earlier age. The supper of Lucullus rarely cost him less than thirty thousand francs, and he could entertain five and twenty thousand guests. Six citizens of Rome possessed a great part of Africa. Domitius had an estate in France of eighty thousand acres." "Poor fellow!" "When Nero went to Baize he was accompanied by a thousand chariots and two thousand mules caparisoned with silver. Poppæa followed him with five hundred she asses to furnish milk for her bath. Cicero purchased a dining-room table that cost him a million sesterces, or about two hundred thousand francs. I can understand the progress of civilization, and I can also understand civilization remaining stationary for a given period; but I cannot understand why a citizen of ancient Rome should be able to lodge twenty-five thousand men, whilst a king of France could scarcely keep the ducks from waddling about his apartments, and a queen of England could fare no better than a ploughman." "If," replied Frank, "there were no other criterion of civilization than luxury and riches, you would have good grounds for surprise; but such is not the case. Between ancient and modern times, Christianity arose, and that has tended in some degree to keep down the ostentation of the rich, and to augment, at the same time, the comforts of the poor. In place of the heroes, Hercules and Achilles, we have had the apostles Peter and Paul; so Luther and Calvin have been substituted for Semiramis and Nero. Pride has given place to charity, and corruption to virtue." "Would that it were so, Frank," continued Ernest. "Christianity has, doubtless, effected many beneficial changes, and produced many able men; but in this last respect antiquity has not been behind. It has also its sages: Thales, Socrates, and Pythagoras, for example." "True," replied Frank, "antiquity has produced some virtuous men, but their virtue was ideal, and their creed a dream." "And the Stoics?" "The Stoics despised suffering, and Christians resign themselves to its chastisements; this constitutes one of the lines of demarcation between ancient and modern theology." "But there were many signal instances of virtue manifested in ancient times." "Yes; but for the most part, it was either exaggerated or false; unyielding pride, obstinate courage, implacable resentment of injuries. Errors promenaded in robes under the porticos. Ambition was honored in Alexander, suicide in Cato, and assassination in Brutus." "But what say you to Plato?" "The immolation of ill-formed children, and of those born without the permission of the laws, prosecution of strangers and slavery; such were the basis of his boasted republic, and the gospel of his philosophy." "Why, then, are these men held up as models for our imitation?" "Because they are distant and dead; likewise, because they were, in many respects, great and wise, considering the paganism and darkness with which they were surrounded. Life was then only sacred to the few; the many were treated as beasts of burden. The Emperor Claudian even felt bound to issue an edict prohibiting slaves from being slain _when they were old and feeble_." "Which leaves a margin for us to suppose that they might be slain when they were young and strong," observed Jack. "By the constitution of Constantine certain cases were defined, where a master might suspend his slave by the feet, have him torn by wild beasts, or tortured by slow fire." "Does slavery and its horrors not still exist, for example, in Russia and the United States of America?" "Slavery does exist, to the great disgrace of modern civilization, in the countries you mention; but, so far as I am aware, its horrors are not recognized by the laws." "There, Mr. Frank," said Wolston, "I am very sorry to be under the necessity of contradicting you. I have visited the slave states of North America, and have witnessed atrocities perhaps less brutal, but not less heart-rending, than those you mention." "But do the laws recognize them?" "Yes, tacitly; the testimony of the slaves themselves is not received as evidence." "Why do a people that call their county a refuge for the down-trodden nations of Europe suffer such abominations?" "Well, according to themselves, it is entirely a question of the _almighty dollar_. If there were no slaves, the swamps and morasses of the south could not be cultivated. It has been found that the negro will dance, and sing, and starve, but he will not work in the fields when free. Besides, they assert, that the slaves are generally well cared for, and that it is only a few detestable masters that beat them cruelly." "Then, at all events, dollars are preferred to humanity by the United States men, in spite of their vaunted emblems--liberty and equality." "Quite so. In all matters of internal policy, the dollar reigns supreme." "Admitting," continued Frank, "that the evils of slavery may exist in a section of the American Union, and amongst the barbarous hordes of Russia, these evils are trifling in comparison with others that stain the annals of antiquity. We are told that a hundred and twenty persons applied to Otho to be rewarded for killing Galba. That so many men should contend for the honor of premeditated murder, is sufficiently characteristic of the epoch. There was then no corruption, no brutal passion, that had not its temple and its high priest. In the midst of all this wickedness and vice there appeared a man, poor and humble, who accomplished what no man ever did before, and what no man will ever do again--he founded a moral and eternal civilization. Judaism and the religion of Zoroaster were overthrown. The gods of Tyre and Carthage were destroyed. The beliefs of Miltiades and of Pericles, of Scipio and Seneca, were disavowed. The thousands that flocked annually to worship the Eleusinian Ceres ceased their pilgrimage. Odin and his disciples have all perished. The very language of Osiris, which was afterwards spoken by the Ptolemies, is no longer known to his descendants. The paganisms which still exist in the East are rapidly yielding to the march of western intelligence. Christianity alone, amidst all these ring and fallen fabrics, retains its original vitality, for, like its author, it is imperishable." "It is a curious thing what we call conversation," observed Mrs. Wolston. "No sooner is one subject broached than another is introduced; and we go on from one thing to another until the original idea is lost sight of. Leaving the palace of Charles V., to go with the King of Portugal to a grocer's shop in some street or other of Paris, we cross the Alps, the Himalaya, and the Atlantic. Lucullus, Nero, Achilles, Peter, Paul, Tyre and Sidon, Semiramis and Elizabeth--queens, saints, and philosophers, are all passed in review, and why? Because the pigeons put my husband in mind of the Palace of St. Paul!" "No wonder," observed Jack; "these pigeons are carriers, and naturally suggest wandering." Once more seated round the table, Fritz, observing that the misunderstanding between Willis and the chimpanzee still continued, thrust a plate into the hand of the latter, and pointed with his finger to Willis. This time Jocko obeyed, for the language was intelligible, and he went and placed the plate before his master. "Ho, ho!" cried Willis, "so you have come to your senses at last, have you? Well, that saves you an extra lesson to-morrow, you lubber you." "He takes rather long to obey your orders, though, Willis; it is rather awkward to wait an hour for anything you ask for. What system do you pursue in educating him--the Pestalozzian or the parochial?" "We follow the system in fashion aboard ship," replied Willis. "And what does that consist of?" "A rope's end." "Oh, then, you are an advocate for the birch, are you?" said Wolston; "it is, doubtless, a very good thing when moderately and judiciously administered. That puts me in mind of the missionary and the king of the Kuruman negroes." "A tribe of Southern Africa, is it not?" "Yes, the missionary and the king were great friends. The king not only permitted him to baptize his subjects, but offered to whip them all into Christianity in a week. This summary mode of proselytism did not, however, coincide with the Englishman's ideas, and he refused the offer, although the king insisted that it was the only kind of argument that could ever reach their understandings." The day at length drew to a close, and, though no one asked the time yet all felt that the moment of departure was approaching; whether they were willing to go was doubtful, but at they were loth to depart was certain. "It is time to return now," said Becker, rising. "Already!" "There are some clouds in the distance that bode no good." "Nothing more than a little rain at worst," said Jack. "And your mother?" inquired Decker. "Oh! we can make a palanquin for her." "Your plan, Jack, is not particularly bright; it puts me in mind of some genius or other that took shelter in the water to keep out of the wet." "Very odd," said Jack, "we are always wishing for rain, and when it comes, we do all we can to keep out of its way." "That is, because we are neither green pease nor gooseberries," said Ernest, drily. "True, brother; and as the rain is your affair, perhaps you will be good enough to delay it for an hour or so." "I am sorry on my own account, as well as yours, that I have not yet discovered the art of controlling the skies." Here Fritz whispered a few words in his mother's ear, that called up one of those ineffable smiles that the maternal heart alone can produce. "Well," said Mrs. Becker, "if you think so, deliver the message yourself." "Mrs. Wolston," said Fritz, "I am charged to invite you and your family to Falcon's Nest this day week." "The invitation is accepted, unless my daughters have any objections to urge." "How can you fancy such a thing, mamma?" said both girls. "The fact is, that my daughters have got such a dread of cold water, that they dread to wet the soles of their shoes, unless one or other of you gentlemen is within hail." "Mamma does so love to tease us," said Mary; "we are afraid of nothing but putting you to inconvenience." "Well, in that case, we shall be at Falcon's Nest on the appointed day, unless the roads are positively submerged." "In that case," said Jack, "a line of canoes will be placed upon the highway, between the two localities." As the prospect of a prize incites the young scholar to increased exertion--as the prospect of worldly honors urges the ambitious man on in his career--as the oasis cheers the weary traveller on his journey through the desert, and makes him forget hunger and thirst--as the dreams of comfort and home warm the blood of a wayfarer amongst snow and ice--as hope smooths the ruggedness of poverty and softens the calamities of adversity, so the prospect of meeting again mitigates the regrets of parting. CHAPTER XVII. WHERE THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A WAY--MUCIUS SCÆVOLA--WHAT'S TO BE DONE?--BRUTUS TORQUATUS AND PETER THE GREAT--AUSTRALIA, BOTANY BAY, AND THE FLYING DUTCHMAN--NEW GUINEA AND THE BUCCANEER--VANCOUVER'S ISLAND--WHITE SKINS--DANGER OF LANDING ON A WAVE--HANGED OR DROWNED--ROUTE TO HAPPINESS--OMENS. The old saw, _Where there's a will there's a way_, means--if it means anything--that a great deal may be effected by energy. A man without energy is a helpless character, and invariably lags behind his fellow mortals in the stream of life; like a cork in an eddy, he is rebuffed here and jostled there, and goes on travelling in a circle to the end of the chapter. Not so the man of action; no jostling thwarts him, no rebuffs retard him; he breaks through all sorts of obstacles, and floats along with the current. Such a man was Becker. Though surrounded with dangers, and harassed by the elements, almost alone he had converted a wilderness into fertile fields; he pursued the track that his judgment suggested, and followed it up with invincible resolution; he manfully resisted the severest trials, and cheerfully bore the heaviest burdens; his reliance on Truth or Virtue and on God were unfaltering; but had he provided for every emergency? Is mortal power capable of overcoming every difficulty? We shall see. A day or two after the entertainment at Rockhouse, Becker whispered to the Pilot-- "Willis, take a rifle, and come along with me; I have something to say to you." They walked a quarter of an hour or so without uttering a word, when Willis broke the silence. "You seem sad, Mr. Becker." "Yes, Willis, I am almost distracted." "Still, you seem well enough; you are as hale and hearty as if you had just been keel-hauled and got a new rig." "It is not my body that is suffering, Willis; it is my mind." "Whatever is the matter?" "Willis, _my wife is dying_." And so it was. For a long period Becker's wife had been a prey to racking pains, which, so to speak, she hid from herself, the better to conceal them from others, just as if suffering had been a crime. After having resisted for fourteen years the afflictions of exile, long and perilous expeditions, nights passed under tents, humid winters and fierce burning summers, her health had, at length, succumbed, not all at once, like fabrics sapped by gunpowder, but little by little, like those that are demolished piecemeal with the pickaxe of the workman. Day by day she grew more and more feeble, without those who were constantly by her side observing the insidious workings of disease. Like Mucius Scævola, who held his hands in a burning brazier without uttering a word, she so effectually hid her griefs within the recesses of her own bosom, that no one even suspected her illness. "But, Mr. Becker," said Willis, "I saw your wife this morning, and she seemed as well as usual." "Yes, _seemed_, Willis, that is true enough; not to give us pain, she has concealed her illness from us all. It is only within the last twelve hours that I accidentally discovered that she has been long laboring under some fearful malady." "Do you know the nature of the disease?" "No, that I have no means of ascertaining; it may be a distinct form of disease, or it may be a complication of disorders, which I know not." "It would not signify about the name if we only knew a remedy." "True; but I dread some malady of a cancerous type, which could not be eradicated without surgical skill." "I wish I had been born a doctor instead of a pilot," sighed Willis. "I cannot see her perish before my eyes." "Certainly not, Mr. Becker; it would never do to allow a ship to sink if she can be saved." "Well, what is to be done?" "There lies the difficulty; had it been a question of anything that floats on the water, I might have suggested a remedy; but, in this case, I am fairly run aground." "I know too well what must be done, Willis. In cases of ordinary maladies, with care and due precaution, proper nourishment and time, Nature will generally effect a cure." "Nature has no diploma, but she accomplishes more cures than those that have." "Unfortunately this is not a malady that can be cured by such means; and, unless its progress be checked in time, it may ultimately assume a form that will render a cure impossible." "Is death, then, inevitable?" "A patient may retain a languishing life under such circumstances for some time; but if the disease be cancer, a cure is hopeless without instruments and scientific skill." "I thought I was the only wretched being in the colony," said Willis, sighing, "but I find I am not alone." "There are no hopes of the _Nelson_, are there?" inquired Becker. "None now; for some time Mr. Wolston and yourself almost persuaded me that she had escaped; but had she reached the Cape, we should have heard of her ere now." "The probabilities of another vessel touching here are small, are they not?" "We are not in the direct track to anywhere; therefore, unless a ship has been driven out of her course by a gale, there is not a chance." "Unfortunate that I am!" exclaimed Becker, covering his face with his hands. "Brutus, Manlius Torquatus, and Peter the Great, condemned their sons to death, but they were guilty; still the sacrifice must be made." Here Willis stared aghast, and began to fear Becker's intellect had been affected by his troubles. "I do not exactly understand you, Mr. Becker." "Two of my sons have gone on before us; they were to embark in the canoe for Shark's Island, and wait for us there. I must have courage, and you also, Willis." This exordium did not tend to alter the Pilot's impression. They walked on for some time in silence towards the coast. "Do you know the latitude and longitude of this coast, Willis?" "Good!" thought the Pilot, "he has changed the subject." "Yes; we are in the South Sea, and no great distance from the line." "What continent is nearest us?" "We cannot be very far off the south coast of New Holland, or, as it is named in some charts, Australia. You know that the _Nelson_ hailed from Botany Bay, or Sydney, as the convict colony which the English Government has just founded there is called." "How far do you suppose we are from Sydney?" "Well, I should say, with a fair wind and a smart craft, Sydney is not above two months' sail, if so much." "Is the coast inhabited?" "Yes." "What character do the inhabitants bear?" "According to the Dutch sailors, who have been on the coast, they are the most plundering and lubberly set of rascals to be met with anywhere." "They are not acquainted with the use of fire-arms, are they?" "No not of fire-arms; but they have a machine of their own that they call a waddy, or something of that sort, which they throw like a harpoon; but the thing takes a twist in the air, and strikes behind them." "Is the coast accessible?" "No; it is fringed with reefs, and, in some places, the surf runs for miles out to sea." "The navigation along shore, then, is extremely perilous?" "Whatever can he be driving at?" thought Willis. "Yes; such a lee shore in a gale would terrify the Flying Dutchman himself." Here Becker shook his head dolefully, and they walked on a little further in silence. "What islands do you suppose are nearest us, Willis?" "I should say we are in or near the group marked in the chart Papuasia; beyond them is the territory of New Guinea, and a point to nor'ard are a whole nest of islands discovered by the celebrated buccaneer, Dampière." "And their inhabitants?" "Oh, some of them are pretty fair; but, taking them in the lump, they are a bad lot." "The islands to the west are those discovered by Cook, Vancouver, and Bougainville, are they not?" "They are marked Polynesia in the charts." "Do you know of any European settlements on these islands?" "Well, there is a fort of the Hudson's Bay Company on Vancouver's Island, but that is a long way north; and, I believe, a factory has recently been anchored in New Zealand, but that is a long way south." "And what are the principal islands between?" "There is New Caledonia, the New Hebrides, the Friendly Islands, the Societies' Islands, the Marquesas, Tahite, and the Pelew Islands; but each navigator gives them a new name, so that it is hard to say which is which; all you can do is to say that there is an island in latitude so and so and longitude so and so, but the name is almost out of the question." "And the natives?" "Some of them are remarkably tame, and trade freely with strangers; but others have strongly marked cannibal propensities, and dote upon a white-skin feast when they can get one." Here Becker shuddered, and uttered an exclamation of horror. "That would be a terrible fate, Willis." "Whatever can he mean?" thought the Pilot. "Willis, to reach Europe from here, what course do you think would be best?" "Now I think I shall fix him at last," said the Pilot, levelling his rifle at an imaginary bird. "You will only waste gunpowder," said Becker; "I see nothing." "You asked me just now what course I should steer for Europe, did you not?" "Yes." "Well, the most direct course would be to make the Straits of Macassar, and then steer for Java." "And when there?" "You would then be fifteen or sixteen hundred leagues from the Cape." "So much?" "Yes, that is about the distance in a straight line across the Indian Ocean. When at the Cape, another fifteen days' sail will bring you to the line; five or six weeks after that St. Helena will heave in sight; then you fall in with the Island of Ascension; leaving which a week or two will bring you to the Straits of Gibraltar, where you get the first glimpse of Europe. But if you are bound for England, your daughter may commence working a pair of slippers for you; they will be ready by the time you get there." They had now arrived at the point of the Jackal River where the pinnace was moored. "What do you think of this boat?" inquired Becker. "The pinnace is well enough for fair weather; but it is not the sort of craft I should like to command in a storm at sea." "So that to venture to sea in it would be to incur imminent danger?" "There is no denying that, Mr. Becker; if she shipped a moderately heavy sea, down she must go to the bottom, like a four and twenty pound shot; and if she should spring a leak, you cannot land to put her to rights; the waves are by no means solid." "Just as I thought!" exclaimed Becker; "I was right in judging that it would be a sacrifice. It is almost certain death; but they must go." "Where?" inquired Willis. "To Europe if need be, if God in his mercy spares the pinnace." "What for?" "I have the means of purchasing surgical skill, and I must use all the sacrifices at my command to obtain it." "Avast heaving, Mr. Becker," cried Willis; "now I understand; the thing is as clear as the tackle of the best bower, and when a resolution is once formed, nothing like paying it out at the word of command. When shall we start?" "I am not talking of either you or myself, Willis." "Of whom then, may I ask?" "Fritz and Jack. Fritz knows something of navigation; and if they succeed, they will have saved their mother; if they perish, they will have died to save her." "Fritz, as you say, does know something of navigation, particularly as regards coasting; but here you have a pilot, accustomed to salt water, quite handy, why not engage him also?" "Willis, you have yourself said that the undertaking is perilous in the extreme, and your life is not bound up like theirs in that of their mother." "True; but do you not see that I am sick of dry land, and that I am getting rusty for the want of a little sea air?" "I felt ashamed to ask you to share in so desperate an enterprise, otherwise I would have proposed it to you, Willis." "But you might have seen that I was growing thin, absolutely pining away, and drying up on land. There are ducks that can live without water, but I am not one of them." "Am I, then, to understand that you offer to risk your life in this forlorn hope?" "Certainly, Mr. Becker; a man condemned to be hanged, running the risk of being drowned is no great sacrifice." "Willis, I accept your offer, to share in the dangers of this enterprise, most gratefully. I thank you in the name of my sons and of their mother, and trust that God may enable me to recompense you for your devotion to them and to myself." [Illustration] "You forget," added Willis, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, that he ascribed to a grain of dust, "you forget that I was on the point of venturing out to sea in the canoe, had you yourself and Mr. Wolston not prevented me. There is work to be done, I admit; and it is not impossible to cross even the Indian Ocean in the pinnace. But we may find a doctor, perhaps, at some of the settlements--for instance, at Manilla, in the Philippines." "That is not to be hoped for, Willis; there is, probably, only one skilful medical man in each colony, and he will be prevented leaving by Government engagements." "True; then we had better hoist sail for Europe direct, and trust to falling in with a ship now and then." "Alas!" sighed Becker, "in a path so wide as the ocean, it would be unwise to trust to such chances; you will have to rely, I fear, entirely upon the resources of the pinnace alone." "Well, I dare say, though we may have to put up with half rations, we shall not starve on the voyage, at all events." They had unmoored the pinnace, and were on their way to Shark's Island. "You are about to announce to your sons their departure?" said Willis, inquiringly. "Yes; but my heart almost fails me." "The iron must be struck while it is hot. Will you commission me to whisper a few words in their ear?" "Thanks, Willis; but what right have I to expect courage from them, if I exhibit weakness myself? No, my friend, I may shed tears in your presence, but not before them." "A man ought never to allow his feelings to get the better of his courage," said Willis, in whose eyes, however, the dust was evidently playing sad havoc. "These boys have almost never been absent from me. I have watched them grow up from infancy to adolescence, and from adolescence to manhood; they have always been dutiful and obedient, and with gratitude I have blessed them every night of their lives. But stern are the decrees of Fate; I must command them to depart from me--perhaps for ever!" "There are evils that lead to good," said Willis, "even though these evils be the Straits of Magellan or the storms of the Indian Ocean." Here the pinnace reached the offing of Shark's Island, where Fritz and Jack, leaning on the battery, watched the progress of the boat. "Do you observe how downcast my father looks?" said Fritz. "Willis does not look much gayer," remarked Jack. "Do you believe in omens, Jack?" "Now and then." "Well, mark me, there is a screw loose somewhere, or I am no oracle." CHAPTER XVIII. BACON AND BISCUIT--LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE--THE PATERNAL BENEDICTION--AN APPARITION--A MOTHER NOT EASILY DECEIVED--THE ADIEU--THE EMPEROR CONSTANTINE--IN HOC SIGNO VINCES--THE SAILOR'S POSTSCRIPT--CÆSAR AND HIS FORTUNES--RECOLLECTIONS--MRS. BECKER PLUCKS STOCKINGS AND KNITS ORTOLANS--HOW DELIGHTFUL IT IS TO BE SCOLDED--THE BODIES VANISH, BUT THE SOULS REMAIN. On their return from Shark's Island, Fritz and Jack were deeply affected, not by the dread of the perils they were destined to encounter--these never gave them a moment's uneasiness--but by the knowledge that a merciless vulture was preying upon the vitals of their beloved mother. Willis on the contrary, appeared as lively as if he had just received notice of promotion; but whether the idea of again dwelling on the open sea had really elevated his spirits, or whether this gaiety was only assumed to encourage Becker and his sons, was best known to himself. It was arranged amongst them that no one, under any circumstances, should be made acquainted with the design they had in contemplation. By this means all opposition would be vanquished, and the regrets of separation would, in some degree, be avoided. Besides, if the project were divulged, might not Frank and Ernest insist upon their right to share its dangers? This eventuality alone was sufficient to impress upon them all the urgency of secrecy. The really strong man knows his weakness, and therefore dislikes to run the risk of exposing it, so Becker dreaded the tears and entreaties that this desperate undertaking would inevitably exercise, were it generally known beforehand to the rest of the family; whereas, if once the pinnace were fairly at sea, it could not be recalled, and time would do the rest. Since, then, all the preparations had to be made in such a way as not to excite suspicion that any thing extraordinary was on foot, the progress was necessarily slow. Willis, under pretext of amusing himself, refitted the pinnace, and strengthened it so far as he could without impairing its sailing efficiency. He called to mind that, when Captain Cook reached Batavia, after his first voyage round the world, he observed with astonishment that a large portion of the sides of his famous ship the _Endeavor_ was, under the water line, no thicker than the sole of a shoe. As soon as the weather had settled, and the tropical heats set in, the Wolstons resumed their abode at Falcon's Nest; whilst, under some plausible pretext or other, Willis, Fritz, and Jack took up their quarters at Rockhouse. This arrangement gave the destined navigators the means of carrying on their operations unobserved, especially as regards salting provisions and baking for the voyage. Along with the stores, a portion of the valuables, that still remained in the magazines of Rockhouse, were placed on board the pinnace; for, though gold and precious stones were not of much value in New Switzerland, Becker had not forgotten that such was not the case in other portions of the world; he reflected that his sons must be furnished with the means of returning to the colony with comfort. There was also a man of science and education to be bought, and that, he knew, could not be done without as the French proverb has it, having some hay in one's boots. Storms are usually heralded by some premonitory symptoms: the atmosphere becomes oppressive, the clouds increase in density, the sky gradually becomes obscure and large drops of rain begin to fall, then follows the deluge, and the elements commence their strife. It is much the same with impending misfortunes: gloom gathers on the countenance, our movements become constrained, our thoughts wander, and a tear lingers in the corner of the eye. Fritz and Jack endeavored in vain to appear unconcerned, but, in spite of their efforts, it was painfully evident that their minds were burdened by some heavy weight. They were more tender and more affectionate, particularly towards their mother. Towards evening, when they quitted the family circle for Rockhouse, their adieus were so earnest, so warm, and so often repeated, that it almost appeared as if they were laying in a stock of them for their voyage, to store up and preserve with the bacon and biscuits. Even the animals came in for an extra share of caresses, and, if they were capable of reflection, it must have puzzled them sorely to account for all the endearments that were lavished upon them by the two brothers. Becker himself was no less affected than his sons; sometimes, when the latter were busily occupied with some preparation for the voyage, he would fix his eyes sadly upon them, just as if every trait of these cherished features had not already been deeply graven on his soul. During the preceding rainy season, the two young men felt the days long and tedious, and wished in their inmost hearts that they would pass away more swiftly; now, the hours seemed to fly with unaccountable rapidity, and they would gladly have lengthened them if they had had the power. But no one can arrest Le temps, cette image mobile De l'immobile éternité. And time is right in holding on the even tenor of its way; for if it once yielded to the desires of mortals, there would be no end of confusion and perplexity. It takes unto itself wings and flies away, say the fortunate; it lags at a snail's pace, say the unfortunate. The idler knows not how to pass it away. The man of action does not observe its progress. Those who are looking forward to some favorite amusement exclaim, "Would that it were to-morrow!" but how many there are that might well ejaculate, from the bottom of their souls, "Would that to-morrow may never arrive!" How, then, could such wishes be met in a way to satisfy all? A day at length arrived when everything was ready for departure, and when nothing was wanted to weigh anchor but courage on the part of the voyagers. The pinnace was laden to the gunwale, the compass was in its place, the casks were filled with fresh water from the Jackal River, and Willis reported that both wind and sea were propitious for a start. The morning of that day was lovely in the extreme. Willis, Fritz, and Jack were early at Falcon's Nest; the two families breakfasted together under the trees in the open air. After breakfast an adjournment to the umbrageous shade of the bananas was proposed and agreed to. "Mother," said Fritz, taking Mrs. Becker's arm, "I want you all to myself." "I object to that, if you please," cried Jack, taking her other arm. "Why, you boys seem extravagantly fond of your mother to-day," said Mrs. Becker, gaily. "Well, you see, mother, we have the right to have an idea now and then--Willis has one every week." "So long as your ideas are about myself, I have no reason to object to them," said Mrs. Becker, smiling. "We have always been dutiful sons, have we not, mother?" inquired Fritz. "Yes, always." "You are well pleased with us then?" "Yes, surely." "We have never caused you any uneasiness, have we?" inquired Jack. "That is to say, inadvertently," added Fritz; "designedly is out of the question." "No, not even inadvertently," replied their mother. "Were you very sorry when Frank and Ernest were going to leave us?" "Yes, my children, the tears still burn my cheek." "Nevertheless, you knew that it was for the common welfare, and you felt resigned to the separation." "But why do you ask such a question now?" "Well, _à propos de rien_, mother," replied Jack, "simply because we love you, and, like misers, we treasure your love." Towards the afternoon both families were again assembled under the trees at Falcon's Nest This time it was dinner that brought them together; the repast consisted of cold meats of various kinds, but the chief dish was a wonderful salad, the rich, fresh odor of which perfumed the air. Wolston, Frank, and Ernest kept up a lively conversation, yet, though all seemed happy and pleased, there were bursting hearts at the table that day." "I am going to take a turn in the pinnace to-morrow," said Willis, quietly; "who will go with me?" "I will!" cried all the four brothers. "I shall require you, Frank and Ernest, to take a look at the rice plantation to-morrow," said Becker, "so I wish you to put off the excursion till another time." "We are at your orders, father," replied the two young men. "Where are you going, Willis?" inquired Mrs. Wolston. "Well, I am anxious to discover whether we inhabit an island or a continent, and may, consequently, extend the survey beyond the points already known; so you must not be disappointed should we not return the same night." "But what is the good of such an expedition?" inquired Mrs. Becker. "The country may be inhabited, or there may be inhabited islands in the vicinity," replied Willis. "If there be natives anywhere near," said Mrs. Becker, "they have left us at peace hitherto, and, in my opinion, since the dog sleeps, it will be prudent for us to let it lie." "It is not a question of creating any inconvenience," suggested Becker, "but only to ascertain more accurately our geographical position: such a knowledge can do us no possible harm, but, some day, it may be of immense service to us." "What if you should fall in with a ship?" inquired Mrs. Wolston. "In that case we shall give your compliments to the commander," replied Jack. "You may do that if you like, but try and bring it back with you if you can." "Do you wish to leave us?" "I do not mean that," hastily added Mrs. Wolston, "but I am beginning to get anxious about my son, poor fellow. If the _Nelson_ has not arrived at the Cape, then he will suppose we are all drowned, and I should like to fall in with some means of assuring him of our safety." "Oh yes," cried the two girls, "do try and fall in with a ship; our poor brother will be so wretched." "You might say our brother as well," added the two young men. Here the two mothers interchanged a glance of intelligence, which might mean very little, but which likewise might signify a great deal. A moment of intense anxiety had now arrived for Becker and his two sons; they could scarcely refrain from shedding tears, but they felt that the slightest imprudence of that nature would divulge everything. "Come now, my lads, look alive," cried Willis, in a voice which he meant to be gruff; "if you intend to take a few hours' repose before we start in the morning, it is time to be off." Fritz and Jack, had it been to save their lives, could not now have helped throwing more than usual energy into their parting embraces that particular afternoon; but they passed through the ordeal with tolerable firmness, and then with heavy hearts turned towards the door. "I think I will walk with you as far as Rockhouse," said Becker. All four then departed; and when the party were about fifty yards from Falcon's Nest, Fritz and Jack turned round and waved a final adieu to those loved beings whom probably, they might never see again. "It is well," said Becker. "I am satisfied with your conduct throughout this trying interval." It was now an hour when there is something indescribably sombre about the country; day was declining, the outlines of the larger objects in the landscape were becoming less distinct, and the trees were assuming any sort of fantastical shape that the mind chose to assign to them. Here and there a bird rustled in the foliage, but otherwise the silence was only broken by footsteps of the four men. In ordinary life children quit the parental home by easy and almost imperceptible gradations. First, there is the school, then college; next, perhaps, the requirements of the profession they have adopted. Thus they readily abandon the domestic hearth; friends, intercourse, and society divide their affection, and the separation from home rarely, if ever, costs them a pang. Not so with Becker's two sons; their world was New Switzerland; therefore, like the rays of the sun absorbed by the mirror of Archimedes, all their affections were concentrated on one point. On the former occasion when the family ties were on the eve of being rent asunder, the case was very different. It is true, Frank and Ernest were about to leave for an indefinite period of time; but then, every comfort that the most fastidious voyager could desire was awaiting them on board the _Nelson_; for a well-appointed ship is like a well-appointed inn on shore, all your wants are ministered to with the utmost celerity. Besides, Captain Littlestone had taken the young men under his special protection, and had promised to see them properly introduced and cared for in Europe. How dissimilar was the position of Fritz and his brother; they were about to tumble into the old world should they be so fortunate as to reach it, much as if they had dropped from the skies, without a guide and without a friend. They were about to entrust themselves to the ocean, separated from its treacherous floods by a few wretched planks; to be exposed for months, almost unsheltered, to wind, rain, and the mercy of pitiless storms. "If God in His mercy preserves you, my sons," said Becker, breaking at last the silence, "you will find yourselves launched in an ocean still more turbulent than that you have escaped--an ocean where falsehood and cunning assume the names of policy and tact; where results always justify the means, whatever these may be; where everything is sacrificed to personal interest and ambition; where fortune is honored as a virtue that dispenses with all others, and where profligacies of the most odious kinds are decorated with gay and seductive colors. It is difficult for me to foresee the various circumstances amidst which you may be placed; but there are certain rules of conduct that provide for nearly every emergency. I have no need to urge loyalty or courage--these qualities are inseparable from your hearts. Strive only for what is just and honest. Submit to be cheated rather than be cheats yourselves; ill-gotten gains never made any one rich. Put your trust in Providence. Seek aid from on high, when you find yourselves surrounded with difficulties. Never forget that there is no corner on the earth's surface, however obscure, that the eyes of the Lord are not there to behold your actions. Act promptly and with energy. Bear in mind that every moment lost will be to your mother an age of suffering, and that her life is suspended on the fragile thread of your return." The party had now reached the banks of the Jackal River, where the pinnace was moored. Fritz and Jack were shedding tears unrestrainedly, and had dropped on their knees at their father's feet. "I call," said Becker, in a trembling voice, "the benediction of Heaven upon your heads, my sons." "Oh, but they must not go!" cried Mrs. Becker, rushing out from behind some tall brushwood that hid her from their view; "they shall not go!" Fritz and Jack were instantly inclosed within their mother's arms. "Ah!" cried she, pushing aside the hair from their brows, the better to observe their features, "you thought to deceive your mother, did you?" "Pardon!" exclaimed both the young men. Here Becker thought it necessary to interfere; and, summoning all the courage he could muster to the task, said-- "Why should they not go? Is this the first expedition they have undertaken?" "No, it is not the first expedition they have undertaken, but it is the first time their eyes and their looks betokened an eternal adieu. It is the first time that I felt they were forsaking me for ever, and it is the first time you ever addressed them with the words you just now uttered." Becker saw that it was useless to attempt to carry deceit any further; he therefore withdrew his eyes from the piercing glance of his wife. Willis, caught in the act, as it were, was completely thrown off his guard, and had not a word to say for himself. Fritz and Jack had again fallen on their knees, this time at the feet of their mother. "Ah! I begin to understand," she screamed, as she glanced around on the scared group that surrounded her, like a wounded lioness whose cubs were being carried off; "now the bandage begins to drop from my eyes. A thousand inexplicable things dart into my mind. You are sending the boys on an impracticable voyage to secure the safety of their mother; but you did not think that in order to prolong my existence for a few years, you would kill me instantly with grief! What right have you to impose a remedy upon me that is a thousand times worse than the malady? Have I ever complained? May my sufferings not be agreeable to me? May I not like them? Is pain and suffering not our lot from the cradle to the tomb? But I am not ill, I was never better in my life than I am at this moment." Here she was seized with a paroxysm of nervous tremors that convulsed her frame most fearfully, and completely belied her words. Becker rushed forward and held her firmly in his arms. "God give me strength!" he murmured. "Go, my children, where your duty calls you; go, my friend, do not prolong this terrible scene an instant longer." Not another word was spoken, the pinnace was unmoored; Fritz, Jack, and Willis embarked. When at some little distance from the shore, there was just light enough for Fritz to notice that his father was directing the feeble steps of his mother in the direction of Falcon's Nest. In a few moments more all the objects on shore were one confused mass of unfathomable shadow. The pinnace dropped anchor at Shark's Island, where some few final preparations for the voyage had to be made. Fritz here took a pen and wrote: "We part. We are gone. When you read this letter, the sea, for some distance, will extend between us. We shall live and move elsewhere, but our hearts still with you. We wish that Ernest and Frank would erect a flagstaff on the spot where we last parted with our parents. It may be to us what the celestial standard bearing the scroll, _in hoc signo vinces_ was to the Emperor Constantine. The place is already sacred, and may be hallowed by your prayers for us. Our confidence in the divine mercy is boundless. Do not despair of seeing us again. We have no misgivings, not one of us but anticipates confidently the period when we shall return and bring with us health, happiness, and prosperity to you all. "Let me add a word," said Jack. "The sea is calm, our hearts are firm, our enterprise is under the protection of Heaven--there never was an undertaking commenced under more favorable auspices. Farewell then, once more, farewell. All our aspirations are for you. "FRITZ. "JACK. "P.S.--Willis was going to write a line or two when, lo and behold! a big tear rolled upon the paper. 'Ha!' said he, 'that is enough, I will not write a word, they will understand that, I think,' and he threw down the pen." "How is the letter to be sent on shore?" inquired Fritz. "There is a cage of pigeons on board the pinnace," replied Jack, "but I do not want them to know that, for, if they should expect to hear from us, and some accident happen to the pigeons, they might be dreadfully disappointed." "We can return on shore," observed Willis, "and place it on the spot, where we embarked; they are sure to be there to-morrow." This suggestion was incontinently adopted. The letter was attached to a small cross, and fixed in the ground. The voyagers had all re-embarked in the pinnace, which was destined to bear even more than Cæsar and his fortunes. Willis had already loosened the warp, when, a thought crossed the mind of Fritz. "I must revisit Falcon's Nest once more," said he. "What!" cried Willis, "you are not going to get up such another scene as we witnessed an hour or two ago?" "No, Willis, I mean to go by stealth like the Indian trapper, so as to be seen by no mortal eye. I wish to take one more look at the old familiar trees, and endeavor to ascertain whether my mother has reached home in safety." "But the dogs?" objected Willis. "The dogs know me too well to give the slightest alarm at my approach. I shall not be long gone; but really I must go, the desire is too powerful within me to be resisted." "I will go with you," said Jack. Here Willis shook his head and reflected an instant. "You are not angry with us, Willis, are you?" "Not at all," he replied, "and I think the best thing I can do, under the circumstances, is to go too." "Very well, make fast that warp again, and come along." The party then disappeared amongst the brushwood. "Some time ago," remarked Fritz, "we followed this track about the same hour; there was danger to be apprehended, but the enterprise was bloodless, though successful." "You mean the chimpanzee affair," said Willis. "Yes; this time we have only an emotion to conquer, but I am afraid it is too strong for us." "These are the trees," said Jack, as they debouched upon the road, "that I stuck my proclamations upon. We had very little to think of in those days." As the party drew near Falcon's Nest, the dogs approached and welcomed them with the usual canine demonstrations of joy. "I have half a mind to carry off Toby," said Fritz; "but I fear Mary would miss him." Externally all appeared tranquil at Falcon's Nest; this satisfied the young men that their mother had succeeded in reaching home, at least, in safety; a light streaming through the window of Becker's dwelling, however, showed that the family had not yet retired for the night. "If they only knew we were so near them!" remarked Jack. The entire party then sat down upon a rustic bench, shrouded with flowering orchis and Spanish jasmine. "How often, on returning from the fields or the chase, we have seen our mother at work on this very seat," observed Fritz. "Aye," added Jack; "once I observed she had fallen asleep whilst knitting stockings. I advanced on tip-toe, removed gently her knitting apparatus, stockings, and all, and placed on her lap some ortolans that I had caught and strangled; but I first plucked one of them, and scattered the feathers all about, and then retreated into a thicket to watch the _dénouement_ of my scheme. She awoke, put down her hand to take up a stocking, and laid hold of a bird. She stared, rubbed her eyes, stared again, looked about, and could find nothing but the ortolan feathers. I then ran forward and embraced her, looking as if I had just come from unearthing turnips. 'Well, I declare,' she said with a bewildered air, 'I could have sworn that I was knitting just now, and here I find myself plucking ortolans; and what is more, I have not the slightest idea where, in all the world, the birds have come from!' Of course, I looked as innocent as possible; so that the more she stared and reflected, the less she could make the matter out. At last, she went on plucking the birds, and when this was done she stuck them on the spit. When the ortolans were roasted and ready to be served up, I went into the kitchen, carried them off, and put my mother's knitting apparatus on the spit. Imagine her surprise when she beheld her worsted and stockings at the fire, knowing, at the same time, that four hungry stomachs were waiting for their dinners! At last, fearing that she was going to ascribe the metamorphosis to some hallucination of her own, I went up to her, threw my arms round her neck, told her the whole story, and we both of us enjoyed a hearty laugh over it." "Aye, Jack, those were laughing times," said Fritz, sadly. "Not only that, but our mother was always so even--tempered; she was never ruffled in the slightest degree by my nonsense; though she often had the right to be very angry, yet she never once took offence. On another occasion, Mary and Sophia Wolston were working here at those mysterious embroideries which they always hid when we came near." "Toby's collar, I suppose," remarked Fritz. "My tobacco pouch," suggested Willis. "I approached," continued Jack, "with the muffled softness of a cat, and was just on the point of discovering their secret, when my monkey, Knips, who was cracking nuts at their feet, made a spring, and drew a bobbin of silk after it; this caused them to look round, and great was my astonishment to find myself caught at the very moment I expected to surprise them. They commenced scolding me at an immense rate, but then it was so delightful to be scolded!" "Aye," murmured Fritz, "that is all over now." Like a file of sheep, one recollection dragged another after it, so that the whole of the past recurred to their memories. Some faint streaks of light now warned them that day was about to break; the cocks began to crow one after the other, and to fill the air with their shrill voices. "Now," said Willis, "it is high time to be off." Jack hastily gathered two bouquets of flowers, which he suspended to the lintel of each dwelling. "These," said he, "will show them that we have paid them another visit." They then bent down all three on their knees, uttered a short prayer, and afterwards disappeared amidst the shadows of the chestnut trees. "Listen!" said Willis, seeing that his companions were about to make a halt, "if you stop again, or speak of returning any more, I will cease to regard you as men." Half an hour afterwards, on the morning of the 8th March, 1812, the pinnace bore out to sea, and when day broke, the crew could not descry a single trace of New Switzerland on any point of the horizon. CHAPTER XIX. EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE--THE MARY--COUNT UGOLINO--THE SOURCES OF RIVERS--THE ALPS DEMOLISHED--NO MORE PYRENEES--THE FIRST SHIP--ADMIRAL NOAH--FLEETS OF THE ISRAELITES--THE COMPASS--PRINTING--GUNPOWDER--ACTIUM AND SALAMIS--DIDO AND AENEAS--STEAM--DON GARAY AND ROGER BACON--MELCHTHAL, FURST, AND WILLIAM TELL--GOING A-PLEASURING--UPSET VERSUS BLOWN UP--A DEAD CALM--THE LOG--WILLIS'S ARCHIPELAGO--THE ISLAND OF SOPHIA--THE BREAD FRUIT-TREE--NATIVES OF POLYNESIA--STRIPED TROWSERS--ABDUCTION OF WILLIS--IS HE TO BE ROASTED OR BOILED?--WHEN THE WINE IS POURED OUT, WE MUST DRINK IT. At the date of the events narrated in the preceeding chapter, comparatively little was known of Oceania, that is, of the islands and continents that are scattered about the Pacific Ocean. Most of them had been discovered, named, and marked correctly enough in the charts, but beyond this all was supposition, hypothesis, and mystery. The mighty empire of England in the east was then only in its infancy, Sutteeism and Thuggism were still rampant on the banks of the Ganges, but the power of the descendants of the Great Mogul was on the wane. California was only known as the hunting-ground of a savage race of wild Indians. The now rich and flourishing colonies of Australia were represented by the convict settlement of Sydney. The Dutch had asserted that the territory of New Holland was utterly uninhabitable, and this was still the belief of the civilized world; nor was it without considerable opposition on the part of _soi-disant_ philanthropists that the English government succeeded in establishing a prison depot on what at the time was considered the sole spot in that vast territory susceptible of cultivation. At the present time, these formerly-despised regions send _one hundred tons of pure gold_ to England. The political state of Europe itself had at this time assumed a singular aspect. Napoleon had made himself master of nearly all the continental states; Spain, Portugal, Belgium, Holland, and a part of Germany were at his feet; and, by the Peace of Tilsit, he had secured the coõperation of Alexander, Emperor of Russia, in his schemes to ruin the trade and commerce of Great Britain. England, by her opportune seizure of the Danish fleet, broke up the first great northern confederacy that was formed against her. This act, though much impugned by the politicians of the day, is now known not only to have been perfectly justifiable, but also highly creditable to the political foresight of Canning and Castlereagh, by whom it was suggested, to say nothing of the daring and boldness that Nelson displayed in executing the manoeuvre. When news of this event reached the Russian Emperor it threw him into a paroxysm of rage, and he declared war against England in violent language. He had the insolence to make peace with France the _sina qua non_ of his friendship. At the distance of nearly half a century, the actual language employed has a peculiar flavor. The emperor, after detailing his grievances, declares that henceforth there shall be no connection between the two countries, and calls on his Britannic Majesty to dismiss his ministers, and conclude a peace forthwith. The British Government replied to this by ordering Nelson to set sail forthwith for the mouth of the Neva. A bitter and scorching manifesto was at the time forwarded to the emperor. It accused him flatly of duplicity, and boldly defied him and all his legions. The whole document is well worthy of perusal in these lackadaisical times. It is dated Westminister, December 18, 1807. It sets forth anew the principles of maritime war, which England had then rigidly in force. Napoleon had declared the whole of the British Islands in a state of blockade. The British Government replied by blockading _de facto_ the whole of Europe. This was done by those celebrated orders in council, which, more than anything else, precipitated the downfall of Napoleon. They threw the trade of the world into the hands of England. Of course, Russia was deeply affected, so was Spain and all the other maritime states; and they were all, one way or another, in open hostility with this country. But England laughed all their threats to scorn; and in the whole history of the country, there was not a more brilliant period in her eventful history. She stood alone against the world in arms. Even the blusterings of the United States were unheeded, and in no degree disturbed her stern equanimity. She saw the road to victory, and resolved to pursue it. But England then had great statesmen, and, of them all, Lord Castlereagh was the greatest, although he served a Prince Regent who cared no more for England or the English people, than the Irish member, who, when reproached for selling his country, thanked God that he had a country to sell. At length the ill-will of the Americans resolved itself into open warfare, and the United States was numbered with the overt enemies of England. This resulted in British troops marching up to Washington and burning the Capitol, or Congress House, about the ears of the members who had stirred up the strife. Meanwhile, all the islands of France in the east and west had been taken possession of; the British flag waved on the Spanish island of Cuba, and in the no less valuable possessions of Holland, in Java. Everywhere on the ocean England held undisputed sway. This state of things gave rise to one great evil--the sea swarmed with cruisers and privateers, English, French, and American; so that no vessel, unless sailing under convoy, heavily armed, or a very swift sailer, but ran risk of capture. The _Mary_--for so Fritz now called the pinnace--had been ten days at sea, the wind had died away, and for some time scarcely a zephyr had ruffled the surface of the water, the sails were lazily flapping against the mast, and but for the currents, the voyagers would have been almost stationary. It may readily be supposed that, under such circumstances, their progress was somewhat slow, and, as Jack observed, to judge from their actual rate of sailing, they ought to have started when very young, in order to arrive at the termination of the voyage before they became bald-headed old men. They prayed for a breeze, a gale, or even a storm; their fresh water was beginning to get sour, and they reflected that, if the calm continued any length of time, their provisions would eventually run short, and the ordinary resource of eating one another would stare them in the face. Jack, being the youngest, would probably disappear first, next Fritz, then Willis would be left to eat himself, in order to avoid dying of hunger, just as the unfortunate Count Ugolino devoured his own children to save them from orphanage. As yet, however, there were no symptoms of such a dire disaster; they were in excellent health and tolerable spirits; they had provisions enough to last them for six months at least, and consequently had not as yet, at all events, the slightest occasion to manifest a tendency to anthropophagism. "I can understand the sea," remarked Jack, "as I understand the land and the sky; God created them, that is enough; but I cannot understand how a mighty river like the Nile or the Ganges can continue eternally discharging immense deluges of water into the sea without becoming exhausted. From what fathomless reservoirs do the Amazon and the Mississippi receive their endless torrents?" "The reservoirs of the greatest rivers," replied Fritz, "are nothing more than drops of water that fall from the crevice of some rock on or near the summit of a hill; these are collected together in a pool or hollow, from which they issue in the form of a slender rivulet. At first, the smallest pebble is sufficient to arrest the course of this thread of water; but it turns upon itself, gathers strength, finally surmounts the obstacle, dashes over it, unites itself with other rivulets, reaches the plain, scoops out a bed, and goes on, as you say, for ever emptying its waters into the sea." "Yes; but it is the source of these sources that I want to know the origin of. You speak of hills, whilst we know that water naturally, by reason of its weight and fluidity; seeks to secrete itself in the lowest beds of the earth." "It is scarcely necessary for me to observe that water may come down a hill, although it never goes up. Rain, snow, dew, and generally all the vapors that fall from the atmosphere, furnish the enormous masses of water that are constantly flowing into the sea. The vapor alone that is absorbed in the air from the sea is more than sufficient to feed all the rivers on the face of the earth. Mountains, by their formation, arrest these vapors, collect them in a hole here and in a cavern there, and permit them to filter by a million of threads from rock to rock, fertilizing the land and nourishing the rivers that intersect it. If, therefore, you were to suppress the Alps that rise between France and Italy, you would, at the same time, extinguish the Rhone and the Po." "It would be a pity to do that," said Jack; "there was a time though when there were no Pyrenees." "That must have been, then, at a period prior to the formation of granite, which is esteemed the oldest of rocks." "No such thing," insisted Jack; "it was so late as 1713, when, by the peace of Utrecht, the crown of Spain was secured to the Duke of Anjou, grandson of Louis XIV." "Howsomever," remarked Willis, "all the mariners in the French fleet could not convince me that the Pyrenean mountains are only a hundred years old." "My brother is only speaking metaphorically," said Fritz; "when the crown of Spain was assigned to the Duke of Anjou, his grandfather said--_Qu il n'y avait plus de Pyrénées_. He meant by that simply, that France and Spain being governed by the same prince, the moral barrier between them existed no longer. The formidable mountains still stood for all that, and he who removes them would certainly be possessed of extraordinary power." "I am always putting my foot in it," said Willis, "when the yarn is about the land; let us talk of the sea for a bit. Who built the first ship?" "Well," replied Fritz, "I should say that the first ship was the ark." "Whence we may infer," added Jack, "that Noah was the first admiral." "We learn from the Scriptures," continued Fritz, "that the first navigators were the children of Noah, and it appears from profane history that the earliest attempts at navigation were manifested near where the ark rested; consequently, we may fairly presume that the art of ship-building arose from the traditions of the deluge and the ark." "In that case, the art in question dates very far back." "Yes, since it dates from 2348 years before the birth of Christ; but the human race degenerated, the traditions were forgotten, and navigation was confined to planks, rafts, bark canoes, or the trunk of a tree hollowed out by fire." "That is the sort of craft used by the inhabitants of Polynesia at the present day," remarked Willis. "It appears, however, by the Book of Job, that pirates existed in those days, and that they went to sea in ships and captured merchantmen, which proves, to a certain extent, that there were merchantmen to conquer. We know also that David and Solomon equipped large fleets, and even fought battles on sea." "Whether an ancient or modern, a Jew or a Gentile," said Willis, "he must have been a brave fellow who launched the first ship, and risked himself and his goods at sea in it." "True," continued Fritz; "but when once the equilibrium of a floating body was known, there would be no longer any risk; as soon as it came to be understood that any solid body would float if it were lighter than its bulk of water, the matter was simple enough." "Very good," interrupted Jack; "but the words 'when' and 'as soon as' imply a great deal; _when_, or _as soon as_, we know anything, the mystery of course disappears. But before! there is the difficulty. Particles of water do not cohere--how is it, then, that a ship of war, that often weighs two millions of pounds, does not sink through them, and go to the bottom? Individuals, like myself for example, who are not members of a learned society, may be pardoned for not knowing how water bears the weight of a seventy-four." "The seventy-four would, most undoubtedly, sink if it were heavier than the weight of water it displaced; but this is not the case; wood is generally lighter than water." "The wood, yes; but the cannon, the cargo, and the crew?" "You forget the cabooses, the cockpits, and the cabins, that do not weigh anything. Allowing for everything, the weight of a ship, cargo and all, is much lighter than its bulk of water, and consequently it cannot sink." "But how is it, then, that the immense bulk of a seventy-four moves so easily in the water? One would think that its prodigious weight would make it stick fast, and continue immoveable." "When the seventy-four in question has displaced its weight of water, its own weight is substituted for the water, and is in consequence virtually annihilated; it does not, in point of fact, weigh anything at all, and therefore is easily impelled by the wind." "When there is any, understood," added Jack. "And a yard or so of canvas," suggested Willis. "True," continued Fritz, "a sail or two would be very desirable; these instruments of propulsion do not appear, however, to have been used by the ancients. We first hear of a sail being employed at the time when Isis went in search of her husband Osiris, who was killed by his brother Typhon, and whose quarters were scattered in the Nile. This lady, it seems, took off the veil that covered her head, and fastened it to an upright shaft stuck in the middle of the boat, and, much to her astonishment, it impelled her onwards at a marvellous speed." "A clever young woman that," said Willis; "but I doubt whether veils would answer the purpose on board a seventy-four, particularly as regards the mainsail and mizentops." "The Phoenicians were the most enterprising of the early navigators. They appeared to have sailed round Africa without a compass, for they embarked on the Red Sea and reappeared at the mouth of the Nile, and the compass was not invented till the fourteenth century." "And who was the inventor of the compass?" inquired Willis. "According to some authorities, it was invented by a Neapolitan named Jean Goya; according to others, the inventor was a certain Hugues de Bercy." "Then," said Jack, "you do not admit the claims of the Chinese and Hindoos, who assert priority in the discovery?" "I neither deny nor admit their claims, because I do not know the grounds upon which they are founded; like the invention of gunpowder and printing, the discovery of the compass has many rival claimants." "I am of opinion," said Jack, "that Guttenberg is entitled to the honor of discovering printing, and that Berthold Schwartz invented gunpowder." "Perhaps you are right; but there is scarcely any invention of importance that has not two or three names fastened to it as inventors; they stick to it like barnacles, and there is no way to shake any of them off. So, in the case of illustrious men, nations dispute the honor of giving them birth; there are six or seven towns in Asia Minor that claim to be the birth-place of Homer. National vanities justly desire to possess the largest amount of genius; hence, no sooner does anything useful make its appearance in the world, than half a dozen nations or individuals start up to claim it as their offspring. The wisest course, under such circumstances, is to side with the best accredited opinion, which I have done in the case of the compass." "It was no joke," said Willis, "to circumnavigate Africa without a compass." "You are quite right, Willis, if you judge the navigation of those days by the modern standard; but it is to be borne in mind that the ancients never lost sight of the coast. They steered from cape to promontory, and from promontory to cape, dropping their anchor every night and remaining well in-shore till morning. If by accident they were driven out into the open sea, and the stars happened to be hidden by fog or clouds, they were lost beyond recovery, even though within a day's sail of a harbor; because, whilst supposing they were making for the coast, they might, in all probability, be steering in precisely the opposite direction." "It is certainly marvellous," said Jack, "that a piece of iron stuck upon a board should be a safe and sure guide to the mariner through the trackless ocean, even when the stars are enveloped in obscurity and darkness!" "It is a symbol of faith," remarked Willis, "that supplies the doubts and incertitudes of reason." "As for the ships, or rather galleys, of the ancients," continued Fritz, "with the exception of the ambitious fleets of the Greeks and Romans that fought at Salamis and Actium, one of the modern ships of war could sweep them all out of the sea with its rudder." "Yes," said Jack, "at the period of which you speak, the ancients possessed a great advantage over us. The winds in those days were personages, and were very well known; they were called Aeolus, Boreas, and so forth. They were to be found in caves or islands, and, if treated with civility, were remarkably condescending. Queen Dido, through one of these potentates, obtained contrary winds, to prevent Aeneas from leaving her." "By the way," said Willis, "there is, or at least was, in one of the Scottish rivers, a ship without either oars or sails." "Yes, very likely; but it did not move." "It did though, and, what is more, against both wind and tide." "I wish we had your wonderful ship here just now, it is just the thing to suit us under present circumstances," said Jack. "So it would, Master Jack, for it sails against currents, up rivers, and the crew care no more about the wind than I do about the color of the clouds when I am lighting my pipe." "You don't happen to mean that the _Flying Dutchman_ has appeared on the Scotch coast, do you, Willis?" "Not a bit of it, I mean just exactly what I say. It is a real ship, with a real stern and a real figure-head, but manned by blacksmiths instead of mariners." "Well, but how does it move? Does somebody go behind and push it, or is it dragged in front by sea-horses and water-kelpies?" "No, it moves by steam." "But how?" "Aye, there lies the mystery. The affair has often been discussed by us sailors on board ship; some have suggested one way and some another." "Neither of which throws much light on the subject," observed Jack; "at least, in so far as we are concerned." "All I can tell you," said Willis, "is, that the steam is obtained by boiling water in a large cauldron, and that the power so obtained is very powerful." "That it certainly is, if it could be controlled, for steam occupies seventeen or eighteen hundred times the space of the water in its liquid state; but then, if the vessel that contains the boiling water has no outlet, the steam will burst it." "It appears that it can be prevented doing that, though," replied Willis, "even though additional heat be applied to the vapor itself." "By heating the steam, the vapor may acquire a volume forty thousand times greater than that of the water; all that is well known; but as soon as it comes in contact with the air, nothing is left of it but a cloud, which collapses again into a few drops of water." "That may be all very true, Master Fritz, if the steam were allowed to escape into the air; but it is only permitted to do that after it has done duty on board ship. It appears that steam is very elastic, and may be compressed like India-rubber, but has a tendency to resist the pressure and set itself free. Imagine, for example, a headstrong young man, for a long time kept in restraint by parental control, suddenly let loose, and allowed scope to follow the bent of his own inclinations." "Very good, Willis; for argument's sake, let us take your headstrong young man, or rather the steam, for granted, and let us admit that it is as elastic as ever you please--but what then?" "Then you must imagine a piston in a cylinder, forced upwards when the steam is heated, and falling downwards when the steam is cooled. Next fancy this upward and downward motion regulated by a number of wheels and cranks that turn two wheels on each side of the ship, keeping up a constant jangling and clanking, the wheels or paddles splashing in the water, and then you may form a slight idea of the thing." "Oh!" cried Jack, "we invented a machine of that kind for our canoe, with a turnspit. Do you recollect it, Fritz?" "Yes, I recollect it well enough; and I also recollect that the canoe went much better without than with it." "You spoke just now," continued Willis, "of rival nations, who pounce like birds of prey upon every new invention; and so it is with the steamship. An American, named Fulton, made a trial in the Hudson with one in 1807--that is about five years ago--and I believe the Yankees, in consequence, are laying claim to the invention." "Now that you bring the thing to my recollection," said Fritz, "the idea of applying steam in the arts is by no means new, although, I must candidly admit, I never heard of it being used in propelling ships before. The Spaniards assert that a captain of one of their vessels, named Don Blas de Garay, discovered, as early as the sixteenth century, the art of making steam a motive power." "I don't believe that," said Jack. "Why?" "Because a real Spaniard has never less than thirty-six words in his name. If you had said that the steam engine was discovered by Don Pedrillo y Alvares y Toledo y Concha y Alonzo y Martinez y Xacarillo, or something of that sort, then I could believe the man to have been a genuine Spaniard, but not otherwise." "Spaniard or no Spaniard, the Spanish claim the discovery of steam through Don Blas; the Italians likewise claim the discovery for a mechanician, named Bianca; the Germans assign its discovery to Solomon de Causs; the French urge Denis Papin; and the English claim the invention for Roger Bacon." "You have forgotten the Swiss," said Jack. "The Swiss," replied Fritz, with an air of dignity, "put forward no candidate: steam and vapor and smoke are not much in their line. They discovered something infinitely better--the world is indebted to them for the invention of liberty. I mean rational, intelligent, and true liberty--not the savagery and mob tyranny of red republicanism. The three discoverers of this noble invention were Melchthal, Furst, and William Tell." "You can have no idea," continued Willis, "of the stir that steam was creating in Europe the last time I was there. Of course there were plenty of incredulous people who said that it was no good; that it would never be of any use; and that if it were, it would not pay for the fuel consumed. On the other hand, the enthusiasts held that, eventually, it would be used for everything; that in the air we should have steam balloons; on the sea, steam ships, steam guns, and perhaps steam men to work them; that on land there would be steam coaches driven by steam horses. Journeys, say they, will be performed in no time, that is, as soon as you start for a place you arrive at it, just like an arrow, that no sooner leaves the bow than you see it stuck in the bull's eye." "In that case," observed Jack, "it will be necessary to do away with respiration, as well as horses." "A Londoner will be able to say to his wife, My dear, I am going to Birmingham to-day, but I will be back to dinner; and if a Parisian lights his cigar at Paris, it will burn till he arrives at Bordeaux." "Holloa, Willis, you have fairly converted Fritz and me into marines at last." "I am only speaking of what will be, not of what is--that makes all the difference you know. It is expected that there will be steam coaches on every turnpike-road; so that, instead of hiring a post-chaise, you will have to order a locomotive, and instead of postboys, you will to engage an engineer and stoker." "Then, instead of saying, Put the horses to," remarked Jack, "we shall have to say, Get the steam up." "Exactly; and when you go on a pleasure excursion, you will be whisked from one point to another without having time to see whether you pass through a desert or a flower-garden." "What, then, is to become of adventures by the way, road-side inns, and banditti?" "All to be suppressed." "So it appears," said Jack; "men are to be carried about from place to place like flocks of sheep; perhaps they will invent steam dogs as well to run after stragglers, and bring them into the fold by the calf of the leg. Your new mode of going a-pleasuring may be a very excellent thing in its way, Willis; but it would not suit my taste." "Probably not; nor mine either, for the matter of that, Master Jack." "At all events," said Fritz, "you would run no danger of being upset on the road." "No; but, by way of compensation, you may be blown up." "True, I forgot that." "This conversation has carried us along another knot," said Jack, opening the log, which he had been appointed to keep; "and now, by your leave, I will read over some of my entries to refresh your memories as to our proceedings. "March 9th.--Wind fair and fresh--steered to north-west--a flock of seals under our lee bow--feel rather squeamish. "10th.--No wind--fall in with a largish island and four little ones, give them the name of Willis's Archipelago. "11th.--A dead calm--sea smooth as a mirror--all of us dull and sleepy. "12th.--Heat 90 deg.--shot a boobie, roasted and ate him, rather fishy--passed the night amongst some reefs. "13th.--Same as the 12th, but no boobie. "14th.--Same as the 13th. "Dreadfully tiresome, is it not," said Jack; "no wonder they call this ocean the Pacific." "Alas!" sighed Willis, thinking of the _Nelson_, "it does not always justify the name." "15th.--Hailed a low island, surrounded with breakers, named it Sophia's Island." "But all these islands have been named half a dozen times already," said Willis. "Oh, never mind that, another name or two will not break their backs." "16th.--Current bearing us rapidly to westward--caught a sea cow, and had it converted into pemican. "17th.--Shot another boobie, which we put in the pot to remind us that we were no worse off than the subjects of Henry IV. No wind--sea blazing like a furnace." "You will have to turn over a new leaf in your log by-and-by," said Willis, "or I am very much mistaken." "Well, I hope you are not mistaken, Willis, for I am tired of this sort of thing." A red haze now began to shroud the sun, the heat of the air became almost stifling, but the muffled roar of distant thunder and bright flashes of light warned the voyagers to prepare for a change. Willis reefed the canvas close to the mast, and suggested that everything likely to spoil should be put under hatches. This was scarcely done before the storm had reached them, and they were soon in the midst of a tropical deluge. At first, a light breeze sprung up, blowing towards the south-east, which continued till midnight, when it chopped round. Towards morning, it blew a heavy gale from east to east-south-east, with a heavy sea running. In the meantime, the pinnace labored heavily, and several seas broke over her. Willis now saw that their only chance of safety lay in altering their course. All the canvas was already braced up except the jib, which was necessary to give the craft headway, and with this sail alone they were soon after speeding at a rapid rate in the direction of the Polynesian Islands. The gale continued almost without intermission for three weeks, during which period Willis considered they must have been driven some hundreds, of miles to the north-west. The gale at length ceased, the sea resumed its tranquility, and the wind became favorable. The pinnace had, however, been a good deal battered by the storm, and their fresh water was getting low, and it was decided they should still keep a westerly course till they reached an island where they could refit before resuming their voyage. "The gale has not done us much good," said Jack, sadly; "if it had blown the other way, we might have been in the Indian Ocean by this time." "Cheer up," said Willis, taking the glass from his eye, "I see land about three miles to leeward, and the landing appears easy." "But the savages?" inquired Jack. "The islands of this latitude are not all inhabited," replied Fritz; "besides, under our present circumstances, we have no alternative but to take our chance with them." "Well, I do not know that," objected Jack; "it would be better for us to do without fresh water than to run the risk of being eaten." "What a beautiful coast!" cried Willis, who still kept the telescope at his eye. "Near the shore the land is flat, and appears cultivated; but behind, it rises gradually, and is closed in with a range of hills, covered with trees. There is a beautiful bay in front of us, which appears to invite us ashore. But the place is inhabited; the shore is strewn with huts, and I can see clumps of the bread-fruit tree growing near them." "What sort of vegetable is the bread-fruit?" inquired Fritz. "It is a very excellent thing, and supplies the natives with bread without the intervention of grain, flour-mills, or bakers. It can be eaten either raw, or baked, or boiled; either way, it is palatable. The tree itself is like our apple trees; but the fruit is as large as a pine-apple--when it is ripe, it is yellow and soft. The natives, however, generally gather it before it is ripe; it is then cooked in an oven; the skin is burnt or peeled off--the inside is tender and white, like the crumb of bread or the flour of the potato." "Let me have the telescope an instant," said Fritz; "I should like to see what the natives are like. Ah, I see a troop of them collecting on shore; some of them seem to be covered with a kind of wrought-steel armor." "Perhaps the descendants of the Crusaders," remarked Jack, "returning from the Holy Land by way of the Pacific Ocean!" "Others wear striped pantaloons," continued Fritz. "That is to say," observed Willis, "the whole lot of them are as naked as posts. What you suppose to be cuirasses and pantaloons, are their tabooed breasts and legs." "Are you sure of that, Willis?" "Not a doubt about it." "Such garments are both durable and economical," remarked Jack; "but I scarcely think they are suitable for stormy weather. But do you think it is safe to land amongst such a set of barebacked rascals, Willis?" "I should not like to take the responsibility of guaranteeing our safety; but I do not see what other course we can adopt." They had now approached within musket-shot of the shore. They could see that a venerable-looking old man stood a few paces in front of the group of natives. He held a green branch in one hand, and pressed with the other a long flowing white beard to his breast. "According to universal grammar," said Jack, "these signs should mean peace and amity." "Yes," replied the Pilot; "the more so that the rear-guard are pouring water on their heads, which is the greatest mark of courtesy the natives of Polynesia can show to strangers." "Gentlemen," cried Jack, taking off his cap and making a low bow, "we are your most obedient servants." "We must be on our guard," said Willis; "these savages are very deceitful, and sometimes let fly their arrows under a show of friendship. I will go on shore alone, whilst you keep at a little distance off, ready to fire to cover my retreat, if need be." The young men objected to Willis incurring danger that they did not share; but on this point Willis was inexorable, so they were obliged to suffer him to depart alone. By good chance, they had shipped a small cask of glass beads on board the pinnace. The Pilot took a few of these with him, and, placing a cask and a couple of calabashes in the canoe, he rowed ashore. The natives were evidently in great commotion; there was an immense amount of running backwards and forwards. Something important was, obviously enough, going forward; but, whether the excitement was caused by curiosity or admiration, it was hard to say. They might be preparing a friendly reception for the stranger, or they might be preparing to eat him--which of the two was an interesting question that Willis did not care about probing too deeply at that particular moment. Fritz and Jack anxiously watched the operations of the natives from the bay. They could not with safety abandon the pinnace; but to leave Willis to the mercy of the sinister-looking people on shore was not to be thought of either. The _Mary_ was, therefore, run in as close as possible, and Jack leaped on the sands a few minutes after the Pilot. Willis marched boldly on towards the natives, and when he arrived beside the old man, the crowd opened up and formed an avenue through which a chief advanced, followed by a number of men, seemingly priests, who carried a grotesque-looking figure that Jack presumed to be an idol. The figure was made up of wicker-work--was of colossal height--the features, which represented nothing on earth beneath nor heaven above, were inconceivably hideous--the eyes were discs of mother-of-pearl, with a nut in the centre--the teeth were apparently those of a shark, and the body was covered with a mantle of red feathers. At the command of the chief, some of the natives advanced and placed a quantity of bananas, bread-fruits, and other vegetables at the Pilot's feet; the priests then came forward and knelt down before him, and seemed to worship after the fashion of the ancients when they paid their devotions to the Eleusinian goddess, or the statue of Apollo. Meanwhile, Jack, on his side, was likewise surrounded by the natives, who was treated with much less ceremony than Willis. Instead of falling down on their knees, each of them, one after the other, rubbed their noses against his, and then danced round him with every demonstration of savage joy. Jack had now an opportunity of observing the personages about him more in detail. They were mostly tall and well-formed; their features bore some resemblance to those of a negro, their nose being flat and their lips thick; on the other hand, they had the high cheek-bones of the North American Indian and the forehead of the Malay. Nearly all of them were entirely naked, but wore a necklace and bracelets of shells. They were armed with a sort of spear and an axe of hard wood edged with stone. Their skins were tattooed all over with lines and circles, and painted; these decorations, in some instances, exhibiting careful execution and no inconsiderable degree of artistic skill. These observations made, Jack pushed his way to the spot where Willis was receiving the homage of the priests. "What! you here?" said the Pilot. "Yes, Willis, I have come to see what detained you. By the way, is there anything the matter with my nose?" "Nothing that I can see; but the natives of New Zealand rub their noses against each other, and probably the same usage is fashion here." "Why, then, do they make you an exception?" "I have not the remotest idea." The priests at length rose, and the chief advanced. This dignitary addressed a long discourse to Willis in a sing-song tone, which lasted nearly half an hour. After this, he stood aside, and looked at Willis, as if he expected a reply. "Illustrious chief, king, prince, or nabob," said Willis, "I am highly flattered by all the fine things you have just said to me. It is true, I have not understood a single word, but the fruits you have placed before me speak a language that I can understand. Howsomever, most mighty potentate, we are not in want of provisions; but if you can show us a spring of good water, you will confer upon us an everlasting favor." "You might just as well ask him to show you what o'clock it is by the dial of his cathedral," said Jack. "They would only point to the sun if I did." "But suppose the sun invisible." "Then they would be in the same position as we are when we forget to wind up our watches. Gentlemen savages," he said, turning to the natives and handing them the glass beads, "accept these trifles as a token of our esteem." The natives required no pressing, but accepted the proffered gifts with great good-will. The dancing and singing then recommenced with redoubled fury, and poor Jack's nose was almost obliterated by the constant rubbing it underwent. Suddenly the hubbub ceased, and a profound silence reigned throughout the assembly. The oldest of the priests brought a mantle of red feathers, similar to the one that covered the idol. This was thrown over the Pilot's shoulders; a tuft of feathers, something resembling a funeral plume, was placed upon his head, and a large semi-circular fan was thrust into his hand. Thus equipped, a procession was formed, one half before and the other half behind him. The _cortége_ began to move slowly in the direction of the interior, but the operation was disconcerted by Willis, who remained stock-still. "Thank you," he said, "I would rather not go far away from the shore." As soon as the natives saw clearly that Willis was not disposed to move, the chief issued a mandate, and four stout fellows immediately removed the idol from its position, and Willis was placed upon the vacant pedestal. The kind of adoration with which all these proceedings were accompanied greatly perplexed the voyagers. What could it all mean? Was this a common mode of welcoming strangers? It occurred to Jack that the Romans were accustomed to decorate with flowers the victims they designed as sacrifices to the altars of their gods before immolating them. This reminiscence made his flesh creep with horror, and filled him with the utmost dismay. "Willis!" he cried to the Pilot, whom they were now leading off in triumph, "let us try the effects of our rifles on this rabble; you jump over the heads of your worshippers, and we will charge through them to shore. I will shoot the first man that pursues us, and signal Fritz to discharge the four-pounder amongst them." "Impossible," replied Willis; "we should both be stuck all over with arrows and lances before we could reach the pinnace. Did I not tell you not to come ashore?" "True, Willis, but did you suppose I had no heart? How could I look on quietly whilst you were surrounded by a mob of ferocious-looking men?" "Well, well, Master Jack, say no more about it; I do not suppose they mean to do me any harm; but there would be danger in rousing the passions of such a multitude of people. They seem, luckily, to direct their attentions exclusively to me, so you had better go back and look after the canoe." "No; I shall follow you wherever you go, Willis, even into the soup-kettles of the wretches." "In that case," said Willis, "the wine is poured out, and, such as it is, we must drink it." CHAPTER XX. JUPITER TONANS--THE THUNDERS OF THE PILOT--WORSHIPPERS OF THE FAR WEST--A LATE BREAKFAST--RONO THE GREAT--A POLYNESIAN LEGEND--MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF OCEANIA--MR. AND MRS. TAMAIDI--REGAL POMP--ELBOW ROOM--KATZENMUSIK--QUEEN TONICO AND THE SHAVING GLASS--CONSEQUENCES OF A PINCH OF SNUFF--DISGRACE OF THE GREAT RONO--MARIUS--CORIOLANUS--HANNIBAL--ALCIBIADES--CIMON--ARISTIDES--A SOP FOR THE THIRSTY--AIR SOMETHING ELSE BESIDES OXYGEN AND HYDROGEN--MARYLAND AND WHITECHAPEL--HALF-WAY UP THE CORDILLERAS--HUMAN MACHINES--STAR OF THE SEA, PRAY FOR US! Was he on his way to the Capitol or to the Gemoniae? The solution of this question became, for the moment, of greater importance to Willis than the "to be or not to be" of Hamlet to the State of Denmark. This incertitude was all the more painful, that it was accompanied by myriads of insects, created by the recent rains; these swarmed in the air to such an extent, that it was utterly impossible to inhale the one without swallowing the other. The sailor, notwithstanding his elevated and somewhat perilous position, true to his instincts and tormented by the flies, took out his pipe, filled it, and struck a light. As soon as the first column of smoke issued from his mouth, the cavalcade halted spontaneously, the natives fell on their faces, their noses touching the ground, and in an attitude of the profoundest fear and apprehension. Jupiter thundering never created such a sensation as Willis smoking. The savages seemed glued to the earth with terror. If the Pilot had thought it advisable to escape, he might have walked over the prostrate bodies of his captors, not one of whom would have been bold enough to follow what appeared to be a human volcano, vomiting fire and smoke,--the fire of course being understood. Willis, however, now saw that he possessed in his pipe a ready means of awing them. Besides, it was clear that, through some fortunate coincidence, the natives had mistaken him for a divinity. There was, consequently, no immediate danger to be apprehended; he therefore became himself again, and began to enjoy the novelty of his new dignity. It was certainly a curious contrast. Willis, seated on a sort of throne, crowned with a waving plume of feathers, shrouded in a fiery mantle, and surrounded by a crowd of prostrate figures, was quietly puffing ribbons of smoke from the tips of his lips. There he sat, for all the world like a crane in a duck-pond. From time to time the more daring of the worshippers slightly raised their heads to see whether Jupiter was still thundering; but when their eye caught a whiff of smoke, they speedily resumed their former posture. Some of them even thrust their heads into holes, or behind stones, as if more effectually to shelter themselves from the fury of the fiery furnace. At last the eruption ceased, Willis knocked the ashes out of his pipe, replaced it in his pocket, and the convoy resumed its route. After half an hour's march, the procession halted near a clump of plantains, in front of a structure more ambitious than any of those in the neighborhood. A female, laden with rude ornaments, was standing at the door. This lady, who rivalled the celebrated Daniel Lambert in dimensions, would have created quite a _furore_ at Bartholomew Fair; according to Jack, she was so amazingly fat, that it would have taken full five minutes to walk round her. She took the Pilot respectfully by the hand, and led him into the interior of the building, which was crowded with images of various forms, and was evidently a temple. Willis, at a sign from his conductress, seated himself in a chair, raised on a dais, and surmounted by a terrific figure similar to the one already described, but draped in white feathers instead of red. The fat lady, or rather the high priestess--for she was the reigning potentate in this magazine of idols--took a sucking pig that was held by one of the priests. After muttering a prayer or homily of some sort, she strangled the poor animal, and returned it to the priest. By and by, the pig was brought in again cooked, and presented with great ceremony to Willis. There were likewise sundry dishes of fruit, nuts, and several small cups containing some kind of liquid. One of the priests cut up the pig, and lifted pieces of it to Willis's mouth; these, however, he refused to eat. The fat priestess, observing this, chewed one or two mouthfuls, which she afterwards handed to the Pilot. This was putting the sailor's gallantry to rather a rude test. He was equal to the emergency, and did not refuse the offering. But he must have felt at the time, that being a divinity was not entirely without its attendant inconveniences. Nor was this the only infliction of the kind he was doomed to withstand. One of the priests took up a piece of kava-root, put it into his mouth, chewed it, and then dropped a bit into each of the cups already noticed. One of these, containing this nectar, was presented to Willis by the fat Hebe who presided at the feast, and he had the fortitude to taste it. Another of the cups was handed to Jack. "No, I thank you," said he, shaking his head; "I breakfasted rather late this morning." Meantime, another personage had entered upon the scene. After having performed an obeisance to Willis like the rest, this individual backed himself to where Jack was standing, by this means adroitly avoiding both the kava and the nose-rubbings. He was distinguished from the other natives by an ornament round his waist, which fell to his knees. His skin seemed a trifle less dark, his features less marked; but his body was tattooed and stained after the common fashion. The new comer turned out to be a Portuguese deserter, who had abandoned his ship twenty years before, and had married the daughter of a chief of the island on which he now was. At the present moment, he filled the part of prime minister to the king, an office be could not have held in his own ungrateful country, since he could neither read nor write. These accomplishments, it appeared, were not, however, absolutely indispensable in Polynesia. It has been found that when a savage is transferred to Europe, he readily acquires the habits of civilized life. By a similar adaptation of things to circumstances, this European had identified himself with the savages. He had adopted their manners, their customs, and their costume. When he thought of his own country, it was only to wonder why he ever submitted to the constraint of a coat, or put himself to the trouble of handling a fork and spoon. He had not, however, entirely forgotten his mother tongue, and, moreover, still retained in his memory a few English words. He was likewise very communicative, and told Jack that they were in the Island of Hawai; that the name of the king was Toubowrai Tamaidi, who, he added, intended visiting the pinnace with the queen next day, to pay his respects in person to the great Rono. "His Majesty," said the Portuguese, "would have been amongst the first to throw himself at his feet, but unfortunately the royal residence is a good way off; and though both the king and the queen are on the way, running as fast as they can, it may take them some time yet to reach the shore." "But who is the great Rono?" inquired Jack. "Well," replied the prime minister, "you ought to know best, since you arrived with him." Jack felt that he was touching on delicate ground, and saw that it was necessary to diplomatise a little. "True," said he; "but I am not acquainted with the position that illustrious person holds in relation to Hawai." The Portuguese then made a very long, rambling, and not very lucid statement, from which Jack gleaned the following details. About a hundred years before, during the reign of one of the first kings, there lived a great warrior, whose name was Rono. This chief was very popular, but he was very jealous. In a moment of anger he killed his wife, of whom he was passionately fond. The regret and grief that resulted from this act drove him out of his senses; he wandered disconsolately about the island, fought and quarrelled with every one that came near him. At last, in a fit of despair, he embarked in a large canoe, and, after promising to return at the expiration of twelve hundred moons, with a white face and on a floating island, he put out to sea, and was never heard of more. This tradition, it appears, had been piously handed down from family to family. The natives of Hawai--who are not more extravagant in the matter of idols than some nations who boast a larger amount of civilization, but who do not destroy them so often--enrolled Rono amongst the list of their divinities. An image of him was set up, sacrifices were instituted in his honor. Every year the day of his departure was kept sacred, and devoted to religious ceremonies. The twelfth hundred moon had just set, when a large boat appeared in the bay, and a man came ashore. The high priest of the temple, Raou, and his daughter, On La, priestess of Rono, solemnly declared that the man in question was Rono himself, who had returned at the precise time named, and in the manner he promised. It was, therefore, clear from this statement that Willis was to be henceforward Rono the Great. Jack was rather pleased than otherwise to learn that he was the companion of a real live divinity. It assured him, in the first place, that the danger of his being converted into a stew or a fricassee was not imminent. He did not forget, however, that the consequences might be perilous if, by any chance, the illusion ceased; for he knew that the greater the height from which a man falls, the less the mercy shown to him when he is down. As soon, therefore, as the ceremonies had a little relaxed, and Willis was left some freedom of action, Jack went forward, and knelt before him in his turn. "O sublime Rono," said he, "I know now why your nose has escaped all the rubbings that mine has had to undergo." "Do you?" said Willis; "glad to hear it, for I am as much in the dark as ever." Jack then related to him the fabulous legend he had just heard. After a while, Willis shook off his _entourage_ as gently as possible, and succeeded in getting out of the temple. Accompanied by Jack, he proceeded towards the shore, receiving, as he went, the adoration of the people. The route was strewn with fruit, cocoa-nuts, and pigs, and the natives were highly delighted when any of their offerings were accepted by the deified Rono. The islanders appeared mild, docile, and intelligent, notwithstanding the singular delusion that possessed them. Living from day to day, they were, doubtless, ignorant of those continual cares and calculations for the future that in the old world pursue us even into the hours of sleep. Were they happier in consequence? Yes, if the child is happier than the man, and if we admit that we often loose in tranquillity and happiness what we gain in knowledge and perfection: yes, if happiness is not exclusively attached to certain peoples and certain climates; yes, if it is true that, with contentment, happiness is everywhere to be found. The houses of the Hawaians are singular structures, and scarcely can be called dwellings. They consist of three rows of posts, two on each side and one in the middle, the whole covered with a slanting roof, but without any kind of wall whatever. They do not bury their dead, but swing them up in a sort of hammock, abundantly supplied with provisions. It is supposed that this is done with a view to enable the souls of the departed to take their flight more readily to heaven. The practice, consequently, seems to indicate that the natives possess a confused idea of a future state. When a child dies, flowers are placed in the hammock along with the provisions--a touch of the nature common to us all. They express deep grief by inflicting wounds upon their faces with a shark's tooth; and, when they feel themselves in danger of dying, they cut off a joint of the little finger to appease the anger of the Divinity. There was scarcely one of the adult islanders who was not mutilated in this way. Though the worshippers of the great Rono appeared gentle and peaceable enough, there were to be seen here and there a human jaw-bone, seemingly fresh, with the teeth entire, suspended over the entrances to the huts. These ghastly objects sent a shudder quivering through Jack's frame, and made Willis aware that it would not be advisable rashly to throw off his sacred character. As it was now late, and as they knew that Fritz would be uneasy about them, they put off laying in their stock of water till next day. Jack told the prime minister that the great Rono would be prepared to receive their majesties whenever they chose to visit him. This done, Willis and his companion seated themselves in the canoe, and rowed out to the pinnace. "God be thanked, you have returned in safety!" cried Fritz; "I never was so uneasy in the whole course of my life." "Well, brother, we have not been without our anxieties as well, and had we not happened to have had a divinity amongst us, we might not have come off scathless." Jack then related their adventures, which gradually brought a smile to the pale lips of Fritz. "But the water?" inquired Fritz, after he had heard the story. "Oh, water; they offered us something to drink on shore that will prevent us being thirsty for a month to come, but we shall see to that to-morrow." Towards dark, some fireworks were discharged on board the pinnace, by way of demonstrating that Willis's pipe was not the only fiery terror the great Rono had at his command. Early next morning a flotilla of canoes were observed rounding one of the points that formed the bay. The one in advance was larger than the others, and was evidently the trunk of a large tree hollowed out. Jack's new friend, the Portuguese, hailed the pinnace, and announced the King and Queen of Hawai, who thereupon scrambled into the pinnace. His majesty King Toubowrai had probably felt it incumbent upon himself to do honor to the illustrious Rono, for he wore an old uniform coat, very likely the produce of a wreck, through the sleeves of which the angular knobs of his copper-colored elbows projected. He did not seem very much at his ease in this garment, which contrasted oddly with the tight-fitting tattooed skin that served him for pantaloons. His wife, Queen Tonico, princess-like was half stifled in a thick blanket or mat of cocoa-nut fibre. Her ears were heavily laden with teeth and ornaments of various kinds, made out of bone, mother of pearl, and tortoise-shell. Her nails were two or three inches long; and, to judge by the number of finger-joints that were wanting, she was either troubled with delicate nerves, or was slightly hypochondriac. The royal pair were accompanied by a band of music: fortunately, this remained in the regal barge. It consisted of a flute with four holes, a nondescript instrument, seemingly made of stones; a drum made out of the hollow trunk of a tree, covered at each end with skin, of what kind it is needless to inquire. The sounds emitted by this orchestra were of an ear-rending nature, and of a kind graphically termed by the Germans Katzenmusik. "Illustrious Rono," cried Jack, "for goodness sake, tell these gentlemen you are not a lover of sweet sounds." "Belay there!" roared Willis. This command, however, had no effect; the artists continued thumping and blowing away as before. Willis, thinking to make himself better heard, placed his hands on his mouth, and roared the same order through them. This action seemed to be received as a mark of approbation, for the noise became absolutely terrific. "No use," said Willis: "I can make nothing of them. You try what you can do." "Very good," said Jack, lighting what is technically termed an _artichoke_, but better known as a zig-zag cracker; "if they do not understand English, perhaps they may comprehend pyrotechnics." The artichoke was thrown into the royal barge. At first there was only a slight whiz, finally it gave an angry bound and leaped into the midst of the musicians. Startled, they tried to get out of its way; but they were no sooner at what they thought to be a safe distance, than the thing was amongst them again. Their majesties, who were just then engaged in kissing the Rono's feet, started up in alarm; but when they saw the danger did not menace themselves, they burst into a hearty laugh at the antics of their suite. This episode over, and the orchestra silenced, the Sovereign of Hawai proceeded to inspect the pinnace. He expressed his delight every now and then by uttering the syllables "_ta-ta_." Fritz handed one of those shaving glasses to the Queen that lengthen the objects they reflect. This astonished her Majesty vastly, and caused her to _ta-ta_ at a great rate. She looked behind the mirror, turned it upside down, and at last, when she felt assured that it was the royal person it caricatured, she commenced measuring her cheeks to account for the extraordinary disproportion. They next all sat down to a repast that was spread on deck. Their Majesties observing Rono use a fork, did so likewise; but though they stuck a piece of meat on the end of it, and held it in one hand, they continued carrying the viands to their mouths with the other. At the conclusion of the feast, Willis took a pinch of snuff out of a canister. Their Majesties insisted upon doing so likewise. Willis handed them the canister, and they filled their noses with the treacherous powder. Then followed a duet of sneezing, accompanied with facial contortions. The royal personages thinking, probably, that they were poisoned, leaped into the sea like a couple of frogs, and swam to the royal barge. "Holloa, sire," cried Jack, "where are you off to?" This was answered by the barge paddling away rapidly towards land. Hitherto, the whole affair had been a farce; but now the natives, who had collected in great numbers along the shore, seeing their king and queen leap into the water with a terrified air, supposed that an attempt had been made to cut short their royal lives, and, under this impression, discharged a cloud of arrows at the pinnace, and matters began to assume a serious aspect. "What!" exclaimed Jack, "shooting at the great Rono!" "That," said Fritz, "only proves they are men like ourselves. He who is covered with incense one day, is very often immolated the next." "And that simply because Rono treated Mr. and Mrs. What's-their-names to a pinch of snuff. Serve them right to discharge the contents of the four-pounder amongst them." "No, no," cried Willis; "the worthy people are, perhaps, fond of their king and queen." "Worthy people or not," said Fritz, drawing out an arrow that had sunk into the capstan, "it is very likely that if this dart had hit one of us, there would only have been two instead of three in the crew of the pinnace." "Well," said Willis, "Master Jack thought the voyage rather dull; now something has turned up to relieve the monotony of his log." "We are still without fresh water though, Willis; I wish you could say that had turned up as well." "It will be prudent to go in search of that somewhere else now," said Willis, unfurling the sails. "Fortunately the wind is fresh, and we can make considerable headway before night." As they steered gently out of the bay a second cloud of arrows was sent after them, but this time they fell short. "The belief in Rono is about to be seriously compromised," remarked Fritz; "I should advise the priestess to retire into private life." "Impossible." "Why?" "Because she is too fat to live in an ordinary house, she could only breathe in a temple. But, O human vicissitudes!" added Jack, rolling himself up in a sail after the manner of the Roman senators; "behold Rono the Great banished from his country, and compelled to go and pillow his head on a foreign sail, like Marius at Minturnus--like Coriolanus amongst the Volcians--like Hannibal at the house of Antiochus--like Alcibiades at the castle of Grunium in Phrygia, given to him out of charity by the benevolent Pharnabazus, and in which he was burnt alive by his countrymen--like Cimon, voted into exile by ballot and universal suffrage--like Aristides, whom the people got tired of hearing called the Just, and many others." "Who are all these personages?" inquired Willis. "They were worthies of another age," replied Fritz; "very excellent men in their way, and you are in no way dishonored by being numbered amongst them." "Yesterday," continued Jack, "an entire people were upon their knees before you; they offered up sacrifices, and poured out incense on their altars for you; fruit and pigs were scattered in heaps, like flowers, upon your path; the crowd were prostrated by the fumes of your pipe. To-day--alas, the change!--a cloud of arrows, and not a single glass of cold water!" "That gives you an opportunity of quenching your thirst with the nectar offered to you yesterday," said Fritz; "as for myself, I have no such resource." "Yes, that was a posset to quench one's thirst withal; I only wish I had a cupful to give you. I do not regret having had an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the people though. They have enabled me to rectify some erroneous notions I formerly entertained. If, for example, I were to ask you what air consists of? you would, no doubt, reply that is a compound body made of oxygen and hydrogen or azote, in the proportion of twenty-one of the one to seventy-nine of the other." "Yes, most undoubtedly." "Well, such is not the case; there are other elements in the air besides these." "If you mean that the air accidentally, or even permanently, holds in solution a certain quantity of water, or a portion of carbonic acid gas, and possibly some particles of dust arising from terrestrial bodies, then I grant your premises." "No; what I mean is, that the air of Hawai is composed of three distinct elements." "Possibly; but if so, the air in question is not known to chemists." "These three elements are oxygen, hydrogen, and insects." "Ah, insects! I might have fancied you were driving at some hypothesis of that sort." "I intend to communicate this discovery to the first learned society we fall in with." "In the Pacific Ocean?" "Yes: there or elsewhere." "I always understood," observed Willis, "that air was a sort of cloud, one and indivisible." "A cloud if you like, Willis; but do you know the weight of it you carry on your shoulders?" "Well, it cannot be very great, otherwise I should feel it." "What do you say to a ton or so, old fellow?" "If you wish me to believe that, you will have to explain how, where, when, why, and wherefore." "Very good. Willis; you have bathed sometimes?" "Yes, certainly." "In the sea?" "Yes." "Do you know what water weighs?" "No, but I know that it is heavy." "Well, a square yard of air weighs two pounds and a half, but a square yard of water weighs two thousand pounds. Now, can you calculate the weight of the water that is on your back and pressing on your sides when you swim?" "No, I cannot." "You are not sufficiently up in arithmetic to do that, Willis?" "No." "Nor am I either, Willis; but let me ask you how it is that the waves do not carry you along with them?" "Because one wave neutralises the effect of another." "Very good; but how is it that these ponderous waves, coming down upon you, do not crush you to atoms by their mere weight?" "Well, I suppose that liquids do not operate in the same way as solids: perhaps there is something in our bodies that counterbalances the effect of the water." "Very likely; and if such be the case as regards water, may it not be so also as regards air?" "But I do not feel air; whereas, if I go into water, I not only feel it, but taste it sometimes, and I cannot force my way through it without considerable exertion." "That is because you are organized to live in air and not in water. You ask the smallest sprat or sticklebake if it does not, in the same way feel the air obstruct its progress." "But would the stickleback answer me, Master Fritz?" "Why not, if it is polite and well bred?" "By the way, Willis," inquired Jack, "do you ever recollect having lived without breathing?" "Can't say I do." "Very well, then; had you felt the weight of the air at any given moment, it must have produced an impression you never felt before, but you have not, because circumstances have never varied. A sensation supposes a contrast, whilst, ever since you existed, you have always been subject to atmospheric pressure." "Ah, now I begin to get at the gist of your argument. You mean, for example, that I would never have appreciated the delicate flavor of Maryland or Havanna, had I not been accustomed to smoke the cabbage-leaf manufactured in Whitechapel." "Precisely so; and take for another example the farm of Antisana, which is situated about midway up the Cordilleras, mountains of South America. When travellers, arriving there from the summits which are covered with perpetual snow, meet others arriving from the plain where the heat is intense, those that descend are invariably bathed in perspiration, whilst those that have come up are shivering with cold and covered with furs. The reason of this is, that we cannot feel warm till we have been cold, and _vice versâ_." "Our bodies," resumed Fritz, "however much the thermometer descends, never mark less than thirty-five degrees above zero. In winter the skin shrinks, and becomes a bad conductor of heat from without; but, at the same time, does not allow so much gas and vapor to escape from within. In summer, on the contrary, the skin dilates and allows perspiration to form, a process that consumes a considerable amount of latent heat. Starting from this principle, it has been calculated that a man, breathing twenty times in a minute, generates as much heat in twenty-four hours as would boil a bucket of water taken at zero." "If means could be found," remarked Jack, "to furnish him with a boiler, by fixing a piston here and a pipe there man might be converted into one of the machines we were talking about the other day." "Were I disposed to philosophize," added Fritz, "I might prove to you that for a long time men have been little else than mere machines." Before night they had run about thirty miles further to the north-east, without seeing any thing beyond a formidable bluff, guarded by a fringe of breakers, that would soon have swallowed up the _Mary_ had she ventured to reach the land. It was necessary however to obtain fresh water at any price before they resumed their voyage. It was to be feared that all the islanders of the Pacific were not in expectation of a great Rono, consequently Willis suggested that it would be as well to search for an uninhabited spot. The only question was, how long they might have to search before they succeeded; for they knew that there were plenty of small islands in these latitudes unencumbered by savages, and furnished with pools and springs of water. Night at length closed in upon them, and with it came a dense mist, that enveloped the _Mary_ as if in a triple veil of muslin. "Willis," inquired Jack, "what difference is there between a mist and a cloud?" "None that I know of," replied the Pilot, "except that a cloud which we are in is mist, and mist that we are not in is a cloud. And now, my lads," he added, "you may turn in, for I intend to take the first watch." Before turning in, however, all three joined in a short prayer. The young men had not yet forgotten the pious precepts of their father. Prayer is beautiful everywhere, but nowhere is it so beautiful as on the open sea, with infinity above and an abyss beneath. Then, when all is silent save the roar of the waves and the howling of the winds, it is sublime to hear the humble voice of the sailor murmuring, "Star of the night, pray for us!" That night the star of the night did pray for the three voyagers, for the rays of the moon burst through the darkness and the mist, and fell upon a long line of reefs under the lee of the pinnace. Had they held on their course a few minutes longer, our story would have been ended. CHAPTER XXI. LYING TO--HEART AND INSTINCT--SPARROWS VIEWED AS CONSUMERS--MIGRATIONS--POSTING A LETTER IN THE PACIFIC--CANNIBALS--ADVENTURES OF A LOCKET. The glimpse of moonshine only lasted a second, but it was sufficient to light up the valley of the shadow of death. All around was again enveloped in obscurity. The moon, like a modest benefactor who hides himself from those to whose wants he has ministered, concealed itself behind its screen of blackness. The pinnace was thrown into stays, and they resolved to lie-to till daybreak. There might be rocks to windward as well as to leeward; at all events, they felt that their safest course lay in maintaining, as far as possible, their actual position; and, after having returned thanks for their almost miraculous escape, they made the usual arrangements for passing the night. Next morning they found themselves in the midst of a labyrinth of rocks, from which, with the help of Providence, they succeeded in extricating themselves. The rocks, or rather reefs, amongst which they were entangled, are very common in these seas. As they are scarcely visible at high water, they are extremely dangerous, and often baffle the skill of the most expert navigator. Whilst Willis steered the pinnace amongst the islands and rocks of the Hawaian Archipelago, Fritz kept a look-out for savages, fresh water, and eligible landing-places. And Jack, after having posted up his log, set about inditing a letter for home. "The voyage," said he, "has lately been so prolific in adventure, that I scarcely know where to begin." "Begin by saluting them all round," suggested Fritz. "But, brother of mine, that is usually done at the end of the letter," objected Jack. "What then? you can repeat the salutations at the end, and you might also, for that matter, put them in the middle as well." "I have written lots of letters on board ship for my comrades," remarked Willis, "and I invariably commenced by saying--_I take a pen in my hand to let you know I am well, hoping you are the same_." "What else could you take in your hand for such a purpose, O Rono?" inquired Jack. "Sometimes, after this preamble, I added, '_but I am afraid_.'" "I thought you old salts were never afraid of anything, short of the Flying Dutchman." "Yes; but the letters I put that in were for young lubbers, who, instead of sending home half their pay, were writing for extra supplies, and were naturally in great fear that their requests would be refused." "I scarcely think I shall adopt that style, Willis, even though it were recognized by the navy regulations." "Do you think the pigeon will find its way with the letter from here to New Switzerland?" inquired Willis. "I have no doubt about that," replied Fritz, "it naturally returns to its nest and its affections. If you had wings, would you not fly straight off in the direction of the Bass Rock or Ailsa Craig, to hunt up your old arm-chair?" "Don't speak of it; I feel my heart go pit-pat when I think of home, sweet home." "So do the birds. When they soften the grain before they throw it into the maw of their fledgelings--when they fly off and return laden with midges to their nests--when they tear the down from their breasts to protect their eggs and their young, do you think their hearts do not beat as well as yours?" "But all that is said to be instinct." "Heart or instinct, where is the difference? The Abbé Spallanzani saw two swallows that were carried to Milan return to Pavia in fifteen minutes, and the distance between the two cities is seven leagues." "That I can easily believe." "When you see a little, insignificant bird flying backwards and forwards, perching on one branch and hopping off to another, whistling, carolling, perching here and there, you think that it has no cares, that it does not reflect, and that it does not love!" "Well, I have heard in my time a great many wonderful stories of robin-redbreasts and jenny-wrens, but I always understood that they were intended only to amuse little boys and girls." "You consider, doubtless, that a field-sparrow is not a creature of much importance; but do you know that he consumes half a bushel of corn annually?" "If that is his only merit, the farmers, I dare say, would be glad to get rid of him." "But it is not his only merit. What do you think of his killing three thousand insects a week." "That is more to the purpose. But, to return to the pigeon, supposing it is possible for it to find its way, how long do you suppose it will take to get there?" "It is estimated that birds of passage fly over two hundred miles a day, if they keep on the wing for six hours." "Two hundred miles in six hours is fast sailing, anyhow." "Swallows have been seen in Senegal on the 9th of October, that is, eight or nine days after they leave Europe; and that journey they repeat every year." "They must surely make some preparations for such a lengthy excursion." "When the period of departure approaches, they collect together in troops on the chimneys or roofs of houses, and on the tops of trees. During this operation, they keep up an incessant cry, which brings families of them from all quarters. The young ones try the strength of their wings under the eyes of the parents. Finally, they make some strategic dispositions, and elect a chief." "You talk of the swallows as if they were an army preparing for battle, with flags flying, trumpets sounding, and ready to march at the word of command." "The resemblance between flocks of birds and serried masses of men in martial array is striking. Wild ducks, swans, and cranes fly in a kind of regimental order; their battalions assume the form of a triangle or wedge, so as to cut through the air with greater facility, and diminish the resistance it presents to their flight. "But how do you know it is for that?" "What else could it be for? The leader gives notice, by a peculiar cry, of the route it is about to take. This cry is repeated by the flock, as if to say that they will follow, and keep the direction indicated. When they meet with a bird of prey whose attacks they may have to repulse, the ranks fall in so as to present a solid phalanx to the enemy." "If they had a commissariat in the rear and a few sappers in front, the resemblance would be complete." "If a storm arises," continued Fritz, without noticing Willis's commentary, "they lower their flight and approach the ground." "Forgotten their umbrellas, perhaps." "When they make a halt, outposts are established to keep a look out while the troop sleeps." "And, in cases of alarm, the outposts fire and fall in as a matter of course." "Great Rono," said Jack, "you are become a downright quiz. I have finished my letter whilst you have been discussing the poultry," he added, handing the pen to his brother, "and it only waits your postscriptum." Fritz having added a few lines, the epistle was sealed, and was then attached to one of the pigeons, which, after hovering a short time round the pinnace, took a flight upwards and disappeared in the clouds. They were now in sight of a large island, which bore no traces of habitation. There was a heavy surf beating on the shore, but the case was urgent, so Willis and Jack embarked in the canoe, and, after a hard fight with the waves, landed on the beach. Each of them were armed with a double-barrelled rifle, and furnished with a boatswain's whistle. The whistle was to signal the discovery of water, and a rifle shot was to bring them together in case of danger. These arrangements being made, Jack proceeded in the direction of a thicket, which stood at the distance of some hundred yards from the shore. He had no sooner reached the cover in the vicinity of the trees than he was pounced upon by two ferocious-looking savages. They gave him no time to level his rifle or to draw a knife. One of his captors held his hands firmly behind his back, whilst the other dragged him towards the wood. At this moment the Pilot's whistle rang sharply through the air. This put an end to any hopes that Jack might have entertained of being rescued through that means. Had he sounded the whistle, it would only have led Willis to suppose that he had heard the signal, and was on his way to join him. Poor Jack judged, from the aspect of the men who held him, that they were cannibals, and consequently that his fate was sealed, for if his surmises were correct, there was little chance of the wretches relinquishing their prey. Jack had often amused himself at the expense of the anthropophagi, but here he was actually within their grasp. Though death terminates the sorrows and the sufferings of man, and though the result is the same in whatever shape it comes, yet there are circumstances which cause its approach to be regarded with terror and dismay. In one's bed, exhausted by old age or disease, the lips only open to give utterance to a sigh of pain; life, then, is a burden that is laid down without reluctance; we glide imperceptibly and almost voluntarily into eternity. At twenty years of age, however, when we are full of health and ardor, the case is very different. Then we are at the threshold of hope and happiness; our illusions have not had time to fade, the future is a brilliant meteor sparkling in sunshine. At that age our seas are always calm, and the rocks and shoals are all concealed. Our barks glide jauntily along, the sailors sing merrily, the perils are shrouded in romance, and the flag flutters gaily in the breeze. Then life is not abandoned without a tear of regret. To die in the midst of one's friends is not to quit them entirely. They come to see us through the marble or stone in which we are shrouded. It is another thing to have no other sepulchre than the æsophagus of a cannibal. How the recollections of the past darted into Jack's mind! He felt that he loved those whom he was on the point of leaving a thousand times more than he did before. What would he not have given for the power to bid them one last adieu? The idea of quitting life thus was horrible. It was in vain that he tried to shake off his assailants; his adolescent strength was as nothing in the arms of steel that bound him. He saw that he was powerless in their hands, and at length ceased making any further attempts to escape. The savages, finding that he had relaxed his struggles, commenced to rifle and strip him. They tore off his upper garments, and discovered a small locket, containing a medallion of his mother, which the unfortunate youth wore round his neck. This prize, which the savages no doubt regarded as a talisman of some sort, they both desired to possess. They quarrelled about it, and commenced fighting over it. Jack's hands were left at liberty. In an instant he had seized his rifle. He ran a few paces back, turned, took deliberate aim at the most powerful of his adversaries, who, with a shriek, fell to the ground. The other savage, scared by the report of the shot and its effects upon his companion, took to flight, but he carried off the locket with him. Jack had now regained his courage. He felt, like Telemachus in the midst of his battles, that God was with him, and he flew, perhaps imprudently, after the fugitive. Seeing, however, that he had no chance with him as regards speed, he discharged his second rifle. The shot did not take effect, but the report brought the savage to his knees. The frightened wretch pressed his hands together in an attitude of supplication. Jack stopped at a little distance, and, by an imperious gesture, gave him to understand that he wanted the locket. The sign was comprehended, for the savage laid the talisman on the ground. "Now," said Jack, "in the name of my mother I give you your life." By another sign, he signified to the man that he was at liberty, which he no sooner understood than he vanished like an arrow. Great was the consternation of Fritz when he heard the reports; he feared that the whole island was in commotion, and that both his brother and the Pilot were surrounded by a legion of copper-colored devils. From the conformation of the coast he could see nothing, and, like Sisiphus on his rock, he was tied by imperious necessity to his post. The Pilot, on hearing the first shot, ran to the spot, and both he and Jack arrived at the same instant, where the savage lay bleeding on the ground. "You are safe and sound, I hope?" said Willis, anxiously. "With the exception of some slight contusions, and the loss of my clothes, thank God, I am all right, Willis." "We are born to bad luck, it seems." "Say rather we are the spoilt children of Providence. I have just passed through the eye of a needle." "Is this the only savage you have seen?" "No, there were two of them; and, to judge from their actions, I verily believe the rascals intended to eat me. As for this one, he is more frightened than hurt." And so it was, he had escaped with some slugs in his shoulders; but he seemed, by the contortions of his face, to think that he was dying. "Fortunately," said Jack, "my rifle was not loaded with ball. I should be sorry to have the death of a human being on my conscience." "Well," said Willis, "I am not naturally cruel, but, beset as you have been, I should have shot both the fellows without the slightest compunction." "Still," said Jack, giving the wounded savage a mouthful of brandy, "we ought to have mercy on the vanquished--they are men like ourselves, at all events." "Yes, they have flesh and bone, arms, legs, hands, and teeth like us; but I doubt whether they are possessed of souls and hearts." "The chances are that they possess both, Willis; only neither the one nor the other has been trained to regard the things of this world in a proper light. Their notions as to diet, for example, arise from ignorance as to what substances are fit and proper for human food." "As you like," said Willis; "but let us be off; there may be more of them lurking about." "What! again without water?" "No, this time I have taken care to fill the casks; the canoe is laden with fresh water." "Fritz must be very uneasy about us; but this man may die if we leave him so." "Very likely," said the Pilot; "but that is no business of ours." "Good bye," said Jack, lifting up the wounded savage, and propping him against a tree; "I may never have the pleasure of seeing you again, and am sorry to leave you in such a plight; but it will be a lesson for you, and a hint to be a little more hospitable for the future in your reception of strangers." The savage raised his eyes for an instant, as if to thank Jack for his good offices, and then relapsed into his former attitude of dejection. Twenty minutes later the canoe was aboard the pinnace. "Fritz," said Jack, throwing his arms round his brother's neck, "I am delighted to see you again; half an hour ago I had not the shadow of a chance of ever beholding you more." CHAPTER XXII. THE UTILITY OF ADVERSITY--AN ENCOUNTER--THE HOROKEN--BILL ALIAS BOB. A light but favorable breeze carried them away from land, and they were once again on the open sea. Willis, after a prolonged investigation of the sun's position, taken in relation to some observations he had made the day before, concluded that the best course to pursue, under existing circumstances, was to steer for the Marian Islands.[H] In addition to the distance they had originally to traverse, all the way lost during the storm was now before them. As regards provisions, they had little to fear; they could rely upon falling in with a boobie or sea-cow occasionally, and fresh fish were to be had at any time. Their supply of water, however, gave them some uneasiness, for the quantity was limited, and they might be retarded by calms and contrary winds. The chances of meeting a European ship were too slender to enter for anything into their calculations. "It appears to me," said Jack, one beautiful evening, when they were some hundreds of miles from any habitable spot, "that, having escaped so many dangers, the watchful eye of Providence must be guarding us from evil." "Very possibly," replied Fritz; "one of the early chroniclers of the Christian Church says that Lazarus, whom our Saviour resuscitated at the gates of Jerusalem, became afterwards one of the most popular preachers of Christianity, and in consequence the Jews regarded him with implacable hatred." "But what, in all the world, has that to do with the Pacific Ocean?" inquired Jack. "Very little with the Pacific in particular, but a great deal with the ocean in general. Lazarus, his sisters, and some of his friends, were thrown into prison, tried, and condemned." "And stoned or crucified," added Jack. "No; the high priest of the temple had a great variety of punishments on hand besides these. He resolved to expose them to the mercy of the waves, without provisions, and without a mast, sail, or rudder." "Thank goodness, we are not so badly off as that." "_He_, for whom Lazarus suffered, and who is the same that nourishes the birds of the air and feeds the beasts of the field; watched over the forlorn craft; under his guidance, the little colony of martyrs were wafted in safety to the fertile coasts of Provence. They landed, according to the tradition, at Marseilles, of whom Lazarus was the first bishop, and has always been the patron saint. Who knows?--the same good fortune may perhaps await us." "We are not martyrs." "True; but Providence does not always measure its favors by the merits of those upon whom they are bestowed--misfortune, alone, is often a sufficient claim; so it is well for us to be patient under a little suffering, for sweet often is the reward." "A little hardship, now and then," added Jack, "is, no doubt, salutary. The Italians say: '_Le avversità sono per l'animo cio ch' è un temporale per l'aria_.' Suffering teaches us to prize health and happiness; were there no such things as pain and grief, we should be apt to regard these blessings as valueless, and to estimate them as our legitimate rights. For my own part, I was never so happy in my whole life as when I embraced you the other day, after escaping out of the clutches of the savages." "There are many charms in life that are almost without alloy: the perfume of flowers--music--the singing of birds--the riches of art--the intercourse of society--the delights of the family circle--the treasures of imagination and memory. Some of the most beneficent gifts of Nature we only know the existence of when we are deprived of them; occasional darkness alone enables us to appreciate the unspeakable blessing of light. Man has a multitude of enjoyments at his command; but so many sweets would be utterly insipid without a few bitters." "The rheumatism, for example," said Willis, rubbing his shoulders. "Many enjoyments," continued Fritz, "spring from the heart alone; the affections, benevolence, love of order, a sense of the beautiful, of truth, of honesty, and of justice." "On the other hand," said Willis, "there are dishonesty, injustice, disappointment, and blighted hopes; but you are too young to know much about these. When you have seen as much of the world on sea and on land as I have, perhaps you will be disposed to look at life from another point of view. In old stagers like myself, the tender emotions are all used up; it is only when we are amongst you youngsters that we forget the present in the past; when we see you struggling with difficulties, it recalls our own trials to our mind, rouses in us sentiments of commiseration, and softens the asperities of our years." "According to you, then," said Fritz, levelling his rifle at a petrel, "the misfortunes of the one constitute the happiness of the other?" "Unquestionably," said Jack; "for instance, if you miss that bird, so much the worse for you, and so much the better for the petrel." "It is very rarely, brother, that you do not interrupt a serious conversation with some nonsense." "Keep your temper, Fritz; I am about to propose a serious question myself. How is it that the petrel you are aiming at does not come and perch itself quietly on the barrel of your rifle?" "Jack, Jack, you are incorrigible." "Did you ever see a hare or a pheasant come and stare you in the face when you were going to shoot it?" "Stunsails and tops!" cried Willis, "if I do not see something stranger than that staring us in the face." "The sea-serpent, perhaps," said Jack. "I thought it was a sea-bird at first," said Willis, "but they do not increase in size the longer you look at them." "They naturally appear to increase as they approach," observed Fritz. "Yes, but the increase must have a limit, and I never saw a bird with such singular upper-works before. Just take a cast of the glass yourself, Master Fritz." "Halls of Æolus!" cried Fritz, "these wings are sails." "So I thought!" exclaimed Willis, throwing his sou'-wester into the air, and uttering a loud hurrah. "If it is the _Nelson_" said Jack, "it would be a singular encounter." "_The Nelson_!" sighed Willis, "in the latitude of Hawai; no, that is impossible." "She is bearing down upon us," said Fritz. "Just let me see a moment whether I can make out her figure-head," said Willis. "Aye, aye!" "Can you make it out?" "No; but, from the sheer of the hull, I think the ship is British built." "Thank God!" exclaimed both the young men. "Yes, you may say 'Thank God;' but, if it turns out to be a man-of-war, I must report myself on board, and I doubt whether my story will go down with the captain." "But if it is the _Nelson_?" insisted Jack. "Aye, aye; the _Nelson_," replied Willis, "is not going to turn up here to oblige us, you may take my word for that." "I have better eyes than you, Willis; just let me see if I can make her out. No, impossible; nothing but the hull and sails." "It is just possible," persisted Jack, "that the _Nelson_ may have been detained at the Cape, and afterwards blown out of her course like ourselves." "All I can say is," replied Willis, "that if Captain Littlestone be on board that ship, it will make me the happiest man that ever mixed a ration of grog. But these things only turn up in novels, so it is no use talking." "She has hoisted a flag at the mizzen," cried Fritz. "Can you make it out?" "Well, let me see--yes, it must be so." "What, the Union Jack?" cried Willis. "No, a red ground striped with blue." "The United States, as I am a sinner!" cried Willis. "Well, it might have been worse. We can go to America; there are surgeons there as well as in Europe--at all events, we can get a ship there for England. But let me see, we must hoist a bit of bunting; unfortunately, we have only British colors aboard, and I am afraid they are not in particularly high favor with our Yankee cousins just now." "Never mind a flag," said Fritz. "Oh, that will never do, they have hoisted a flag and are waiting a reply. But let me see," added Willis, rummaging amongst some stores, "here is one of our Shark's Island signals--that, I think, will puzzle the Yankee considerably." The Pilot's signal was answered by a gun, the report of which rang through the air. The strange ship's sails were thrown back and she stood still. A boat then put off with a young man in uniform and six rowers on board. "Pinnace ahoy!" cried the officer through a speaking trumpet, "who are you?" "Shipwrecked mariners," cried Fritz, in reply. "What is the name of your craft?" "The _Mary_." "What country?" "Switzerland." "I was not aware that Switzerland was a naval power," observed Willis. "She has no sea-port," said Jack, "but she has a fleet--of row boats." "Where do you hail from?" inquired the officer. "New Switzerland." "That gentleman is very curious," observed Jack. Here a silence of some minutes ensued; the officer seemed at fault in his geography. "Where away?" at last resounded from the trumpet. "Bound for Europe," replied Fritz. This reply elicited an expression of doubt, accompanied with such a tremendous exjurgation as made both Fritz and Jack almost shrink into the hold. A few minutes after the Yankee in command stepped on board, and explanations were entered into that perfectly satisfied the republican officer. He continued, however, to eye Willis curiously. The _Hoboken_, for that was the name of the strange ship, was an American cruiser, carrying twelve ship guns and a long paixhan. She was attached to the Chinese station, but had recently obtained information that war had been declared between England and the States. She was now making her way to the west by a circuitous route to avoid the British squadron, and, at the same time, with a view to pick up an English merchantman or two. Fritz and Jack being citizens of a sister republic, and subjects of a neutral power, were received on board with a hearty welcome, and with the hospitality due to their interesting position. Willis also received some attention, and was treated with all the courtesy that could be shown to the native of an enemy's country. The pinnace was taken in tow till the young men made up their minds as to the course they would adopt. A free passage to the States was kindly offered to them, and even pressed upon their acceptance; but the captain left the matter entirely to their own option. Fritz and Jack were delighted with the warmth of their reception; and, after being so long cooped up in the narrow quarters of the pinnace, looked upon the Yankee cruiser, with its men and officers in uniform, as a sort of floating palace. The _Nelson_ having been only a despatch-boat, it had given them but an indifferent idea of a man-of-war. On board the Yankee every thing was kept in apple-pie order. Discipline was maintained with martinet strictness. The fittings shone like a mirror. The brass cappings glistened in the sun. Complicated rolls of cable were profusely scattered about, but without confusion. The deck always seemed as fresh as if it had been planked the day before. The sails overhead seemed to obey the word of command of their own accord. The boatswain's whistle seemed to act upon the men like electricity. The seamen's cabins, six feet long by six feet broad, in which a hammock, locker, and lashing apparatus were conveniently stowed, were something very different from the accommodation on board the pinnace. These things were regarded by Fritz and Jack with great interest; and nowhere is the genius of man so brilliantly displayed as on board a well-appointed ship of war. The young men, however, when they sat down to dinner in the captain's cabin, and beheld a long table flanked with cushioned seats, commanded at each end by arm-chairs, the side-board plentifully garnished with plate and crystal of various kinds, fastened with copper nails to prevent damage from the ship's pitching, they did not reflect that they were in the crater of a volcano, and that two paces from where they sat there was powder enough to blow the ship and all its crew up into the air. They were likewise highly amused by the perpetual "guessing," "calculating," "reckoning," and inexhaustible curiosity of the crew; but their admiration of the ship, her guns, her stores, and her tackle, were boundless; they felt that their pinnace was a mere toy in comparison. The urbanity of the officers also was a source of much gratification to them; Jack even declared that all the civilization of Europe had been shipped on board the _Hoboken_, and in so far as that was concerned, they had no occasion to go on much further. The object of this expedition, however, was a surgeon. There was one on board. Would he go to New Switzerland? Jack determined to try, and accordingly he walked straight off to the personage in question. "Doctor," said he, "would you do myself and my brother a great favor?" "Certainly; and, if it is in my power, you may consider it done." "Well, will you embark with us for New Switzerland?" "For what purpose, my friend?" "My mother is laboring under a malady, which there is every reason to fear is cancer." "And suppose a fever was to break out in this ship whilst I am absent, what do you imagine is to become of the officers and crew?" "There are no symptoms of disease on board; but my mother is dying." "You forget, young man, that disease may make its appearance at any moment. There are many sons on board whose lives are as dear to their mothers as your mother's is to you, and for every one of these lives I am officially accountable." Jack hung down his head and was silent. "No, my good friend, it is impossible for me to grant such a request; but, from what I know of your history, and the means at your command, you may be able to obtain the services of a competent medical man. I would, therefore, recommend you to abandon your boat, and proceed with us to our destination." After a lengthy consultation, the two brothers and Willis determined to adopt this course. The cargo of the pinnace was accordingly transferred to the hold of the _Hoboken_. A short summary of their history was written, corked up in a bottle, and fastened to the mast of the _Mary_, which was then cut adrift. A tear gathered on the cheeks of the young men as they saw their old friend in adversity dropping slowly behind, and they did not withdraw their eyes from it till every vestige of its hull was lost in the shadows of the waters. As Fritz and Jack were thus engaged in gazing listlessly on the ocean, and reflecting upon their altered prospects, and perhaps trying to penetrate the veil of the future, Willis came towards them rubbing his breast, as if he had been seized with a violent internal spasm. "Hilloa," cried Jack, "the Pilot is sea-sick! Shall I run for some brandy, Willis?" "No, stop a bit; we were in hopes of falling in with Captain Littlestone, were we not?" "Yes; but what then?" "We were disappointed, were we not?" "Yes. That has not made you ill, has it?" "No; somebody else has turned up; there is one of the _Nelson's_ crew on board this ship." "One of the _Nelson's_ crew?" "Aye, and if you only knew how my heart beat when I saw him." "I can easily conceive your feelings," said Jack, "for my own heart has almost leaped into my mouth." "And I am thunderstruck," added Fritz. "I went towards my old friend," continued Willis, "with tears in my eyes, threw my arms round him, and gave him a hearty but affectionate hug." "And what did he say?" "Nothing, at first; but, as soon as I left his arms at liberty, he gave me such a punch in the ribs as almost doubled me in two; it was enough to knock the in'ards out of a rhinoceros--ugh!" "A blow in earnest?" exclaimed Fritz in astonishment. "Yes; there was no mistake about it; it was a real, good, earnest John Bull knock-down thump; it put me in mind of Portsmouth on a pay day--ugh!" "Extremely touching," said Jack, smiling. "Then, when I called him by his name Bill Stubbs, and asked what had become of the sloop, he said that he knew nothing at all about the sloop, and swore that he had never set his eyes on my figure-head before, the varmint--ugh!" "Odd," remarked Jack. "Are you sure of your man?" inquired Fritz. "But you say his name is Bill, whilst he declares his name is Bob." "Aye, he has evidently been up to some mischief, and changed his ticket." "Then what conclusion do you draw from the affair." "I am completely bewildered, and scarcely know what to think; perhaps the crew has mutinied, and turned Captain Littlestone adrift on a desert island. That is sometimes done. Perhaps--" "It is no use perhapsing those sort of melancholy things," said Fritz; "we may as well suppose, for the present, that Captain Littlestone is safe, and that your friend has been put on shore for some misdemeanour." "May be, may be, Master Fritz; and I hope and trust it is so. But to have an old comrade amongst us, who could give us all the information we want, and yet not to be able to get a single thing out of him--" "Except a punch in the ribs," suggested Jack. "Exactly; and a punch that will not let me forget the lubber in a hurry," added Willis, clenching his fist; "but I intend, in the meantime, to keep my weather eye open." A few weeks after this episode the _Hoboken_ was slowly wending her way along the bights of the Bahamas. Fritz, Jack, and Willis were walking and chatting on the quarter-deck. The sky was of a deep azure. The sea was covered with herbs and flowers as far as the eye could reach--sometimes in compact masses of several miles in extent, and at other times in long straight ribbons, as regular as if they had been spread by some West Indian Le Notre. The ship seemed merely displaying her graces in the sunshine, so gentle was she moving in the water. The air was laden with perfumes, and a soft dreamy languor stole over the friends, which they were trying in vain to shake off. In one direction rose the misty heights of St. Domingo, and in another the cloud-capped summits of Cuba. Sometimes the highest peaks of the latter pierced the veil that enveloped them, and seemed like islands floating in the sky, or heads of a race of giants. "The air here is almost as balmy and fragrant as that of New Switzerland," remarked Fritz. "Aye, aye," said the Pilot; "but it is not all gold that glitters: in these sweet smells a nasty fever is concealed, with which I have no wish to renew my acquaintance." "By the way, talking about acquaintances, Willis, have you obtained any further intelligence from your friend Bill, _alias_ Bob?" inquired Jack. "No, not a syllable; the viper is as cunning as a fox, and keeps his mouth as close as a mouse-trap." "He seems as obstinate as a mule, and as obdurate as a Chinaman into the bargain." "All that, and more than that; but," added Willis, "I have found out from the mate that he was pressed on board this ship at New Orleans." "Pressed on board?" said Fritz, inquiringly. "Yes; that is a mode of recruiting for the navy peculiar to England and the United States. Would you like to hear something about how the system is carried out?" "Yes, Willis, very much." "The transactions, however, that I shall have to relate are in no way creditable, either to myself or anybody else connected with them; and I am afraid, when you hear the particulars, you will be ready to turn round and say, your friend the Pilot is no good after all." "Have you, then, been desperately wicked, Willis?" "Well, that depends entirely upon the view you take of what I am to tell you. Listen." FOOTNOTES: [H] Sometimes called the _Ladrones_ or _Archipelago of Saint Lazarus_. CHAPTER XXIII. IN WHICH WILLIS SHOWS, THAT THE TERM PRESS-GANG MEANS SOMETHING ELSE BESIDES THE GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS. "When I was a youngster, about a year or two older than you are now, Master Fritz, I slipped on board the brig _Norfolk_ as boatswain's mate. The ship at the time was short of hands, so there was no immediate probability of her weighing anchor; but on the same day I scratched my name on the books a despatch arrived, in consequence of which we left the harbor, and proceeded out to sea under sealed orders. One day, when off the Irish coast, I was called aft by the first lieutenant. "'You know something of Cork, my man, I believe?' said he. "'Yes, your honor, I have been ashore there once or twice,' said I. "'Very good,' said he; 'get ready to go ashore there again as quick as you like.' "Leave to go on shore is always agreeable to a sailor. He prefers the sea, but likes to stretch himself on land now and then, just to enjoy a change of air, and look about him a bit; so it was with all possible expedition that I made the requisite preparations. "When I reappeared, I found a party of twenty men mustered on deck in pipe-clay order. A full ration of small arms was served out to them, and, under the command of the lieutenant, we embarked in the long-boat and rowed ashore. We landed at a point of the coast some miles distant from Cork, and it was dark before we reached the military barracks of that town, which, for the present, appeared to be our destination. "I had not the slightest idea of what we were to do on shore. From our being so heavily armed, I knew it was no mere escort or parade duty that was in question, and began to think there was work of some kind on hand. This gave me no kind of uneasiness. I only wondered whatever it could be, for there was clearly a mystery of some kind or other. Were we going to besiege Paddy, in his own peaceable city of Cork? Had some of the peep-o'-day boys been burning down farmer Magrath's ricks again? or was there a private still to be routed out and demolished? I could not tell. "Half an hour after our arrival, I was called into a private room by the lieutenant, who was seated at a table with a package of clothes beside him. The first lieutenant of the _Norfolk_, I must remark, was a bit of an original. He had won his way up to the rank he then held from before the mast. His build was rather squat, and his face was garnished with a pair of fiery red whiskers, so he was no beauty, added to which he was reckoned one of the most rigid martinets in the service; yet, for all that, his crew liked him, for they knew his heart was in the right place. "'See, my man,' said he, 'take this package, and rig yourself out in the toggery it contains.' "I obeyed this order, and soon after stood before him, in a pair of jack-boots, with a slouching sort of tarpauling hat on my head, so that I might either have passed for a manner out of luck or a dustman. "'Well,' said the lieutenant, laughing, 'now you have quite the air of the hulks about you.' "This remark not being very complimentary, I did not feel called upon to make any reply. "'You know,' he continued, 'that the brig is short about a dozen hands, and I want you to pick up a few likely lads here. I understand there are a number of able-bodied seamen skulking about the public-houses, where they will likely remain as long as their money lasts. I should like to secure as many of them as possible, and then capture a few stout landsmen to make up the number; but, in the first place, I want you to go and find out the best place to make a razzia.' "I stared when I found myself all at once promoted to the post of pioneer for a party of kidnappers, and muttered something or other about honor. "'Honor, sir!' roared the lieutenant, 'what has honor to do with it, sir? It is duty, sir. It is the laws of the service, sir, and you must obey them, sir.' "'But it is hard, your honor,' said I, 'that the laws of the service should force men to do what they think is wrong.' "'And what right, sir, have you to think it is wrong, or to judge the acts of your superiors? If the laws of the service order you fifty lashes at the yard-arm to-morrow, you will find that you will get them. Do you want to be handed over to the drummer, and to cultivate an acquaintance with the cat?' "'No, your honor,' said I, laughing. "The lieutenant's face by this time was as red as his whiskers, and, though he was in a towering rage, he quickly calmed down again, like boiling milk when it is taken off the fire. "'Then,' said he, quietly, 'am I to understand you refuse?' "'No, your honor,' said I. 'If it is my duty, I must obey; but you will pardon the liberty, when I say that it is hard to be forced to drag away a lot of poor fellows against their wills.' "'Look ye,' replied the lieutenant, 'I tolerate your freedom of speech for two reasons--the first, because we are here alone, and no harm is done; the second, because I entertain the same opinion myself; but, mind you, we are both bound by the regulations of the service, and it is mutiny for either of us to disobey.' "According to the moral law, the mission with which I was charged could scarcely be considered honorable; but, according to the laws of the land, or rather of the sea, it was perfectly unexceptionable. Amongst the seamen, a foray amongst the landlubbers was regarded more in the light of a spree than anything else. If, indeed, it were possible to pick up the lazy and idle amongst the population, this mode of enlistment might be useful; but often the industrious head of a family was seized, whilst the idle escaped. It was rare, however, that a ship's crew were employed in this sort of duty; men were more usually obtained through the crimps on shore, who often fearfully abused the authority with which they were invested for the purpose. As for myself, the lieutenant's arguments removed all my scruples, if I ever had any. "I then suggested a plan of operations, which was approved. The men were to be kept ready for action, and the lieutenant himself was to await my report at the 'Green Dragon,' one of the hotels in the town. "At that time there was in the outskirts of Cork a sort of tavern and lodging-house, called the 'Molly Bawn.' This establishment was frequented by the lowest class of seamen and 'tramps.' Thither I wended my way. It was late when I arrived in front of the place; and whilst hesitating whether I should venture into such a precious menagerie, I happened to look round, and, by the light of a dim lamp that burned at the corner of the street, I caught a glimpse of the lieutenant leaning against the wall, quietly smoking an Irish dudeen." "Like Rono the Great in the island of Hawai," suggested Jack. "Something. This, however, cut short my deliberations. I walked in. There was a crowd of men and women drinking and smoking about the bar. These, however, were not the people I sought. The regular tenants of the house were not amongst that lot, and it was essential for me to find out in what part of the premises they were stowed. I commenced proceedings by ordering a noggin of whisky, and making love to the damsel that brought it in. After having formally made her an offer of marriage, I asked after the landlord. She told me he was engaged with some customers, but offered to take a message to him. "'Then,' said I, 'just tell him that a friend of One-eyed Dick's would like to have a parley with him.'" "And who was One-eyed Dick?" inquired Fritz. "One of the crew of a piratical craft captured by one of our cruisers a few months before, and who at that time was safely lodged in Portsmouth jail. "The girl soon returned. She told me to walk with her, and led me through some narrow passages into what appeared to be another house. She knocked at a door that was strongly barred and fastened inside. A slight glance at these precautions made me aware that there was no chance of making a capture here without creating a great disturbance. So, after reflecting an instant, I decided upon adopting some other course. "When the door was opened I could see nothing distinctly; there was a turf-fire throwing a red glare out of the chimney, a dim oil-lamp hung from the roof, but everything was hidden in a dense cloud of tobacco smoke, through which the light was not sufficiently powerful to penetrate." "The atmosphere must have been stifling," observed Fritz. "Yes, it puts me in mind of your remark about the air, which, you said, consists of--let me see--" "Oxygen and hydrogen." "Just so; but the air a sailor breathes when he is at home consists almost entirely of tobacco smoke. At last, I could make out twenty or thirty rough-looking fellows seated on each side of a long deal table covered with bottles, glasses, and pipes. Dan Hooligan, the landlord, sat at the top--a fit president for such an assembly. He was partly a smuggler, partly a publican, and wholly a sinner. I should say that the liquor consumed at that table did not much good to the revenue. How Dan contrived to escape the laws, was a mystery perhaps best known to the police." "So you are a pal of One-eyed Dick's, are you?' said he. "'Rather,' said I, adopting the slang of the place. "'Well,' said he, 'Dick has been a good customer of mine, and all his pals are welcome at the 'Molly.' I have not seen him lately, however--how goes it with him now?' "'Right as a trivet,' said I, 'and making lots of rhino.' "'Glad to hear it; and what latitude does he hail in now?' "'That,' said I, 'is private and confidential.' "'Oh,' said he, 'there are no outsiders here, we are all sworn friends of Dick's, every mother's son of us.' "'Then,' said I, 'Dick is off the Cove in the schooner _Nancy_, of Brest,'" "Holloa, Willis," cried Jack, "there was a fib!" "Well, I told you to look out for something of that sort when I began." "'What!' cried the landlord, 'Dick in a schooner off the Irish coast?' "'Yes,' said I; 'and aboard that schooner there is as tight a cargo of brandy and tobacco as ever you set eyes upon.' "Here the landlord pricked up his ears, and the rest of the company began to listen attentively. The fellow that sat next me coolly told me that both he and Dick had been lagged for horse-stealing, and had subsequently broken out of prison and escaped. He further told me that most of the gentlemen present had been all, one way or another, mixed up with Dick's doings; from which I concluded they were a rare parcel of scamps, and resolved, within myself, to try and bag the whole squad. They were all stout fellows enough, most of them seamen. I thought they might be able to 'do the State some service,' and determined to convert them into honest men, if I could.' "'Dick cannot come ashore,' said I; 'some one of his old pals here has peached, and there is a warrant out against him.' "This information threw the assembly into a state of violent commotion. They rose up, and swore terrible vengeance against the head of the unfortunate culprit when they caught him. The oaths rather alarmed me at first, for they were of a most ferocious stamp. "'Yes,' continued I, 'Dick is aboard the schooner, but, as there are two or three warrants out against him, he does not care about coming ashore; so said he to me, 'We want a lugger and a few hands to run the cargo ashore; and if you look in at the 'Molly,' and see my old pal, Dan, perhaps you will find some lads there willing to give us a turn. The captain said, if the thing was done clean off, he would stand something handsome." "'Just the thing for us!' shouted half a dozen voices. "'But the lugger?' said I. "'Oh, Phil Doolan, at the Cove, has a craft that has landed as many cargoes as there are planks in her hull. Besides, he has stowage for a fleet of East Indiamen.' "'Well, gentlemen," said I, 'the chaplain, One-eyed Dick, and myself, will be at Phil Doolan's to-morrow at midnight; do you agree to meet us there?' "This question was answered by a universal 'Yes;' and by way of clenching the affair, I ordered a couple of gallons of the stiffest potheen in the house. This was received with three cheers, and before I left the 'Molly' every man-jack of them had disappeared under the table. Dan himself, however, kept tolerably sober, and promised, on account of his friendship for One-eyed Dick, to have the whole kit safe at Phil Doolan's by twelve o'clock next night, and with this assurance I made my exit from the premises, and steered for the 'George and Dragon.' "The lieutenant agreed with me in thinking that it would cause too much uproar to attack the 'Molly Bawn.' He congratulated me on my success in laying a trap for the people, and promising to meet me at the Cove, he ordered a car, and drove off in the direction of the _Norfolk's_ boat. Early next morning I started to reconnoitre the ground and organize my plan of operations. I found Phil Doolan's mansion to be a mud-built tenement, larger, and standing apart from, the houses that then constituted the village. It was ostensibly a sailor's lodging-house and tavern for wayfarers, but, like the 'Molly Bawn,' was in reality a rendezvous of smugglers, occasionally patronized by fugitive poachers and patriots. It was known to its familiars as 'The Crib,' but was registered by the authorities as the 'Father Mahony,' who was represented on the sign-post by a full-length portrait of James the Second. What gave me most satisfaction was to observe that the building was conveniently situated for a sack. [Illustration] "When night set in I marched the _Norfolk's_ men in close order, and as secretly as possible, to the Cove. Approaching Phil Doolan's in one direction, I could just catch a glimpse of the red coats of a file of marines advancing in another, with the lieutenant at their head, and, exactly as twelve o'clock struck on the parish clock, the 'Father Mahony' was surrounded on all sides by armed men. Two or three lanterns were now lit, and dispositions made to close up every avenue of escape." "'There he is!' cried Willis, interrupting himself, and staring into the air. "Who?" inquired Jack--"Phil Doolan?" "No--Bill Stubbs, late of the _Nelson_." "Where?" "That squat, broad-shouldered man there, bracing the maintops." "Yes, now that you point him out, I think I have seen him before," said Fritz. "Holloa, Bill," cried Jack. "You see," said Willis, "he turned his head." "How d'ye do, Bill?" added Jack. "Are you speak'ng to me, sir?" inquired the sailor. "Yes, Bill." "Then was your honor present when I was christened? I appear to have forgotten my name for the last six-and thirty years." "No use, you see," said Willis; "he is too old a bird to be caught by any of these dodges. But I have lost the thread of my discourse." "You had surrounded the cabin, and were lighting lamps." "Half a dozen men were stationed at the door, pistol in hand, ready to rush in as soon as it opened. The lieutenant and I went forward and knocked, but no one answered. We knocked again, louder than before, but still no answer. "'Open the door, in the King's name!' thundered the lieutenant. Silence, as before. "Calling to the marines, he ordered them to root up Phil Doolan's sign-post, and use it as a battering ram against the door. The first blow of this machine nearly brought the house down, and a cracked voice was heard calling on the saints inside. "'Blessed St. Patrick!' croaked the voice, 'whativer are ye kicking up such a shindy out there for? Whativer d'ye want wid an old woman, and niver a livin' sowl in the house 'cept meself and Kathleen in her coffin?' "'Kathleen is dead, then?' said the lieutenant with a grin. "'Save yer honor's presence, she's off to glory, an' as dead as a herrin,' replied the voice. "'Really!' said the lieutenant, 'and where is Phil Doolan?' "'Och, yer honor? he's gone to get some potheen for the wake.' "'Well,' said the lieutenant, 'I should like to take a share in waking the defunct--what's her name?' "'Kathleen, yer honor.' "'Well, just let us in to take a last look at the worthy creature.' "The door then creaked on its rusty hinges, and we entered. Not a soul, however, was to be seen anywhere, save and except the old woman herself. The coffin containing the remains of Kathleen, resting on two stools, stood in the middle of the floor, with a plate of salt as usual on the lid. I fairly thought I had been done, and looked upon myself as the laughing stock of the entire fleet." "So far," remarked Jack, "your story has been all right, but the last episode was rather negligently handled." "How?" inquired Willis. "Why, you did not make enough of the coffin scene; your description is too meagre. You should have said, that the wind blew without in fierce gusts, the weathercocks screeched on the roofs, and caused you to dread that the ghost of the defunct was coming down the chimney; large flakes of snow were rushing through the half-open door; a solitary rushlight dimly lit up the chamber, and cast frightful shadows upon the wall." "Well; but the night was fine, and there was not a breath of wind." "What about that? A little wind, more or less, a weathercock or so, some drops of rain, or a few flakes of snow, do not materially detract from the truth, whilst they heighten the color of the picture." "And if some lightning tearing through the clouds were added?" "Yes, that would most undoubtedly increase the effect; but go on with your story." "I knew Phil to be an artful dodger, and was determined not to be foiled by a mere trick, so I laid hold of a lantern and closely examined the walls and flooring. My investigation was successful, for just under the coffin I detected traces of a trap-door." "'Well, my good woman, what have you got down there?" inquired the lieutenant. "'Is it underground, ye mane, yer honor? divil a hail's there, if it isn't the rats.' "'Well, just remove the coffin a little aside; we shall see if we cannot pepper some of the rats for you.' "Here the old woman appealed to a vast number of saints, and protested against Kathleen's remains being disturbed. The lieutenant, however, grew tired of this farce, and ordered the coffin to be shifted. A sailor accordingly laid hold of each end. "'Blazes!' said one, 'here is a body that weighs.' "'Perhaps,' said the other, 'the coffin is lined with lead.' "The trap-door was drawn up, and the lieutenant, pistol in hand, descended alone. "'Now, my lads,' said he, addressing some invisible personages, 'we know you are here, and I call upon you to yield in the King's name--resistance is useless, the house is surrounded, and we are in force, so you had better give in without more ado.' "No answer was returned to this exordium; but we heard the murmuring of muffled voices, as if the rapscallions were deliberating. I now descended with my lamp, followed by some of the seamen, and beheld my friends of the night before either stretched on the ground or propped up against the walls, like a lot of mummies in an Egyptian tomb. "They were handcuffed one by one, pushed or hauled up the stairs, and then tied to one another in a line. When we had secured the whole lot of them in this way-- "'Lieutenant,' said I, winking, 'will you permit me to send a ball into that coffin?' "'Please yourself about that, young man,' said he. "Here the old woman recommenced howling again and called upon all the saints in the calendar to punish us for my sacrilegious design. "'Shoot a dead body,' said I, 'where's the harm?' Besides, what is that salt there for?' "'To keep away evil spirits,' was the reply. "'Very well,' said I, 'my pistol will scare them away as well.' Then, cocking it with a loud clink, I presented it slowly at the coffin." "The lid all at once flew off--the salt-was thrown on the ground with a crash--the defunct suddenly returned from the other world in perfect health, and sat half upright in his bier. I did not recognize the individual at first, but, on closer inspection, found him to be my communicative companion of the preceding night--the horse-stealer of the 'Molly Bawn;' and, being a stout young fellow, he was harnessed to the others, and we commenced our march to the boats." "You do not appear to have had much trouble in effecting the capture," remarked Fritz. "No; the men were unarmed, and were nearly all intoxicated. You never saw such a troop; scarcely one of them could walk straight; they assumed all sorts of figures; the file of prisoners was just like a bar of music, it was a string of quavers, crotchets, and zig-zags. Luckily, it was late at night, else we might have had the village about our ears, and, instead of flakes of snow and screeching weathercocks, we might have had a shower of dead cats and rotten eggs. Probably a rescue might have been attempted; at all events, we might have calculated on a volley of brickbats on our way to the boats. There would have been no end of commotion, uproar, confusion, and hubbub, possibly smashed noses, blackened eyes, broken beads--" "Holloa, Willis!" "You said just now that a little colouring was necessary." "Certainly; but the privilege ought not to be abused. Besides, broken heads and smashed faces are the realities, and not the accessories of the picture." "Oh, I see. If it is night, the moon should be introduced; and if it is day, the sun--and so on?" "Of course; and, if the circumstances are of a pleasing nature, you must leave horrors and terrors on your pallette; change gusts into zephyrs, snow into roses and violets, and the weathercocks into golden vanes glittering in the sunshine." "I understand." "You want to color a popular outbreak, do you not?" "Yes." "Then you should introduce a tempest howling, the waves roaring, the lightning flashing, and discord raging in the air as well as on the earth." "Well, to continue my story. Although it was midnight, the disturbance began to wake up the villagers, and a crowd was collecting, so we hurried off our prisoners to the boats as speedily as we could. Some five and twenty able bodied men were thus added to his Majesty's fleet. The object of our visit to the Irish coast was accomplished, and the _Norfolk_ continued her voyage to the West Indies. Now you know what is meant by the word _pressed_, and likewise the nautical signification of the word _press-gang_." "And you say that Bill Stubbs has been trapped on board this ship by such means?" "Yes, at New Orleans." "According to your story, then, that does not say very much in his favor?" "No, not a great deal; still, that proves nothing--the fact of his calling himself Bob is a worse feature. A man does not generally change his name without having good, or rather bad, reasons for it." "What appears to me," remarked Fritz, "as the most singular feature of your press-gang adventure is, that you are alive to tell it." "Why so?" "Because I think it ought to end thus: 'The victims of the press-gang strangled Willis a few days after,'" "Aye, aye, but you do not know what a sailor is; our recruits had not been a fortnight at sea before they entirely forgot the trick I had played them." Just as Willis concluded his narrative, the man at the mast-head called out, "Sail ho!" "Where away?" bawled the captain. "Right a-head," replied the voice. The _Hoboken_ had hitherto pursued her voyage uninterruptedly, and the Yankee captain now prepared to signalize himself by a capture. CHAPTER XXIV. A SEA FIGHT--ANOTHER IDEA OF THE PILOT'S--THE BOUDEUSE. The captain of the _Hoboken_ was rather pleased than otherwise when the look-out reported the strange sail to show English colors. He looked rather glum, however, half an hour afterwards, when the same voice bawled that she was a bull-dog looking craft, schooner-rigged, and pierced for sixteen guns. The Yankee had hoped to fall in with a fat West Indiaman, instead of which he had now to deal with a man-of-war, carrying, perhaps, a larger weight of metal than himself. The heads of the two ships were standing in towards each other, there was no wind to speak of, but every hour lessened the distance that separated the antagonists. "Pilot," said the captain, addressing Willis, "be kind enough to let me know what you think of that craft." "I think," said Willis, taking the telescope, "I have had my eyes on her before. Aye, aye, just as I thought. An old tub of a Spaniard converted into an English cruiser, and commanded by Commodore Truncheon, I shouldn't wonder. She has caught a Tartar this time, however. Nothing of a sailer. If a breeze springs up, you may easily give her the slip, if you like, captain." "Give her the slip! No, not if I can help it. My cruise hitherto has not been very successful, and I must send her into New York as a prize. Mr. Brill," added he, addressing the officer next in command, "prepare for action." In an instant all was commotion and bustle on deck. Half an hour after, the captain, now in full uniform, took a hasty glance at the position of his crew. A portion of the men were stationed at the guns, with lighted matches. Others were engaged in heating shot, and preparing other instruments of destruction. Jack and Fritz, armed with muskets, were ready to act as sharp-shooters as soon as the enemy came within range, and Willis was standing beside them, with his hands in his pockets, quietly smoking his pipe. "What, Pilot!" exclaimed the captain in passing, "don't you intend to take part in the skirmish?" "I am much your debtor, captain, but I cannot do that." "And these young men?" "They are not Englishmen, and your kindness to them entitles you to claim their assistance. I am sorry that honor and duty prevent me giving you mine." "No matter, captain," said Fritz, "my brother and myself will do duty for three." "Then, Pilot, you had better go below." "With your permission, captain, I would rather stay and look on." "But what is the use of exposing yourself here?" "It is an idea of mine, captain. But I shall remain perfectly neutral during the engagement." "As you like then, Pilot, as you like," said the captain, as he resumed his place on the quarter-deck. At this moment a cannon ball whistled through the air. "Good," said Willis; "the commodore gives the signal." "That shot," observed Jack, "passed at no great distance from your head, Willis. You had better take a musket in self-defence. Besides, that ship is English, and you are a Scotchman." "The ship is a Spaniard by birth," replied Willis, "and it is pretty well time it was converted into firewood, for the matter of that. But it is the flag, my boy--_that_ is neither Spanish nor English." "What is it, then?" inquired Fritz. "It is the union-jack, Master Fritz. It is the ensign of Scotland, England, and Ireland united under one bonnet; and as such, it is as sacred in my eyes as if it bore the cross of St. Andrew." Musket balls were now rattling pretty freely amongst the shrouds. The young men levelled their muskets and fired. Soon after, the two ships were abreast of each other, and almost at the same instant both discharged a deadly broadside. The conflict became general. The crashing of the woodwork and the roaring of the guns was deafening. A thick smoke enveloped the two vessels, so that nothing could be seen of the one from the other; still the firing and crashing went on. The sails were torn to shreds, the deck was encumbered with fragments of timber; men were now and then falling, either killed or wounded, and a fatigue party was constantly engaged in removing the bodies. There are people who consider such a spectacle magnificent; but that is only because they have never witnessed its horrors. Already many immortal souls had returned to their Maker; many sons had become orphans, and many wives had been deprived of their husbands; but as yet there was nothing to indicate on which side victory was to be declared. Soon, however, a cry of fire was raised, which caused great confusion; and another cry, announcing that the captain had fallen, increased the disorder. A ball crashed through the taffrail, near where Jack and Fritz were standing; it passed between them, but they were both severely wounded by the splinters, and were conveyed by Willis to the cockpit. The doctor, seeing his old friend Jack handed down the ladder, hastened towards him and tore out a piece of wood from the fleshy part of his arm. He next turned to Fritz, who had received a severe flesh-wound on the shoulder. When both wounds were bandaged, he left the care of the young men to Willis, who had escaped with a few scratches, which, however, were bleeding pretty freely--to these he did not pay the slightest attention. "How stands the contest?" inquired Fritz in a weak voice. "The _Hoboken_ is done for," replied Willis; "the commodore was preparing to board when we left the deck; but it does not make much difference; we shall go to England instead of America, that is all." "God's will be done," said Fritz. Just then Bill Stubbs was swung down in a hammock; both his legs had been shot off by a cannon ball. The surgeon could only now attend to a tithe of his patients, so numerous had the wounded become. A glance at the new comer satisfied him that he was beyond all human skill, and he directed his attention to the cases that promised some hopes of recovery. Willis, seeing that his old comrade was abandoned to die almost uncared for, staunched his wounds as well as he could, fetched him a panniken of water, and performed a number of other little acts of kindness and good will. This he did, less with a view of obtaining an explanation from him at a moment when no man lies, than to mitigate the pangs of his last convulsions. For an instant the old mariner's body appeared re-animated with life. His eyes were fixed upon Willis with an ineffable expression of recognition and regret. He convulsively grasped the Pilot's hand and pressed it to his breast, and his lips parted as if to speak. Willis bent his ear to the mouth of the dying man, but all that followed was an expiring sigh. His earthly career was ended. The hardy sailor who is supposed never to shed a tear, then wiped the corner of his eyes. Next he turned to the children of his adoption, whose pale faces indicated the amount of blood they had shed, and whose wounds, if he could have transferred them to himself, would have less pained his powerful muscles than they now grieved his excellent heart. A party of boarders from the enemy had taken possession of the ship. Willis reported himself to the officer in command, and at his request, Fritz and Jack, together with the cargo of the pinnace, were conveyed on board the victorious schooner. Shortly after the _Hoboken_ was despatched to Bermuda as a prize, with the prisoners, the wounded, and the dying. The old tub that had gained this victory was named the _Arzobispo_, having, as Willis supposed, been captured in the Spanish Main. It was under the command of Commodore Truncheon, better known in the fleet by the _soubriquet_ of Old Flyblow. The _Arzobispo_, though old and clumsy, was a stout-built craft; and so thick was its hide, that the broadsides of the Yankee had done the hull no damage to speak of. The superstructure, however, was completely shattered; the masts and rigging hung like sweeps over the sides; and, to the unpractised eye, the ship was a complete wreck. A few days, however, sufficed to put everything to rights again so far as regards external appearance; but how this impromptu carpentry would stand a storm was another question. The commodore was on his way to Europe when he fell in with the Yankee, and, notwithstanding the disabled condition of the ship, he resolved to continue his voyage. Some of the officers expostulated with him on the hazard of crossing the Atlantic in so shaky a trim. He only got red in the face, and said that he had crossed the herring-pond hundreds of times in crafts not half so seaworthy. He was like the Froggy who would a wooing go, Whether his mother would let him or no. The consequences of this defiance of advice were fatal to Old Flyblow; for, a week or two after his victory, he was pounced upon by the French corvette, _Boudeuse_, which was fresh, heavily armed, and well manned. The commodore's jury masts were knocked to pieces by the first broadside, his flag went by the board, and he was completely at the enemy's mercy. Willis lent a hand this time with a good will; but it was of no use, the wreck would not obey the helm, and the corvette hovered about, firing broadsides, and sending in discharges of musketry, when and where she liked. It was only when the commodore saw clearly that there was neither mast nor sail enough to yaw the ship, that he waved his cocked hat in token of surrender. Fritz and Jack were still confined below with their wounds, when Willis brought them word that they would have to shift themselves and their cargo once more. The captain received them on board the _Boudeuse_ with marked courtesy, and informed them that he was bound direct for Havre de Grace. "It seems, then," said the Pilot, "that neither America nor England is to be our destination after all. But never mind, there are no lack of surgeons amongst the _mounseers_." "If we go on this way much longer," said Jack, sighing, "we shall be carried round the world without arriving anywhere. Alas, my poor mother!" CHAPTER XXV. DELHI--WILLIAM OF NORMANDY AND KING JOHN--ISABELLA OF BAVARIA AND JOAN OF ARC--POITIERS AND BOVINES--HISTORY OF A GHOST, A GRIDIRON, AND A CHEST OF GUINEAS. At first the three adventurers were regarded as prisoners of war; when, however, their entire history came to be known, and their extraordinary migrations from ship to ship authenticated, they were looked upon as guests, and treated as friends. "I thought I had only obtained possession of an English cruiser," said the captain; "but I find I have also acquired the right of being useful to you." The commander of the _Boudeuse_ was a very different sort of a person from Commodore Truncheon; the former treated his men as if every one of them had a title and great influence at the Admiralty, whilst the latter swore at his crew as if the word of command could not be understood without a supplementary oath. The English commodore might be the better sailor of the two, but certainly the French captain carried off the palm as regards politeness, urbanity, and gentlemanly bearing. The wounds of Fritz and Jack were healing rapidly under the skilful treatment of the French surgeon, and, with a lift from Willis, they were able to walk a portion of the day on deck. With reviving health, their cheerful hopes of the future returned, their dormant spirits were re-awakened, and their minds regained their wonted animation. "The corvette spins along admirably," said the Pilot, "and is steering straight for the Bay of Biscay." "Ah!" said Jack sighing, "it is very easy to steer for a place, but it is not quite so easy to get there. I am sick of your friend the sea, Willis; and would give my largest pearl for a glimpse of a town, a village, or even a street." "If you want to see a street in all its glory, Master Jack, you must try and get the captain to alter his course for Delhi." "But I should think, Willis, that there is nothing in the street-scenery of Delhi to compare with the Boulevards of Paris, Regent-street in London, or the Broadway of New York." "Beg your pardon there, Master Jack; I know every shop window in Regent-street; I have often been nearly run over in the Broadway, and can easily imagine the turn out on the Boulevards; but they are solitudes in comparison with an Indian street." "How so, Willis?" "Well, it is not that there are more inhabitants, nor on account of the traffic, for no streets in the world will beat those of London in that respect--it is because the people live, move, and have their being in the streets; they eat, drink, and sleep in the streets; they sing, dance, and pray in the streets; conventions, treaties, and alliances are concluded in the streets; in short, the street is the Indians' home, his club, and his temple. In Europe, transactions are negotiated quietly; in India, nothing can be done without roaring, screaming, and bawling." "There must be plenty of deaf people there," observed Jack. "Possibly; but there are no dumb people. Added to the endless vociferations of the human voice, there is an eternal barking of dogs, elephants snorting, cows lowing, and myriads of pigs grunting. Then there is the thump, thump of the tam-tam, the whistling of fifes, and the screeching of a horrible instrument resembling a fiddle, which can only be compared with the Belzebub music of Hawai. If, amongst these discordant sounds, you throw in a cloud of mosquitoes and a hurricane of dust, you will have a tolerable idea of an Indian street." "There may be animation and life enough, Willis, but I should prefer the monotony of Regent-street for all that. Would you like to air yourself in Paris a bit?" "Yes, but not just now; the less my countrymen see of France, under present circumstances, the better." "What is England and France always fighting about, Willis?" "Well, I believe the cause this time to be a shindy the _mounseers_ got up amongst themselves in 1788. They first cut off the head of their king, and then commenced to cut one another's throats, and England interfered." "That," observed Fritz, "may be the immediate origin of the present war [1812]. But for the cause of the animosity existing between the two nations, you must, I suspect, go back as far as the eleventh century, to the time of William, Duke of Normandy." "What had he to do with it?" "A great deal. He claimed a right, real or pretended, to the English throne. He crossed the Channel, and, in 1066, defeated Harold, King of England, at the battle of Hastings." "Both William and Harold were originally Danes, were they not?" inquired Jack. "Yes; I think Rollo, William's grandfather, was a Norman adventurer, or sea-king, as these marauders were sometimes called. William, after the victory of Hastings, proclaimed himself King of England and Duke of Normandy, and assumed the designation of William the Conqueror." "Then how did France get mixed up in the affair?" inquired Willis. "William's grandfather, when he seized the dukedom cf Normandy, became virtually a vassal of the King of France, though it is doubtful whether he ever took the trouble to recognize the suzerainty of the throne. As sovereign, however, the King of France claimed the right of homage, which consisted, according to feudal usage, in the vassal advancing, bare-headed, without sword or spurs, and kneeling at the foot of the throne." "Was this right ever enforced?" "Yes, in one case at least. John Lackland--or, as the French called him, John Sans Terre--having assassinated his nephew Arthur, Duke of Brittany, in order to obtain possession of his lands, was summoned by Philip Augustus, King of France, to justify his crime. John did not obey the summons, was declared guilty of felony, and Philip took possession of Normandy. Thus the first step to hostilities was laid down." "The English having lost Normandy, the vassalage ceased." "Yes, so far as regards Normandy; but, in the meantime, Louis le Jeune, King of France, unfortunately divorced his wife, Elenor of Aquitaine, who afterwards married an English prince, and added Guienne, another French dukedom to the English crown." "So another vassalage sprung up." "Exactly. All the French King insisted upon was the homage; but Edward III. of England, instead of bending his knee to Philip of Valois, argued with himself in this way: 'If I were King of England and France as well, the claim of homage for the dukedom of Guienne would be extinguished.'" "Rather cool that," said Jack, laughing. "'We shall then,' Edward said to himself, 'be our own sovereign, and do homage to ourself, which would save a deal of bother.'" "Well, he was right there, at least," remarked the Pilot. "The King of France, however, entertained a different view of the subject. Hence arose an endless succession of sieges, battles, conquests, defeats, exterminations, and hatreds, which, no doubt, gave rise to the ill-feeling that exists at present between England and France. It is curious, at the same time, to observe what mischief individual acts may occasion. If William of Normandy had remained contented with his dukedom, and Louis le Jeune had not divorced his wife, France would not have lost the disastrous battles of Agincourt and Poitiers." "Nor gained the brilliant victory of Bovines," suggested Jack. "Certainly not; but she would have been spared the indignity of having one of her kings marched through the streets of London as a prisoner." "True; but, on the other hand, the captured monarch would not have had an opportunity of illustrating the laws of honor in his own person. He returned loyally to England and resumed his chains, when he found that the enormous sum demanded by England for his ransom would impoverish his people: otherwise he could not have given birth to the maxim, 'That though good faith be banished from all the world beside, it ought still to be found in the hearts of kings.'" "One of the kings of Scotland," remarked Willis, "was placed in a similar position. The Scottish army had been cut to pieces at the battle of Flodden, the king was captured in his harness, conveyed to London, and the people had to pay a great deal more to obtain his freedom than he was worth. But, before that, the Scotch nearly caught one of the Edwards. This time the English army had been cut to pieces; but the king did not wait to be captured, he took to his heels, or rather to his horse's hoofs. He was beautifully mounted, and followed by half a dozen Scottish troopers; away he went, over hill and dale, ditch and river. Dick Turpin's ride from London to York was nothing to it. The king proved himself to be a first-rate horseman, for, after being chased this way over half the country, he succeeded in baffling his pursuers. All these escapades between England and Scotland are, however, forgotten now, or at least ought to be; there are, doubtless, a few thick-headed persons in both sections of the empire who delight in keeping alive old prejudices, but they will die out in time." "It seems, however, they have not died away yet," said Fritz, "in so far as regards France and England, since the two countries are at war again. But, as I observed before, had it not been for the ambition of William and the anti-connubial propensities of John, the English would never have been masters of Paris, and a great part of France under Charles VI." "Still, in that case," persisted Jack, "Charles VII. would not have had the opportunity of liberating his country." "Then," continued Fritz, "history would not have had to record the shameless deeds of Isabella of Bavaria." "Nor chronicle the brilliant achievements of Joan of Arc," added Jack. "Any how," observed Willis, "the mounseers are a curious people. I have heard it remarked that they are occupied all day long in getting themselves into scrapes, and that Providence busies herself all night in getting them out again." By chatting in this way, Fritz, his brother, and the Pilot contrived to relieve the monotony of the voyage, and to pass away the time pleasantly enough. Each contributed his quota to the common fund; Fritz his judgment, Jack his humor, and Willis his practical experience, strong good sense, and vigorous, though untutored understanding. A portion of Jack's time was passed with the surgeon, between whom a great intimacy had sprung up. Time did not, therefore, hang heavily on the hands of the young men; for even during the night their thoughts were busy forming projects, or in embroidering the canvas of the future with those fairy designs which youth alone can create. One morning Willis arrived on deck, pale, and with an air of fatigue and lassitude altogether unusual. He gazed anxiously into every nook and cranny of the ship. "Whatever is the matter, Willis?" inquired Jack. "Have you seen the Flying Dutchman?" "No, Master Jack," said he in a forlorn tone; "but I have either seen the captain or his ghost." "What! the captain of the _Hoboken_?" "No; the captain of the _Nelson_." "In a dream?" "No, my eyes were as wide open as they are now; he looked into my cabin, and spoke to me." "Impossible, Willis." "I assure you it is the case though, impossible or not." "Where is he then?" exclaimed both the young men, starting. "That I know not; I have looked for him everywhere." "What did he say to you?" "At first he said, How d'ye do, Willis?" "Naturally; and what then?" "He asked me what I thought of the cloud that was gathering in the south-west." "Imagination, Willis." "But look there, you can see a storm is gathering in that quarter." "The nightmare, Willis. But what did you say to him?" "I could not answer at the moment; my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth, and I rose to take hold of his hand." "Then he disappeared, did he not?" "Yes, Master Jack." "I thought so." "But I heard the door of my cabin shut behind him, as distinctly as I now hear the waves breaking on the sides of the corvette at this moment." "You ought to have run after him." "I did so." "Well, did you catch him?" "No; I was stopped by the watch, for I had nothing on me but my shirt; the officers stared, the sailors laughed, and the doctor felt my pulse. But, for all that, I am satisfied there is a mystery somewhere." "But, Willis, the thing is altogether improbable." "Well, look here; Captain Littlestone is either dead or alive, is he not?" "Yes," replied Jack, "there can be no medium between these hypotheses." "Then all I can say is this, that as sure as I am a living sinner, I have seen him if he is alive, and, if he is dead, I have seen his ghost." "You believe in visitations from the other world then, Willis?" "I cannot discredit the evidences of my own senses, can I?" "No, certainly not." "Besides, this brings to my recollection a similar circumstance that happened to an old comrade of mine. Sam Walker is as fine a fellow as ever lived, he sailed with me on board the _Norfolk_, and I know him to be incapable of telling a falsehood. Though his name is Sam Walker, we used to call him 'Hot Codlins.'" "Why, Willis?" "Because he had an old woman with a child tatooed on his arm, instead of an anchor, as is usual in the navy." "A portrait of _Notre Dame de Bon Lecours_, I shouldn't wonder," said Jack; "but what had that to do with hot codlins: a codlin is a fish, is it not?" "I will explain that another time," said Willis, the shadow of a smile passing over his pale features. "The short and the long of the story is, that Sam once saw a ghost." "Well, tell us all about it, Willis." "But I am afraid you will not believe the story if I do." "On the contrary, I promise to believe it in advance." "Very well, Master Jack. Did you ever see a windmill?" "No, but I know what sort of things they are from description." "There are none in Scotland," continued Willis; "at least I never saw one there." "How do they manage to grind their corn then? There should be oats in the land o' cakes, at all events," said Jack, with a smile. "Well, in countries that have plenty of water, they can dispense with mills on land. Though there are no wind-mills in Scotland, there are some in the county of Durham, on the borders of England, for it appears my mate Sam was born in one of them. His father and mother died when he was very young, and he, conjointly with the rats, was left sole owner and occupant of the mill. Some of the neighboring villagers, seeing the poor boy left in this forlorn condition, got him into a charity school, whence he was bound apprentice to a shipmaster engaged in the coal trade, by whom he was sent to sea. The ship young Sam sailed in was wrecked on the coast of France, and he fell into the hands of a fisherman, who put the mark on his arm we used to joke him about." "I thought so," said Jack; "the mark in question represents the patron saint of French sailors." "After a variety of ups and downs, Sam found himself rated as a first-class seaman on board a British man-of-war. He served with myself on board the _Norfolk_, and was wounded at the battle of Trafalgar [1806], which, I dare say, you have heard of." "Yes, Willis, it was there that your Admiral Nelson covered himself with immortal renown." "There and elsewhere, Master Fritz." "It cost him his life, however, Willis, and likewise shortened those of the French Admiral Villeneuve and the Spanish Admiral Gravina; that, you must admit, is too many eggs for one omelet." "As you once said yourself, great victories are not won without loss, and the battle of Trafalgar was no exception to the rule. Sam, having been wounded, was sent to the hospital, and when his wound was healed, he was allowed leave of absence to recruit his strength, so he thought he would take a run to Durham and see how it fared with the paternal windmill. Time had, of course, wrought many changes both outside and in, but it still remained perched grimly on its pedestal, but now entirely abandoned to the bats and owls. The sails were gone, and the woodwork was slowly crumbling away; but the basement being of hewn granite, it was still in a tolerable state of preservation. The place, however, was said to be haunted; exactly at twelve o'clock at night dismal howls were heard by the villagers to issue from the mill. According to the blacksmith, who was a great authority in such matters, Sam's father was a very avaricious old fellow, and had hid his money somewhere about the building; and you know, Master Jack, that when a man dies and leaves his money concealed, there is no rest for him in his grave till it is discovered." "I really was not aware of it before," replied Jack; "but I am delighted to hear it." "When Sam arrived, nobody disputed his title to the property, except the ghost; but Sam had seen a good deal of hard service, and declared that he would not be choused out of his patrimony for all the ghosts in the parish; and, in spite of the persuasions of the villagers, resolved to take up his abode there forthwith. Sam accordingly laid in a supply of stores, including a month's supply of tobacco and rum. He first made the place water-tight, then made a fire sufficient to roast an ox, and when night arrived made a jorum of grog, a little stiff, to keep away the damp. This done, he lit his pipe, and began to cook a steak for his supper. The old mill, for the first time since the decease of the former proprietor, was filled with the savory odor of roast beef." "And there are worse odors than that," remarked Jack. "Whilst the steak was frizzling, he took a swig at the grog; and, thinking one side was done, he gave the gridiron a twist, which sent the steak a little way up the chimney, and, strange to say, it never came down again. "'Ten thousand What's-a-names,' cried Sam, 'where's my steak?' "No answer was vouchsafed to this query; he looked up the chimney, and could see no one." "The steak had really disappeared then?" said Jack, inquiringly. "Yes, not a fragment remained; but he had more beef, so he cut off another; and, as his head had got a little middled with the grog, he thought it just possible that he might have capsized the gridiron into the fire, so he quietly recommenced the operation." "And the second steak disappeared like the first?" "Yes, Master Fritz, with this difference--there was a dead man's thigh-bone in its place." "An awkward transformation for a hungry man," said Jack. "'Here's a go!' cried Sam, like to burst his sides with laughing, 'they expect to frighten me with bones, do they? they've got the wrong man--been played too many tricks of that kind at sea to be scared by that sort of thing. Ha, ha, ha! capital joke though.'" "Your friend Sam must have been a merry fellow, Willis." "Yes, but he was hungry, and wanted his supper; so he continued supplying the gridiron with steaks as long as the beef lasted, but only obtained human shin-bones, clavicles and tibias. "'Never mind,' said Sam to himself, 'they will tire of this game in course of time.' "When the beef was done, he kept up a supply of rashers of bacon, and threw the bones as they appeared in a corner, consoling himself in the meantime with his pipe and his grog." "He must have been both patient and persevering," remarked Jack. "This went on till a skull appeared on the gridiron." "A singular object to sup upon," observed Jack. "'I wonder what the deuce will come next,' said Sam to himself, throwing the skull amongst the rest of the bones. "The next time, however, he took the gridiron off the fire, there was his last rasher done to a turn. "'Now,' said Sam, 'I am going to have peace and quietness at last.' "He sat down then very comfortably, and kept eating and drinking, and drinking and smoking, till the village clock struck twelve." "Good!" cried Jack. "You may come in now, ladies and gentlemen; the performance is just a-going to begin." "Sam heard a succession of crack cracks amongst the bones, and turning round he beheld a frightful-looking spectre, pointing with its finger to the door." "Was it wrapped up in a white sheet?" inquired Jack. "Yes, I rather think it was." "Very well, then, I believe the story; for spectres are invariably wrapped up in white sheets." "The bones, instead of remaining quietly piled up in the corner, had joined themselves together--the leg bones to the feet, the ribs to the back-bone--and the skull had stuck itself on the top. Where the flesh came from, Sam could not tell; but he strongly suspected that his own steaks and bacon had something to do with it. But, be that as it may, there was not half enough of fat to cover the bones, and the figure was dreadfully thin. Sam stared at first in astonishment, and began to doubt whether he saw aright. When, however, he beheld the figure move, there could be no mistake, and he knew at once that it was a ghost. Anybody else would have been frightened out of their senses, but Sam took the matter philososophically and went on with his supper. "'How d'ye do, old fellow?' he said to the spectre. 'Will you have a mouthful of grog to warm your inside? Sit down, and be sociable.' "The spectre did not make any reply, but continued making a sign for Sam to follow. "'If you prefer to stand and keep beckoning there till to-morrow you may, but, if I were in your place, I would come nearer the fire,' said Sam; 'you may catch cold standing there without your shirt, you know.' "The same silence and the same gesture continued on the part of the ghost, and Sam, seeing that his words produced no effect, recommenced eating." "There is one thing," remarked Jack, "more astonishing about your friend Sam than his coolness, and that is his appetite." "The spectre did not appear satisfied with the state of affairs, for it assumed a threatening attitude and strode towards the fire-place. "'Avast heaving, old fellow,' cried Sam, 'there is one thing I have got to say, which is this here: you may stand and hoist signals there as long as ever you like; but if you touch me, then look out for squalls, that's all.' "The 'old fellow,' however, paid no attention to this caution. He strode right up to the fire-place, and, whilst pointing to the door with one hand, grasped Sam's arm with the other. Sam started up, shook off the hand that held him, and pitched into the spectre right and left. But, strange to say, his hands went right through its bones and all, just as if it had been made of the hydrogen gas you spoke of the other day. Sam saw that it was no use laying about him in this fashion, for the spectre stood grinning at him all the time, so he gave it up. "'I wish,' said he, 'you would be off, and go to bed, and not keep bothering there.' "Still the spectre maintained the same posture, and kept pertinaciously pointing to the door. "'Well,' said Sam, 'since you insist upon it, let us see what there is outside. Go a-head, I will follow.' "The spectre led him into what used to be the garden of the mill, but the enclosure was now overgrown with rank and poisonous weeds. There was a path running through it paved with flagstones; the spectre pointed with its finder to one of them. Sam stooped down, and, much to his astonishment, raised it with ease. Beneath there was an iron chest, the lid of which he also opened, and saw that it was filled with old spade guineas and Spanish dollars. "'You behold that treasure!' said the spectre, in a hollow voice. "'Ha, ha, old fellow! you can speak, can you? Now we shall understand each other. Yes, I see a box, filled with what looks very like gold and silver coins.' "'I placed that treasure there before my death,' added the spectre. "'Ah, so! than you are dead?' said Sam. "'One half of that money I wish you to give to the poor, and the other half you may keep to yourself, if you choose.' "'Golley!' said Sam, 'you are not much of a swab after all, though you look as thin as a purser's clerk. Give us a shake of your paw, my hearty.' "Here Sam, somehow or other, stumbled over the lamp, and when he got up again the spectre had vanished. He laid hold of the chest, however, and groped his way back to the mill. When safe inside, he made a stiff jorum of grog, and then fell comfortably asleep. That night he dreamt that he was eating gold and silver, that he was his own captain, that the cat-o'-nine tails was entirely abolished in the navy, and that his ship, instead of sailing in salt water was floating in rum. When he awoke, the sun was steaming through all the nooks and crannies of the old mill. All the marks of the preceding night's adventures were there--the gridiron, the empty rum jar, the the table o'erturned in the _mélée_ with the ghost--but the chest of money was gone." "And what did Sam conclude from that incident?" inquired Fritz. "Well, he supposed that he had slept rather long, and that somebody had come in before he as up and had walked off with the box." "If I had been in his place," continued Fritz, "I should have said to myself that the mind often gives birth to strange fancies, particularly after a heavy supper, and that I had muddled my brain with rum; consequently, that all the things I imagined I had seen were only the chimeras of a dream." "But that could not be, Master Fritz, for two reasons; the first, that the mark of the ghost's hand remained on his arm." "Very likely burnt it when he grilled the bacon." "The second, that the ghost was no more seen or heard of in the mill." "That proof is a poser for you, brother, I think," said Jack. "Did you heave that sigh just now, Master Fritz?" inquired Willis, in a low tone. "It was not I," said Fritz, looking at his brother. "Nor I," said Jack, looking at Willis. "Nor I," said Willis, looking behind him. CHAPTER XXVI. WILLIS FALLS IN WITH THE SLOOP ON TERRA FIRMA, INSTEAD OF AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA, AS MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED--ADMIRAL CICERO--THE DEFUNCT NOT YET DEAD. The corvette, notwithstanding the multitude of British cruisers scattered about the ocean, and the other dangers that beset her, held on the even tenor of her way. A gale sprung up now and then, but they only tended to give a filip to the common-place incidents recorded in the log. This quietude was not, however, enjoyed by all the persons on board. Willis was a prey to violent emotions; and so it often happens, in the midst of the profoundest calm, storms often rage in the heart of man. Whether in reality or in a dream, Willis declared that Captain Littlestone paid him a visit every night, and invariably asked him precisely the same questions. On these occasions, Willis asserted that he distinctly heard the door open and shut whilst a shadow glided through. That he might once, or even twice, have been the dupe of his own imagination, is probable enough; but a healthy mind does not permit a delusion to be indefinitely prolonged--it struggles with the hallucination, and eventually shakes it off; providing always the mind has a shadow, and not a reality, to deal with, and that the patient is not a monomaniac. The dilemma was consequently reduced to this position--either Willis was mad, or Captain Littlestone was on board the _Boudeuse_. In all other respects, Willis was perfectly sane. He himself searched every corner of the ship, but without other result than a confirmation of his own impression that there were no officers on board other than those of the corvette; and yet, notwithstanding his own conviction in daylight, he still continued to assert the reality of his interviews with Captain Littlestone during the night. The Italians say, _La speranza è il sogno d'an uomo svegliato_. Was Willis also dreaming with his eyes open? Might not the wish be father to the thought, and the thought produce the fancy? There is only one other supposition to be hazarded--could it be possible, in spite of all his researches, that Willis did see what he maintained with so much pertinacity he had seen? These questions are too astute to admit of answers without due consideration and reflection; therefore, with the reader's permission, we shall leave the replies over for the present. On the 12th June a voice from the mast-head called "Land ahoy!" much to the delight of the voyagers. The land in question was the island of St. Helena. This sea-girt rock had not at that time become classic ground. It had not yet become the prison and mausoleum of Napoleon the Great. The petulant squabbles between Sir Hudson Lowe and his illustrious prisoner had not been heard of. Little wotted then the proud ruler of France the fate that awaited him, for, when the _Boudeuse_ touched at the island, all Europe, with the single exception of England, was kneeling at his feet. On the 30th the Island of Ascension was reached. Here, in accordance with a usage peculiar to French sailors, a bottle, containing a short abstract of the ship's log, was committed to the deep. Willis thought this ceremony, under existing circumstances, would have been better observed in the breach than the observance, for, said he, if a British cruiser picked up that bottle within twenty-four hours, she stood a chance of picking up the _Boudeuse_ as well. On the 15th July the peak of Teneriffe hove in sight This remarkable basaltic rock rises to the extraordinary height of three thousand eight hundred yards above the level of the sea; it is consequently seen at a considerable distance, and constitutes a valuable landmark for navigators in these seas. Six weeks later the _Boudeuse_ dropped anchor in the Havre roads. Here the three adventurers had to encounter by far the greatest misfortune that had as yet befallen them. The continental system of Napoleon was then in force. The importation of everything English or Indian was strictly prohibited. The cargo the young men had brought with them from New Switzerland, which already had escaped so many perils, was, therefore, declared contraband, and seized by the French _fisc_--an institution that rarely permitted such a prize to quit its rapacious grasp. Behold now our poor friends, Fritz and Jack, in a strange land, deprived at once of their fortune and their chance of returning home--the two beacons that had cheered them on their way! All their bright hopes of the future were thus annihilated at one fell swoop. Their fortitude almost gave way under the severity of this blow; the excess of their distress alone saved them. Grief requires leisure to give itself free vent; but when we are compelled, by absolute necessity, to earn our daily bread, we cannot find time for tears; and such was the case with Willis and his two friends; they were here without a friend and without resources of any kind whatever. If they had only known Greek and Latin; if they had only been half doctors or three-quarter barristers, or if even they had been doctors and lawyers complete, it would have sorely puzzled their skill to have raised a single sous in hard cash. Fortunately, however, whilst cultivating their minds, they had acquired the art of handling a saw and wielding a hammer. The blouse of the workman, consequently, fitted them as well as the gown of the student, and they set themselves manfully to earn a living by the sweat of their brow. They were carpenters and blacksmiths by turns, regulating their occupations by the grand doctrines of supply and demand. Jack alone of the three was defective in steadiness; he only joined Willis and his brother at mid-day. What he did with himself during the forenoon was a profound mystery. He rose before daybreak, and disappeared no one knew where, or for what purpose. His companions in adversity endeavored in vain to discover his secret; he was determined to conceal his movements, and succeeded in baffling their curiosity. To judge, however, by the ardor with which he worked, he was engaged in some one of those schemes that are termed follies before success, but which, after success, are universally acknowledged to be brilliant and praiseworthy instances of industrial enterprise. If, after a hard day's work, when assembled together in the little room that served them for parlor, kitchen, and hall, the power of regret vanquished fatigue, and sadness drove away sleep, then Jack, who compared himself to Peter the Great, when a voluntary exile in the shipyards of Saardam, would endeavor to infuse a little mirth into the lugubrious party. If all his efforts to make them merry failed, all three would join together in a humble prayer to their Heavenly Father, who bestowed resignation upon them instead. If Willis and his two friends were not accumulating wealth, at all events they were earning the bread they ate honestly and worthily. They had all three laid their shoulders vigorously to the wheel and kept it jogging along marvellously for a month. By that time, a detailed report of the seizure of their property had been placed before the director of the Domaine Extraordinaire, who was the sovereign authority in all matters pertaining to the exchequer of the empire. He saw at once that this capture was extremely harsh, and probably thought that, if it became known, it would raise a storm of indignation about the ears of his department. Here were two young men--Moseses, as it were, saved from the bulrushes. Lost in the desert from the period of their birth, and ignorant of the dissensions then raging in Europe, they were unquestionably beyond the ordinary operation of the law. This will never do, he probably said to himself; the civilization which these two young men have come through so many perils to seek ought not to appear to them, the moment they arrived in Europe, in the form of spoliation and barbarism. The name of this _extraordinary_ director of Domaine Extraordinaire was M. de la Boullerie, and, when we fall in with the name of a really good-hearted man, we delight to record it. He felt that the two young men had been hardly dealt with, but he had not the power to order a restitution of the property, now that the seizure had been made, and sundry perquisities, of course, deducted by the excise officials. Accordingly, he referred the matter to the Emperor, who commanded the goods to be immediately restored intact. Napoleon, at the same time, praised the functionary we have named for calling his attention to the merits of the case, and thanked him for such an opportunity of repairing an injustice.[I] There are many such instances of generosity as the foregoing in the career of the great Emperor--mild rays of the sun in the midst of thunderstorms; sweet flowers blowing here and there, in the bosom of the gigantic projects of his life--which many will esteem more highly than his miracles of strategy and the renown of his battles. As nothing that tends to elevate the soul is out of place in this volume, we may be permitted to insert one or two of these anecdotes. In 1806, Napoleon was at Potsdam. The Prussians were humbled to the dust, and the outrage of Rossbach had been fearfully avenged. A letter was intercepted, in which Prince Laatsfeld, civil governor of Berlin, secretly informed the enemy of all the dispositions of the French army. The crime was palpable, capital, and unpardonable. There was nothing between the life and death of the prince, except the time to load half a dozen muskets, point them to his breast, and cry--Fire. The princess flew to the palace, threw herself at the feet of the Emperor, beseeched, implored, and seemed almost heart-broken. "Madam," said Napoleon, "this letter is the only proof that exists of your husband's guilt. Throw it into the fire." The fatal paper blazed, crisped, passed from blue to yellow, and the treachery of Prince Laatsfeld was reduced to ashes. Another time, a young man, named Von der Sulhn, journeyed from Dresden to Paris; unless you are told, you could scarcely imagine for what purpose. There are people who travel for amusement, for business, for a change of air, or merely to be able to say they have been at such and such a place. Some go abroad for instruction, others, perhaps, with no other object in view than to eat frogs in Paris, bouillabaisse at Marseilles, a polenta at Milan, macaroni at Naples, an olla podrida in Spain, or conscoussou in Africa. Von der Sulhn travelled to assassinate the Emperor. Like Scævola and Brutus, he, no doubt, imagined the crime would hand down his name to posterity. In youth, all of us have erred in judgment more or less. Sulhn thought the Emperor ought to be slain. Unfortunately for him, the Duke of Rovigo, the then minister of police, entertained a different opinion. He thought, in point of fact, that the Emperor ought not to be killed: hence it was that the young Saxon found himself in chains, and that the Duke went to ask the Emperor what he should do with him. We ought, however, to mention that the young man, in his character of an enlightened German, testified his regret that he had not succeeded in carrying out his project, and protested that, in the event of regaining his liberty, he would renew the attempt. "Never mind," said the Emperor to the duke, "the young man's age is his excuse. Do not make the affair public, for, if it is bruited about, I must punish the headstrong youth, which I have no wish to do. I should be sorry to plunge a worthy family into grief by immolating such a scapegrace. Send him to Vincennes, give him some books to read, and write to his mother." In 1814, the young man obtained his liberty, his family, and his Germany, and it is to be hoped that he afterwards became a respectable pater-familias, a sort of Aulic councillor, and that, during the troublesome times in the land of Sauerkraut, he was before, and not behind, the barricades of his darling patria. If he be dead, it is to be supposed that, instead of lying a headless trunk ignominiously in a ditch, or in the unconsecrated cemetery of Clamort, he is reposing entire in the paternal tomb. On the 15th of March, 1815, the Emperor landed at Cannes--he had returned from the island of Elba. On the beach he was joined by one man, at Antibes by a company, at Digne by a battalion, at Gap by a regiment (that of Labedoyer), at Grenoble by an army. The hearts of the soldiers of France went to him like steel to the loadstone--first a drop, and then a torrent; the Empire, like a snowball, increased as it progressed. At Lyons, the Count of Artois, the setting sun, is obliged to go out of one gate the moment that Napoleon, the rising sun, comes in at another. Smiles, orations, triumphal arches, and even the discourses that had been prepared to welcome the Bourbons, were used to congratulate their successor on his return. Cockades and flags were altered to suit the occasion, by inserting a stripe of red here and another of blue there. One national guard, but only one, remained faithful to the Bourbons; he would neither alter his cockade nor his colors, and remained true to his patrons in the hour of disaster. Everybody asked, what would the Emperor do with him? Would he be imprisoned or banished? Neither; the Emperor sent him a cross of the order of merit! It is, no doubt, grand to have overthrown the brilliant army of Murad Bey in Egypt; to have vanquished Melas, Wurmser, and Davidowich in Italy; Bragation, Kutusoff, and Barclay de Tolly in Russia; Mack in Germany; and thus to have reduced the entire continent of Europe to subjection. But it appears to us that a still greater feat was the victory he gained over himself, when, in the midst of the fever excited by his return, and the animosity of parties, he gave this cross to the solitary adherent of misfortune. Having made these slight digressions into the future, it is proper that we should return to our story. The mysterious roads of Providence do not always lead to the places they seem to go; it often happens that, when we expect to be swallowed up by the breakers that surround us, we are wafted into a harbor, and that we encounter success where we only anticipated disappointment. The rigorous enactments of the continental system, that the other day had ruined the two brothers, became all at once the source of unlooked-for wealth; for, on account of the scarcity of colonial produce, a scarcity dating from the prohibitory laws promulgated in 1807, the merchandise of the young men had more than quadrupled in value. From the grade of hard-working mechanics they were suddenly promoted to the rank of wealthy merchants. They consequently abandoned the laborious employments that for a month had enabled them to live, and to keep despair and misery at bay. Willis, greatly to his inconvenience, found himself transformed into a gentleman at large, which caused him to make some material alterations in the manipulation and quality of his pipes. Fritz busied himself in collecting in, the by no means inconsiderable sums, which their property realised. He did not value the gold for its glitter or its sound, he valued it only as a means of enabling himself and his brother to return promptly to their ocean home. Jack undertook the task of finding a scalpel to save his mother--doubtless a difficult task; for how was he to induce a surgeon of standing to abandon his connexion, his family, and his fame, and to undertake a perilous voyage to the antipodes, for the purpose of performing an operation in a desert, where there were neither newspapers to proclaim it, academicians to discuss it, nor ribbons to reward it? As for the gentlemen of the dentist and barber school, like Drs. Sangrado and Fontanarose of Figaro, the remedy was even worse by a great deal than the disease. But, as we have said, Jack promised to find a surgeon, and the research was so arduous, that he was scarcely ever seen during the day by either Willis or his brother. To Willis was confided the office of chartering a ship for the homeward voyage, and there were not a few obstacles to overcome in order to accomplish this. French ship-masters at that time engaged in very little legitimate business; they embarked their capital in privateering, prefering to capture the merchantmen of England to risking their own. One morning, Willis started as usual in search of a ship, but soon returned to the inn where they had established their head-quarters in a state of bewilderment; he threw himself into a chair, and, before he could utter a word, had to fill his pipe and light it. "Well," said he, "I am completely and totally flabbergasted." "What about?" inquired the two brothers. "You could not guess, for the life of you, what has happened." "Perhaps not, Willis, and would therefore prefer you to tell us at once what it is." "After this," continued Willis, "no one need tell me that there are no miracles now-a-days." "Then you have stumbled upon a miracle, have you, Willis?" "I should think so. That they do not happen every day, I can admit; but I have a proof that they do come about sometimes." "Very probably, Willis." "It is my opinion that Providence often leads us about by the hands, just as little children are taken to school, lest they should be tempted to play truant by the way." "Not unlikely, Willis; but the miracle!" "I was going along quietly, not thinking I was being led anywhere in particular, when, all at once, I was hove up by--If a bullet had hit me right in the breast, I could not have been more staggered." "Whatever hove you up then, Willis?" "I was hove up by the sloop." "What sloop?" "The _Nelson_." "Was it taking a walk, Willis?" inquired Jack. "Have you been to sea since we saw you last?" asked Fritz. "If I had fallen in with the craft at sea, Master Fritz, I should not have been half so much astonished. The sea is the natural element of ships; we do not find gudgeons in corn fields, nor shoot hares on the ocean. But it was on land that I hailed the _Nelson_." "Was it going round the corner of a street that you stumbled upon it, Willis?" inquired Jack. "Not exactly; but to make a long story short--" "When you talk of cutting anything short, we are in for a yarn," said Jack. "And you are sure to interrupt him in the middle of it," said Fritz. "Well, in two words," said Willis, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, "I was cruising about the shipyards, looking if there was a condemned craft likely to suit us--some of them had gun-shot wounds in their timbers, others had been slewed up by a shoal--and, to cut the matter short--" "Another yarn," suggested Jack. "I luffed up beside the hull of a cutter-looking craft that had been completely gutted. But, changed and dilapidated as that hull is, I recognized it at once to be that of the _Nelson_. Now do you believe in miracles?" "But are you sure, Willis?" "Suppose you met Ernest or Frank in the street to-morrow, pale, meagre, and in rags, would you recognize them?" "Most assuredly." "Well, by the same token, sailors can always recognize a ship they have sailed in. They know the form of every plank and the line of every bend. There are hundreds of marks that get spliced in the memory, and are never forgotten. But in the present case there is no room for any doubt, a portion of the figure head is still extant, and the word _Nelson_ can be made out without spectacles." "But how did it get there?" "You know, Master Fritz, it could not have told me, even if I had taken the trouble to inquire." "Very true, Willis." "I was determined, however, to find it out some other way, so I steered for a café near the harbor, where the pilots and long-shore captains go to play at dominoes. I was in hopes of picking up some stray waif of information, and, sooth to say, I was not altogether disappointed." "Another meeting, I'll be bound," said Jack. "My falling in with the _Nelson_ astonished you, did it not?" "Rather." "Then I'll bet my best pipe that this one will surprise you still more. You recollect my comrade, Bill, _alias_ Bob, of the _Hoboken_?" "Yes, perfectly." "Then I met him." "What! the man who had both his legs shot off, and died in consequence of his wounds?" inquired Jack. "The same." "And that was afterwards thrown overboard with a twenty-four pound shot tied to his feet!" exclaimed Fritz. "The same." At this astonishing assertion the young men regarded Willis with an air of apprehension. "You think I am mad, no doubt, do you not?" "Whatever can we think, Willis?" "I admit that my statement looks very like it at first sight, but still you are wrong, as you will see by-and-by. I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw him. 'Is that you, Bill Stubbs,' says I, 'at last?' "'Lor love ye!' says he, 'is that you, Pilot?' "He then took hold of my hand, and gave it such a shake as almost wrenched it off. "'Where in all the earth did you hail from?' he said. 'I thought you were dead and gone?' "'And I thought you were the same,' said I, 'and no mistake.' "'Alive and hearty though, as you see, Pilot; only a little at sea amongst the _mounseers_.' "'But what about the _Hoboken_?' says I. "'What _Hoboken_?' says he. "'Were you not aboard a Yankee cruiser some months back?' "'Never was aboard a Yankee in all my life,' says Bill. "And no more he was, for he never left the _Nelson_ till she was high and dry in Havre dockyard; so, the short and the long of it is, that I must have been wrong in that instance." "So I should think," remarked Fritz. "Yet the resemblance was very remarkable; the only difference was a carbuncle on the nose, which the real Bill has and the other has not, but which I had forgotten." "Like Cicero," remarked Jack. "Another Admiral?" inquired Willis, drily. "No, he was only an orator." "Bill soon satisfied me that he was the very identical William Stubbs, and that the other was only a very good imitation." "He did not receive you with a punch in the ribs, at all events, like the apocryphal Bill," remarked Jack. "No; but what is more to the purpose, he told me that, after having struggled with the terrible tempest off New Switzerland--which you recollect--the _Nelson_ found herself at such a distance, that Captain Littlestone resolved to proceed on his voyage, and to return again as speedily as possible. "'We arrived at the Cape all right,' added Bill, 'landed the New Switzerland cargo, and sailed again with the Rev. Mr. Wolston on board. A few days after leaving the Cape, we were pounced upon by a French frigate; the _Nelson_, with its crew, was sent off as a prize to Havre, and here I have been ever since,' said Bill, 'a prisoner at large, allowed to pick up a living as I can amongst the shipping.'" "And the remainder of the crew?" inquired Fritz. "Are all here prisoners of war." "And the Rev. Mr. Wolston and the captain?" "Are prisoners on parole." "Where?" "Here." "What! in Havre?" "Yes, close at hand, in the Hotel d'Espagne." "And we sitting here," cried Jack, snatching up his hat and rushing down stairs four steps at a time. Willis and Fritz followed as fast as they could. When they all three reached the bottom of the stairs. "If Captain Littlestone is here, Willis," said Jack, "he could not have been on board the _Boudeuse_." "That is true, Master Jack." "In that case, Great Rono, you must have been dreaming in the corvette as well as in the Yankee." "No," insisted Willis, "it was no dream, I am certain of that." "Explain the riddle, then." "I cannot do that just at present, but it may be cleared up by-and-by, like all the mysteries and miracles that surround us." FOOTNOTES: [I] This circumstance is historical, and will be found at length in the Memoirs of Napoleon, by Amédée Goubard. CHAPTER XXVII. CAPTAIN LITTLESTONE IS FOUND, AND THE REV. MR. WOLSTON IS SEEN FOR THE FIRST TIME. Jack, on arriving at the hotel, ascertained the number of the room in which Captain Littlestone was located. In his hurry to see his old friend, the young man did not stop to knock at the door, but entered without ceremony, with Fritz and Willis at his heels. They found themselves in the presence of two gentlemen, one of whom sat with his face buried in his hands, the other was reading what appeared to be a small bible. The latter was a young man seemingly of about twenty-four or twenty-five years of age. He had a mild but noble bearing, and his aspect denoted habitual meditation. His eyes were remarkably piercing and expressive; in short, he was one of those men at whom we are led involuntarily to cast a glance of respect, without very well knowing why; perhaps it might be owing to the gravity of his demeanour, perhaps to the peculiar decorum of his deportment, or perhaps to the scrupulous propriety of his dress. He raised his eyes from the book he held in his hand, and gazed tranquilly at the three figures who had so abruptly interrupted his reveries. "May I inquire," said he, "to what we owe this intrusion on our privacy, gentlemen?" "We have to apologise for our rudeness," said Fritz; "but are you not the Rev. Mr. Wolston?" "My name is Charles Wolston, and I am a minister of the gospel, and missionary of the church." "Then, sir," continued Fritz, "I am the bearer of a message from your father." "From my father!" exclaimed the missionary, starting up; "you come then from the Pacific Ocean?" [Illustration] Here the second gentleman raised his head, and looked as if he had just awakened from a dream. He gazed at the speakers with a puzzled air. "Do you know me, captain?" said Willis. Littlestone, for it was he, continued to gaze in mute astonishment, as if the events of the past had been defiling through his memory; and he probably thought that the figures before him were mere phantom creations of his brain. "Willis! can it be possible?" he exclaimed, taking at the same time the Pilot's proffered hand. "Yes, captain, as you see." "And the two young Beckers, as I live!" cried Littlestone. "Yes," said Jack, "and delighted to find you at last." Littlestone then shook them all heartily by the hand. "It is but a poor welcome that I, a prisoner in the enemy's country, can give you to Europe; still I am truly overjoyed to see you. But where have you all come from?" "From New Switzerland," replied Jack. "But how?" "By sea." "That, of course; and I presume another ship anchored in Safety Bay?" "No, captain. Seeing you did not return to us, we embarked in the pinnace and came in search of you." "Your pinnace was but indifferently calculated to weather a gale, keeping out of view the other dangers incidental to such a voyage." "True, captain; but my brother and I, with Willis for a pilot and Providence for a guardian, ventured to brave these perils; and here we are, as you see." "And your mother consented to such a dangerous proceeding, did she?" "It was for her, and yet against her will, that we embarked on the voyage." "I do not understand." "For her, because, when we left, she was dying." "Dying, say you?" "Yes, and our object in coming to Europe was chiefly to obtain surgical aid." "And have you found a surgeon?" "Not yet, but we are in hopes of finding one." "If money is wanted, besides the value of the cargo I landed for you at the Cape, you may command my purse." "A thousand thanks, captain, but the merchandise we have here is likely to be sufficient for our purpose. Unfortunately, gold is not the only thing that is requisite." "What, then?" "In the first place, a disinterested love of humanity is needful; there are few men of science and skill who would not risk more than they would gain by accepting any offer we can make. It is not easy to find the heart of a son in the body of a physician." "What, then, will you do, my poor friend?" "That is my secret, captain." During this conversation, the missionary had put a thousand questions to Willis and Fritz relative to his father, mother, and sisters, and a smile now and then lit up his features as Fritz related some of the family mishaps. "You must have undergone some hardships in your voyage from the antipodes to Havre de Grace," said Littlestone to Jack, "notwithstanding the skill of my friend the Pilot." "Yes, captain, a few," replied Jack. "I myself made a narrow escape from being killed and eaten by a couple of savages." "And how did you escape?" "Providence interfered at the critical moment." "Well, so I should imagine." "Our friend the Pilot was more fortunate; he was abducted by the natives of Hawaii; but, instead of converting him into mincemeat, they transformed him into a divinity, bore him along in triumph to a temple, where he was perfumed with incense, and had sacrifices offered up to him." "Willis must have felt himself highly honored," said the captain, smiling. "These fine things did not, however, last long, for next day they were wound up with a cloud of arrows." "And another interposition of Providence?" "Yes, none of the arrows were winged with death." "After that," remarked Willis, "we fell in with a Yankee cruiser, were taken on board, and carried into the latitude of the Bahamas, where we fell in with Old Flyblow, who, after a tough set-to, sent the Yankee a prize to Bermuda, and took us on board as passengers." "And," added Jack, "whilst we were under protection of the American flag, Willis fell in with a certain Bill Stubbs, who was shot in the fight and died of his wounds. This trifling accident did not, however, prevent Willis falling in with him alive in Havre." "You still seem to delight in paradoxes, Master Jack," said the captain. "The English cruiser," continued Jack, "was afterwards captured by a French corvette, on which it appears you were on board _incognito_." "What! I on board?" "Yes; ask Willis." "If you were not, captain, how could you come to my cabin every night and ask me questions?" inquired the latter. At this point, a shade of anxiety crossed Littlestone's features; he turned and looked at the missionary--the missionary looked at Fritz--Fritz stared at his brother--Jack gazed at Willis--and Willis, with a puzzled air, regarded everybody in turn. "At last," continued Jack, "after experiencing a variety of both good and bad fortune, sometimes vanquished and sometimes the victors, first wounded, then cured, we arrived here in Havre, where, for a time, we were plunged into the deepest poverty; we were blacksmiths and carpenters by turns, and thought ourselves fortunate when we had a chair to mend or a horse to shoe." "The workings of Providence," said the missionary, "are very mysterious, and, perhaps, you will allow me to illustrate this fact by drawing a comparison. A ship is at the mercy of the waves; it sways, like a drunken man, sometimes one way and sometimes another. All on board are in commotion, some are hurrying down the hatchways, and others are hurrying up. The sailors are twisting the sails about in every possible direction. Some of the men are closing up the port-holes, others are working at the pumps. The officers are issuing a multiplicity of orders at once, the boatswain is constantly sounding his whistle. There is no appearance of order, confusion seems to reign triumphant, and there is every reason to believe that the commands are issued at random." "I have often wondered," said Jack, "how so many directions issued on ship board in a gale at one and the same moment could possibly be obeyed." "Let us descend, however, to the captain's cabin," continued the missionary. "He is alone, collected, thoughtful, and tranquil, his eye fixed upon a chart. Now he observes the position of the sun, and marks the meridian; then he examines the compass, and notes the polary deviation. On all sides are sextants, quadrants, and chronometers. He quietly issues an order, which is echoed and repeated above, and thus augments the babel on deck." "A single order," remarked Willis, "often gives rise to changes in twenty different directions." "On deck," continued the missionary, "the crew appear completely disorganized. In the captain's cabin, you find that all this apparent confusion is the result of calculation, and is essential to the safety of the ship." "Still," said Jack, "it is difficult to see how this result is effected by disorder." "True; and, therefore, we must rely upon the skill of the captain; we behold nothing but uproar, but we know that all is governed by the most perfect discipline. So it is with the world; society is a ship, men and their passions are the mast, sails, rigging, the anchors, quadrants, and sextants of Providence. We understand nothing of the combined action of these instruments; we tremble at every shock, and fear that every whirlwind is destined to sweep us away. But let us penetrate into the chamber of the Great Ruler. He issues his commands tranquilly; we see that He is watching over our safety; and whatever happens, our hearts beat with confidence, and our minds are at rest." "Therefore," added Littlestone, "we are resigned to our fate as prisoners of war; but still we hope." "And not without good reason," said Willis; "for it will go hard with me if I do not realize your hopes, and that very shortly too." "I do not see very well how our hopes of liberty can be realized till peace is proclaimed." "Peace!" exclaimed Willis. "Yes, in another twenty years or so, perhaps; to wail for such an unlikely event will never do; my young friend, Master Jack Becker, is in a hurry, and we must all leave this place within a month at latest." "You mean us, then, to make our escape, Willis; but that is impossible." "I have an idea that it is not impossible, captain; the cargo Masters Fritz and Jack have here will realize a large sum; the pearls, saffron, and cochineal, are bringing their weight in gold. I shall be able to charter or buy a ship with the proceeds, and some dark night we shall all embark; and if a surgeon is not willing to come of his own accord, I shall press the best one in the place: it won't be the first time I have done such a thing, with much less excuse." "One will be willing," said Jack; "so you need not introduce One-eyed Dick's schooner here, Willis." "So far so good, then; it only remains for us to smuggle the captain, the missionary, and the crew of the _Nelson_ on board." "But we are prisoners," said Littlestone. "I know that well enough; if you were not prisoners, of course there would be no difficulty." "Recollect, Willis, we are not only prisoners, but we are on parole." "True," said Willis, scratching his ear, "I did not think of that." "The situation," remarked Jack, "is something like that of Louis XIV. at the famous passage of the Rhine, of whom Boileau said: 'His grandeur tied him to the banks.' Had you been only a common sailor, captain, a parole would not have stood in the way of your escape." "But," said Willis, "the parole can be given up, can it not?" "Not without a reasonable excuse," replied the captain. "Well," continued Willis, "you can go with the minister to the Maritime Prefect, and say: 'Sir, you know that everyone's country is dear to one's heart, and you will not be astonished to hear that myself and friend have an ardent desire to return to ours. This desire on our part is so great, that some day we may be tempted to fly, and, consequently, forfeit our honor; for, after all, there are only a few miles of sea between us and our homes. We ought not to trust to our strength when we know we are weak. Do us, therefore, the favor to withdraw our parole; we prefer to take up our abode in a prison, so that, if we can escape, we may do so with our honor intact." "And suppose this favor granted, we shall be securely shut up in a dungeon. I scarcely think that would alter our position for the better, or render our escape practicable." "You will, at all events, be free to try, will you not?" "That is a self-evident proposition, Willis, and, so far as that goes, I have no objection to adopt the alternative of prison fare. What say you, minister?" "As for myself," replied the missionary, "a little additional hardship may do me good, for the Scriptures say: Suffering purifieth the soul." "We shall, therefore, resign our paroles, Willis; but bear in mind that it is much easier to get into prison than to get out." "Leave the getting out to me, captain; where there's a will there's always a way." "Do you think," whispered the captain to Fritz, "that Willis is all right in his upper story?" Fritz shook his head, which, in the ordinary acceptation of the sign, means, I really do not know. CHAPTER XXVIII. WILLIS PROVES THAT THE ONLY WAY TO BE FREE IS TO GET SENT TO PRISON--AN ESCAPE--A DISCOVERY--PROMOTIONS--SOMNAMBULISM. Three weeks after the events narrated in the foregoing chapter, the thrice-rescued produce of Oceania had been converted into the current coin of the empire. The greater portion of the proceeds was placed at the disposal of Willis, to facilitate him in procuring the means of returning to New Switzerland. He--like connoisseurs who buy up seemingly worthless pictures, because they have detected, or fancy they have detected, some masterly touches rarely found on modern canvas--had bought, not a ship, but the remains of what had once been one. This he obtained for almost nothing, but he knew the value of his purchase. The carcass was refitted under his own eye, and, when it left the ship-yard, looked as if it had been launched for the first time. The timbers were old; but the cabins and all the internal fittings were new; a few sheets of copper and the paint-brush accomplished the rest. When the mast was fitted in, and the new sails bent, the little sloop looked as jaunty as a nautilus, and, according to Willis himself, was the smartest little craft that ever hoisted a union-jack. Whether the captain and the missionary still entertained the belief that the Pilot's wits had gone a wool-gathering or not, certain it is that they had followed his instructions, in so far as to relinquish their parole, and thus to lose their personal liberty. They were both securely locked up in one of the rooms or cells of the old palace or castle of Francois I., which was then, and perhaps is still, used as the state prison of Havre de Grace. This fortalice chiefly consists of a battlemented round tower, supported by strong bastions, and pierced, here and there, by small windows, strongly barred. The foot of the tower is bathed by the sea, which, as Willis afterwards remarked, was not only a favor granted to the tower, but likewise an obligation conferred upon themselves. When the Pilot's purchase had been completely refitted, stores shipped, papers obtained, and every requisite made for the outward voyage, the departure of the three adventurers was announced, and a crowd assembled on shore to see their ship leave the harbor. She was towed out to the roads, where she lay tranquilly mirrored in the sea, ready to start the moment her commander stepped on board. Neither Fritz nor Jack, however, had yet completed their preparations. For the moment, therefore, the vessel was left in charge of some French seamen, whom Willis, however, had taken care to engage only for a short period. Somewhere about a week after this, Fritz and Jack, in a small boat, painted perfectly black and manned by four stout rowers, with muffled oars, were lurking about the fortalice already mentioned. The night was pitch dark, and there was no moon. The waves beat sullenly on the foot of the tower and surged back upon themselves, like an enraged enemy making an abortive attempt to storm the walls of a town. Not a word was uttered, and the young men were intently listening, as if expecting to hear some preconcerted signal. Meanwhile, in one of the rooms or cells of the round tower, about sixty feet above the level of the sea, Captain Littlestone, the missionary, and the Pilot were engaged in a whispered conversation, through which might be detected the dull sound of an oiled file working against iron. The cell was ample in size, but the stone walls were without covering of any kind. It was lighted during the day by one of the apertures we have already described; the thickness of the walls did not permit the rays of the sun to penetrate to the interior, and at the time of which we speak the apartment was perfectly dark. "I should like to see the warder," whispered Willis, "when he comes, with his bundle of keys and his night-cap in his hand, to wish your honors good morning, but, in point of fact, to see whether your honors are in safe custody. How astonished the old rascal will be! Ho, ho, ho!" "My good fellow," said the missionary, "it is scarcely time to laugh yet. It is just possible we may escape; but vain boasting is in no case deserving of approbation. It is, indeed, scarcely consistent with the dignity of my cloth to be engaged in breaking out of a prison; still, I am a man of peace, and not a man of war." "No," said Willis, "you are not; but I wish to goodness you were a seventy-four--under the right colors, of course." "I was going to remark," continued the missionary, "that I am a man of peace, and, consequently, do not think that I am justly entitled to be treated as a prisoner of war. Under these circumstances, I am, no doubt, justified in shaking off my bonds in any way that is open to me; the more particularly as the apostle Paul was once rescued from bondage in a similar way." "He was let down from a window in a basket, was he not?" "Yes; whilst journeying in the city of Damascus, the governor, whose name was Avetas resolved to arrest him and accordingly placed sentries at all the gates. Paul, however was permitted to pass through a house, the windows of which overhung the walls of the town, whence, as you say, he was let down in a basket, and escaped."[J] "I trust your reverence will be in much the same position as the apostle, by-and-by--only you will have to dispense with the basket," said Willis. "I have no wish to remain in bondage longer than is absolutely necessary," said the minister; "but there still seem difficulties in the way." "Yes," said Willis, plying the file with redoubled energy, "this iron gives me more bother than I anticipated; but it is the nature of iron to be hard; however, it will not be long before we are all out of bondage, as your reverence calls it." "May not the warder discover our escape, and raise an alarm in time to retake us?" inquired the missionary. "No, I think not," replied the captain; "thanks to our habit of sleeping with our faces to the wall, he will be deceived by the dummies we have placed in the beds, for he always approaches on tip-toe not to awake us." "That may be for the first round; but the second will assuredly disclose our absence." "Very likely," remarked Willis; "he will then go right up to the beds, and shake the dummies by the shoulders, and say, Does your honor not know that it is ten o'clock, and that your breakfast is cooling? The dummies will, of course, not condescend to reply, and then--but what matters? By that time we shall have shaken out our top-sail, and pursuit will be out of the question. I should like to see the craft that will overtake us when once we are a couple of miles ahead." "Poor man!" said the missionary, sighing; "our escape may, perhaps, cost him his place." "No fear of that," said Willis; "perhaps, at first, he will make an attempt to tear his hair, but, as he wears a wig, that will not do much mischief." "I shall, however, leave my purse on the table," said the missionary; "as it is tolerably well filled, that may afford the poor fellow some consolation." "And I shall do the same," said the captain. "If that does not console him for being deprived of the pleasure of our society, I do not know what will," observed Willis. "It is now two o'clock," said the captain, feeling his watch, "and the warder goes his first rounds at three; we have therefore just one hour for our preparations." "I have severed one bar," said Willis, "and the other is nearly through at one end, so keep your minds perfectly at ease." "Your patience and equanimity, Willis, does you infinite credit," said the missionary. "Minister of the Gospel though I be, I fear that I do not possess these qualities to the same extent, for, to confess the truth, I feel an inward yearning to be free, and yet am restless and anxious." "There is no great use in being in a hurry," said the Pilot; "the more haste the less speed, you know." "True; but might not these bars have been sawn through before? If this had been done, our flight would have been, at least, less precipitate." "You forget, Mr. Wolston," said the captain, "that we did not know till nine o'clock the affair was to come off to-night." "And I could not come any sooner to tell you," remarked the Pilot; "I had the greatest difficulty in the world to get in here; the maritime commissary would not take me into custody." "I forgot to ask you how you contrived to get incarcerated," observed the captain; "you were not a prisoner, and could not plead your parole." "No; and consequently I had to plead something else." "Willis," said the missionary, "the work you are engaged in must be very fatiguing, let me exercise my strength upon the bars for a short time." "If you like, minister, but keep the file well oiled." "What, motive, then, did you urge, Willis?" inquired Captain Littlestone. "'Mr. Commissary,' said I, 'one of your frigates captured the English cutter _Nelson_ some time ago, but the capture was not complete.' "'How so?' inquired the commissary. "'Because, Mr. Commissary,' said I, 'you did not capture the boatswain, and a British ship without a boatswain is no good; it is like a body without a soul.' "'Is that all you have to tell me?' said the commissary, looking glum. "'No,' said I, 'to make the capture complete, you have still to arrest the boatswain, and here he is standing before you--I am the man; but having been detained by family affairs in the Pacific Ocean, I could not surrender myself any sooner.' "'And what do you want me to do with you?' said he. "'Why, what you would have done with me had I been on board the _Nelson_, to be sure.' "'What! take you prisoner?' "'Yes, commissary.' "'You wish me to do so?' "'Yes, certainly,' "'Is it possible?' "'Then you refuse to take me into custody, Mr. Commissary?' said I. "'Yes, positively,' said he; 'we take prisoners, but we do not accept them when offered.' "'Then you will not allow me to join my captain in his adversity?' "'Your captain is as great a fool as yourself,' said he; 'he need not have gone to prison unless he liked.' "'That was a matter of taste on his part, Mr. Commissary, but is a matter of duty on mine,'" "This bar is nearly through," whispered the missionary. "There is no time to be lost," said the captain; "the warder will be round in a quarter of an hour." "Well," continued Willis, "the commissary began to get angry, he rose up, and was about to leave the room, when I placed myself resolutely before him. "'Sir,' said I, 'one word more--you know the French laws; be good enough to tell me what crime will most surely and most promptly send me to prison.' "'Oh, there are plenty of them,' said he, laughing. "'Well, commissary,' says I, 'suppose I knock you down here on the spot, will that do?" "Was that not going a little too far, Willis?" "What could I do? The ship was all ready, everybody on board but yourselves, circumstances were pressing, and you know I would have floored him as gently as possible." At this moment the bar yielded. To the end of a piece of twine, which Willis had rolled round his body, a piece of stone was attached; this he let down till it touched the water, and then the caw of a crow rang through the air. "That was a very good imitation, Willis," said the captain. "You did not break any of the commissary's bones, did you?" "No; the threat was quite sufficient; he would not yield to my prayers, but he yielded to my impudence, and ordered me into custody. At first, however, I was thrust into an underground cell; but I obtained, or rather my louis obtained for me, permission to chum with you; and, by the way, what a frightful staircase I had to mount! that more than any thing else, obliges us to get down by the window." [Illustration] Willis, who continued to hold one end of the cord, at the sound of a whistle drew it up, and found attached to the other end a stout rope ladder. This he made fast to the bars of the window that still remained intact. At the request of the minister, all three then fell upon their knees and uttered a short prayer. Immediately after, Wolston went out of the window and began to descend, the captain followed, and Willis brought up the rear. All three were cautiously progressing downwards, when the missionary called out he had forgotten to _forget_ his purse. "I have made the same omission," said the captain; "hand yours up, Wolston." The missionary accordingly held up his with one hand whilst he held on the ladder with the other. The captain bent down to take it, but found he could not reach it without endangering his equilibrium. They both made some desperate efforts to accomplish the feat, but the thing was impossible. "I see no help for it," said the missionary, "but to ascend all three again." "That is awkward," said the captain. "Gentlemen," said Willis, "three o'clock is striking on the prison clock; the warder will be round in two minutes." "God sometimes permits good actions to go _unrewarded_," said the missionary; "but he never _punishes_ them." "Let us re-ascend, then," said the captain. "So be it," said Willis, going upwards. They had scarcely time to re-enter the cell before they heard the sound of steps and the clank of keys in the corridor. The steps discontinued at their door, and a key was thrust into the lock. "What is the matter?" cried the captain from his bed, as the gaoler thrust his head inside the door. "Why," said the warder, "I heard a noise, and thought that your honor might be ill." "Thank you for your attention, Ambroise," replied the captain, in a half sleepy tone; "but you have been deceived, we are all quite well." "Entirely so," added the missionary. "All right old fellow!" cried Willis, with a yawn. This triple affirmation, which assured him, not only of the health, but also of the custody of his prisoners, seemed satisfactory to the gaoler. "I am sorry to have awoke your honors," said he, as he withdrew his head and relocked the door; "it must have been in the room overhead." "Good?" said Willis, "the old rascal expects nothing." Two well-lined purses were laid on the table, and in a few minutes more the three men resumed their position on the ladder in the same order as before. They arrived safely in the boat, where they were cordially welcomed by Fritz and Jack. The men were then ordered to pull for their lives to the ship, which they did with a hearty will. The instant they stepped on board the anchor was weighed, and when morning broke not a vestige of the old tower of Havre de Grace was anywhere to be seen. "Why," exclaimed the captain, looking about him with an air of astonishment, "this is my own vessel!" "Yes, captain," said Willis, touching his cap, "and I am its boatswain or pilot, whichever your honor chooses to call me." "But how did you obtain possession of her?" "By right of purchase she belongs to our friends, Masters Fritz and Jack, but they have agreed to waive their claim, providing you proceed with them to New Switzerland." "I agree most willingly to these conditions," said Captain Littlestone, addressing the two brothers, "the more so that my destination was Sydney when the _Nelson_ was captured." "In the meantime, captain," said Fritz, "my brother and I have to request that you will resume the command, and treat us as passengers." "Thank you, my friends, thank you. Willis, are all the old crew on board?" "All that were in Havre, your honor; I commissioned Bill Stubbs to pick them up, and he managed to smuggle them all on board." "Then pipe all hands on deck." "Aye, aye, captain," said Willis, sounding his whistle. When the men were mustered, Littlestone made a short speech to them, told them that they would receive pay for the time they had been in the enemy's power, and inquired whether they were all willing to continue the voyage under his command. This question was responded to by a general assent. "Then," he continued, turning to Willis, "the share you have had in the rescue of the _Nelson_ and its crew, conjointly with my interest at the Admiralty, will, I have not the slightest doubt, obtain for you the well-merited rank of lieutenant of his Majesty's navy. I have, therefore, to request that you will assume that position on board during the voyage, until confirmed by the arrival of your commission." "Thank your honor," said Willis, bowing. "And now, lieutenant, you will be kind enough to rate William Stubbs on the books as boatswain." "Aye, aye, captain," said Willis, handing his whistle to Bill. "Pipe to breakfast," said the captain. "Aye, aye, sir," replied the new boatswain, sounding the whistle. "By the way," said Littlestone, turning to Jack, "I do not see the surgeon you spoke of on board. How is this?" "He is on board for all that," said Jack, drawing an official looking document out of his pocket; "be kind enough to read that." The captain accordingly read as follows:-- "_Havre, 15th October, 1812._ "This is to certify that Mr. Jack Becker has, for some time, been a student in the hospitals of this town, and that he has successfully passed through a stringent examination as to his acquaintance with the diagnosis and cure of various diseases; as also as to his knowledge of the practice of physic and surgery generally. "He has specially directed his attention to the treatment of cancer, and has performed several operations for the eradication of that malady to the satisfaction of the surgeon in chief and my own. (Signed) "GARAY DE NEVRES, M.D., Inspector of the Hospitals". This document was countersigned, sealed, and stamped by the mayor, the prefect, and other authorities of the department. "How have you contrived to obtain so satisfactory a certificate in so short a period?" inquired the captain. "I was introduced to the chief surgeon by the medical man on board the _Boudeuse_. I stated my position to him, and, probably, he threw facilities in my way of obtaining the object I had in view that were, perhaps, rarely accorded to others. All the cases of cancer, for example, were placed under my care; I had, therefore, an opportunity of observing a great many phases and varieties of that disease." "Are you determined to follow up the profession of surgery, then?" "Yes, captain; I have shipped a medicine chest on board, a complete assortment of instruments, and a collection of English, French, and German medical works. It is my intention to make myself thoroughly familiar with the theory of the science, and trust to chance for practice." "Then allow me, Mr. Becker, to rate you as surgeon of the _Nelson_ for the outward voyage. Will you accept the office?" "With pleasure, Captain; but, at the same time, I trust there will be no occasion to exercise my skill." "No one can say what may happen; disease turns up where it is least expected. Lieutenant," he added, turning to Willis, "be kind enough to rate Mr. Becker on the ship's books as surgeon." "Aye, Aye, sir." Meantime the _Nelson_ was making her way rapidly along the French coast, and had already crossed the Bay of Biscay. The _Nelson_ behaved herself admirably, and took to her new gear with excellent grace. All was going merrily as a marriage bell. They did not now run very much risk of cruisers, as Fritz had French papers perfectly _en regle_, and Captain Littlestone would have had little difficulty to prove his identity; besides, the speed of the _Nelson_ was sufficient to secure their safety in cases where danger was to be apprehended. One night, about four bells (ten o'clock), when Willis was lazily lolling in his hammock, doubtless ruminating on his newly-acquired dignity, his cabin-door gradually opened, and the captain entered. Willis stared at first, thinking he might have something important to communicate, but he only muttered something about a cloud gathering in the west. This was too much for Willis; it resembled his former meditations so vividly, that he leaped out of his hammock, seized Littlestone by the collar, and called loudly for Fritz and Jack. "It is not very respectfull, captain, to handle you in this way; but the case is urgent, and I should like to have the mystery cleared up." The two brothers, when they entered the cabin, beheld Willis holding the captain tightly in his arms. "I have caught him at last, you see," said the Pilot. "So it would appear," observed Jack; "but are you not aware the captain is asleep?" And so it was Littlestone had walked from his own cabin to that of Willis in a state of somnambulism. "What is the matter?" inquired the latter, when he became conscious of his position. "Nothing is the matter, captain," replied Jack, "only you have been walking in your sleep." "Ah--yes--it must be so!" exclaimed Littlestone; gazing about him with a troubled air. "Have I not paid you a visit of this kind before, Willis?" "Yes, often." "Where?" "On board the _Boudeuse_." "That must have been the craft I was transferred to, then, after the capture of the _Nelson_. Just call Mr. Wolston, and let us have the matter explained." On comparing notes, it appeared that the captain and the missionary had been on board the _Boudeuse_. Both had been ill, and both had been closely confined to their cabin during the entire voyage, partly on account of their being prisoners of war, and partly on account of their illness. On one occasion, but on one only, the captain had escaped from his cabin during the night. Willis might, therefore, have seen him once, but that he had seen him oftener was only a dream. "It appears, then," said Littlestone, "that my illness has left this unfortunate tendency to sleep-walking. I shall, therefore, place myself in your hands, Master Jack; perhaps you may be able to chase it away." "I will do my best, captain; and I think I may venture to promise a cure." Willis was sorry for the captain's sleeplessness, but he was glad that the mystery hanging over them both had been so far cleared up. His visions and dreams had been a source of constant annoyance to him; but now that their origin had been discovered, he felt that henceforward he might sleep in peace. After a rapid run, the sloop cast anchor off the Cape. Here Captain Littlestone reported himself to the commander on the station, and received fresh papers. He also sent off a despatch to the Lords of the Admiralty, in which he reported the capture and rescue of his ship. He informed them that his own escape and that of the crew was entirely owing to the tact and daring of Willis, the boatswain, whom, in consequence, he had nominated his second in command, _vice_ Lieutenant Dunsford, deceased; the appointment subject, of course, to their lordship's approval. Willis wrote a long letter to his wife, informing her of his expected promotion, adding that, in a year or so after the receipt of his commission, he should retire on half-pay, and then emigrate to a delightful country, where he had been promised a vast estate. He said that, probably, he should have an entire island to himself, and possibly have the command of the fleet; but he thought it as well to say nothing about tigers, sharks, and chimpanzees. The missionary also wrote to England, relinquishing his charge in South Africa, and requesting a mission amongst the benighted inhabitants of the Pacific Ocean, where he stated he was desirous of settling for family reasons, and where besides, he said, he would have a wider and equally interesting field for his labors. The two brothers found at the Cape a large sum of money at their disposal; this, however, they had now no immediate use for; they, consequently, left it to await the arrival of Frank and Ernest, who, in all probability, would return with the _Nelson_. The arrangements made, the _Nelson_ was fully armed and manned, an ample supply of stores and ammunition was shipped, the mails in Sydney were taken on board, and the sloop resumed her voyage. FOOTNOTES: [J] 2nd Cor., xi., 32. CONCLUSION. Three months after leaving the Cape, the coast of New Switzerland was telegraphed from the mast head by Bill Stubbs. A gun was immediately fired, and towards evening the _Nelson_ entered Safety Bay. Fritz, Jack, Captain Littlestone, the missionary, and Willis, were all standing on deck, eagerly scanning the shore. "There is father!" cried Jack, "armed with a telescope; and now I see Frank and Mrs. Wolston." "There comes Mr. Wolston and Master Ernest," cried Willis, "as usual, a little behind." "But I see nothing of my mother and the young ladies!" said Fritz. "Very odd," said Captain Littlestone, sweeping the horizon with his glass "I can see nothing of them either." A horrible apprehension here glided into the hearts of the young men. They knew well that, had their mother been able, she would have been the first to welcome them home. Perhaps, under the inspiration of despair, their lips were opening to deny the mercy of that Providence which had hitherto so remarkably befriended them, when at a great distance, and scarcely perceptible to the naked eye, they descried three figures advancing slowly towards the shore. One of these forms was Mrs. Becker, who was leaning upon the arms of Mary and Sophia Wolston. "God be thanked, we are still in time," cried Fritz and Jack. A loud cheer, led by Willis, then rent the air. Half an hour after, the two young men leaped on shore; they did not stay to shake hands with their father and brothers, but ran on to where their mother stood. It was a long time before they could utter a syllable; the greeting of the mother and her children was too affectionate to be expressed in words. Next morning, at daybreak, preparations for a serious operation were made in Mrs. Becker's room. The entire colony was in a state of intense excitement, and an air of anxiety was imprinted on every countenance. In the room itself the wing of a fly could have been heard, so breathless was the silence that prevailed. The patient's eyes had been bandaged, under pretext of concealing from her sight the surgical instruments and preparations for the operation. The real design, however, was to hide the operator, whom Mrs. Becker supposed to be an expert practitioner from Europe; for it was not thought advisable that a mother's anxieties should be superadded to the patient's sufferings. At the moment of trial the few persons present had sunk on their knees; Jack alone remained standing at the bedside of his mother. The Jack of the past had entirely disappeared; he was somewhat pale, very grave, but collected, firm, and resolute. It was, perhaps, the first instance on record of a son being called upon to lacerate the body of his mother. But the moment that God imposed such a task upon one of His creatures, it is God himself that becomes the operator. When, some days after, Mrs. Becker--calm, radiant, and saved--requested to see and thank her deliverer, it was Jack who presented himself. If she had known this sooner, it would, most undoubtedly, have augmented her terror, and increased the fever. As it was, it redoubled her thankfulness, and hastened her recovery. Frank and Ernest embarked on board the _Nelson_ when she returned to New Switzerland on her way to Europe. Two years afterwards, the former returned in the capacity of a minister of the Church of England, bringing with him a sufficient number of men, women, and children to furnish a respectable congregation; and it was rumored, though with what degree of truth I will not venture to say, that one of the young lady passengers in the ship was his destined bride. Ernest remained some years in Europe, partly to consolidate relations between the colony and the mother country, and partly with a view to realize his pet project of establishing an observatory in New Switzerland. Willis, instead of being suspended at the yard-arm as he had insisted on prognosticating, received his lieutenancy in due course, accompanied by a highly flattering letter from the Lords of the Admiralty, thanking him, in the name of the captain and crew of the _Nelson_, for his exertions in their behalf. As soon, however, as peace was proclaimed, he retired on half-pay, and, with his wife and daughter, emigrated to Oceania. He assumed his old post of admiral on Shark's Island, where a commodious house had been erected. We must premise, at the same time, that to his honorary duties as admiral, conjoined the humbler, but not less useful, offices of lighthouse keeper, manager of the fisheries, and harbor-master. As a country grows rich, and advances in prosperity, it rarely, if ever, happens that the sum of human life becomes happier or better. It is, therefore, not without regret we learn that gold has been discovered in a land so highly favored by nature in other respects; for, if such be the case, then adieu to the peace and tranquillity its inhabitants have hitherto enjoyed. The colony will soon be overrun with Chinamen, American adventurers, and ticket-of-leave convicts. Farewell to the kindliness and hospitality of the community, for they will inevitably be deluged with the refuse of the old, and also, alas! of the new world. THE END. 
43465	----	THE KANGAROO HUNTERS; Or, Adventures in the Bush. by ANNE BOWMAN, Author of "Esperanza," "The Castaways," "The Young Exiles," etc., etc. "Light and limber, upwards driven, On the hoar crag quivering; Or through gorges thunder-riven, Leaps she with her airy spring! But behind her still, the foe-- Near, and near the deadly bow!" SCHILLER, _translated by Bulwer_. Philadelphia: Porter & Coates. [Illustration: "He faced round, and with his fore-feet--his arms I should say--he seized me, and gave me a heavy fall."] PREFACE. The rapid spread of education creates a continual demand for new books, of a character to gratify the taste of the young, and at the same time to satisfy the scruples of their instructors. The restless, inquiring spirit of youth craves, from its first development, food for the imagination, and even the simplest nursery rhymes owe their principal charm to their wonderful improbability. To these succeed the ever-interesting tales of Fairies and Enchanters; and the ardent boy only forsakes Ali Baba and Sindbad for the familiar and lifelike fictions of "Robinson Crusoe," and the hundred pleasant tales on the "Robinson Crusoe" model which have succeeded that popular romance. It is the nature of man to soar above the common prose of every-day life in his recreations; from the weary school-boy, who relieves his mind, after arithmetical calculations and pages of syntax, by fanciful adventures amidst scenes of novelty and peril, and returns to his labors refreshed, to the over-tasked man of study or science, who wades through his days and nights of toil, cheered by the prospect of a holiday of voyaging or travelling over new scenes. This spirit of inquiry has usually the happiest influence on the character of the young and old, and leads them-- "To know The works of God, thereby to glorify The great Work-Master." In this belief, we are encouraged to continue to supply the young with books which do not profess to be true, though they are composed of truths. They are doubtless romantic, but cannot mislead the judgment or corrupt the taste; their aim being to describe the marvellous works of creation, and to lead the devout mind to say with the divine poet,-- "Great are thy works, Jehovah, infinite Thy power; what thought can measure thee, or tongue Relate thee?" A. B. RICHMOND, _October_, 1858. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. page 1-16 The Rector and the Soldier.--The Mayburn Family.--A Mission to India.--The Orphans of Wendon.--Ruth the Unlucky.--Jack's Project.--The Addition to the Mayburn Establishment CHAPTER II. 17-31 Departure from Wendon.--Embarkation in the _Amoor_.--Ruth's Adventures in London.--The Deverell Family.--The Pleasures of the Voyage.--Tropical Wonders.--The Flying-fish.--The Stormy Petrel.--The Albatross.--Deverell's Plans.--The Indian Ocean.--A Storm CHAPTER III. 32-44 Melbourne.--The Squatters.--The Two Convicts.--A Painful Separation.--The _Golden Fairy_.--Ruth's Misfortunes.--A Nocturnal Alarm.--Ruth's Confession.--The Ship on Fire. CHAPTER IV. 45-57 Insubordination of the Sailors.--Rapid Progress of the Fire.--The Boats lowered.--Ruth's Prize.--A Man Saved.--Black Peter.--The Adventure of a Reprobate Crew.--A Dangerous Comrade CHAPTER V. 58-71 Afloat on an Unknown Sea.--The Insubordinate Sailor.--The Coral Reefs.--An Island in View.--The Perilous Landing.--Peter's Rebellion.--The First Night on Shore.--Ruth among the Crockery.--A Valuable Prize.--The March from the First Encampment CHAPTER VI. 72-84 A Pleasant Resting-place.--The Turtle.--A Knavish Trick.--Destitution.--An Exploring Expedition.--Lake Scenery.--A Wrecked Vessel.--Strange Footsteps.--A Prudent Retreat.--Return of the Explorers CHAPTER VII. 85-97 The Results of the Expedition.--The Long Vacation.--Removed from the Landing-place.--Birds and their Nests.--Fishing.--Tapping a Cask of Potatoes.--Tent-making.--The Shell Spades.--Digging a Tank.--A Grand Attempt at Boat-building CHAPTER VIII. 98-111 The Launch of the Boat.--An Alarming Catastrophe.--Disappointed Hopes.--Jack's Perseverance.--A Peep at the Old Encampment.--Black Peter again.--The Loss of the Boat.--Canoe-building.--The Luggage-van CHAPTER IX. 112-127 The Foray.--Young Potatoes.--More Intruders.--Ruth's Introduction to the Savages.--The Sailing of the Fleet.--The Desert Shore.--The Giant Ant-hill.--Once more at Sea.--A Storm, and the Loss of the Catamaran CHAPTER X. 128-142 A Total Wreck.--An Unknown Coast.--The Green Ants.--The White Cockatoo.--Waifs.--The Gourd Tree.--The Fresh-water Rivulet.--A River Voyage Projected CHAPTER XI. 143-156 The Voyage up the River.--The Way to China.--The Note of a Strange Bird.--A Hasty Flight.--A Tropical Storm.--The Loss of the Canoes.--The Cave of the Bats.--A Toilsome Pilgrimage CHAPTER XII. 157-172 Alligators.--The Giant's Staircase.--Access to a New Region.--The Pheasant Cuckoo.--Wild Oats.--The Unequal Contest.--The First Kangaroo.--Scenes of Arcadia.--A Hint at Cannibalism.--The Cockatoo Watch.--The Enemy put to Flight CHAPTER XIII. 173-186 Rope-making.--The Cavern of Illustrations.--Ruth at the Water-pools.--Victualling the Fortress.--The Blockade.--Assault and Battery.--Bloodshed.--The Close Siege.--Prospect of Famine CHAPTER XIV. 187-202 Rambles through the Caves.--Fairy Bower.--A Rough Path to Freedom.--Preparations for Flight.--The Use of the Rifle.--A Case of Conscience.--Departure.--Travelling among the Bogs.--A View of the River.--Making an Axe.--A New Plant CHAPTER XV. 203-216 The Tea-Shrub.--Another Canoe.--A Skirmish with the Natives.--Wounded Heroes.--An Attempt at Voyaging.--A Field of Battle.--The Widowed Jin.--Wilkins's Sorrows.--Baldabella in Society.--The Voyage Resumed CHAPTER XVI. 217-228 The Mother and Child.--The Interior of the Country.--Another Cataract.--The Pilgrim Troop.--The Difficult Ascent.--The Frilled Lizard.--The Mountain-range.--The Kangaroo-chase.--The Pass of Erin CHAPTER XVII. 229-241 The Dangerous Pass.--The Coupled Travellers.--The Mountain Labyrinth.--The Emancipation of Ruth's Chickens.--A Combat _à l'outrance_.--The Ornithorhyncus.--The Forest in the Mountains.--Singing Birds.--The Laughing Jackass CHAPTER XVIII. 242-254 The Tunnel through the Mountains.--The Chase of the Emu.--An Encounter with the Natives.--The Rescue of Baldabella and her Child.--Making a Bridge.--Canoes Again.--The Fishing of Baldabella CHAPTER XIX. 255-268 A _Cache_.--The Black Forest.--A Site for the Hut.--The Eagles.--Gerald's Accident.--A Subterranean Grotto.--The Pitcher Plant.--A Potato Ground.--The Fig-tree.--Australian Jumbles.--The Hungry Guest CHAPTER XX. 269-280 The Reservoir.--The Rains.--The Native Companion.--The Employments of Prison Life.--The Unlucky Chase.--Jack's Tale of Trouble.--Black Peter's Temptations.--The Release of the Eagle.--The Rescue Party CHAPTER XXI. 281-292 The Approach to the Prison.--Baldabella's Stratagem.--The Release of the Captive.--Wilkins's Tale of Trials.--A Well.--The Potato Crop.--The Flying Opossum.--The Salt Plant.--Preparations for a Siege CHAPTER XXII. 293-305 Peter's last Stratagem.--Firing the Fortress.--The Watch-tower.--The Welcome Rain.--The Close Siege.--The Conflict.--The Defeat of Peter.--The Fortress Abandoned.--Once more on the Road.--Resting in the Wilds CHAPTER XXIII. 306-317 A Bark Sledge.--The Friendly Tribe.--The Wild Melon.--A Nocturnal Alarm.--The Wombats.--The Bivouac on the Heath.--The Savages again.--Away to the South CHAPTER XXIV. 318-330 The Dry Wilderness.--Despair.--The Coming-down of the Waters.--The Discomfited Savages.--Hunger and Thirst.--The Footsteps in the Mud.--A Pond.--The Talegalla and its Nest.--The Valley of Promise.--The River to the South CHAPTER XXV. 331-343 Boat-building again.--Unlucky Ruth.--The Woods on Fire.--Dangers on Land and Water.--The Wounded Girl.--A Home among the Mountains.--The Bottle-tree.--The Bee-hunt.--Bean-coffee.--The Lost Hunters CHAPTER XXVI. 344-355 The Search for the Lost.--The Fig-tree.--Signals.--The Wanderers Found.--The Wounded Boy.--The Sufferings of the Thirsty.--The Rescue and Return.--The Kangaroo Conflict.--A Strange Meeting.--The Bush-rangers.--The Miraculous Escape CHAPTER XXVII. 356-369 The Eagle's Eyrie.--The Chaotic Solitude disturbed.--The Voluntary Prisoners.--The Report of the Spy.--The Foe at the Gates.--A Traitor in the Camp.--Dispersion of the Invaders.--A lucky Escape.--A pleasant Voyage CHAPTER XXVIII. 370-383 The Cookery disturbed.--A Signal-rocket.--A Surprise and Capture.--Pillage.--The Taste of Gunpowder.--A Fatal Explosion.--The Contrivances of Necessity.--A Region of Famine.--Renewed Hopes.--An Unfair Advantage CHAPTER XXIX. 384-396 A Seasonable Supply.--Visitors in the Night.--Captivity.--An Old Acquaintance.--The Ranger's Settlement.--An Embassy to Daisy Grange.--Jack in a New Office.--The Grateful Native Woman.--Davy's Compunction.--Bush-ranging Life CHAPTER XXX. 397-409 A Proposal of Marriage.--Bill's Rejection and Revenge.--Pocket-picking.--Jack's Return.--Black Peter again.--Bush-ranging Merriment.--A Flight in the Dark.--An Emu-chase.--The disappointed Hunters.--Pursuit.--A Stratagem CHAPTER XXXI. 410-422 The Sentinels in the Trees.--The End of Bill the Convict.--The Bush-rangers deceived.--A strange New Animal.--A Bloody Conflict.--The Mountain-pass.--The Fruit of the Acacia.--The Travellers in Custody.--The Court of Justice CHAPTER XXXII. 423-435 Travellers' Wonders.--The Detective Force.--A Trap for the Rangers.--The Skirmish and the Victory.--Daisies in Australia.--The Constancy of Susan Raine.--The Trial and Sentence of the Natives.--Peter and his Colleagues CHAPTER XXXIII. 436-453 A Chase over the Mountains.--The Frightful End of the Bush-ranger.--Ruth's Opinion.--The Cereopsis.--A Description of the Colony.--The Dingo.--The Cattle at Home.--The Park.--The Arrival at Daisy Grange CHAPTER XXXIV. 454-463 The Comforts of Civilization.--Susan Raine.--The Hamlet and the Church.--Plans for the Future.--Mrs. Edward Deverell.--The Beauties of Daisy Grange THE KANGAROO HUNTERS. CHAPTER I. The Rector and the Soldier.--The Mayburn Family.--A Mission to India.--The Orphans of Wendon.--Ruth the Unlucky.--Jack's Project.--The Addition to the Mayburn Establishment. "I am a selfish creature, O'Brien," said Mr. Mayburn, the rector of Wendon, to his invalid friend. "I cannot forbear from coming once more to annoy you with my lamentations, and to ask your counsel, for I am most unhappy. Every object I behold, every word I hear, recalls to my mind my bereavement. I cannot remain in this place after the loss of my beloved wife. She was the moving power of my household. It was she, in fact, who was the pastor and director of the parish, the skilful tutor of her children, the guide and the guardian of her weak and erring husband. Alone, I am unfit for my responsible office; I shudder over the conviction that I am faithless to my vows; I know, O'Brien, that I do not fulfil my duty." "There is an easy remedy for your distress, my good friend," answered Captain O'Brien; "my advice is, do your duty, and be comforted." "It is physically impossible, O'Brien," said the mourner. "My nerves are shattered; my health is completely destroyed. I shrink from communion with society; and though I exert myself to give my boys their daily lessons, I would afterwards gladly enclose myself in my study, and live amongst my books." "No doubt you would," replied O'Brien; "but God did not send us into this world to vegetate in solitude, and bring forth no fruit. Act, Mayburn, I beseech you, man; power comes with action, you know well; and whatever man has done, may be done. Work! work! is the counsel of the worn-out dying soldier to him who has yet the labors of life spread before him." "But you have no idea how feeble my bodily powers are," groaned the rector. "I can form a very tolerable idea of your strength," said the captain; "for the last time I was out I saw you plunged up to the knees in the green marsh, regardless of a cold north-east March wind." "I remember the day well," answered Mr. Mayburn, with animation, "for I was fortunate enough to obtain the eggs of the crested grebe in the marsh. You will not have forgotten that the preceding summer I got a fine specimen of the bird." "Very well," said his friend; "now, if you were able thus to toil and to endure to save the eggs of a bird, you may surely exert yourself still more to save the soul of a Christian. Go more among your poor; talk to them, help them with your knowledge, and teach them to live happily and die happily. I am not without experience in such work, Mayburn; as long as I was able, I had a little flock of my own; and in secular matters at any rate, was a sort of parish priest among my soldiers. I felt an interest in the history and in the daily life of every man in my company, and was never more at home than in the nooks and corners where my poor fellows dwelt. It was this pleasant and profitable work that Mrs. Mayburn ably accomplished for you, and I see Margaret is treading in her steps; go with her, Mayburn, support her in her virtuous course, and you will discover that life has still its pleasures for you." "Not here! not here! my dear O'Brien," answered Mr. Mayburn. "Sometimes I determine to relinquish this parish, and accept one of smaller population, where the responsibility would be less; at other moments I am prompted to adopt an entirely opposite course, and to make up for my past wasted life by devoting my remaining days to missionary labors in distant lands, where I might be more stimulated to exertion, in the necessity of action. Give me your advice, O'Brien, on which of these two plans to decide. On the one hand, I have the temptation offered me to exchange for a small living on the north-eastern coast, where I should meet with many ornithological novelties; on the other hand, I know I have still sufficient interest among my old friends to obtain the appointment to some mission in the colonies. I should prefer Northern India or South Australia, both affording rich fields to the naturalist." "A matter of secondary consideration," said O'Brien, smiling. "But wait a month or two, my good friend; we must not decide hastily on such an important step; and before that time has elapsed, you will have fulfilled the last pious offices for me. Do not be agitated, Mayburn. I know that I am dying; these old wounds have slowly, but successfully, undermined the fortress; it cannot hold out long. But be comforted; I am resigned and calm, nay, I am happy, for I know in whom I trust. Now, Mayburn, to you and to your sweet daughter I must bequeath my wild, half-taught boy. Give him all the book-lore he can be made to imbibe; above all, Mayburn, make him a Christian. To Margaret I intrust his physical education. I should wish him to be fitted to perform such work in this world as it may please God to call him to. I am thankful that I must leave him poor, as he will thus be exempt from the grand temptation, and forced into healthy action. May God direct his labors to the best and wisest end." The words of his dying friend had for some time a salutary influence over the amiable but vacillating Mayburn. With remorse and shame he looked on his own discontent, and with a brief gleam of energy he turned to the duties of his office; but long habits of self-indulgence in literary pursuits and literary ease were not to be suddenly overcome; and when the grave closed over his faithful friend and wise counsellor, O'Brien, he soon shrunk back into morbid, solitary musings, and gradually sunk into his accustomed indolence. But a waking of remorse induced him to write to his old college friend, the Bishop of ----, to pray that he might be allowed to resign his living, and be appointed to some distant mission. Mr. Mayburn, though upright in principle and amiable in disposition, was yet unfitted, from his deficiency in firmness, for the responsibilities of his office; but his constitutional timidity and indolence had escaped notice during the lifetime of his valuable and energetic wife, who had directed his actions and concealed his feeble nature. But it was the will of God that she should be suddenly called from him; and, stunned with his loss, he abandoned himself to sorrow and inaction. The death of his valuable friend and counsellor, Captain O'Brien, cut away the last prop of the feeble man, who was now alternately sunk in useless grief or haunted with the horrors of neglected duties. Pious and eloquent, his people declared he was an angel in the church; but in their humble dwellings his visits, like those of angels, "were short and far between." In his family, it was his pleasure to communicate to his children the rich treasures of learning that he possessed; but the lessons of life, the useful preparation for the battle of the world, he had not the skill or the energy to teach. His daughter, now sixteen years of age, had been ably instructed by her excellent mother, and possessed good sense and prudence beyond her years. Arthur, the eldest son, one year younger, had benefited by his mother's advice and example equally with his sister, whom he resembled in disposition. His brother Hugh, not yet thirteen years old, was too young to have profited much by instruction, and was more volatile than Margaret and Arthur. But the children were all frank, true, and conscientious; and had yet escaped the temptations and perils of the world. Gerald, the orphan son of the faithful and attached friend of Mr. Mayburn, Captain O'Brien, was the most weighty charge of his timid guardian; though but twelve years old, he was bold, independent, and forever in mischief; and hourly did Mr. Mayburn groan under his responsibility, for he had solemnly promised to fulfil the duties of a father to the boy, and he trembled to contemplate his incapacity for the office. "Margaret," said he to his daughter, "I request that you or Jenny will never lose sight of that boy after he leaves my study. I am continually distracted by the dread that he should pull down the old church tower when he is climbing to take the nests of the harmless daws, or that he should have his eyes pecked out by the peacocks at Moore Park, when he is pulling the feathers from their tails." "Do you not think, papa," answered Margaret, "that you are partly responsible for his mischievous follies? You have imbued him with your ornithological tastes." "He has no taste, Margaret," replied her father hastily. "He has no judgment in the science. He has never learned to distinguish the _Corvidæ_ from the _Columbidæ_; nor could he at this moment tell you to which family the jackdaw he makes war with belongs. He is negligent himself, and, moreover, he allures my son Hugh from his serious studies, to join him in rash and dangerous enterprises. He is totally deficient in the qualities of application and perseverance. I have a dim recollection, Margaret, of a childish hymn, written by the pious Dr. Watts, who was no great poet, but was really an observer of the habits of the animal creation. This hymn alludes prettily to the industry of the bee, and if you could prevail on Gerald to commit it to memory, it might suggest reflections on his own deficiencies." "Papa," said Margaret laughing, "Gerald could repeat 'How doth the little busy bee,' when he was four years old, and I do not think that a repetition of it now would make any serious impression on him." "He has no taste for the higher range of poetry," said his distressed guardian; "and has too much levity to seek knowledge in the direct paths. What would you think of giving him to learn an unpretending poem by Mrs. Barbauld, which describes the feathered tribes with tolerable accuracy. It commences, 'Say, who the various nations can declare, That plough, with busy wing, the peopled air!'" "Gerald is not lazy, papa, he is only thoughtless," said Margaret. "Let us hope that a few years will bring him more wisdom; then he will learn to admire Homer, and to distinguish birds like his good guardian." Mr. Mayburn sighed. "But what shall I do with the boy," he said, "when my duties summon me to distant lands? I am bewildered with doubts of the future. Will it be right, Margaret, to remove you and my promising boys from country, society, and home, perhaps even from civilization?" "No, no, papa, you are not fitted for a missionary to savages," answered Margaret, "you must choose some more suitable employment. And if you are bent on quitting England, surely you cannot suppose, whatever may be your destination, that we should consent to be separated from you." "God forbid that it should be so!" exclaimed the father. "But I cannot but feel, my child, that I have been selfish and negligent. Give me some consolation--tell me that you think I may yet do some good in a strange land. I am persuaded that I shall be better able to exert myself among complete heathens than I am among these cold, dull, professed Christians." "If you feel this conviction, papa," said Margaret, "it is sufficient. When we earnestly desire to do right, God always provides us with work. We must all try to aid you. And Gerald is now our brother, papa; he must accompany us in our wanderings. The boys anticipate with great delight the pleasures of a sea-voyage, and I myself, though I regret to leave my poor people, enjoy the idea of looking on the wonders of the world." "Then, Margaret," added Mr. Mayburn, "I must trust you and Jenny to watch that giddy boy, Gerald. Warn him of the dangers that surround him. I should never survive if he were to fall overboard. I promised O'Brien much; but, alas! I have done little." Margaret engaged to use all needful watchfulness, though, she assured her father, Arthur would care for the young boys; and being now convinced that her father's resolution to leave England was earnest and unchangeable, the young girl, assisted by Jenny Wilson, the old nurse, set about the serious preparations for this important change; and when a mission to a remote part of India was proposed to Mr. Mayburn, he found the whole of his family as ready as he was himself to enter into this new and hazardous undertaking. "I looked for nothing better, Miss Marget, my darling," said nurse Jenny; "and my poor mistress, lying on her death-bed, saw it all plainly. Says she to me, 'Nurse,' says she, 'your good master will never settle after I'm gone. He'll be for shifting from this place; but mind this, nurse, you'll stick to my childer.' And then and there I said I would never leave ye; 'specially you, Miss Marget; where you go, I must go, and I hope God will spare me to nurse childer of yours. Though where you are to meet with a suiting match I cannot see, if master will choose to go and live among black savages." "Not so bad as that, nurse," said Margaret, smiling. "I trust that our lot may be cast on a more civilized spot, where we may find many of our own countrymen living among the benighted people we are sent to teach; and even they, though ignorant and degraded, are not absolutely savage, neither are they blacks, my dear nurse." "Well, my child, you know best," answered Jenny. "But there's a sore task laid out for you, that will have all the work to do. Not but what master is a grand hand at preaching, and can talk wonderful, nows and thens, to poor folks; but he cannot get round them as you can. He never seems to be talking to them as it were face to face, but all like preaching to them out of his pulpit; and somehow he never gets nigh hand to them. But it's God will, and, please Him, we must all do our best; we shall be missed here; and oh, Miss Marget, what will come of poor Ruth Martin? and we promising to take the lass next month, and make a good servant of her. Here's Jack, too; just out of his time, a fair good workman, and a steady lad, and none but you and master to look up to, poor orphans." "Do not be distressed, nurse," replied Margaret, "I have thought of all my scholars; I have prepared a list of those I wish papa especially to recommend to his successor; and perhaps Mrs. Newton will take Ruth on trial." "She won't do it, Miss Marget," answered Jenny. "I tried her before, and she flounces, and flames, and says all sorts of ill words again the lass, as how she's flappy and ragged, and knows nothing; and when I asked her what she could expect from childer as was found crying over their poor father and mother lying dead under a hedge; she said outright, she should expect they would turn out vagabonds, like them they belonged to. Yes, she said that; after you had given the poor things schooling for six years." It was not the least of Margaret Mayburn's pangs, on leaving Wendon, that she must be compelled to abandon the poor children of the parish, whom she had long taught and cared for; and she sighed over the incapacity of the rough orphan girl that she now set out with her faithful nurse to visit. Ruth and Jack Martin had been found one cold morning of winter in a lane leading to the village of Wendon, sitting by the side of the hedge, weeping over the dead bodies of their parents, who had perished from famine and fever, exposed to the storm of the previous night. The children were conveyed to the workhouse, and from their story, and further inquiries, it was made out that their mother had left a tribe of gipsies to marry a railway _navvy_, as the children called their father. He was a reckless, drunken profligate; and after losing his arm from an accident which originated in his own carelessness, was dismissed from his employment, and driven to wander a homeless vagrant. The children said they had lived by begging, and had often been nearly starved; but their mother would never let them steal or tell a lie, and she had often cried when their father came to their lodging very drunk, speaking very bad words, and holding out silver money, which their mother would not touch. But at last he was seized with a bad fever on the road, and, houseless and penniless, they crept under a haystack; from thence the children were sent to the road-side to beg from passengers, or to seek some farmhouse, where charity might bestow on them a little milk or a few crusts of bread; but the poor wife sickened of the same disease which was carrying off her husband, and in their desperation the wretched sufferers dragged themselves to the road which led to the village, in hopes of reaching it, and finding shelter and aid. But it was too late. In the midst of the beating snow, and in the darkness of a winter's night, the man sank down and died. The wretched woman cast herself down beside him, and, overcome by sorrow and long suffering, did not survive to see the morning light. The sympathy created by this melancholy event procured many warm friends for the orphans. They were fed and clothed, sent to school, and carefully instructed in that pure religion of which they had formerly had but vague notions. Jack, the boy, who was about eleven years of age when they were orphaned, was a thoughtful, industrious lad; for three years he made useful progress at school, and in the last three years, under a good master, he had become a skilful carpenter. Ruth, who was two years younger than her brother, had inferior abilities; she was rough, boisterous, and careless; and was ever the dunce of the school, till at length the schoolmistress begged she might be put to something else, for she declared she made "no hand at learning." She was then placed with an old woman, who daily complained that "the lass was of no use; she was willing enough; but if she was set to wash the cups, she broke them; and she could not even stir the fire but she would poke it out." At fifteen years old, Ruth was a strong, active girl, extremely good-natured, true, and honest, fondly attached to her brother, and devoted to her kind friends at the rectory; yet, certainly, Ruth was no favorite with the wives of the neighboring farmers, who unanimously agreed that she must have "two left hands," she was so awkward in all her undertakings. Under these untoward circumstances, it had been arranged that Ruth should undergo an apprenticeship in the rectory establishment, to fit her for household service. This event was looked forward to by the girl with great delight, and it was with much regret that Margaret set out to announce to her their plan of leaving Wendon, which must necessarily extinguish her hopes of preferment. There was still another who would deeply feel their loss; and Margaret was accompanied by her brothers, who were anxious to see their untiring assistant, Jack. It was he who gave his useful aid to them in the construction of bows, bats, leaping-bars, and all the wooden appliances of school-boy sports; and above all the people of the village, the boys murmured most that they must part with Jack. They found the industrious lad busily engaged in making a new crutch for Nanny, the old woman with whom the orphans lived. "You see, Master Hugh," said he, "poor Ruth happened to throw down Nanny's crutch, and then the careless lass fell over it, and snapped it. I reckon it had been a bit of bad wood; but this is a nice seasoned stick I've had laid by these two years for another purpose, and it comes in nicely; for Nanny was cross, and poor Ruth was sadly put about, and this will set all straight." At this moment, Ruth, who had been sent out to milk Nanny's cow, entered in woful plight. She had neglected to tie Brindle's legs properly, and the animal, irritated by the teasing bark of an ill-taught little dog, had struggled to extricate itself, kicked Ruth into the mud, and the milk-pail after her, and then run off, pursued by its tormentor; and the girl returned with her dress torn and dirty, and her milk-pail empty. Nanny scolded, Jack shook his head, Margaret gently remonstrated with her for her carelessness, and, worst cut of all, the young gentlemen laughed at her. Then Ruth fairly sat down and cried. "Well, Nanny," said Margaret, "you must look over Ruth's fault this time, for we have some sad news for you all. We are going to leave Wendon." Jack threw down his work, and Ruth, forgetting her own vexation, held up her hands, crying out, "Not without me, please, Miss Marget. You promised to try and make me good for something; please do, Miss Marget, and I'll pray God to make me of some use to you." "But, Ruth," said Hugh, "we are going far away from here, across the wide sea, and among people who neither talk, nor look, nor live as we do." "How many legs have they, Master Hugh?" asked the awe-struck girl. "Only two legs, and one head, Ruth," answered he, laughing; "and we feel pretty sure that they will not eat us; but, for all that, I am afraid they are a little bit savage, if they be roused." "Will you be so kind as to tell me, Mr. Arthur," said Jack, "where you may be going really." Arthur then explained to Jack the plans of Mr. Mayburn, and assured him they all felt a pang at leaving Wendon; and especially they regretted the parting from the children they had themselves assisted to teach. "Then let us go with you," cried Ruth vehemently. "Cannot we both work and wait on you? If I stay here I shall be sure to turn out a bad lass. Jack, honey, we'll not be left behind, we will run after Miss Marget and Mr. Arthur." Jack was thoughtful and silent, while Margaret said to the weeping girl,--"If we had only been removing to any part of England, Ruth, we would have taken you with us, if it had been possible; but we dare not propose such an addition to the family in a long voyage, which will cost a large sum of money for each of us; besides this, we are going to a country where your services, my poor girl, would be useless; for all the servants employed in cooking, house-work, and washing, are men, who bear the labor, in such a hot climate, better than women could." "If you please, Miss Margaret," said Jack, eagerly, "I have thought of something. Will you be kind enough to tell me the name of the ship you are to go in, and I will get my master to write me out a good testimonial, and then I will seek the captain, to offer to work for my passage and for that of poor Ruth, if you will agree to try her; for you see, Miss Margaret, we must never be parted. And when once we're landed, please God, we'll take care to follow you wherever you may go." Margaret was deeply affected by the attachment of the orphans; and though she felt the charge of Ruth would be a burden, she promised to consult her father about the plan, and the brother and sister were left in a state of great anxiety and doubt. As they walked home, Margaret and Arthur talked of Jack's project till they satisfied themselves it was really feasible; and Arthur believed that, once landed in India, the lad might obtain sufficient employment to enable him to support himself and his sister. "Oh, Jack will be a capital fellow to take with us," said Hugh. "I know papa will consent, for he could always trust Jack to find the birds' nests, and bring away the right eggs, as well as if he had gone himself. Then he is such an ingenious, clever fellow, just the man to be cast away on a desolate island." "I trust we shall never have occasion to test his talents under such extreme circumstances," said Arthur; "but, if we can manage it, I should really like Jack to form a part of our establishment. As to that luckless wench, Ruth, I should decidedly object to her, if we could be cruel enough to separate them, which seems impossible. But I shall always be haunted with the idea that she may contrive, somehow, to run the ship upon a rock." "Oh! do let us take Ruth, Meggie," exclaimed Gerald; "it will be such fun. Isn't she a real Irish girl, all wrong words and unlucky blunders. Won't she get into some wonderful scrapes, Hugh?" "With you to help her, Pat Wronghead," replied Hugh. "But mind, Meggie, she is to go. Papa will say what you choose him to say; and I will cajole nurse out of her consent." And serious as the charge was likely to become, it was at length agreed that Jack and Ruth should be included in the party with the Mayburns; and the girl was immediately transferred to the rectory, to undergo a short course of drilling previous to the momentous undertaking. CHAPTER II. Departure from Wendon.--Embarkation in the _Amoor_.--Ruth's Adventures in London.--The Deverell Family.--The Pleasures of the Voyage.--Tropical Wonders.--The Flying-fish.--The Stormy Petrel.--The Albatross.--Deverell's Plans.--The Indian Ocean.--A Storm. Finally the successor of Mr. Mayburn arrived, was initiated in his office, introduced to his new parishioners, and had promised to supply, as well as he was able, the loss which the mourning poor must sustain in the departure of the charitable family. Mr. Mayburn's old friend, the Bishop of ----, himself accompanied the family to London, directed them in the mode of fitting out for the voyage, and for their new residence, and supplied them with letters of instruction as well as of introduction before he left them. Some weeks of delay followed, and several disappointments; but at length they were induced to embark, with nurse Wilson, Ruth, and Jack, on board the _Amoor_, a good sailing vessel bound to Melbourne, with many passengers; and from thence to Calcutta, with cattle and merchandise; Captain Barton, who commanded the ship, being an old acquaintance of Mr. Mayburn. Established in a large and commodious cabin, Margaret begged that nurse would keep Ruth always with them, for the girl was distracted with the strange objects around her. "Sit ye down, lass, and hem that apron," said Jenny, in a tone of authority. "Truly, Miss Margaret, I wouldn't go through the last week again to be Queen Victoria herself, God bless her; and all owing to that unlucky lass. Jack is a decent lad, and it's unknown what a help he was about getting the things here safe; but all the folks in London seemed of one mind that _she_ was fitter for a 'sylum than for a creditable gentleman's family. It's no good blubbering about it now, girl; just see and mind what you are about, for there's no police here to look after you." "Did the police really get hold of her, nurse?" asked Gerald. "What fun!" "I never took her out for a walk, Master O'Brien," answered Jenny, "but they had their eye on her; they marked her at once as one that needed watching--a simpleton! Why, it was no later than yesterday morning when she worked on me, fool-body as I was, to go with her to see St. Paul's; and what did she do then but start from my arm and run right across a street thronged with cabs, and wagons, and omnibuses. I just shut my eyes and screamed, for I never thought to see her again living; and there was such a hallooing among coachmen and cabmen, and such screaming of women, as was never heard. How they got all them horses to stop is just a miracle; but when I looked again, there was a lot of police holding horses' heads, and one man was hauling Ruth right across; and he had his trouble, for when she heard all that hullabaloo, she was for turning back to me through the thick of it. Oh! Miss Marget, wasn't I shamed out of my life when they fetched her back to me at last, and one fine fellow said I had better lead my daughter in a string." Ruth giggled hysterically at the recital of her adventure, and when Margaret said to her gravely,--"You behaved very improperly, Ruth, why did you leave your kind friend, Mrs. Wilson?" "Please Miss Marget," sobbed the girl; "it was a window full of bonnie babbies." "She's just a babby herself, Miss Marget," said Jenny, wrathfully. "It was a fine toyshop she saw, and she had no more sense but run among carriages to it. She's hardly safe shut up here; see if she doesn't tumble into the sea some of these days." But when Ruth's curiosity and astonishment had somewhat subsided, the quiet and firm government of Margaret, and the watchful care of Jack, had great power over her; though still the wild boys Hugh and Gerald sometimes tempted her to pry into forbidden places, or to join them in some mischievous frolic. The greater part of the accommodation of the _Amoor_ was given up to a gentleman of good birth and property, who was emigrating to Australia. He had obtained a grant of an immense tract of land in the very midst of the country, further north than the steps of the colonists had yet reached. To this remote district he was taking his mother, his young sister, and a younger brother who had studied medicine; and besides these, a number of male and female servants, carpenters, smiths, builders, drainers, shepherds, and various workmen likely to be useful in a new colony. These men were accompanied by their wives and children, forming a considerable clan, all depending on their worthy and energetic chieftain. The vast amount of goods brought out by all these emigrants, much that was useless, as must ever be the case, among the useful, had heavily laden the vessel. The Mayburns and Deverells were drawn together as much by kindred taste as by inevitable circumstances, and they soon became as true friends as if they had been intimately acquainted for years. Edward Deverell, with promptness and practical knowledge, managed the affairs and smoothed the difficulties of the Mayburns; while Mr. Mayburn instructed the ignorant, and, at the desire of the captain, a right-minded man, daily read the morning and evening services publicly--a most beneficial practice, producing order and decorum, and implanting in the minds of the young the seeds of future blessing. "How truly I should rejoice, dear Margaret," said Deverell, "if we could induce your excellent father to join our expedition. I would then undertake to build a church; and might hope for a blessing on my new colony, if the foundation were so happily laid. The climate is declared to be exceedingly salubrious, much more likely to suit you all than the unhealthy air of India. It would be an inestimable advantage to my dear sister Emma; she has never known the care and tenderness of a sister; she needs a more cheerful companion than her good mother, who has delicate health; and you, Margaret Mayburn, are the model I should wish her to imitate." "I need a sister quite as much," answered Margaret, "to soften my rough points, and your gentle, gay little Emma charms and interests me; but, alas! papa has accepted a duty which he must not relinquish without a trial to fulfil it. I regret that it should be in such a locality for the sake of my brothers." "You are right, my dear friend," replied he; "observe how happily they are now engaged. Arthur has looked over the dried plants, and he is now dissecting rabbits with my brother. Hugh and your ingenious Jack are at work with my carpenters, making models of broad-wheeled travelling-wagons and canoes for the rivers. Even the mischievous urchin O'Brien is out of danger when he is engaged with my grooms and herdsmen, in attendance on my valuable horses and cattle. What can these ardent boys find to interest and amuse them in the arid and enfeebling plains of India?" Margaret knew that if her father heard these arguments, they would certainly agitate him, and might even shake his determination to proceed in the undertaking, which she and Arthur were of opinion he was bound to complete. She therefore begged Deverell to use no further persuasions; but she promised him, that if the Indian mission was beyond the physical or mental strength of her father, she would try to induce him to return to Melbourne, and from thence they would endeavor to make their way to the station of Mr. Deverell, who had promised to leave directions for their progress with his banker at Melbourne, which he proposed to make his mart for business. It was truly the fact, that in pleasant employment no one found the long voyage tedious. Jack was especially charmed with his increase of knowledge. "You see, sir," said he to Arthur, "I was qualified to make a four-post bedstead, or a chest of drawers, as well as the best of these chaps; but they tell me them sort of things isn't much needed in them forrin parts. But what they've brought along with them is quite another thing: frames for wooden houses, ready to nail up in no time; mills and threshing machines; great, broad-felloed wagons for their rough roads, and boats of all makes. Just look, Mr. Arthur, I've made bits of models of all them things, you see. We can't say but they may turn up useful some day." Even Ruth the unlucky lost her cognomen, and became popular among the emigrant women; for when kept quietly at regular employment, she could be steady and useful; it was only when she was hurried, or thrown upon her own responsibility, that she lost her head, and blundered into mischief. She nursed the babes tenderly and carefully, helped the poor women to wash their clothes, and for the first time in her life began to believe she might be of some use in the world. Gerald, who always insisted on it that Ruth was not half so bad as she was represented, assured Jenny that all the girl's errors arose from improper management. "You do not appreciate her talents justly, nurse," said he. "She is quite a genius, and ought to have been Irish, only she was born in England. You have wronged poor Ruth; you see she has never drowned a _babby_ yet." "Well, Master O'Brien, wait a bit, we're not through our voyage yet," said Jenny, oracularly. "The Ides of March are not gone, she would say," said Hugh. "I didn't mean to say no such thing, Master Hugh," replied she; "you're so sharp with one. I'm not so daft, but I know March is gone, and May-day ought to be at hand; not that we can see any signs of it, neither leaves nor flowers here, and I cannot see days get any longer. How is it, Master Arthur? Is it because we're atop of the water?" Arthur endeavored to make Jenny comprehend the natural consequences of their position, now within the tropics, and daily drawing nearer to the equator; but he only succeeded in agitating the mind of the old woman, without enlightening her. "God help us!" she exclaimed. "Nigher and nigher to the sun! It's downright temptation and wickedness, my dears; and my thought is, one ought to stay where it has pleased Him to plant us. And think ye, Master Arthur, we shall all turn black, like them niggers we saw in London streets." "No; certainly not, nurse," answered Arthur. "It requires hundreds of years, under a tropical sun, to change the color of Europeans. Besides, the negroes, although we are all children of Adam, are of a distinct race from us. We are certainly not, like the thick-lipped negroes, the descendants of Ham." "Likely he had been the plainest of Noah's family," said Jenny, "for beauty runs in the blood, that I'll stand to," continued the attached nurse, looking round with complacency on her handsome young nurslings. To the young voyagers there was an indescribable charm in the novelties which the sea and the air offered to them in the tropical region they had now entered. Now for the first time they beheld the flying-fish rise sparkling from the waves, to descend as quickly; escaping for a short time from its enemies in the waves to expose itself to the voracious tribes of the air, who are ready to dart upon it. And sometimes the elegant little Stormy Petrel, with its slender long legs, seemed to walk the waters, like the fervent St. Peter, from whom it derives its name. "But is not this bird believed to be the harbinger of storms?" asked Margaret of her father, as he watched with delight the graceful creature he had so often desired to behold. "Such is the belief of the sailors," answered he, "who have added the ill-omened epithet to its name. It is true that the approach, or the presence, of a gale, has no terror to this intrepid bird, the smallest of the web-footed tribe. It ascends the mountainous wave, and skims along the deep hollows, treading the water, supported by its expanded wings, in search of the food which the troubled sea casts on the surface: 'Up and down! up and down! From the base of the wave to the billow's crown, Amidst the flashing and feathery foam, The Stormy Petrel finds a home,' as a poet who is a true lover of nature has written. Yet it is not always the harbinger or the companion of the storm, for even in the calmest weather it follows a vessel, to feed on the offal thrown overboard, as fearless and familiar in the presence of man as the pert sparrow of London." "Here, papa!" cried Hugh, "here is a new creature to add to your collection. I know him at once,--the huge Albatross." With the admiration of a naturalist, Mr. Mayburn looked on the gigantic bird, continuing its solemn majestic flight untiringly for hours after the ship, its keen eye ever on the watch for any floating substance which was thrown from the vessel, and then swooping heavily down to snatch the prize voraciously, and circling round the ship, again to resume its place at the wake. "I see now," said he, "why Coleridge wrote,-- 'The Albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play. Came to the mariner's hollo!' But the poet mistook the habits of the bird entirely when he added, that 'on mast or shroud it perched.' The difficulty of expanding its wing of five joints, so immensely long, would impede its rising from the mast of a ship; it scrambles along the waves before it can rise above them; and it has been well said, 'The albatross is the mere creature of the wind, and has no more power over itself than a paper kite or an air balloon. It is all wing, and has no muscle to raise itself with, and must wait for a wind before it can get under sail.'" The family were assembled on deck in the close of the evening, after the fervid heat of an equatorial sun, and they beheld with enjoyment the wonders of the deep; but the old nurse seemed disturbed and awe-struck. "Every thing seems turned topsy-turvy here," said she. "Days far hotter nor ever I mind them, and May-day not come; fishes with wings, flying as if they were birds, and birds walking atop of the water, as if it were dry land. It's unnatural, Miss Marget, and no good can come on it, I say." "Ah! if you were but going with us, Mrs. Wilson," said Charles Deverell; "then I would engage you should see wonders. You should see beasts hopping about like birds, and wearing pockets to carry their young ones in; black swans and white eagles; cuckoos that cry in the night, and owls that scream by day; pretty little birds that cannot sing, and bees that never sting. There the trees shed their bark instead of their leaves, and the cherries grow with the stone outside." "Now, just hold your tongue, Mr. Charles," answered nurse, angrily. "Your brother would scorn to talk such talk; but you're no better than Master Gerald, trying to come over an old body with your fairy stories." "It is quite true, Mrs. Wilson," said Emma Deverell, "and I wish you were all going with us into this land of enchantments. Then, Margaret, dear Margaret, how happy we should be. You should be queen, and we all your attendant sylphs, and 'Merry it would be in fairy-land, Where the fairy birds were singing.'" "Merry for you, little wild goose," said her brother Edward; "but Charles has told you the fairy birds do not sing; and our sylph-life will be one of hard labor for many months before we make our fairy-land and court lit to receive our queen. Then we must try and lure her to us. How shall we contrive it, Emma?" Margaret smiled and shook her head. "Too bright a dream," said she, "to be safely indulged in. But you must tell us all you propose to do, and we will watch your progress in fancy." "Oh, do tell us all about it, Edward," said Hugh. "But, first of all, make a dot upon my map, that we may know where you are when we come to seek you." "Very prudent, Hugh," answered Edward, "though I doubt the accuracy of my dot on this small map; but I suppose I shall not be more than a hundred miles wrong, and that is nothing in the wilds of Australia." "But I see you will be close on this great river that falls into the Darling," said Hugh; "so if we only follow up the rivers, we must find you." "You would not find that so easy a task as it seems, my boy," replied Edward. "Neither are we, as you suppose, close on that river, but fifty miles from it; but we have a charming little river laid down on our plan, which we must coax and pet in the rainy season, that it may provide us with water in the drought." "You have a most extensive tract," said Arthur, looking on the plan. "Oh, yes," said Charles, "we propose, you know, to build a castle for ourselves, and a town for our vassals." "There lies my castle," said Edward, pointing to some large packages which contained the frame of his future abode. "As for the town, I am not without hopes to see it rise some time, and do honor to its name." "Deverell, I conclude?" observed Arthur. "So my mother wishes the station to be called," replied he; "but my own 'modest mansion,' I should wish to name Daisy Grange." "I never understood that the daisy was indigenous in Australia," said Mr. Mayburn. "Certainly it is not, sir," answered Edward; "but we have fortunately brought out a number of roots of this dear home flower, and will try to domesticate them in our new country; though I fear they will be apt to forget their native simplicity, and learn to flaunt in colors." "I know why you wish to call your house Daisy Grange, Edward," said Emma, nodding sagaciously at Margaret, and the general laughter showed the little girl had surmised correctly. "A very pretty and delicate compliment," said Mr. Mayburn: "our own glorious Chaucer speaks of the daisy as-- 'La belle marguerite, O commendable flower, and most in minde;' and the noble Margaret of Valois, a Christian and a scholar, had the daisy, or _marguerite_, worn in honor of her name, and is herself remembered as the 'Marguerite of Marguerites'." And thus they amused themselves till, without storm or delay, they had crossed the equator, and entered the South Sea, when a new source of enjoyment was opened to Mr. Mayburn, who had long desired to view the constellations of the south; and favorable weather enabled them to study astronomy every night. Never for a moment did the voyage seem tedious in the cheerful society of the happy families, and all things concurred to render it agreeable. The provisions were excellent, fresh meat and bread, with milk in abundance, prevented them from suffering from change of diet; and constant employment made the moments fly. In the morning the young Mayburns, with Emma Deverell, read with Mr. Mayburn, and studied Hindostanee; and in the evening they walked on deck, listening to the pleasant anecdotes told by Edward Deverell, who had been a great traveller. Then they had music, and occasionally dancing; and if sometimes a light gale tossed the vessel, or swept the dinner from the table, the _contretemps_ caused mirth rather than wailing. Mr. Mayburn himself, busily engaged in teaching, lecturing, or in writing and delivering simple sermons to the poor emigrants, recovered his cheerfulness, and once more began to confide in himself. And so, in good time, they reached the Cape, and Jenny discovered that now, "when May-day was turned," it was far colder than any May-day in England, and put on her warm shawl to land with her young charge to see the town, and to look after that "feckless Ruth." It was a great pleasure to the ardent young people to set their feet on the shores of Africa, to see the vessels of many nations crowding the harbor, and the people of many countries thronging the busy streets, to make excursions to the mountains and vine-covered hills around, and to collect the botanical treasures of a new and fertile region. Mr. Deverell was more usefully engaged with his herdsmen and shepherds, in completing his stock of cattle and sheep, and in making other purchases for his great undertaking; and thus many days were spent pleasantly and profitably. Once more embarked, a shade of melancholy was perceptible--among the young especially--as they daily approached nearer to the shores where they must be separated; for the two families, so kindred in taste and disposition, had become truly attached during their long voyage; and notwithstanding the pleasant prospect of new scenes and pursuits, they were less cheerful every day. Even Edward Deverell, with his mind crowded with plans for clearing, draining, cultivating, sheep-shearing, and tallow-melting, felt deep regret at the prospect of separation from the lively, intelligent boys, and their amiable and sensible sister; and Margaret herself, usually so composed and contented, sighed to think she must lose the valuable counsel of Edward, the friendly protection of his mild invalid mother, and the warm affection of the sprightly Emma; and every evening, as they walked on deck, they indulged hopes, and sketched plans of meeting again. After they had entered the Indian Ocean, they had no longer the favorable and pleasant breezes they had so long enjoyed, and while Hugh and Gerald were anxiously looking out for pirates, and talking of Malays, of prahus, and of kreeses, the sailors were watching the signs of the sky, wrestling with contrary winds, and guarding against sudden gales. "How vexatious," said Hugh, "to be drifted about every way but the right way, and to have all this noise and splashing and dashing, and yet nothing to come of it. Now if we had a grand regular storm, and a shipwreck, and were all cast away on an uninhabited island, it would be an adventure; there would be some life in that." "More likely there would be death in it," said Margaret. "Do not be so presumptuous, unthinking boy!" "I should enjoy the thing amazingly myself, Margaret," said Gerald; "so don't you look grave about it. Or what would you think, Hugh, if a great fleet of prahus were to surround us and try to board us, while we, armed and ready for them, were to pour our shots into them, and put the rogues to flight. But first we would take care to capture the fierce pirate captain, and take possession of all his treasures. Then wouldn't we enter Melbourne in triumph, and have the robber hauled up to the gallows." "Pirates do not usually carry their treasures about in their prahus," said Arthur; "nor do I think it is at all desirable that we should encounter a piratical fleet. Where are your guns to pour down destruction on the foe, Master Gerald?" "Oh, murther!" cried the wild boy, "wasn't I forgetting the guns! Now, what for did we come in a merchantman, as quiet and dull as a quaker? Well, well, Arty, we have plenty of brave fellows, and our own rifles and pistols, besides knives and dirks. We should defend ourselves like Britons, I'll be bound." But the next day there was no cause to complain of dulness, for a real gale came on, and all was confusion. The wind roared, the waves rose tremendously, the ship rolled fearfully in a heavy sea, and before night the maintop-gallant was carried away. Then sail was reduced; but louder and stronger grew the tempest amid the darkness of night. Mast after mast was rent away, and the crippled vessel continued to drift helplessly for twenty-four hours, when the violence of the gale began to abate. Signals of distress were made, but long in vain. At length a vessel appeared in sight, and distinguishing their signals, made up to them. It was bound to Melbourne, which was now within a few days' sail, and, with as much kindness as difficulty, the stranger succeeded in taking the disabled _Amoor_ in tow, and bringing her into port in safety. CHAPTER III. Melbourne.--The Squatters.--The Two Convicts.--A Painful Separation.--The _Golden Fairy_.--Ruth's Misfortunes.--A Nocturnal Alarm.--Ruth's Confession.--The Ship on Fire. Weary, distressed, and suffering, the passengers on the _Amoor_ gladly landed on the busy wharf, and were conveyed to Melbourne, where Mr. Mayburn and his daughter, Mrs. Deverell and Emma, were settled in a handsome hotel; but Mr. Deverell and his people, with the young Mayburns, remained at the port to land the cargo and inspect the damage done by the storm. It was soon ascertained that the loss must be considerable--a number of sheep and cattle, besides a valuable horse, had been swept into the sea; and all that had been saved were in bad condition; but it was to be hoped a short rest at Melbourne might restore these, and fit them for their long journey into the interior. Then Deverell had to search for experienced drovers to guide and assist his own men; and finally, he undertook to inquire for the first vessel to Calcutta that could accommodate Mr. Mayburn and his family, as some months must elapse before the disabled _Amoor_ could be prepared to resume the voyage. The girls looked out from the windows of the hotel with admiration at the broad and peopled streets, the handsome churches, and the European aspect of a town on the spot which, but a few years before, had been a lonely wilderness; but the pious Mr. Mayburn called them away to unite with him in thanksgiving for this their first experience of the progress of divine and social knowledge, even into the farthest regions of the earth. "The spirit which has clothed the desert with the blessings of peace and abundance," said he, "and has planted the gospel of life in a newly-discovered world, will by God's blessing spread onwards like a fertilizing river till the word of the Lord be accomplished; for the blessed day draweth nigh when the scattered people of God shall be gathered into one fold, and the great shepherd shall say, 'Well done.'" "God speed the day, dear papa," said Margaret. "But we must not be mere watchers; we must all be workers. Wherever we go, we shall find an untilled field, and we must all put our shoulders to the plough." "You are right, my child," replied he, with a sigh; for though ever willing to fulfil the duty lying before him, Mr. Mayburn wanted resolution to seek out the hard work of the fervent missionary of Christianity. Evening brought to them the fatigued young men with satisfactory news. A vessel, the _Golden Fairy_, which had landed a party of gold-diggers from England, was going forward to Calcutta with sheep and merchandise. The captain, very glad to obtain passengers, readily agreed to accommodate Mr. Mayburn's family; he was to sail in three days, so no time must be lost in making preparations. "As to my own affairs," added Edward Deverell, "I have succeeded in finding quarters for all my live-stock. The cattle, horses, pigs, and sheep were certainly somewhat unruly; but the women and children ten times more troublesome. Such an amount of bundles, bags, baskets, cradles, and cats as they have brought! How we have housed them all is a miracle; and how we are to get them up the country is a puzzling problem. Finally, I have bought a train of wagons, and engaged two gentlemen as guides, who are her majesty's prisoners, released on _parole_; in fact, two ticket-of-leave convicts." A scream from Emma, and a groan from her mother, followed this information. "Surely you have not been so rash, Edward," said Mrs. Deverell. "Let us make our way rather with our own people only. Consider the contamination of such society for our poor virtuous followers. Besides, it is but too probable we may be robbed and murdered by such wretches." "It is an inevitable evil, mother," answered Edward, "for we cannot attempt the journey without guidance. These men have behaved well since their transportation; they are brothers--poachers--who, like many in their situation, have erred rather through ignorance and weakness than depravity. At least, such is the report of the overlooker who recommended them. They have been out before in the interior with squatters, and know the valleys of the Murray and the Darling, beyond which our ultra-frontier tract is spread. I have been to the Colonial Office, and have obtained the necessary forms for taking possession of fifty thousand acres of _waste land_, as it is called, for a long lease of years. And now, mother, we are, according to the legalized and elegant form, _squatters_." "_Colonists_, my son; I cannot bear the strange, uncouth word _squatters_," said Mrs. Deverell. "Nevertheless, mamma," said Edward, laughing, "it is official language. We may call ourselves, if we choose, landed gentry; but the world of Australia will rank us only as part of the _squattocracy_." "Am I a squatter?" asked little Emma, in dismay; and great was the mirth of her favorite friends, Hugh and Gerald, when Emma was pronounced to be legally a squatter. Early next morning the two convict guides were admitted to receive their final directions from Mr. Deverell, and were regarded with some uneasiness and much curiosity. One was a rough country lad, dressed in a fustian suit and a fur cap, rude in manner, but of pleasing, open countenance: the other, who was older, had a shabby-genteel appearance; he had discarded his convict's habit, and had expended the earnest-money received from Mr. Deverell in an old suit of black clothes, and a very bad English hat, which he had placed on his head in a jaunty style. "Please to show me your district by map, sir," said he, bowing at the same time in a very conceited manner to the ladies. "You must look to me, _cartee blank_, sir; for you see, sir, my brother is not intelligible; he has not had the blessing of eddication." "And your education, my friend," said Edward Deverell, "has not been a blessing to you, I fear. Have you not rather turned it to evil?" "Quite the _contrairy_, sir," said the man. "I look forrard to its helping me up-hill in this free country. Why, sir, a man born anunder an hedge may top over quality and ride in his carriage here, if he can only come round his parts of speech rightly. But Davy will stick where he is, for he never could tell an X from an _anpassy_." "It's all true," said the rough rustic, "I'se no scholar like Bill, master, but I'se do my best for ye, and glad to get out from amang yon rogues. It's hard for a lad to be sorted with such company for just sniggling a hare." "_Ensnaring_, David," said his brother, pompously; "_sniggling_ is colloquial." "Sniggling, you know, Bill," answered David, "our lads call it in t' north country; and little harm is there in't I say, that they should send a poor lad amang thieves and cut-throats. But, please God, I'se out of their way, and it will be mony a day afore I come nigh them again." "You seem a simple, though ignorant youth," said Mr. Mayburn, "and I cannot understand how it happened you were so severely punished for poaching; though doubtless it is an offence against the law." Bill laughed contemptuously as he replied for his brother,--"You see, sir, Davy was always a fool, or we need not both have been expostulated to this place. Our master always called him David Simple, and sure enough, if it had not been for his downright idiosyncrasy, we might have got clear off; but nothing would serve him but to show fight." "Now, just be quiet, Bill, man," said David; "it was for thee I stood out. You'se hear all, master; I'se tell t' truth. Bill had his gun, and brought down a few birds, and I were knocking a few rabbits over, and it chanced to be a moonshiny night, when out pops a keeper, and fells Bill down with a club; and I heard him shout out to me, as how his arm was broken. That aggravated me bitter, and up I ran, and leathered t' fellow well with my stick. Then Bill got up and ran off, but I was fain to stop, and give t' keeper a hiding; but he roared out so loud that two more chaps came up, and first took me, and then went off after Bill. When they got to our lodging, he made as how he knew nought about it, but they found birds and his gun underneath t' bed; and there was his arm all black and blue, but not broken, as he said. So off they carried us to prison, and Bill wanted me to say as how he that were with me were Jack Kay, an auld poacher; but I couldn't swear away a man's _charackter_, and t' keeper took his oath Bill wanted to shut him, and I were no better; so they sent us both over t' water. It's a thousand pities for Bill, for he's a scholar, cute as he is about sniggling." David was the favorite of the family, who did not admire the flowery language and cunning look of _cute_ Bill; but among a horde of lawless men, Edward Deverell congratulated himself that he had been fortunate enough to obtain two men less depraved than might have been expected. It was with a sinking heart, oppressed with strange forebodings, that Margaret looked on the large, dark, dirty and gloomy ship honored by the inappropriate name of the _Golden Fairy_. She grieved for the separation from the new friends that the whole family had learned to love so well, and she shrunk from the prospect of unknown difficulties and dangers, when all decision and responsibility would be thrown upon her, from the helpless character of her beloved but irresolute parent. During the first voyage, the powerful and energetic character of Edward Deverell had swayed the judgment of Mr. Mayburn; but in future, Margaret felt she could only look to her young brother Arthur for aid. "Yet have I not a greater aid?" she repeated to herself. "Forgive me, my heavenly Father! Thou art my friend and my counsellor! Let me ever turn to Thee in my trials, and I must be in safety." And thus, with a heart ever recognizing the presence and relying on the love of a watchful God, Margaret Mayburn walked on her way steadily and fearlessly. The parting of the two families was very painful, yet they cheered themselves with the hope so unquenchable in the young. They talked confidently of their future meeting, the boys traced over and over again on the map the route they proposed to take to Daisy Grange; and, but for Margaret's firmness, even Mr. Mayburn, at the last moment, would have relinquished his hopes of spreading the gospel in the East, to follow the new colonists into the dreary untrodden deserts. There was an appearance of neglect and disorder in the _Golden Fairy_ that was repugnant to the taste of the Mayburns, after being accustomed to the trim, orderly arrangements of the _Amoor_; Edward Deverell pointed out to Captain Markham several necessary changes which must be made for the comfort of passengers who paid him so handsomely, and was annoyed to perceive that his suggestions were received slightingly and almost contemptuously. He himself procured more conveniences for the cabin of his friends, and he besought Margaret and Arthur to be firm and determined with Markham, who seemed careless, and, he suspected, addicted to drinking. Now, when too late, he regretted that he had not induced the family to remain at Melbourne for the sailing of the mail packet; but Arthur had been anxious for his father to hasten to his mission, lest his vacillating nature should lead him to relinquish it. Besides which, the throng of gold-diggers made the cost of living at Melbourne a serious consideration. Finally, with tears and sorrowful hearts, the friends took leave of each other, with the remote chance that favorable circumstances might bring them together again; and it was not till the fair sunny shores of Australia had faded from their sight, that the voyagers retired to their cabin to endeavor to resign themselves to their changed circumstances. The want of order in their new home was particularly trying to the scarcely-reclaimed Ruth. She had learned to be useful among the emigrant women in the neatly-ordered _Amoor_; but she soon relapsed into her usual heedless habits, amidst the scattered packages and general confusion in the _Golden Fairy_. She stumbled over boxes which were not stowed in their proper places, she was thrown down by some terrified sheep that had escaped from its pen, she trod to death some rambling chicken that had found its way into the cabins, or she destroyed the cups and plates by officiously spreading the table in the midst of a gale, though she had been warned of the consequences. "Margaret," said Mr. Mayburn, who had been uneasily watching the girl's unlucky movements, "I am of opinion that poor Ruth should be subjected to some restraint I observe that the inevitable result of her undertakings is destruction. She is a curious study; nor can I solve the mystery why she should always do wrong when she designs to do right I am alarmed, Margaret; I eat my food in terror, lest she should have poured laudanum into the curry, or scattered arsenic over the pudding." "Have no fear, papa," answered Margaret. "Ruth is never intrusted with culinary preparations: the cook is too cross to allow her to touch any of his dishes, nor has she the means of procuring any of those dreaded poisons. I do not fear that she will harm any one but herself with her heedlessness; but, poor girl, she is covered with bruises and cuts from falls. Nor is she entirely to blame, for the cabins are filled up with packages which Arthur says ought to be stowed in the hold. We must, however, make up our minds to be inconvenienced for the short time I trust we shall be shut up in this prison." "That I could do, my child," answered he; "but I fear Markham is not a man of understanding to depend on in emergency. This is a sea of perils, of storms and pirates. What would become of us if any of these dangers assailed us? Arthur, you look disturbed; you think with me, that Markham is unfit for his situation." "Truly, papa, I have some doubts of him," replied Arthur. "I think he must be an experienced sailor, for he has made this voyage many times; and I should not have lost confidence in him, if I had not actually seen him intoxicated. And I fear he is utterly unprincipled, for he wanted us to join him in his nightly revels. Now, Margaret, if a storm should come on in the night, I feel assured that he would be incapable of giving orders." "And a pretty set of queer-looking boys he has fished up at Melbourne," said Gerald, "to man the ugly ship. Hugh and I have marked our men, and haven't they _rogue_ written on their black brows!" "But, Gerald, is it not somewhat unkind to form so hasty a judgment?" said Margaret. "These sailors are strangers; why do you class them as rogues?" "Because, Meggie," said Hugh, "Gerald saw with his own eyes a lot of fellows in their yellow convict dress brought up for Markham to choose a crew from, for all his own men had deserted to go to the diggings. And we both agree that he must have picked out the most villanous-looking of the lot. Now, just come up with us, Meggie, and take a look at the fellows, and you shall hear what Jack says." Margaret went on deck with her brothers, to walk round the disorderly place; and, under the pretext of examining the various parts of the ship, she carefully marked the faces of the men she encountered, and could not deny that they were not only coarse and bold, but that most of them had the fierce, sinister, lowering expression which usually distinguishes the convict. She stopped to speak to Jack, who was busily engaged finishing a model he had begun at Melbourne, of one of the light-hung, commodious, broad-wheeled travelling wagons Mr. Deverell had bought at that place. "I could easily make one for you, Miss Margaret," said Jack, "if it were needed; but they tell me you'll want no wheeled-carriages yonder. More's the pity. I wish master had been persuaded to stay with Mr. Deverell. I don't half like this, for, oh! Miss Margaret," added he, looking around, "we've got among a bad lot." "What have we to fear, Jack?" asked she, pale with fear. "Don't be down-hearted, miss," said the lad; "but I doubt we may have awkward work; for when Captain Markham is in his cups, everybody's master. But please God to send us fair winds, we shall soon get through the voyage." "We must pray for His help, Jack," said Margaret; "and let us avoid these men as much as possible. You, Jack, as well as my brothers, must remain below; better endure confinement than encounter wickedness." "And please, Miss Margaret," continued Jack, "would you ask Mrs. Wilson to mind and keep Ruth close; for these saucy fellows amuse themselves with sending her on some foolish errand, and getting her into mischief. I near had a fight with that big brute, the mate, for pitching her over a hencoop; but Wilkins, that little sharp fellow at the masthead, got me away." Margaret and Arthur had many long and serious conversations on their uncomfortable position, particularly when their voyage was retarded by the contrary winds of that uncertain sea. Then the family secluded themselves in the two crowded cabins appropriated to their use, and endeavored, by prayer and regulation of the mind, to prepare themselves for the dangers into which such an ill-ruled vessel might be hurried. After a day of great vexation, occasioned by the carelessness of Ruth, who had, by some mischievous device of the sailors, let all the poultry loose, and had been compelled by the violent captain to hunt them up from every corner of the vessel, the girl had been summoned before Margaret and Jenny, to be rebuked for her thoughtless conduct. She wept, and promised to improve, and was sent to her berth, Nurse declaring that she had made up her mind never to lose sight of her all the next day. Then, after meeting for prayers in Mr. Mayburn's cabin, they returned, to seek such repose as their close, uncomfortable berths afforded. It might have been two or three hours after this, when Margaret awoke with a strange feeling of oppression and fear, which she vainly attempted to shake off. At length, she called out from her berth, "Nurse, are you awake? Will you go on deck with me for a few minutes? I long for the refreshment of the night air, for the cabin is more suffocating than usual to-night. Surely a storm must be at hand, for the air is positively scorching." Jenny yawned and murmured, till at length, becoming aware of the request of her young mistress, she scrambled from her awkward berth; but no sooner was she on her feet, than, thoroughly awakened, she exclaimed, "God have mercy on us! for there must be something on fire. I smell and feel it must be so!" Margaret sprang up, trembling in every limb, but firm in heart, to rush through the door that separated the cabins, and arouse her father and brothers. Jenny, in the mean time, opened the outer door, and then the smell of burning wood was plainly perceptible. While Mr. Mayburn and his sons hastily got ready, Margaret proceeded to the cabin of Capt. Markham, and knocked loudly in her fright, crying out almost unconsciously as she knocked, "Fire! fire!" "Who calls fire?" cried Markham, with a bitter oath. "Who dares to say that?" and his head appeared from the cabin door. His voice was husky and broken, and Margaret feared he was intoxicated and might not comprehend her, as she rapidly narrated her observations and her fears. Deep and horrible were the curses of the wicked man, as he staggered forward, screaming and yelling for the watch. That there was any watch in this disorderly establishment, Margaret doubted. She hurried back to her father; and they were soon alarmed by the sounds of dreadful curses, the trampling of many feet, the ringing of bells, and the cries of the disturbed and terrified sheep. Arthur and Hugh were sent up to ascertain the fact of danger, and they found the lazy crew effectually roused to action; lanterns were flying about in different directions; and at length the fatal cry was heard, "Fire in the after-hold!" CHAPTER IV. Insubordination of the Sailors.--Rapid Progress of the Fire.--The Boats lowered.--Ruth's Prize.--A Man saved.--Black Peter.--The Adventure of a Reprobate Crew.--A Dangerous Comrade. Then the harsh voice of Markham was heard pouring out orders, loud, but almost inarticulate with rage and drunkenness; while, regardless of his awful situation, with fearful blasphemy he imprecated curses on the negligence which had caused the accident, and on the tardiness of action among his insubordinate crew. At length the fire-engine was got to work; lengths of leather hose were stretched down to the burning hold; buckets were rapidly passed from hand to hand; and the splashing of water was followed by the hissing of the flames. The four young men joined the sailors and worked manfully at the engine or with buckets, while Mr. Mayburn, alternately trembling, weeping, and despairing, and then, in earnest prayer, regaining his firmness and resignation, occupied the care and attention of Margaret almost entirely. Jenny, with practical good sense, was collecting the most valuable part of their property. "If we be not burnt to death first, Miss Marget," she said; "Jack tells me we shall be took off in boats, God help us! so it's time to be making ready. Come, lass!" to Ruth, "and tie this bag. What ails ye, you simpleton? What are you staring round in that fashion for?" Ruth was gazing about with a wild expression of terror in her eyes, and, unmindful of the injunctions of Mrs. Wilson, she suddenly threw down the bag, and fell on her knees before Mr. Mayburn, crying out, "Ah, master, will they hang me? I didn't think it would burn us all alive! I couldn't find it again, try all I would." "Unfortunate girl," said Mr. Mayburn, "have you lost your senses, or what have you done? Speak the truth." "I will tell truth, master," sobbed the girl. "It was when I were lating up them bonnie chickens as had got out, and big Peter tied a rope across in yon passage for me to tummel ower, and I rolled down t' ladder into that big, dark place where they keep great bales and barrels, and all manners of things; my lantern was broken and my candle was lost. I got mysel' gathered up, and I groped about for t' candle, but I couldn't find it, and I got sadly flayed in that dark hole, so I climbed up and said nought to nobody; but, oh, master, I couldn't get to sleep, for it came into my head, may be my candle might have set some of them bundles in a low, and we might all be burned in our beds, and me not saying a word alike, for fear." "God forgive you, Ruth," said her master. "Pray for mercy; and if it please Him to save us in this fearful hour of peril, never forget the misery and destruction your carelessness has caused." The penitent and affrighted girl shook in every limb, and Margaret kindly soothed and prayed with her till she calmed her agitation. Then the young and thoughtful daughter said,-- "Papa, we must not remain inclosed in this suffocating cabin. Let us go on deck, and if no other hope remains, we will demand a boat, that we may escape from a horrible death." "Lead the way, my child," said Mr. Mayburn, "and I will follow you, as I ever do; for I feel utterly helpless alone." They proceeded to the deck, followed by Jenny and Ruth loaded with packages; and when they reached the scene of terror and confusion, they were embarrassed among piles of boxes, barrels, and bales, which were continually drawn up from below, the bales which were blazing being immediately thrown overboard. By the light of the torches, Margaret discovered among the throng her young brothers, busily employed in hauling ropes and carrying buckets; they were heated with exertion and blackened with smoke. O'Brien had even got his hair singed with the flames. Still untired, they would have continued their efforts, but all seemed ineffectual, from the total want of subordination and unanimity among the sailors. Mr. Mayburn walked up to Captain Markham, who stood aloof from the rest, in a perfect state of frenzy, from fear, anger, and intoxication. He continued to shout aloud contradictory and absurd orders, which were utterly unheeded by the lawless crew; each man doing what he chose, and nothing being done effectually. "The fire is certainly progressing, Captain Markham," said Mr. Mayburn. "Let me entreat you to issue orders for some means of providing for the safety of so many human beings all unfit for death. We, who are your passengers, demand the means of escape." With a fearful oath, the wretch said his passengers might care for themselves; he had enough to do to save his ship; and save it he would, if it cost him half the crew. "I'll pitch the dogs into the fire," said he, "if they do not soon extinguish it; and not a man shall leave the _Golden Fairy_ living." "There's not many will do that," cried the audacious mate, "if they do not look sharp. The fire has just reached the tallow hogsheads, man, and where will your ship be then? Come along, lads, we can do no more; so let every fellow lay his hands on what he likes best, and lower the boats now or never." The call was readily responded to, in spite of the threats of the infuriated captain; and though the flames were now heard roaring below, and were even visible in some parts, the after-deck was still uninjured; and from thence the boats were lowered. Arthur and Jack went up to the men to request that a boat, or at all events seats in one of the boats, might be given to their party, who would be willing to reward the men for any trouble they occasioned. The insolent mate, who seemed to have assumed the command of the rest, laughed at the request. "Charity begins at home!" cried he. "We have no places to spare. Come on, my lads! lower the biscuit and the brandy casks. I'll manage the strong box. Out of my way, gentry. If you say another word we'll pitch you all into the sea--men and women." "There's no hope of our getting a boat to ourselves, Mr. Arthur," said Jack, "for they 're all afloat now, and they'll soon have them off; so I would say, if you'd help a bit, we should set about getting up a raft as fast as we can--here are plenty of spare spars about." When Markham saw the men preparing to forsake the vessel, he became more furious than ever, and seizing the mate by the collar, he swore he would have him put in irons. But his attempts were useless against the powerful villain, who flung him on one side like a noxious reptile; and the rest of the remorseless wretches, to rid themselves at once of the opposition of the violent drunkard, hurled him down into the flames, which were already bursting through the crevices of the deck. "I can't stand that," cried Wilkins, one of the sailors, coming up to Jack; "I'se not the chap to turn my back on my comrades; but I've never committed wilful murder, and I'll just cut away from a gang of such deep-dyed rogues, and join ye, my honest fellow. Come, I'se ready to lend a hand." A helping hand was truly desirable in their extremity of distress; but Mr. Mayburn shrank from the fierce, rough aspect of the convict sailor, and besought Arthur, in a low tone, to reject any association with crime and infamy. "Be satisfied, my dear father," answered he, "I will do nothing unadvisedly; but if this man shrinks from evil and turns to good, how shall we excuse ourselves if we force him back to destruction? Besides, it is now too late; see, the first boat has already deserted the ship." With loud cheers, the most daring of the crew headed by the mate, rowed off in the long boat, and were soon lost in the darkness that shrouded all except the fearful space around the burning ship. The second boat followed, the hardened men turning a deaf ear to the entreaties of the passengers whom they had abandoned on the wreck. They refused even to aid them in lowering their hastily-constructed and unsafe raft, but laughed and sneered at the rude workmanship. But the flames, fed by the hogsheads of tallow in the hold, now blazed up through the cabin windows, and bursting through the decks, ran along with fatal rapidity, momentarily threatening the distressed family with a dreadful fate. It was now that the cool prudence and skill of their faithful friend Jack rescued them. His observing eye had noted the means adopted by the sailors; he had tools and appliances; he arranged and divided the labor, of which even the women had their share; and the rude raft was at length successfully lowered. A few necessaries were hastily thrown upon it, including a cask of biscuit and one of water, which Wilkins at great hazard had obtained; he had also brought up a small barrel of rum, but Arthur peremptorily refused to take it, and, to end all discussion, flung it into the sea, and firmly told Wilkins, he would rather leave him to perish on the burning ship, than carry him away with such a temptation to evil. The man grumbled unavailingly, but at last returned to his duty. Nothing more could be secured, except a few ropes, and spars, with some tools to repair the raft. Then a spare sail was cast over the stowage, and, one after another, Mr. Mayburn and the trembling women were let down; the active boys quickly followed. Jack and Wilkins were the last to descend from their perilous position, where they had been so surrounded by the flames, now crawling up the masts, that Margaret dreaded every moment they should fall victims; but they happily alighted on the lumbering raft in safety. Then oars were taken up, and no time was lost in pushing off as far as possible from the ill-fated _Golden Fairy_; nor did they pause even to look round till they were at a safe distance, when they stood off for a few minutes to contemplate the splendid and frightful spectacle. Wilkins now confessed to them that there were some barrels of gunpowder concealed in the vessel, which the reckless sailors had smuggled from Melbourne for their own purposes; for it had been their fixed intention, at a favorable opportunity, to murder the captain and passengers, or land them on some desert island; and to take possession of the ship for piratical enterprises in the Indian Ocean. The knowledge that this powder was in the ship had hastened their flight from the certain consequences, and Wilkins was surprised that the catastrophe had been so long averted. But now, as they watched the blackened ribs of the vessel, through which the intense flame glowed, while clouds of smoke, myriads of sparks, and burning flakes, rose from the wreck, a loud explosion almost deafened them; another and another succeeded; then blazed up a mass of flame, which seemed to rise to the very clouds for a few minutes, followed by utter darkness and silence. "May God, in his infinite mercy, still preserve the weak creatures he has so miraculously delivered," said Mr. Mayburn, devoutly. "We were face to face with death, and never, my children, can the crackling, roaring sound of that fierce and unconquerable conflagration fade from my recollection. We had not the consolation of the martyrs who suffered for the faith, and who could look on the flames as the brief path to eternal glory. We were summoned in the midst of life's cares and frailties, unwillingly, fearfully, to be dragged to doom; and He spared us, that we might better prepare to appear before His tribunal. Blessed forever be His holy name!" Solemnly and earnestly rose the Amen from the rescued. Even the hardened convict lowered his voice as he said, with levity, to Jack, "That was a canny bit prayer; will 'it help us ony, think ye?" "Yes, Wilkins," said Jack, "I do believe that God never fails to help them who pray to Him. And some day, my man, you will be glad to believe it too." Wilkins said no more, but he often remembered the new, strange words he had heard poured out amidst that horror of darkness. "Now, Captain Arthur," cried out Hugh, "please to say where we are, and whither we are to go?" "I wish I could determine where we are," answered Arthur; "but we have been so tossed about for the last two days, that I have no idea of our position. Certainly we are out of our regular course." "If Bully Dan were right," said Wilkins, "we ought to be now a good bit north of Swan River, and among islands and reefs puzzling enough at noonday; and in this black darkness it's odd that we ever see land again. If any on ye had thought of an anchor, we might have laid off till day." There was nothing but patience and resignation for the voyagers. The sea was less agitated than it had been during the day, and they drifted steadily over the waves; but in what direction they could not determine; for such was the confusion of their embarkation, and such the darkness that enveloped them, that no one could pronounce from what point the wind was blowing. "What is that fluttering sound I hear?" asked Mr. Mayburn, in a voice of alarm. A moment's silence followed, then every one distinctly heard the fluttering. At length Ruth said, "Oh! if you please, master, it was only me. I couldn't bide that they should be burned alive, bonnie things; it were not their fault! It's them bits of chickens as I were hunting up when all this bad work were done--God forgive me!--and I gathered them into a basket; and if ye please, Miss Marget, dinnot let them be eaten, they're so bonnie." Margaret readily granted the noisy little prisoners their life, and applauded the humanity of Ruth, whose struggles to keep her restless charge in order created some mirth, and diverted them for a time from the contemplation of their own troubles. But another sound was now heard above the monotonous rumbling of the unquiet ocean. It was surely, they thought, a human cry! It was again repeated; and Wilkins said very coolly, "It'll be some of our chaps. Like enough they'll have capsized yon big crazy boat. They'd a keg of brandy to fight about; and I'll be bound they'd never settle as long as there were a drop left in't." "Can we not show them a light?" said Mr. Mayburn: "that was a cry of distress, and humanity calls on us to aid them." "There's no room here for any more hands," muttered Wilkins. "Drunken rogues! they'd kick these few shaking clogs to bits in no time: and then where are we?" "Nevertheless, Margaret, we must do our duty. Arthur, what do you say?" asked Mr. Mayburn anxiously. A loud and dismal scream, at no great distance, decided the question without further discussion. Gerald produced a match-box; and though the wind had got up rather boisterously, they succeeded in lighting and displaying a long splinter of wood. Then a voice was heard to cry, "Help! help!" and Wilkins, with a suppressed curse, said, "It's that desp'rate rogue, Black Peter, and no mistake. Better let him drown, I tell ye, comrades; but I've heared 'em say, water won't haud him. They're all alike bad dogs to let loose among us; they've guns and powder, and they're up to ony sort of bloody work." Mr. Mayburn groaned at this speech, and said, "What shall we do, Arthur?--we are wholly defenceless against those bad men." "Don't you think of that, sir," said O'Brien; "Hugh and I looked after that. We brought off a pair of first-rate rifles, with lots of powder and shot. We are the boys to manage the defences. We left the nautical matters to our captain, Arthur; Jack sought up the spars and hammers, and such matters; and Margaret did the commissariat. Division of labor, you see, sir--all regular." "I did not think your giddy brain could have arranged so well," said Mr. Mayburn: "I am ashamed to say I have not been so thoughtful." "No, no, papa," said Hugh; "Gerald is taking more credit than is due to us. It was Margaret who arranged what each should do, and allowed us to add to our duties as we chose; in consequence of which, you see, Gerald and I thought of destroying life, and Ruth of preserving it." While thus talking, the young rowers had been endeavoring laboriously to force the heavy raft, against the wind, towards the spot from whence the cries seemed to proceed. The darkness was so intense that it was in vain the eye sought to penetrate it; but the cry, still heard at intervals, seemed to approach nearer, probably directed by the light. Still it was not without an involuntary shudder, and a half-uttered shriek, that they felt and saw a hand grasp the raft, and heard a hoarse voice demand help. This was immediately given; Arthur and Jack, with much difficulty, drew upon the raft the almost lifeless form of a tall, powerful man, who lay gasping many minutes before he was able to reply to the anxious inquiries of his preservers if any of his companions yet survived. "Every rogue among 'em gone to his reckoning," said he, with a diabolical laugh. "A good riddance! If we'd only saved the gold and the brandy! But hand me a sup of something, good folks." "We have nothing but water," said Arthur gravely. The man made a wry face, and said, "I've had more nor enough of that. Well, then, what are ye bound after in this queer craft? It'll not stand much weather, I take it. And," with an oath, "Wilkins, man, how came you to drop in among these saints?" Wilkins gave the man a fiery glance, as he answered, "It were a bit safer to-night among saints nor amang sinners, it's like; and I guess ye were thinking so a bit sin' yersel'." "Never heed that that's gone, man," said the careless villain: "I'm in as good a place as they are now." "Ay, Peter," said Wilkins, "it's all true as how neither fire nor water will touch thee. We'se see what thou was born to." "Keep a civil tongue in thy head," replied Peter, "for thou and me must chum together, and see what we can pick up." "What was the cause of your accident, unhappy man?" said Mr. Mayburn, coming up to him. "None so unhappy now," answered the surly fellow; "better off nor I have been for a few years past, if it were not for want of brandy. I'se free and idle, and can have plenty of grub, I reckon," looking at the casks; "so I'se do now. We might have kept together; but, ye see, we began ower soon with our brandy, and had only one drinking-cup among us, and everybody wanted it first; and so we chaps got to words, and then to hard hits, and then out came our knives. We were badly crowded; and, somehow, in our scrimmage, we all fell atop of one another, and capsized our boat, and away we all went down. Then, when we came up, such cursing and yelling never was heard on earth or sea, and, dark as it was, none could catch hold on aught to save him. It was soon settled, however; for all our chaps were over far gone in drink to help themselves, and they went down, shouting out, one after another. I had the luck to catch hold of the brandy-keg, and I took care to keep hold; but I could not stop it from leaking, and it vexed me sore that so much good liquor should be made into salt-water grog, and no time to get a sup. I shouted as loud as I could, and let myself float, till I got sight of your signal, and then I thought there was a bit of a chance; so I managed to swim a few strokes, keeping one hand on my barrel; but I made little way, if the sea and the wind hadn't brought me right up to you. When my barrel bumped again the raft, I lost hold, and I hardly know how it was I clutched the spars; but here I be snug and safe in harbor." "Thank God for your preservation, reckless man," said Mr. Mayburn. "He, who is all mercy to His sinful creatures, has granted you a respite, that you may learn to know and serve Him. Cast not away the precious boon, but in this awful hour, turn to Him, repent, and pray." The good man kneeled down beside the reprobate, and offered up an earnest prayer for the wretched sinner, who was sound asleep before Mr. Mayburn had concluded; and it was with a sigh he turned from the man, sorrowful, but not hopeless. CHAPTER V. Afloat on an Unknown Sea.--The insubordinate Sailor.--The Coral Reefs.--An Island in view.--The Perilous Landing.--Peter's Rebellion.--The First Night on Shore.--Ruth among the Crockery.--A valuable Prize.--The March from the First Encampment. As the morning light dawned on the distressed voyagers, they became aware of their perilous situation. Around them lay the wide restless ocean, now agitated by a south-west wind, which drove them onward, washed and drenched by the waves, which threatened destruction to their frail vessel, in the midst of which the little knot of united friends were now gathered, their unwelcome guest still lying asleep apart from them. As soon as the light permitted him, Jack began steadily and carefully to repair and strengthen the raft. The spare spars he now lashed round to form a sort of gunwale, to protect them from the spray; and after taking out a supply of biscuit for use, he nailed over the whole of the packages the large sail they had brought away, to steady and preserve them from any injury from the waves. The man they had rescued from death now awoke, and joined the rest: he was a tall, powerful, savage-looking man, still wearing the convict uniform, so offensive to the taste of the civilized; and his manners were rude and insolent. "Have you no better prog than this poor stuff?" said he, as his portion of biscuit and cup of water were offered to him. "The Queen allows us better rations nor this, after your grand laws have made us out to be rogues." "You fare as we do," answered Arthur, mildly. "As long as we have biscuit, you are welcome to share it. We make no distinctions in our common distress." "You were a pack of fools," said the man, "not to bring away something worth freightage, when you had space enough. Had you sense to fetch a compass?" "We had no opportunity to secure chart or compass," replied Arthur. "Besides, we were too thankful for the means God gave us to save our lives, to have many thoughts or cares about where we should go. We are in His hands, and I trust, by his mercy, may reach some safe harbor." "It's as well to tell you beforehand," said the sailor, "that you'd better not get it into your heads that you are going to give me up to hard labor and irons again. Wherever I set my foot on land I mean to be my own master, and the first among you that peaches on me shall rue it." Here the man drew from his breast a brace of pistols, and added,--"You see I managed to keep my barkers safe. What would you say, man, to a ball right through your ugly head?"--and he presented the muzzle of the pistol to Wilkins, who shrank behind Arthur. "You must mean that threat for a jest, Peter," said Arthur, in a tone of displeasure. "If you are in earnest, I can only remind you that we also have arms. I am commander here, and the first man on the raft that shows any signs of insubordination, I shall certainly shoot dead." Peter stared scornfully and vindictively at Arthur, but seeing his unmoved countenance, he turned off with a sort of laugh, and withdrew to the stern of the raft. "What a capital fellow Arty is, Hugh!" whispered Gerald. "See how he has cowed that huge bully. Are we not proud of our captain?" Towards noon the heat of the sun became excessive, and was most distressing to the voyagers exposed to its beams; Margaret and her father especially suffered from it, till Jack contrived an ingenious canopy for them by raising some spars, over which he spread the boat-cloaks, which the boys had fortunately worn to protect them from the flames in the burning ship. As evening came on, the wind increased alarmingly, and they looked round anxiously to obtain some idea of their position, till at last Wilkins pointed out some hazy dots on the wide ocean desert, which he pronounced to be small islands. "O Arthur," said Margaret, "if it be possible, let us land on an island; I long to feel my feet on firm ground. Have you any idea what islands these are?" "I ken'em," said Wilkins, "and can tell ye they're all alike quite dissolute." "Then I pray, Arthur," said Mr. Mayburn, "that we may avoid them. We had better continue to float on the solitude of the ocean, than seek the haunts of the wicked." The boys laughed; they understood better than their father the peculiarities of Wilkins's language, and Arthur said,--"I have read, papa, that these north-western islands of Australia are generally small, barren, and uninhabited. If we could safely land on one of them, it would be desirable, that we might rest and improve our raft before we sought the mainland; but I fear they will be difficult of approach, from the coral reefs that surround them." "Which I long to behold, Arthur," said Mr. Mayburn; "and I beseech you to endeavor to reach one of these reefs. I have ever desired to look upon the work of those toiling, wonderful insects; minute agents of the Omniscient for mighty purposes, laboring incessantly to carry out the plans of creative wisdom. 'As the kings of the cloud-crowned pyramid Their noteless bones in oblivion hid, They slumber unmarked 'mid the desolate main, While the wonder and pride of their works remain.'" Wilkins stared at the enthusiastic naturalist, and, turning to Arthur, said, "Does he want us to land among them reefs, think ye? A bonnie clash we should have with this log float. If we'd had a few of them bark boats as them black fellows has up country, we might have made a shift; but, ye see," indicating the fair sex by a finger pointed towards them, "they'd make no hand of swimming among breakers." "Indeed, they would not," answered Arthur; "we must contrive some safer method for them, Wilkins. But if we could, by using our oars, draw near to these isles, I should like to inspect them." "Ye cannot suspect 'em, sir," answered Wilkins, "without ye were right atop on 'em. Why, they're all dry and bare, and clear of aught but a few birds but I'se willing to use an oar, if ye'd like to see 'em." It was hard work rowing that heavy raft, and the ungrateful Peter refused to assist, but sat apart, smoking cigars, of which, it appeared, he had contrived to bring a box about his person; still before night they had approached within a mile of a rocky island. Then the sudden darkness of a tropical region surprised them, and compelled them to wait for day, uneasy at the dangerous proximity of the coast, towards which, Wilkins pointed out, a current seemed to be urging them. "We must have all hands at work, captain," said he, "to keep off them ugly rocks. Come, Peter, man, take up an oar." "Not I," said the savage, "I'se take a snooze; and when we're drifted a bit nigher hand, rouse me up, and I'll make a swim to shore. I've no mind for another capsize." It was a service of toil and danger, and the active young men plied the oars vigorously for hours, trusting they were standing safely off the dangerous reefs, till at last, worn out with fatigue, one after another they dropped asleep. Jack and Wilkins held out till a pale light showed them breakers close at hand, and they felt the current carrying them into the danger. It was a moment of deep anxiety. "See," said Wilkins, "yon uncovered reef--let's try to get a bit nigher to it; then we'll knot a rope to our raft, and I'll swim off and find a way to moor it. If three on us were atop on yon reef we might haul up t' rest on 'em." All the youths were now roused, and anxious to share this service of peril, for all could swim: but Wilkins was strong, and the most experienced; so while he tied one end of the rope round him, Arthur and Jack secured the other end to the raft, and then they continued to hold off against the current as they watched the bold swimmer till they saw him standing safely on the dry reef. In five minutes more they felt, by the strain, that the rope was fast to the rock. Then Arthur went off with a second rope, secured from danger by having the first to hold by if necessary. When he reached Will, he found the reef was broader and safer than he had dared to hope, while beyond it the water was not more than a foot deep to a shingly beach. "If we had 'em all here, ye see," said Wilkins, "they could easy wade out." "Then what shall we do, Wilkins? what is our next step?" asked Arthur. "We must get more hands," answered he. "And here's a canny opening, clear of breakers; we'll try to bring her in here." Then, after he had, with sailor's skill, secured the ropes to two huge fragments of rock, he continued,--"Now, let's be off again, and see how we can manage it. If we could get that big lubberly Black Peter to lend a hand, he's a powerful chap at a tug." "Then he shall work or starve," said Arthur, firmly. "That's the text, captain; stick to that," said Wilkins, as they plunged into the water again. Their return to the raft was easier than they had expected, for the tide was ebbing, and already some of the rocks were bare which an hour before had been covered with breakers; besides, the stretched ropes afforded a rest for the hands when they needed it. Arthur explained his plan to his friends on the raft, and called on all hands to aid in propelling or hauling the raft towards the smooth opening in the reef. "You must assist in hauling the ropes," said Arthur to Peter. The man swore violently that he would never submit to be ordered by a boy. "I have the management of the party," answered Arthur, "and all are willing to obey me except you. Take your choice: if you refuse to share the work, most assuredly you shall not share the rations." The wretch darted a furious glance at Arthur, and put his hand into his breast; but observing the little band had their eyes on him, he muttered with a sneer, "A parcel of fools!" and plunged after Wilkins and Arthur to the reef, to tug at the ropes. The raft had drifted among scattered rocks, and there was much difficulty in preventing it from being dashed against them; but those left upon it used long poles to push off from these dangers, while the men on the reef continued to haul the ropes, in hopes of drawing the raft to the opening they wished it to enter, belaying the rope anew as they gained a few yards. Slowly and painfully the work progressed; sometimes they snatched a moment for food and rest; sometimes the faint-hearted threw down an oar or pole, as a strong wave cast them back, after they hoped they had made some way. At length, wedged between two reefs that ran out to sea, they found they could make no further progress, though there was yet a hundred yards of deep water between the raft and the dry rocks to which the ropes were attached. When Arthur saw this, he called out, "Haul taught and belay the ropes; and now, how shall we convey the weak to the shore, Wilkins?" "Bad job!" growled he. "We might swim out and trail 'em after us; but likely they'd be flayed." "Halloo! Arthur," called out Hugh, "come over and see what we are about." When Arthur had reached the raft, he saw that Jack, with the help of the boys, had lashed together three or four light spars to form a sort of _catamaran_, large enough for one person to sit upon. To each end of this they had attached a long rope, with one end of which Jack proposed to swim to the reef of refuge, ready to draw over in this float, one at a time, those who were unable to swim; and he engaged, if the voyager only kept quiet, there would be no danger; and though the raft was now firmly fixed, it was probable it would be dashed to pieces at high-water, so no time must be lost to make the trial, that the lading as well as the passengers might be saved; and Jack set off with the rope round him. Now the question was, who would venture on this frail float the first? The water looked dark and deep, and all shrunk back. At length it was arranged that they should test the safety of it by first sending over a part of the freightage of the raft, as less valuable than human life. Still, these slender necessaries were precious to them, and they firmly lashed a part of the packages to the float, and anxiously launched and watched the light raft until they saw it safely drawn to the reef and unladed by Jack. It was then hauled back, and Margaret, to encourage her father, ventured next, her brothers having lashed her firmly down, and charged her to be calm and motionless. After her safe arrival, Mr. Mayburn gained courage to follow her, and was succeeded by Nurse Wilson. Ruth begged to carry her basket of fowls; but was not permitted, which was fortunate for the chickens, for the terrified and restless girl, attempting to change her position, capsized the frail bark; but Wilkins and Arthur swam out to her assistance, and soon righted it, and, half-dead with fright and the salt water she had swallowed, she was turned over to Jenny, and the young men returned to the raft to assist at the removal of the most valuable part of the cargo--the provisions, guns, and ammunition. In the mean time Peter had roused himself to take a trip to the raft, and when Arthur and Wilkins reached it, they found the ferocious man holding Hugh by the throat, and threatening to shoot him if he did not give up one of the guns, which the boy held in the case firmly grasped in his hand, while Gerald was releasing the other gun from the covering, that he might defend Hugh, and protect the powder and shot, which he guarded behind him. As soon as Wilkins and Arthur stepped out on the raft, the savage relinquished his grasp of the boy; but called out in an insolent manner, "Give me one of the guns, and my share of the powder and shot you brought off. They are as much mine as yours, and I claim my right." "You are mistaken, Peter," said Arthur; "the guns are our own private property. The powder is not legally yours or ours; but the necessity of the occasion caused us gladly to save it from destruction; at some future day we may be able to account for it to the owners. In the mean time, I choose to keep possession of such a dangerous material; nor will I allow you to commit deeds of violence. We have saved your life, and supplied you with food. If your nature does not prompt you to be thankful, at least be neutral; do not return evil for good." The man did not answer, but there was a dogged look of ferocity in his eyes, that plainly spoke his feelings; and Wilkins whispered to Arthur, as they were tying on the packages,-- "Would you mind our twisting a rope round his arms and legs, and giving him a shove overboard? he's dangerous." "No, Wilkins," answered Arthur. "Let the man live; we have no right to be his executioners, though I believe he deserves death. If we all reach land safely, we must watch and guard against him; and, above all, Wilkins, do you take care that he does not tempt you back to evil courses." "We'se see," answered the man, "I'se not to reckon on; but I fancy I'd as lief take service with ye, as turn rogue again, with a cut-throat dog like him." Arthur earnestly hoped that they might be able to reclaim this good-natured but ignorant man. He conversed kindly with him, as they carefully and successfully managed the transit of the whole lading, including Ruth's chickens; and then, Wilkins taking the charge of the two young boys as they swam to the reef, Arthur remained a few minutes to cut away the ropes, which were too valuable to be abandoned, after which he signified to the apparently careless Peter that he must look to his own safety. "I see all that," said the man in a surly tone; "depend on't, I shall not stay here; you haven't got rid of me yet. So mind your own business, young fellow, and I'll mind mine." Arthur left him and soon rejoined his friend; and Peter, drawing his knife and severing the cords that had lashed together the spars of the raft, he allowed them to float, and grasping one piece to support himself, he swam to the dry reef. The tide having now left the beach uncovered as far as this reef, the family went forward to the lofty cliffs which rose from the narrow shingly strand, and immediately began to remove their property to a secure place above high-water mark. "We may surely find a better spot for a night's encampment than this," said the indefatigable Arthur, when, resting from his labors, he looked up at the rocky heights. "There appears to be a belt of trees further north, that might possibly afford more shelter. Can you walk as far, papa?" "I cannot exert myself more, my son," answered Mr. Mayburn. "Let us remain here; in this delicious climate, from what I have read, the night will produce no noxious vapor to harm us. Let us therefore offer our evening prayer to God, and rest calmly under the canopy of His skies, after this day of trial and toil." The word of the father was the law of his children; and after they had made a sort of tent of the poles and sail from the raft, under which the boat-cloaks were spread, they joined in prayer and lay down to rest; but still apprehensive of the evil disposition of Peter, each took an hour of watching to guard the packages till daylight. The brilliant light of a tropical sun disclosed to the thoughtful castaways a smooth sea but a barren coast, and they looked round in vain for the means of subsistence or escape. They saw Peter at some distance, dragging out of reach of the tide the timbers of the raft, which had been thrown upon the beach. "I am glad he is so usefully employed," observed Mr. Mayburn. "I trust he feels ashamed of his ingratitude, and means to build us a hut with these planks." "Not he," replied Wilkins; "I ken him better nor that. He'd never fash to pick up them spars; but he wants 'em to use for his own purposes. But let him be, let him be. Chaps like him is always twining a rope for their own necks." "Then, Wilkins," answered Margaret, "we ought not to 'let him be;' we ought to try and induce him to undertake some happier and more profitable undertaking; do, Arthur, speak to the man." Arthur and Jack walked down to the beach, while Ruth made a fire and boiled some water from the casks, to make tea, a supply of which, and a considerable quantity of sugar, being among the provisions they had saved. "Come, Peter," said Arthur, "you will need some breakfast, and such as we have, we offer to you. What are you going to do with these spars?" "They are my property, by the laws of wrecking," grumbled the man, "so keep your mouth shut about them. I'll come to your breakfast, if I can get nought better nor your poor stuff." Finding all their approaches to intimacy with this sullen creature repelled, they returned to the tent, where they found nurse in a state of great anger with Ruth the unlucky, who had literally _walked into_ the China breakfast service, which the considerate Jenny had herself brought away from the ship, guarded on the wreck, and had just spread out on a clean napkin on the beach, when the girl being sent to summon Mr. Arthur, had rushed through the midst of the crockery, of which only the teapot and two cups escaped destruction. It was not in the nature of an Irish boy to be serious at such an accident, and O'Brien had laughed so provokingly, that Jenny was roused almost to distraction. "A vagabond lass, as she is!" she exclaimed. "I blame myself, Miss Marget; I knew what was in her, and I ought to have seen to have had her shut up in one of them Union prison-houses. Nothing's safe where she comes; and see now, we may just drink tea, sup and sup round." "And we may be thankful we have tea, nurse," said Margaret. "And see, here is a tin cup we used for the water, may do duty instead of our pretty Staffordshire ware." "And we may meet with a china-shop before long, nurse," said Hugh. "We are not so very far from the great Empire." "Well, Master Hugh," replied nurse, "I don't pretend to know where we may be; but there's little signs of shops or houses round us.----If that doesn't beat all!" exclaimed she, as Peter took up the cup of tea she had prepared for her master, drank it scalding hot at once, and then coolly sat down, drew out his knife and began to open and swallow oysters, with which he had filled his cap. "Shares!" cried Wilkins, good-humoredly, holding out his hand. "Seek them for yourself," said the churl, continuing his repast; on which Wilkins, calling on O'Brien to follow him, took his biscuit, and set out to search along the rocks. Margaret felt alarmed to see Gerald accompany this man; but Arthur assured her he believed Wilkins might be trusted. In a short time Gerald came running up to them, and throwing down a cap filled with oysters, he cried out, "Give us a rope, Jack! we have got a turtle, and turned him on his back, that he may not get back to the water; but he is such a monstrous fellow that I don't know how we shall get him dragged all the way to this place." "Then our best plan will be to go to him," answered Arthur; "we have no temptation to remain in this barren spot; and you seem to have found a land of plenty; therefore I propose we should march at once." Each took up some burthen to carry, leaving the casks and heavy packages for the present, and moved forward to encamp in a new spot. CHAPTER VI. A Pleasant Resting-place.--The Turtle.--A Knavish Trick.--Destitution.--An Exploring Expedition.--Lake Scenery.--A Wrecked Vessel.--Strange Footsteps.--A Prudent Retreat.--Return of the Explorers. After walking about a quarter of a mile towards the north, they reached a nook, surrounded by mangrove-trees, which, like the banyan-tree, formed bowers propped by pillars of successive trunks and stems, and interwoven with roots and branches. At the part nearest to the sea, the lower branches were without leaves, and had been evidently laid bare by the visits of the sea. These branches were now at low tide uncovered, and clustered with oysters. The mangrove-wood, spreading up the steep cliff, was backed by some loftier trees; and it appeared as if an impenetrable barricade was formed by nature to forbid approach to the interior. A niche formed by the up-rooting of some aged tree, of which few remnants remained, offered a shady retreat, much more attractive than their late exposed encampment. Then Jenny was shown the enormous turtle lying on its back, waiting for execution, the innumerable oysters clinging to the mangroves, the crabs crawling on the uncovered rocks, and the clouds of sea-birds sailing overhead or sitting stupidly on the rocks fishing; and, charmed with the promise of plenty, she said: "We may do a bit here, Miss Marget, while this fine weather lasts, if we can light on any fresh water. Birds and fish may serve us well enough." "Where all those tall green trees grow," said Arthur, pointing to the heights, "there must be water to be found; and, in the mean time, we have a large cask, which we must bring up if we make an encampment here." "I have brought the kettle full," said Jenny, "and a bag of biscuits too. We might have got more here, but nought would serve Ruth but hug them weary chickens with her." "They will die, shut up in that basket, Ruth," said Gerald. "Come, Hugh, while Jack and Wilkins are killing that poor turtle, let us make a poultry-coop under the roots of the mangrove." "Above high-water mark, remember, Gerald," said Arthur. "Oh, botheration! Arty," answered he; "and you fancy I can't make a hencoop without a blunder; but you shall see." The boys selected a space among the arched roots, out of reach of the tide, and interwove the sides with branches, making a snug and airy dwelling for the fowls, which rejoiced in their emancipation from the basket; and the tropical shades were startled with the novel sound of the crowing of a cock. In the mean time, Jack and Wilkins had killed the turtle, cut the flesh into pieces, and cleaned the strong back shell, which they proposed should be useful; and, after a fire had been made, a portion of the turtle was cooked in its recent habitation, to the wonder and delight of Jenny, who was in despair for cooking-vessels. Then the rest of the meat was placed under the trees, in the most shady situation, and scattered over with the portion of salt they could spare from the small store they had brought; but, in that sultry climate, they feared they should not be able to preserve it more than one day. "We could easily knock down a few of those boobies, if you would like them, nurse," said Hugh. "Certainly not, Hugh," said his father; "with the abundance of food we possess, it would be merciless to destroy more life; and I am able to study the form and habits of the sluggish bird as conveniently while it is seated on that rock as if it lay dead on the beach." The mosquitoes were so numerous among the trees in their new resting-place, that Mr. Mayburn, who suffered remarkably from the attacks of insects, was greatly distressed; and Margaret said to her brothers: "It will be impossible for papa to remain among these mosquito-haunted trees; we must either try to penetrate further into the island, or we must return to the bare and quiet rocky strand we have quitted. At all events, we must have the sail brought to make a tent." It was finally decided that after their dinner they would, for one night at least, return to their landing-place; and the turtle being cooked as well as turtle could be cooked under such adverse circumstances, with Nurse Wilson as _chef de cuisine_, they sat down to enjoy it. Knives and forks they possessed; plates they had not; but the shells of some of the large oysters tolerably well supplied the want. After they had dined, sultry as it was, they were glad to resume their burdens, and flee from the venomous mosquitoes which followed them for some distance; but, unwilling to forsake the trees, their tormentors abandoned them when they reached the bare cliffs. A cry of dismay from Hugh and Gerald, who had preceded the rest, announced some vexatious catastrophe, and hurried them forward to see with bitter mortification the disappearance of the casks and the various packages they had left on the spot where they landed. "I mistrusted that rogue," exclaimed Wilkins, "specially when he didn't turn up to his dinner. He's a deep un, and no mistake." The boys went to the sea, now flowing over the reefs, and saw that the spars of the broken-up raft, which had been thrown on shore, were also gone. It was plain the artful villain had constructed another raft, and set out on it, carrying off their provisions, one of the guns, and the powder and shot. "And worst of all," said Jack, "my tool-chest, and my axe, which he borrowed from me this morning." "More fool you to lend it to him," said Wilkins, furiously enraged. "It seems to me as how roguery thrives better nor aught, say what ye will otherwise." "Do not speak so foolishly, Wilkins," said Margaret. "Wickedness can never thrive, even on this earth. This bad man has probably run into greater distress than he has left, with the added torment of a bad conscience. It is only when we walk in truth and honesty that we can hope for the protection of God." "Where can the fellow mean to steer to?" asked Hugh. "With a light raft," answered Arthur, "he may perhaps work round to the east of the island, if it be an island, and from thence he probably hopes to reach the mainland. We have sustained a heavy loss from his knavery; but we shall sleep sounder to-night from the knowledge that he is not near us." After a good night's rest, they arose to look round them and consider what was the best course in their destitute situation. Mr. Mayburn was dejected, Margaret was anxious, but the boys were full of hope and energy. "Hugh and Gerald," said Arthur, "I call on you to listen seriously to me. It is all very well to hunt turtles, and I do not object to your knocking down a few boobies, for we must have the means of supporting life; but we have a great object in view at present. We must ascertain where we are, and what step we are next to take. We cannot yet be sure that this is, as we suspect, an island." "It seems a desolate spot," said Margaret, shuddering. "Worse than Robinson Crusoe's island, Meggie," said Hugh, "for we have not even the goats. Not a four-footed animal have I set eyes on yet, and the bipeds are few and ugly." "I wish we may not find some bipeds," said Arthur, "that are more offensive than the gulls and boobies." "Oh, botheration!" said Gerald. "Sure you won't mean the savages, Arty. What jolly fun if we had an invasion! Wouldn't we drub them like British heroes as we are?" "And pray, most valiant knight of Ireland," answered Arthur, "where are your weapons of warfare?" "Oh, murder! what a blunderer I am!" replied the boy; "I had forgotten the state of our armory. Let us consider. We have one rifle, with a small amount of ammunition, one bowie-knife, two penknives, one capital stick-knife, the table-knives, and----has anybody else any dangerous weapons?" "I have a silver fruit-knife and a pair of scissors," said Margaret. "Quite useless," replied he. "Now, nurse, turn out your pockets." Jenny produced a housewife, containing needles, thread, and scissors, thimble, a nutmeg-grater, a cork-screw, and the half-dozen useful forks. Jack, always prudent, still retained in his pockets a large clasp-knife, a hammer, and a few nails. Mr. Mayburn had a small microscope, forceps, a case of delicate instruments of surgery, some blotting-paper, and a sketching-book and pencils; all of which were regarded with contempt by the warrior Gerald. "Well," said he, "we must just set to work to make bows and arrows, pikes and clubs. Those trees we saw yesterday will supply us with materials." "We will trouble you, then," said Arthur, "to take your axe and cut down a tree." "There you are caught again, Pat," said Hugh. "Another blunder! Poor unhappy fellows we are; destitute of means, we can neither fight nor run away, if this be an island we have been thrown on." "That brings us to the point again," said Arthur. "That is the thing necessary to be known; so, without further delay, we three will set out and make a careful inspection of the coast. We will leave Wilkins and Jack to guard the encampment; I will carry the rifle and the few charges we have left, but I trust I may not be called on to use them, for I should grudge them exceedingly." "Shed no blood, I beseech you, my son," said Mr. Mayburn. "We are intruders; do not let us become invaders. If we can obtain immunity for ourselves, let us be satisfied. Even if we should be attacked, we have no right to retaliate, but should rather take to flight." "But, dear papa," answered Hugh, "we cannot fly without wings. We are at bay here, and must fight or fall. But, depend on it, we shall be cautious, with Arthur the prudent to lead us; and remember, this is only an exploring and foraging expedition." The bold little party then set out towards the mangrove-wood, through which, with much toil and many windings, they forced their way, and gained more open ground. They crossed the bed of a river, which was now, however, but a series of muddy pools, from which, though anxious to have a draught of fresh water, they felt no inclination to drink. Beyond this spot some low bare sandhills rose, which they crossed, and thence to a steep eminence. They climbed up this, and found themselves among vast piles of rocky fragments mixed with tall wiry grass. They looked round; all was silence and desolation, the barren chaotic scenery being varied only by the tall bare trunks of a species of acacia, which here and there broke the monotony of the prospect; and now the boys felt convinced that they were placed on a truly desert island. Still they moved forwards, though depressed and silent, over the dismal wilderness; till at length they were cheered by the sight of vegetation, and hailed with pleasure some tall trees. Arthur recognized the cabbage-palm, the slender stem sixty feet in height, with the round tuft of edible leaves at the summit. Hugh would willingly have tried to climb the tree to procure the leaves, but his brother persuaded him to defer the exploit till a more favorable opportunity, and pointed out to him a fringe of the graceful casuarina, which promised the blessing of water. They made up to it, and found it bordered a broad and glittering lake, in the clear waters of which they distinguished multitudes of large fish, while on the banks the noisy water-fowl were building their nests. The edge of the lake was stuck over with fresh-water mussels; and but for the flies and mosquitoes which haunted the trees, this spot appeared a terrestrial paradise compared with the dreary bay they had left. "This is the place for our camp and fortress," said Hugh; "let us bring up our rear-guard at once. We shall have the lake for our water-tank, and its feathered and finny inhabitants for our rations." "And these winged monsters for our besieging foes," added Gerald, striking a mosquito from his nose. "It is a pleasant and tempting situation, certainly," said Arthur; "and we might select a spot sufficiently distant from the water to avoid these bloodthirsty insects. But we must be certain that we shall have no neighbors more dangerous than the mosquitoes. We had better explore to the coast." Hugh and Gerald had contrived to knock down two pairs of ducks, which they slung across their shoulders, and marched forward towards more fertile plains, where high grass and low bushes spread a verdant covering over the soil, till they reached a thick wood, sloping downwards, through which they penetrated, and found themselves on a narrow strand, similar to that on which they had landed. A rocky promontory ran out to the sea at a little distance; the broken, rugged, rocky sides were clothed with brushwood, and a lofty headland jutted out at the summit. Their further progress would have been cut off had it been quite high water; but the tide was still low enough to permit them, with some care, to turn round the promontory, and gain a broader strand, which was strewed with huge fragments of rock, amongst which they saw, with great astonishment, the wreck of a large vessel lying. The hull was divided; the forecastle-deck was in one place, and at a distance lay part of the quarter-deck. At first the boys were struck speechless with this unexpected sight; then they began to climb over the rocks to reach the wreck, and Gerald breathlessly asked: "Will we find any of them alive?" "Alive, man!" exclaimed Hugh. "You may see at once this is no recent affair; look at this chain, the sea must have washed over it some hundreds of times, for it is covered with rust." The sea was even now breaking over the scattered rocks, making the approach to the wreck at once difficult and dangerous; but the boys made out that the vessel must have been first thrown on the rocks, and afterwards broken up by the sea. It now remained a melancholy spectacle; timbers, decks, masts, and yards, scattered or piled in confused heaps, apparently untouched by man for weeks or months. The upper parts of the stern and hull as far forward as the mizen chains were entire, lying on the stern-frames; but no bodies were found, and the boats being missing, Arthur suggested that the crew must have got off, carrying with them the useful articles they might need; for little could be seen except the mere timbers, except that where the marks of an axe were found on the mizen-mast, the axe itself, though much rusted, was lying near, and gladly seized by the boys. "Margaret will become alarmed," said Arthur, "if we delay our return; but to-morrow we must examine this wreck more closely. Much has doubtless been carried off by the boats or the waves; but even the yards and chains may be useful to us." "I wish we could find any thing to eat," sighed Gerald. "Depend on it, Gerald," said Hugh, "the greedy sea will have devoured the provisions. I cannot even see an empty cask which might be useful. But, halloo! captain, our retreat is cut off; the sea is washing the headland, and we may be glad to use the old hull as an ark now." "I think we may be able to turn the next point," said Arthur, pointing to another jutting rock of the indented coast which stood out about a hundred yards in the opposite direction, and where a sort of shelf a few feet from the water afforded an unsafe pass. "Be quick, boys; we must beat the waves if we would escape before next tide." Away the daring boys darted among the windings and over the barriers of broken rock, till they reached the second promontory, and with the waves dashing close below them, rounded it, coming out on an almost impassable narrow hem of encumbered beach, which stretched before them for several hundred yards. Crawling close to the cliffs, they found at length the strand grew broad and level, and they sprang forward to enjoy more freedom, when they were suddenly startled by the sight of the shell of a turtle, which they could not but suspect the hand of man had removed from the back of the rightful proprietor. They looked intently on it, then Arthur said, "This shell has undoubtedly been roughly cut from the animal. The important question is, who cut it?" "Perhaps the crew of the wrecked vessel," suggested Hugh. "It may have been so," answered Arthur, somewhat relieved. Then O'Brien shouldered the large shell, and they moved forward thoughtfully for a few minutes; till a dark spot at some distance from the water attracted the attention of Arthur; they hastened towards it, and saw to their great consternation, not only the traces of a recent fire, but the naked footmarks of men, the head of a turtle still bloody, a long wooden spear, plainly hardened by fire, and an instrument which Arthur recognized from description to be a throwing-stick for the spear, as it had a hook at one end which fitted a notch at the heel of the spear, which the holders were thus enabled to project with great force. "We must carry away these curious arms," said Hugh. "Certainly not, I think," replied Arthur. "In the first place, we have no right to take them, since they have been left here in good faith, as we might have left our spades in our own grounds at home; and next we should thus place ourselves in the position of invaders and marauders, and incur the enmity of dangerous foes. We had better obliterate all traces of our visit, and, like prudent fellows, retreat quietly." "Run away! Arthur," exclaimed O'Brien. "You may as well speak plainly. And won't Margaret think us a set of poltroons?" "We will talk of that as we retreat," said Arthur, laughing; "but we must carefully examine the way we came, that we may leave no footsteps." As it happened, the vivacity and restless curiosity of the boys had induced them to keep close to the cliffs, leaping from rock to rock, peeping into crannies for nests, so that no traces were left, except where the tide would soon wash them away, and Arthur resolved now to ascend the cliffs at once, instead of going round the island, to escape any risking of meeting the savages. He calculated that they had reached a part of the shore nearly opposite to that on which they had first landed; and by directly crossing the island, which he felt could not be more than three miles over, they might safely and speedily rejoin their friends. "I do not think it probable," he said, "that this barren island has any permanent inhabitants. The people who have left their traces on the coast may come over from some more productive soil, solely to catch the turtles." "Do you think they came from the mainland?" asked Hugh; "I fancied from the heights of the east cliffs, I could make out a gray line, which was doubtless Australia." "I scarcely can fancy," answered Arthur, "that a people whom we have seen described as so deficient in intelligence should be able to construct canoes to come such a distance. It is more likely they are inhabitants of one of the hundred dangerous islands of this sea. It will be prudent, at all events, to avoid them if we can." As they rapidly made their way directly across the island, O'Brien wished there had been a boat left on the wreck, and Hugh said, "Couldn't we build a boat, Arthur? Jack is up to any work of that sort." "We have not tools or time, Hugh," answered Arthur. "Only consider how long it would take, even if we had the means, to complete a boat to be useful to us. No; at present we must content ourselves to make the best of our situation; and as I do not think the savages have found the bay of the wrecked vessel, I shall propose that we move our encampment into that snug nook." "What capital fun," cried Gerald. "We will bring them off directly." "Softly, good youth!" said Arthur. "We must hold a council on such an important matter. But see Jack perched on yon tall tree, to watch for us and give notice; and here comes Meggie to meet us and hear the news." CHAPTER VII. The Results of the Expedition.--The Long Vacation.--Removed from the Landing-place.--Birds and their Nests.--Fishing.--Tapping a Cask of Potatoes.--Tent-making.--The Shell Spades.--Digging a Tank.--A Grand Attempt at Boat-building. "Get all into marching order, Meggie," said Hugh. "We have found out a better site for a settlement than our present encampment, and Gerald and I mean to build a shealing." "And not a mangrove or a mosquito to be seen near it," added Gerald; "nothing but a ship at anchor." "A ship!" exclaimed Margaret, in astonishment. "What does the wild boy mean, Arthur?" "You will only see the remains of a ship, Meggie," answered Arthur; "and though you may think the scene of a shipwreck a melancholy spot to select, yet it seems a convenient, sheltered cove, and a desirable retreat for a short time, till we arrange our plans for the future." When they arrived at the encampment, and the adventures of the day had been told, Jack heard with especial interest the account of the wrecked vessel; and as he examined the rusty axe, he planned great undertakings with the aid of his new tool; while Jenny looked with much satisfaction on the ducks, which she declared were "more Christian meat than them slimy, fat turtles;" and Ruth, smoothing the beautiful plumage with her hands, and thinking, with foreboding dread, of the fate of her favorites, said-- "Bonnie things! what a sham' to kill 'em." "And see what papa and I have found," said Margaret, producing a basket half-filled with the eggs of the turtle, while Jenny served up to them some roasted in the ashes, which the hungry ramblers thought delicious. Then a consultation was held on the project of removal. Margaret shrunk from any risk of meeting with the savage islanders; but Arthur considered they should be safer from any encounter with them in the secluded nook they had discovered, which was guarded by coral reefs, dangerous even to such light canoes as these people usually had, and hidden by the jutting promontories, than they should be to remain in their present exposed encampment, or even in the more fertile regions of the interior. Mr. Mayburn had some shadowy fancies of civilizing and converting the whole horde at once; but Arthur argued that the time was not favorable for the undertaking, and that they must try to establish themselves in a more independent position before they indulged any hopes of reclaiming a large body of heathens. "Besides, papa," added he, "we must look forward to some plan of leaving this dull and desolate island, and we may have an opportunity of signalling some passing sail if we establish ourselves on the beach." "Ye'll not see mony ships amang yon reefs," said Wilkins, "barring they're drove there in a gale, and then, as ye've seen, there's poor chance of they're getting off again." "But we might build a boat with the remains of the wreck," suggested Jack. "There's some sense in that," answered the man; "but when ye've gotten your boat fettled up, what port would ye be making for?" "I am pledged to go to India, Wilkins," said Mr. Mayburn. "Pledged to a fiddlestick," replied he, with contempt. "Think ye now ye can sail to Indy in a crazy bit boat like what we chaps can put together. Ye'll have to make right across for t' mainland; and mind what I tell ye: I'se stick to ye, and work for ye, and fight for ye, but ye're not to be 'liv'ring me up at Sydney yonder to be shackled and drove like a nigger slave." "I fear, Wilkins," answered Arthur, "there is little probability of our reaching Sydney; but we are all too grateful for the services of a faithful adherent, to think of returning evil for them; and you may be satisfied we shall continue to protect you to the utmost of our power. And, my dear father, you must no longer distress yourself with the idea of fulfilling your appointment in India. We shall be reported lost in the _Golden Fairy_, and the mission will be filled up. You must resign yourself to accept any safe refuge that is accessible, and wait for happier circumstances." "In the mean time, papa," said Margaret, "God will surely provide us with work. And till we have more extended opportunities our own hearts require our labor. We must not neglect our duty at home." "I thank you, my child," answered he, "for reminding me of my wasted hours. It is indeed full time that I should resume the active duties of my profession. I have a weighty responsibility. Do you not think that I should begin at once, by recalling my boys to their daily studies?" O'Brien looked piteously at Hugh, who laughed at his mournful countenance, and Margaret replied, "The boys are not idle, papa. They are studying in the great book of Nature. Every hour shows to them some new wonder of creation, and raises their thoughts to the mighty Creator. Every sight and sound develops a new idea; and all you are called on to do, papa, is to watch and to water." "That is all I am fit to do," answered he. "I want the energy and firmness that you possess--a blessed boon from God. The deep sorrow that ever haunts me is, that my life has been spent in vain purposes, never accomplished." "My dear, conscientious father," said Margaret, "be comforted; I trust the hour may yet come when you will have a field for your pious labors: till then, have no remorse in following your simple and blameless amusements. I have no merit in my duties of attending, governing, and lecturing these wild boys. I love the office; I was certainly not born for any sphere more elevated. But you, papa, whose sole enjoyment is to sit in an easy-chair before a table laden with books and a cabinet filled with eggs and wings, were wrenched violently from your nature when you were doomed to pass days in forcing these unwilling boys to learn the rules of syntax, or the crabbed mysteries of Euclid. We are shaken from our proprieties here; you cannot teach Latin or work out problems without books; so you must take your ease, and consider this the long vacation." "You are the girl for knowing a few things, Meggie!" said O'Brien, admiringly. "Be sure, sir, Hugh and I will work to any amount to help you in your ornithology and oology, if you will spare us the philology a bit. There's no running about with a conjugation in one's mouth." "And as Arthur has demonstrated his problem on the best position for the encampment," said Hugh, "I conclude we had better move at once. No occasion to send forward notice about well-aired beds." "And no occasion, Hugh Harebrain," said Arthur, "to be overtaken by darkness on our journey. Let us be deliberate. Jenny must roast the ducks for our breakfast in the morning, Jack must collect his valuable work-tools, Ruth must again imprison those luckless chickens, and then we must all have a night's rest. It will be time enough to set out in the morning, and we must take care to start before the sun blazes out in all its fervor." All obeyed orders; and, with the first ray of light, the whole camp was alive. It was very important this time that nothing should be left behind. Peter had relieved them from the charge of biscuit and water, which he had carried off with the tool-chest and gun; but there was still a little tea and sugar, which was carefully preserved. The sail-cloth was rolled up; even the oars used for tent-poles were taken; and, after morning prayers, they set out slowly along the beach, and through the mazy, ascending woods, till they reached the table-land of the rocky isle. They crossed it this time at the head of the lake which they had discovered the preceding day, and found this part of the island still more fertile and lovely than any they had yet seen. Mr. Mayburn was in ecstasy; he stopped continually to point out some new and beautiful grass, some bright nameless flower, or some strange tree; while the notes, harsh, musical, or merry, of thousands of birds, filled him with amazement and delight. "From this moment, my boys," said he, "I release you from the severe studies which, Margaret truly observes, are unfitted to our circumstances and the relaxing climate. I merely require from you to obtain me specimens--single specimens only--of the eggs and nests of these birds; and, if it were not cruel, I should long to possess some of these rare creatures in all their beauty." "I fear, papa," observed Margaret, "that you have no means of preserving birds; therefore it would be useless to take them." "You are right, Margaret," he answered. "I will be content with a nest and an egg of each species." "Would you mind about having the nest and egg of that fellow, sir?" asked O'Brien, pointing to a majestic black swan sailing on the lake. "_Rara avis!_" exclaimed he; then added, with a sigh, "no, no, Gerald, we have no means. The animal is weighty, therefore the nest must be large, and not of a portable nature. I relinquish the precious possession. But let us linger on the borders of the lake, to examine its wild charms. Would that I had saved my botanical library, that I might have made out the species of these broad flags and thick bamboos!" "These round reeds will make capital arrows," said Hugh, cutting down a bundle of them; "and I doubt not but some of them would be elastic enough for the bows. We may surely, with all our learning, succeed better in making them than untaught savages. Then we may bring down our birds noiselessly, and defy the thievish tricks of Black Peter." "But first, Hugh," said O'Brien, "we must have a trial with some of these big fellows in the lake," pointing to some large perch-shaped fish. Jack sharpened some of the reeds to a point, and the boys were soon plunging about in the clear bright lake, pursuing and striking the fish; and after fifty vain attempts, they succeeded at length in spearing two, which, though young, were of large size, and Arthur concluded they must be the river cod (_Grystes Peelii_), so much praised by Australian travellers. Then, regardless of wet garments, which the hot sun soon dried, the boys triumphantly proceeded on with their spoil. Jack, in the mean time, had struck off from the edge of the lake a cluster of fresh-water mussels of various sizes, and emptied them, to serve for spoons and drinking-cups. Thence they moved forward, anxious now to seek some shelter from the increasing heat of the day, and gladly entered the wood, from which, with some difficulties in the descent, they reached the wreck-encumbered bay. All were at once attracted to the side of the vessel; Jack, especially, examined it with intense interest, considering its future service to him. Margaret and her father were moved to tears, as they contemplated the shattered fabric, and thought on the brave but probably unprepared men who might have been hurried into eternity before the final catastrophe. While Hugh and Gerald climbed the sides to explore the interior of the wreck, Arthur observed that some of the timbers had been carried away by the tide even since the previous day, and he consulted with Jack about the possibility of breaking up and endeavoring to save such parts as might be useful to themselves; and in order to lose no time they grasped a loosened plank, to draw it away beyond the reach of the tide. No sooner had they removed it, than a large cask rolled from the opening, which they concluded led into the hold. The cask broke open with the fall, and a number of potatoes ran out. Every hand was quickly summoned to collect and save the valuable contents; the cask was righted and carefully removed up the beach, and it was great amusement to the boys to pursue the straggling potatoes, and save them from being swept away by the next tide. "I say, O'Brien, my boy, I wonder your Irish nose did not scent the _pratees_ yesterday," said Hugh. "Now isn't it luck, Arty," said Gerald. "Will we plant some? and then we shall never want as long as we stay here." Margaret looked alarmed at the plan of planting potatoes for future provision; but Arthur replied, he hoped they should be able to leave the island before the potatoes were exhausted; nevertheless, he approved of the provident project of Gerald, and promised to seek a favorable spot to plant some, for the benefit of future visitors to this unproductive island. "But do not be afraid, nurse," added he, "to boil us a large _shell_ of potatoes to-day; we have abundance; and in our scarcity of bread, we could not have found a more valuable prize." Ruth had been in the wood to seek for a convenient place for a hencoop, and now rushed out with torn garments, exclaiming,--"Oh! Miss Marget, come and see what a bonnie beck there is." A _beck_, or stream of water, was, indeed, a valuable discovery; and, conducted by Ruth, Arthur and Jack forced their way through entangled roots and brushwood, till they reached a narrow rivulet of clear water, probably flowing from the lake by some unseen channel beneath the grassy region they had crossed; and after trickling down the rocks, it again disappeared in the sand and shingles of the beach. "This is but a slender supply, Jack," said Arthur; "I fear it might fail us in a drought." "We must dig a tank, Mr. Arthur," he answered; "that is, if we can raise a spade." Jack considered for a few minutes. He was not to be checked by apparent difficulties in his undertakings. "What do you think, Mr. Arthur, of one of those big oyster or mussel shells? I could tie one to a stick with some of these stringy fibres of creeping plants; or, better far, there's a tree up above, that seems to have a bark you might ravel out into strings; and there's another tree, with a stiff, regular sort of gum, as good as glue, oozing out of it. Now, with all these, I'll be bound to make a spade or two that will turn up this light soil fast enough." "Then the sooner we set about it the better, Jack," answered Arthur. "We cannot do better than remain in this spot, if we meet with no disturbance, until we can make some canoe or raft to take us off; and it is absolutely necessary to secure a supply of water. Let us go and choose our shells." But when they returned to the beach, they found Mr. Mayburn so much overcome by the scorching heat of the sun, that their first care was to get up a tent or shelter of some kind for him. They selected a deep niche in the cliff, where the rocks formed a complete angle, and having procured from the wreck some suitable spars, they fixed them in the crevices of the rocks, to form the rafters of the roof, which they covered with the long grass which grew above the cliffs. The sail was thrown over the front, as a curtain, and they were thus provided with a shady and convenient apartment. At low tide, Hugh and Gerald amused themselves with searching for nests in the extremity of the promontory, and finding an opening, they had penetrated into a spacious cave, the mouth of which would be covered at high-water; but as it shelved upwards to a considerable distance in the rocks, the back part was safe and dry. "Just think, Hugh, my boy," said O'Brien, "what a fortress this would be for us if we were invaded. One man could defend the entrance with the gun, even at low-water; and how we should defy the rogues when the tide was up." "But it would be horribly dismal, Gerald," answered Hugh. "We could never bear to live in it long; and, you know, we need no sleeping-rooms or houses to cover us in this fine climate; so we will leave it uninhabited, at least in peaceful times. But we will show it to Arthur, and ask him if it would not make a good storehouse." Arthur congratulated the boys on their discovery, and the timid father was highly gratified at the thoughts of such a secure retreat; after he had satisfactorily ascertained that it could always be accessible at low-water, and never dangerous at the highest tide; and Margaret proposed that the cookery should be accomplished within the cave, that the smoke might not attract the observation of the dreaded natives. So Jenny established her kitchen here, and prepared an excellent dinner of fish, and potatoes boiled in the shells of the turtle, while Margaret kept watch for the returning tide, though Jenny said, "It's all little use, Miss Marget; it has to be, I feel. Ruth's sartain to be catched and fastened up in this eerie place." Jack made a careful inspection of the remains of the vessel, and from the stern cabin, which was still uninjured, he drew out, with the help of the boys, a rough bench and a table,--useful acquisitions; and still better, a good-sized empty cask, which had contained brandy, and was now conveniently employed as a water-cask. Then, after a long survey of the state of the timbers, Jack announced that, with the help of Wilkins's strong arm, and Arthur's judgment and perseverance, he would undertake to build a sort of boat. Wilkins shrugged up his shoulders at the prospect of hard work under a burning sun, and said, "Why, one had as lief be working in irons down yonder; where one was safe of full rations, and bacca, and rum into t' bargain." "And ruin to body and soul, you may add, unhappy man," said Mr. Mayburn. "Be not discontented that the mercy of God has rescued you from evil, and cast you among true friends, who ask you to do no more than they do themselves; to fare simply, and to work. You were not placed in this world to live like the beasts, who eat, and drink, and perish for ever. Your life is here but the beginning of eternity; the hour of death is close at hand to all, when those who have done evil shall receive their punishment, and those who have listened to God shall find a blessed home in a new and glorious world." Wilkins never replied to any of Mr. Mayburn's _preachings_, as he called these admonitions; but he scoffed less than formerly, and Margaret observed that his manners were somewhat softened; and she daily prayed to God that they might be permitted to aid in reclaiming, at least, one sinful soul. The next day Jack succeeded in binding two large shells to stout handles, and fixing them with gum; then, while he left them to harden, he set to work to clean the rusty axe with sand and stones, and at length rendered it serviceable. He was thus enabled to break up the wreck, and to select such timber as would be useful for his projected undertaking; he extracted all the large nails that were uninjured, and after many days' labor, had accumulated materials to begin his great work. But the first employment of the youths was to be digging the well; they went every morning to the lake to procure fish, birds, or eggs, for the provision of the day, and then returned to assist in digging, the spades being now available, as the gum had become as hard as the shell. After they had sunk the tank sufficiently deep, they lined it with flat stones; and saw with great satisfaction, that they need never be without a supply of fresh water, if they remained at this cove. Some time passed, and they saw no more traces of visitors to the island, and they ventured to ramble to some distance along the beach, bringing in occasionally a turtle, or a basket of turtles' eggs, to vary their diet. They also used daily a small quantity of potatoes, but they were economical with these valuable roots, of which they hoped to raise a crop in the island, and, should they ever reach it, on the main land as well. After the tank was completed, Jack selected a spot conveniently near high-water mark, and seriously set about boat-building. He had carefully examined the boats during their voyages, and while in the _Amoor_ he made many inquiries of the obliging ship-carpenter; but though bold and sanguine in all his enterprises, he did sometimes feel that he had undertaken a stupendous task. The planks that would best have suited his purpose were more or less injured by the sea; he had no means of forming iron bolts or screws, yet the indefatigable youth persevered; but the month of August, the early spring of that climate, was advanced before the boat assumed a form of promise. It was then caulked with matted cordage found in the vessel, and with gum, of which they had abundance. Now, though rough and clumsy, Jack declared it "looked like work;" and after two pair of oars had been made with little difficulty, to the great delight of the young workmen, a day was fixed for launching the boat. CHAPTER VIII. The Launch of the Boat.--An Alarming Catastrophe.--Disappointed Hopes.--Jack's Perseverance.--A Peep at the Old Encampment.--Black Peter again.--The Loss of the Boat.--Canoe-building.--The Luggage-van. It was necessary to carry the boat fairly out to deep water, to test its perfect security; but the reefs were impassable before the cove, and they were aware they should be compelled to row to some distance within them till they found an opening. A roller, left in the wreck, enabled them at high-water to run out the boat, and Wilkins and Arthur volunteered to make the first trial in it. Jack was detained on shore, where he was always usefully employed, and the two boys were considered too wild to be risked in the first trip--an arrangement which they would gladly have rebelled against. The anxious watchers stood on shore to mark the boat first float on the water, and then the strokes of the oars, which carried it round the promontory at the south out of their sight. Then Jack and the two boys ascended through the wood to the heights, and crossed the cape, to watch the further progress of the precious vessel. But what was their consternation to see no traces of it. They hurried down to the beach beyond the promontory, and gazed wildly around, uttering cries of distraction. A few minutes of horror succeeded: then they saw the heads of the two swimmers, who appeared to be struggling violently against the receding waves. The two boys would have plunged at once into the water; but Jack, in a tone of authority, commanded them to remain still, and throwing off his own light frock, he rapidly cut a long branch of mangrove, and swam out, holding it out towards Arthur, who seemed nearly exhausted, and who eagerly clutched the branch as soon as it was within his reach. Then Jack turned round, and swimming with one hand, drew the almost senseless Arthur, still firmly grasping the branch, after him into shallow water, where Hugh was waiting to receive him. Still fresh and unfearing, Jack set out again towards Wilkins, who had grasped an oar and was supporting himself with it, when, just as he saw his friend coming up to aid him, he either dropped the oar from exhaustion, or some unseen rock dashed it from his hand, and he immediately disappeared. A great cry rose from the boys on the beach; but the minute after, he rose again, lying on his back, and apparently insensible. This enabled Jack to approach him with greater safety, and catching hold of his long hair, he drew the senseless body of the poor man towards the shore. But Hugh perceived Jack could not long hold out, and throwing off his clothes, he struck out to meet him, compelled him to relinquish the charge of Wilkins; and thus they were all enabled at length to reach the shore. But all were greatly exhausted, and Wilkins was apparently dead when they drew him on the beach. O'Brien hastened through the woods, and by cries and signals brought Margaret and Jenny to their assistance, by whose prudent care and applications the poor man was restored to consciousness. No sooner was he recovered, than, trembling excessively, he looked wildly round, and said,-- "Good Lord! it is a terrible thing to die in one's sins!" "How glad I am to hear you say these words, Wilkins!" said Margaret; "and now let all our words and thoughts be thanks to Him who has given you time to turn from these sins, and lead a new life. Pray to Him openly. We are all your friends, and we will join you;" and kneeling down by the side of the convict, Margaret offered up a simple and short thanksgiving for the two men happily rescued from death, and a prayer for continued mercy for their souls. For the first time the lips of Wilkins moved in prayer, and he audibly uttered "Amen." In order to remove the anxiety of Mr. Mayburn, they returned to the encampment as soon as the exhausted swimmers were able to walk. Then Arthur related to his friends that as soon as they had got the boat into deep water, they suspected there was something wrong about her, and were endeavoring to make to shore, when she whirled round and was swamped in a moment, and the labor of weeks and the hopes of escape were at once lost. The whole party were greatly dejected; but Jack, who was at first deeply mortified, was the first to shake off his chagrin, and to declare boldly that he would make another experiment. "We have plenty of materials quite handy," said he; "and it cannot be so far to the coast of the main land. If you will let me try again, sir, I feel quite certain I could make two bark canoes that would take us all, and, if we were once fairly over the reefs, could be paddled across without danger." "My good boy," said Mr. Mayburn, "I am but an indifferent judge of nautical affairs; but you must allow your first adventure has been signally discouraging. Nevertheless, I admire that perseverance which must in the end subdue obstacles and command success, and I do not object to your continuing your experiments; but I would advise you to try your next boat on the lake, where, in case of accidents, no fatal consequences need be feared." "I will make a canoe at once," answered he; "but I will risk no lives. I will paddle it across to the mainland myself, and then return to convince you of its security. This time I have no fears, provided we do not overload our vessels. I will set out to seek a tree immediately." "You will eat your dinner first, my man," said nurse; "and if you had a bit of sleep after your swimming, before you set off to cut down trees, there would be more sense in it. Here's some good roast duck for you; a grand dinner it might have been if we had only had sage and onions." Jack found Jenny was right. He was not equal to a long walk after his exertions and vexations; so he sat down to eat his roast duck, and then set about making models of canoes, prahus, and catamarans, from the recollection of what he had seen or read of. But next morning, leaving Wilkins, who was much bruised, and still weak, and subdued by mental and bodily suffering, in the care of Margaret and her father, the young men set out to explore the island for a tree of proper height and girth to make use of for their first attempt at a canoe. "After all, Mr. Arthur," said Jack, "if this should fail, we could try catamarans. That would be easy enough, and we have mangroves close at hand that would answer exactly for making them. But then I have my doubts if the master, or Miss Margaret, could be brought round to trust themselves on such bits of floats for a voyage that far. Here's a grand tree! Now, if we can only peel it clean, it will set us up." It was a tall fine tree of the _Eucalyptus_ or gum species, with a thick rough bark, which seemed as if it might be easily removed. Arthur began by making a deep incision round the trunk at the bottom, and also in a perpendicular line as high as he could reach. By standing on a fragment of rock, he was able to carry it up to the height of twelve feet, and to finish it by another circular incision. Hugh and Gerald stood at the foot of the tree to receive the bark, which, when gently raised from the trunk, was easily separated, and let down in one piece without any injury, to the great delight of the boys. Jack was anxious to have it transported to the cove immediately; but the boys wished to take a peep at their first landing-place before their return, and they all turned their steps in that direction. Hugh and Gerald had distanced the two elder youths, who had not reached the cliffs, when they saw the two boys returning in haste, with dismay on their faces. "Oh! Arthur," cried Gerald, "such a vexation! We are in for a battle, and we have no arms! The savages are ready for us on the beach." "But we are not ready for them," replied Arthur, "and must therefore keep out of sight. Do you two hasten homewards with the bark, while Jack and I reconnoitre." Then cautiously creeping along to the edge of the cliffs, they looked down on the narrow strand below, and saw a number of the dark natives gathered round some object close to the water, which seemed to have excited their curiosity. Jack, with a muttered exclamation of vexation, recognized this to be his unfortunate boat which had doubtless drifted on shore here. "Oh! Mr. Arthur," whispered the lad, in great agitation; "as sure as you are living, I see that rogue, black Peter, that got all my tools, among the savages; depend on it he has brought them here to seek for us." "To seek for the remainder of our property, I suspect, Jack," replied Arthur. "They are probably not very anxious to encounter our fire-arms; and we should be no prize to them, even if they could capture us. But we had best decamp now, as we are quite unarmed, and it might be dangerous to be detected; and, Jack, we must set to work directly. I am anxious now to get away as soon as possible, for these fellows will be constantly in our way on this small isle." They withdrew with the same caution with which they had approached, and then hurried to overtake the boys, who were moving slowly along, carrying the bark; and with the additional hands they soon brought it safely into harbor, to the admiration of Mr. Mayburn, who was, however, greatly distressed to hear of another visit of the savages. Then, as they measured and arranged the work, they discussed with wonder the appearance of black Peter among the natives, and the cause of his disturbing their quiet seclusion. "Peter's in his reet place amang 'om," said Wilkins, "and it's time for us to be off when he shows his black, ugly face. As sure as we're here, master, if he cannot 'tice me off to join his crew, and start bush-ranging, he'll take my life. He's a reg'lar black-hearted un for a bit of vengeance." "But, surely, Wilkins," said Margaret, "there can be no fear that you, who have now learnt to know good from evil--you, who have seen the wickedness of your past life, should ever go back to such sin." "Why, ye see, miss," answered the man, "it's little that such as ye know, what a queer tempting a chap feels for a free, roving life. Why! half of our biggest rogues _did_ know good from evil; and what of that? They liked evil better nor good. I reckon there's a bad spirit as is always tugging at a fellow's heart." "You are right, Wilkins," replied Mr. Mayburn. "It is the power of the Prince of Darkness that you feel in your heart, dragging you to the pit of perdition. But if you pray to God, my poor man, he will send you strength to resist the evil one." Wilkins groaned, and his friends felt true pity for the unfortunate man, who was sensible of his own weakness; and while all deeply regretted that the infamous Peter had chosen to pursue them, they resolved continually to watch and pray for the complete reformation of Wilkins. Neither could the family feel in safety while they believed the savages remained on the island; it was therefore arranged that Arthur and Jack--the most prudent heads--should return to the cliffs above the landing-place of these unpleasant visitors, to watch their proceedings, and endeavor, if possible, to discover their plans, and the motives that brought them to the island. In the mean time, the other boys transferred the bark to the capacious cave; the tent was also stowed there, with every other trace of their habitation; and it was arranged that, if there was likely to be any danger of detection, the two sentinels were to announce it by a sharp whistle, when the whole family would be ready to take shelter in the gloomy but secure fortress. Concealing themselves as much as possible among the tangled mangroves, Arthur and Jack went round to the spot from whence they had previously seen the strangers, and beneath the abundance of brushwood above the cliffs they made for themselves a complete hiding-place, with loopholes for observation. They saw the men still assembled round the boat, but the sound of the hammer induced them to conclude that Peter was engaged repairing some damage in it; and, to the great vexation of Jack, he saw his own tool-chest, which he valued so highly, standing on one side, and at a little distance lay the boughs of a large mangrove tree, and the axe with which they had been felled. Arthur suggested that Peter had brought these men to the island, hoping to find the remainder of their property, and bringing the tools to cut down a tree and make a raft to carry away the spoils; for the light canoes which were lying on the beach were only fit to contain one person, or, at the most, two in each; and that, finding the boat, Peter had thought it more convenient than a raft for the purpose. "Do you think, Mr. Arthur," said Jack, "they will be leaving any of the canoes behind them? I should like to see how they finish them off at the ends. But surely they'll never start off in that unlucky boat; I could hardly bide to see them enter her, knowing what we know." But Arthur was of opinion that they were not called upon to risk their own lives and the lives of their friends, by going forward to report the character of the boat. Besides, Peter, the only person who would be able to understand their language, would probably not believe them. So they continued to watch till Peter had completed his work, and then, by the efforts of the natives, the boat was launched, the whole party celebrating the event by dancing, singing, and flinging about their arms with childish delight. Peter selected three of the men to accompany him in the boat, which, with the aid of some long poles and paddles from their canoes, they pushed off and forced over the rocks. The rest of the natives leaped into their canoes, and followed with shouts of admiration. In deep anxiety the two young men continued to watch the boat, which they expected every moment to see disappear; but whether Peter had found out its defects and remedied them, or the water had swelled the wood and rendered it fit for service, it was impossible to say. One thing only was clear, that as long as they could observe it, till it had passed towards the south, out of their view, it continued to move slowly, but with apparent security. Leaving their position, they crossed over to a high point at the south of the island, from whence they could perceive the little fleet--the canoes now diminished to mere specks--proceeding towards a dark object, which they judged to be a distant island. Satisfied that the people had all departed, they descended to the beach to inspect the scene of their visit, Jack remaining for some time silent from the mortification of seeing the product of his labors appropriated so successfully by the unscrupulous Peter; and almost disappointed that he had not witnessed the boat go down, as he expected. But when they reached the strand, he recovered his spirits at the sight of a canoe which they had not been able to carry off conveniently after manning the boat. It was not useful as a prize, for it would only contain one person in comfort; but he was able, as he wished, to examine the workmanship. "Shall we carry it off, Mr. Arthur?" he said. "A fair exchange is no robbery; and you know, sir, this is poor payment for my good boat." "I think we had better leave it, Jack," answered Arthur. "The blacks will certainly return for it; and when they find it removed, they will be convinced that we are still concealed on the island. If we remain unsuspected, Peter will naturally conclude from the sight of the wrecked boat, that we are all drowned; and will then think no more about us. You see the simple construction of the canoe, closed at the ends by the stringy bark, which we can easily procure; or better still, we can use hempen ropes, of which we have still some; and we must strengthen the bottom by an extra layer of bark, or by thin planks." "It's not badly put together," said Jack, with a critical air; "but it will be strange if a regular taught English carpenter cannot beat it. I'm not daunted, Mr. Arthur, after all my vexations. And here's something that pleases me better; and, say what you will, sir, this is my own, and I'll take it." This was a small saw, which had been left beneath the lopped branches of the mangrove; and Arthur, prudent as he was, not only agreed that Jack had a perfect right to carry away his own property; but he thought he might do it with safety; for, in the place where it was lying, it would certainly be washed away by the next tide, if it was left behind; and, charmed with their prize, they hastened home to report that the intruders had departed. Hugh and Gerald were in a high state of indignation at the audacity of Peter in carrying off their boat; and Wilkins was furious, upbraiding Jack for his professional unskilfulness; when a fellow like Black Peter could make the boat fit to stand a voyage. "We do not know yet how the voyage ended," said Margaret. "It may be the boat has again foundered where help could not be had." "God send it may!" said Wilkins. Mr. Mayburn reproved the thoughtless man for the exclamation, telling him he ought rather to pray that the sinful man might be long spared, that he might have opportunity to repent. "Him repent!" cried Wilkins; "bless you, master, ye might as lief look to Miss here turning bush-ranger! It's not in him. He were just born for nought but to die a rascal, and that he'll do, and no mistake!" "It is a mistake, rash man!" replied Mr. Mayburn. "God sent no man into the world marked for perdition. There is ever a door open that the vilest may enter. Let us all pray that he may find that door; and if God permit me, I would gladly use my humble efforts to reclaim the wretched sinner." "Well, all I can say is, sir," answered Wilkins, "God send ye may never have a chance. Ye're a deal ower good to be thrawn away in running efter such a rogue, and ten to one he'd twist yer neck if ye said a word to him." Wilkins could not be convinced that there was any hope for Black Peter; and Margaret besought her father henceforth to talk to the ignorant man of his own peril, rather than of that of his worthless comrade; of whom he was not yet in a frame of mind to tolerate the mention. The bark canoe was now begun in earnest. It was twelve feet in length, and broad enough to admit two persons seated on the bottom, for benches they did not venture to introduce. The ends were closed firmly with the stringy fibres of the tree named the "stringy bark tree," as the tough fibres of this bark seemed more suitable for the purpose than the hemp-twisted ropes found in the ship. Ten days completed the first canoe, and hardened the gum used to coat it. Paddles and oars were added, and then the workmen fondly looked upon it as a success, and Jack was sanguine in his expectation that in fair weather it must reach the mainland safely. But it was not large enough to contain the whole party, and a second visit to the interior was necessary, and a second gum-tree was barked. At this visit, and on several occasions, the younger boys looked out on the coast for traces of the natives, but all continued so tranquil that they began to hope they should not again be disturbed. Before they began to make the second canoe they made a trial of the first, by carefully conveying it over the reefs, and launching it beyond them. Wilkins offered to take it alone; but Jack chose to accompany him, that he might note any imperfection and correct it. It floated beautifully, was easily governed, and the workmen were full of pride and hope as they deposited their canoe in the cave, and turned to work at another. "If we can but succeed as well with the next," said Jack, "we shall have nothing to dread but a gale, or too heavy a loading. Let us consider, Mr. Arthur; we shall be four in the first boat, and five in the second. Five will be too many for it, sir." "And my clothes," said Margaret, "the gun, knives, and axe, with all our table utensils, besides necessary provisions. How are they to be stowed?" All were silent; for to stow all these things besides the four passengers, would be more dangerous than even the fifth person. "I say, Jack, my lad," said Wilkins, "ye'll have to rig up a catamaran, like them they have down yonder, to land folks over a high surf. I'se see and manage it myself, and then ye'll be shot of me. Ye ken I'se a good-to-nought; and maybe I'd be bringing down a storm on ye all, like that Jonah as master was reading on." Though Mr. Mayburn assured Wilkins God would not pour his vengeance on them for protecting a man who had shown some hopes of amendment, the suggestion of Wilkins was fully approved. A catamaran was obviously desirable, and as soon as the second canoe was completed, they set to work, lopped the stems of the mangrove, and lashed them together to form as large a raft as they required. This they surrounded with a frame of thin wood, and the catamaran was completed to the satisfaction of the workmen, ready for the cargo to be tied to it. Gerald named it the luggage-van, and declared he would certainly take his passage on it. When all was finished, it became an object of consideration what might be the nature of the coast they should land upon. They had read that many parts of the west coast of Australia were mere deserts, arid and barren, without food or water, and they knew not but they might be driven on such an inhospitable shore. It was therefore advisable, before they abandoned the plenty that now surrounded them, that they should collect stores for possible contingencies. The brandy cask they had found in the wreck was large; this, before they embarked, they proposed to fill with fresh water from the tank, the most important provision for the voyage. And for the rest, one fine morning the whole party set out with bags and baskets on a foraging expedition to obtain food to victual their fleet. CHAPTER IX. The Foray.--Young Potatoes.--More Intruders.--Ruth's Introduction to the Savages.--The Sailing of the Fleet.--The Desert Shore.--The Giant Ant-hill.--Once more at Sea.--A Storm, and the Loss of the Catamaran. When they arrived at the lake, they found the margin crowded with the nests of aquatic birds, built among the reeds, and a dozen fine ducks were soon taken. Ruth filled a large basket with eggs, and finally a quantity of fish was procured. With this ample provision they turned homewards; but passing the plot they had sowed with potatoes on their first arrival at the cove, they were astonished to see how forward the plants were; and on digging they found young potatoes, of which they carried away a small bag; but as they still had a large supply of those found in the wreck, they left the greater part for the benefit of succeeding visitors. When they came near the height above the beach, on which they had first seen the footsteps of the natives, Hugh and Gerald went to the cliff to look over once more on the well-remembered spot, but started back immediately, for, to their deep distress, they beheld a considerable number of naked savages, painted with white chalk in a most frightful manner, dancing, singing, and throwing up their arms as if they were frantic. The boys made a signal of silence to the rest; but Ruth, who was always, as Jenny said, in the wrong place, had followed the boys to the cliff, and, curious to know what they had seen below, she leaned forward to look down through an opening in the bush. O'Brien, alarmed lest she should be seen darted forward to seize her arm and draw her back; but startled by the action, and terrified by the scene below, she lost her balance, and, encumbered with the heavy basket, tottered over the edge, rolled down the steep cliff through the crackling, thorny brushwood, and alighted amidst the strange wild crew on the beach. Springing up and looking round, the distracted girl uttered a succession of shrill screams, and the natives, in equal terror and amazement, gazed on the strange creature that had so suddenly descended amongst them. Her hair, which was very long, and of a fiery red color, was flying loose over her scarlet cloak, her wild eyes were starting from her head, and her pallid face was streaming with blood from the scratches she had received in her descent. For a moment the savages appeared paralyzed; then, without looking round, they fled to their canoes; and the next minute were seen paddling with all speed from the shores haunted by such a frightful spectre. By this time, Jack, in great alarm about his sister, had descended to the beach, and was immediately followed by the rest of the young men; and the distressed, woe-begone aspect of Ruth, who continued to sob and groan even after her fears were subdued, made Gerald laugh heartily, in spite of the tragic consequences that might have ensued from the accident. "Come along, girl," said Jack, kindly. "Thank God you are not much worse; so what have you to cry about now?" "It's the eggs, Jack," she sobbed out. "What must I do? They're all broken, and what will Jenny say to me?" "Never mind that," answered he; "take up your basket, and come away with me to the lake, where you can wash your face and fill your basket again, and make the best of a bad job." Jack's practical philosophy consoled the weeping girl, who collected more eggs, and soon recovered from the distress of her adventure. The boys found that the timid natives had left behind them in their fright spears, boomerangs, and some excellent cordage, twisted of the fibres of the stringy bark tree. Wilkins would gladly have carried off these, and unwillingly relinquished them at the command of Mr. Mayburn. "What matters," said he, "standing on ceremony with them there black fellows. Why, they would niver ax your leave to snatch t' bite out of yer mouth!" which observation drew down on Wilkins a rebuke from Mr. Mayburn, and an exposition of the law of honesty, as established by God and man. All the property of the natives was therefore left untouched, and the family returned to their own quiet nook, now more anxious than ever to leave a place to which curiosity, or the desire to recover their weapons, might at any moment bring back the late undesirable visitors. Every one was now busily employed: a small number of potatoes were again planted, and the remainder of their store packed in sail-cloth bags. The ducks and fish were cooked; the eggs of the wild-fowl, as well as a quantity which Ruth's poultry had produced, were boiled hard, and packed with soft grass in a box. The water-cask was filled; and then all the packages and provisions were lashed securely to the raft, which they had finished by a mast and sail made from some rent remains of canvas on the masts of the wreck. The large sail which had formed the tent cover was spread over the whole of the freightage and nailed down. Then the bottoms of the canoes were spread with fine grass for seats, and after a thanksgiving to God, who had given them the power and the means to accomplish this important undertaking, the family lay down in the balmy, dry, spring air of that delicious climate, to take their last night's rest on the friendly isle. The first dawn of morning roused them to action. Spies were sent to the heights to ascertain that the coast was quiet; then the first canoe, containing Mr. Mayburn and Margaret, Arthur and Hugh, was launched, and carried safely over the reefs. Jack and O'Brien, with Jenny and Ruth, filled the second, and Wilkins followed, paddling the heavy raft. "I'm not easy in my mind, Jack," said nurse, "for Master Gerald is up to any mischief; and if he sets Ruth on, we'se all be drowned." "Keep your eyes on her, Mrs. Wilson," answered Jack; "and if she will not sit still, we'll have her tied upon Wilkins's catamaran." O'Brien's laughter at the idea of Ruth being stowed with the luggage, made the poor girl shed tears; but she was comforted with the care her chickens required, she having persisted in retaining the charge of her pets. For an hour they labored steadily, without any rest, till a westerly breeze got up, and Wilkins, to his great relief, was able to hoist his sail; for he had previously been crying out for a helping hand. Then the catamaran floated briskly over the waves, which were, however, a little more raised by the wind than was pleasant for the slender canoes. But even the most timid took courage when the long line of low coast became plainly visible. No threatening rocks or foaming breakers appeared to create terror; and all seemed so favorable to the voyage of the unskilled mariners, that they began to be fastidious in their choice of a landing-place. "Let us coast awhile, Arty," said Hugh, "till we come to the mouth of a river, which will insure us a fertile coast. There is no occasion for us to land on a desert." "There would only be one danger in such a choice," replied Arthur,--"The natives may also prefer the fertile coast, and would be likely to oppose the landing of intruders. I think I should prefer to land at first on an uninhabited spot. We could then examine the country, and determine our future course. It appears to me, as we draw nearer, and can observe the low coast opposite to us, that the landing would suit our canoes. What do you say, papa?" "I think you are right, Arthur," answered he. "I see trees above the beach; and surely I distinguish large birds on the shore, a still more encouraging prospect." Margaret looked intently for some time in silence; then, turning to her brother, she said, "Are those figures we see really birds, Arthur?" Arthur looked round once more towards the coast, and then, calling out to the other boats, "South! south!" he altered the direction of the canoe, and said,-- "After all, papa, we must coast a few miles, at least; for those figures are the natives, who are, as I now see, armed with spears, and will probably resist our landing, regarding us as foreign invaders. We must not begin our pilgrimage by going to war." "Do you think Peter is with them?" asked Hugh. "I do not suspect that he is," said Arthur. "I fancy Peter's associates were islanders; but we must avoid all intercourse with the natives as long as we can." "How glad I am, brother," said Margaret, "that we are sailing south. How happy we should all be if we could ever reach the dear Deverells." "My dear sister," answered Arthur, laughing, "you surely do not expect that we can voyage along the whole coast of West Australia in these shells. If we ever purpose to meet the Deverells again, we must have stout vessels for the sea, and wagons and horses for the land journey; which could only be obtained by the influence of some powerful fairy in our present desolate position." "Nevertheless, Arthur," said his father, "if God permits us to set our feet on that continent in safety, my aim shall be to discover, if possible, the estate of that estimable young man; and to offer myself to undertake the church of his new colony. I now despair of ever reaching my destination in India, and my heart and my wishes point to Daisy Grange." The eyes of his children sparkled as they listened to the speculations of their father; though Arthur smiled and shook his head, and Margaret sighed, as they thought on the difficulties of so prodigious an attempt. "Never despair, Meggie," said Hugh; "we'll do it. We are all strong fellows, in sound health, and I flatter myself tolerably ingenious. I feel full of resources, and Jack is a mine of wealth. If we succeed in crossing the sea in these slender toy boats, I do not see why we should not traverse the whole continent of Australia, with our stout frames and bold hearts." "To me," said Mr. Mayburn, "it would be the realization of a long-indulged dream to set my foot in a new and lovely world, 'To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been.' Yes, my children, I also believe that, by God's help, we may penetrate the wilderness, and look on wonder hidden since the day of creation. I am content to encounter hardships. Let us go on." "But, papa," answered Arthur, "_c'est le premier pas qui coûte_; and this first step we have yet to make--the step upon _terra firma_. Margaret thinks that must be very easy; but we poor mariners, who know 'the dangers of the seas,' have some notion of the difficulties of landing a bark canoe on an unknown coast, without rudder, lead, anchor, or any nautical appliance; and not one amongst us, as you know, papa, far advanced in the study of the grand science of navigation." "That is wholly my fault, my boys," answered Mr. Mayburn. "I ought to have arranged that the charming science of navigation should form one of your mathematical recreations; but I never dreamed that you would be called upon to make use of a branch of knowledge so rarely cultivated in the quiet life of retirement to which we were called. But are we not some miles from those threatening savages now, Arthur?" "Not quite far enough, sir," said Arthur. "They may have watched, and intend to follow us. We will put a dozen miles between us before we make for the shore. But I see poor Wilkins is quite worn out, and, as his sail is useless now, I must spare you to help him, Hugh, and papa will take an oar." They approached near enough to mark the variations of the coast, now flat and sandy, then rugged, and occasionally bristling with rocks, which would have torn their little bark to shivers if they had encountered them. At last every arm was exhausted, and the opposite coast being low and untenanted, they rowed up to it with caution, looked keenly round for reefs and hidden rocks, of which they were in great dread. "Let us run in first," shouted Wilkins from his raft. "We can bide a shock better nor ye, and likely we may help ye out of yer troubles a bit, when we've gotten this ugly craft landed." Margaret felt some alarm for Hugh; but Arthur reminded her that Wilkins was, in fact, the only sailor amongst them; besides, rough as he was, he was too much attached to the boy to lead him into any danger. So the canoes lay to, watching the clumsy catamaran paddled into shallow water. Then they saw Wilkins wade to shore, towing in his raft with a rope, till at length, by the aid of Hugh, it was safely drawn on a low, broad, sandy beach. Wilkins then hailed Arthur, pointed out the mode of bringing in the canoes; and wading out breast-high in the water to assist him, finally all were happily landed. "There's an ugly sand-bank just out yonder," said Wilkins, "and I were feared ye might run atop on it. Now ye niver thought, master, these bits of cockle-shells should turn out grand sailers as they are. I say, Jack, man, ye'll try a three-decker next, I reckon." Wilkins was in high good-humor, tired as he was, with his successful voyage; and declared Hugh was a clever little chap, and he liked him better than any other lad he had ever seen. And now Margaret saw, with a hopeful heart, that the man was really changed; his rough and lowering countenance began to look brighter; and the desperate convict was thus providentially led into the path of reformation. "Now that we are really landed," said Mr. Mayburn, "I would ask what we are to do." "I should answer, papa," said Hugh, "let us eat, and rest; for you have no idea how tired and hungry Wilkins and I are." All declared the suggestion was excellent, and while the provisions were got from the catamaran, Arthur walked a little way from the beach to inspect the country, and saw before him only a wide bare plain, skirted towards the sea by a few mangroves, and apparently devoid of all inhabitants, rational or brute. This was not a promising prospect; all that could be said of it was, that it was quiet; though they were dreadfully annoyed by the mosquitos when they sat down to dinner under the shade afforded by the mangroves. As they ate their wild duck, they seriously discussed the future. They were reluctant to set out over the plains and abandon their little fleet, lest circumstances should render it necessary to resume their voyage. "What say you, Hugh, my boy," said Gerald, "if you and I were to take a run across these downs, and look out for a pleasant place for an encampment, out of the way of these rascally stinging beasts?" "What say you, Arthur," asked Hugh, "will your excellency permit two of your humble servants to set out on an exploring expedition?" "I think it would be more prudent for his excellency to command the expedition in person," said Arthur; "I dare not trust you, my thoughtless lads, and we can leave a safe protection for the garrison in our two heroes, Jack and Wilkins; therefore let us march at once. Take the gun out of its case, and give it into my charge; and you can carry the spears and throwing-sticks." The young men had completed, while in the island, a number of spears and throwing-sticks, from the models of those left behind by the natives; they had even successfully imitated the boomerang,--that mysterious weapon of warfare, so eccentric in its movements, and so remarkable in its effect; but they had not yet attained the art of casting it. Bows and arrows had been commenced, and these Jack undertook to employ himself in completing during their absence. Though Arthur was a prudent and safe protector for his young brothers, and Wilkins and Jack were powerful defenders to leave behind, the family did not separate without considerable anxiety. The young men crossed the plains directly from the beach, satisfied that they were in safety on that vast open waste, on which not even a growth of brushwood offered concealment for a foe. A loose, sandy soil, covered with thin, brown grass, gave to these sterile downs the appearance of a perfect desert. To crown all, they could not see in any direction the indication of water; and, thankful that they had brought a supply of this precious necessary of existence from the island that would last them for many days, Arthur still felt every moment more convinced that it would be folly to linger on this inhospitable coast, where, unfurnished with any means of hastening their progress to a more fertile region, they should be in danger of perishing with famine. "We shall have to try the canoes again, Hugh," said he. "It would be all very good fun," said Gerald, "if it was not such hard work. And it's little use hoisting a sail, for ten to one we shall have a contrary wind." "I hardly think the odds are so great as that against a fair wind my boy," answered Arthur; "but at all events hard work is better than hard fare. So we must just get such a night's rest as the mosquitos will permit us, and then try a bit of coasting in the morning. We can hardly come on a more cheerless coast than this." "What in the world is that before us, Arthur?" exclaimed Hugh. "This coast must be inhabited, for this erection is certainly the work of man's hand. It is one of the pyramids of Egypt in miniature." "No, Hugh, man's hand has never meddled with this structure," replied Arthur. "I recognize it from description as one of the marvels of insect industry--an ant-hill. Observe the skill and ingenuity that must have been displayed to construct this huge abode for a countless nation. This firm yellow clay is now so hardened that without some tools we could scarcely overthrow it." "I see no entrance," said Hugh, "is it possible that it is inhabited?" "Look here, close to the ground," answered Arthur, "at this tiny speck of an aperture, from which I have just seen a diminutive insect emerge! and it has been remarked, that these creatures, the smallest of their species, erect themselves the most lofty abodes. This must be eight feet in height, and wonderful as it appears externally as the work of that minute creature, the interior, we read, is still more astonishing--a miracle of perfection in art." "Let us open it, Arthur, and have a peep at the curious little nation," said Gerald. "And thus destroy the labor of thousands!" answered Arthur. "No, Gerald, you would surely never wish to be so wantonly destructive. We had better remember the advice of Solomon, 'Consider its ways, and be wise.'" "Margaret will laugh at our exploits as foragers," said Hugh. "We have certainly seen an ant-hill, but we have not even found an egg to carry home. I wish we could pick up any token of life or vegetation in this desert. Let us make a little tour, Arthur. I have my eye on our land-mark, that tall, bare, spectral mangrove." Arthur did not object to walk a short distance towards the south, anxious to obtain a more extensive view of the coast; but they went over the bare, uninteresting soil for two hours without any satisfaction. A single dry, withered acacia spread its thin branches before them; and Arthur was glad to climb it to extend his view along the coast line. But all appeared desolation: not a hill, a rock, or a green fringe to denote vegetation or water. He descended, much disappointed, and silently and thoughtfully they directed their steps to the boats. It was night before they reached their anxious friends, who saw in their jaded and melancholy countenances the disappointment of their hopes. "Didn't I tell ye all along," grumbled Wilkins, "as how north were yer point, and ye'll have to make a north course, after all. I've run along this here coast long afore this, and I say again, ye'll find neither meat nor water for hundreds of miles down south." "I must allow, Wilkins," answered Arthur, "that voyagers have ever stated that this coast from the eighteenth to the twenty-fifth degree of latitude is certainly desert; and that in the lower latitudes it is fertile and well watered; but by returning north we are flying from the aim of our hopes, and must necessarily risk encounters with the natives." Margaret sighed as she thought of removing still further from the Deverells, and Wilkins said,-- "Never ye heed them black fellows; they're nought but a set of reet down cowards, to be fled away by that silly bit lass. We're six clever chaps again 'em, and if we bully a bit at first, we'se drive 'em afore us like sheep." Mr. Mayburn shook his head, and Arthur had some doubts of such an easy victory; but it was expedient to keep up the spirit of the party, and he made no answer. Then, mortifying as it was to retrace their course, it was finally agreed they should sail north next morning, keeping in sight of the coast, and avoiding the landing-place where they had seen the natives the previous day. They proposed to seek the mouth of a river, if they could possibly discover one, which might form an easy mode of access to the interior. Jack had during the day carefully examined the canoes, added a fresh coating of the gum, which he had brought with him, and lashed the timbers of the raft tight and firm. Then, after an uneasy night of vexatious contentions with the mosquitos, they breakfasted, prayed for God's blessing on their perilous enterprise, and once more committed themselves to the ocean. Since they first landed on their little island, the weather had continued to be invariably calm and beautiful, and even the thoughtless Ruth and the rude convict seemed to be struck with the "witchery of the clear blue sky," while the more intelligent did not forget to thank their bounteous Creator, who had tempered their little trials with this blessing. Now, cheered by the bright sky and the fresh sea breeze, the young rowers plied their oars with willing hands, singing merrily as they urged their fragile barks over the light curling waves. Hugh had joined Wilkins, as on the previous day, and, favored by a south wind they spread the sail. Wilkins, however, augured no good of this favorable breeze, declaring the south wind was always the fore-runner of a storm; but they might as well make the best of a bad job, by easing their arms a bit. But for many hours they sailed on favorably and uninterruptedly, for Margaret had taken care that each canoe should be amply provisioned for the day. When they passed that part of the coast where the natives had been assembled on the previous day, they saw that it was now untenanted; but they felt no inclination to visit a locality so frequented, so continued their voyage; and on passing a hilly shore about a mile further north, they not only saw the people collected in numbers and waving their spears, but could hear their yells as they ventured to approach within a mile of the shore. "I say, Wilkins, my man," said Hugh. "Do you fancy our little troop could drive all that lot of fellows before us like a flock of sheep? I should hardly like to make the experiment, unless each of us was armed with a good rifle." "That's just what we want, Master Hugh," replied Wilkins. "It were just that there gun, as I grudged that rogue Peter a vast deal more nor bags of bread and such like. If we'd had a few more guns, we might have defied every black fellow alive atween here and Perth. They've not that sense to make out what it is, as makes all that clatter and smoke; and it's just because they ken nought about it as makes 'em so soft.... But, halloo! Master Hugh, I don't half like yon sky, we'se have some weather afore long." Hugh hailed the canoes, to announce to Arthur the meteorological observations of Wilkins; and as the man had certainly more experience than any of the party, they could not help feeling a little alarmed. Arthur looked anxiously towards the coast for a favorable landing-place, but here, only high bare cliffs ran along the shore, against which the waves dashed with a fury that warned them they must not approach near. Gradually, the sky grew dark with clouds, the wind was heard before it was felt; and before Hugh and Wilkins could tear down their rude sail, the raft was whirled round, and hurried furiously past the canoes towards a sort of eddy which was dashing and foaming not a quarter of a mile before them. With all the speed they could make, Arthur and his father rowed forward to rescue Hugh and Wilkins, regardless, at that moment, of the fate of the raft itself. The two men had now got the sail lowered; the raft was dashed amongst the breakers, but Arthur's canoe gained on them, and he could hear Wilkins hailing them, "Keep clear of the eddy; and send us a rope." Fortunately the mooring rope was still attached to the canoe, and Arthur endeavored, though many times ineffectually, to fling it within reach of the doomed catamaran. At length Wilkins secured the rope, and binding it firmly round Hugh, he flung the boy clear of the tossing raft. Arthur and the half-distracted father hauled the rope gently, as long as the poor lad seemed able to contend against the waves, and when he seemed to have yielded to their violence, they drew him, senseless, to the canoe. The cares of Margaret soon restored him, and in the mean time Wilkins had plunged into the boiling waves, and though a good swimmer, he with much difficulty reached the canoe, which they saw, with distress, was now far too much laden in such a sea. CHAPTER X. A Total Wreck.--An Unknown Coast.--The Green Ants.--The White Cockatoo.--Waifs.--The Gourd Tree.--The Fresh-water Rivulet.--A River Voyage Projected. "The catamaran is lost, master," said Wilkins, as soon as he could speak. "But life afore property any day, and somehow I've had thoughts of late as how I'se hardly fit to die.... Now then; look about ye, young man. That there eddy's a _freshet_; there's a river comes in there, and that's where as we should be, if we can make land cannily. Here, auld master, lend me them oars, and sit ye down and look after that young chap." Arthur agreed with Wilkins; but it was a perilous undertaking to carry the canoes over the foaming breakers, the hidden rocks of that frowning coast. His own experience rendered him hopeless of ever accomplishing the task, and he was now thankful for the advice and assistance of Wilkins. "Then we must tow them in the other canoe," said Arthur. "Remember, Wilkins, whether we be saved or lost, we must have them with us." "Ay! ay!" answered he. "Let them fling us their tow-rope, and do you see to belay it cannily; and if we be swamped, look sharp and clutch Miss here, and make a swim with her. We're nigh shallow water now, and we may drive in, barrin' rocks." It was only by clinging to each other, that Margaret and her father, as well as the two women in the second canoe, were able to keep their seats, as the waves tossed up, whirled, and washed over their frail barks. Sometimes they seemed to be thrown upon land, and the next wave carried them back with it. "Now then!" cried Wilkins, holding up his oar, and signalling to Jack to follow his example. "Now, when we ground again, you, master, jump out and hold her hard for yer life." The next moment the canoe did ground with a shock, and Wilkins plunged the oar into the sandy shore, and held his ground firmly till Arthur and Mr. Mayburn leaped out of the canoe and held the prow; he followed their example, and though still up to the waist in water, they grasped their charge, standing close to each other, and bravely withstood the returning wave. Then rapidly retreating to the shore, they easily drew after them the lightened canoe, and placed it high and dry on the beach before the next wave overtook them. Jack and O'Brien, though they at last happily reached the same haven, had not escaped without mishap. The canoe had been capsized by the shock of grounding, and, but for the assistance of Wilkins, Ruth must have been lost. She was dragged out senseless, but still holding her basket on her arm; and her first words on her recovery were loud lamentations at the discovery that two of her fowls were drowned. In the mean time the second canoe was whirling wildly among the breakers, and Arthur called out that, if possible, it must be saved; and all hands were soon engaged in catching the towing-rope, by which they soon succeeded in drawing the shattered bark to the beach. "I think that is a useless labor, Arthur," said Mr. Mayburn, "for I trust that none here may ever again be compelled to tempt the dangers of the ocean in such a frail and imperfect bark. By God's mercy, our feet are once more upon the earth, the natural and ordained locality of man. Byron, the wondrous poet who apostrophized the ocean, says:-- 'His steps are not upon thy paths,--thy fields Are not a spoil for him,--thou dost arise And shake him from thee!' "I feel, Arthur, that I am in my proper place, and desert or fruitful, lonely or populous, I would still remain on land." "So you shall, dear papa, if God permits it," answered Arthur; "but not on this bare and comfortless strand. We must penetrate to a more hospitable region. It was to render this journey less toilsome to you that I meditated to secure and fit up the canoes, in order to use them in ascending the river which we see pouring into the sea, and which must be our guide to the interior." "Ay," said Wilkins, "rivers is rivers in this queer, dry country; and other folks ken that as well as us; and when ye light on a sup of water, make sure of finding a lot of them black fellows gathered round it. But they're no better nor brute beasts, and we're a match for 'em any day." "We shall have to risk encountering them," said Arthur, "for the sake of providing ourselves with food, for I fear we are now reduced to absolute destitution." "We have Ruth's plump chickens," said the mischievous O'Brien. "Oh, Master Gerald!" exclaimed Ruth, weeping; "and could you have a heart to kill the poor dumb creatures as have lived wi' us so long? I would hunger sooner nor eat a bit of one of them, not if we had fried ham to it." The volatile boy laughed heartily at Ruth's visionary fancy of chicken and ham; and Margaret assured the sorrowful girl that only the fear of starvation should compel them to slay her pets, though the two drowned chickens must certainly be cooked, and not left on the beach for the gulls. They had landed not far north of the mouth of what they now found to be a considerable river, to the banks of which they soon made their way, and found that it ran between high cliffs, leaving a narrow pathway at the side, almost impassable, with huge fragments of rock scattered along it. But they remained fixed in their intention of following up its course, as the safest guide in their expedition. But first they must rest, and have such refreshment as they could obtain, the provisions in the canoes being washed out in the struggle to land. They sat down under an overhanging cliff, where curtains of drooping creeping plants shielded them from the sun, the boys having brought up stones for seats; and, after fervent thanks for their safety, they all felt a peace and tranquillity scarcely to be hoped for in their destitute condition. "It was most fortunate that the rifle was with me in the canoe," said Arthur, "and safe in the case. It is no worse for the immersion. The charges I always carry in my belt in the water-proof case; so we are provided for defence. But the raft and its precious contents, Margaret!" "Have trust in God, my son," said Mr. Mayburn. "Look up at that magnificent snow-white bird, one of the eagle tribe, which is even now soaring over our heads. Why should we doubt? He who feeds the fowls of the air will not forget his children on earth." "Here are lots of oysters, papa," said Hugh, "and Gerald has run after a large crab. There will certainly be turtles on the beach, and birds and eggs in the cliffs, and then we have water in the river." "But there's not a kettle, nor a toasting-fork," said Ruth dejectedly. "I'll provide you with both," answered the boy. Then from the roots of a mangrove, which spread below the cliffs, he tore down an enormous mussel, the shells of which were at least six inches in length, and, drawing an arrow from his belt, he gave both to the girl, saying, "Here, Ruth, are your kettles and toasting-fork." A plentiful, but strangely cooked, repast was soon prepared, consisting of the limbs of the drowned chickens, toasted or broiled over a fire of drift-wood, and served on oyster shells. Knives they had fortunately preserved, but nothing more, and they could not help feeling the want of the common necessaries of social life. After dinner the young men cleared the canoes from the accumulated weed and water, drew them under the shelter of the cliff, spread their boat-cloaks in them, and persuaded Margaret and their father to rest, while they held council what course to pursue next; but they found themselves so overcome with fatigue and anxiety, that at the first approach of darkness they all sought rest under the canopy of heaven before they should commence their labors. "Are all assembled?" called Gerald, at the first gleam of daylight. "Hugh and I have already been at the beach, and collected a hat-full of turtles' eggs and some wood for a fire. And now, Arthur, we are off on another excursion; we want to climb the cliffs, to see what sort of country we have been thrown upon." "Then you must accept me for a third in your enterprise," answered Arthur, "for papa would not approve of two such wild fellows setting out alone. Now, nurse, Hugh has made a fire to roast us some eggs, and with a shell of cold water from that jar we saved in the canoe, we have our breakfast complete." "If you could but light on a few leaves of tea, Mr. Arthur," said Jenny, "I could manage without milk and sugar; but I shall miss my drop of tea." Arthur could give Jenny no hopes of any tea-leaves, or even of any substitute for that agreeable shrub, but he was sanguine about procuring eggs, and even birds, for dinner. Then promising to return in an hour or two, and taking the gun with them, each of the hardy boys cut down a strong stick, and then marched off along the narrow pathway at the foot of the high cliffs which enclosed the guiding river. After walking some distance, the shelving rocks, covered with rich tropical creeping shrubs, appeared accessible, and they climbed to the summit, shaking down upon them, as they forced their way through the bushes, multitudes of stinging green ants. Then they walked first to the edge of the cliffs that overhung the sea, and looked round to observe their position. It was plain that they were now upon the mainland, and that they had been driven into a wide bay, with headlands running out on each side, while the entrance was barred by coral reefs which it seemed miraculous that they should have escaped. Beyond the reefs they distinguished shadowy dots, which they concluded were small islets, probably similar to that which had sheltered them so long, and which they now congratulated themselves they had exchanged for a wider field and more promising prospect of reaching a permanent resting-place. "How I wish papa was here," exclaimed Hugh. "Do look at those curious birds, and tell me what they are, Arthur. Oh, now I know they must be cockatoos, from their odd cry. Would it be right to kill them?" "I shall have a shy at one," said Gerald, who had luckily brought his bow slung on his back; and he directly brought down with an arrow a fine large bird about eighteen inches in length, with snowy plumage and a bright orange crest. "What will Margaret say?" exclaimed Hugh. "But it is a handsome creature, and papa will be delighted to preserve it." "It must help to preserve us," replied Arthur, "for we are in true need. We must try to find some nests in the cliffs, and at least procure eggs to increase our rations; for a cockatoo, which has a large amount of feather upon it, will be but a small dinner for nine hungry people." They examined the crevices of the rocks, and found many nests of gulls and cockatoos, containing eggs and even tolerable-sized young birds, of which they brought away half a dozen, and filled their pockets with eggs, and then turned from the coast to take a glance inland. The view before them was wild, and scattered over with rocks, but seemed well wooded; and from the curious mingled cries from the bushes, they judged that the feathered tribes were abundant. Then they commenced their perplexing descent through the tangled bushes, shaking off, as they proceeded, the tormenting ants, which ran over them in countless numbers, each little creature seeming determined to make its presence felt. "After our observations," said Arthur, "I am still of opinion that, if the canoes can be repaired, we must try to make them useful in ascending the river, the banks of which promise to afford us abundant food; while the waters supply us with their precious refreshment. We may encounter the natives, certainly; but we shall be able to escape from them more easily in the canoes, than if we were dragging slowly on by land. We must begin immediately to fit them for the voyage." "I saw a fine gum-tree above," said Hugh, "that will supply us with materials for mending or making. We must bring Jack here; but oh! Arty, I quite forgot--his tools would be all swept away with that unlucky catamaran." "It is a most unfortunate loss," replied Arthur; "but we must not despair. If we have not the best means, we must take the next best; we must consider and contrive, and not care for hard work." They returned with their booty, and found Jack standing with a pensive and disturbed countenance over the canoes; while Wilkins and Margaret, the tide being now low, had wandered down to the sea; where Gerald quickly followed them, and found that their object was to watch, in hopes that any part of the cargo of the catamaran might be thrown on the shore. Their first prize was a locker filled with potatoes, which Jack had fortunately nailed up to prevent the water coming in, and thus the contents were quite uninjured. But they found a greater treasure still, in the estimation of Margaret; a portmanteau of linen, which the thief Peter had either overlooked or despised, and which had been one of the greatest comforts left them in their bereaved condition. They were fortunately all wearing good stout boots, and their outer clothing, in that charming climate, was of minor importance. The waifs were speedily removed from the beach to the encampment, where they found Jenny and Ruth in great distress. "This is worse than all, Miss Marget," said nurse. "With that bright bonnie river running in sight of us, we have not a sup of water fit for a Christian to drink. It's as salt as pickle; enough to poison one, and can sarve for nothing that I can think on, but just to boil fish in." "I had not considered, Arthur," said Mr. Mayburn, "till nurse made her experiment, that the tide naturally rises up the river, probably for many miles, thus cutting us off from one of the most important necessaries of life. Now, perilous as it may be to leave the coast, it is imperative on us to move, or we must perish." Arthur reflected for a few minutes, and then said, "Let us have some eggs, Meggie; then Jack will accompany us, and we will set out to trace the river up the ravine; and I cannot but think we shall certainly meet with tributary streams from the hills, of perfectly fresh water." "But how shall we bring back the supplies to the camp?" asked Hugh. "We have no vessels except mussel-shells, or our cups." "Oh, warra!" exclaimed Gerald, "if the sea would only be civil enough to give us back our water-cask! Could we not go out to the reefs, Arthur, and look for it?" "It was too heavy to be easily thrown on shore," answered Arthur. "It is most likely fixed in some sand-bank, whence it will require a storm to move it. We must each choose one of the largest of the mussels we saw this morning clinging to the banks, and bring them in filled with fresh water--provided we meet with the water--carrying it as steadily as we are able. If we only had the canoes in working condition, we would move at once above the influence of the tide. Can we possibly repair them, Jack? We can procure bark and gum." Jack turned out the contents of his pockets--neatly tied knots of small cords, a clasp knife, a hammer, and about a pint of nails. "I always have a hammer and a few nails about me, you see, Mr. Arthur," said he, "and if I had but an axe and a saw, I'd not fear any work. But it's a sin to be drowned; something will be sure to turn up; so with God's help we'll manage these bits of boats, and then, thank God, Master O'Brien saved his bow." "And here you see the remains of mine, Jack," said Hugh. "I have picked it up on the beach. You must try and fit me out again, and then neither storm nor savage shall tear it from me. Only think, papa, if I had had my bow, we might have brought down a splendid white-headed hawk!" "Would that you had succeeded, my boy," answered his father. "A white-headed hawk would indeed have been a gem in my collection, an anomaly in the known feathered race. But, indeed, every living creature in these regions is an anomaly to all naturalists. This cockatoo is obviously of an antipodean race. Its form, habits, and peculiar notes, mark it to be of a distinct and modern family, having even little relation to the _psittacidæ_ of the ancient race. I am pleased with this remarkable bird, my dear boys, and feel no inclination to have it cooked and eaten like a common barn-door fowl." "For my part," said Margaret, "I should feel less remorse in devouring this stranger than one of our old familiar friends, Ruth's beloved pets." There was a common outcry against this household homicide, or gallicide, as Hugh called it; but there were young birds and eggs sufficient for the day's provision; so the cockatoo was reprieved, and Mr. Mayburn carefully preserved the bird in all the glories of its white plumage and yellow crest, so curiously movable at the will of the bird. Once more the young men set out for the very important object of discovering fresh water; and the tide being down, they walked up the margin of the river with less difficulty than in the morning, but it was not till after they had gone two or three miles beneath the thickly covered cliffs, which were perfectly alive with multitudes of strange birds, that they came to a narrow ravine, opening at the north, from which a low cascade poured a clear but slender rill into the river. They at once decided to ascend this branch stream. Its narrow bed was guarded by lofty rocks, which hid from their eyes every prospect but that of the clear blue sky above them, and their voices sounded hollow as if from below the ground; but, to their great satisfaction, the water was fresh, clear, and cool, and no sparkling champagne was ever enjoyed more truly than the draughts they quaffed from the shells of the fresh-water mussels which were abundantly clustered on the banks and strewed around. "Don't you feel, Gerald," said Hugh, "as if we were passing through some gloomy glen to arrive at a grand old Moorish castle--full of enchantments of course?" "That's a capital idea, Hugh," answered he. "Then there will be a beautiful princess shut up in the steel tower, with a hideous black enchanter keeping guard over her, and a fiery red dragon at the gate, and we have to conquer him with one rifle and half a dozen cartridges, that we may release the princess." "Why, you Irish blunderer," replied Hugh, "whoever heard that either dragon or enchanter could be overcome by powder and shot? If you have not fairy patronage, you must have valor and prudence, and resolution; and there's Arthur, though he looks so meek and quiet, would be the conquering hero." "We will leave the siege of the enchanted castle for a more convenient opportunity," said Arthur, "and be content to carry home such valuable trophies of conquest as a few shells of fresh water. But why has Hugh climbed that almost perpendicular cliff?" "He fancied he saw a palm-tree on the height," answered Gerald; "but if it really be a palm, I must say it is an ugly tree; and, for my part, I would much rather have found an apple-tree, only, as I suppose September is spring in this antipodean world, the apples could not be ready." "Moreover, apples are not indigenous in Australia," said Arthur; "nor shall we, I fear, meet with any equivalent fruit. Some of the palms are really useful, but I cannot think what species of palm that can be." A voice was heard from above, commanding them to clear the way, and a huge gourd was hurled down, rolling to the very edge of the stream. It was plainly not fresh plucked, but must have lain long on the ground; and when Hugh descended, disappointed that he had not been able to find any fruit on the tree, Arthur explained that the gourds that were known were not generally edible, but most useful as vessels for holding water. Then Jack cut a hole in the shell, which they cleansed from all the decayed matter, and washed frequently to remove the bitter taste of the contents. The gourd was slung by a cord, which Arthur himself placed over his shoulders, and filled with the fresh water for their friends. Jack having found the _Eucalyptus_ or gum-tree that he required, they stripped it of the bark, and, having filled a mussel-shell with the fresh oozing gum, they returned to the encampment, well pleased with their successful, though very tedious expedition; for the flowing tide made their return along the banks most difficult. In fact, Arthur was of opinion that if they waited for a spring tide, the river would entirely flood the ravine, and render their progress impossible except by boat. "I was not aware," said Mr. Mayburn, "that the wide-spreading but fastidious genus _Cucurbita_ extended to these strange regions; yet this gourd surely belongs to it I am curious to see the tree, to ascertain if it is of any known species." "At all events," said Margaret, "it will be very useful to us. Its contents are truly precious, and we are most grateful to our persevering and active purveyors. And we welcome them heartily to their dinner of broiled ducklings, or whatever else these delicate little birds may be named, with one potatoe for each person, which has been boiled with salt water in a mussel-shell." The potatoes were pronounced to be improved by their saline immersion, and the ducklings had no fault except youth and leanness. But oysters were plentiful, and the report of the explorers announced abundance in the regions up the river; so that it was with thankful hearts the family sought repose after their labors, to fit them for the renewed toil of the next day. Jack commenced his work at daylight. He fixed large patches of bark with gum over the weak or damaged part of the canoes, and left them to harden in the sun. Then, with immense labor, they cut down with their knives some boughs for poles to propel the vessels. A single oar had been thrown ashore by the last tide, and some broken spars, from which a pair of short oars were rudely formed. Hugh and Gerald had been employed in the mean time in the search for turtles' eggs, and had been fortunate enough to meet with a quantity, as well as with a small turtle. None of the party had much taste for the rich food, but nothing eatable was to be despised in their situation; so the turtle was sacrificed, and another kettle provided for the cooks. "The gum seems already hardened on the boats," said Arthur, "and I do not see, papa, that we have any temptation to remain on this mosquito-haunted coast longer than necessary. In another hour the tide will be flowing up the river, and will assist our voyage greatly. Shall we then at once set out on our important expedition?" "I see the necessity of it, my son," answered Mr. Mayburn, "and am satisfied. Let us implore a blessing on our undertaking, and then go forth, confiding in the protection of the Most High." Wilkins attended the family devotions with decorum now; but what effect was produced in his heart was yet to be developed. Hugh and Margaret, to whom he listened more patiently than to the rest, were satisfied that some change was taking place in the sinful man, and earnestly believed that he would, by God's grace, be turned to the truth. CHAPTER XI. The Voyage up the River.--The Way to China.--The Note of a Strange Bird.--A Hasty Flight.--A Tropical Storm.--The Loss of the Canoes.--The Cave of the Bats.--A Toilsome Pilgrimage. After the fervent heat of noon had somewhat subsided, the party arranged themselves in the two canoes, and, aided by the tide, swept up the river, which now extended to the cliffs on both sides, and effectually cut off any passage by land. Occasionally the fallen masses of the sandstone rocks, which lay shelving or sloping to the water, were covered with a rich growth of low entangled shrubs, now bursting into flowers of many a brilliant hue; amongst which numbers of pert, noisy, little green or variegated parrots hopped about, chattering over these strange disturbers of their wonted tranquillity. "Charming! charming!" exclaimed Mr. Mayburn. "This is the sublime solitude of which I have dreamed all my life. How glorious it would be 'To hold with Heaven communion meet, Meet for a spirit bound to Heaven,-- And, in this wilderness beneath, Pure zephyrs from above to breathe.' What a completion of all my hopes it would be, my children, if you could find some quiet spot where we might land, and be content to pass our lives upon it." This desire of Mr. Mayburn was received by his children with some consternation, while Ruth, though she but vaguely understood the proposal, looked round at the prison-like rocky walls, the sombre twilight, and the dashing waters, and began to cry. Even Wilkins, who heard all that was said in Mr. Mayburn's canoe, cried out, "Nay, nay, master, that would upset all; I'se not flinch to sail wi' ye, or to tramp wi' ye; but to bide here for good, among oysters and poll-parrots, is what I can't stand. It would soon set me off bush-ranging." "We must move onward, papa," said Arthur, "but doubtless we shall find, as we proceed, scenes that will interest you even more than this. We may even encounter peaceful tribes; and though our ignorance of their language will prevent our holding any beneficial intercourse with them, we may at all events give them an example of kindness and forbearance." "And remember, papa," said Margaret, "we have a definite aim in our travels. We must look forward to the pleasure of joining our friends, the Deverells." "But, Margaret," replied he, "how can you hope that we shall ever be able to traverse the vast space that must separate us? How can you and I penetrate forests, climb mountains, or cross mighty rivers?" "Few of them last to signify, master," said Wilkins, "by yer leave; and better for us if we had more. I kenned some of our chaps down yonder as tired of slavery, and what would serve 'em but be off to Chinee, which they heared say lay to t' north; and reet glad were they to sneak back to hard work and full rations. Why, they'd gone miles and miles over dry sand, wi' niver a tree to shelter 'em or a sup of water to drink. Where rivers ought to have been, there were just dry mud and wet mud, and that were all. We'se want no boats in them there rivers." "Pray, dear papa," said Arthur, "do not look so much alarmed at Wilkins's exaggerated reports. I have read the travels of scientific and experienced explorers, who certainly agree that large portions of the coast are desert, but give strong reasons for hope that the interior may be fruitful and well-watered. To these fertile regions, I am of opinion, we should endeavor to penetrate; for we have not means nor nautical skill to attempt a sea-voyage, even to the inhabited islands of the Indian Ocean. But it is for you to decide, papa." "I leave it to you, my boy," answered his father. "I rely on your energy and judgment, under Heaven." "Are we to turn up our watering-river?" called Hugh, from the forward boat. "Here is a niche in the rocks," answered Arthur, "secure from the tide, where we will rest to-night, as we shall have our fresh water near at hand." The nook was as convenient as any roofless place could be for a night abode; and even Margaret had now become accustomed to this wild life, and rested her head on a pillow of rock, in the open air, with the peace and comfort of a tranquil and pious spirit. Early in the morning the boys went up the fresh-water rivulet to enjoy the luxury of a bath; and such was the profusion of fish that filled the clear water, that they succeeded without difficulty in spearing two of the large species of river-cod that they had found in the island lake; and as these weighed ten or twelve pounds each, they returned very triumphant with their spoil. "I know it has been familiarly named the river-cod," said Hugh; "but you know, papa, the cod is strictly a sea-fish; besides, this ugly fellow, if he were not so large, is not unlike a perch." "It is like the productions of Australia," said Mr. Mayburn; "unclassed and strange. It seems to blend the distinctive features of the cod and the perch,--the salt-water and fresh-water tribes." "But it's safe to eat?" asked Jenny, anxiously. "We have already tried it with impunity, nurse," answered Arthur; "all travellers praise it as delicate and nutritious, and, from its abundance in the rivers, it must be a great boon to the natives." The fish was boiled in the salt-water. But before night they had rowed beyond the influence of the tide; and had now to labor hard to ascend the river, the high banks of which continued to be shaded by mangroves, which were weighed down with clusters of oysters and fresh-water mussels, looking like some strange fruits of this new country. There was something so sublime and awe-inspiring in the novelty of the scenery, that the whole party long contemplated it in silence, till an exclamation from Ruth, about the "bonnie ducks," roused them to observe the flocks of wild-fowl; and Jenny thanked God that there could be no famine here; while Mr. Mayburn noted with admiration the varieties of water-fowl, beautiful and unknown, which sailed over the river or clamored noisily among the mangroves. The labor of ascending the river in the heat of the day soon fatigued all the rowers, and they were thankful to seek refuge and rest in a narrow ravine which ran out north, and which, after the rains, would be a rivulet. At present, all that proved its existence were a few narrow channels, with here and there a pool of clear water. The rapidly springing tropical vegetation had already spread and matted itself in the very bed of the river, forming a picturesque jungle, amidst the dark foliage of which the tiny rills sparkled like diamonds. On each side towered lofty cliffs, hung gracefully with luxuriant creepers, and a thick belt of tall gum-trees and wild nutmeg-trees, covered with greedy, noisy parrots, ran along the base. Every thing was new and charming; and having drawn the canoes up in safety beneath the roots of a mangrove, they wandered slowly up the ravine, to find, if possible, a grassy spot on which to rest and eat their dinner. As they walked along, they found on each side openings in the cliffs, smaller ravines or river-beds; all similar in rich vegetation, and all equally lonely. It was a perfect labyrinth of nature; a scene of enchantment that filled the minds of the educated with admiration and holy thoughts, but shook the ignorant with all the tremor of supernatural terrors. "I wonder much," said Margaret, "that we should find these beautiful scenes unpeopled." "Ye'll see people soon enough, Miss," said Wilkins. "What would they do here? Queer fellows as they be, they cannot perch atop of trees like them howling poll-parrots, nor lie under water like oysters. Wait till we come on a bit of bare common, and ye'll see folks enough." "Wilkins is right enough, Margaret," said Arthur, "this lovely spot, happily for the free inhabitants of the air and the water, is unfit for the dwelling of man. I do not think it would be prudent to wander far among these bewildering ravines, our safest guide will be the broad river; and as we cannot meet with a convenient dining-room here, I propose that we should return to eat our dinner under the mangroves, in defiance of the troublesome inhabitants around us." But Jenny contrived to smoke away the mosquitos with her cooking-fire, though the green ants still contrived to annoy her by falling as garnish on the beautiful fish which she served on a turtle's shell. The hungry group only laughed at the petty vexation, as they gathered round the feast with oyster-shell plates and mussel-shell cups, to eat heartily, though they wanted forks, spoons, and, as Jenny declared, all Christian comforts. With renewed vigor they resumed their oars, and pursued their voyage on the pleasant highway, which the young and ardent believed would forward them towards the distant home they hoped to reach. And when absolute fatigue compelled them to desist, they found a convenient landing-place for the canoes on a broad patch of bare sand. They drew them on shore, and, to stretch their cramped legs, walked forward till they reached a spot where a slip of the rocks had formed a gradual ascent. Though encumbered with trees and brushwood, they were all desirous to attempt this ascent to search for nests and eggs, and, above all, to attain, if possible, the heights above, that they might survey the country through which they were passing. They found innumerable nests of ducks, geese, and swans, and of a large bird which distracted Mr. Mayburn by its resemblance to the pelican. They found also some well-grown young birds, but contented themselves with carrying off a couple of fine cygnets. "Hark, Arthur!" said Hugh; "what a strange cry. It must be the note of some new bird. Let us follow the sound, that we may obtain it, if possible, for papa." "Bird, indeed!" exclaimed Wilkins; "fiddlestick! Ye'll bide where ye are, Master Hugh. Ye little ken what sort on a bird that is. Ye'd better keep quiet, for them sort of birds is awkward customers. I reckon I ken that 'Coo-ee! Coo-ee!' better nor either ye or t' auld master. It's nought else but them black fellows hailing one another." "I fear it is but too true, Hugh," said Arthur. "I have heard of the curious cry of the natives." "Let us flee," said Mr. Mayburn, turning hastily back. "Let us not seek scenes of discord and bloodshed." "Couldn't I steal among the trees and get a peep at them?" said O'Brien. "The wood is so thick, they would never see me, and then I could let you know what we had to fear." "I wouldn't have ye to be over sure," said Wilkins, "that there's not half a hundred blackies skulking underneath this here scrub as we're trailing through. They're cute rogues, and like enough, they've been tracking us all along. We'se be better looking after our boats, nor after them. We'se see plenty on 'em afore long." It was plainly prudent to retreat, wherever the unseen enemy might be; and having secured their boats beneath a spreading mangrove, they roasted and ate some eggs, and then discussed calmly the prospect of meeting the natives, which now seemed inevitable. "I have finished another bow," said Jack; "we have arrows and spears, and a throwing-stick. And then Mr. Arthur has his rifle." "That's worth all t' rest put together," replied Wilkins. "They can beat us out and out with spears, and them queer crookt boomerangs; but give 'em a shot, and they'll fly off like sparrows. We'll have to mind, for, ye see, they'll never come on us boldly like men, but they'll sneak and cower, and spy, to see what we're made on. And I'd like to see t' auld master there keep up his heart; for if they see a fellow among us show a white feather, we're all done." "But I should never think of carrying a white feather, Wilkins," said Mr. Mayburn. "I confess that I have harbored the thought of holding out to them a green branch, which, I have understood, ever signifies a flag of truce among savage nations." "A fig for yer flags!" cried Wilkins contemptuously. "Show 'em a stout heart and a long rifle, and they'll understand 'em better nor a green flag. There goes the _Coo-ee_ again! Will you put out that fire, lass. Is there any sense in sending up a smoke to let 'em see where we are?" Ruth extinguished the fire, trembling with fright, and then crept close to Margaret and Jenny. As it was now quite dark, the women, as usual, lay down in the canoes, and the men watched and rested alternately till daylight dispelled the fear of a nocturnal attack. Then, not liking their neighborhood, they launched the canoes again, resolving to breakfast on a more secure spot; and after proceeding many miles up the river, they disembarked on a flat rock that ran out from the cliffs, where they cooked eggs for their breakfast, and the cygnets to take with them for the next meal. But on embarking again, they found, with some uneasiness, that the navigation of the river was becoming difficult. The breadth of the bed gradually contracted; the rocks on each side overhung the water, into which large blocks had fallen from above, among which the stream rushed in strong eddies, or poured over the masses in cascades; thus rendering their progress perilous, if not impossible. Suddenly, before they had observed any premonitory signs, a terrific storm of thunder and lightning burst upon them, accompanied by a violent wind and a deluge of rain. The peals of thunder, repeated again and again among the towering cliffs, were tremendous. Ruth shrieked with terror, and Margaret, with all her firmness, trembled to hear the voice of the tempest. The little canoes, whirled round and dashed against the rocks, seemed doomed to inevitable destruction. Wilkins, in this fearful emergency, succeeded in securing a rope to one canoe, then leaping out upon a shelving rock, he held it till, with Hugh's assistance, the three women were snatched out, one after another, to the rock, where they clung to the trees to keep themselves from being swept away by the wind; but they tried in vain to save the canoe, as Wilkins had relinquished the rope to assist the women, and they were mortified to see it hurried down the impetuous river beyond all hopes of recovery. The river was already raised by the pouring rain, but Wilkins boldly plunged in with an oar, which he extended to the men in the second canoe, and assisted them to reach the shore; but their boat, which had been previously damaged, was whirled against a rock, and went to pieces. "Thank God no lives are lost," murmured Mr. Mayburn, as, exhausted and drenched with rain, he crouched under the trees, the light foliage of which afforded very insufficient shelter from the torrents of rain which descended on them; and for some time they were so stunned with their fears and their desolate condition, that they could not command their thoughts sufficiently to consider where they should turn to search for a better protection. At length Arthur pointed out that a little higher up the river a slab of rock ran out and formed a sort of canopy over the narrow hem of beach beneath. Thither, therefore, the distressed party removed, and they found even a more convenient shelter than they had hoped; for the hollow beneath the slab was raised about four feet from the ground, and extended backwards into the sandstone rock, forming a cavern impervious to wind and rain. Their entrance dislodged hundreds of bats, of strange and frightful forms, and Mr. Mayburn half forgot his fears and miseries while he looked with admiration on a huge, imp-like creature, which he asserted must be the animal distinguished by travellers as the "flying fox." After these hideous inhabitants were dispersed, Margaret and the two distressed women gladly took possession of this gloomy retreat, which was dry and secure. Piles of dead wood lay scattered round it, which enabled them to make a fire and dry their dripping garments. To their great joy, they had been able to preserve their bows, spears, and rifle, and Ruth had grasped firmly her precious basket of chickens. At the moment when the danger was imminent, Wilkins had had presence of mind to throw on shore the locker of potatoes, and also the portmanteau, from which they all were now glad to procure changes of clothes. The cooked provisions were lost; but they roasted some potatoes, and enjoyed their simple repast, while the thunder rolled loudly over their heads, and the rain poured like a deluge into the swollen river. "We can go no farther to-day," said Hugh, looking out with a melancholy air. "What can we do, Gerald?" Jack was already at work in a retired nook, making arrows from the bamboos which were plentifully scattered round; and, roused by his example, the boys joined him to sharpen spears and shape bows, which were to be completed when they met with gum to cement them, and stringy bark to form the bowstrings. Arthur cleaned his valuable rifle, Margaret wove some reeds into a basket for eggs, Mr. Mayburn lectured; Wilkins alone seemed weary and out of his element, his good properties only came out when roused to action by difficulties, and as Margaret watched him lazily rolling a piece of bark for a cigar, and then lying down to smoke it, she longed for some settled habitation, that this unfortunate man, now but half reclaimed, might have useful occupation and acquire regular habits. But even the most industrious of the party could not but find that wild, stormy day long and tedious in this damp and dismal shelter. Nor was it without alarm that they saw the river gradually rise, till the level was within a foot of the floor of their retreat; and if it should rise high enough to overflow the cave, they were aware there could be no possibility of escape, for the waters already dashed against the cliffs on each side of them. They watched anxiously. At length, with thankfulness, they saw the rain cease; and before darkness shut out observation, the water had fallen a few inches. Then, free from their usual nightly torment of the bush-haunting mosquitos, they enjoyed a calm night's rest in the cool cavern. Morning brought new cares. The casual storm had passed away, and it was too early for the usual tropical rainy season; but, alas! they had no means of voyaging onward, and the waters blockaded them. There was no path along the beach. They waited another day, in terror of famine or another storm. A very slight decrease of the waters was seen next morning. The cliffs were too high and precipitate for even the boldest to climb, the river too deep and impetuous to be crossed except in a boat, and the narrow hem of sand now left at the edge was barely sufficient for the passage of one person; and even it seemed to them that in some places the rocks ran out so far that all progress must be cut off. They might, perhaps, with great risk, have made their way along the beach back to the sloping ascent to the cliffs which they had visited two days before, and thus gain the heights; but that would probably bring them into contact with the wild natives from whom they had fled in such haste. Besides, they were unwilling to leave the banks of the river, which insured them fresh water, while, at the same time, it prevented them from being bewildered in a strange and perplexing country. Arthur asked his father to decide on what they should do in this dilemma. "I leave all to you, Arthur," answered he, "as usual. I am distracted with sinful doubts and fears. We cannot, I am aware, continue to live in a cave, as men were wont to do in the early and barbarous ages; and the prospect of perilous wanderings in an unknown wilderness shakes my weak nerves. But I will trust in Him, my children, and pray for this blessed boon; may 'Israel's mystic guide, The pillared cloud, our steps decide!'" "Well, then, make up your mind, General Arthur," said Hugh. "Call up the forces and arrange the march. Gerald, my boy, you can make no objection to carry the _pratees_, I'm certain." "We must each take a share in the toil of carrying off our slender possessions," said Margaret. "Let Arthur divide and portion this duty." "Then, Margaret," said Arthur, "I determine that Nurse and you should unpack that portmanteau and tie up the contents in bundles, for the better convenience of division." "Never ye fash to open it out, Miss," said Wilkins. "I reckon I'se qualified to take that leather box on my back without breaking 't." But Arthur would not suffer the good-natured fellow to be overloaded; and Margaret lightened the trunk by filling some pillow-covers with part of the contents, and these were suspended across the shoulders of Arthur, Hugh, and Jack. Two of these useful bags were also filled with potatoes, to be carried by Mr. Mayburn and Gerald. Ruth would not leave her basket of poultry, and Margaret and Jenny collected the shells and small articles remaining. The locker was unwillingly left behind, as too heavy for carriage; and then, each carrying, in addition to his burden, some weapon, they set out in single file, headed by Arthur, Wilkins following close behind him, along the narrow sandy path, which was encumbered by masses of sandstone fallen from the rocks; and occasionally rendered still more difficult by the roots of a mangrove, twisted with creepers, spreading even into the river, or a drooping acacia, or casuarina, which it was necessary laboriously to cut away, or to tear down, before they could force a passage. CHAPTER XII. Alligators.--The Giant's Staircase.--Access to a New Region.--The Pheasant Cuckoo.--Wild Oats.--The Unequal Contest.--The First Kangaroo.--Scenes of Arcadia.--A Hint at Cannibalism.--The Cockatoo Watch.--The Enemy put to Flight. The cliffs which rose above their path were about three hundred feet in height; these were almost perpendicular, and even, in some places, overhung the river; which had again spread out to about a mile in width, while rocky masses in the midst, covered with vegetation, formed innumerable little islets, among which, even if they had saved their canoes, they would have found it perilous to navigate. "Hugh! Hugh!" cried Gerald, who was at the end of the long line. "I see our canoe; if you will join me, we will swim to it, and bring it in." All eyes were directed to the dark floating object he had pointed put, when suddenly Ruth screamed out, "They're alive! Master Hugh, there's a lot on 'em. They'll eat us all up." "I perceive now indeed," said Mr. Mayburn, in much agitation, "what these huge masses are. Observe, Margaret, on that island where the tall mangrove is so conspicuous, those dark moving forms; they are alligators stretched in the sun, while some of the dangerous creatures are floating on the river. See, my children, how providentially we have been snatched from peril. One of these monsters might have capsized our little boat, and we should have been abandoned to be devoured by these frightful creatures." At these words, Ruth shrieked out, and endeavored in her distraction to force her way past the rest; but was held back by Jack, who followed her in the line, and who tried to convince her of the folly of her fears. Nevertheless, they all felt more comfortable, when they lost sight of the islets and their hideous inhabitants. Again the river narrowed, and now they became alarmed as a strange rumbling noise gradually increased before them. They paused for consideration; this was totally unlike the usual sounds of the wilderness, where the varied notes of the birds, and the continued humming of the insects, alone disturbed the silence. "It resembles the roaring of waters," said Arthur. "I trust that now, when the river has obviously fallen, we need not fear that another flood should overtake us. But follow me quickly--let us lose no time in endeavoring to reach the security of a wider strand." As they proceeded, the roaring and rumbling grew louder and louder; they knew it was the voice of a torrent, and it was with beating hearts they wound round a bend in the course of the greatly narrowed river, and saw at a short distance before them a majestic cataract, pouring its foaming waters into the river, which bounded and dashed onward like a troubled sea, even to the spot where the wanderers stood, transfixed with wonder and admiration at the spectacle. "This is indeed the majesty of nature!" exclaimed Mr. Mayburn. "How feeble seem all the labors of man, when compared with this stupendous work of God! 'How profound The gulf! and how the giant element From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound, Crushing the cliffs!'" "Ay! Ay! it's a grand thing to see, master," said Wilkins; "but how are we to get out on our fix? We're not made wi' wings, like them big fellows, clamoring and diving at t' top yonder." A row of large birds were perched on fragments of rock at the very summit of the fall, plunging their heads into the rushing waters, and seeming to rejoice in the grand commotion. "They look like pelicans, papa," said Hugh; "I can see the red pouch under their throat." "The bird is one of the family, I apprehend, my son," answered Mr. Mayburn. "It is commonly called the frigate pelican, and is peculiar to the tropics, fishing in rivers as well as in the sea. Its wings and tail are immensely long, but the body, if stripped of the feathers, is much smaller than you would expect to find it. But observe now, Hugh, a nobler bird. See, far above us soars a superb black eagle, which seems to look down with equal scorn on the noisy birds, the dashing waters, and the helpless men so far below it." As they slowly drew near, they calculated that the height of the cataract must be a hundred and fifty feet at least, and saw that the waters poured over horizontal strata of the sandstone rocks, each layer projecting beyond the one above, and forming a series of steps, which rose from four to eight feet in height. The water did not descend in a volume, but in courses, which left parts of the rocks uncovered, and on these parts moss and even grass had sprung up. Amidst the admiration and enjoyment which all felt in the contemplation of this novel spectacle, an unpleasant conviction crossed the minds of even the most enthusiastic, that they were indeed, as Wilkins had remarked, "in a fix." It was impossible to proceed unless they could ascend the formidable brush-covered cliffs, where the weight of a man clinging to the bushes might bring down an avalanche of the crumbling sandstone rock to bury him in its fall; or, still more perilous, that they should attempt to ascend what Gerald called "the Giant's Staircase"--the mighty cataract itself. The voice of the torrent drowned the weaker voice of man; Arthur could not understand that Gerald was calling out to Hugh to follow him; and before he could proclaim any interdiction, the two light-footed, active boys, by clinging to the firmly-rooted grass in the crevices, had gained a resting-place on the first step of the rocks at the extreme edge of the fall, and were calling on the rest to follow them. At this extremity about four feet of the rocks remained dry from the summit to the base, and certainly this must be the ladder they must mount if they hoped to escape; but how difficult, how perilous, was the attempt! Jack surveyed the ground attentively, then producing from his pocket a large roll of cord, he tied one end to a mangrove-tree on the beach, and unrolling it as he went up, followed the boys, holding the line tight to support Mr. Mayburn and Margaret, Jenny and Ruth, who, assisted by Arthur and Wilkins, were one after another raised to the first resting-place. Arthur soon joined them; but Wilkins remained to see the whole ascent completed before he would leave the strand. Distracted by the noise of the torrent, the dashing of the spray, and the terror lest the slippery stone or the supporting clump of grass should fail them, it was a fearful struggle for the timid women, and for Mr. Mayburn, quite as timid and much less light than they, to be raised from step to step, assisted always by Arthur below and Jack above; but finally they were placed in safety on the heights of the cataract. Then Jack waved his handkerchief, for his voice would have been inaudible, as a signal for Wilkins to follow; and he, more accustomed than they to climbing, loosed and leisurely wound up the cord, as he sprang from rock to rock, till he joined the grateful and happy family. The first sentiment of all was thankfulness to God, poured forth in earnest prayer. Their next feeling was curiosity to look upon a new, open country, after being so long imprisoned in the gloomy ravine below. They saw that the river was no longer a broad, navigable stream, but was flowing through many narrow channels from the east and south-east, which united above the cataract. An open and lovely glade lay before them, thinly wooded, and covered with tall grass, and flowers of the most brilliant dyes. Birds of rare beauty and strange notes hovered about the rivulets, and the air was darkened with insects; but they saw no trace yet of man. Far away to the south-east lay a gray line of mountains, towards which the wishes of all the anxious travellers turned. "That range of mountains must be our first aim, papa," said Arthur. "Thank God, we seem yet to be in a land of plenty; nor need we have any fear of destitution so long as we continue in a well-watered district. If you are now able to proceed, Margaret, we must endeavor to bivouac on some spot less exposed to the rays of the sun and the observation of the natives than this. Let us follow the nearest channel of the river; if we wish to diverge further south, it will not be difficult to cross it." A sharp twang startled Mr. Mayburn, and a beautiful bird fell at his feet. "Just as I wished it, sir," said Gerald. "I meant the bird to be laid at your feet. Wasn't it a capital shot, Hugh?" "Lucky, at any rate, Gerald," answered Hugh. "Well, papa, what bird is it?" "It is perfectly new to me, Hugh," answered his father, "as, indeed, all the strange creation around me seems to be. The toes, like those of the _Scansores_, are placed two forward, and two backward, to facilitate the running up trees, and in form it so much resembles our cuckoo, that doubtless it is the bird we have read of as the Pheasant-cuckoo. See, there are more running among the grass, like pheasants--and hark how they _whirr_ as they take to flight, now that they have been startled by that mischievous boy." The pheasants were tempting game, and several brace were bagged before Margaret could restrain the ardent sportsmen, and remonstrate on the wanton cruelty of destroying more than their necessities required. Then, bending their course to a low hill, on which stood a wild nutmeg-tree, they saw that it was covered with beautiful white pigeons. On this spot a fire was made, and the pheasants prepared for cooking, and then spitted on slender peeled bamboos, which were set up with one end in the ground, round the fire. Gerald would gladly have added to the feast by shooting some of the confiding pigeons, which continued to feed on the green fruits of the nutmeg-tree, without any fear of their dangerous neighbors; but even Nurse reproved the boy for his destructive inclinations, declaring it would be very unlucky to shoot a white pigeon. Though they hoped this resting-place would have proved pleasant, they soon found it would be impossible to remain near the water, so intensely vexatious was the plague of flies. Thick clouds of these teasing creatures buzzed round, settling in black bunches on the meat; filling eyes, nose and mouth, and irritating the skin with their continual attempts to pierce it with their thin, tiny proboscis. The boys declared the flies were ten times worse than the mosquitos; and to escape these Lilliputian foes, Arthur decided that they should cross some of the narrow rills, which now ran wide apart, and deviate towards the south, where a rising ground promised to introduce them to new scenery. When they reached the hills, they found them steeper than they expected; but on ascending to the height, they were gratified to see before them a beautiful country. Lofty trees adorned the plain, and high grass rose even to their shoulders, as they passed through it. On several spots, vast fragments of the sandstone-rock, grown over with beautiful flowering creepers, lay in picturesque confusion; and the Eucalyptus, with its spicy flowers, the Pandanus, loaded with fragrant blossoms, and the Cabbage-palm, were also encircled by the parasitic plants which add such a grace to tropical scenery. Wearied with forcing their way through the tall, sharp, wiry grass, they stopped before a high, broken rock which overhung and flung a shade over the spot they had selected for their resting-place. Then the boys cleared the ground, by laboriously cutting down the long grass, which they spread to form beds, a luxury to which they were unaccustomed. "We'd better have fired it," said Wilkins. "Our bush-ranging chaps always sets it in a low; it saves trouble." "I should be grieved to destroy the luxuriant vegetation that God has spread over these plains," said Mr. Mayburn. "Besides we could not calculate where such a conflagration might end." "Little matter where it ended," answered the man. "There's lots of this stuff, such as it is; but Ruth, lass, ye've gotten hold on a better sample." Ruth usually released her unfortunate chickens at each resting-place, that they might have air, and seek food, and she had herself been running about for grubs, seeds, or any thing they could eat, and she now returned with a perfect sheaf of some kind of bearded grain, suspended on the ear by slender filaments like the oat, but still unripe. "This surely should be an edible grain," said Mr. Mayburn, "and will probably be ripe as early as November, in a climate which produces two harvests. How richly laden is each ear, and the straw cannot be less than six feet in length. I conclude it is an _Anthistiria_. Feed your fowls, Ruth; the food is suitable, and happily abundant. Had we but a mill to grind it, we might hope in due season to enjoy once more the blessing of bread." "There's not likely to be any mills handy hereabout," said Wilkins; "but when folks is put to it, it's queer what shifts they can make. Just hand us over a handful of that there corn, my lass." Wilkins soon found two flat stones suited to his purpose, spread the shelled grains on the larger stone and bruised the soft corn into a paste, which he handed over to Jenny, saying, "Here's yer dough, mother! now see and bake us a damper, bush fashion; it's poor clammy stuff yet a bit, but a bad loaf's better nor no bread." Then Wilkins showed Jenny that slovenly mode of bread-making, common even among the civilized colonists of Australia, the product of which is a sort of pancake baked in the ashes. But this substitute for the staff of life was thankfully received by those who had been so long deprived of the genuine blessing; but the green paste was stringy and dry, and Jenny proposed to blend a boiled potato with the next damper, to make it more like bread. "Nevertheless," said Arthur, "if we only boil it as a green vegetable, this acquisition will be an agreeable addition to our roast birds. Suppose we each reap a bundle of the ears to carry onwards: at all events the grains will feed the fowls." The boys soon cut down a quantity of the heads of the corn, and early next morning they rubbed out the grains, with which they filled several bags, Ruth herself collecting a store for the poultry. Then, resolving to wait till the heat of the day was over before they marched on their journey, Margaret employed herself in making useful bags of grass, while the young men sauntered about, observing the novelties around them, and procuring from one of the clear rivulets a large provision of fish for the day's consumption. "And see, Margaret," said Gerald, "would you not have been proud, in England, of such a magnificent bouquet as this," presenting to her a brilliant assemblage of flowers. "Now, papa, come to our assistance," said Margaret, "and name these 'illustrious strangers.' Surely I scent among them our own delicious Jasmine." "It certainly resembles the jasmine, as well in form, as in perfume," answered Mr. Mayburn. "Yet, like all Australian productions, it differs essentially from the species it resembles. We will, however, name it jasmine. This golden flower of the ranunculus race, might represent the butter-cup of our meadows, yet it certainly is not the butter-cup. And this might be a rose, with its slender stem, and pale-pink wax-like petals--is it not a _Boronea_, Arthur? This crimson flower resembles the sweet-pea, of which it has the scent, and the papillonaceous form. But it is vain to attempt to class, at once, a strange and marvellous new Flora. Well might Dr. Solander honor the first spot discovered of this lovely country with the name of Botany Bay, thus prophetically anticipating the rich harvests naturalists should reap in its wealth of plants. This is truly a tour of pleasure, my children, and I care not how long I linger on the flowery road." "If it were not for the flies and mosquitos, papa," added Hugh, rubbing his tortured nose, which being rather prominent, was a favorite resort of the insects. "What an advantage it is, in this country, to have a snub nose!" said Gerald. "Oh! my boy, it is my turn to laugh now. But I say, Arthur! Wilkins! What is yon fellow? See, papa, what a splendid spectacle!" Not twenty yards from where they stood, and on part of the ground they had cleared from the tall grass, they saw, with admiration mingled with fear, an immense bright yellow and brown serpent slowly winding among the low stubble. No one seemed to know exactly how to act on seeing this strange visitor, except Gerald, who sprung forward, armed with a stout stick; but Arthur forcibly held him back, and Wilkins said,-- "Let him be! let him be! ye'd best not mell on him. I ken his sneaking ways; he never bites; but he squeezes like a millstone. Now then; he's after his own business. See what he's at." An elegant brownish-grey animal, which, though they now saw for the first time, they recognized at once, bounded from the grass; and while the boys were crying out in ecstacy, "The kangaroo! the kangaroo!" they saw the wily serpent raise itself, and envelope the terrified animal in its coils; and they knew well the doom of the poor kangaroo, for the embrace of its foe was certain death. "Now come on, all on ye; we're safe enough now," cried Wilkins; and all the young men, armed with sticks, and undeterred by the shrieks of the women, ran up to the animals, and attacked the serpent by striking the head with repeated blows. When, roused to defence, it began to uncoil itself from its victim, knives were produced; and with many wounds, they succeeded at length in putting an end to a creature at the very sight of which man instinctively shudders. "Be sartin he's dead," said Wilkins. "I'd niver trust them fellows; I've seen one on 'em march off two ways when he's been cut in two pieces. They do say they niver die outright. But blacky has a way to settle and keep him quiet: he just eats him." To eat a serpent was an exploit at which the civilized stomach revolted; and the creature was abandoned to take its chance of reviving to commit more destruction in the world, after Mr. Mayburn had examined it with as much interest as he could feel for a creature so abhorred. It was about twelve feet long, and certainly one of the Boa family, but resembling more the boa of Africa and Asia, than that of America. Mr. Mayburn earnestly desired to preserve the skin; but any additional incumbrance in the long pilgrimage that lay before them was not to be thought of, and he reluctantly relinquished the idea. "I'd scorn to mell wi' such a foul beast," said Wilkins, "for t' sake of his bonnie skin; but by yer leave, I'se uncoil him, 'cause, ye see, a bit of kangaroo meat will suit us as well as he. It's canny fair meat, specially about t' broad stern." The kangaroo, which was but a young one, not standing more than four feet in height, was extricated from the murderous grasp of the boa; but was almost flattened by the powerful pressure. The boys gathered round the strange animal with great curiosity, lost in admiration of its graceful form, powerful hind legs, and pretty small head. The long ears, divided upper lip, like that of the hare, long tapering tail, and remarkable pouch, in which a very young animal was found, were all remarked before it was skinned and turned over to the cooks. The skin was then washed, and spread to dry, to be converted into boots when those useful articles of clothing should be needed. Before they set out, part of the kangaroo flesh was roasted, or rather broiled, to be in readiness for supper, and the rest of the meat carried off by the willing Wilkins. Then, delighted with the novelties of the day, they went on in the same direction as before, walking cheerfully along, uninterrupted by any alarm, through the wild and charming scenery, where bright skies, and birds and flowers, might have given a fanciful mind the idea of an Arcadia. The sudden darkness of the tropics compelled them to rest at the foot of some steep hills covered with brushwood, and opening on more forest-like scenery than any they had yet passed. Tiny rills trickled down the crevices in the hills, and the rich emerald green of the turf proclaimed a moist soil, and assured them they were yet far from the dreaded deserts. Their night's rest was again painfully disturbed, for, though at a great distance, the peculiar _coo-ee_ of the natives was several times distinctly heard; nor would Mr. Mayburn and Margaret venture to sleep till a watch was arranged, of two persons, who were instructed to converse loudly the whole time; for, according to the report of Wilkins, the natives would never venture to attack a party who were prepared to receive them. "They'll be tracking us all along, Master Arthur," said Wilkins, as he and Arthur kept watch together. "That's their way. Then they think to run down on us unawares, to pick, and steal, and murder, and eat us up into t' bargain, if they get a chance." "Surely not, Wilkins," answered Arthur. "I know that the New Zealanders were, in their original wild state, cannibals; but I never heard such an abominable character given of the Australian aborigines." "If ye have to rove long about t' bush," answered the man, "ye'll come on many a picked bone that niver was that of a kangaroo or a 'possum. Why, they'll not mind telling ye as how man's flesh is twice as tender as 'possum's. There's no dealing wi' 'em, master. They're just a mean lot. It were a bad job our losing them guns." "It was a loss, Wilkins," said Arthur; "but I should not feel that I had the same right to shoot a native that I had to shoot a kangaroo." "There's nought to choose atween 'em," replied Wilkins, "but just this--we can make a good meal of a kangaroo, and a Christian must be sore set afore he could stomach a black fellow." "But even a black man has a soul, Wilkins," said Arthur. "I question if these dogs have much of that," answered he; "and if they have oughts of soul, it's all given to him that's bad. Lord help us, Mr. Arthur, they're all, as one may say, lost; like them creaturs as old master reads on, full of devils." "And yet those unhappy men, so possessed, you remember, Wilkins," answered Arthur, "were not lost beyond redemption. Our blessed Lord not only banished the evil spirits, but forgave the men their sins. So might these ignorant natives, if they were taught and received God's holy word, yet be saved." "I'se not set on gainsaying ye, Mr. Arthur, in that," said the man, "for I were nigh as bad as them mysel'; and is yet, for what I ken, if I'd a chance to fall back. I'd like not, if I could help it; now when I ken reet fra' wrong; and pray God keep me fra' Black Peter and his crew." "Hark Wilkins! did you hear a rustling?" asked Arthur. "Nay, but I tell you what I heared," replied he. "I heared them cockatoos flacker and cry out, on yon trees; and depend on't they hear a strange foot." "Then they are better watchmen than we are," said Arthur. "What shall we do, Wilkins?" "Just ye tell your folks not to be fleyed at nought," said he, "and we'll set them rogues off in no time." Arthur warned Margaret and his father not to be alarmed at any noise they might hear, and the other young men, roused at the report of an assault, were soon in the ranks. Then, at a signal agreed, they raised their voices in a simultaneous halloo! that rang against the rocky hills. A loud rustling succeeded, and a dozen dark figures, visible in the moonlight, emerged from the bushes, and fled swiftly across the plain. "Saved!" cried Hugh: "for this time at least. But, I say, Arthur, we must not sleep in the bush every night, or they'll catch us at last. I saw several fine roomy caves in the rocks as we came along. We must take possession of the next we fall in with, and then we shall only have the entrance to guard." "They held spears in their hands, I saw," said Gerald; "I wonder why they did not send a few among us?" "They're ower sly for that, Master Gerald," said Wilkins. "They'd like to come on us all asleep, and butcher us. Now they'll dog us, day after day; but if we hold on steady-like, we'se wear 'em out at last." "If we could but put a good broad river between us," said Jack, "we might feel safe. Did you see that stringy bark tree just at hand, Mr. Arthur? I marked it in my mind, and if Master Hugh, and you, and Master O'Brien will help me, we will twist some long ropes, on our road to-morrow, and then, I fancy, if we came to a river we could not ford, we might contrive a ferry-boat." CHAPTER XIII. Rope-making.--The Cavern of Illustrations.--Ruth at the Water-pools.--Victualling the Fortress.--The Blockade.--Assault and Battery.--Bloodshed.--The close Siege.--Prospect of Famine. Mr. Mayburn was uneasy till they set out next morning; for the thick bush-covered hill was a convenient spot for concealment. They left their sleeping-place, therefore, at the earliest dawn, and continued their progress, while the young men found several trees of the stringy bark; the strips of the bark, measuring twenty or thirty feet, were hanging from the trunk raggedly, but very conveniently for the purpose of the workmen, who collected a quantity of the rolls of bark, and carried it on their shoulders, till a singular isolated column of rock attracted them to examine it; and as it afforded a little shade, and stood in an open glade, where they need not fear hidden enemies, they rested at the foot of it, and eat their breakfast of kangaroo steaks. Then Jack, fixing short poles into the ground to tie the bark to, soon set all the youths to work to twist strong ropes of considerable length. They spent some hours in this labor, and completed so heavy a burden of ropes, that when they set out again they looked anxiously for an opportunity of relieving themselves by putting the ropes to profitable use. They directed their steps towards a rocky range before them, which held out a prospect of protection for the night; and bending under the weight of their burden, they were glad to reach the straggling, mountainous, sandstone rocks which, running east and west, interrupted their direct course. It was always easy in these ranges to find caves or hollow grottos, convenient for a retreat, and the bright moon showed them a low opening, which admitted them into a spacious and lofty cave. It was large enough to have contained fifty persons, dry and clean--for the floor was of fine sand; and when they had lighted a fire, they discovered that they were not the first who had inhabited the cave, for the walls were covered with rude, colored paintings of men and animals--the men and animals of Australia. With great amusement and astonishment the boys looked on the kangaroo, the opossum, many curious lizards, and heads of men, colossal in size, and imperfect in execution, somewhat resembling the ambitious child's first attempts at high art. "I think I couldn't draw so good a kangaroo as that myself," said Gerald; "but I could make something more like the head of a man. Do look, Margaret; that fellow has crimson hair and a green nose." "They have not, certainly," said Mr. Mayburn, "attained perfection in the art of coloring; nevertheless, the uninstructed men who could accomplish these drawings cannot be so deficient in abilities as we have been taught to believe these aborigines are. I wish we could, with safety to ourselves, hold intercourse with a small number of them. Could it not be attempted, Arthur?" "If they would approach us openly, we would endeavor to meet them amicably, my dear father," answered Arthur; "but when they steal on us treacherously, we must conclude their intentions are hostile. Even now we must prepare for defence; and though we might keep watch at the opening, I think we had better build it up." They soon secured the entrance with slabs of stone, and then eat their supper, and slept with less uneasiness than usual. "Who has moved them stones?" asked Wilkins, sharply, as, roused by the light streaming in, he sprung from the nook he had chosen for his lair. "It's that fidgety lass," answered Jenny. "She's been scuttling about this hour, feeding her poultry, and setting things to rights as if we were living in a parlor; and then she roused me up to help her to make a bit of way to get out to fetch water. You see, Wilkins, she's a hard-working lass, but it's her way to make a fuss." "A fuss, indeed!" replied he, indignantly; "and a nice fuss she would have made if she'd let a hundred black fellows in on us. Halloo, Jack! it would be as well if we were off to see after that unlucky sister of thine." The rest of the family were soon aware of Ruth's errantry, but they did not expect she would be far from the cave, as the water was spread in pools and rills, abundantly, at the foot of the rocks. The next minute, however, they were startled by a succession of shrieks, and snatching up their weapons, the young men rushed out, and then saw, to their great vexation, Ruth running wildly towards them, pursued by six of the natives, in their usual unclothed state; and it was plain their swift steps would soon overtake the affrighted girl, unless they were promptly checked. "Shout as loud as ye like," cried Wilkins, "but mind not to send a single arrow without hitting, or they'll not care a dump for us. See and aim to do some damage--d'ye hear?" The natives were yelling and waving their spears, and their opponents answered by hallooing and brandishing their glittering knives, at the sight of which the savages stopped suddenly, and looked anxiously round, as if expecting reinforcement; then discharging a volley of spears, they turned round and rapidly fled out of sight. Ruth was left lying prostrate on the ground, and when Jack got up to her, he found a spear had struck her on the shoulder, but fortunately stuck in her wide cloak, without injuring her, though her terror and distress were great. "They'll eat me up," she cried out. "They'll eat us all, Jack; and, oh, what will Jenny say? they've gotten my water-can!" In her great fear, the poor girl had thrown away the useful gourd-bottle--a serious loss; and Gerald was intrusted to convey her back to the cave, while the rest went forward to the pools, in hopes of recovering the gourd and procuring water. The vessel was, happily, found, and filled with water, and the youths returned to the cave, where they found great alarm prevailing. "Had we not better flee without delay?" asked Mr. Mayburn. Arthur looked significantly at Wilkins, and the man said,--"Ay, ay, Mr. Arthur! ye have a head; ye can see a bit afore ye. Why, master, a bonnie figure we should cut running ower yon bare grounds--men folks and women folks, all like a pack of scared rabbits, wi' a pack of a hundred or so of these naked black dogs at our heels." "But, my good man, if we stay here we shall be slain," said Mr. Mayburn, in great agitation. "No, no, dear papa," answered Arthur. "I conclude that Wilkins's plan is, that we should remain here, and hold our impregnable castle till the foe grows tired of the hopeless siege." "That's the best thing," said Wilkins; "they're a set of stiff hands, and we'se be put to it to tire 'em out; but we'll try what we can do. And, I say, master, we must give a look round for stores; we'll never let 'em starve us out. It takes good rations to get up one's heart." "And if we have to be shut up some time," said Margaret, much distressed, "we must have, especially, a supply of water." "In course, Miss," answered Wilkins; "that's a thing we cannot want, barring we had beer, which isn't to be had, more's the pity. Let's see; if we'd a bit of a tub or barrel, we'd easy fill't now, afore they're back on us. Nay, nay, Jenny, woman; let that meat be just now, and bring us all your shells, or aught that'll hold water." The gourd was emptied into the large turtle-shell, and Wilkins took it back to be refilled at the pools, the rest following with the largest of the mussel-shells; and as they went on, they carefully looked out for any available article of food that could be easily attained before the return of the enemy. The air was thronged with birds, and every tree was an aviary. They might soon have brought down a quantity with their arrows, but Arthur urged on them the necessity of first obtaining the water. After they had filled all their water-vessels, they found they should only have a supply for two days, even if carefully husbanded. Thankful even for this boon, they had yet time to shoot a dozen pheasants, before the _coo-ee_ of the natives, gradually getting nearer, made it necessary that they should seek the cave, and make ready their defences. Their first care was to fortify strongly the opening which formed their entrance, and which they hoped was the only weak point. But as it was evident, from the paintings, that this cave was well known to the natives, it was expedient to search it thoroughly, lest there should be other outlets. Many branches ran from the main cave, but all seemed equally impregnable; and the only openings were small gaps far above the ground, from which the decomposed sandstone had fallen, and lay scattered in fragments over the ground. There were traces of fires, showing that the cave had been previously inhabited, but no remains of fuel; and a few withered sticks that they had brought in the preceding day were all the provision they had made for cooking their food. "After all our wild and savage life," said Hugh, "we are not yet come down to eat uncooked meat, I really think; and by your leave, Captain Arthur, we will make a sally to pick up sticks." "Look through this cranny, Hugh, and tell me if you think this is a time for throwing open our gates," said Arthur. "I give in! I give in!" answered the boy. "Look out, Gerald; see what a swarm of dark wretches, all in earnest too, for they have sheaves of spears in the left hand, while the right hand is raised to do battle. Keep back, Ruth! you simpleton. You have certainly seen enough of these ugly monsters." "Oh Miss Marget!" shrieked the girl, "they'll come in and eat us. Stone walls is nought to 'em. They're not Christian folks, they're spurrits! they 're skellingtons; I ken 'em by their bones. Oh! send them back to their graves, master!" Within thirty yards of the rock, and immediately before it, were gathered crowds of fierce savages; their dark skins marked with a white substance like pipe-clay, in fantastic figures; most of them were painted to represent skeletons. And while, with wild and demoniac yells, they were leaping and whirling round with graceful agility, they poised their spears, ready to cast them as soon as a victim appeared in sight. There was a painful expression of surprise and vexation on every face; and Jack, usually so indulgent to his sister's foibles, could not help saying: "Oh, Ruth, lass! this is thy doing." "Why, Jack, honey!" sobbed she, "what could I think, when I seed that big grinning black face glouring at me fra' t' middle on a bush, and none nigh hand me: and oh! honey, I'd setten out afore I said my prayers. What could I do but just skirl and run? and I did it." "That you did, Ruth, and no mistake," said O'Brien. "But, after all, it's better to have our enemies before our face than at our back. Will I send an arrow among them, Arty?" "Certainly not, Gerald," answered Arthur; "we may need all our arrows, and we had better not be the first to commence an aggression. If we had had plenty of powder and shot, I have no doubt we might have dispersed them without bloodshed; but I am loth to waste a single cartridge of our small store. What are they about now, Hugh?" One tall savage had mounted a mass of rock about thirty yards from them; and now, with wonderful dexterity, he sent a spear whirling through the air directly through a small gap in the rock, about twenty feet from the ground. Most fortunately, Arthur had ordered the whole party to gather close to the entrance, and the weapon passed on one side of them, and falling upon a shell of water tilted it over. "Good-for-nothing rascals!" cried Jenny. "See what a mischief they've done." "Be thankful, nurse," said Arthur, "that we saw the intention of the fellow, and were able to escape the spear. We now know our weak points, and may keep out of harm's way." But Gerald, who thought the first aggression was committed, no longer scrupled to draw his bow, and sent an arrow, which he had barbed with skill, into the shoulder of the warrior on the rock, with such force, that he was hurled to the ground. In an instant all his companions crowded around him; he was raised from the ground, and the whole party disappeared in the bush, with every symptom of terror. Wilkins was in an ecstasy of delight. He patted Gerald roughly on the back, saying, "That's the thing, my brave lad; ye're of the right sort; ye've let the rogues see what we can do. But if ye'd missed him we'd every soul been done. They'd have reckoned nought on us." "It was a rash act, Gerald," said Mr. Mayburn; "but I hope the poor man is not seriously injured." Wilkins made a grimace as he said, "Them there arrows is made o' purpose to injer, master. They're a bit sharpish to bide when they bang in among a fellow's bones, and no doctor at hand to hack 'em out." "Didn't I tell you, Master Gerald," said Ruth, "that it were a sin and a shame to make them things as would rive folks' flesh?" "You are the girl that said that," answered Gerald, wild with his exploit; "and weren't you right, Ruth, _astore_! I meant them to _rive_; and see how the cowards have scampered off from them. Couldn't we go out now, Arthur? You know we want firewood." "Do not be impatient, Gerald," replied Arthur, "we have fuel sufficient for one day, and we do not know how far our foes may have fled." "Depend on't, Mr. Arthur," said Wilkins, "there's not a bush or a rock we see but has its man. We'll have to make shift to live on what we have for a bit. They'll soon be trying another dodge." But though the usual _coo-ee_ rang through the distant woods, mingled with the soft low wailing of the voices of women, the people were not seen again during a day which seemed unusually long to the anxious prisoners. The women cooked the pheasants with the last firewood, while Margaret filled a pillow-cover with the feathers for her father's head; but they had all become so accustomed to the hard earth, or at best to a bed of wiry grass, that even Mr. Mayburn regarded this pillow as a useless luxury, and an undesirable addition to the baggage, which rendered their journey so tedious. "I will undertake to carry the light pillow," said Margaret, "and I trust we may again meet with a river to lighten the toil of our pilgrimage." "If we found a wagon drawn by oxen, like them Mr. Deverell bought," said Jenny, "it would be fitter for my master and you, Miss Marget." "And a few good horses for the rest of us, nurse," said Hugh; "but say what you will, papa, of the beauty and excellence of this new country, it is a great vexation that there are no beasts of burden. Neither elephant nor camel; not even a llama or a quagga which may be reduced to servitude. No four-footed creature have we yet seen but the kangaroo; and one never read, even in the Fairy Tales, of a man hopping along, mounted on a kangaroo." "Nothing for it but trudging, Hugh," said Gerald, "unless we could meet with an ostrich to tame." "I fear," replied Mr. Mayburn, "that the emu, which is the ostrich of Australia, is not formed for carrying burdens, nor tractable enough to submit to the dominion of man. I am anxious to see the bird, though I fear we may obtain no advantage from meeting with it." In rambling among the caves to fill up the tedious hours, the boys discovered, in a distant branch cavern, a heap of dry wood which had fallen through an opening in the rock, at least fifty feet above them. If this opening were even known to the natives, it could not avail them as a means of descent to the cave, and, much to the mortification of the adventurous boys, it was totally inaccessible from the interior. "But we can comfort nurse's heart," said Hugh, "by the report that we have found fuel enough for an English winter. And see, Gerald, some of these strong straight sticks will make us a sheaf of arrows, and we can barb them with the fish-bones we preserved. Here's our work for the day." It was a comfort to Margaret to have the two most restless of the party quietly employed; though Mr. Mayburn objected to the barbing of the arrows, so unnecessary for destroying birds, so cruel if meant for the savages. Wilkins sat down to make a pair of shoes of the skin of the kangaroo, and Jack made more ropes with the remains of the stringy bark. And thus the day of anxiety passed without more alarm. Another morning dawned through the chinks of the rocky walls, and for some time all was so still, that they began to hope the natives had withdrawn; but before the middle of the day the whole troop presented themselves so suddenly, that they were close to the rocks, and thus, secure from the arrows of the besieged, before they could prevent their approach. They had come armed with heavy clubs, with which they began violently to batter the walled entrance. This was a formidable mode of attack, and the only mode of defence was to accumulate more stones to strengthen the barrier. Still the men persevered, fresh parties relieving those who were tired; but the defence seemed already shaking; while Margaret, always resolute in difficulties, had herself almost lost the power of consoling her more timid father. Wilkins seemed watching for an opportunity, placed before a narrow crevice in the rock, which was shaded outside by brush, and suddenly they saw him plunge his long knife through the opening against which he had seen one of the natives leaning. The knife entered the back of the man, who uttered a groan, and fell. He was immediately surrounded by the rest, who examined the wound, and then gazed round, apparently unable to comprehend the nature of this attack from an invisible enemy. Some of the men fled at once, many of them pierced by the arrows the young men sent after them, while others remained to bear away, with care and tenderness, the bleeding body of their companion, who appeared to be mortally wounded. These humane men were respected, even by their opponents, and permitted to retire unmolested; and for the remainder of the day, except for the sounds of mourning from the native women, which, however, gradually became more faint and distant, all continued still and peaceful. The next morning broke on the besieged party with the melancholy conviction that their fortress was no longer tenable. The spring was already advanced, the air had become hot and parching, and the water was exhausted. "We must endeavor, under any circumstances," said Arthur, "to procure water, or we must die. I propose that three of us should set out to the nearest pool for a supply, leaving the rest to guard the entrance; and if we are successful, to re-admit us. If the savages should attack and overcome us, then it will be the duty of those left here to close the barrier, leaving us to our fate, and to use every exertion in their power to protect and save the feeble." Sad as was this necessity, it was imperative, and now the question was, who were to have the honor of joining the "Forlorn Hope," as Hugh termed the expedition. Arthur decided that the party should consist of Hugh, Wilkins, and himself. Jack was too useful to be risked, Gerald too rash to be trusted. Arthur would not even take with him the valuable rifle, their prime reliance, but left it in the charge of Jack. Then, with bows and arrows slung over their backs, and such water-vessels as they could command in their hands, they cautiously went out, leaving orders to the garrison, that each man should stand before his slab of stone, to be ready to replace it before the opening, if necessary. They reached the pool without interruption, satisfied their own thirst, filled the vessels, and then, with joy and triumph, turned homewards. But before they had proceeded many yards, a loud "_Coo-ee_," not far from them, proved they had not escaped notice. The cry was echoed from many distant spots, and the water-carriers redoubled their speed, till a spear, whizzing close to the ear of Wilkins, induced Arthur to call a halt. They faced round, set down their water-buckets, and handled their bows. They saw that they were pursued by about a dozen men, who were thirty or forty yards behind them, amongst whom they discharged arrows, two or three times in rapid succession, with some effect, it would seem, from the confusion and irresolution which they observed had taken place among the natives; of which they took advantage, and snatching up their valuable burdens, they reached the cave before the savages rallied, and, being joined by a reinforcement, were quickly following them. "Up with the defences," cried Arthur, breathlessly. "And now, thank God! we shall be able to hold out two or three days longer." "Then we shall have to live on potatoes and these few green oats," said Jenny, "for we have only six pheasants left, and they spoil fast in this hot place. But, to be sure, there's them greedy hens, that can eat as much as a man, and are no good, unless we eat them." "Oh no, Jenny, please don't!" cried Ruth. "See, here's six eggs they've laid; isn't that some good? poor bit things! Oh, Miss Marget, dinnot let 'em be killed!" Margaret willingly granted the fowls their lives, the eggs being considered equivalent to the oats the animals consumed; and she begged Jenny to have more trust in God, who had till now continued to supply their "daily bread." CHAPTER XIV. Rambles through the Caves.--Fairy Bower.--A Rough Path to Freedom.--Preparations for Flight.--The Use of the Rifle.--A Case of Conscience.--Departure.--Travelling among the Bogs.--A View of the River.--Making an Axe.--A New Plant. After they had dined with strict economy, and ascertained that their savage foes had for the present withdrawn into the bush, they resumed their usual occupations. Hugh and Gerald, impatient under their confinement, chose to ramble through the mazy windings of the various hollows which existed in the sandstone rock, searching for a long time in vain for novelty or adventure; at length they wound along a branch passage, which terminated, to their astonishment, in a wall, hung, like a bower, with garlands of flowery creeping plants, from which the notes of various birds greeted the ears of the delighted boys. "Sure enough, Hugh, this is Fairy Bower," said Gerald. "It is open to the day," said Hugh, "and we must find out what lies beyond it." A slab of rock, which had fallen inwards, lay close to the wall; it was six feet in height, but by making a staircase of other fragments which were lying round, they mounted the fallen slab, and putting aside the leafy curtains which hid the opening, they looked out on a complete wilderness of rocky masses and green thickets, which appeared at once impervious and interminable. The temptation to be once more under the open sky could not be resisted, and without much difficulty the boys descended among the matted bushes. "We will follow out the adventure," said Gerald, "till we reach the Enchanted Castle. Had we not better cut some spears as we make our way, that we may be prepared to slay the dragons?" "We had better have had one of Jack's balls of cord," replied Hugh, "that we might have tied one end here before we set out, or we shall never be able to find our way back through such a labyrinth." "Couldn't we drop pebbles, as Hop-o'-my-Thumb did?" asked Gerald. "Where are we to get the pebbles?" answered Hugh, "and how could we find them again, man, among this brush? But what is this white, chalky-looking material by the pool? I cannot help thinking it must be the clay which the savages use for painting their bodies. Let us get some; I have a use for it." They collected some of this moist pipe-clay on a large leaf, and climbing again to the opening, they cut away a portion of the creepers to uncover the rock, upon which they marked, as high as they could reach, a large white cross. "We cannot miss that holy and propitious sign," said Hugh, "so let us venture forward, Gerald. It is such a charming novelty to be able to walk fearlessly in the open air. You observe we are now facing the south; so if we can discover an outlet from this thicket, we shall be on the direct track to continue our journey." It was not easy, however, to preserve any direct course through the tangled brake, which was occasionally broken by patches of fine grass and rills of water, and diversified by tall trees; the various kinds of Eucalyptus, the wild nutmeg with its spicy odor, and the acacia covered with golden blossoms, the whole being mingled with masses of rock fallen from the regular range, broken into fragments and scattered far and wide; some grown over with the vegetation of years, and others freshly rent from the soft decaying mountains. Threading their way through this lovely wilderness, not forgetting to look back frequently at their guiding signal, the boys now hailed with pleasure and admiration the sight of thousands of birds springing from their nests, while each, in its own peculiar language, seemed to deprecate the intrusion of the presumptuous strangers. "Won't we carry back birds and eggs enough to victual the fortress for a week!" said Gerald. "No need for that, Gerald," answered Hugh, "when we have the preserve in our own private grounds. We can just bag a brace or two, to prove the truth to our people. But, now, my boy, we must try to find the end of this wonderful maze--who knows but what it may lead to liberty?" "It is a rough road anyhow," said Gerald. But they struggled through thick bushes, leaped over rocks, or waded through pools or rills for more than an hour, and then, fearful of alarming their friends, they proposed to return. But just as they had made this resolve, Hugh declared that he heard the sound of rolling water, and they continued their toilsome exertions till they reached at length the side of a rapid river, which poured through a narrow gorge in the mountains, and flowed towards the west. The river seemed about fifty yards across, and too deep to be forded; the banks were overgrown with tall bamboos mingled with fine rushes; but beyond the south banks, the country appeared more open. "If we could only cross this river," said Hugh, "we should completely escape from those cowardly blacks, who have, I believe, no canoes. We will bring Jack here; he can find bark in abundance for his use, and if we help him, I have no doubt he can make a canoe that will carry us across. At any rate, let us take him a piece of the bark to tempt him to come." They soon stripped from the stem a piece of flexible bark, and, with some of the fibres of the stringy bark, they tied this into a bag, which they filled, as they returned, with eggs and four brace of good-sized young pheasants. They kept in the track they had made in coming, and having the white cross before them as a guide, they had much less difficulty in their homeward course than they expected, and in very great spirits presented themselves before their greatly anxious friends. "We have been out on a sporting expedition," said Gerald, flinging down the birds. "What do you think of our game-bag, General Arthur?" "I must think that you have been very rash and imprudent," answered Arthur. "I conclude, boys, that you have found some other outlet from the cave; but how could you risk discovery for the sake of these birds?" "We have discovered an outlet," replied Hugh; "but I think even Margaret and my father will agree that there was no risk, when they see the place. Now you must all listen to our wonderful adventure." They did listen with great pleasure and thankfulness. The earnest desire of every heart was to escape from the constant dogged and depressing pursuit of their savage and artful foes, and the account of the unsuspected path to the river filled them with the hopes which they had nearly abandoned. "Can we not set out now?" asked Mr. Mayburn eagerly. "Certainly not, my father," answered Arthur. "It will first be necessary that we have some means arranged for crossing the river; besides, the day is too far advanced for us to make such an important movement before night; and we must try to divert the suspicions of the savages from our flight, by letting them believe we still intend to hold the fortress." "If you're not knocked up, Master Hugh," said Jack, "I should like well to see with my own eyes what there is to do, and whether I can do it or not. Would you mind guiding me; and Wilkins, may be, will go with us, to help me to carry down my ropes?" Wilkins was always ready and willing; he shouldered a coil of rope, and the two unwearied boys, followed by him and Jack, set out to show their marvellous discovery to the two practical men, who looked round at the charming wilderness with an eye to the usefulness rather than to the beauty of all they saw. "Birds is poor feeding, and eggs is worse," said Wilkins; "but if we iver get free fra' them dowly stone walls, we'se see if we can't get a shot at them kangaroos. Ay, ay! Master Hugh, any sky over head's better nor a jail; not but I've been shut in worse prisons nor yon, God forgive me; but ye see I were reet sarved then. But it is aggravatin, I say, to bar oneself up wi' one's own will like." "See here, Wilkins," exclaimed Jack; "what a grand stock of all kinds of wood, if we had but a few good tools. I noticed that a black fellow that was fighting yesterday had a capital axe in his hand; it seemed to be made of a sort of flint stone, and I only wish we could meet with a piece fit for such a job." "It's not a time to be felling trees," replied Wilkins, "when we've a troop of black rogues at our heels. Now come, we're here, it seems, at t' river they telled on, and a canny river it is; if we can manage to put it atween us and them, we'se have a clear coast, I reckon; for they always keep at their own side." "Then help me to bark this tree," said Jack; "and if we cannot manage a canoe, we'll try a ferry-boat." The tree was barked in one long sheet, the ends were tied up with cords, and this was Jack's extempore canoe. But as soon as it was hastily completed, they were compelled to speed homeward to prevent themselves being bewildered in the darkness; and even now, but for the visible white cross, they would have been unable to distinguish the entrance. "Now, Nurse, darling," cried Gerald, dancing round Jenny, "pack up your pots and pans and bundles, and you, Ruth, call up your precious chicks, and make ready. Then, at daybreak, when you hear me whistle the _réveille_, fall into your ranks, to march." "We do not know how far the ground beyond the wilderness may be exposed," said Arthur, "and we had better look out before we leave in the morning, to observe if all continues still." "That's all just as it ought, Mr. Arthur," said Wilkins; "ye're a sharp chap at a drill. And we'd as well puzzle 'em a bit, and rattle out a few arrows just afore we start, to make 'em believe we mean to haud our own." In the morning, when all was ready for setting out, and they had laid the foundation of a good breakfast, the scream of Ruth, who had climbed to an aperture to obtain a look-out, announced that the objects of her antipathy were in sight. All flocked to the crevices to ascertain what they had to fear, and observed that a number of the natives were laden with bundles of dry wood, which they had piled before the rock, and made up a fire, having apparently chosen to establish themselves there, and keep a perpetual watch, and yet keep too close to the rock to be in danger from the arrows of the besieged. This was vexatious, and Wilkins said,--"Ye're tied to waste a shot on 'em, or here they'll sit and watch and listen, and sure enough they'll make out we're away, if they hear nought stirring inside, and they'll be off to stop us. Look at yon fellow, painted red, quavering about, and banging t' stones wi' his axe. That's t' chap as sent his spear close to my ears, and I owe him yet for that job. Just let me have a chance, Mr. Arthur. I ken ye're all soft-hearted, so I'se not kill him outright." Arthur was very reluctant to waste one cartridge or spill one drop of blood; but the fierce gestures of the powerful savage, and his violent blows against the walled entrance, rendered him a dangerous antagonist; and on the promise of Wilkins that he would not mortally wound the man, Arthur resigned the loaded rifle to one he knew to be well skilled in fire-arms. Wilkins carefully selected his position and his time, and when the savage raised his arm for the stroke, he fired into his shoulder. With a horrible yell, the man threw down the axe, and fell upon his face. In a moment the whole troop, with cries of terror, were flying towards the woods; two only remaining, who hastily lifted and carried away the wounded man, with loud wailings. "There! we'se be clear on 'em for one bit," said Wilkins. "Now's our time to be off." "But I should like much to have the axe," said Jack. "Surely, Mr. Arthur, there could be no harm in our taking the axe." "And sure we will take it," exclaimed Gerald. "All fair, you know, general; the spoils of battle. The axe we may consider as prize-money." "What does papa say? I leave the affairs of justice to him," said Arthur, smiling. "Then, I think," said Mr. Mayburn, deliberately--"Margaret, tell me if I am right--I think we, as Christians, should set a bad example to heathens, if we carried off their property." Jack sighed, as he looked wistfully at the axe through an opening in the rock, and said,--"It is tied to the handle with the stringy-bark, and then it seems fixed with gum. I'm sure I could manage it, Mr. Arthur, if we could only meet with the right stone; but this soft sandy rock is good for nothing." But now no more time was to be wasted. All marched along, more or less laden, headed by the two proud pioneers, and with their various packages were safely got through the opening, and, to their great joy, once more tasted the blessing of fresh air. The pleasure of Mr. Mayburn, among the variety of strange birds, was unbounded; and he was with difficulty prevailed on to move forwards, by the promise that, under more favorable circumstances, they would all assist him in obtaining specimens of the curious new species. But now expedition was prudent, and even imperative, and over the twice-trodden track they moved silently and speedily till they reached the river. There lay the frail bark Jack had contrived for crossing the river, and to each end of which he now attached one of his long coils of cord. Then, taking up two pieces of bark he had prepared for paddles, he called out,--"Now, Master Hugh, just take hold of the coil at the prow; step in, and we'll try her. Mr. Arthur and Wilkins must run out the stern-rope, and when we're over, Miss need have no fear." Hugh, pleased to be selected for the first enterprise, leaped upon the slender canoe, and assisted Jack to paddle it across the rapid river; and when they safely reached the reedy bank, they unrolled their rope and secured the end, allowing the bark to be drawn back for Margaret, who was the first single passenger. She accomplished her short voyage happily, and, one at a time, the party were ferried over, bringing their packages with them. Then the ropes were cut away to be preserved, and the light boat was suffered to drift down the stream; while the thankful, emancipated prisoners forced their way through the jungle of reeds and canes, and saw before them a bright-green luxuriant plain, spreading as far as the eye could reach. "Musha!" cried the Irish O'Brien, laughing joyfully. "Sure I have come on my own dear native bogs! the emerald plains of old Hibernia. No want of water now, my boys! Don't I hear it trickling beneath that bright turf, and won't we soak our boots well, my dears?" "They're bogs, sure enough," said Wilkins, "and there's nought for it but making a run. Slow and sure would be all wrong here, Mr. Arthur, where, if ye don't skip, ye must sink. Here, give me hold of yer hand, old woman, and lope on wi' me." Jenny, to whom this invitation was addressed, was not accustomed to _lope_; but, half dragged and half lifted by Wilkins, she followed the rest, who were plunging, wading, running, or leaping, from one dry spot to another, over the luxuriant reedy marsh. The ground was thronged with thousands of wild fowls, especially with numbers of a graceful, bright-colored bird of the crane species, very attractive to Mr. Mayburn. Clouds of troublesome insects filled the air; but life and liberty were in view, and small annoyances were disregarded; and, in the strength of their substantial breakfast, the travellers pursued their toilsome course across the marshy ground, till towards the end of the day, completely worn out, they cast themselves down to rest on the side of a firm hillock, beneath the shade of a lofty spreading tree, which had the rare quality, in Australia, of a thick foliage of large leaves, and seemed to be a species of chestnut. Then the boys were put in requisition, and wild ducks procured for supper; and, after this needful refreshment, they united in thanks to God for their escape, and for the plenty that surrounded them, in a region where the air was pure and healthy, and the animals innocuous; and this night they slept in the open air, fearless of disturbance. Next morning they proceeded on their way, after the boys had cut a strong staff for each traveller; likening themselves to a party of pilgrims with their long crooks. Still the same luxuriant vegetation lay before them, and still they continued the same arduous toiling over the soft yielding soil, in which every footstep was buried; but their stout staves and cheerful spirits carried them on for hours. They continually saw the kangaroo bounding over the ground, and the active opossum running up the tall gum-tree, or the pandanus, and were sorely tempted to pursue them. "But only reflect, boys," said Arthur, "on the imprudence of attempting to chase or shoot these animals now. It would be impossible for us to carry more than our usual burdens over this heavy ground. Wait till we arrive at our resting-place; and in the profusion of food around us, I trust we shall not want. But observe, papa, we no longer see the range of sandstone hills lying to the east: we are certainly entering a new region. That ridge before us will probably lead us from these tedious marshes. We must try to toil up the ascent before we rest." It was really a toil, in the heated atmosphere, to climb the bush-encumbered hills; but on reaching the summit, they were repaid by looking down on a lovely valley. It was on a lower level than that they had left, dotted over with green hills, and adorned with a forest-like scattering of majestic trees, beneath which the grass was as rich as that of a cultivated meadow, and enamelled with brilliant flowers; while the scented jasmine blossoms clung round the taller trees, and filled the air with perfume. Parrots of every bright color played in the sunbeams, chattering in the most distracting manner; while at intervals the discordance of their harsh cries was broken by the clear, bell-like notes of a musical warbler. Numerous silver streams might be seen at a distance, threading the plains, all on their way, Arthur observed, to swell some large river. "Which we shall have to cross, most likely," said Hugh; "so, Jack, we must look about for materials for canoes again." "I am almost afraid to suggest it," said Mr. Mayburn; "but why should we leave this lovely, tranquil valley? Why should we not erect a simple hut, and dwell here in peace, abundance, and contentment, without toil and without care? What say you, Margaret?" "Would it not be an idle and useless existence, papa?" answered she. "With not even wild beasts to hunt," added Gerald. "No books to read, or horses to ride," said Hugh, sadly. "Ay, it would be dowly enough a bit at first," said Wilkins, "and then them rogues would somehow make us out, and lead us a bonnie life." "And it isn't fit, master," said nurse, indignantly, "that decent women, let alone Miss Margaret, should live their lives among heathens without a rag to their backs. Here's poor Ruth breaking her heart to think of them savages." "I believe, papa," said Arthur, laughing, "the votes are against your resolution. For my own part, I cannot believe this rich and well-watered spot should be neglected by the natives. Depend on it, there are tribes not far distant, that might annoy us if we were stationary, though I trust we may not meet with many so ferocious as our last acquaintances." "I am wrong, my son," replied Mr. Mayburn. "I know my own weakness of judgment, and you see I have grace to acknowledge my blunder." "We will descend into the valley now," said Arthur, "and have a pleasant rest among this rich scenery. I hope that in a few days more we may reach some important river, which, if we can cross, we may at all events be satisfied that we have left our old enemies behind us, though we cannot tell what new ones we may encounter." After many days' pleasant travelling over the well-watered and plentiful plains, they passed over a succession of green ridges, from the highest of which they had a view of a large river, certainly too wide to be crossed by Jack's bark ferry-boat; and now speculations were awakened of boats, canoes, and easy voyaging. "I'm sure you could make a bark canoe, Jack," said Hugh, "that might be paddled well enough on a fair open river like that. Let us push forward and reconnoitre our chances of changing trudging for voyaging." "I'd have ye look about ye," said Wilkins, "and mind yer steps. Yon's just t' place for 'em to gather. There'll be fish, and slugs, and snakes, and all that sort of varmint. Why, bless ye, Jenny, woman, ye needn't make such a face; I've seen 'em gobbling for hours at worms and grubs, and then they'll suck lots of stuff out of them gum-trees. But I say, what's yon black bit?" The "black bit" was a circle where a fire had been made not long before; near the scorched spot lay half-finished spears, headed with sharp hard stones, of which some large slabs were piled near the place, and a finished axe made from the same flint-like stone. "I will not take their axe, Mr. Arthur," said Jack, "because they have manufactured it, and of course it is property like; but stones are nothing but stones all the world over, and free to anybody. So if you'll wait I'll sit down now and try to make an axe the model of that, and it will be a shame if I cannot improve on it." He was not denied the trial, and the result was, that Jack's axe was a capital tool. Hugh had cut a handle from one tree, while Gerald collected the gum oozing from another into a mussel-shell, and Jack selected the stone, and sharpened the edge on a block of sandstone, for the blade. Then cutting a cleft in the handle, he inserted and tied the blade first, covering the joining with gum, and finally placing it in the sun to dry. This success induced him to make a second axe, while the whole party sat down to watch the interesting work. But the uneasiness of Mr. Mayburn compelled them at length to leave a spot which was evidently a haunt of the natives. They continued to walk towards the river over rich undulating ground covered with soft grass and the wild oats, the spring crop of which was here nearly ripe, and was eagerly reaped to increase the provision store. Then they came on a swampy soil, which had been apparently overflowed by the river after the rains, and which was grown over by a perfect forest of mangroves, thickly peopled by mosquitos. It was with difficulty they could force their way through the trees to the river, which they judged to be about three hundred yards across, flowing towards the west, and certainly too deep to be forded. High cliffs shut out all view of the country on the opposite bank; and, much as it would have been desirable, Arthur feared they would not be able to cross it except in canoes. "I think it would be still better to sail up it," said Hugh. "We have no canoes ready for such a purpose," answered Arthur, "nor can we yet begin to make one till our axes are sufficiently hardened to use with safety. I propose that we should draw back beyond the marshy ground, and follow up the course of the stream for one day at least. We can all be at work collecting materials for boats." Any thing that gave them employment was acceptable to the boys, and they scampered from one tree to another to examine the quality or try to discover the species. The names they did not know, but were content to distinguish the varieties as palm, oak, ash, cedar, or box, as they fancied they resembled those well-known trees. There were also the various gum-trees, the cabbage-palm, and a new and interesting object to Mr. Mayburn, which he recognized from description,--the grass-tree, _Xanthorrhoea arborea_, the rough stem of which was ten feet in height and about two feet in circumference, and which terminated in a palm-tree form, with a cluster of long grass-like foliage drooping gracefully; while from the midst of the cluster sprang a single stamen of ten feet in height. Mingled with the loftier trees was a sort of shrub, called by Wilkins the _Tea Shrub_, the leaves of which, he told them, were used in the colony as tea "by them as liked such wishwash;" and as Jenny and Ruth declared that they especially did like this "wishwash," they gathered a quantity of the leaves to make the experiment of its virtues. "It certainly belongs to a family of plants," said Mr. Mayburn, "which are all-important to the comfort and health of man; and though I do not know the species, I should judge that an infusion of these leaves would produce a wholesome, and probably an agreeable, beverage. The delicate white flowers are not unlike those of the tea-plant, certainly. But pray, nurse, do not load yourself with too great a burden of the leaves, for the shrub seems abundant, and we have already too much to carry in this burning climate." CHAPTER XV. The Tea-Shrub.--Another Canoe.--A Skirmish with the Natives.--Wounded Heroes.--An Attempt at Voyaging.--A Field of Battle.--The Widowed Jin.--Wilkins's Sorrows.--Baldabella in Society.--The Voyage resumed. "When are we to dine--or sup, rather--commander?" said Hugh; "I am so famished, that I could eat one of those noisy cockatoos half-cooked, and Margaret looks very pale and weary." "We must try to reach one of those green hills before us," said Arthur; "we shall there be pretty certain to meet with some cave or hollow, where we can at least, stow our luggage; and then our cares and our sleep will be lighter; and as we go along, we will plunder some nests, that Margaret may have eggs for her supper." They took as many eggs and young birds as they required, and went on till they found, among the hills, a hollow, capacious enough for a night's lodging, and here they made a fire to cook the birds and to boil the tea in a large mussel-shell. Ruth bemoaned again her awkwardness in breaking the tea-cups; for now they had to sip the infusion of leaves from cockle-shells. Wilkins declined the luxury; but the rest enjoyed it, and declared that it not only had the flavor of tea, but even of tea with sugar, which was an inestimable advantage. "The plant is certainly saccharine," pronounced Mr. Mayburn. "If it had only been lacteal too," said Hugh, "we might have had a perfect cup of tea; but, papa, don't you think it has a little of the aroma of the camomile tea with which nurse used to vex us after the Christmas feasts?" "It is certainly not the genuine tea," answered Mr. Mayburn, "the peculiar _Théa_ of China; but, doubtless, custom, would reconcile us to its peculiar flavor. We are surrounded with blessings, my children; and, above all, have reason to be thankful for this sweet tranquillity." But, just as he spoke, a distant _coo-ee_ from the woods proclaimed that they were not out of the reach of the usual cares of life; and they hastily extinguished the fire and retired into the rocky shelter, trusting that the darkness would prevent any discovery. As soon as the daylight permitted him, Jack commenced to make the canoes, which the dangerous vicinity of the natives rendered immediately necessary. He roused his young masters, and Hugh and Gerald readily agreed to assist him; while Arthur made his way through the marsh to the side of the river, to select a convenient place for crossing it. But he could see no possibility of landing on the opposite side, which was guarded by perpendicular cliffs; and with much uneasiness he proceeded up the river in hopes of seeing an opening, to which they might venture to cross. But after walking some distance, he thought it best to return to the family, to propose that they should take a hasty breakfast, and then move at once higher up the river, with watchfulness and caution, till they found the south banks more favorable for their attempt. There was no time to prepare tea, to the disappointment of the women: cold pheasant and cockatoo formed the breakfast. Then every one shouldered his burden, and the half-finished canoe was carried off, to be completed under more favorable circumstances. They had walked without interruption for about two miles, when Margaret observed to her brother Arthur, that an opening in the mangrove belt, that ran along the banks of the river, would allow them to pass through, and afford them a safer and more advantageous track than their present exposed road. They could then select at once a shallow ford, or a flat strand, on the opposite banks, to facilitate their crossing. "Let us hasten over the swamp," said she, "and secure this important advantage. Dear papa is in continual alarm on these open plains, and I am quite losing my usual courage." But as they drew near the opening to the water, Arthur, always thoughtful, felt a distrust of this singular interruption of the close entangled belt of the river. "See here, Margaret," said he. "Beneath the roots of this mangrove you have a perfect leafy arbor, with walls of brilliant and fragrant creepers. In this pleasant bower I propose that we should leave you and your maidens, my father, and all our property, while I lead my brave little band forward to reconnoitre before we proceed farther." The tears stood in the eyes of the affectionate sister as she submitted to this prudent arrangement, and saw her dearly-loved brothers and their faithful attendants prepare to set out on this service of danger. "You can keep Ruth tied to one of these root columns," said Gerald, "and gag her if she opens her mouth for a scream." Then making a grimace at the trembling girl, the laughing youth followed his friends. "Gerald is not in earnest, my poor girl," said Mr. Mayburn; "but it is nevertheless important--nay, it is even imperative--that you should preserve absolute silence and immobility." "That is, Ruth," said Margaret, interpreting the order, "you must sit quite still and hold your tongue, whatever may happen." The little band marched on till they came to the opening of the road, and they now saw that the trees had been burned down, and the space purposely cleared. This was a startling sight, and before they could determine whether they should retreat or go forward, two natives appeared, approaching from the river-side, who no sooner set eyes on the formidable strangers, than they turned back hastily, and fled out of sight. "Let us be prepared for defence," said Arthur; "but, if possible, we will meet them amicably. We will stand abreast in a line, and look as bold as we can." Loud yells were now heard, and soon a number of men confronted the small band, armed, as usual, with spears and throwing-sticks. They were apparently much excited, though not painted for war. Arthur held out a green bough, and made friendly signs to them, continuing slowly to approach with his companions. For a minute or two the savages seemed struck dumb and motionless with astonishment; then at once, they resumed their yells, leaping and whirling their spears in a threatening manner. Still undeterred in their wish for peace, the bold youths walked forward till a spear flew amongst them and wounded Wilkins in the shoulder; who then rushed forward, uttering a loud execration, and, with a huge club he carried, struck the man who had thrown the spear senseless to the ground. With frightful cries the natives flung more spears, while two of them seized Wilkins; but he shook them off, as if they had been infants, and a volley of arrows from his friends directed the attention of the assailants from him; for every arrow had done execution. Wilkins then drew back into the ranks and cried out, "The rifle, sir! the rifle I say, or we're all dead men!" There could indeed be no hesitation now, and Arthur fired one of his barrels, intending the charge to pass over the heads of the enemy; but one tall savage, who was leaping at the moment, received the shot in his cheek and head, and fell back into the arms of his companions, who bore him off with dismal lamentations, and the rest followed hastily, carrying away the senseless body of the man struck down by Wilkins. They saw the savages force their way among the mangroves higher up the river, and flee to the hills at the north; and, confident that they were at present in safety, Arthur anxiously reviewed his forces. Wilkins looked very pale, and the spear was still sticking in his shoulder. Hugh was stretching out a bloody hand, grazed somewhat severely, while Gerald was waving triumphantly a large sombrero hat, woven of rushes by Margaret, and which now bore the noble crest of a spear which had pierced, and carried it from his head, without injuring him. "Sure, and won't the Lady Margaret bestow her glove on me," cried the wild boy, "when she sees the honors I have brought away upon my knightly helmet?" "It's been a close shave, young fellow," grumbled Wilkins, as he succeeded with a groan, in drawing out the spear, which was followed by such a flow of blood, that Arthur thought it expedient to send the two boys with him to Margaret, that his wound might be dressed; while Jack and he hastily surveyed the field for which the party had fought and bled. A wide cleared space, sloping gradually to the river, was covered with various articles hastily abandoned. Clubs, boomerangs, heaps of wild oats, with shells of the fresh-water mussel, and bones of fish. Large sheets of bark were placed round the spot, lined with grass, and apparently used as beds. On these Jack cast a longing eye and said, "Bark is cheap enough for them that have arms and knives, Mr. Arthur, and these come quite convenient for our boats just now; and no harm at all, I think." "Well, Jack," answered Arthur, "I think my father's scruples would not oppose such an appropriation. But can we cross at once? There seems a tolerable landing-place nearly opposite." "We must get the canoes ready for launching as fast as we can," replied Jack; "for we cannot do better than cross, to get out of the way of those fellows, who will be sure to come back for their things. I'll just borrow this handy axe a bit: we can leave it behind us when we go." Jack did not lose time; two of the bark beds were nearly transformed into canoes by the time that Arthur had gone to the mangrove bower and brought up all the party, with the unfinished canoe and the luggage. Wilkins had his arm in a sling; but, though he certainly was suffering much, he made light of his wound, and Hugh had his hand bound up. "This is a bad job, Mr. Arthur, for two to be laid off work when we're so sharp set," said Wilkins. "I say, master, ye'll be forced to lend a hand," addressing Mr. Mayburn. "My good man," replied he, "I am willing to undertake any labor suited to my capacity; but I fear that I am but an indifferent mechanic." Hugh and Gerald laughed heartily at the idea of papa with a hammer or an axe in his hand. "Nay, nay, master," continued Wilkins, "ye'll turn out a poor hand wi' yer tools, I reckon; but we'll learn ye to paddle these floats. I'se be fit for a bit work, 'cause, ye see, I've gettin my right arm; but that poor lad's quite laid off wi' his right hand torn. Gather up some of them bits of bark to make paddles, Master Gerald." "But no spears or weapons, Gerald," added Mr. Mayburn. "We must not carry off the property of these men, however inimical they are to us." "Why, begging yer pardon, master," replied Wilkins; "there's them there spears as was stuck into us, we'se _surelie_ keep. Ye couldn't expect on us to send them things as rove our flesh off our bones back to 'em wi' our compliments and we were obliged to 'em." "That would certainly be an excess of honesty," said Arthur; "and I think with you, Wilkins, that we are entitled to the three spears that injured us. For oars and paddles we have abundance of materials; I only grieve that we have so few hands; but those are able and willing to work; so let us hasten to get ready for the water." Two hours elapsed, however, before the three sound workmen were able to get all ready for the launch. In the mean time Wilkins and Hugh had searched for the nests of the water-fowl, and taken a supply of young birds, which the women had roasted for present and future provisions. Finally, three bark canoes were launched, each containing three persons, and the river was crossed in safety. Finding they could manage their little barks satisfactorily, they then agreed to row up the river as long as it was practicable, which would, at all events, be less laborious than walking with heavy burdens. Without any alarms, except from seeing the smoke of distant fires on the shore they had left, they had passed through beautiful and diversified scenery for many miles, before the rapid close of the day warned them to land; and under an overhanging cliff on the south bank of the river, they drew their canoes on shore, and encamped for the night. Satisfied with their pleasant and expeditious mode of travelling, they resumed their route next morning, and with the necessary interruptions of landing for supplies of the plentiful food that surrounded them, and for needful rest, they continued for many days to voyage on the same broad river; and though they occasionally saw smoke rising on the north side, they never met with any of the natives. But at length this desirable tranquillity was disturbed; for one day they were alarmed by sounds which they recognized as the angry yells of the savages in their fury, and they knew some fearful contention was taking place. The sounds proceeded from the south shore, and the river being at least two hundred yards broad at this part, they rowed to the north bank, in order to place a wide barrier between themselves and the contending savages. Loud and louder grew the yells and cries when they drew near the scene of action, and curiosity induced them to rest on their oars, though they could not see the combat; but gradually the sounds died away, and it was plain the contending parties had shifted their field of battle. After all had been quiet for some time, the boys begged earnestly that they might be allowed to land and view the scene from whence these discordant cries arose; and, at last, leaving Jack, Hugh, and Mr. Mayburn in charge of the canoes, Arthur with Gerald and Wilkins stepped on shore, and making their way through the jungle, came on a widely-spread, woody country, and saw, at no great distance, the scattered spears and clubs, which indicated that they were really upon the field of battle. Cautiously drawing near, they were shocked to meet with the bodies of native men, transfixed by spears or destroyed by clubs. They gazed with deep distress upon this sad sight, and were preparing to return, when they were startled by hearing a low sobbing sound, followed by a shrill faint cry, and searching round among the low bushes, they found a native woman mourning over the body of one of the slain, while clinging to her was a child about four years old. They approached hastily; but no sooner did the woman see them, than she caught up her child, and would have fled, but Wilkins caught her arm, and pointing to the dead body, spoke a few words to her in a jargon he had acquired during his residence in the colony, which she seemed to understand, for she replied by some words in a low, musical voice. "It's the poor fellow's _jin_, ye see," said he. "His _jin_!" said Gerald, laughing. "What is a _jin_, Wilkins?" "Why, all one as we should say his wife," replied Wilkins; "and there's nought to laugh at, Master Gerald, for she seems, poor body! like to die hersel'. I'se a bad hand at talking in their way; ye see its mair like a bird chirruping nor our folks rough talk. My big tongue cannot frame to sing out like a blackbird. Now there was Peter----" The woman uttered a scream of terror as Wilkins pronounced the name, and looking wildly round, she clasped the child, repeating distinctly, in accents of fear, "Peter! Peter!" "She knows the rogue, I'll be bound!" exclaimed Wilkins, endeavoring by words and signs to obtain some information from her. The woman pointed to the bleeding body at her feet, made a sign of stabbing, and again uttered in a vindictive tone, "Peter!" And on examining the wounds of the corpse, Wilkins pointed out to Arthur that they were not inflicted by the spear; for the man had been evidently stabbed to the heart by a sharp long-bladed weapon. "That's been Peter's knife, I'd swear," said he, "and the sooner we take off, the better, for he's an ugly neighbor;--poor body! she may well have a scared look!" As they turned away, the woman, it appeared, had read pity in their eyes, for she put her child into the hands of Arthur, and pointing towards the west, again murmured the name of Peter, and signified that he would return to murder her child and herself. Then lying down by the body of her husband, she closed her eyes, indicating that she must die there. "What are we to do, Mr. Arthur?" said Wilkins, with tears on his rough cheeks; "my heart just warks for her. But ye see--maybe as how master and miss wouldn't be for havin' such an a half dementet, ondecent body amang 'em. What are we to do? Will ye just say? Sure as we're here, if we leave her, that rascal will kill her; for ye see this dead fellow, he's a big 'un, and likely he'd been again Peter, for he'd be like a head amang 'em." "Oh, let us take both the woman and her child," said Gerald. "I will run forward to carry the child to Margaret and bring back some clothes for the unhappy mourner;" and without waiting for any sanction to his proceedings, he set off to the canoes with his prize. The alarmed woman started up, and looked anxiously after her child; but Wilkins made her understand she should also follow it, and she appeared satisfied. It was not long before O'Brien returned, accompanied by Jenny, who brought a loose garment for the astonished woman, on whose scanty toilet the neat old woman looked with unqualified disapprobation, as she assisted in arraying her more consistently with civilized customs; or, as she termed it, "made her decent." Somewhat uncertain of the prudence of making this addition to their party, Arthur led the way to the boats, determined to consult his father and Margaret before the matter was determined. When the poor widow saw her child, dressed in a temporary costume of silk handkerchiefs, and holding Margaret's hand, in great contentment, her eyes glistened with pleasure, and going up to Mr. Mayburn and Margaret, she threw herself down on the strand, with her face to the ground, in an attitude of submission to her protectors. "Poor creature," said Mr. Mayburn; "can we not restore her to her people, Wilkins? You know something of her language--inquire her wishes." "I can partly make out what she says, master," answered he; "but I frame badly in hitting on them singsong queer words. I take it, all her friends have been killed right away, and she wants to stay wi' us." "She's not a fit body to be company to Miss Marget," said nurse. "You're like to see that yourself, Wilkins." "And if I did see that, Mrs. Jenny," answered Wilkins, in a sharp tone, "and I can't say I did see 't, it's wiser heads nor yours and mine as ought to settle that. They say God made us all akin, and it's, maybe, true; but there's a strange deal of difference among us, nowadays, I consate. Now, I'd not like to say that monkey-like, dark-avised poor creater were born sister to my bonnie Susan Raine, as I ought to have wed, Mrs. Jenny, if I hadn't turned out a graceless." "It is strange, Wilkins," said Margaret, "that there was a fine, well-behaved young woman, named Susan Raine, came over with us in the _Amoor_. She was with one of the emigrant families that Mr. Deverell brought over from England." "It's now better nor two years sin' I got a letter wrote to her, Miss," said Wilkins, greatly moved; "but, like me, ye see, she's no scholar, and I heared nought from her, and I judged she'd wed another. Then I cared nought what came on me; and I consorted wi' Black Peter, and such chaps, and took any job of work to get away from yon gallows hole, when I found as how she'd not look at me. What like was she ye talked on, Miss?" "She was a fair, blue-eyed woman," answered Margaret, "with yellow hair, and a bright color; and she spoke with a north-country accent." "God forgive me all my sins, and bring me to that lass," said Wilkins, "for I'se clear on 't, it was just my Sue. Mind ye tie me up, Mr. Arthur, if that bad fellow, Black Peter, comes nigh us; I ken he'll want to nab me, and make a rogue on me again." "You must ask God to give you strength to resist the temptations of such a wretch," said Mr. Mayburn, "and your prayers will be heard. A great and good man has said of prayer, that it is 'A stream, which from the fountain of the heart Issuing, however feebly, nowhere flows Without access of unexpected strength.'" "Ay, it seems a grand hymn," answered Wilkins; "but I mind short prayers best, and I'se try, master, to stick to 'em; for ye ken I'se but a soft good-to-nought. But it may please God to make summut out on me yet; and wi' my own will, I'se niver leave ye." The question of admitting the unfortunate woman among them was soon decided. She crouched down in the stern of one of the canoes, holding the child on her lap; and the river being fortunately very smooth, they were enabled, though much crowded, to row off with the additional weight, being anxious to leave the spot before the natives should return to collect their spears. Besides, from the woman's words and signs they comprehended that the victorious combatants would come back to take her life and that of her child. CHAPTER XVI. The Mother and Child.--The Interior of the Country.--Another Cataract.--The Pilgrim Troop.--The Difficult Ascent.--The Frilled Lizard.--The Mountain-range.--The Kangaroo-chase.--The Pass of Erin. But it was not till they had left the bloody field many miles behind them that the woman recovered so far from her fear and stupefaction as to be able, by signs and half-understood words, to indicate to them that she was friendless and homeless; and that Peter would kill her, the last of her family; and from the report of Wilkins, and other sources of information, Mr. Mayburn concluded that it was the custom of these northern people to live in families, or _clans_, rather than in tribes of many, one man being the head of the house, if we may so speak of those who rarely have a house; but who live, like the beasts of the field, in the open air, unless driven by the rains to take shelter in caves. From the woman they learnt that her name was Baldabella, and that of her child was Nakinna. She was young, and her features were not unpleasant; her eyes were brilliant, and her voice soft and musical; nor was she disfigured in any way, except that through the gristle of her nose she wore a fish-bone. The only garment she wore when she was discovered, was a short cloak of the skins of opossums, sewed neatly together and pinned round her neck with a pointed bone. When they drew the canoes ashore at the close of the day, on a narrow strand, Baldabella looked with wonder on the arrangements made for the night, and the process of broiling birds and roasting eggs at the fire, and drew away when invited to partake of the strangely-cooked food. Then she plunged her fingers into the mud at the edge of the water, and soon went up to Margaret, and put into her hand some small gray reptiles resembling slugs. Margaret shrank from the feast, shaking her head; but the woman put one into her own mouth, and swallowed it living with great relish, crammed one into the mouth of the child, and then returned to hunt for more. Jenny held up her hands to express her abhorrence; Ruth stared at the woman with terror, evidently looking on her as a kind of sorceress; and O'Brien laughed, as he said, "Well, nurse, you need not be so much disgusted; I dare say these snails taste as well as the ugly oysters which we are cannibals enough to swallow alive." "Oysters, Master Gerald," answered nurse, reprovingly, "are eat by decent Christian people; and I see no harm in them, specially with pepper and vinegar; but these things are varmint. Our ducks in England would hardly touch them." "A duck is not a fastidious feeder, nurse," said Margaret, "and I would not answer for its nicety in this matter. But this poor stranger prefers the food she has been accustomed to, and we have no right to scoff at her taste. If she remain with us, no doubt, in time, she will conform to our habits." For many days longer they continued their uninterrupted voyage up the river, the widow becoming daily more at home with her protectors. Margaret clothed her in one of her old dresses, with which she was much delighted, and in other respects she began to adopt the customs of her strange protectors. She voluntarily discarded her nose ornament; she bathed herself and her child daily; she at length ate the same food, and imitated the manners of her friends. Margaret made light dresses for the little Nakinna, who rapidly caught the English names for the objects around her, and from her the mother learnt many words. But it was with deep concern that Mr. Mayburn saw the perfect indifference with which Baldabella regarded the religious worship of the family. She looked at first much astonished to see men and women kneel down, and to hear the solemn prayers pronounced by Mr. Mayburn; but she soon turned carelessly away to dig for worms, or to collect sticks for the fire. Not so the little Nakinna; for, after observing the devotions two or three times, she walked up to Margaret, knelt down by her, lifted up her little hands, and seemed to listen with interest, though she could not yet understand. This act of docility and obedience was very gratifying to her kind instructress, who anxiously wished for the time when a mutual understanding might render it possible to communicate to these heathens a knowledge of the truth. "Can it be possible, Wilkins," said Mr. Mayburn, "that these wretched natives are so lost as not even to acknowledge a Supreme Being! not even to 'see God in clouds, and hear Him in the wind!' not to feel that there must be a spiritual Ruler of the universe?" "Why, to my fancy, master," answered Wilkins, "t' men folks isn't altogether dull chaps; but them poor jins just get all their sense knocked out on their heads. Poor bodies! they're no better off nor dogs nor asses. They work fra' morn to night, and hug heavy loads, and get kicks and short allowance for their pains." There was a crushed, subdued look about the woman that rendered Wilkins's assertion not improbable; but Margaret hoped that, by kind treatment, the dormant intellect of the native might be developed. At length the river became more difficult of navigation, the stream more rapid, and encumbered with fallen rocks, while rapids and falls compelled them to land continually among thick jungles, or on the narrow strand below precipitous cliffs. A mountain range was now visible before them, and they concluded that they must soon reach the source of the friendly river, when they should have to abandon the canoes for a less safe and convenient mode of travelling. "We cannot stand walking again," said Gerald. "Couldn't we carry the canoes forward awhile? and perhaps we might have the luck to fall in with another river. What a grand thing it would be if we could find one flowing to the east or the south, that we might run easily down the stream without any hard work." "That is not very probable, Gerald," said Arthur, "when we are yet so far from the central part--what we may strictly term the interior of the country. But we will certainly spare ourselves the labor of carrying away our canoes when we leave the water; for there can be no difficulty, in such a richly-wooded region, in procuring materials for making canoes, if we should need them. The noise of the waters seems to grow louder, and I fear we are again approaching some great cataract, which will probably, like the last we encountered, terminate all hopes of boating. I propose that we should at once make for yonder niche in the cliffs, and unlade the canoes. Wilkins and I will then row up as high as we can in a lightened canoe, to endeavor to find out a mode of ascending from this deep gully." "If we are to land," said Gerald, "it will be easy enough to climb these wooded heights." "Easy for you, my boy," said Arthur, "especially if you had no encumbrances; but think of papa, and Margaret, Baldabella and her child, and all the bags and bundles which constitute our wealth. We must endeavor to discover an easier road, and in the mean time we will disembark at this convenient spot." Mr. Mayburn and Margaret remonstrated with Arthur for exposing himself and Wilkins to more danger than the rest, but were at length persuaded that the expedition could be executed with more safety and success by a small party; and two of the canoes, with all the stowage, were therefore landed in a shady nook, while the two men rowed on in the third boat. Margaret and her father waited uneasily, but the two boys amused themselves by penetrating into the woods, to seek birds; Jack cut down branches of trees, and formed them into spears, arrows, or forks; Jenny and Ruth cooked some birds, and Baldabella, armed with a spear, waded into a shallow creek of the river near them, and speared two large fish, of the species they called the fresh-water cod. Still everybody thought the hours went slowly, and were truly glad to see the light canoe gliding swiftly down the stream with Arthur and Wilkins, who drew it ashore; then Arthur said,-- "If possible, we must make our way along the banks, for the river is even now dangerous of ascent, and at no great distance our voyage would be entirely arrested by a cataract, similar to that we encountered soon after our reaching the mainland. Wilkins and I, after mooring our canoe to the mangroves, climbed to the heights, and found we were then only at the base of successive ranges of hills, which terminated in high-peaked mountains, apparently inaccessible. From these hills flowed many rivulets, which unite at the grand cataract and form this river." To make further progress in their journey, it was therefore necessary that they should reach the country above the high rocky banks of the river, and Arthur said that on their return they had noticed one place where it might be possible for the whole party to ascend; though the path must necessarily be one of difficulty. They dined on roast birds and broiled fish, and then began an active preparation for walking. Every thing that was worth transporting was reduced to as small a compass, and made as portable as possible; the canoes were reluctantly abandoned, and then the long train, headed, as usual, by Arthur, set out; Baldabella quietly taking her place in the line, bearing her child on her shoulder, and resting on her long fish-spear. "I could fancy we were the Israelites, wandering in the wilderness," said Gerald. "You will please to recollect, Gerald," said Hugh, "that the Israelites exceeded us in number in a _trifling_ degree, extending to hundreds of thousands, we are told; and then, though Arthur is doubtless a clever fellow, he cannot be such a guide as the wise and gifted Moses." "The Israelites had a more infallible Guide," said Mr. Mayburn, "than even their great leader Moses, until by discontent and disobedience, they rejected the Holy One. Let us take warning, my children, lest we should, in like manner, forget the certain protection which our Heavenly Father extends to all his faithful people." They slowly wound along the narrow strand, sometimes sunk in mud, sometimes climbing over mounds of pebbles or piles of drift-wood, anxiously examining the thick matted woods which covered the precipitous cliffs, and even occasionally intercepted their path. For some time they despaired of finding any spot favorable for the purpose of reaching the level ground; till Arthur pointed out the place which he had previously noticed, where the banks had given way, and a great fall of rocks had formed a sort of sloping staircase, less encumbered with the brushwood, and less abrupt than they had expected. "If we ever succeed in reaching the height," said Arthur, "this must be our path. The strong must lead the way, and aid in drawing up the feeble. These drooping creepers will be convenient to cling to, that we may not lose the ground we have made. Give me your hand, Meggie." With many a slip downwards, a scream, and a rending of garments, the women were dragged up through the almost perpendicular wood. Baldabella alone, erect and firm in foot, despised assistance. She disencumbered herself of all loose drapery, and clasping her child, she stepped among, under, or over the bushes, with speed and safety; and long before the men had reached the height, she had quietly resumed the garb of her sex, and was seated to wait for the arrival of the less-practised climbers. They were scarcely all assembled, weary and tattered, at the head of the cliff, when Ruth, who was the last, suddenly uttered a piercing shriek, and rushed down into the matted bush again, pursued by Jack, who captured and brought her back, struggling and exclaiming against his interference. "Oh, Jack, man, let me be," cried she; "didn't thou see 't? It's an uncanny place, this. I seed it mysel', Jack; it were a little auld fairy, grinning at me, wi' a long tail." Jack was too enlightened to have any dread of a fairy, even with a long tail; and he persisted in bringing up Ruth, pale and trembling, to the rest of the party, though she continued to cry out, "Yonder she sits! Jack, honey! keep out on her way; she'll charm thee." As soon as the boys heard Ruth's story of the tailed fairy, they ran with great glee to the spot she pointed out, and there, perfectly calm and immovable, they beheld the old fairy, in the form of a very extraordinary lizard. It was seated on its tail, apparently undismayed by the presence of observers; and Mr. Mayburn was called to the spot to examine the new discovery. The length of the body might be five inches, but the tail was twice that length; the color yellowish brown and black. It was scaly and frightful, and its human-like face, prominent eyes, long claws, and plaited ruff, might well terrify the ignorant and superstitious. "I recognize the creature," said Mr. Mayburn, "from the description given by more than one traveller, to be the _Chlamydosaurus Kingii_, peculiar to Australia. The frill which surrounds its head, extending even to the chest, and folded in plaits, points out the distinct species. This ruff is a curious membrane, which can be expanded, by means of slender transverse cartilages, at the will of the animal, when it is roused to anger." "Then observe, papa," said Gerald, "how indignant it is at our impertinent remarks. See how it spreads its broad frill, and shows its sharp teeth, as if it wished to bite us. Must I knock it down?" "Truly, Gerald," answered Mr. Mayburn, "my curiosity would overcome the feelings of humanity, and I should be tempted to desire to obtain the creature; but I see Arthur shakes his head at the suggestion. And, after all, we have no right to slaughter the unoffending animal." Baldabella, on whose ears Mr. Mayburn's words fell in vain, looked with glittering eyes on the reptile, and raising her spear said in her new language, "Baldabella eat him." But the lizard, with an instinct of danger, ran swiftly up the tree, assisted by its hooked claws, and escaped the blow. When far above any fear of attack, it again calmly sat down, looking down on the baffled woman with a frightful sarcastic grin. "There now!" said Ruth, "didn't I tell ye she were uncanny? She heard all 'at were said, as sure as we're here." For Ruth's conviction of its supernatural rank was not to be shaken by Mr. Mayburn's scientific demonstration. After satisfying their curiosity in looking at the frilled lizard, Arthur called on his forces to resume their march. Before them now lay rich green hills, rising gradually above each other, and intersected by clear streams, flowing into the river they had left. These hills were the first steps to mountains which rose, high and rugged, even to the clouds. The hills, though tedious, would not be very difficult to ascend; but how to pass the mountains they could not yet judge. The mountain-range ran, as far as the eye could reach, from north-east to south-west, and completely intercepted them in the road they desired to pursue. To pass them, if possible, must therefore be their aim; or a vast deal of time must be lost in making a circuitous course. "We will ascend the hills, at all events," said Arthur, "and look round us. We may, perhaps, find some natural pass. We might even try a kangaroo-path, which must be found, for, see what herds of the animals are bounding along under the lofty trees on the hills." "Oh, do let us have a kangaroo-hunt, Arthur!" exclaimed Hugh. "We are hungry, and kangaroo meat would fill us; and therefore, papa, we have a right to kill and eat." "Let's see ye set about it," said Wilkins. "They're sharper fellows nor ye think on, them kangaroos, my lad. They're a match for most folks, barrin' ye have dogs, or follow them up till they fall tired, and that'll maybe, not be for half a day. I ken a good deal of kangaroo-hunting; but I'se not clear that them there chaps is so shy as down-country beasts; ye see, they'll niver like have clapped eyes atop on a man, and they'll not ken man's crafty ways." "To the disgrace of human nature," said Mr. Mayburn, "what Wilkins suggests is true: wherever he is recognized by the brute creation, they instinctively 'Shun the hateful sight of man.'" "Well, sir," said Gerald, "that is, I suppose, because the ignoble fears the noble--the coward the brave." "And you may add, Gerald, the slave his tyrant," continued Mr. Mayburn. "It is ever thus with 'Man, proud man! Dressed in a little brief authority.'" "But, papa," said Hugh, "we are in need of food, and you must allow that it is more humane to destroy one kangaroo than a dozen cockatoos or pheasants." "I agree with Hugh, papa," said Margaret. "We will, if possible, content ourselves to-day with taking one life." Armed with spears and throwing-sticks, bows and arrows, and one boomerang which Baldabella had found, and which no one but herself could yet use, the hunters preceded Mr. Mayburn and Margaret. By the directions of the experienced Wilkins, they spread along in a line, to guard the foot of the hill; for he said the animal always took a downward course when it was alarmed, for, as its fore-feet never touch the ground in its greatest speed, it has more time in a descent to draw up the hind legs, to make the immense spring, than it could have with an ascent before it. No sooner had the timid animals seen the strange forms of the hunters than they started off with such incredible speed, that no one unacquainted with their habits could have believed that their flight was a series of jumps, and that their fore-feet never touched the ground. In their confusion, some of the animals tried to penetrate the rank of the hunters, while some fled to the right or to the left. The spears and arrows showered amongst them, and more than one beast carried off the weapon sticking in him. But it was the boomerang of Baldabella which, after complicated and mysterious evolutions, struck and stunned a large animal, which Wilkins presently despatched with his knife. Arthur then recalled the hunters, saying, "We will have no more slaughter. This large animal will supply us with as much meat as we can consume while it remains fresh, and it would be wanton to slay more." The rear rank then joined them. The body of the kangaroo, suspended on a long pole, was shouldered by Wilkins and Jack, and the march was resumed. They ascended and descended several hills, till night and fatigue compelled them to rest in a little hollow, where a cooking-fire was made, and they supped with great enjoyment on venison steaks; and, like the early inhabitants of the world, before luxury and artificial wants had enervated them, they slept beneath the canopy of heaven, among the everlasting hills. "Get up, Arthur," cried Hugh, early next morning. "Get up, and come to see our mountain-pass. Gerald discovered it, and therefore we propose to name it the 'Pass of Erin.'" CHAPTER XVII. The Dangerous Pass.--The Coupled Travellers.--The Mountain Labyrinth.--The Emancipation of Ruth's Chickens.--A Combat _à l'outrance_.--The Ornithorhyncus.--The Forest in the Mountains.--Singing Birds.--The Laughing Jackass. Arthur was soon alert, and followed the boys, who led him up the side of the next high hill and along the ridge for about three hundred yards to the south west, and then pointed out to him a narrow rent or gorge in the mountain, lying far below the hill on which they stood; but from this hill a gradual ascent, formed by fallen rocks, made a rude path to a narrow shelf or terrace which they now saw far above them, and which ran along the precipitous side of the rocky wall. Arthur shuddered as he said, "Is that narrow terrace passable, do you think, Gerald?" "Oh, yes," answered he; "Hugh and I had a run along it before we woke you, and it is not half so bad as it looks. We shall manage very well if we go 'goose-walk;' but I think it would not be safe for two abreast. To be sure, it is rather confusing to look down into the depths below; but we must give them all a caution, and I think it would be better to blindfold Ruth." "There is nothing for us but to try it," said Arthur. "Let us return to breakfast before we set out." "Yes, we might as well reduce the bulk of the kangaroo," said Hugh, "for it will be awkward to carry it along our pass." But when the plan was fully arranged, it was judged expedient to cut up the kangaroo, and only carry away sufficient for another day's consumption. Even the useful skin was reluctantly abandoned, as Arthur knew well they must have no unnecessary encumbrance. Ruth could not, however, be persuaded to leave her pet fowls, but resolutely set out with her basket on her arm. Then, after beseeching a blessing on their perilous journey, they marched forward, and gradually ascending the hills, they reached the narrow path that skirted the mountain. This natural shelving was scattered over with loose stones, and occasionally broken away till a ledge of only about five or six feet was left for them; but the creeping plants that covered the rock enabled the timid to grasp a kind of support on one hand, as they moved cautiously along the unequal and perilous path. Below this terrace yawned a deep gully, that formed the bed of a stream, which at all seasons washed its sides. This stream was now shallow, and moved sluggishly; but rugged crags, and torn-up trees, lying in the bed, showed that raging torrents must pour into it after the rainy season. From the interstices of the bush-covered rocks sprang the gray-leaved gum-tree, the elegant casuarina, and a bright-leaved tree resembling the box, but lofty and strong. Among these trees parrots and cockatoos chattered incessantly, and on the gum-trees hundreds of little active opossums sported with all the playfulness of monkeys; and Mr. Mayburn was so interested in watching them hang from the branches, suspended by their curved tail, to rifle the nests of the birds, or feed on the numerous insects round them, that Arthur, in alarm, stepped back to hold his father by the arm. "I tell you what we must do, Arthur," said Gerald; "we must be linked in couples, as the travellers on the Alps are; then, if one makes a false step, there's a chance for his mate to draw him up." "No bad plan, Gerald," answered Arthur; "but we must take care to couple with judgment. The prudent or brave must take charge of the rash or the timid. I will take papa; Jack, his unlucky sister; Hugh, Margaret, or, more correctly, Margaret must take Hugh; Wilkins will take charge of nurse; and you, the neglected proposer of this wise measure, cannot profit by it, unless you will submit to be guided by Baldabella, who seems to trip along with her lively burden unapprehensive of danger." Hugh preferred to walk unfettered; and Arthur had no fears for the native woman, whose firm and steady step showed that she had been accustomed to such rough and scrambling paths. Arthur, who was the first of the line, now became uneasy, as, on looking before him, he remarked that, as far as the eye could reach, there appeared to be no termination to the mountain wilderness. He could have fancied that a labyrinth of broken, precipitous, lofty, and interminable rocks shut them completely from the world. It was a bewildering prospect, and even the strong heart of Arthur almost failed him, and his head whirled at the sight of such stupendous and uncertain difficulties. A scream from Ruth recalled him to his immediate duties, and on turning round he saw her much-valued basket of poultry bound down the precipice over the bushes, till it rested on a lower ledge, some hundreds of feet beneath them, where it flew open, and the fowls, uninjured by their involuntary flight, fluttered from their prison, and began calmly to peck about for food; while the little bantam cock proclaimed his liberty by shaking his plumes and uttering his conceited hoarse crow. "They are settlers now, Ruth," cried Gerald, laughing; "the first colonists--regular squatters. How astonished future travellers will be when they make the curious discovery: a species of bird remarkably like _Gallus Barndoorii_. What grand names they will bestow on them! and write long papers, and puzzle ornithologists." But the patriarch of this new species was not allowed to squat among the aborigines with impunity; his triumphant notes were answered by a crow of defiance in a less familiar tone from a splendid cock pheasant, which pounced down on the new comer with a furious peck, that the true-trained English bird, notwithstanding his foreign ancestry, could not brook. The brave little bantam retaliated boldly, and a furious combat ensued, causing even the English hens to raise their heads from their pleasant feast, and appear somewhat interested in the event; while Ruth shrieked, "He'll kill him! Jack, honey! throw a stone at him! drive him off! Chuck! chuck!" But though Ruth's familiar cry failed to separate the combatants _à l'outrance_, the pleased hens recognized the well-known call, and responded to it by fluttering and scrambling up the mountain side, to partake of the scattered grain; and in the fulness of their feast, they were easily captured, and stowed in separate bags and pouches, till a new dwelling could be made for them. Then the little feathered hero below, having vanquished and left his antagonist for dead, perched for a moment on the pinnacle of a shattered rock, and crowed triumphantly, as if to defy the whole race of native birds; after which demonstration, he leisurely followed his female friends up the steep, to share their feast and their captivity. Notwithstanding the alarm and delay caused by this accident, there was something amusing about it that was not without its beneficial effects. Ruth continued to lament the loss of her basket; but Jack scolded her seriously for her foolish fears and awkwardness, which were the sole cause of the loss. He declared the fowls were absolute pests, and wholly useless in a region where birds and eggs dropped into your hands; but his remonstrances having produced tears of penitence and promises of amendment, he relented, and promised to make for her a coop, or cage, of cane, which would be easier to carry than the basket, and afford more air to the unfortunate prisoners. After wandering for two days along their frequently dangerous, and always difficult, aerial pathway, resting only when they came to some rocky hollow, they began to pine for a less-hazardous road; and they now perceived that, with the usual caprice of Australian rivers, the stream in the narrow bed below them had disappeared, though slender rills continually fell from the mountains, but subsided into bogs, or formed pools below. They therefore resolved, if they could safely accomplish it, to descend to the bed of the river; and endeavor to extricate themselves from the rocky maze in which they seemed hopelessly involved. After another day's travelling, they fancied the descent appeared more practicable than it had yet been since they set out on the shelving terrace, and it was decided to make the trial. The first step would decidedly be the most difficult. About twelve feet below them another shelf of rock projected, wider than that on which they now stood; but how to reach it was a puzzling question, for the descent was perpendicular, and quite overgrown with thorny bushes. "If you will help me, Master Hugh," said Jack, "I think we may manage it. We must just cut down the bushes into steps like for them that feel timid." Employment was the grand need of the active boys, and to clear a passage as low as they could reach, and then step down on the bushes to work below, was a pleasant amusement. The stone axes were now found to be perfectly serviceable, and they soon cut six clearances, each two feet deep, graduating like a staircase, of which the matted brush formed the steps, which reached to the lower terrace; and down the staircase the agitated females were, one after another, assisted, and safely placed on the broad shelf. This was a decided victory, and they now saw, to their great satisfaction, that the lower descent sloped so much, from accumulated rocks and drift-wood, that by clearing the way with the axes, they easily reached the comparative security of the muddy bed of the vanished river. They looked round on the immense walls which inclosed them with some dismay; then Gerald said,-- "Now, Meggie, we only want the great rains to come on, and then we shall have some notion of the situation of sinful man in the Deluge." "I trust, my dear boy," said Mr. Mayburn, "that you do not allude to that fearful judgment with levity. And surely, Arthur, we are not near the time of the terrific tropical rains." "Usually, papa, I believe the heaviest autumnal periodical rains are in February and March," said Arthur. "We are now in the midst of summer; still I must confess I have read of continued rains, even at this season; but I trust we shall be in a safer locality before such trying weather comes on. We are certainly progressing in the way we wish to go; but the immense extent of the mountain-range is extraordinary. Fortunately, we are not in a desert, we are surrounded by plenty, and as far as we have yet penetrated, ferocious animals seem unknown; and more, ferocious man rarely encountered. I only fear for your strength, dear papa, and for that of dear Meggie." "Fear not for us, Arthur," answered Margaret; "you know I am naturally strong; and God has given renewed life and health to dear papa. His delight in these new and varied scenes of Nature makes every toil light to him. Observe him now, pausing and contemplating something at yon large pond; let us join him. Now, papa! what is the new discovery?" "Wonderful, my children," said he. "Behold this marvellous new creature. Undoubtedly it must be the _Ornithorhyncus paradoxus_, the duck-billed Platypus, which I should have recognized, from the numerous sketches I have seen; and my warmest hopes are fulfilled in the happiness of really looking on the rare animal in its native wilds." "Is't a duck, think ye, Miss Marget?" asked Ruth, with a kind of awe. "Has a duck four legs, Ruth?" asked Gerald. "Has it fur on its back, and a broad finny tail? No, Ruth, this is not a strange fowl, but a strange beast." "Nevertheless," said Mr. Mayburn, "there are irreconcilable circumstances in such a decision. This animal, if we rank it among the mammalia, belongs to no order yet named, but stands alone. Quadruped it is, certainly; web-footed, certainly; ovo-viviparous, certainly, as the eggs are hatched before birth, and the young then suckled, like the mammalia. Feeding on worms and grubs, like the duck; sleeping rolled up, like the hedgehog; playful as the monkey, and harmless as the dove;--we cannot but look with astonishment and admiration on this remarkable caprice of Nature." "They're ugly beasts, that I'll say," was Jenny's remark, "and not half so good as a duck for such as us; but I'se warrant them poor heathens eat 'em as we would a roast goose." Leaving the platypus, which they now saw at every pool as they proceeded, they walked on till the ravine gradually became wider, but the mountain-line still spread on each side. Soon after, the pools disappeared, and rich grass supplied their place. Wild and wonderful was now their daily journey, for before them lay immense untrodden forests, inclosed between lofty cliffs, which rose to the clouds, and the travellers felt inspired with awe as they looked round on the majesty of Nature. Yet the softer features of loveliness were not absent; every step was on some beautiful, usually some quite new, plant, and the lofty forest trees were of species now first seen, and were garlanded round with flowering creepers of the most brilliant dyes; while the rich perfume of the jasmine, and the heliotrope-like odor of the golden-blossomed acacia filled the air. Bright _orchidæ_, unnamed and unknown, masses of ferns of unexampled beauty, were scattered round this vast conservatory of nature; and amidst all this profusion, thousands of birds whistled, chattered, warbled, and uttered the startling foreign notes which assure you that you are in a strange land. There was the sweet-voiced bell-bird, a pretty little creature, whose notes ring with a silver sound; there was the pert pied bird, which might seem really a magpie, if it were not tailless, which has a low flute-like song, swelling like the organ; whence it is named by the colonists the organ-magpie; and as each strain of these warblers died away, the loud, hoarse, derisive notes of a curious bird, resembling none of the known species of the world, seemed to ridicule the musical performers. "No doubt, papa," said Hugh, "this must be the 'laughing jackass,' of which we have read an account. Do you hear the regular 'Ha! ha! ha!' from which he derives his name, and which sounds so strangely when mingled with the notes of the warblers? But now he has roused all the cockatoos and parrots, who are screaming their jargon above all other sounds." "Just listen, Hugh," said Gerald, "those jackass birds are surely blowing a penny trumpet. Did you ever hear such a noise--laughing, braying, trumpeting? you might fancy you were at a country fair. How Ruth does stare! I say, Ruth, what do you think of them?" "Will they be Christians, Master Gerald?" asked the trembling girl. "Hopeless heathens, Ruth," answered the wild boy; "feathered donkeys, flying punches, instinctive mocking-birds, repeating sounds which they have never heard. See, papa, there is one of the jolly fellows, perched on yon gum-tree. What a monstrous beak he has!" "I contemplate the bird with great interest, my boy," answered Mr. Mayburn. "It has been classed with the Halcyons by naturalists, and named _Dacelo gigantea_; yet, in its social habits, and flexible and apt organs of voice, it seems rather to resemble the jay. It is somewhat remarkable that amidst the gorgeously-attired birds that surround it, this rarely-gifted bird wears a garb so simple and unadorned. You observe that it frequents the gum-tree, and its sombre plumage, assimilating so happily with the gray foliage of the tree, is at once a protection and a distinction. How rejoiced I should be, my dear boy, if we could make a complete collection of these rare creatures; but the difficulties of transporting them safely in our journey are insurmountable." "Wait, sir," replied Gerald, "till we catch our quaggas; then Jack will make us a wagon, which we can convert into a menagerie, filled with curious animals, and drawn by our own beasts." "The quagga is not a native of Australia, Gerald," replied Mr. Mayburn; "nor does the country, happily, produce any of the large and fierce quadrupeds. We must not dare to think of any vehicle for travelling; yet many hundred miles separate us from the useful animals of our dear friends the Deverells; and my heart fails me when I reflect on the improbability of our ever reaching them." Margaret sighed as she said, "And I too, dear papa, cannot help many idle wishes that we were come to open plains, and more direct paths. These lovely wilds of Nature, forests and mountains, are very charming; but they seem too romantic and unreal to be satisfactory. If we were to keep a journal, and publish it hereafter, we should, I fear, be ridiculed for inventing fairy tales." "In truth, Margaret," answered her father, "fairy tales were not originally mere inventions of the imagination. They were the offspring of the experience of observing travellers over lovely untrodden wilds like these. And what are the miraculous transformations they describe but such as might really happen--the ingenious contrivances of man when destitute of all the resources of civilized life? Has not Jack transformed a flint-stone into an axe? and have we not cups and plates which were once the abodes of the shell-fish? Difficulties originate miraculous efforts, and man is indebted to the good fairies, Necessity and Ingenuity, for many of his comforts." "Very true, dear papa," said Arthur; "and the fairy Necessity now calls on us peremptorily to escape from these forests, where I have twice during this day heard the _coo-ee_ of the natives, though at a considerable distance before us. I have been for some time anxiously examining the south side of the gorge for any outlet which may enable us to turn away from their haunts." They had been making their way for some hours along the southern extremity of the forest, still hemmed in by the high rocks, when Gerald, creeping into a narrow cleft, declared that he had found a tunnel, and called on Hugh to assist him in exploring it. Fearful that they should bewilder themselves in the recesses of the mountains, Arthur proposed that all the party should enter the opening, which was a cavern of great height and space, where they might remain till he and his brothers penetrated further into the rocks. They lighted some dry branches for torches, and set out, satisfied that the rest would be in safety in this secure retreat. The boys found this tunnel descend gradually: sometimes it was narrow and low, sometimes wide and encumbered with fallen fragments of rock; still, it was airy, and they were able to pass on, till they concluded they must have walked half a mile. They were then so desponding that they thought of turning back, but at length a glimmering of light satisfied them that there must be another outlet, and they took courage to proceed, till they reached a matted thicket of brushwood through which they forced their way, and then had the pleasure of seeing the sky above their heads, though they were still in a very narrow gully. It seemed to be the dry bed of a rivulet, choked up with stones and torn-up bushes. Before them rose another line of bush-covered mountains, but not so lofty or precipitous as those they had left behind. "Is it worth while," said Hugh, "to drag the whole party through that gloomy subterranean passage, to bring them into this glen, which seems perfectly barren and lifeless? I am of opinion that we were better in our old forest." "Wait for my decision," said Gerald, springing up the side of the opposite mountains, regardless of the rending of his light blouse, and his scratched hands; and before long he stood on the summit. "This will do for us capitally," he cried out. "Wide plains below, but an awkward step down to them. Jack will have to cut a staircase again." This account of the country satisfied Arthur, and they hastened back at once to relieve the anxiety of their friends, whom they found in a state of great alarm. The cries of the savages had gradually approached so near to them, that Margaret induced Wilkins and Jack to close the opening by which they had entered with a large piece of rock. Then they had heard voices close to the rocks, and Baldabella, who was now able to speak many English words, said--"Many bad black fellows! much bad! see white man foot-walk.--Black fellow come--slow, slow--catch all--eat master--eat miss--eat old Jin--eat Nakinna--all! all!" It was with much difficulty they restrained the cries of Ruth, when she comprehended that she was in danger of being eaten; and though Mr. Mayburn doubted and disputed the existence of cannibalism in Australia, Wilkins and Jack succeeded in inducing the whole family to move on in the track of the pioneers, rather than risk the danger of discovery at the mouth of the cave. CHAPTER XVIII. The Tunnel through the Mountains.--The Chase of the Emu.--An Encounter with the Natives.--The Rescue of Baldabella and her Child.--Making a Bridge.--Canoes Again.--The Fishing of Baldabella. The report of the boys decided the movement of the family, and they hastened through the long tunnel to the cheerless glen. They then sought the easiest ascent, that they might escape from these widely-spread mountains, and a herd of kangaroos in the bush, disturbed by strange voices, just then appeared, and bounded up the steep wood at a place which the travellers who followed them found had been selected with a happy instinct, for it was less abrupt and less matted with brush than that which Gerald had ascended. The strong assisted the weak, and with some difficulty all were brought to the ridge, and looked down with mingled feelings of relief and alarm on the widely-spread, thinly-wooded plains so far below them. The descent was much more tedious and laborious. Axes and ropes were put in requisition; but finally all planted their feet thankfully on the green sward, and looked round on a new region, where their progress would be less retarded, but their exposure to observation would necessarily be greater than before. "And I see neither meat nor water," said Jenny, despondingly. "We have still potatoes left," said Margaret; "and though we have not yet seen much animal life, I trust there is no fear of famine. I certainly see some creature moving beneath yon golden acacia." "Huzza! papa!" cried Gerald. "There's the Emu at last! I saw one at the Zoological Gardens, and I know the fellow at once. Now, how are we to get hold of him? I fear his skin is too tough for a spear or an arrow to do much harm, and Arthur is so careful of his charges." "I have but four left," answered Arthur, with a sigh, "and I am unwilling to waste my shot, and perhaps attract the attention of the wandering natives. We will try arrows and spears, and, if we can, the boomerang." "Be canny, lads!" cried Wilkins, in great excitement. "Keep at his back, I tell ye; he can see half a mile afore him, but he's as deaf as a post; and if he once gets a sight on us he'll be off like Voltigeur, and he'll be a smart chap as sets eyes on him again. Stand here, we'll try a throw now; and _Jin_, woman, gie us a touch of yer boomerang." Baldabella was as much excited as any of the party, and perfectly understood the rules of emu-hunting. They fixed themselves at a proper distance, and then, seeing that the bird, which had been feeding on some root or herbage, had raised its head, as if about to move, they flung their spears and discharged their arrows with some effect, as a spear and an arrow were left in its side; Baldabella at the same time threw her boomerang, which struck it with such force that it staggered, and uttered a deep, booming cry; but, rallying again, it began to run very swiftly, till a second flight of spears and arrows brought it to the ground. All the party then went up to it; and O'Brien had approached, and was about to touch it, when Wilkins seized his arm, and drew him back just in time; for the animal struck out its powerful leg, and shattered the bow which the boy held in his hand. "He would have sarved your leg as bad," said Wilkins, "if he could have hitten ye. He has a leg like a sledge hammer for a hit. We'se be forced to give him a few more spears afore it will be safe to come nigh him." But a blow on the head stunned the huge creature; and it was then quickly dispatched and cut up. They contented themselves with carrying off the two hind quarters, which Wilkins assured them afforded the most palatable meat, and which would be ample provision for two days. "There are some eggs, too," said Hugh, "which we might carry off for papa; but they are so tremendously large and heavy." "The egg is, I believe, excellent food," said Arthur; "but with food we are abundantly supplied. I think we must take two, however; one for papa, the other to form into that very useful vessel, a water-bottle or bucket." Delighted with the immense dark green egg, and the examination of the curious, fur-like plumage of the emu, Mr. Mayburn no longer regretted the forest scenery he had left, but cheerfully went forward over the green and flowery plain, till, after walking many miles, they encamped beneath a gum-tree, made a fire, and broiled some emu-steaks, which all pronounced would have been better than beef-steaks if they could have had a little salt to eat with them; but they were gradually becoming reconciled to this privation. No one dared to murmur, amidst their blessings, because they had been a day without water; but they trusted in God to provide them with this boon, too, in his good time. The large egg was carefully cleaned out through a small opening made by Jack at one end, and then slung with cords, to make it convenient to carry next day, before they took their rest. But the next day they had travelled for many hours, till, faint and weary, their steps were feeble and languid, when the sight of a line of casuarina-trees directed them to the bed of a river, now quite dry; and while the most exhausted sat down to rest, the young and active proceeded up the hard bed till it became mud, and a little higher, muddy pools. Into these pools they, at once, plunged their faces, and drank, and moistened their burning skin, and then each laughed at the crust of dirt left on his neighbor's face. But by persevering in walking on, they met with a pool of clearer water, from which they filled their water buckets and mussel-shells, and returned to take the refreshment to their friends, and then to conduct them to the moister region. They continued to pursue the course of the chain of pools which must in a short time be really a river, when the periodical rains came on. The prospect of these approaching rains rendered all the thoughtful of the party anxious and uneasy; for the pleasant open air life to which they had become habituated would then be intolerable. For two days the emu-flesh was eatable, and the pools amply supplied them with water. Then they again reached a line of low hills from which the river had its source; and through the shrubs and brushwood that covered them they forced or cut their way, and descended on a more fertile and pleasant plain. But, to their great annoyance, they beheld before them several natives gathered round a fire, employed in making spears and arrows, which they were hardening in the fire. On one side sat two women, bruising some grain or nuts between two stones: these women wore cloaks of opossum fur; but the men were almost entirely naked, and had their bodies marked with frightful cicatrices. Though it was plain these natives must have seen the approach of the strangers, and probably now, for the first time beheld white men, they preserved a dignified composure, pursuing their labors, without any apparent notice of the intruders. Arthur drew up the forces abreast in a long line, saying, "Walk on firmly, and imitate the indifference of the natives. I entreat you, above all, not to show the least fear." They marched slowly forward till they were close to the savages, when the little Nakinna, attracted by the sight of a child about her own age, which was playing near the women, broke from her mother and ran up to the child. The tallest of the men then stepped from the rest and caught up the child in his arms. The distracted mother darted forward to rescue her, and was also seized and detained by two natives, while she called out piteously to her white friends to assist her. Arthur was much vexed at this incident, which he feared would form a pretext for a quarrel; but it was impossible to abandon poor Baldabella, who seemed very repugnant to return to savage life. He therefore called Wilkins to follow him, and going up to the man who held the child, made an effort to remove her gently from his arms. The man resisted and held her firmly; then Arthur, assuming a threatening expression of countenance, uttered some words in a loud, stern tone, and at the same time pointed to his rifle. The savage stared at him and his weapon with a countenance half of fear, half of wonder. He then pointed to the complexion of the mother and the child, and also to his own, and to Arthur's, as if he questioned the right of the white people to detain those who certainly were not of their race. Arthur then made Baldabella comprehend that she must tell the men that if they did not release her and Nakinna, the white men would kill them all. The woman at once understood and repeated the message; and was answered by the tall savage. She shook with terror as he spoke, and turning to Arthur said,-- "Black fellow say, Peter want Baldabella. Baldabella must go. No, no! good white man! Bad Peter kill Baldabella! kill Nakinna!" It was doubly annoying to find these troublesome natives were acquainted with the villanous bush-ranger; but it was certain Baldabella must not be left in the power of the wretch, at any cost. While he hesitated what steps to take, one of the women, roused by the cries of Nakinna, went up to the savage who held her, and spoke to him in soft, persuasive accents, at the same time attempting to take the child from him. The hardened wretch put down the child at his feet, and snatching up a club, struck the woman to the earth, senseless, if not dead. No longer able to control his indignation, Arthur, seeing a herd of kangaroos bounding along within reach of a shot, directed the attention of the man to them, and then fired his rifle, and shot a large animal dead. Astonishment and terror overcame the usual assumed calmness of the natives, and several of them fled in confusion. Arthur then, pointing to the kangaroo, and then to Baldabella, indicated his wish for the exchange, and the two men who still held her readily resigned their captive, and ran up to take possession of the more valuable spoil, followed by the inhuman chief; after he had, with a vindictive countenance, spurned the poor child from him with his foot. The mother caught up her child and fled to her friends, prostrated herself before Arthur, and placed his foot on her neck; then rising, she resumed her usual dignified and graceful step, and fell into the rank with the rest of the party, who lost no time in moving forward, after Margaret had seen that the unfortunate victim of the chief's cruelty was kindly attended to by the woman who was her companion. "It were a burning shame," grumbled Wilkins, "to let them saucy niggers take off with that fine beast, and have to fast ourselves. For ye see, Master Hugh, that shot's flayed away all on 'em, and it may be long enough afore we light on 'em again." "Have some faith, my good man," said Mr. Mayburn. "We have been fed like the prophet in the wilderness, by miracle, let us not fear, God will still provide us with food." "At the present moment," said Arthur, "it would be imprudent to delay even to seek provisions. Our first consideration must be to move away from this part as quickly as possible, for I suspect these people will keep us in sight as long as they can." "Ay, master," said Wilkins, "they'll need ye to shoot beasts for 'em! Depend on't they'll dog us." This was an uncomfortable suspicion, and Margaret and Arthur talked and pondered deeply on plans and arrangements, almost regardless of the brilliant buds and blossoms that enchanted Mr. Mayburn. They walked on with regular and rapid steps over the flower-strewed ground, amidst the rich smell of the foliage and the flowers and the strange music of the woods. Kangaroos and emus were seen at some distance, but prudence forbade any delay for the chase, and they made no halt till extreme fatigue compelled them to rest on the side of a grassy hill, where the least wearied set out to search the bushes for nests. Some fine young birds supplied them with a good supper; eggs were now rarely found, but with these Ruth's fowls frequently supplied them. "Where next?" asked Margaret. "I think, Arthur, I can distinguish a deep-green line far distant to the south-east. May we not hope it indicates the situation of another river?" "We have ever been cheered, thank God," said Mr. Mayburn, "through all our pilgrimage, with continued benefits. We have never yet experienced the perils and privations of the desert, which has ever been supposed to exist in the interior of Australia." "Travellers in South Australia," replied Arthur, "have certainly met with those barren regions; but in this tropical country we have, indeed, enjoyed all the plenty which nature can bestow. At present we need water; but in the morning we will, if God permits, direct our course to the green belt we have seen. If we can again resume our canoe voyaging, it will be a great relief to us; and even if the river be dried up at present, we can take the bed for our guide, and may find pools of water for our daily use. But, my dear Margaret, I am ashamed to say I feel despondent when I reflect that this is January; the autumn rains may soon come on, and we have no idea where we can shelter you and dear papa from the fury of tropical storms." "I could soon run up a bit of a hut, with bark roofing," said Jack, briskly. "I am quite aware of that, Jack," answered Arthur, "and have much reliance on your skill and promptness. The great difficulty seems to be the selection of a site out of the observation of the treacherous and vindictive natives; or of one whom I dread still more, that vile bush-ranger, who appears to be tracking us for some evil purpose." "He has a spite again me, that's sartain, Mr. Arthur," said Wilkins. "Then, he'd like to put his hands on that gun; and there would be, likely, some pickings of things as would suit him, let alone money, that, like enough, ye'll have amang ye." "But what possible use can the misguided man have for money in a wilderness among savages?" asked Mr. Mayburn, in astonishment. "Why, not a deal of use just hereabouts," answered Wilkins; "but ye ken nought about bush-rangers, and all their rounds and changes. If Peter had cash, he'd be off to some of them far away bush publics; and there he'd have a grand tuck out, till he'd spent every rap, and be fresh to set out on a new hook. That's bush-ranging life, master." "And a fearful life it is in this world, Wilkins," said Mr. Mayburn; "but still more fearful as a preparation for the world to come. Thank God that you are rescued from it, my poor man." "Ay, I'se clear on't now," replied he, "thanks to ye, master; and, God be praised, there's no shame can stick to a fellow for turning round when he's got into a slough." "Not at all, Wilkins," said his good teacher; "the best Christians have sinned and repented; and to all it is said that they must through much tribulation enter the kingdom of God." The heart of Wilkins was enclosed in a rough husk, but the soil was not bad; the seed that was sown in it was not unfruitful, but was slowly coming to maturity. Early in the morning the pilgrims took the road towards the green belt they had observed the previous day; and though many tedious hours intervened before they reached it, they were rewarded by discovering that the belt of trees hung over the banks of a considerable river, narrow, but deep, with high rocky banks, so far above the level of the stream on the side on which they stood, that the water which they so much required was unattainable. This disappointment was vexatious, and they continued to pass along the edge of the cliff for some time in melancholy silence, till, at a very narrow part of the river, Jack stopped, and, pointing to a tall tree on the edge, proposed that they should cut it down, so that it should fall across the river and form a bridge. This would be an undertaking at once tedious and hazardous; but the advantage of placing the river between themselves and the inimical savages was obvious, as it was improbable that they should have the means of crossing. It was therefore agreed that they should make the experiment. They had found abundance of the wild oats on the plain, which were now quite ripe; and Ruth was busily employed in bruising the grain to make biscuits, while Jenny roasted potatoes in the ashes, and looked down on the river with longing eyes, for the tea-shrub was abundant round them, and nurse pined for her cup of tea again. Leaving the women thus engaged, the young woodcutters commenced their operations with their stone axes, though they had failed to render them very sharp, relieving each other at intervals; for in truth the cutting down a stout tree was not a little tiresome. But perseverance subdues great difficulties; at last the tree fell majestically, and rested securely on the opposite bank. Then the proud young workmen proceeded to lop the branches which stood in the way, levelling and smoothing the trunk as much as they were able, and running over it to prove its security; and, finally, Jack carried a rope across, attached to some of the erect boughs, to form a sort of hand-rail to satisfy the timid. With some persuasion, Mr. Mayburn was so far satisfied of the safety of the rude bridge, that he suffered himself to be led across; then Margaret and the two women were safely conducted over; Baldabella followed, looking with astonishment at their timidity, and tripping lightly along with her child upon her shoulder. When all had crossed, the rope was withdrawn and coiled up again, and, with the aid of levers and axes, the bridge was broken and cast down, to be floated away by the stream, that the savages might not have the advantage of it in their pursuit. The banks on which the travellers now stood were less precipitous than those they had left; they were clothed with bamboos and rushes, and in many places open down to the river, where they gladly procured the water of which they were so much in need. Then they continued to walk along a narrow muddy strand, looking with longing eyes at the smooth water, on which a canoe might have been paddled with so much less exertion than the continued labor of walking. It would soon be made, Jack declared; and, after a night's rest, all were ready to work, if the work were provided for them--the great point, as Jack said, being "to fall on the right sort of tree." Before they had finished another weary day's walk, they had "fallen on the right tree," barked it, and, uniting their efforts, formed and gummed two canoes. These required a day to be hardened for service, during which they made paddles, cut down the oat grass to serve for lining the canoes, after they had thrashed out the ripe grain. The women baked biscuits and boiled fish, with which the river abounded, collected some tea-leaves, and finished provisioning the boats. Next morning they were again seated in these very commodious canoes, delighted to rest after all their fatigues; for the labor of paddling on the smooth river was comparatively easy. They continued an uninterrupted voyage of many days, though they several times saw the smoke of fires rising from the brush on the north bank, and sometimes even heard the _coo-ee_ of the natives, which made them apprehensive that they were not unnoticed; but they satisfied themselves that their mode of travelling defied pursuit. They rarely landed more than once a day, usually on the south bank, where they often met with some small tributary stream, abounding in fish, and the adroit spearing of Baldabella always provided them with an abundant supply, sufficient for supper and breakfast. This fish was principally the fresh-water cod, as they named it, of very large size. Every morning after breakfast, before they embarked, they walked out to look round for some favorable spot to which they might retire during the approaching rains, but in vain. Still the high cliffs continued on one side of the river; and on the side where they wished to remain they still saw spread before them marshy plains. CHAPTER XIX. A _Cache_.--The Black Forest.--A Site for the Hut--The Eagles.--Gerald's Accident.--A Subterranean Grotto.--The Pitcher Plant.--A Potato Ground.--The Fig-tree.--Australian Jumbles.--The Hungry Guest. They began at last to be weary of the monotonous voyaging, and were glad, one morning, on ascending the banks, to see a change of scenery. The reedy swamps were replaced by rich grassy slopes, where tall trees and bright creeping blossoms, the fragrant golden flower of the _Acacia_ and the balmy odor from various trees of the _Eucalyptus_ kind, encouraged them to hope that they might find a retreat in such a pleasant region. "Halloo!" cried Wilkins. "Just all on ye step here, and take a good look at this here tree. We're not the first white folks as has had a look round hereabout. As sure as you're there, Mr. Arthur, there's a _catch_, as they call 't, under this same tree. Look ye, I kenned it all as soon as ever I set eyes on that there criss-cross, cut wi' an honest steel blade, I'se warrant it; and says I to mysel', our own folks has been here, and we'll just try a bit at their diggings; that's wi' yer leave, Mr. Arthur." Arthur hesitated; he certainly neither wished to commit, nor to connive at, a robbery; but he considered some information worth knowing might be found in the _cache_. He therefore sent to the canoes for shells, spades, and knives; and all the young men began to dig with as much earnestness and anxiety as if they had been the gold-diggers in the south of the country. "If we were to find a great nugget of gold," said Gerald. "I would rather find a good saw," said Jack. "Or an iron kettle," suggested Margaret. "I should like a telescope," said Hugh. "Now, nurse, what will you have?" asked Arthur. "Well then, Mr. Arthur, honey, if I must speak," answered nurse, "I would say a barrel of flour; but just as God pleases." "I feel it! I feel it!" cried Gerald, flinging away his knife in his ecstasy. "It is something hard." "Be very careful," said Arthur. "We must not damage the hidden stores. Whatever can it be? here are canisters and bags." "It'll be tea and sugar," cried Ruth, clapping her hands with delight. "Nay, nay, lass, what need for folks to bury tea and sugar?" said Wilkins. "Here's summut a deal better--powder and shot. And see here, Mr. Arthur, ye're a scholar; this'll be like her Majesty's ship's name on 'em." "There is, indeed," replied Arthur, "and the date when they were placed here, which is three years ago. I fear the owners will never return to claim them now." "All the better for us," said Wilkins. "There's nought here a bit worse, and it's all fair, ye ken, Mr. Arthur. Finders, keepers, all t' world round." Arthur looked inquiringly at his father. "The wisdom of the world, Wilkins," said Mr. Mayburn, "is not always the wisdom of God. But, in the case of this treasure-trove, Arthur, as the ammunition is certainly the property of her Majesty, lying useless here, I do think--Margaret, am I right?--I am of opinion that we may appropriate a part of this valuable deposit; leaving in the place a written acknowledgment of the loan. Then, if God spares us to have the opportunity, we must report our trespass to the Government." "I think you are right, dear papa," said Margaret; "but the temptation is so great, that perhaps we are none of us in a state to give impartial judgment." Wilkins, without listening to a word of the discussion, had taken on himself the responsibility of the offence, and was already actively engaged in moving off the bags and canisters to the boats. "Not more than we may need, remember, Wilkins," said Margaret. "And who's to say what we may need, miss," answered the man. "We've mony a hundred mile to trot yet, and some uglier customers than t' black fellows to come on afore we've done, and that's them hang-gallows bush-rangers." "We will compromise with our conscience," said Arthur, "by taking away half the store; and papa's portable writing-case will supply us with the means of making a brief statement and an apology." The note was written, enclosed in a bark case, and attached to one of the bags left in the hole; the soil was then restored, and the turf carefully replaced, so that no trace of the _cache_ might attract the natives. "They'd make a bonny kettle of fish, if they did come on 't," said Wilkins; "for ten to one they'd fling t' powder on t' fire, and then there'd not be mony on 'em left to talk about it." "We must take especial care to guard our cargo against fire," said Arthur; "and we have also another enemy to fear--the water--which might soon render our treasure useless. Therefore, the sooner we leave the boats, and 'take to the bush,' as Wilkins says, the better. This country certainly looks pleasant; but I should prefer a more woody and sheltered spot." "If you look directly south, Arthur," said Hugh, "you will see a black spot, which, I take it, must be a thick forest. It would make a good land-mark for us, if we leave the river. What do you say? must we aim for it?" Arthur directed his attention to Hugh's black forest, which certainly stood in the way they wished to go; and as there was no appearance of smoke, or even of former fires on the plains, there was some reason to think the district might not be frequented by the savages. These considerations decided them to abandon once more the easy canoe-voyaging, and, with the weighty addition to their burdens of the ammunition from the _cache_, they slowly set out. The plain was covered with rich high grass that would have fed thousands of cattle, but was now only tenanted by herds of graceful kangaroos and small detachments of tall stalking emus. The trees were populated with swarms of parrots, cockatoos, pheasants, and small warblers, and the air rang with their mingled notes, cheerful at least, if not harmonious. When the dark wood became fully visible to them, Margaret observed that Baldabella seemed startled and uneasy, and frequently paused as if reluctant to proceed. But when, after an hour's walk, the sombre thick forest spread before them, half a mile across, the woman turned round to Margaret with trembling limbs, and said in a faltering voice, pointing to the forest, "Good miss, no go; bad spirit kill all people; good master, Baldabella, all die. Bad spirit very angry, say no people go here." Margaret tried to reason with the terrified woman, who had now turned round to flee with her child; she appeared to be agitated in the highest degree, and when the child clung to Margaret, who turned to follow the rest, the distressed mother, wringing her hands, wailed in the most pathetic manner; till at length, with an air of sudden resolution, she drew herself up, with her usual dignity, and said,-- "Baldabella die, not leave good friends," and walked calmly on by the side of Margaret. Arthur had learned previously that the natives regarded a dark wood with superstitious awe; but he now concluded that Baldabella had some acquaintance with this particular spot, and that it was an object of fear to the natives. This was a circumstance which would render it still more desirable to the travellers as a place of seclusion; and when they came up close to the gloomy forest, they did not wonder at the superstitious dread of the ignorant savages. It seemed as if neither man nor beast, nor even the light of heaven, could penetrate the mysterious spot. Lofty trees, resembling the pine, the chestnut and the cypress, as closely ranged as it was possible for nature to plant them, were so interwoven and matted together, for the height of eight or ten feet with coiled thorny shrubs and creeping plants, that they formed an impenetrable fortress that seemed to defy the impotent attacks of man. "I wonder which of us is the favored prince who is to 'cut his bright way through,' this enchanted wood," said Gerald. "Here's an adventure, Hugh! Now for knives and axes!" "Do not be too hasty, boys," said Arthur. "It would be prudent to make the circuit of the wood first, in order to select the most accessible point. Besides," continued he, as they walked on, "I think we must proceed with caution. We will cut a low tunnel, the entrance to which can be easily closed, if we find it possible to remain here for a short season; and thus we shall leave no trace of our presence." "I shall be well content to remain here," said Mr. Mayburn, "amidst these noble and curious trees and shrubs. To study their varieties will sufficiently occupy and amuse me." "And I shall be satisfied to live in a hut," said Margaret, "however rude it may be, where we can have rest and peace; where we can repair our tattered garments, and perhaps make new boots to replace these worn fragments. But I fear our abode in the forest must be gloomy and depressing." "We can build a nest in the trees," said Gerald, "as the people did in the Swiss Family Robinson, and live in the cheerful society of parrots and cockatoos. That looks like the very fig-tree the family inhabited; let us choose it. See, it is covered with ripe figs that look very tempting. I should like to climb for some." "The fig-tree will not fly away, Gerald," said Arthur, "and just now we must all have more important employment. We must immediately commence our tunnel, for the air is more sultry than ever, and I have fancied more than once that I have heard the distant roll of thunder. I sincerely wish we had a shelter at hand. I must call on you, my friends, to halt at once. We will try this point." The part of the wood before which they had arrived, though quite impervious, was less thorny than any part they had yet passed, and therefore more easy to work, and they began to cut down the entangled brushwood for about four feet in height, and wide enough to admit the passage of one person only. The lopped branches were carefully collected, to be removed to the interior of the wood, when the path was completed; but their labor was long and tedious, for the forest could not be less than fifty yards in breadth. Fortunately after piercing it for twenty yards, they found the underwood less rank and entangled, and were satisfied with trampling it down to make the road smoother for the women. This wood terminated finally in a glade of extraordinary beauty, richly clothed with grass and studded with the gorgeous flowers of the tropical regions. This glade spread before them level for some distance, then gradually sloped upwards, thickly grown with wild oats, and then with brush, to a great height, the whole forming an isolated mountain, which was apparently flat at the summit. The young boys declared this must be the very abode of enchantment; and as the ascent was a succession of green terraces, they were all able, with some fatigue, but with little difficulty, to attain the highest ridge, when they saw, with some astonishment, that a few feet below them lay a basin or crater, covered with verdure--tall grass mingled with the usual thick brush. After gazing on it for a few minutes, Hugh said, "What a capital place for our hut. Margaret cannot call this height gloomy, for, by mounting the ridge, we can look over the forest and survey the whole country round us. Then the flowers are so gay and pleasant, and we shall see multitudes of birds. Do look, papa, at those two superb eagles that are soaring above our heads, and that doubtless have their eyrie somewhere in this mountain." But while they were gazing at the birds, O'Brien, who stood at some distance from them, was making ready his bow, and before they were aware of it he had skilfully sent an arrow into one of the eagles, which fell fluttering and screaming among the brushwood. "Victory! victory!" he cried, looking round for Mr. Mayburn. "Did you see me shoot the eagle, papa?" "I saw and admired the magnificent creatures, Gerald," answered Mr. Mayburn; "and I deeply grieved to see one fall by your hand. It was no victory, but a wanton cruelty. You have destroyed the noble bird for no useful purpose, and my heart is afflicted to observe the distress of the attached mate. See how he circles round the spot which has left him bereaved and lamenting. I am forcibly reminded of the powerful words of one of our modern classical poets, who, in describing such a tragical bereavement, writes,-- 'She whom he mourns Lies dying, with the arrow in her side, In some far stony gorge, out of his ken, A heap of fluttering feathers: never more Shall the lake glass her flying over it; Never the black and dripping precipices Echo her stormy scream as she sails by!'" "I thought you would have liked to possess the bird, papa," said Gerald, "and I am really sorry for the widowed mate. I feel quite uncomfortable to see the old fellow soaring round me and uttering, I have no doubt, violent abuse. But I may as well recover my game, that you may gratify your curiosity by examining an Australian eagle." "I saw it fall just behind yon yellow-flowered shrub, which looks so like our own English furze," said Hugh. Gerald dashed forward into the bush to search for his prize, while Margaret and her father examined with great satisfaction the rich table-land, and Jack pointed out a favorable site for a wattled, bark-roofed hut, which, he asserted, might be easily constructed in a couple of days. But while they were discussing this important affair, they were alarmed by a loud cry from Gerald, "Help, help! the enchanter has got me! Come, Arthur, by yourself, and throw me a rope!" All were in alarm, and where to throw the rope was the question, for the boy was not to be seen. Arthur and Jack, with a pole and ropes, stepped lightly over the bushes, expecting to find Gerald plunged in a marsh. His cries directed them to a spot, where they saw only his head and one arm clinging to a bush. "Take care what you are about," said he; "I have slipped into a hole, and perhaps there may be more like it. You had better just slide the pole along till I can catch it, and then, perhaps, I may manage to raise myself. The worst is, I hear that furious eagle, fluttering and hissing just below me, and I am every moment in fear lest she should attack me, and peck my legs to revenge her wrongs." With the aid of the rope and the pole, and the exertions of his friends, Gerald scrambled to a safe spot in the bushes, and then they all took a survey of the cave, or grotto, that lay below; and were so much interested by it, that they resolved to explore it at once. Jack volunteered to make the first expedition, and began by attaching the rope to a stout bush to facilitate his descent, and taking with him the pole to test the security of the ground below. The floor of the cave was not more than twelve feet below the opening, and Jack looked round to find himself in a large grotto, floored with dry white sand; the rocky sides were garlanded with creeping plants, and it was lighted by many apertures above, similar to that through which Gerald had fallen, and, like that, almost covered with brushwood. Dark branch-caves ran from this airy grotto, into which they penetrated for a few yards, to satisfy themselves that it was uninhabited; and, from the observations he made, Arthur could not but believe the whole was of volcanic origin, and, in fact, a portion of the crater of an exhausted volcano. "We may find a capital magazine here for the powder," said Jack; "and this light part will make a kitchen for the women folks while we are building the hut Think you, Mr. Arthur, I should make them a ladder? They'll hardly like swinging down by a rope." Arthur thought they would certainly not like such a mode of descent, and the ladder was decided on. Then he ventured to draw near the screaming eagle to endeavor to extract the arrow from his wing, but the bird made such fierce returns for his kindness, that he was compelled to retreat, and wait for a more favorable moment for the operation; and in the mean time, the youths ascended to report the discovery of the cave. Wilkins had been employed in cutting down and bringing up the ascent a quantity of the wild oats, and Margaret and her father were found standing by a pool of clear water, which, though now somewhat shallow, would doubtless contain an abundant supply after the rain. Around this pond Mr. Mayburn had found many new and beautiful flowers, and, as soon as he was satisfied of O'Brien's safety, he hastened to point out one of his most valued acquisitions. "Observe, my dear children," said he, "one of the most curious plants ever discovered, _Cephalotus follicularis_, one of the pitcher-plants, so named from the peculiar-form of the delicate white blossoms. You perceive that these _pitchers_ on the strong footstalk contain water--in this are some drowned insects. Hence, some writers have asserted that these flowers are used by the larger insects of prey as receptacles for their food. But we must see that this accumulated moisture is to preserve the plant in its beauty during the long dry season." "Could we not plant potatoes here?" asked Margaret. "In this genial climate we might soon raise a crop, and our stock is now very low." "Of course we can, Meggie," said Hugh. "I understand the habits of our _solanum_. This light, dry, fresh soil will exactly suit it. Come, Gerald, let us lose no time in marking off and clearing our potato-ground, before the rains stop us. That will be more useful than shooting eagles." They were all gratified with the discovery of the cave, and anxious to see it, but were induced to wait till a ladder was made, which was to be commenced as soon as a party had returned to the wood to fill up the mouth of the tunnel. For this purpose they used part of the lopped branches, which they arranged so artfully, that no one could suspect a breach had been made. The remainder of the brushwood was to be conveyed up the mountain for firewood. After this, Hugh and Gerald made a foray in an immense fig-tree, dispersing the feathered tenants, and carrying off a large stock of the ripe fruit. The rest returned, laden with firewood and wild oats. Then Jenny made them some tea, and cakes of bruised oats, mixed with the plentiful but insipid juice of the figs. These cakes were baked in the ashes, and much enjoyed by the ever keenly hungry boys, who named the dark hard biscuits Australian jumbles. Before night should put an end to their labors, Jack and the young boys cut down a slender tree, resembling the pine, to make a ladder; and Margaret, with the help of Wilkins, pared off the turf, dug a large plot of ground, and planted it with potatoes. Then, worn out with a day of extreme toil, the wayfarers rested beneath a threatening sky, in the heated atmosphere which indicated an approaching storm. A few drops of rain at daybreak roused up the whole family to prompt activity. "It's no time to start and build to-day," said Wilkins. "Wait a bit; here's a storm ower our heads; or, if ye want work, what say ye to sinking yon bit pond a foot deeper? it holds nought, and when t' rain falls it'll overflow and half drown us, if we don't mind." Arthur thought it was a more prudent plan to dig another pond or reservoir, rather deeper than the original one, and make a channel between the two. They should thus secure a supply of water, and prevent their potato ground from being washed away by a sudden flood. "And, now that the ladder is finished," said Margaret, "it would be better that papa and I should descend at once into this subterranean grotto, and make it ready for our temporary abode, till you are able to build a hut; for there is certainly a prospect of rain falling to-day." "Come along," cried Gerald, "that I may usher you into my newly-discovered dominions. Now, Ruth, we shall have you safe; you will have few opportunities of committing mischief when you are below the earth. Come and descend into the burning mountain, and take care you don't fight with my eagle." "Oh! master, is't true--is't a burning mountain?" asked Ruth, in terror. "It has been a volcano," answered Mr. Mayburn, "but, in all probability, exhausted, hundreds of years ago. It is now, as you see, a beautiful wilderness." Ruth did not regard the beauty of the spot; she saw only, in her mind's eye, the red flames pouring from Mount Vesuvius, as depicted in a gaudy picture-book she had seen in her childhood. "Oh, please, Miss Marget," she exclaimed, "stay up here! don't go down into that hole; it'll, maybe, break out again, and we'll all be burnt alive." But Margaret remonstrated, the boys laughed and Jenny scolded; and, finally, Jack brought Ruth down to the range of subterranean apartments, where Margaret and Jenny soon planned dormitories, kitchen, and store-rooms. A large alcove was to be the chapel, and the light bowery grotto beneath the entrance was to be the drawing-room,--at least, till the heavy rains should compel them to seek more effectual shelter. Here they collected stones for seats, and rolled into the midst a large piece of rock for a table, upon which was spread the breakfast of tea and oat-cakes, at present their only provision. Mr. Mayburn was delighted to have the opportunity of inspecting so nearly the wounded, but still fierce eagle, with its shining black plumage; and he judged it was that known as _Aquila Fucoso_. It was in vain, however, to attempt a close examination till Wilkins and Jack, after some struggling, and a few severe pecks, succeeded in holding it till Arthur extracted the arrow from the wing, and saw that nature would probably heal the wound in a few days. In the mean time the bird was starving, for it rejected with disdain the farinaceous food offered to it; and Hugh and Gerald promised, as soon as the reservoir was completed, to set out and shoot some small birds or opossums, for their hungry guest. CHAPTER XX. The Reservoir.--The Rains.--The Native Companion.--The Employments of Prison Life.--The Unlucky Chase.--Jack's Tale of Trouble.--Black Peter's Temptations.--The Release of the Eagle.--The Rescue Party. The reservoir was six feet deep and ten feet in diameter, and was lined with flat stones from the interior of the cave, where large slabs were scattered round. This was not completed in one day, and on the second morning, while Wilkins and Jack finished the work, and, after digging a trench, laid down a spout of bark between the ponds, Hugh and Gerald went down to the wood below, to shoot birds. But before the end of the day the workmen were driven to shelter by the violent rain; and the two boys returned, drenched to the skin, and laden with pheasants, cockatoos, and a wild turkey, as large as an English Christmas turkey, and resembling that bird so much, that the name was considered not inappropriate. They had, thus, a handsome dinner for themselves, and abundance of food for the hungry and somewhat tamed eagle. They were seated at their late repast when the storm began in earnest; tremendous peals of thunder rolled through the immense hollows of the mountain, and seemed to shake the very rocks from their foundation. Ruth screamed and looked round in distraction, expecting the eruption of the volcano was at hand; and even the proud eagle trembled to hear the voice of the skies. Then the rain came down in torrents, showering through the leafy coverings of numerous apertures above them, and driving them back into the gloomy security of the solid rocks; grateful for even that dismal retreat in the sudden storm. "We need not remain in the dark, though we are in the crypt," said Hugh. "Come, Gerald, let us light some flambeaux, and fix them on the walls; then, with all these trailing garlands suspended from above, we may fancy ourselves in a ball-room." The caverns were lighted up, and then every one found employment. Mr. Mayburn produced the head and neck of the turkey, which he contemplated with much interest. "It certainly must be the bird described as the _Wattled Talegalla_, Arthur," said he, "and which is considered to represent the turkey in Australia; the red skin of the head, bright orange wattle, and large disproportionate feet, prove the fact; and I am gratified that you have obtained a specimen of it." "We are all gratified, papa," said Margaret, "for it is the most useful and delicious bird we have yet found in this ornithological paradise." The boys employed themselves in thrashing the wild oats, storing the grain in bags, and then arranging the straw for mattrasses--a perfect luxury to them, after they had for so long slept on the bare ground. They had their knives and axes, and abundant material in the boughs and spare pieces of the tree that was cut down for the ladder; and, to fill up the time, Jack presided over a school of art, where the ingenious and active employed heads and hands, and produced some articles of great use. Margaret took the opportunity to teach lessons of civilization and religion to the lively little Nakinna, and, through the child, poured the words of truth into the heart of the mother. Wilkins, who was miserable when unemployed, good-naturedly assisted Jenny and Ruth in various household matters, made a stone hearth for the fire, helped to cook, piled up the dry fuel, contrived a wattled niche for the fowls, and went out through the rain to bring in water, when needed. Three or four days were thus passed in contented seclusion, the storm still continuing unabated; then, though the rain fell incessantly, the prisoners began to be weary, and to have a great desire to visit the world above. They engaged to bring in fresh provisions, if Jenny would provide dry clothes for them on their return from their foraging expedition; and with bows, arrows, axes, and game-bags, Wilkins, Jack, and the three boys set out, delighted to return to the light, and to the pure air of heaven, and enjoying even the cool rain. "Do, Arthur, look at those tall birds with the crimson crest and huge wooden-looking beak," said Hugh. "One of them would be as useful as the turkey was, for a dinner dish. I suppose we must call them storks; though they are really, to us, among the anonymous creatures of this strange new world." "Ye may find t' like of them all over," said Wilkins. "Folks down at t' colony calls 'em 'native companions;' they trust ye, poor rogues, as if ye were their brother; ye might just walk up to yon fellows, and wring their necks." "Which I should certainly object to do, Wilkins," answered Hugh. "I could not make up my mind to wring the neck, or to feed on, 'mine own familiar friend.' We will be content to reduce the multitude of the noisy impertinent cockatoos and parrots; or suppose, Arthur, we descend to the glade below, where we can cut more wood, and shoot some opossums for our aquiline guest. The skins will make us splendid cloaks to wear this rainy season." And, careless of the wet plunge, the joyous youths descended through the brushwood, and reaching the verdant glade, they shot as many opossums as they wished; filled some bags with ripe figs, and finally, after a long chase, and many a fall on the moist slippery ground, they secured a wandering kangaroo of large size, which, in distress of weather, had by some means found its way into this enclosed retreat. Jack had in the mean time barked a tree of the _Eucalyptus_ species, and tying the cumbrous spoil with a rope, he drew it after him up the mountain. Wilkins shouldered the kangaroo, and the rest, equally laden, toiled through the bushy, moist, sloping wood, and arrived safely at the cave, to diffuse amusement and contentment among their expecting friends, and to furnish more employment for their enforced leisure time. They were all invested in dry garments; then Jack examined his prize, and said,-- "Just look at this bark, Mr. Arthur. I have seen none yet so firm and hard; it is completely an inch plank, fit for any sort of work. I could make a light wagon of it, if we had any animals to draw it; and, anyhow, I'll set about a table and some seats, directly, and then I'll try some buckets, and dishes, and such-like things. Now's the time for work, when there's no walking." For many days the ample supply of provisions, and the amusement of occupation, reconciled the young men to the gloomy seclusion of their retreat. During this time a square piece of bark, flattened and smoothed with sharp stones, was placed on four posts, for a table; long slips similarly supported, formed stools and benches. Trenchers, dishes, buckets, and bowls, certainly somewhat rude in form, were next finished, the gum which exuded from many trees near them supplying them plentifully with an admirable cement. There is a charm to civilized minds in being surrounded with the appliances and arrangements of domestic life; and the women became reconciled, and even attached to their monotonous existence--especially when an occasional cessation of rain permitted them to live in the front portion of the cave, which was rendered pleasant and cheerful by the subdued light through the foliage. A day of fair weather tempted the young men to leave their confinement, and not only to descend to the enclosed glade below, but to venture to break through the charmed circle of the wood, and have a scamper over the plains after the kangaroos and emus which frequented it. And on the margin of a chain of pools, newly filled by the recent rains, they once more saw the tall native companion, amid swarms of wild ducks; while, from among the wild oats whirred flocks of small beautiful birds resembling the quail, but with an elegant crest. They filled their game-bags with birds, and a troop of kangaroos appearing in sight, they were tempted to pursue them for a considerable time. At last the animals sought refuge in a spreading thick wood, into which Wilkins and Jack, with axes and spears, followed them. The young boys in the mean time were engaged in chasing a pair of emus; till, weary and unsuccessful, they turned away in disappointment, to join the kangaroo hunters. But just at that moment they were struck with the vexatious sound of the _coo-ee_ of the natives, which proceeded from the wood where the kangaroos had sheltered. This alarming cry decided them--especially as Arthur was without his rifle--to return without delay, that they might close the tunnel entrance of their abode. Keeping as much as possible under the shelter of the trees, they quickly made their way over the plains to the Black Forest, Gerald frequently looking back; at last he said, "Jack and Wilkins are not yet in sight, shall I turn back to seek them, Arthur, or must I give them a halloo?" "Neither, my dear fellow," answered Arthur. "However unkind it may seem, we must not risk the discovery of our retreat by attracting the natives to our heels. Wilkins and Jack must have heard the _coo-ee_ as well as we; and have most likely hid themselves till the savages have passed and they can return to us safely. We must keep open, but guard, the entrance till we see them return. Now, go on, boys; take the game-bags to the cave, and then quietly bring away my rifle and cartridge-case, without saying a word about this vexatious incident. Till you return I will conceal myself behind the bushes, and watch for the return of our two absentees." The boys hastened to the cave, to fulfil their mission; and leaving their bags, which contained some of the pretty quails, to divert the attention of Mr. Mayburn and Margaret, they returned to watch silently and anxiously, ready to close the entrance as soon as their friends returned, or if they should be alarmed by the approach of the natives. Gerald climbed a tree, that he might command the plains more effectually, and, from this elevated situation, he startled Arthur by crying out,-- "Oh, Arthur! he is killed! I know he is killed! Dear old fellow, we shall never see him more! There is only Jack." "Who is killed? What do you see? Do speak plainly, Gerald," said Arthur, hastily. "I see him coming by himself," answered the distracted boy. "I mean I see Jack; not Wilkins. It's quite sure they must have killed him; Jack never would have left him, if he was living." The two boys below were now almost as much agitated as Gerald, for they plainly saw Jack hurrying across the plain alone, and when he drew near, Arthur was quite sure, from his pale and sorrowful countenance, that some heavy misfortune had occurred. He plunged into the open tunnel, and then said, "Close it directly if you please, Mr. Arthur; I am so bad, I can do nothing." "But Wilkins! where is Wilkins, Jack?" asked Hugh. Jack burst into tears as he said, "Oh, Master Hugh! the bad rogues have got him; and all I could think on, I couldn't help him." "Are there any hopes? Do you think they will murder him?" asked Arthur, trembling. "I think not, Mr. Arthur," answered Jack; "but I'll tell you all about it as soon as we've closed up this gap, and tried to keep them safe that are left." The distressed boys hastened to restore the barrier with particular care; and then, as they slowly proceeded homeward, Jack related his melancholy adventure. "We had got quite into the thick of the wood after that unlucky capering beast, when all at once that queer call of the black fellows rung into our ears. 'We're in for it now, and no mistake, my lad,' said Wilkins to me. 'Just you thrust yourself into that cover, and I'll listen a bit, to make out their whereabouts.' I forced myself into a thicket, matted together, for about six feet upwards, as thick as this wood round us. You had to fight for every inch of way; and I kept thinking all along that he was following me, but he was not. You know, Mr. Arthur, he is a good bit stouter than I am, and my fancy is that he had fought and rustled among the bushes till he'd been found out; for first I heard a dog growl, and then I heard his voice, speaking such words as he has never said of late--an oath, Mr. Arthur; then followed such yells! and I knew they had got him. "Well, my first thought was to make my way out, that I might help him; but just then I got a sight of all the gang of them through the bushes. There could not be less than a hundred; and, worst of all, though he was naked, and painted like a savage, I made out at once that bad fellow, Black Peter, among them. Four men had hold of Wilkins. They had taken away his knife and spears, and Peter was taunting him, as they pulled him along. I heard him say, 'Thou wast a fool, Wilkins, to stop so long with them preaching folks; I thought thou'd a bit more spirit--thou, that aimed to take a spell at bush-ranging, like a man. But thou'll come along with us now, and thou'lt find we're a bit jollier than yon smooth, long-faced dogs.' "Then Wilkins spoke out and said, 'I reckon my comrades were somewhat better than thine, Peter. Anyhow, we managed to keep clothes to our backs.' "The sly rogue tried to get round poor Wilkins then, and went on, 'That's just to please those black rogues, Wilkins; but, man, we're off down south just now, to pick up stock, and cash too. Then we'll get good clothes; and as soon as we've done with them, we'll rid ourselves of these black fools, and have a grand jollification out of our money. There'll be some fun in that, man. And have these comrades of thine any cash or stuff worth lifting? I'd like that other gun they carried, and, anyhow, some powder and shot. I hav'n't a grain left--all blazed away after such game as that,'--and the good-for-nothing fellow pointed to the poor black natives, that didn't understand a word he had been saying. "Wilkins muttered some words, very low, that I couldn't catch; but I fancy he didn't tell truth, for Peter went on to say and swear that he would soon be on our track, for we couldn't get far in these rains; and that Wilkins needn't think to join us, for he would take care and keep him in a safe place--a snuggery, he called it. "I made up my mind that I would see what and where this snuggery was; and when the men had passed on, and were out of hearing, I cautiously tracked them to a place in the midst of the wood, which they had cleared by burning down the trees, for there lay the blackened stumps; and a crying sin it was, Mr. Arthur, to waste so much good timber. On one side there was a great rock, into which they dragged poor Wilkins, through a small opening, and I saw no more of him; but I think they meant to do him no harm, for there's little doubt Peter wants him to be useful to him. Wilkins is a shrewd fellow, moreover; and I feel sure he'll try to get away from them. But if they have him, as it were, in prison, what do you say, Mr. Arthur, shouldn't we help him?" "Certainly, I think we are bound to do so," said Arthur. "But we must hold a council, for we shall have to act with consideration and caution if we venture to leave our fortress." There was great distress in the family, and many tears were shed when the adventure was communicated to them; for, notwithstanding the former errors of Wilkins, and his yet unsubdued passions, he was much beloved for his kind nature and his attachment to his true friends. Mr. Mayburn himself even gave his sanction to an expedition for the purpose of attempting the rescue of Wilkins, if he did not return to them in a day or two. But for many days after this the rain fell so incessantly that it was impossible to leave their shelter, even though all their provisions were exhausted except the valuable grain, and a scanty supply of eggs from the domestic fowls. To these they were able occasionally to add the fruit of a large tree which grew in the glade below, bearing huge pods; each pod contained several almond-shaped seeds, which were enclosed in shells. These nuts were now ripe; they tasted like filberts, and were a very agreeable and nutritious addition to their spare diet. The wounded eagle, now quite sound, was an object of great interest to the prisoners: its nature was so fierce, that Arthur despaired of its ever becoming tamed; but it submitted to their approach when their object was to bring it food--usually the entrails of the birds, which had been reserved for it. But seeing the untamable nature of the bird, and Margaret, especially, having great compassion on its mate, it was agreed to restore it to liberty; though O'Brien declared the royal bird would doubtless, before this, have chosen another queen. One morning there was an intermission of rain; and the opportunity was taken to release the captive from the bonds which secured its legs. The leafy covering was at the same time removed from the opening above, and the glorious light allowed to stream into the cave. The sight of the sky and the sensation of freedom roused the energy of the bird, and, with a joyous fluttering of the wings, it raised itself from the ground, soared round the confined spot for a minute, then, bursting through the opening, rose proudly to a height above, and after some gyrations, as if to test its recovered powers, it sailed away beyond the sight of its hospitable protectors, of whom two--Jenny and Ruth--rejoiced greatly at the departure of a guest so voracious. "My bonnie hens had to be pinched for that great ugly creature," said Ruth, "when now two are laying every day, and one has been sitting this fortnight; and she's sure to be lucky, Miss Marget, for I set her on thirteen eggs; two of 'em, to be sure, were not her own; Master Hugh fetched 'em in to make up a lucky cletch." "Yes," said Hugh, "I should think it was perhaps the first time that an English hen has had the honor of hatching the eggs of the _Cuculus Phasianus_." In due time Ruth's chickens were hatched, to the great amusement of the inmates of the cave; they were carefully tended and out of reach of danger, and seemed likely to be reared prosperously, the English family fraternizing with the Australian intruders most agreeably. A second day of fair weather determined the anxious young men to set out in search of poor Wilkins, lest the savages should have left their fastnesses in the rock, to follow their leader in his bush-ranging excursions. Day after day they had mounted high trees to scan the plain, in hopes of seeing their lost companion, or observing the departure of his captors; but no human form was seen, and Arthur felt assured that if Wilkins had effected his escape, nothing would have prevented him from making his way through the Black Forest to join them. It was resolved to take the rifle, with sufficient ammunition to disperse the savages, and also all the weapons they possessed for, in all probability, it would be necessary to storm the fortress. Jack and the three boys were intended to be the whole force; but Baldabella so earnestly entreated that she might accompany them that they were induced to admit her into the train. She could throw a boomerang or spear better than any of them; her sympathy was excited for Wilkins, who had always been her protector; and her knowledge of the habits and the language of the people might make her very useful to them. CHAPTER XXI. The Approach to the Prison.--Baldabella's Stratagem.--The Release of the Captive.--Wilkins's Tale of Trials.--A Well.--The Potato Crop.--The Flying Opossum.--The Salt Plant.--Preparations for a Siege. Cautiously and quietly the party wound, under the cover of the trees and bushes, across the plain, till they reached the wood that enclosed the abode of the savages. Then the peril increased. Jack led the way, and one after another they followed, step by step, through, under, or over the matted brush; and, finally, the leader placed his party in a position where they could all command a view of the rocky cave, though they stood at a short distance from each other. On the cleared ground before the cave two women were seated, bruising nuts between two stones; and several children were playing round them. The anxious young men watched for some minutes, but none of the men appeared; then Baldabella proposed to go forward to introduce herself to the women, her friends promising to rescue her if they attempted to detain her. Disencumbering herself from the light robe she condescended to wear in civilized life, and retaining only her cloak of furs, she took her fish-spear in her hand, and penetrated to a distant part of the wood, from whence she made her appearance on the charred glade, many yards from the ambush of her friends, and with slow steps, counterfeiting great fatigue, she walked up to the women, to demand, as she had arranged with her friends, food and repose. As soon as they perceived her, the women rose and looked round anxiously, and the young men expected every moment to hear the signal call for them; but the solitary feeble form of Baldabella seemed to re-assure them. She drew near and talked for some minutes to her dark sisters; and the soft and pathetic inflections of her voice convinced the concealed party that she was appealing to that compassionate feeling which is ever so strong in the heart of woman. The women listened, and invited the stranger to sit down by them; they fed her with the rich kernels of the nuts, and, the rain beginning to fall again, they took her with them into the cave for shelter. How anxiously the young men waited, at one moment prompted to burst out and free the captive, who seemed to have no gaoler but the women, and then resolving to leave the whole affair to the shrewd management of Baldabella. Arthur was anxiously examining the state of his rifle and ammunition, which he had carefully shielded beneath his fur cloak, when they were roused to force their way through the bush by the loud and triumphant voice of Wilkins, the low and apparently smothered _coo-ee_ of the women, and, finally, by the appearance of Baldabella, rushing wildly from the cave, followed by Wilkins, excited, tattered, and emaciated. He carried a gun in his hand, and staggered up to his friends as if intoxicated. "Take this, and load it directly," said he, giving Hugh the gun. "My hands are so cramped wi' them tough bands, that it'll be long afore I have any use on 'em. Rascals! rogues! Come on, I say; march while we can; yon screeching jins will soon bring a wasp's-nest round us." Not caring for caution now, they hacked and burst through the thick wood, till they reached the plain; and then the _coo-ee_ of the duped women rang alarmingly on their ears, and was soon answered by a faint and distant cry from the absent men. Poor Wilkins, whose legs had been bound till they were numbed, made but slow progress; and Arthur ordered O'Brien and Jack, with Baldabella, to move rapidly forward, to guard, or, if necessary, to close the pass, while Hugh and he protected the slow retreat of Wilkins. They made no use of their arms till they saw the whole body of the savages appear outside the wood, and spears were falling round them. Then Hugh and Arthur fired their guns simultaneously into the midst of the foes, who plunged screaming into the woods. Two men lingered outside, but another volley from the second barrel, struck down one, and his companion disappeared in a moment. "Now, Mr. Arthur," cried Wilkins, as he hurried forward, "now don't ye trust 'em. They're watching us; we'se be done if we make straight to our cutting. They're sharp-eyed chaps; we'se have to bubble 'em a bit." Wilkins was right; and though it occupied some time, they made the circuit of the forest, before they ventured to enter; after which, they lost no time in closing up the opening with great art and care. Then the rescued prisoner was conducted to the cave, welcomed with great joy, fresh clad, and fed with pheasant, biscuit, and the unfailing tea; and his friends gathered round him to hear the tale of his hardships and trials. "Ay, ay! this is all as it ought to be," said he; "and God be thanked I'se out on t'clutches of them unnat'ral dogs. They tied me hand and foot, all 'cause I couldn't be made to swear as how I'd turn bush-ranger, and start by robbing and murdering them as had cared for me and given me meat and claithes and good advice. That brute Peter bullied me, and kicked me when he knew I was tied fast; and he'd have put a knife into me, but likely he thought to bring me into his ways; and he were feared his blackeys might turn round on him, for they'd no ill blood again me. Then he ordered as how I were to have nought given me to eat, and sure enough I'd been starved afore this; but them poor jins, 'whiles, popped a few bites into my mouth, and brought me a sup of water, when I were like to go mad for want on't. A hempen rope wouldn't have held me, afore I lost my strength; but them stringy bark cords are like iron. "It were dowly wark, and mony and mony a time, master, I thought over your words, and all my bad life, and my coward's death, and God's judgment to come. And then and there I settled it in my mind, if He pleased to set me free again, I'd niver swear another oath, I'd niver tell another lie, and I'd niver miss praying for strength, when bad thoughts came into my mind. I see, Miss, ye'r crying over my black sins, and well ye may, God help me. After this, I felt a bit more cheery, and I were sure some on ye would see after me; but I niver reckoned on her to be t'first, and were quite stunned when I saw her come in with t'other jins. But I plucked up my heart; I kenned she'd mind my words, and I just said,-- "'Yer knife--cut these ropes!' and as sharp as a needle she was up to me, pulled out a knife from under her cloak, and cut me loose. But poor creaters as we are, I couldn't move arm or leg for a good bit, and her there, hauding a hand on one woman's mouth, and a hand on t' others, flayed as how they'd shrike out, till I come round a bit, and got my arms worked round from behind me, and my feet to shuffle on. Then I thanked God in my heart, and off we came, and here we are; God bless ye all. I'se niver leave ye, whiles I have life. But, Mr. Arthur, we're not safe; Peter's a cunning fish." "There's one comfort, Wilkins," said Arthur; "they do not like to face the heavy rain, which is now very welcome; and before it ceases, we must make ready for a siege; unfortunately, we want provisions." Ruth placed herself uneasily before her poultry hutch, and Wilkins said, "There's lots of pigeons amang yon trees; I can soon trap a lot, and fetch 'em down here alive, and we'll fit up a dove-cote, and have tame birds to eat. We'se be forced to care nought for a drop of rain, but set off and forage about inside of t' wood." To be besieged in a subterranean cave, from whence there was no retreat, was truly an alarming prospect; and several plans of fortification and defence were projected during the continuance of the heavy rain; while, regardless of the weather, the active youths left the cave to forage for stores, and to survey the plains that divided them from their enemies. "Do look at our potatoes, Arthur," said Hugh; "how they have sprung up the last month. In another week they will be fit to eat, and we shall have a plentiful crop of these useful roots." Though they saw all was still on the moist plain, they did not venture beyond the wood, but easily procured birds, figs, and oats in abundance; and after Wilkins had placed his traps for pigeons, and Hugh had taken up a root of the still small potatoes, they returned to the cave, heavily laden with good things. Day after day they brought in fruit and grain to add to the stores, and captured a number of fine pigeons, for which Jack wattled off a niche in the cave, and they were supplied with grass and brushwood for nests, and grain for food, to induce them to settle quietly. It was impossible in this climate to keep animal food eatable for more than two days; but so long as they had grain and potatoes they knew that they could live, provided they could secure a constant supply of water. This was their most perplexing difficulty; and even amidst the rain the stony lining of the reservoir was taken up that they might bore the ground beneath it with long poles. Up to the waist in water, they bored ineffectually for an hour, the pole always striking against the solid rock. At length the pole passed through, there was an accidental opening in the rock, and the party who watched in the caves below, saw, with delight, the water trickle through into a recess some distance from the entrance. Then they all descended, to sink a well in the soft sandy floor of the cave, which they lined with slabs, and looked on with pleasure as this little reservoir gradually filled from the pool above, which the continual rains kept constantly filled with water. It was ten days before all these labors were fully accomplished; then a dry day succeeded, and every hand was actively employed in digging up, carrying off, and storing the potatoes, which were of good size, and an abundant crop. They had made a number of bags of a flexible bark for containing stores; but now so many were filled that Margaret was afraid, if they had to set out soon, they should be unable to carry all off. Then, after ascertaining the undisturbed solitude of the plain beyond the wood, Arthur and Wilkins set out in hopes of procuring a change of food; but no kangaroos or emus were in sight, and they feared to venture far from their place of refuge. They shot some opossums, filled one bag with the leaves of the tea-shrub, at the particular request of Jenny, and another with the leaves of a salt plant, which seemed to have sprung up after the rain, and which Arthur was glad to carry off, that he might try an experiment of which he had read. "But, I say, Mr. Arthur," said Wilkins, "we've gone and made a bad job of it; just look ye here, we've niver thought that we were leaving a track, and here it is on this plashy bog, and no mistake. We might just as well have hung out a sign-post, to ask blacky to walk in." Arthur was much vexed at his own carelessness, but he saw nothing could now be done but to endeavor to confuse the track as much as possible, and he arranged with Wilkins that they should separate, branch off in different directions, and finally they made a circuit opposite to each other round the wood, that the weak point might not be discovered. "Ye see, Mr. Arthur," said Wilkins before they separated, "if Peter has an inkling that we're aback of these trees, he'd soon cut his way through, with a bit of help. But then, them fools of black fellows are as bad as our fond lass Ruth; they're flayed out of their wits of this wood, and they'll be shy of coming nigh hand it. I ken a good bit of their talk, ye see, but I'se a bad hand at framing their queer chirruping words. I heard 'em tell of bad sperrits as haunted this wood. But Black Peter's set on getting haud of t' master's money, and guns, and powder, and such like, and he's not good to put down. I seed Master Hugh's rifle as soon as they pulled me into that hole, and kept an eye on't. It were no use to them, for they'd no powder; and I said to myself, if God please to loose me, that gun goes wi' me." They then parted to move round the dark forest, and during his walk, Arthur was alarmed to see smoke from the wood in which the cave of the savages lay; and before he reached the opening, he heard their curious and unwelcome cry, which proclaimed that the foe was near, and he feared, watching their movements, and now deeply regretted that they had left their retreat. Gladly they returned to it, and doubly secured the entrance, determining to keep an incessant watch, lest they should be surprised in their citadel. On their return they found that Jack, assisted by Hugh and Gerald, had formed an oven, lined with slabs, on the hearth where the cooking-fire was usually made, and Jenny was preparing cakes of bruised oats, and a pigeon-pie made in a large oyster-shell, and covered with potatoes, to be baked in the new oven. The flesh of the opossum was not relished by any of the party. Jenny declared she would just as soon eat a monkey; Ruth was afraid to touch one, even before it was cooked; and Mr. Mayburn, after a long lecture to prove that the flesh must certainly be wholesome, from the habits and the vegetable diet of the class of animals to which it belonged, concluded by declining, himself, to eat of it. "Nevertheless," he said, "I am not prejudiced by the vulgar error of confounding this little creature with the ugly opossum of America, to which it bears no resemblance, except in its marsupial formation and its playful habits. In fact, the graceful form, delicate color, and extraordinary agility of this beautiful animal, seem to rank it rather with the squirrels; and from the lateral folds of membrane, which it has the power to expand, in order to support its flying leaps through the air, it has been named by some travellers the 'flying squirrel,' though distinct from the American squirrel, and, like all the quadrupeds of the country, exclusively Australian." The pretty delicate gray skins were carefully preserved, to be sewed together for cloaks; and the hungry boys did not disdain a stew of opossums, which they declared was quite as good as rabbit. But previous to the cookery, Arthur showed his father the new salt-shrub; and the large and peculiar form of the leaves enabled them to decide that it must be Brown's _Rhagodia Parabolica_, the leaves of which are edible. Anxious to make the experiment, the leaves were boiled for some time, strained, and the liquor filtered and evaporated several times, and at length the exposure to great heat produced some crystals of salt, to the delight of the young chemists, and still more to the content of Jenny, who treasured the precious salt, which had so long been the grand deficiency in her cookery. The leaves themselves were added to the stew, and not only communicating a salt flavor to the insipid meat, but formed a tender vegetable, tasting like spinach; and it was determined to omit no opportunity of searching for this valuable plant. In the preparation and enjoyment of their abundant food, they did not neglect the necessary precautions for concealing their retreat. All the potato stalks were thrown into the cave, for fuel, and the ground was smoothed over as much as possible, and strewn with stones, that the traces of cultivation might haply escape observation; a watch was continually kept on the heights, and every opening that lighted the cave, with the exception of some narrow crevices, was carefully covered with a slab of stone beneath the brush, lest an accident similar to that which befell O'Brien should lead their enemies to discover the subterranean hollow. This precaution rendered their abode gloomy, though they left the principal opening--the entrance--uncovered till any serious cause of alarm should render it prudent to enclose themselves entirely; and when a cessation of the rain permitted them, they all gladly remained in the open air, enjoying the perfume of the revived vegetation, and the joyful notes of thousands of birds which sported in the air, fluttered on the trees, or clamored noisily round the pools of water, plunging their beaks into the mud for the worms and reptiles on which they fed. These creatures supplied the family with unfailing food, and afforded Mr. Mayburn constant amusement in studying their various habits. But a cessation of rain brought to them also a certain increase of peril. The natives were seen spreading over the plain below, hunting the kangaroo or opossum; and _Black_ Peter, himself, easily distinguished, as Gerald said, because he was _white_, was observed stooping down, as Arthur suspected, to scrutinize the track, which he feared the rain had failed to obliterate. Still, occasionally heavy showers fell, and dispersed the people, who shrink from rain; and it was not till one morning, when none was actually falling, though dark clouds hid the sun, that the whole force of the savages, certainly exceeding fifty men, appeared crossing the plain; following slowly, and it seemed reluctantly, their debased chief, Black Peter. When they had approached within a hundred yards of the forest, the natives halted at once, and Peter, after speaking some words to them, began again to examine the perplexed track, and drawing close to the trees, followed it round the whole boundary, apparently puzzled and enraged. At length he paused not far from the real entrance, and swinging round his axe above his head, he called out loudly to the people. They answered by throwing their axes on the ground, and remaining erect and motionless. The watchers above distinctly heard repeated strokes of the axe on the hard pine-trees; but they were well convinced that the efforts of one man alone could not accomplish an entrance, even for many days, and therefore felt comparatively tranquillized. Still there was the absolute conviction that they were in a state of siege; that this man was of indomitable determination, of cruel and depraved nature, and that ultimately his obstinacy might bend even the timid savages to his will. And at this thought, fear and anxiety stole over every heart. Mr. Mayburn was persuaded to remain in the cave with Margaret and the three women, the sentinels promising to send reports of the progress of affairs to them, while, with tears and prayers they waited the result. "Now, Mr. Arthur," said Wilkins, "just let me say my say. We've t' best on't yet: let's keep yon pass again all them rogues, and see which side tires first. We'll cut a canny hole to fire through at 'em, and load one gun after another; and as ye 're a bit soft-hearted yersel', ye maun just let me be front-rank man, and I'se pick off my chaps, reet and left, till there's not a rogue can stand again us. Folks say as how Peter's charmed; but I'se have a blaze at him, onyhow, and see if I can't stop his mischief." "That will be capital!" cried Gerald. "And let us dig trenches, Arthur, and then won't we pepper the rascals snugly." "But these savages are not rascals, Gerald," said Arthur; "they are only ignorant wretches, misled by a rascal. To fire on them from an ambush would be cold-blooded murder, which papa would never sanction. We have no right deliberately to destroy so many human lives." "Ye're a real soft un, master," said Wilkins. "What's a few savages? Bless ye, t' country round about teems with 'em; they'll niver be missed!" Nevertheless, Arthur could not be persuaded that it was expedient or excusable to destroy the surplus population of savages; and he preferred to reserve his charges for absolute defence. CHAPTER XXII. Peter's last Stratagem.--Firing the Fortress.--The Watch-tower.--The Welcome Rain.--The close Siege.--The Conflict.--The Defeat of Peter.--The Fortress abandoned.--Once more on the Road.--Resting in the Wilds. But now they observed that Peter had returned to his party, and was talking to them with violent gesticulation; continually pointing to the wood, and waving them forward. The men drew nearer, and gathered round a thicket of low bushes, where they appeared busily engaged for a few minutes. Then the watchful sentinels saw, to their great dismay, many burning brands, one after another, flame up in the hands of the natives, who now rush boldly forward to cast them among the underwood of the forest. This was indeed a fearful sight, and no time was lost in retreating to the cave, where, after Arthur had carefully observed that no track was left to the spot, they all entered; a slab was introduced over the opening, beneath the brushwood, and now only small interstices were left to admit air and faint gleams of light to the agitated party below. When the terrific mode of penetrating their fortress was told to Mr. Mayburn, and the reality of the obstinate siege burst upon him, stunned with horror, he remained speechless and motionless till Margaret roused him, by entreaties that he would pray for them. "I will pray, my child," said he, "I will pray for speedy death; for death is inevitably our doom, and, alas! in its most frightful form." "Will they burn us alive, Miss Marget?" shrieked Ruth; "and my bonnie hens, and them poor pigeons?" "Be silent, Ruth," said Margaret. "God is great in power. It may be His will yet to save us, if we pray to Him." "There are caves within caves here, Meggie," said Hugh. "Gerald and I know some queer corners, and we may escape beyond their discovery; and I make no doubt we may even cut our way through in some other part of the hollow, if we can only hold out long enough, and puzzle these fellows." But the temporary depression of Mr. Mayburn had now left him; he had recovered his firmness and faith in God; and he summoned round him his agitated family, to join him in fervent prayer for help and protection in this hour of extreme need. He spoke to them long and earnestly, not denying his own weakness; and besought each to contend with his besetting sin: the strong must yield to His will; the weak must ask for fortitude; the erring must resolve to forsake his sins; and the desponding must trust wholly to Him who was mighty to save and merciful to the oppressed. "We are now, my children," he added, "wanderers, as were his chosen people in the wilderness. Let us, then, remember the marvellous works that He hath done, His wonders, and the judgments of his mouth." Composed and hopeful, after their religious exercise the besieged began to examine their defences and their resources. The powder had been carefully preserved in a solid rocky niche, where no stray spark could possibly reach it. The provision, though simple, was abundant--the store of potatoes alone seemed inexhaustible. "We can surely live," said O'Brien, "like thousands of my careless, healthy countrymen, on the _pratee!_ and defy famine. And, please, General Arthur, to come and see the watch-tower that Hugh and I have found out." Arthur followed the restless boys, who carried off the ladder with them, through many a narrow winding, till they reached a very lofty hollow. Here the boys rested their ladder, and ascended as high as they could with its assistance, after which they climbed the rugged wall till a projecting ledge enabled them to stand; and when Arthur joined them, they pointed out to him some horizontal crannies between the strata of the stone, through which he looked down upon the table land of the mountain; and he perceived that this rock formed the parapet, or boundary wall of the crater. They were thus enabled to survey their own hitherto peaceful domain, as well as the surrounding wood, from which a dense smoke was now rising. The moist and green trees had long refused to blaze, but at length, as the boys were silently and anxiously watching, they saw the red threads crawl through the black clouds; they heard the loud crackling of dried branches; and finally the broad flames rose majestically above the dark trees, and spread rapidly towards the east side of the mountain, urged by a west wind. The roaring of the flames, the noise of falling timber, the screams and discordant cries of hundreds of disturbed and affrighted birds, which continued to wheel, as if fascinated, over the flames, prevented any sound of human voices being audible; and the actors in the frightful devastation were alike unseen and unheard. Hugh sobbed with grief as he watched numbers of his favorite birds, suffocated with the thick smoke, fall down senseless; Gerald exclaimed against the destruction of the ripe oats in the glade below, which were now blazing fiercely; and Arthur, pale and agitated, saw the fearful conflagration rapidly spreading up the side of the mountain, and dreaded the moment when, the brushwood being consumed above the cave, the slabs that covered the entrance must inevitably be detected, and they must submit to be baited in their last hold. "Arthur, what shall we do?" exclaimed Hugh, "for the fire is running up the brush at the side of the mountain. See, now, it blazes over the edge; it has caught a heap of potato stalks that I was so careless as to leave there. Gerald, there are Margaret's favorite parterres all blazing,--the scarlet geranium, the blue convolvulus, and the sweet, home-like jasmine. How she will grieve! But, I forget, we have more to grieve for; already the sparks are falling on the bush over our grotto! What will become of Margaret and papa?" "We must go to them," replied Arthur. "We have seen the worst that can happen; it is useless remaining here. Let us comfort them, and lead them into the deepest recesses of the mountain. We may, at least, escape the fearful effects of the conflagration." "And then, Arthur," said Hugh, "we may surely defend them with our guns. It will be a just cause." "It will! it will!" answered Arthur. "God send that we may not be called on to shed blood; but I believe we should be justified in doing it. Do you yet see the enemy, Gerald?" "No, Arthur; but God is good to us," said Gerald. "The rain is falling again, and our dear Black Forest will not be entirely consumed; and perhaps we may have opportunity to escape." The rain re-commenced suddenly, and so heavily, that in a short time the blazing conflagration was extinguished, and the progress of the invaders arrested; for, when the boys joined their trembling friends, Wilkins said,-- "Depend on 't they've crept into some hole or other; they're just downreet cowards about a drop of rain, for all their running about without a rag to their backs." "But we cannot exist long in this state of misery," said Mr. Mayburn. "What would you advise, Arthur?" "I should say, dear papa," answered he, "that we must defend our position as long as it is tenable, and then have all prepared, and attempt a retreat--a dangerous but inevitable measure. Jack will point out the most convenient mode of making up packages for carrying away. We must, if possible, take our potatoes, for we may meet with a sterile region." "And the hens and chickens," added Ruth, imploringly. "We had certainly better release them," he replied, with a smile, "and introduce a new race into the country; or else roast them and make them useful." But Ruth so pathetically and earnestly begged to be allowed to carry her "bonnie bit chicks," that, on the promise that the young ones should be given up to be eaten, in case of need, she was permitted to encumber herself with her favorites. Jack made her a light basket for them, of a portable form; he then proceeded to pack, compress, and arrange the baggage in convenient burdens for each; while Jenny baked in the oven, which she greatly regretted having to abandon, a sufficient quantity of biscuits to fill two large bags. The boots had all been thoroughly repaired during the rains; and, as it was probable they would have to set out before the weather was settled, the skins of the opossums were sewed into cloaks, to protect them. Thus, during one day of continuous rain, when no signs of the savages were seen, they were able to make all ready for the flight, which was now become absolutely necessary; and it was proposed that the next morning, though the clouds still threatened a continuance of rain, they should make a last substantial breakfast in their secure sanctuary, and then set out at once. The breakfast was eaten, and the burdens apportioned; but, before they ventured to emerge, the boys ran off to take a survey of the plains from their watch-tower, and hastily returned to announce the vexatious intelligence that the whole body of the savages had passed through the devastated forest, and were already ascending the side of the mountain. "Now for the defence!" exclaimed Hugh, seizing his gun, and placing the ladder at the opening. "Remove the ladder, Hugh," said Arthur. "Remember that papa has given all authority to me. Do nothing but what I command." Hugh made a grimace, and touched his cap. "You, Gerald, had better go to the watch-tower," continued Arthur. "Margaret and papa, Jenny, Ruth, Baldabella, and the child, will accompany you. We shall have sufficient force to defend the cave here." "But Margaret can watch. Do let me have some work, Arthur," said Gerald. "Very well, then, you shall be _aide-de-camp_, and bring me the reports of sentinel Margaret. Away! away!" said Arthur. Margaret was placed on the ledge, to watch, and reported that Peter, followed by the unwilling savages, was already on the height. She saw the keen-eyed convict examine the ground, and take up a scorched potato-stalk, with some of the bulbs hanging to it, which had been imprudently left. He then went forward to the stone-lined reservoir, which was plainly the work of man; and pointed it out to his followers, as well as some tracks on the soft earth. The natives, however, looked sullen, did not reply, but gazed anxiously round, as if expecting some unusual appearance; and all shrunk together beneath the rocky wall in which the watchers were concealed. When Margaret communicated her observations, Baldabella said, "Black fellow look for _Bayl-yas_--bad spirit; they not know good white man pray, send _Bayl-yas_ away." "Now, Meggie," said Gerald, springing up the ladder to her side; "I'll give them a fright, and disperse them;" and the imprudent boy uttered a deep unearthly groan. In a moment the men darted forward, and were springing down the steep, when the commanding voice of their leader recalled them; and Margaret, with much vexation, saw that he was explaining the cause of their alarm, for he pointed to the spot where she stood, in a menacing manner. He continued to speak to the men in a tone of exultation, waving his arms, till he induced them to return and accompany him in his search. "Away, at once, foolish boy," said Margaret; "and tell Arthur all we have seen, and your imprudent act. They will not leave the spot now, till they have found our hiding-place." Poor Gerald, completely crest-fallen, hastened to make his report and his confession; and Arthur saw plainly they should now be obliged to have recourse to arms. He ordered Hugh to wait till he should have fired off his two barrels, and then to take his place till he should have time to reload. The ammunition was put in charge of Wilkins and Jack to serve out; and cruel as was the necessity, Arthur trusted they might thus defend their position, and weary out even the malignant and stubborn convict. There could be no doubt discovery must soon take place, as the light by degrees poured into the cave, through the small openings which the savages uncovered one after another. Still Peter saw none of these could possibly be the entrance to any concealment; but at length he stepped on the large slab; it was immediately removed, and a shout of exultation arose, as the large chasm pointed out the retreat of the persecuted family. For a moment there was a pause: even if the descent had been easy, the men were not so rash as to throw themselves into the clutches of their foes below, and spears directed against an unseen enemy would be wasted. Then Peter leaned over the opening, and called out,-- "Come on, ye cowards, and fight fairly if ye can, or else hand up them guns, wi' yer powder and cash, and then cut off, vagabonds as ye are, or I'll make this den ower hot to haud ye." Arthur made a sign of silence, for he saw Wilkins was impatient and very much inclined to indulge in pouring out invectives against his former companion. Then a few spears and stones were flung down at random, which were easily avoided by the besieged, who had ensconced themselves in niches of the rock, and the light-hearted boys could scarcely restrain their laughter at the futile attempts. But the resolute convict was not to be baffled; he was heard speaking to his followers in their own language, and Baldabella was placed near enough to hear and interpret. When she had listened a few minutes, she turned to Arthur with a look of terror, and said,--"Bad Peter say, 'Burn all! burn white jin! black jin! Nakinna! good master! all burn!'" The next moment confirmed the woman's report, for flaming brands thrown into the cave announced the desperate plan of the besiegers. Arthur called for water, and buckets of water were brought to quench each brand as it fell; but the suffocating smoke in that confined spot was intolerable. "We must end this nuisance, or we shall be stifled," said Arthur; and as Peter himself, with an armful of kindled brushwood, bent over to cast it below, Arthur fired on him, and the man fell back beneath the flaming branches, which were scattered over him; then calling for the ladder, which had been brought near, the intrepid youth mounted to the opening, fired again into the midst of the assembled savages, and, rapidly descending, removed the ladder. The yells and groans they heard from above afforded sufficient proof that the shots had taken effect, and Hugh and Gerald were sent to the watch-tower to make observations. They saw that Peter was able to stand, supported by two men, but his right arm appeared to be powerless; a wound in the shoulder was bleeding, and he was raging and stamping with agony, evidently from the burns he had received, for the savages were applying some leaves to his breast and face. "I have never had a shot yet," said Hugh, when he returned. "It is very hard, Arthur--pray let me run up the ladder and scatter a few of the rascals." "No, no! my dear Hugh," answered Arthur; "such a measure would be wanton and inhuman at this moment. These wretched savages are mere machines in the hands of the villain whose own cruel designs have recoiled on himself. If they had never met this man, they might perhaps have been troublesome and annoying to us, but a little experience of our superior knowledge and power would have relieved us from them. Now even, they are not detained near us from choice, for they evidently abhor and dread the place, but they stay to fulfil the duties of humanity to this wretch who has so unaccountably beguiled them." "I'll tell ye how he came round 'em, Mr. Arthur," said Wilkins. "I heared 'em say when I were chained up yonder, as how that good-to-nought were a head man, and husband to one of their jins, and he'd been speared and killed outreet by some black fellows down south, and now he were sent back to 'em wi' a white skin. Peter made 'em swallow all that rigmarole, cunning dog as he is." "I have read," said Mr. Mayburn, "that some of these ignorant tribes have such an extraordinary superstition: believing that the souls of the departed revisit the earth in the form of white men. There is blended with this faith a strange recognition of the doctrine of immortality, and, we might hope, of regeneration; but the crimes of this wretch in that which they believe to be his second life must have startled even the untaught heathens whom he has thus deceived." "They're off, Mr. Arthur," said Wilkins, who had ascended to the opening to look round; "there's not a soul left. I reckon they'd be right glad to quit; and that rogue Peter's not in a way to trouble us for one bit; so, what say ye, master, if we were to bolt afore they'd settled what to do? Here's t' mistress seems all ready." "I am quite ready, Wilkins," said Margaret, "and agree with you. It appears to me, Arthur, that our best hope is, to snatch this opportunity to get the advantage of a few hours' start, that we may not be easily overtaken when that wicked man is sufficiently recovered to take the field again." "And mind, Mr. Arthur, sharp's t' word," said Wilkins, "if we want to beat him. He let me into his schemes a bit, as how he meant to get them fellows after him down south to join a lot of bush-rangers as was to meet him. Ye see, we're not top walkers, at no time; and wi' all this stuff to hug, we'd better be trotting." "Make ready!" cried Gerald, tying on his knapsack of bark, and putting into one pocket a canister of powder, and into the other a bag of shot; "we must trot, as Wilkins says, as well as fellows can trot carrying such burdens as ours. I say, Arty, haven't I got my share?" "You have indeed, my boy," answered Arthur. "I fear you will not be able to get on long under such a heavy burden; but we must try, at first however, to carry as much away as we can bear. Take your bow to support you, and mount the ladder. Now, Hugh." Hugh was similarly laden, but carried a gun instead of a bow. Ruth would not resign her fowls, and had in addition the serious weight of a large bag of potatoes. Margaret, Jenny, and Baldabella carried the bread and the remainder of the potatoes, the poor native having in addition the charge of her child. Mr. Mayburn was laden with the shells and buckets which constituted their household furniture; and Arthur, Wilkins, and Jack cleared off all the rest of the weapons and bags. The descent to the plains had been rendered easy by the conflagration, which had almost entirely destroyed the forest, and the travellers chose their path in a direction opposite to the wood which was the abode of the natives. They toiled on with swift feet and anxious hearts, scarcely conscious of their heavy burdens, for two hours; in which time they had left their desolated sanctuary far away to the north. The ground was level and fertile, and the weather favorable; for the sun was overclouded, though no rain was falling; and relaxing their extreme speed, they still continued to walk on, till downright fatigue and hunger pointed out the necessity of rest. The best place for their encampment that they could select was in the midst of a thicket of the tea-shrub and other low brushwood. The young men with their axes cleared a spot for a fire, and niches for sleeping-places; they plucked the fresh leaves from the plants to make tea, and enjoyed their coarse biscuit, soothed by the silver tones of the bell-bird, the musical piping of the organ-magpie, and the soft cry of an invisible bird, the curious notes of which resembled those of the curlew. Night fell on them with all the beauty of the tropical regions; the soft breeze loaded with fragrance from the luxuriant flowers revived by the recent rains, the bright stars above their heads, the brilliant fire-flies floating round them, the dying notes of the half hushed birds, the incessant hum of the restless insect tribes; all was harmony, inspiring devout and holy thoughts; and the weary travellers slept happily and trustfully till morning awoke them to resume their labors. CHAPTER XXIII. A Bark Sledge.--The Friendly Tribe.--The Wild Melon.--A Nocturnal Alarm.--The Wombats.--The Bivouac on the Heath.--The Savages again.--Away to the South. The women had prepared breakfast, and Arthur was becoming impatient, before Jack and the two young boys appeared, dragging after them a large sheet of bark, to which they had attached ropes. "It was Jack's thought!" exclaimed Gerald. "Is it not a capital plan?--the baggage-wagon! Off with your knapsack, Arty; Jenny, bring your pots and pans. Every thing must be tied on our sledge, and we will draw it in turns--two men to form a team." "It will be a great relief, certainly," said Arthur, "so long as the plains continue tolerably clear and level; but, I fear, over the matted brush or the rugged mountain we shall find it useless." "Why then, Mr. Arthur," said Jack, "it will only be taking up our loads a bit, and leaving the sledge. We can soon cut another sheet when the road gets smoother." The sledge answered admirably, and, relieved from their burdens, they went on for several days, over well-watered and well-wooded plains, without interruption, and without delay, except when the disengaged youths lingered behind to shoot a few pheasants or cockatoos, that the bread might not be too soon exhausted. In a week after they had left the cave, they saw kangaroos again, and even the sledge was abandoned, that all might join in the chase. After a long hunt, they succeeded in killing one; and the weather being now less sultry, they were able to preserve the meat for two days. The skin was cleaned and dried, and then converted into bags for the biscuit, for showers of rain still fell occasionally, and they had been compelled to take off their cloaks to protect their valuable food. One evening, an unwelcome return of the heavy rain induced them to look anxiously round for some shelter, and turning round a clump of tall bushes, they came suddenly on a cluster of scattered huts, formed of green boughs and open in front. Beneath these canopies several women, wearing cloaks of fur, were employed in pounding grain or nuts between two stones, while they sung some song in a low, musical tone, and in perfect harmony. Outside the huts stood several tall men. They had a single loose garment of fur cast round them, but the bust was wholly uncovered, and marked by many raised cicatrices. They were engaged in making arrows or spears, and never raised their heads from their employment; but, with the usual dignified indifference of the savage, did not appear to notice the approach of the strangers, though probably they had never before seen the white man. Even the women continued their work and their song; and it was only when Baldabella, who had been introduced by her protectors, went forward, holding her child, to ask the women to give some good white people shelter from the rain in their huts, that the men turned to listen, and the women suspended their labor. The head of the family, pointing out an empty hut, spoke to Baldabella, and said, as she interpreted his words, "That very good for white man; for black man; plenty rain make much cold." Glad of the refuge, while Baldabella remained to talk to the women of the tribe, the rest took possession of the slight hut, and prepared their supper of the remains of the kangaroo, of which they invited their friendly hosts to partake. The natives now assembled round them with some curiosity, tasted the seethed kangaroo, and seemed to relish it; rejected the roasted potatoes with disgust, but greedily enjoyed the biscuit, especially the jumbles, as the boys called them, which were flavored with the juice of the figs. Then the women in return for this hospitality, brought to them some pods, which Arthur recognized to be the fruit of the _Acacia stenophylla_, the seeds, or nuts, resembling in flavor the cachou-nut. They brought also a small melon, or cucumber, now ripe and sweet, with which the plains that the travellers had crossed this day had been covered; but they had not ventured to eat it till now, when they saw how the natives enjoyed it. "It certainly belongs to one of the most useful orders of plants considered as the food of man," said Mr. Mayburn; "and, as far as I can determine from recollection, I believe it to be the _Cucumis pubescens_. This is truly a country of rich and abundant resources; wanting but the light of civilization and religion to render it a paradise." "Surely, papa," said Margaret, "our countrymen acted unwisely when they suffered the first steps into these lovely and untrodden wilds to be made by the vilest of criminals. Alas! alas! what must the ignorant natives think of such Christian missionaries!" "It was an error, Margaret," answered her father, "wide in its mischief, fatal in its results; and generations must pass away before the error can be rectified. But a purer and holier influence is at work; and, in his own good time, God will assuredly enlighten the people, through the efforts of his faithful servants. Would that I were able to take my share in the great work! but, alas! I am but the barren fig-tree, and continually I hear that awful sentence ringing in my ear, 'Cut it down; why cumbereth it the ground?'" The earnest father then called on his family to kneel in prayer, while the natives stood round in silent wonder, especially when they remarked the devout demeanor of Baldabella, and heard the little child murmuring in English the responses, in imitation of her kind teachers. After prayers the women seemed to be earnestly questioning Baldabella; and Margaret was pleased to hear the woman speak long and earnestly to the questioners, for she was convinced that Baldabella was truly a Christian in faith, so far as her simple mind could comprehend the faith. Though they considered it prudent to keep a watch, the sleep of the family was not disturbed by any fears, for these natives seemed quiet and inoffensive; and through Baldabella they learnt that they had ever shunned the restless and destructive tribes to the north, and a still more dangerous people, whom they spoke of with terror, as the tribes of the "Great River," to the south. But, the interpreter added, they did not like the white people who came to kill the _menuah_, as they named the kangaroo; and the emu, and to carry off their weapons. But they were satisfied that these white strangers were peaceful like themselves, and they wished them well, and would show them the way through the mountains. The weary travellers gratefully accepted this offer, for the prospect of having to ascend, without guidance, a line of mountains which cut off their progress to the south, and of being compelled to resume their heavy burdens, was alarming. Early in the morning they sought the women, to present them with some biscuit and with a pair of fowls, of which Baldabella undertook to explain the great usefulness, and the domestic habits and proper mode of feeding. Then they once more set out, guided by the chief among the natives; and having skirted the mountains for three or four miles to the east, found a narrow gorge, through which a shallow rill ran towards the south, along the flowery margin of which they passed till they came upon another wide plain, less wooded and fertile than that which they had left, but grown over with the _Cucumis_ laden with fruit. This plain was perforated with dangerous holes, which their guide told them were the dens of a large animal, very fierce, which he called the Wombat, and which the boys were filled with a great desire to encounter and vanquish. Once on the plains, the native pointed out the direction which they were to follow, greatly to the east of south. He shook his head when they intimated their wish to proceed due south, and, according to Baldabella, declared there was "no water"--a most important objection to the route. Arthur gave the man one of the table-knives, much to the discontent of Jenny and the great delight of the receiver; and the gratified native stood watching them for some time, and then slowly returned to his people. "Now for the wombats!" exclaimed Gerald, looking anxiously down into one of the dens of these unknown animals. But all was still and dark; and Arthur begged that there might be no delay, as, in all probability, the animals could only be drawn from their retreats by dogs, or be surprised by long watching, and time was now too precious to be spent on such an uncertain pursuit. Continuing, therefore, to follow the course of the slender rivulet, which, however, soon became but a chain of pools, they travelled for several miles, eating, as they went on, the juicy melons, as they called the _Cucumis_, till the sight of a smoke in the direction of the pools induced them reluctantly to forsake even this small supply of water, and to diverge directly to the south, till they should have passed the danger of encountering another tribe, who might prove less friendly than their late hosts. The sudden fall of night compelled them to rest at a spot where no water was to be discovered, and, too late, they regretted that they had not brought a supply from the pools. Reluctantly they made their only meal of the day on bread; fortunately they were able to add melons; still the privation was felt; they were unsatisfied and much depressed, till calmed by the blessed influence of prayer. Then all anxiety was hushed by a sound sleep on the wide, treeless plain. They had slept some hours, when Arthur was awaked by a startling cry, and, springing up in alarm, he seized his gun, and called hastily to Jack to follow him. The moon was shining brightly, and they were enabled to see some moving objects at no great distance, towards which they quickly directed their steps, and, on drawing near, they heard the voice of O'Brien crying out, "Arthur! Arthur! come and kill these frightful beasts! I shall be worried!" They now saw the head of O'Brien, who, supported only by his hands, had sunk into a hole or den, and was surrounded by a troop of hideous large animals, with the form of a bear and the nose of a badger. They were actually running over the boy, and apparently very uneasy at his intrusion. Jack's spear soon despatched one of the animals; the rest fled to their dens at the sight of more invaders of their homes; and O'Brien was dragged from the hole he had accidentally taken possession of, and scolded by Arthur for his imprudence. It appeared that he had, while lying awake, seen one of the wombats roaming about in search of food, and while pursuing it with his spear he had fallen into the den, and by his cries raised the whole community of these social and harmless beasts, which, powerful and numerous as they were, had attempted no injury against the rude invader. The wombat Jack had killed was about the size of a sheep; they divested it of its smooth thick fur skin, which was hung up to dry immediately. In the morning they had an opportunity of examining the curious, clumsy animals, which were still busily feeding. Wilkins declared their flesh to be delicate and excellent food; but, without water, no one felt any appetite for meat. "Doubtless," said Mr. Mayburn, "this creature is the _Phascolomys ursinus_, partaking of the form of the bear and the hog; but, like the great majority of Australian animals, marsupial." "He is an ugly fellow," said Hugh, "with his huge body and short legs; but his skin is capital; we will clean it to make a mattrass for papa, and we must have another skin for Margaret. After all, Jenny, a wombat-steak will be more juicy than this dreadful dry, husky biscuit; and I suppose we must try to eat, or we shall never have strength to get out of this desert." The steaks were really excellent with sliced melon, if the travellers could have relished food without water; and after breakfast they set out, again eagerly watching for signs of water; but no one feeling sufficient energy to execute another wombat before they departed. They continued to struggle on over a loose sandy soil, covered with a bush resembling the heath, so dear to the northern people of Great Britain; the very sight of which cheered the thirsty wanderers in the dry desert; and they talked of the moors of home till their steps grew lighter. But the toil of dragging the light sledge over or through the bushes became hard labor; and at length Mr. Mayburn, exhausted with thirst, was so overcome that two of the young men had to support him, as they slowly moved on to escape from this desert. "Keep up your heart, master," said the attached Wilkins; "and Jenny, woman, be getting yer cans ready; we'se have a sup of rain afore long, depend on't. Now some of ye light-heeled young uns, run on, and seek out a shelter for t' master." The sky was dark, the thunder rumbled at a distance, and the young people looked round in happy anxiety for some shelter; but in vain,--not even a tree was to be seen; and at last they were obliged to content themselves with a little cleared spot, backed by a low brush-covered hill, and surrounded by the tea-shrub mingled with the graceful heath. There they hollowed out a sort of recess in the soft sandy hill-side, before which they hung the skin of the wombat, that Mr. Mayburn and Margaret, at least, might be sheltered. By this time the rain had begun to fall in torrents, and every vessel they had brought away was placed to catch the precious drops. Then the boys made _forms_ as they called them, beneath the brushwood, into which they crept, to escape, as far as they could, the deluge of rain. But ever and anon a hand was stretched out to obtain a draught of the long-pined-for water; and though they declared it tasted warm, they felt so refreshed that there succeeded a great appetite for wombat-steak, which could not, however, be gratified; for to attempt to make a fire was hopeless. "What charming dormitories we have!" said Gerald. "The rain dripping through these narrow-leaved shrubs and dabbling your face all night long, will be so comfortable. I don't think a wombat's den would be such a bad thing to-night. Ruth, how do the cocks and hens like this weather?" "I keeps 'em covered an' under my cloak, Master Gerald," answered she; "but, bonnie things, they tremmel and cower all of a heap. You see, birds and such-like, are all for sunshine." "And sunshine enough they've had here, Ruth," replied he; "and now we must not be unthankful for the rain we wanted much. Pleasant dreams to you all, my friends!" called out the lively boy, as he dived under the bushes, to scratch himself out a den, as he said. But the rain and the thunder prevented much sleep, and at the first gleam of light, the boys issued from their comfortless dens, with some dry twigs which had formed their beds, and with which they proposed, though the rain was still falling, to make a fire to cook some meat. But before they could accomplish their plan, they were disturbed by a trampling among the bushes, and the sound of human voices. "The savages! the savages!" whispered Hugh; "I think I can distinguish the voice of Black Peter." "Scatter the twigs," said Arthur; "put the water-vessels underneath the bushes. Draw these skins into your form, Margaret, and crouch out of sight. Now! now! to cover, all of you!" They had scarcely given the place the appearance of being unvisited, and drawn themselves securely under the scrub, when the voices were so close to them that they could distinguish, though they could not understand the words. Only Black Peter, who pronounced the language slowly, was sufficiently distinct for them to make out the words signifying "mountains" and "plenty of water." The party passed close to them, but without pausing, and when the steps and voices sounded sufficiently distant, Arthur looked out, and saw the same men who had besieged them in their mountain retreat, still headed by Peter. All the men were outrageously painted white and red, though they were partially covered with opossum cloaks to shelter them from the rain. Arthur observed that they moved on towards the east, where, at a great distance, appeared a dark line, which he concluded was the mountain-range Peter had alluded to. One after another the alarmed family appeared from their hiding-places; Baldabella was eagerly questioned about their discourse, and she replied that she had heard Peter say, "White men go to mountain, find much water. Peter go to mountain, find plenty water, plenty white fellow, plenty gun, knife. Kill white man, kill bad fellow Wilkins." "She's reet! I'll uphold her," said Wilkins. "Depend on 't Peter's heared of some bush-rangers out ower yonder, and he'll want to join 'em. We'se have to keep clear of their track, master. Just look round ye, what chance should we have again a lot of them desp'rate rogues, wi' guns in their hands, and blood in their hearts; and when they're fairly set on, them blacks is as bad; they reckon nought of a dozen lives to get haud on a gun." "Whither shall we flee?" cried Mr. Mayburn, in a distracted tone. "Speak, Margaret--Arthur--and you, my good man, who, steeped in evil, had yet strength given you to turn away from it, guide and save us! Alas! it is but too true; man, civilized or savage, preserves his innate and original depravity. 'There is none good; no, not one.' Men have spoken of the simple and pure life of the desert; we see what it is in truth." "Yes, dear papa," said Margaret, "we must bid adieu to the fallacious dreams of poetry, the romance of that golden age when men were virtuous because they were ignorant. These are men to whom the temptations of the world are unknown; men who have never looked on the brilliant decorations of vice; yet they are harsh, cruel, selfish, and faithless. Is this truly human nature, papa?" "I fear, my child, it is too truly human nature," answered Mr. Mayburn,--"fallen, degraded, unredeemed human nature. Well does a great and wise writer on the natural depravity of man picture the ignorant savage as 'a compound of pride and indolence, and selfishness, and cunning and cruelty; full of a revenge which nothing could satiate, of a ferocity which nothing could soften; strangers to the most amiable sensibilities of nature.' Then what weight of sin must rest on the souls of those who, having been taught the way of truth themselves, take advantage of the frailty of humanity to lead these heathens into the gulf of crime. Woe to those men 'who know the best, and yet the worst pursue.'" While they watched the gradual disappearance of their enemies, the rain ceased, and Jenny summoned the party to the enjoyment of tea to their dry biscuit, before they resumed their journey, the prospect of which was still unpromising. "We must now, defying all the threatened deserts, go on towards the south," said Arthur, "and evade, if we possibly can, our implacable and inveterate pursuers. The temptation to cross the eastern mountains is great, but I fear, Wilkins, we should hardly be safe, even in the rear of such dangerous company." "Nay, nay! Mr. Arthur, keep out of their way," said Wilkins. "Ye heared what Baldabella said about their going to rondessvowse ower yonder wi' them roguish bush-rangers; and I see no sense in running into t' thick on 'em." "Certainly not, Wilkins," answered Arthur. "Then we will decide on a route due south. So, forward, my brave men, and let us carefully carry away the water we have preserved, for I fear much we have not yet passed the wilderness." CHAPTER XXIV. The Dry Wilderness.--Despair.--The Coming-down of the Waters.--The Discomfited Savages.--Hunger and Thirst.--The Footsteps in the Mud.--A Pond.--The Talegalla and its Nest.--The Valley of Promise.--The River to the South. It was indeed on a wilderness they now entered, where low entangled brushwood spread as far as the eye could extend, unvaried by the appearance of a single tree rising above it; and as they toiled through or over this perplexing ground, carrying the bark sledge, which it was impossible to draw over the bush, they were often deceived by the sight of a line of tall reeds, the border of the bed of some river, now wholly dry, or merely muddy with the rain of the previous day. They saw no animals, except two or three emus, which swiftly fled from pursuit; and they were too eager to escape from the dry desert to waste time in the chase. For two days, successive morning suns showed them the same trackless and unwatered heaths spread before them; then the water was exhausted, and they turned away with loathing from the dry bread and potatoes. Slowly and languidly they dragged on their weary way, still watching and hoping in vain. Another day of suffering dawned on them; and now the scorching air, the dry food, the fatigue, and the consuming thirst overcame them one after another, and before evening Mr. Mayburn said, "Let us lie down here, Arthur. God has chosen, in His wisdom, to put this termination to our efforts. Nature is exhausted; let us lie down and prepare for death." "Not so, my dear father," answered Arthur. "God wills that we should be active, and strive to surmount difficulties, or He would not have bestowed on us the bounteous gifts of thought and action. Margaret, I know your faith and resolution; encourage my father." "You look to me in vain, my dear brother," said Margaret. "I am unable to think or to move. Save our beloved father, and leave me beneath these bushes to die. I feel that death must be near at hand." "I beseech you to rally your energy, my darling Meggie," said her brother, in a broken voice. "Surely, after the rain that fell yesterday, we must soon find some pools. We must not be so weak as to remain here, with our pursuers so near to us, and drought and death around us. Let us try at least to cross this muddy and deceitful gorge, and be thankful; for remember, my dear sister, if this had been now a foaming river, we should have been unable to ford it, and must have been lost in this desert." Margaret was too weak to reply, and Arthur, lifting her with difficulty in his enfeebled arms, descended the banks, and crossed the wide bed of a river which was scarcely moist enough to leave the traces of his footsteps. Wilkins and Jack supported Mr. Mayburn across, and the rest languidly followed. They crawled slowly up the rocky banks of the opposite side, which were covered with thick scrubby bushes; and then beneath a spreading acacia, they sat down to rest a few moments, and endeavored to nerve themselves to endurance and exertion. "Surely, Wilkins," said Arthur, "that lofty line of mountains which we can still see at the east, though so distant, ought to supply springs and streams to these plains, and there must be water at no great distance. You and I are pretty stout; can we not leave these feeble folks here, and go on to search for some relief for them?" "Look yonder, Mr. Arthur," answered Wilkins, "just atween us and them mountains, and say if we ought to leave 'em behind us." Arthur beheld with dismay, at about a mile's distance, a dark mass moving over the bare plain. He saw that the savages were returning, and even his firm heart failed, for here was no shelter--no hope of escape. He remained struck dumb for a minute; then he whispered to his brothers the dreadful fact, adding, "They must be nearer than they appear to be, for I surely hear them as well as see them. Certainly, some sound breaks the stillness of this solitary desert. It must be the murmur of many voices." "It seems to me like men felling wood," said Jack. "It is more like the blessed sound of water," said O'Brien, springing up. Still the mass of figures, though now more defined and plainly recognized to be the savage host, approached slowly; and they could not produce the strange rumor, which momentarily grew louder, crackling, tearing, roaring, like the mighty elephant, forcing its way through the thicket. All the party now heard in trembling fear this unaccountable phenomenon, and the weeping women knelt down to pray for aid amidst accumulated distresses. "Father," murmured the almost unconscious Margaret, "I smell water. Oh, give me some, or I die." "It is water!" shouted O'Brien "I said it was water. It is the river coming down. Come on, Hugh, let us meet it;" and he leaped down into the bed of the stream. "Stop the lad!" cried Wilkins, following and dragging him up the bank again. "We'se ha'e water enough, and more nor we want soon. Look ye! look ye!" and they saw a slender thread of water come crawling over the bed like a silver snake. "Sharp! sharp! hand us a bucket!" called Wilkins; and, provided with a bucket, he descended and quickly procured a small quantity of water to relieve the worst sufferers; but before a second supply could be obtained, he was compelled to retreat in haste, and an amazing spectacle burst on the eyes of the beholders. A mighty tower of water was seen to approach, rushing, pouring, foaming; casting up from it trunks of trees, drenched garlands of creeping plants, and showers of pebbles. In an incredibly short space of time the resistless torrent had filled the deep gorge, and was splashing over the rocky banks. Gradually the torrent subsided into a smooth, deep, and flowing river, from which the pining sufferers obtained the refreshment they had so long sought, and then, with bended knees, offered up a thanksgiving to that Great Power who had by this providential event rescued them from a painful death, and interposed an insurmountable barrier between them and their vindictive enemies, who, having now approached near enough to be aware of this unexpected obstacle, saw, with evident wrath, their prize snatched from their grasp. At the command of their implacable and well-known chief, Peter, some of the most skilful threw their spears; but the river was not less than fifty yards across, besides which, the strong east wind drifted away the weapons from their intended aim; and the invigorated and uninjured family lost no time in leaving the dangerous spot, and were soon beyond sight of the stubborn natives, and the malicious bush-ranger. "It is plain they have no means of crossing the river," said Arthur; "but, Wilkins, what can have induced them to return from the mountains?" "I reckon they'll have somehow missed their comrades as was to be," answered Wilkins. "Maybe they'd an inkling as how we were behind 'em and not afore 'em; and they'd niver reckon on t' water coming down; and not a soul among 'em can swim, barring Peter, and he knew better nor trust hisself among us alone. We've stopped 'em a bit now, master." "Not we, Wilkins, but God," said Mr. Mayburn. "It was 'the Lord that brought again the waters upon them,' and saved us. To His name be the glory." "We have still before us a long struggle through these sterile wilds," said Arthur; "but this deliverance must give us renewed courage for labor and privation. Now we may afford to eat our supper, and take our rest without fear." The strongest of the party, before they left the river, had filled all the vessels with water, and brought them off, and very soon, almost within hearing of the noisy savages, they made a fire, and enjoyed again the luxury of tea to their potatoes, before weary nature sought repose. But as soon as it was light, they set out, after again having tea to fit them for another day of toil. The march was resumed with renewed health and spirits, but still the monotony of the matted rough desert, which rarely afforded a clear spot for them to draw the sledge, fatigued and depressed them before the day was over. And when they rested for the evening, and Jenny produced the scanty remainder of potatoes, and the still smaller portion of grain, dismay sat on every countenance, and Jack was the first to demand that Ruth's basket might be lightened, and the contents given up to satisfy the hungry and healthy appetite of the public in general. It was found on inspection that besides three full-grown fowls, the girl was still carrying six good-sized chickens, the rest of the brood having perished, from accident or scanty food. Immediately, as a matter of expediency to save the oats, to lessen the burden they had to carry, and to feed the hungry, sentence was passed that two chickens should be executed each day, and it was hoped, before all were eaten, some region of more plenty might be attained. With great reluctance, and floods of tears, Ruth relinquished her pets, and at the end of the three days, only the old fowls were left, and every potato, grain, and drop of water was gone. Then, indeed, they realized the misery of famine; strength and cheerfulness left them, and they tottered reluctantly forward, slowly and in mournful silence. Sometimes an emu was seen at a distance, but none had energy or strength to chase it, and Arthur, whose mental vigor supported him, when all were sinking round him, tried in vain to rouse them from their apathy. "Let us struggle on a little longer," he said. "Once more I see a tall line of reeds, and by God's mercy, we may not be disappointed this time. Come, Jack, you and I will make a forced march in search of succor for those who are weaker than ourselves; and if we succeed we will return to refresh and bring them forward." With buckets slung over their shoulders, and leaning on their long spears, the two young men strained every nerve to reach the reeds like those which had so frequently disappointed them, and, cutting or forcing their way through the tall canes, they came again on the bed of a river--moist and muddy, indeed, but not a pool of water was to be seen. "Let us ascend higher; we may find a little," said Arthur. "But, surely, Jack, here are footsteps on the soft earth. Some one has been here before us." "Sure enough there has," replied Jack. "Men have been here; booted chaps, too; none of the savages; anyhow, not them that we reckon savages, but like enough, they'll be little better. Ay, their track runs upward; what say ye, Mr. Arthur, are we to follow it?" "We must follow it, Jack," answered Arthur; "we must find water, or death is inevitable to us; and we are better in the rear of suspected foes than before them. And yonder are pools before us, God be thanked. Let us drink and then we will carry life back to those who are in greater need than ourselves." The pools afforded ample supplies. The young men drank, and bathed their burning faces and heads, and then hastened back, refreshed and vigorous, bearing full buckets for the anxious party who awaited their return, and after they had drunk, and were able to converse, they were informed of the appearance of the footsteps. "I'd like to see 'em wi' my own eyes," said Wilkins. "If it be ony of our chaps from t' colony, run-a-way fellows, I ken t' make of their boots at t' first sight. But it's a long step for 'em to have marched, poor rogues. What think ye if we stirred from here? for I'd like to tell ye what I ken about them tracks." The whole party went forward more briskly than before, and reached the bed of the river, where Wilkins carefully examined the marks, and then said,--"Bush-rangers, as sure as ye stand there, Mr. Arthur. Here's been four on 'em; and look ye here, what call ye them tracks? I say, beasts and horses. I ken their game: they'll have druv' off a lot of stock, and they'll reckon to squat here somewhere north. But they'll find they'll have to seek out a cannier bit nor this. Like enough, master, it'll be them chaps as Black Peter was lighting on finding." By this time the two younger boys had ascended considerably higher up the bed of the river, and reached a large pond covered with water-fowl. They were fortunate enough to shoot four ducks, and came back laden with this grateful relief to their utter destitution. They dined as soon as the birds could be cooked; and this rest, and abundant food, invigorated and cheered them to set out once more. They would gladly have continued to travel along the bed of the river, where they might certainly have depended on a constant supply of water, as well as wild ducks; but, on consideration, it was decided that to follow the steps of lawless robbers was a dangerous experiment, and that it was advisable still to continue the southern course over the dreary desert. Their progress was, however, rendered more tolerable, by the knowledge that they carried with them water for two days, at least; and they began to perceive there was beauty, even in that wide, solitary wilderness, though it appeared unknown to all the living world. Yet it was not altogether without living inhabitants; for, the second day, Gerald surprised them by crying out, "A turkey! a turkey!" and spears, arrows, and boomerang, were speedily sent after the luckless bird, though the sight and the cries of the strange multitude had caused it to spring from the bush where it was feeding, to the lowest branches of a tree somewhat taller than the unvaried dwarf bushes; and from thence, rather by leaps than by flight, it ascended to the high branches, where it only exposed itself more to the weapons of the inveterate sportsmen, and was speedily brought down. It was beyond the usual size of the English turkey, to which it bore a strong resemblance, and delighted Ruth with the idea that they were coming among poultry again. The young naturalists had more opportunity of observing this specimen than the last they had killed, and they agreed that this curious bird belonged to a family peculiar to this strange country, the _Megapodidæ_, but so nearly allied to the family of _Meleagrinæ_, that it might familiarly be called the Australian turkey. "There can be no doubt that it is, as I formerly believed," said Mr. Mayburn, "the _Talegalla_ of the prince of ornithologists, Gould. The massy claw is a striking characteristic, so conformable to the habits and haunts of the bird, enabling it to run amongst the bush, or climb trees to escape its enemies, the chief of which is the _Dingo_, or native dog, which has been rather troublesome to us from its nocturnal yelping than from its appearance. Now, concluding this to be the _Talegalla_, we must endeavor to discover the remarkable nest of this bird, which, like the ostrich, leaves its eggs to be hatched by the sun. These eggs we are told are delicious; but above all, the sight of the peculiar nest would gratify my curiosity." They had not proceeded far, when they saw, a little out of their course, a curious mound or pyramid, which they all went up to examine. It might have been the work of man's hand, so regularly and artfully the ground, for a considerable space round it, was entirely cleared of vegetation, and the decayed grass and brushwood thus removed formed the remarkable mound. The lower part seemed to have been erected some years, the decay being complete; the upper part was fresher, as if recently renewed. "It is apparent that this pile must be the work of years," said Mr. Mayburn, "and is probably accomplished by numbers laboring in common to raise this vast hatching oven. I am reluctant to disturb a work which has cost so much labor; but I think we might partially uncover it, to observe the internal arrangement." The boys mounted the pile, which was six feet in height, and carefully unpacked the upper layer of the hot-bed, when they soon discovered a vast number of large white oval eggs, nearly four inches in length, which were buried standing on end, with the broad end uppermost, about ten inches apart from each other. One of the eggs was partially hatched; and the young bird might be seen, covered, not with down, but with feathers. At the sight of the feathered bird in the shell Ruth turned away with disgust from the long-desired poultry. "Nay, Master Gerald," said she, as the boy held out the egg to her; "ye'll not catch me touching an egg like that, niver sitten on as it ought to be, and t' bird chipping ready-feathered. It's unnat'ral, and they're uncanny creaters, they are." "Why, one of these unbroken eggs would make a custard, Ruth, as good as that of an English Turkey," said Gerald. "That's what I'se niver credit, sir," answered she. "Not a custard fit for Christians. Them black folks 'll eat aught 'at falls in their way. Oh! Miss Marget, this is a queer, awesome country!" They did not take any of the eggs, which appeared to be in an advanced state for hatching; but they roasted the talegalla, and found it delicious meat, though it must be remembered appetite was keen and turkey a rarity. "Now, to-morrow morning," said Arthur, "we must make for yon distant green hills; and I trust we shall find a pleasanter region. If we could but meet with one of the rivers that flow towards the south, we might try boating again, and make our journey on an easier plan. Surely we ought to have reached the division between the northern and southern waters." "It would be a rare hit to light on a good river," said Wilkins, "for we're gettin fearfully into t' midst of a nest of bush-rangers, and we'll ha'e little chance of slipping 'em, trailing on in this way." The morning view of the green hills was so flattering that they indulged in the luxury of tea for breakfast, though the water was nearly expended, and then proceeded hopefully over the scrub, now diversified with various species of acacia, a Stenochylus bending under its large scarlet blossoms, and a Boronia laden with lilac flowers. Cheerfully hailing the fertile regions once more, they soon reached the steep wooded ascent of the hills, where the lively notes of the birds again gave life to the solitude; while their brilliant plumage lighted up the gray foliage of the acacia and the dark gloom of the evergreens. After an hour's laborious ascent they reached the table-land, where the fresh breeze and the balmy fragrance announced a pleasanter region. They rested, and looked round with admiration and delight on the glorious prospect below them. On the east and on the west distant ranges of mountains were visible, between which lay a rich valley studded with lofty forest trees, while here and there arose green hills crowned with rocky masses resembling towers and fortresses, or ruined castles, in picturesque beauty. From the western range of mountains might be seen a long, dark-green line, stretching to the south-east, which they decided must be the boundary of some large river. This line they impatiently desired to reach; and, after a short rest, they continued their march over a plain rich with rare shrubs and many new and curious grasses now in seed, amongst which they hailed with pleasure their old friend the oat-grass, with which they filled the emptied bags as they passed through it. A dark and luxuriant wood formed the green line they had seen from the heights, and crossing it, they stood on the rocky banks of a rapid river which flowed to the south-east. For a few moments they stood silently contemplating this pleasant sight, beneath a graceful _Acacia Pendula_. Then Mr. Mayburn turned to his family, with tears in his eyes, and said, "My children, let us give thanks where thanks are due. We are again rescued from famine, captivity, or death. Let us praise His name who has brought us from the dark valley of the shadow of death, to life and hope." All kneeled down, and the little Nakinna was the first to raise her infantine voice, saying "Our Father;" and to that simple and sublime expression of heavenly trust, Mr. Mayburn added the prayers of humility, hope, and gratitude. "To-night we must rest," said Arthur, when the prayers were concluded; "but to-morrow we must, if possible, make two canoes." "We will bark the trees to-night, Mr. Arthur, if you please," said Jack. "The bark will dry, and I'd like all ready to start. To-morrow's never so safe as to-day." "Jack's right," said Wilkins. "I were feeling a bit idle mysel', but there's no sense in't; so lend us hand on an axe, and I'se be none the worse for a stroke of work." While the young men were engaged in cutting away the bark for the shells of the canoes, and the fibres of the stringy bark for tying them, and collecting the strong gum for cement, Baldabella descended to the river, and soon speared two immense fish, which seemed to be a species of mullet; and she also brought in a quantity of the fresh-water mussels, the shells of which were so useful for domestic purposes. The broiled fish and hastily prepared oat-cake--or damper, as Wilkins called it--formed an excellent supper; and though the nights had now become cold, even in that tropical region, they slept on beds of heath, covered with opossum cloaks, without injury or disturbance. CHAPTER XXV. Boat-building again.--Unlucky Ruth.--The Woods on Fire.--Dangers on Land and Water.--The Wounded Girl.--A Home among the Mountains.--The Bottle-tree.--The Bee-hunt.--Bean-coffee.--The Lost Hunters. At the first merry cry of the laughing jackass, which announced the dawn as regularly as the English cock-crow, the workmen rose to labor at their hopeful undertaking; and before many hours were passed the canoes were nearly finished, and the women were busy cutting down grass for seats; when Ruth, who had left them, came rushing back through the wood, with her wildest look of distraction, crying out, "They seed me! Miss Marget, they seed me!" "Thou unlucky lass!" exclaimed Jenny. "Where hast thou been? and who's seen thee?" "Them black men, they seed me!" answered she. "I were cutting some oats for my hens; and I heared 'em shouting out their _coo-ee_, and when I looked round I seed a lot of 'em, a long way off, and I skriked out; I couldn't help it, Miss Marget, and then they _coo-eed_ again, and off I ran. But I'se feared they heared me skrike, onyhow." Margaret, in deep dismay, communicated this unfortunate event to her brothers, and Arthur went through the wood to reconnoitre. From a hidden retreat he observed a troop of men, still at a great distance, who appeared to be stooping down to mark some track on the ground, from which he judged Ruth's cries had been unnoticed. He returned in haste to report his observations. "They've tracked us, sure enough," said Wilkins. "Sharp's the word, lads, we may distance 'em yet, if we work hard. We'se run down t' water at a bonnie rate." "I will watch and report their approach, while you all work at the boats," said Margaret. "Where shall I stand, Wilkins?" "Just here, Miss," answered he, "aback of this thick bush. There's yer peep-hole; and shout when they get close up." Margaret's first shout was a terrific one. "Arthur! Wilkins!" she cried in a frantic voice. "Oh! God help us! whither shall we flee? The wretches are firing the wood." The savages, taking advantage of a north wind, had fired the long dry grass--a common practice with the natives. It was already fiercely blazing, and rushing towards the wood with resistless fury. The ground on which the travellers had encamped, and the spot where the young men were working, they had fortunately cleared for beds, and for seats in the boats; and now, while Jack and Arthur finished the canoes, the rest cut down the brushwood round, and flung it into the river, leaving a space of twenty or thirty yards wide quite cleared. But beyond that rose the lofty trees, that, once blazing, must shower down destruction on them. Already the crackling of the trees announced that the conflagration was begun in the woods, and that no time must be lost, if they hoped to escape from it. Flights of white cockatoos, of bright-colored parrots, and glittering bronze pigeons, rose screaming from their desolated homes, and affrighted opossums sprang from their nests, swung on the trees, or fell senseless with the smoke on the ground. But in this time one canoe was completed and launched, with the women, all the baggage, and Mr. Mayburn and Hugh to direct it. They had been swept down the river to a considerable distance from the fire before the second canoe, imperfectly completed, whirled off with the rest of the family, who reached their friends at a point of safety, with wild looks and scorched hair. Then they all rested a moment, to look back on the terrific and still spreading conflagration, by the red light of which they saw the frightful outline of the dark forms, among whom, though now naked, and scarcely less dark than the rest, they distinguished the muscular and ungraceful form of Peter, which strangely contrasted with the stately, slender, and agile forms of the natives. "He's not lit on them t' other rangers yet," said Wilkins. "That's a good job, onyhow; for, ye see, they'd horses, and we'd fairly been hunted down like foxes." Augmented by the recent rains, the river flowed in an uninterrupted course, and before the evening and the calls of hunger induced them to arrest their flight, the grateful family believed they must have progressed twenty-five or thirty miles to the south-east, with very slight exertion, through new and lovely scenes of hill, vale, rocky mountains, and rich forests. Then, on the margin of the river, beneath the shelter of a thick wood, they landed, to thank God for their escape, and to take rest. Mussels, a sort of cray-fish, and the river-cod, formed their supper, which was cooked in fear and trembling, lest the smoke of their fire should bring on them the savages, or the flames should spread to the brushwood, a catastrophe they now regarded with horror. Before they set out the following morning, the canoes were completely finished, and oars and paddles added: thus their progress was safe and easy, and for three days no accident arrested their course; but on the fourth day they were compelled to land, to repair a rent in one of the canoes, and were startled at their labor by the sound of the "_coo-ee_" and an alarming rustling among the trees. Without delay the canoes were carried to the water, and all embarked; nor had they proceeded twenty yards before a large opening appeared in the wooded bank, which had evidently been cleared by fire. Here they beheld the first permanent settlement of the natives they had yet met with. Many large huts stood round, formed of boughs, and thatched with bark. Several fires were burning, around which the women and children were gathered, and a number of men, armed with spears and clubs, advanced to the bank with threatening aspect, when they saw the canoes. Loud and angry words were heard, which Baldabella interpreted to be,--"What for white men come here? Go away! go away!" And the way in which they waved their clubs and stone tomahawks was very intimidating. "Best take no notish of their antics, Mr. Arthur," said Wilkins; and, all agreeing in the wisdom of the counsel, they rowed forward, the men still uttering defiance against the strange invaders, and apparently amazed that their threats were received with indifference. But Ruth, whom Jenny had been ineffectually endeavoring to calm, at last could no longer control her terror, and poured forth such a succession of shrieks, that the savages seemed encouraged, and immediately directed a volley of spears against the canoes. The swift motion happily discomfited their attempt, and but one spear took effect, seriously wounding the right arm of Ruth, which she had held up to shield her face. A few moments carried the boats beyond the reach of the weapons, and they continued their voyage, till they believed themselves safe from the pursuit of the assailants. Mr. Mayburn and Margaret bound up the wound of Ruth, which bled profusely, and was very painful, and she could not be persuaded that she should ever recover. She declared that she was killed, and she earnestly begged that she might be buried in a church-yard, till Jenny, out of patience with her cowardice, said,-- "Be quiet, ye silly wench; where think ye we're to find a church-yard among these heathens?" "Then they'll eat me, Jenny!" she cried, in great horror. "Be comforted, Ruth," said Margaret; "you are under the protection of a merciful God; and as long as we are spared, we will take care of you, and even bury you if it be His will that you die before us. But, believe me, Ruth, though your wound must be painful, there is no danger for your life, unless you cry and fret yourself into a fever; so pray be patient." "I will, Miss Marget," sobbed she. "Indeed I will, if you will feed my hens, and gather corn, whiles, for 'em. Shame on them black savages as burned down all that good corn." The fretfulness and timidity of Ruth, however, inflamed the wound greatly; and before the next day ended, they thought it prudent to disembark at some quiet spot, where she could have shelter and rest. The banks of the river had now become rocky, gradually sloping upwards to rugged and irregular mountains, amongst which they trusted to find the shelter they desired. A sloping bank offered them a landing-place, and they disembarked, and the men bearing the light canoes on their shoulders, they left the river. Jack carried Ruth, now quite unfit for exertion, in his arms, and they were soon plunged into a maze of mountains, cut apart by narrow ravines, some of which were choked with fallen stones, and through others clear streams of water poured between rocks covered with new and graceful ferns, some of which were of gigantic size. The further they penetrated into this maze, the more they became perplexed and embarrassed. At length, O'Brien, who had forced his way through a narrow, stone-encumbered crevice, called on them to join him in a lovely little valley, of three or four hundred yards across, encompassed with precipitous, overhanging rocks, and inaccessible, except by the narrow opening through which they had entered. It was overgrown with tall grass, amongst which they saw the useful wild oats; in one corner was a deep clear pool of water, while the surrounding rocks were covered with brushwood, from which were heard the pleasing notes of the beautiful pigeon, which the naturalists judged to be _Geophaps Scripta_, and which all agreed was the most delicious bird ever placed before gormandizing man. There were numerous caves in these rocks, and they had only to choose one dry and light for the sick woman, and then, enjoying the luxury of many apartments, the young men selected their own bed-chambers, the boats were safely stowed into one hollow, and the ammunition placed carefully in another rocky cave; and once more the family rejoiced in a temporary resting-place. One of the caves was chosen for a kitchen, and again the active young men dug, and lined with stones, an oven, in which Jenny baked cakes of the fresh-gathered oats, a dozen pigeons were despatched, tea was made for the invalid, and all was festivity and peace. Still, Ruth's wound, which was torn by a jagged spear, showed no appearance of healing, and it was resolved to spend some days in this beautiful and untrodden solitude, to allow the poor girl to recover, and to recruit the strength of all. But it was not possible to confine the active boys to the narrow valley, and they daily found a pretext for some expedition. One day they set out to search for the _Tea shrub_, and brought home a large quantity of leaves. Another day they scaled some of the lower rocks, to obtain gum from the numerous trees from which it exuded, and brought out all the family to see a curious tree, the trunk of which, formed like a barrel, was in the thickest part not less than thirty feet in circumference. "It is one of the _Sterculiads_," said Mr. Mayburn, "and is, I conclude, that wonder of Australia popularly known as the Bottle Tree, or, more scientifically, this peculiar species is named _Delabechea Rupestris_. It appears to be full of gum, and is, doubtless, a great blessing to the natives." Baldabella seemed rejoiced to see the tree, which she declared was "good, very good," chewing the branches with great enjoyment; and they found there was so much mucilage in the wood, that they cut some shavings, and poured boiling water over them, when a clear, sweet jelly was formed, most agreeable to the palate, and highly relished by the whole party. The next expedition was suggested by Baldabella, who pointed to some bees humming among the trees, and said, "Make very good dinner--very good supper; Baldabella find his nest." Margaret taught the woman the name, honey, which she concluded was the good dinner she alluded to. Then the woman caught a bee, appearing to have no fear in handling it, and catching a piece of white down which had fallen from the breast of some bird, and was floating on the air, she touched it with gum, and stuck it upon the captive bee; she now called on the rest to follow her, and leaving the valley, she stood on an elevated rock, released the bee, and kept her keen eye fixed on the white down as it sailed away, following the flight of the insect, till she saw it settle in a tree. Then she stopped, and pointing to the trunk, ordered Jack to cut it. His axe was soon at work; the bark was stripped, and the hollow laid open: they found the tree quite filled with honey, and cutting away a considerable quantity, they carried it off on pieces of bark. The bees, which were very small, either careless in the midst of plenty, or powerless to injure, did not molest the robbers. The honey was much mingled with wax, and looked and tasted like gingerbread; but, kneaded with the bitter oat-paste, it rendered the biscuits pleasanter and more palatable. "We really seem to have all we want here, Miss Marget," said Jenny one day. "Isn't it a pity to hurry t' poor master over these weary commons and fells? We'se be sure to have winter at some end; and hadn't we better bide here a bit till it's past?" "It is really near the beginning of winter now, nurse," said Margaret; "it is more than a year since we left England; for it is now the end of April. I felt the air a little cold during last night, though now it is mild and balmy; and the evergreen shrubs, continual successions of flowers, noisy birds, and humming insects, make it more like an English summer than the end of autumn. This is truly a charming climate." "It's very nice, Miss Marget," answered Jenny; "but don't you think we should be better of a change of meat? One tires of pigeons always." "Very right, Jenny," said O'Brien; "though the observation is not new. I'll tell you what we will do: we will stalk a kangaroo for you." "No easy task, I should think, Gerald," said Arthur, "if the kangaroo be as difficult to tire out as Wilkins tells us." "He'll lead ye a bonnie chase," said Wilkins, "that will he. Ye'll tire afore him. Ye'd better wait till Baldabella makes an end of that net she's shaping to catch 'em. She's a long time about it." "And we may wait another week," said Gerald, "to obtain the ignoble means of snaring the poor fellow. No; I say, let us have a regular stalking-day. Arthur, what do you say?" "I cannot have Arthur leave us for a day," said Mr. Mayburn. "I should not feel it safe for Margaret. I can rely on his judgment and discretion." A few days after this Jack was engaged in putting the canoes in repair, and Wilkins had gone off to the river with Baldabella, to spear fish, when the two boys entreated that they might be allowed to take spears and bows--guns being prohibited, unless Arthur was of the party,--and set out after a kangaroo; for the woods and grassy hollows among the mountains abounded in game. On the promise to Mr. Mayburn that they would not ramble far from home, they were allowed to go; while Margaret was employed in teaching little Nakinna to read, by tracing letters and words on the sand, and Mr. Mayburn and Arthur were searching the crevices of the rocks for the rare birds and the brilliant plants which, even at that late season, were to be found in profusion. In the middle of the day Baldabella and Wilkins returned with baskets filled with large fish, and a bag of pods filled with small beans, which they had plucked in a sandy nook near the river. Each pod contained ten or twelve beans; and Baldabella's exclamations of delight showed they were considered a prize. "I fear," said Arthur, "that these beans are too dry at this season to be useful as good vegetables, but I fancy we might roast them, and use them as a substitute for coffee, to surprise our sportsmen when they return from their expedition." With great satisfaction, Jenny heated the oven and roasted the beans, which were not larger than those of coffee, till they became the proper deep-brown color. They were then bruised between two stones, and boiled with a little honey, and the brown liquid wanted but milk to represent indifferent coffee. The partakers of the beverage declared it to be perfect; and Wilkins was sent back to the river to procure an abundant supply, to be roasted for future occasions. When the evening drew near, and the family, leaving their several occupations, assembled together as usual, great anxiety filled every breast, for the two hunters had not returned. They had taken no provision with them; but this was a minor consideration, for no one could starve in this region of plenty. Nor could the chase itself lead them into danger; but there remained the ever-existing terror of the treacherous and cunning natives, or still worse, of an encounter with the lawless bush-rangers. The fears of Mr. Mayburn soon amounted to deep distress, and at length Arthur and Wilkins set out to a high point of the mountains, where they could command an extensive view, hoping to see the wanderers. But before they reached the pinnacle, sudden darkness veiled the prospect, and Arthur reluctantly adopted the only means he could then use to recall the boys. He fired his rifle, and the echoes, flung from mountain to mountain, thundered like a charge of artillery; and it seemed impossible that this report should not reach the ears of the thoughtless ramblers. After waiting a few minutes, in the vain hope of hearing some answering shout, Arthur and Wilkins retraced their steps to the caves, depressed with the ill-success of their mission. Yet such was the deep distress of the father, that his children endeavored to conceal their own sorrow, that they might console him. He mourned as lost, not only his own brave boy, but the not less dear son of his lamented friend; and long refused to be comforted. Arthur represented to him that no more could be effected till morning; but that the youths, when they had gone astray would have probably taken refuge in one of the numerous caves in the mountains, where they would be safe during the night; and he promised that at the first gleam of light, he, Wilkins, and Jack, would set out in different directions to search for them. "And remember, dear papa," said Margaret, "this is, happily, not a country of fierce beasts; they may enter a cave boldly, secure that they shall not disturb a lion or a bear in his den. Nor need they fear the snowstorm or the hurricane. This is a pleasant land! God seems to have created it for the abode of peace. Is it not, then, fearful wickedness that civilized man, the professed Christian should scatter the seeds of evil rather than the seeds of truth among the simple inhabitants?" "This is, truly, a calm and blessed region," answered Mr. Mayburn. "We seem to have been Heaven-directed towards it; and if my two dear boys were again safely at my side, I confess that I should feel reluctant to leave it. In this vast and lovely solitude, where man has never before planted his destroying foot, where neither storms nor wild beasts appall, and where God himself provides our food, even as He fed the Prophet in the wilderness, we seem to be brought face to face with Him. Here we see and hear Him alone in His glorious works so richly scattered around us. Such may have been Eden, before the sin of man polluted it. In this sublime solitude, consecrated to devotion and peace, would I willingly remain conversing with my God. Here would I,-- 'Sustain'd and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach my grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.'" "It is a charming vision," said Margaret. "But look round you, papa; the fresh, the restless, the aspiring spirit of youth must be exercised and disciplined by the duties and trials of life. We may not dare to rest, dear father, till we have done our work." "You are always rational, Margaret, and I am but a selfish visionary," answered Mr. Mayburn. "Even now my idle dreams have turned away my thoughts from my heavy and real calamity--the loss of my children." "Depend on't we'se find t' lads all right, master," said Wilkins; "and they'll tell us what a good laugh they had when they heared that grand salute we gave 'em amang these rattling hills." CHAPTER XXVI. The Search for the Lost.--The Fig-tree.--Signals.--The Wanderers found.--The Wounded Boy.--The Sufferings of the Thirsty.--The Rescue and Return.--The Kangaroo Conflict.--A strange Meeting.--The Bush-rangers.--The miraculous Escape. Sleep fled from all the sorrowful family, and they gladly saw the morning light which would enable them to set out to track the unlucky boys. The three men chose the high pinnacle from whence Arthur had fired the preceding evening for a rendezvous, and fixed a white cross of peeled rods against the dark foliage of a gum-tree, that stood tall and conspicuous on the summit, as a land-mark. From thence Arthur proceeded directly north amidst the intricacies of the mountains, while Jack went off at the right-hand, and Wilkins at the left. It was agreed that they should meet at the same spot in the evening, if the search was not successful before then. Arthur carried one of the guns; the other being left with Mr. Mayburn, that he might fire it as a signal, in case of alarm; while Arthur proposed, if he succeeded in discovering the fugitives, to recall the other two men by firing his gun. Arthur's share of the work was certainly the most toilsome. At one moment he was climbing over some lofty rock; the next, he was searching for a pass amidst inaccessible heights; then winding through tortuous gorges, till his head became so bewildered that it was only when he observed the course of the sun, or caught sight of the happy signal of the white cross, that he was able to determine his position. Several times, from some elevation, he shouted loudly the names of the absent boys, but none answered. The day wore away, and he gladly rested for a short time beneath a fig-tree, still bearing a quantity of ripe fruit, while the ground was strewn with the decayed figs, on which flocks of bronze pigeons, yellow cockatoos, and rose-colored parrots, were busily feeding. These birds seemed to confide in Arthur's forbearance, for they continued to enjoy their feast without evincing any alarm, except by a vehement greeting, in their several notes, as if they inquired his business at their board. The arched roots of the fig-tree afforded him an easy mode of access to the upper branches, where he filled his straw hat with the fruit, and then continued his walk, enjoying the refreshment; for the figs, though not luscious, were ripe and juicy. "I will give one more shout," thought he; and his voice, cleared and strengthened by his refreshment, rang through the echoing mountains. He waited for five minutes; still there was no reply; but his eye caught a light smoke among the mountains. It might be the fires of the natives he thought; but even were it so, the boys might have fallen into their hands, and no time must be lost in rescuing them. He made ready his gun, and, still bearing his load of figs, he directed his course briskly towards the suspected spot. But it was most difficult to attain the place from whence the smoke seemed to proceed, and he wandered for an hour amidst intricate windings, making many unsuccessful attempts to penetrate to the spot, till at length he came to a small hollow, surrounded by dungeon-like walls, where a fire of dry wood was smouldering, but no one was near it. "Hugh! Gerald!" he shouted; and at the sound of his voice his brother appeared, crawling feebly from a hole in the rocks. "Hugh, my boy, are you hurt?" asked Arthur, in a hurried tone: "and where is Gerald?" Hugh pointed to the hole from whence he had issued, and in a hoarse, weak voice, said, "Water! water!" Scarcely conscious what he did, Arthur pressed the juice of a fig into the parched mouth of the boy, who murmured, "Thank God! But, oh, Arty! can you get any water for poor Gerald?" Putting more figs into his hand, Arthur stooped down to the low entrance, and passed into a small dark hollow, where Gerald was stretched out, almost insensible, and near him lay dead a huge kangaroo. Arthur gave the poor boy the only refreshment he had to offer, the juice of the figs; but he seemed in a much more feeble state than Hugh, and when his kind friend with difficulty got him out into the open air, he saw with consternation that his leg was bound up with a handkerchief, through which the blood was oozing. "How did this happen, Hugh?" asked Arthur, before he ventured to examine the wound. "It was the kangaroo," answered he; "and then, when we had killed it, we were far too ill to eat it, though we have had no food since we left home." "I cannot tell what I must do," said Arthur. "It will be impossible to get you home to-night, feeble as you are; and papa will now be in alarm at my absence." "But you will not leave us again, Arty," said Hugh, sobbing. "I fear dear Gerald will die. I dare not remain alone any longer." "I must leave you for a short time," answered Arthur. "I think I shall be able to summon Wilkins and Jack to us; then they can search for water, and carry Gerald home." Hugh burst into tears, and said, "But the bush-rangers--I cannot tell you all, Arthur, my head is so bad. There are bush-rangers; we have seen them; they will meet you, and they will come and kill us. At least, carry Gerald back to the cave." In increased alarm, Arthur conveyed Gerald into the dismal cave, and leaving them all the remainder of the figs, he waited to hear no more, but hurried off with all speed towards the rendezvous, looking round as he went on, for some spring or pool from which he could procure water for the suffering boys. When he reached a high rock, not far from the rendezvous, he ventured to fire his gun, and was immediately answered by the shouts of the men, who, following the sound and flash of the gun, soon came up to him. "Where are they? Oh, Mr. Arthur, have you not found them?" said Jack. Arthur, in a few words, told the distressing story; and night being now at hand, it was agreed that Jack should return to appease the uneasiness of the family, while Wilkins should accompany Arthur back to the two anxious boys, with whom they would remain till daylight, and then bring them home. Wilkins undertook to procure water for them from a pool at a little distance, where Jack and he rested, and where they had cleaned out two large gourds they had found, and converted them into water-bottles. These gourds were a great treasure; they carried them to the pool, filled them with fresh-water, and, after drinking themselves, hastened forward with all the vigor that remained to them after the day's fatigue, towards the spot where the boys were lying, but did not reach it till night had made it most difficult to discover it. The joy of the poor wanderers was excessive when they saw their friends arrive, bringing the refreshment they so much desired. Gerald was already somewhat revived by the figs; and after he and Hugh had drunk some water, they began to desire more substantial food; and it was not long before Wilkins had cut off, and broiled, some steaks of kangaroo venison, of which all the hungry party partook with great enjoyment. Still the boys were too much weakened and exhausted to enter into any details of their adventure that night; and when Arthur and Wilkins had collected heath for beds and covering--for the nights were now chill,--they all crept into the cave, and slept soundly till awakened by the rude, early greeting of the laughing jackass. Then, after more kangaroo steaks, Arthur made an examination of Gerald's lacerated and bruised leg, which Hugh had previously bandaged to the best of his skill. They could now spare water to wash the wound, and the bandages were replaced by some made from Arthur's handkerchief; and Wilkins having cut down the spreading bough of a fig-tree, Gerald and the kangaroo were placed side by side upon it, and borne by Arthur and Wilkins. The procession moved slowly and silently, Hugh looking round anxiously as he preceded the litter, in dread of the terrible bush-rangers. The rugged mountain-road tired the bearers greatly, but long before they reached the rendezvous, they saw a figure standing before the dark gum-tree, and a loud "Halloo!" brought Jack to meet and assist them. He had considerately brought with him a bucket of water; and they rested and refreshed themselves, before they completed their toilsome journey. But fatigue was forgotten when they all met again in the quiet valley; Mr. Mayburn and Margaret wept for joy, and though nurse did not fail to chide them as "bad boys," she fondled and nursed the wanderers, and produced for their comfort cockatoo-stew, flavored with wild herbs that resembled parsley and marjoram, and mixed with the beans they had got on the banks of the river. "Keep a sentinel at the pass, Arthur," said Hugh. "We shall be watched and tracked; there will be scouts all around us. It is a miracle that we have arrived here safely." "Oh! Master Hugh, honey, is it that good-to-nought Black Peter?" asked Jenny. "Worse than that, I am sorry to say, nurse," answered he; "for there are dozens of Black Peters ready to snap us up. But don't look so sorrowful, Meggie, and I'll just tell you how it all happened. That big old fellow," pointing to the kangaroo, "kept us trotting after him for hours and hours, and always when we got him within reach of a spear or an arrow, he bounded off like a race-horse, and you could not say whether he hopped, or galloped, or flew. It was a beautiful sight, but very vexatious. At last we got desperate; we were tired and hungry, and we determined to have him; so we parted, that we might attack him on both sides, and force him to stand at bay. It was a capital plan, and turned out very well. We chased him into that queer little dungeon-like hollow where you found us. He flew round and round, but we guarded the entrance, and he could not escape, and at last we drove him into a corner, pierced mortally with our spears. I wanted Gerald to wait till the beast was weakened with loss of blood; but he was in a hurry to finish, so he rushed on with his drawn knife, and I followed to help him. But when the brave old fellow found he had not a chance, he faced round, and with his fore-feet--his arms, I should say--he seized me, and gave me a heavy fall. Gerald was then behind, and plunged his knife into him, on which the desperate creature struck out with his powerful hind claw, and tore and bruised poor Gerald, as you see. "I was soon on my feet again, and then I speedily despatched the beast; but I should never like to kill another in that way; it was just like murdering one's grandfather. Then I turned to poor Gerald. Oh, Margaret! if you had seen how he bled! and how frightened I was till I got his wounds tied up! He was very thirsty, and begged me to get him some water, or he thought he must die. So off I set, keeping a sharp eye on our den, that I might find it again. I mounted a crag, and looked about me till I saw flocks of birds, all hovering over one place, a good stretch from me. 'That's my aim,' thought I, and on I dashed, over rocks and valleys, straight forward, till I saw before me a grand silver-looking lake, covered with ducks and swans; while regiments of birds, like cranes and pelicans, with other unknown species, were drawn up round it. "I could look at nothing else but the birds for some time, I was so charmed, and I planned directly to bring papa to the place the very next day; but remembering poor Gerald's condition, I went forward, and looking round to scan the grassy plains between the mountains and the lake, I was astonished to see a number of large animals grazing, which were certainly not kangaroos, but real, downright quadrupeds, walking on their four legs. 'Here's a grand new field of natural history,' thought I. 'Yes, we must certainly take up our quarters here.' But, halloo! what did I see that moment, hobbling ungracefully up to me, but our old friend Charlie Grey!" "Charlie Grey! Edward Deverell's favorite horse!" exclaimed Margaret. "You have been dreaming, Hugh; it could not be!" "It could be, Meggie, for it really was he," answered Hugh. "Do you remember how we used to feed the handsome fellow with bits of bread on the voyage? It came into my mind just then, and I plucked a handful of oats, and held them out, calling 'Charlie! Charlie!' Poor, dear old fellow! he could not trot up to me as his heart wished, but he limped forward as well as his hobbles would allow him." "Hobbles!" exclaimed Wilkins; "then he'd been nabbed by them bush-rangers." "Sure enough he had, Wilkins," continued Hugh; "and there were five or six strong black draught-horses, besides a herd of bullocks and cows; every beast, I'll venture to say, stolen from our friend Edward Deverell. Well, I had forgot all about poor Gerald and the water, and was feeding and stroking Charlie, when I saw he had a halter on his neck; and I thought I might as well just cut the hobbles, mount him, ride off to take Gerald behind me, and away we would gallop home. But the water!--I had forgotten that we had no vessel to contain water; but, fortunately, at the edge of the lake, near a place where a fire had been kindled, I saw piles of large mussel-shells. I filled two, placed them in my hat, and slung it round my neck. Then I pulled out my knife, and stooped down to cut Charlie's bonds; but just then such yells fell on my ears that I started up, and saw on one of the heights a line of fierce looking men, attired in the conspicuous yellow dress of the convicts. Their guns were directed towards me, and there was no longer time to release and mount Charlie; in fact, I had not presence of mind to decide on doing it, but ran off as fast as my legs would carry me, just in time to escape a volley of shots from the wretches. Thankful that I had escaped unhit, I fled desperately, never looking behind me till I reached poor Gerald, whom I found very ill and restless, parched with thirst; and there was scarcely a teaspoonful of water left in the shells, from my rapid flight. I was telling him my story, when we heard a tremendous report of fire-arms, and we trembled to think the villains were pursuing me; but now I conclude it must have been your signal-shot, an idea which never occurred to me in my distracted state. I then got Gerald into that little hole, and dragged the great kangaroo after him, that nothing suspicious might be in sight if they followed me; though I hardly dared to hope that our den should escape their observation. Dear Gerald groaned and tossed about all night. How much I did grieve that I had not succeeded in bringing him the water! Nor was our condition improved next morning, for I was afraid to venture out beyond the hollow, round which I sought in vain for any fruit or juicy herb to cool our parched mouths. Gerald, in all his agony, was twice as brave as I was; and if he had been the sound one, I know he would have risked any danger to obtain help for me." "Botheration! Hugh, my boy," said Gerald, "didn't I know all the time that it was my moans and groans that made you turn soft and sob like a girl? I couldn't help grunting out like a pig shut out of a cabin on a rainy night; and then you grunted and cried too, for company. We were a pair of pleasant, jolly fellows all day, Meggie, as you may easily suppose. Day, indeed, do I say! why, we thought it must be a week, at least! As night came on, it grew very cold, and Hugh scrambled out to gather a few sticks together to make a fire before our cave. Before he came back, I heard the crack! crack! of a gun running from rock to rock; and when I saw Hugh, I tried to speak to him; and then I know no more till I felt the cold fig-juice on my dry tongue. Won't I like figs as long as I live; and won't I have an alley of fig-trees in my garden when I locate--squat, I mean, and build a mansion, and marry." "Mrs. O'Brien may possibly object to the _Ficus_ in her garden, Gerald," said Arthur;--"it is not a comely tree in its proportions; but the question may safely rest awhile. Now, Hugh, after you heard the gun?" "Then I threw more wood upon the fire," answered he, "that the smoke might be seen, and crept back into the cave; for I could not get over the fear that the shot might have come from the bush-rangers; and I had thus given them a signal to our hiding-place. Think of my joy when I heard the voices which I never expected to hear again!" Jenny had wept abundantly at the tale of suffering, and she now endeavored to show her sympathy by placing before the fatigued and hungry boys another collation, consisting of bean-coffee sweetened with honey, and sweet oat-cakes; and certainly, if Mr. Mayburn had not interfered with grave sanitary admonitions, the boys were in danger of eating themselves into a fever. "I have thought much on this unfortunate adventure," said Mr. Mayburn, when they met together the next morning. "It is a fearful reflection to know that we are in the midst of a horde of banditti, ready to intercept our least movement. What shall we do? We appear to be in safety here; but this lovely spot would become a prison to you all, if you were forbidden to move from it. Arthur, what do you say? Wilkins, my good man, do you think we are quite safe?" "Not ower and above, I say, master," answered Wilkins; "they're just ranging hereabouts, to pick up recruits among them fools of black fellows, and to keep out of t' way of them as they've pillaged; and they're ripe for any thieving or ill-doing as falls in their way. But they'll not sattle long; they'll range off down south to turn their beasts into brandy, and we'se be better at their heels nor afore 'em." "I think, papa, Wilkins is right," said Arthur. "We may rest a good time here without any sacrifice of comfort. We have grain and water at hand; pigeons and cockatoos in our own preserve, asking us to roast them; an excellent store of honey, coffee, and tea, as we are pleased to name the Australian representatives of these luxuries; spacious and dry lodgings, and fresh air. Certainly, with occasional forays, conducted with due prudence, we shall have abundant and excellent provision for any length of time. This monstrous kangaroo ought to supply us with meat for many days; and I think we might dry part of it in the sun, to resemble the South-American _charqui_." "It is an admirable idea, Arthur," said Mr. Mayburn; "we shall thus avoid the sin of wasting the good gifts of Providence. I have read a description of the process; I know the meat must be cut in slices, and I should like to assist you in carrying out the plan, though, practically, I am inexperienced. The first difficulty appears to be, how to avoid the destruction of the skin in slicing it." "Why, papa, we skinned him this morning," replied Hugh. "The skin is already cleaned and spread to dry; we shall rub it with a little fat, to render it pliable, and then we shall have a blanket or a cloak of inestimable value." "True, my son; I had forgotten that preliminary operation," said Mr. Mayburn. "But still I cannot understand how we shall obtain the large slices;--the bones, the form of the animal, present great obstacles." "Leave it to the experienced, papa," said Margaret. "Wilkins knows how to slice up a kangaroo." It was capital employment and amusement for the active to cut up the huge animal into thin slices, which were spread out on the bush, and the ardent sun of the climate, even at this late season, soon dried the meat perfectly; and Margaret wove grass bags to pack it in; and thus several days passed without alarm or annoyance; and with due care and attention the wound of Gerald was perfectly healed. CHAPTER XXVII. The Eagle's Eyrie.--The Chaotic Solitude disturbed.--The Voluntary Prisoners.--The Report of the Spy.--The Foe at the Gates.--A Traitor in the Camp.--Dispersion of the Invaders.--A lucky Escape.--A pleasant Voyage. After a few days more had elapsed, the close confinement became irksome to all. Baldabella, accustomed to a free, roving life, pleaded her great desire to fish by moonlight; and as there was less danger for her than for the white men, this was permitted, and she returned safely with abundance of fish to increase the store of provisions. Then Hugh and Gerald, unlucky as their last expedition had been, begged humbly that they might be allowed to put their noses out beyond the bars of their cage. "No, no! unruly boys," answered Margaret; "you have a spacious _pleasaunce_ around you; be content and thankful to enjoy it." "Then surely we may climb the woods at the side?" said Hugh. "We want to find the nests of the strange birds we hear above us. No harm can befall us in our own domain; it will be only like running up a ladder, the brush is so thick and low. Come along, Gerald, and let us inspect the wonders of our aviary." Mr. Mayburn would really have liked himself to have a peep into the many holes and crannies of the rocks, which sent forth such multitudes of birds, and he could not object to the expedition. The agile boys made no delay, but, clinging to the bushes, sprung up the almost perpendicular side of the mountain, disturbing the domestic peace of the tender pigeons, provoking the voluble abuse of the noisy cockatoos, and finally, at the summit, regarding with awe, at a respectful distance, the eyrie of the dark eagle, which, with the fire of its fierce eyes, defied their approach. "We will avoid any offence to _Aquila_," said Hugh. "We might come to the worse again, Gerald. But where are you mounting now?" "Only to the peak, Hugh," answered he. "I should like to have a peep round, to find out what our neighborhood is." And the active boy soon gained the highest point, and stood there, an Australian Mercury, on the "heaven-kissing hill." "What a wonderful sight!" he cried out. "Do come up, Hugh, to see these heights, and hollows, and windings,--a rocky chaos! It is like the beginning of a new world!" Then turning round to observe the scene at his left hand, he suddenly cried out, in a tone of alarm,--"Halloo! I'm in for it now!" and as he hastily descended from his elevated position, the report of fire-arms, multiplied as usual among the mountains, proved that the chaotic solitude was not free from the visitation of man. "Down! down! hurry to them, Hugh!" continued Gerald, now safe from the shots. "Tell them to gather in the charqui, and the firewood, and all things scattered about. Above all, let Ruth carry off the poultry, and gag that noisy cock; the rangers are at our heels. I shall take up my abode in this darling little oven behind the bushes, and if they should mount the ramparts, I shall be able to act spy. No words about it, but be off. It is safer here than down below." There was indeed no time for Hugh to delay, for many traces of habitation were scattered over the valley. Buckets stood at the well; linen was spread to dry; the charqui was exposed on the bushes; knives and axes were lying about, and the hens and chickens, and men and women, were all out, enjoying the open air. When Hugh dropped among them, breathless and pale, to tell his vexatious tale, they had somewhat anticipated the danger, from hearing the report of the fire-arms; and all hands were already employed to endeavor to restore to the busy valley the wild and solitary aspect of undisturbed nature. The fowls were collected into their coop, which was placed in a dark hollow; and though they did not follow Gerald's advice, and gag the tell-tale cock, they threw a large cloak over the coop, and chanticleer, duped into the belief that it was night, folded his wings, and, mounted on his perch, resigned himself to repose amidst his family. When they had restored to the lately populous vale as natural an appearance as circumstances would allow, they all withdrew into the largest cave, and filled up the entrance, with an appearance of artful disorder, with rocky fragments, very impatient for Gerald's return to report the extent of the danger to which they were exposed, and the best mode of escaping from it. But after waiting a considerable time in their gloomy prison, weary of compelled inaction, every heart was filled with anxiety at the protracted absence of the adventurous boy. Three hours elapsed, and after listening and looking through the crevices of the rock in vain, Arthur was on the point of venturing out to ascend the cliffs himself, when Gerald's voice was heard whispering through a narrow opening, "Is it a serpent or a genie you think I am, to glide through this peep-hole? Open sesame!" There was no time lost in admitting the welcome visitor. "Now, then!" said he; "quick! quick! the foe is at the gate. Now, my boys, do the thing nately, as we Irish say. We mustn't build it up like a wall you see, Jack." It was not built like a wall; but by the united strength of the party, an immense mass of rock was rolled before the opening, which nearly closed it, the pendent branches from above concealing the fissures, and affording light and a means of making observations in safety. "Now, Gerald," said Margaret, "I beseech you to tell me what is the meaning of all this alarm?" "All my fault; my ill luck again, Meggie," answered he. "I would erect myself like a statue at the very summit of the mountains; and from thence I saw on a plain below half a dozen fellows mounted on horseback, whom I recognized, by their canary-colored garments, to be those wicked convicts. I sank down from my eminence in a moment, but not before the hawk-eyed rogues had seen me and fired. I was not hit; but I expected they would be after me if they could climb through the brush, so I crept into a snug little hollow just below the peak, arranged my leafy curtains in an elegant manner, and waited to receive my company so long that I had really dropped asleep, and was only awaked by the rough, coarse voices of men swearing and using language which I have done my best to forget altogether. "They seemed to be in a great rage, and one wicked wretch swore dreadfully and said, 'It's the same ugly little cove as we blazed at afore. He's a spy sent out by them p'lice, and he's off to inform against us. We'll burn him alive if we lay hands on him.' "I didn't want to be burnt alive, so I crept into a corner, and lay still as a mouse. "'T' other chap were bigger, I say,' growled another fellow. "'Haud yer jaw,' answered the first; 'think ye they keep a pack of young hounds like this to point free rangers? But where's he slunk?' "'I say, Bill,' called out a third voice, 'look ye down here. It's a snug, cunning hole; will 't be t' p'lice office, think ye?' "'How'd they get at it, man?' replied Bill. 'Dost thee think they've got wings to flee down?' "'I'se warrant ye, we'll somehow find a road into it,' said the first voice. 'We'se try, at ony end; for we'll have to clear our way afore we set out on another spree. I'se about tired of eating flesh, now t' brandy's all swallowed; and if we could light on Black Peter, we'd be off on some grand job to set us up again.' "'Halloo! lads! what's this?' "Then I heard oaths, and strange screams, and blows, and something heavy flopped past my den, screaming; and wasn't I in a grand fright to think that one of these rogues had found such a ready road down to our grounds. But I soon heard the men above me again, cursing the venomous bird; and I guessed then that they had fallen in with our friend _Aquila_, and, perhaps, been worsted. I ventured cautiously to look down, and saw the poor eagle fluttering and hopping about below, half killed by the brutes no doubt; but by degrees I heard their voices dying away, and was sure they were withdrawing. Then I took courage, and slipped down my rude ladder as briskly as a lamp-lighter, and was with you, only pausing a moment to look at the poor eagle as I passed, lying crouched in a corner covered with blood, and extending a broken wing. And now, Arthur, don't you think our citadel is in danger?" "Indeed I do, Gerald," answered Arthur. "All we can do is to keep closely hidden as long as we can, and then to fight for our dear friends who cannot fight for themselves. We have weapons,--spears, arrows, and two rifles; and we have a capital position for defending the weak. If there be no more than six men, we will defy them." "That will be capital," said Gerald,--"a regular siege. How is the castle provisioned, Jenny?" "Why, lucky enough, Master Gerald," answered she, "we fetched in here, because it was nighest at hand, all the dried meat, and the skin, and we filled the buckets before we brought them from the well; and that's just what we have, barring a few cakes; for one never looked for being shut up here like. There's all the oats, and the tea and coffee, and the firewood, are left in what we called our kitchen." "We'se do," said Wilkins, "we'se soon sattle their business, I reckon," looking grimly at the edge of his knife as he sharpened it upon a stone; adding, "And how and about them guns, captain? Who's to work 'em?" "I shall take one myself," answered Arthur; "and if I thought I could trust to your discretion, Wilkins, I would put the other into your hands." "You may trust me for bringing down my bird," said the man; "that's what I were always up to, or I hadn't been here." "What I mean you to understand by discretion, Wilkins," said Arthur, "is, that you are not to fire till I order you; and then to _wing_, not to bring down your bird." "Why, what's the good of that?" remonstrated Wilkins; "it's like giving a rogue a ticket of leave, just to turn a thief into a murderer; that's what ye'll get for being soft. I ken my chaps: ye'd better make an end on 'em." "It would be unjust and inhuman," said Mr. Mayburn. "These mistaken men may not intend to hurt any of us." "Except to burn me alive, sir," said Gerald. "That, I apprehend, my boy," answered Mr. Mayburn, "was but an exaggerated form of speech. But, hark! what noise do I hear?" Sounds were heard like the rolling of stones. Arthur commanded silence, as every thing depended on their remaining watchful and still. Then voices were distinguished, and, through the green pendent branches, men were seen in the tranquil valley,--men in the felon's marked dress of grey and yellow, ferocious in aspect, coarse and blasphemous in language. Mr. Mayburn shuddered as he heard, for the first time, the oaths and defiant words of hardened infidels; and the good man kneeled down to pray that God would visit with a ray of grace these lost sinners. "Ay! ay!" cried one, "here are the tracks of the gentry coves: and look ye, Jem, here's a woman's bit of a shoemark. What will they be acting here, I'd like to know. If we could fall on that saucy lad now, I'd just wring his neck about for him." Gerald made up a queer face at Hugh, but they did not dare to laugh. "Will they have oughts of cash with them?" growled another man. "What do we want with women and lads?" "To trade with 'em, man," answered the other; "to swop 'em yonder among t' squatters for cash down. We'll thrust some of them black fellows forward to bargain for us; they're easy wrought on to do a job like that. But where can their den be? they're surely flitted." Examining every open cave and hollow in the surrounding rocks, the men, using the most violent and abusive language, searched the little valley in vain; and the anxious prisoners began to hope that they would soon be wearied out and retire, when suddenly they were appalled by a shrill triumphant crow from the little bantam cock, which had probably discovered the deception practised on him. A momentary silence was followed by shouts and loud laughter, as the invaders rushed to the prison-house of the impatient fowls. Wilkins muttered unspeakable words, and darted a furious glance at Ruth; and Gerald, with a deep low groan, whispered, "A traitor in the camp!" while Ruth climbed up to an opening, in great alarm, to observe the fate of her beloved pets. That was soon determined. The voice of the unlucky bird had plainly pointed out its abode; the stony prison was forced open; a crowing, a screaming, and a fluttering were heard; two of the fowls were seen to fly awkwardly to the bushes, above the reach of the marauders, and chanticleer was beheld by his distracted mistress, swung round lifeless, with his head grasped by his destroyer. At this cruel spectacle, the simple girl could no longer control her feelings. She uttered a piercing shriek; Jenny sprang on her too late to stop the indiscretion, and dragged her from the opening, shaking her violently, and even provoked so far as to administer a little sound boxing of the ears, declaring that the girl ought to be hanged; while Wilkins, with ill-repressed fury, shook his hand at the unfortunate offender, and then said, "It's all up now! Stand to yer guns, my hearties; we'se have a tight bout on 't." "Ay, man the walls!" cried Gerald,-- "'Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit To his full height! On, on, ye noble English!'" "Quieter ye are, t' better, Mr. Gerald," said Wilkins. "What say ye, Mr. Arthur, if we fix on our port-holes; and then, if we pick out our chaps, we'll soon thin 'em." "By no means," said Mr. Mayburn. "Such a proceeding would be unfair; the men would not even see their enemies." "An ambush is always fair in the strategy of war," said Hugh. "These men are invaders, papa, and we have a right to drive them off." The affair soon came to a crisis; the cry of Ruth had not passed unnoticed. The men rushed up to the fortress, and with stones and clubs endeavored to force an entrance. A volley of shots and arrows drove them back, wounded, and furious in their language; but when the firing ceased, they took courage, and again advanced to renew the attempt. This time aim was taken, and two men fell dead, or desperately wounded; and they retired once more, and entered into some consultation unheard by their opponents. Then a villainous-looking fellow cried out, in a taunting manner, "I say, ye cowardly chaps, show yer faces, and 'liver yersel's up afore yer forced to it; we'se use ye well, and keep ye till ye raise cash to pay yer ransom. Else, mark my words, if ye send any more of yer murdering shots, we'll take ye at last, and twist all yer necks while yer living." "Mistaken man!" cried Mr. Mayburn, "why will you provoke the wrath of God by causing desolation and slaughter among his glorious works? Know you not that for all these things God will bring you to judgment?" "Halloo!" cried the wretch; "what! ye've gotten a missioner amang ye. He'll do precious little harm." "His only desire is to do good," said Arthur. "But you are mistaken if you think us cowards. We have brave men among us, who will not submit to any treaty with convicts. We have nothing to give you; we are shipwrecked voyagers, who have only saved our guns, and with them we will defend our lives and liberty. We do not wish to injure you if you will leave us in peace; and you have neither means nor numbers to overcome us." "We'se see about that," answered the man. "We'se soon raise force to burn or starve ye out." Another consultation succeeded; and finally they departed, leaving the besieged under the disagreeable impression that they had only departed to procure a reinforcement. "What a different set of fellows Robin Hood's Free Rangers were," said Hugh. "Gerald and I have many a time longed to have lived in merry Sherwood." "Lawlessness inevitably leads to crime," said Mr. Mayburn. "I fear the halo of chivalry and romance blinds us as to the real character of those outlaws." "Yes, Hugh," said Arthur; "if your bold archers of Sherwood were to attempt their troublesome frolics in these days, the police would soon arrest their course, and we should see Robin Hood and his merry men placed on the treadmill." "There's no time to talk about treadmills, Mr. Arthur," said Wilkins. "T' boats is safe; and what say ye if we be off? They'll not be back yet a bit; for they'll have to gather up them black fellows and talk 'em ower wi' lots of lies; but if we were out of this queer hole and just free-like on t' water, we'd manage to distance yon awkward scamps yet. But we ought to start off-hand." "My good man," said Mr. Mayburn, "I feel in greater safety here than if I were wandering through the labyrinths of these mountains, where we might any moment be surprised and captured." "We must send out a scout," said Arthur. "Who will be the safest? I object to no one but Gerald, who would inevitably rush into the camp of the enemy." Gerald bowed to the compliment, and Wilkins said, "I've a sort of notion, Mr. Arthur, as how Baldabella would suit better nor ony of us. Ye see, these jins are used to spying work." When Baldabella fully understood the important service required of her, she started up, ready at once to undertake it, and as soon as the heavy barrier was moved, glided through the aperture, and fled lightly on her errand. During her absence, the rest made ready all their burdens again for recommencing their pilgrimage; and the time seemed incredibly short till the woman returned with a bright countenance, saying,--"Bad men go much far; smoke for black fellows come. White man go away now; very hush; no see he be gone." Reassured by her words, the family emerged from their stronghold. The men pulled down the stones they had piled to conceal the canoes, brought them out, and then, heavily laden, commenced their march. But at the moment of departure a loud clucking of the escaped fowls arrested the weeping Ruth, who summoned, by calls and scattered grains, the small remainder of her charge,--two fowls; which she placed once more in their coop, and with a lightened heart, disregarded this addition to her burden, and followed the procession, which was now led by Baldabella, who had discovered the shortest road through the windings of the mountains to the banks of the river. When the welcome stream was seen before them, the boats were once more launched and laden, and on the smooth but rapid river they were quickly carried from the scene of danger. "That rogue who argued with you, Arthur," said Gerald, "was the very fellow that threatened to burn me alive, and sure enough, if we had surrendered to them, we should all have been piled up for a bonfire. Don't you think so, Wilkins?" "Why, Master Gerald," answered he, "I'll not say that, 'cause as how they could have made nought of our dead bones. Money's what they look to: they'd sell us, plunder us, strip us of every rag we have, but, barrin' we went again 'em, and wrought 'em up, mad-like, they'd hardly trouble to burn us. But I'll not say how it might be if they turned us ower to them hungry black fellows; they'd likely enough roast and eat us, but white chaps has no stomach for meat of that sort." "Whither can we flee to avoid these desperate cannibals?" said Mr. Mayburn. "Do you conceive, Wilkins, that the river is really the safest course?" "Safe enough, master," answered the man, "so long as we stick to our boats, and can keep our jaws at work. But we'se want meat, and them black fellows gets thicker farther south. We'se fall in with mony an ill-looking lot on 'em as we run down; and likely enough, we'se have to rattle a shot at 'em nows and thens." "God forbid that we should be compelled to shed more blood," said Mr. Mayburn. "I feel my heart oppressed with sorrow when I behold the sin and ignorance of these people, and, alas! I know not how to alleviate it: I can only pray for them." "We will trust that our prayers may avail with a merciful God," said Margaret; "and if we should be permitted to reach the estate of Edward Deverell, we will all labor, papa, to diffuse instruction around us; and in His own good time, I trust, God will spread the light of His truth to the remotest corner of these yet barbarous regions. I feel already as if I saw Daisy Grange plainly before us." "There's mony a hundred mile atween us and them ye talk on," said Wilkins, morosely; "and I'se be cast away sure enough when ye turn in among them squatters. They're all sharp enough to put their claws on an idle vagabond like me, and send him back to chains and hard commons." "That shall never be, Wilkins," replied Hugh. "It is settled that you and I are never to part; and if Edward Deverell should refuse to receive you, we will squat by ourselves; like Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday, build a hut, and shoot kangaroos." Arthur laughed at the plan of a separate establishment, and assured Wilkins of certain protection in that home they pined to reach; and a calm and pleasant hope now filled every heart, as hours and days passed easily while they sailed down the broad river undisturbed by cares or dread, till the failure of provisions and a great change in the scenery roused them from their pleasant dream. "This is a melancholy and desert-like heath," said Arthur, as he looked beyond the low banks upon a wide extent grown over with the low entangled brush; "but we must make a foraging party to replenish our baskets. I can see on some marshy patches a scattering of wild oats, and we may hope to find some of the feathered gluttons that feed on them." "And please to bring some tea-leaves, if you can find them, Mr. Arthur," said Jenny; "I get on badly without a drop of tea, such as it is." "Now, boys," said Arthur, "get out the axes. We must clear a place among the reeds for Margaret and my father; then we will moor the canoes safely, and leave a guard to watch them, while we go off on our exploring expedition." CHAPTER XXVIII. The Cookery disturbed.--A Signal-rocket.--A Surprise and Capture.--Pillage.--The Taste of Gunpowder.--A Fatal Explosion.--The Contrivances of Necessity.--A Region of Famine.--Renewed Hopes.--An Unfair Advantage. A nook was soon cleared, where the family landed, and the light canoes were drawn close to shore, and moored to the canes. Then the fine rushes were cut down and spread to form seats for Margaret and her father; and Arthur, with Wilkins and Jack, set out with guns and bows, leaving Hugh and O'Brien to guard the encampment. Baldabella then went off with her spear, and soon pierced several large fish; and while Mr. Mayburn took out his book, and Margaret talked to Nakinna, Jenny and Ruth made a fire to broil the fish. Already the cooking began to smell temptingly, and the hungry little girl was dancing joyfully about the fire, watching till the repast was ready, when Baldabella suddenly threw down her spear, started forward, and laying her hand on Margaret's arm, she held up her finger in an attitude of warning, and bent forward as if listening. Then drawing a deep sigh, she whispered through her closed teeth--"Baldabella hear him, missee; black fellow come--one, two, many--eat missee--eat Nakinna--burn all!" Then snatching up her child, she gazed wildly round, and her fears were confirmed a minute after, by the fatal cry ringing through the reeds, which announced the proximity of the dreaded natives. The boys, who were rambling about among the bamboos, searching for nests, at the vexatious sound of the _coo-ee_, left their spoil to hurry to the encampment, and entreat their father and sister to embark at once and seek safety; but Mr. Mayburn could not be persuaded to leave the absent. "Then let us make a sally to bring them up," said Gerald; "no time should be lost; we have our bows to defend ourselves, though they carried the guns with them." "But they must have heard the _coo-ee_ as well as we did," replied Hugh, "and, depend on it, they are on the road back to us. I say, nurse, we must eat our fish cold; just pull that fire to pieces." Ruth the unlucky, always officious, took a bucket of water and threw it over the blazing sticks; on which a dark, dense smoke rose up from them like a column, and the cries of the natives were now heard loud and triumphant. "Oh! Ruth, Ruth!" said Hugh, "you have sent up a signal-rocket to them. Margaret and papa, do step into the canoe; there is more safety on the river than here." "I do not see that, Hugh," answered Mr. Mayburn; "the water is so shallow here, that they could wade to us, and we must not run down the stream and leave our kind foragers." A loud rustling and crackling among the reeds prevented more words; the boys would have sent their arrows into the thicket, but Margaret besought, and Mr. Mayburn commanded, that they should not begin aggression, and a few minutes rendered these weapons absolutely useless, for they were closely surrounded by a numerous tribe of natives, carrying spears. But the anxious voyagers soon discovered that the people were peacefully inclined, for they made no attempt to injure the strangers, but with loud cries and rapidly-uttered words, seemed to express astonishment rather than anger. One man took Margaret's large sun-hat from her head and placed it on his own, which so much delighted the rest, that all the hats of the party were coolly and speedily appropriated, without any opposition from the rightful owners, except from Ruth, who tied her bonnet so firmly under her chin, that the rough attempts of the man to tear it from her head nearly strangled her, till Margaret stepped forward to relieve her by loosing the strings. O'Brien, also, was so indignant when one of the savages came to claim his hat, that he flung it into the river, but the man leaped in and rescued it, and at the same time he discovered the canoes, and summoned his friends vociferously to look on these new treasures. In the mean time the fish already cooked was devoured by some of the natives, and the rest revived the fire to cook the remainder of Baldabella's spoil. Jenny's shawl was next discovered, and appropriated by a bold marauder, who threw it, in not ungraceful drapery, over his uncovered shoulders. Another savage stripped from Ruth a large cloak which she had hastily put on to conceal the basket which contained her last two fowls, which she held on her arm. This basket was a new prize, and the fowls were regarded with much curiosity. "Oh! tell 'em not to twine their necks about, Mistress Baldabella," cried Ruth. "Tell 'em what bonnie creaters they are, laying every day, too." But Baldabella, shy and fearful, had slunk behind the rest, and Margaret undertook to point out to the robber the value of the fowls, by showing him the eggs and caressing the birds. The man grinned, to express that he understood the explanation, sucked the eggs, and then walked off with basket and fowls, leaving Ruth in complete despair. Just at that moment, Arthur issued from among the reeds, and started back, overcome with amazement and dismay, at the sight of the dark crowd which thronged the little clearance. He was immediately surrounded, and before he could offer any effectual resistance, his gun and hat were taken away, as well as a bag of pigeons that was hung over his arm. "Baldabella," said he, "ask the chief of the tribe what he wants from us. We will give him the birds, and some knives and axes; but his people must then go away, and leave us our canoes and our guns." Baldabella reluctantly came forward, and bending her head down as she approached the chief, repeated her message in a submissive tone, and the savage replied in a long harangue which made the poor woman tremble, and which she interpreted to her friends, greatly abridged, saying:--"Black fellow say, he take all: he very angry. Good white friend all run--fast--go away! Meny, much meny, black fellows come--all very hungry--eat fish--eat bird--eat all white friend. Go fast, massa;--missee, good friend, go away!" This was decidedly sound advice; but under the present circumstances it was no easy task for the large party to run away. Wilkins and Jack had joined them, and were immediately seized by the savages, disarmed, and held fast by their captors. The attack was too sudden to allow them any opposition, and Jack looked deeply distressed, while Wilkins was absolutely furious, till a few words from Arthur induced them to submit with quietness to have their game and their hats taken away from them. Then the robbers paused, evidently lost in admiration of the complicated dress of their captives, which they seemed desirous to possess, but were puzzled how to separate the garments from the wearer, or probably doubtful whether they did not actually form a part of that anomalous creature, a white man. It was plain, however, that Baldabella and her child were of their own race, and the chief went up to her, and commanded her to follow him, and become one of his jins. The poor woman, in terror and indignation, refused his request, and turned to flee from him; the savage immediately seized the child, and the alarmed mother, supported by Arthur and Hugh, tried in vain to rescue the screaming girl, till the man, in a violent rage, sprung forward to the river, and flung the child into the water. But in a moment Hugh leaped in after it, and brought the half-senseless child to the distracted mother, who had plunged in after him herself. But now the chief's attention was diverted from Baldabella to the spoils of his victims; and some of the men were sent off with baskets, portmanteaus, knives, axes, guns, and all the precious possessions of the unfortunate travellers, who momentarily expected to be murdered as well as pillaged. When the canoes had been completely ransacked, four of the men carried them off, while the rest were collected round a skin bag which contained their valuable ammunition. One of the natives drew out a canister of gunpowder, forced it open, and filled his mouth with the powder. With ludicrous grimaces, he spat out the nauseous mixture, and raised his hand to fling the rest upon the fire. Arthur saw the motion, and calling on his friends to escape, he rushed up, hoping to arrest the arm of the ignorant man; but he was too late, and though he retreated the moment he saw the canister flying through the air, he was prostrated senseless by the fearful explosion that followed. The very earth shook beneath their feet, and such of the natives as were not actually stunned by the shock, fled, with cries of horror, into the bush, which was already blazing in several places from the burning fragments of the fire cast in all directions. The emancipated prisoners had all, with the exception of Arthur, reached in safety the edge of the river; and though trembling and much shaken, they had not sustained any injury. Arthur was brought to them perfectly insensible; but in a few minutes, when water had been plentifully poured over him, he recovered, and except a nervous tremor that lasted many hours, and the loss of his hair, which was completely scorched off, no serious consequences succeeded his perilous accident. But though temporarily relieved from the presence of the savages, they were still in the midst of great dangers. The dry blazing reeds rendered further progress impossible; and they gratefully thanked God that the little spot they had cleared for their landing now afforded them a secure refuge. The wind carried the flames rapidly down the east bank of the river towards the south; and they waited in great agitation till a path should be opened for them to proceed. Their anxious silence was interrupted by the sound of a low musical wail, so expressive of sorrow that it pained every heart; and on looking round, they saw the dirge proceeded from Baldabella, who was bending over the body of the native who had perished in the explosion caused by his own ignorance, and now lay a blackened corpse on the spot from whence he had flung the canister. The little girl was kneeling by her mother, seeming to be conscious of the solemnity of the ceremony, and raising her feeble voice, in imitation of her mother. Much affected, Mr. Mayburn drew near them, and briefly and simply explained to the tender-hearted woman the uselessness of mourning over the hapless dead, and the lesson his sudden fate afforded to the living; and he begged her to join him in the prayer that they might all live so watchfully, that the hour of death might never surprise them unprepared. The plain truths of Christianity had fallen with good effect on the mind of the grateful and gentle woman, and Mr. Mayburn hoped earnestly that she and her child had been, by God's mercy, rescued from darkness. "And now, let us turn away from this sad spectacle, my good woman," continued Mr. Mayburn, "and endeavor to escape from this burning wilderness, for we all have work to do in the world. Arthur, will you, with your usual prudence, decide which way we shall turn? The flames are raging before us, and these savage natives may, at any moment, beset us from behind. My judgment fails to point out any escape; but, Arthur, I will pray for God's assistance, that you may be enabled to save us all." "We may retrace our path up the river--a discouraging journey!" said Arthur; "or we may wait till the devouring flames have cleared a road for us; but the delay is perilous. Even should we try to force our way east, into yon barren desert, destitute as we now are, we should only obtain a change of evils; and I am reluctant to leave the friendly river, where alone we can hope to obtain food and water." Baldabella pointed across the broad river, and said, "Go quick there, find many root, many nut, no black fellow. Bad black fellow come back soon, paint all white; very angry, see brother dead; kill all white man, eat Nakinna, carry away Baldabella! God never come to black fellow." To cross the river did certainly seem the most desirable plan; but how to effect the transit was a perplexing question. It was about a hundred yards across, but, as far as they could judge, not more than from four to five feet deep at any part; so that the young men would have no difficulty in wading across; but to the women, and even to Mr. Mayburn, such an undertaking would be very difficult, if not impossible. Jack looked round in despair; there were no trees, and even if there had been any, he had no axe. They examined carefully the field of plunder, in hopes some tool or utensil might have been overlooked by the plunderers; but, except the spear of the fallen native, and the fishing-spear of Baldabella, nothing had been left behind. Wilkins had fortunately preserved a long knife which he wore under his blouse; and, from the mysterious form of the dresses, the pockets had escaped being rifled. Jack looked joyfully at the knife, and said, "We might cut some of these thick tall reeds, and make a float for them, Mr. Arthur. I have a few loose nails in my pocket, and here's a stone with a hole through it; we can fix a reed handle to it, and then it will make shift for a hammer. We could easily guide them over on a float of this sort, it's my opinion." It was at least desirable to make the experiment; so without delay the strong bamboos were cut, broken, or torn down; a range of them placed flat, close together on the ground, connected by transverse bars, which were fastened somewhat imperfectly with Jack's precious "loose nails." A quarter of an hour completed this slight frame; in which time the conflagration, which had run to some distance down the banks of the river, had left a scorched and smoking clearance, disclosing the bodies of three more victims, who had not been able to escape the rapid flames. The boys found also several nests of half-roasted water-fowls, which they snatched away at some risk from the heated ground, and brought forward for a needful repast. "If we had but saved the ropes!" exclaimed Jack. But ropes were not attainable, nor even that excellent substitute for them, the stringy bark; and the raft was launched on the river, to be drawn or urged across by the strong arms of the men. Margaret, at her own request, was the first to venture on the frail machine, guided on one side by Jack, and on the other by Wilkins, who waded, and in some places swam, and brought their charge in safety to the opposite bank, which was covered with reeds like that which they had left. In this way the strong men successively brought over Mr. Mayburn and the two women. Baldabella, with her child on her shoulder and her fishing-spear in her hand, plunged at once into the water, followed by Arthur, who insisted on her holding his hand through the deepest part. Finally, after a sorrowful look at the scene of their losses, and a vain search for any trifling article of their property, the two boys followed their friends. Then the disconsolate travellers, forcing their way through the reedy thicket, stood to gaze with consternation on the wild barren region that spread before them. "God has pleased to cast us feeble and destitute into this wide wilderness," said Mr. Mayburn; "of ourselves, we can do nothing, but He is mighty to save. He rescued us from the murdering savage, from flood, and from fire, and He will not suffer us to perish from famine, if we pray and trust. Let us lift up our hands and voices in thanksgiving and submission." The rough convict, the ignorant Baldabella, and the simple child joined earnestly in the devotions of their more enlightened friends; and refreshed and hopeful, they rose from their knees, "to walk in faith the darkling paths of earth." "If we can but keep near the river," said Margaret, "we cannot perish for want; and, besides, it seems to lead us in the very path we wish to follow." "Fish is better nor starving," said Wilkins; "but I reckon we'se soon tire on't, if we come on nought better. What's come to t' lass now?" addressing Ruth, who was weeping. "I've gone and roven a hole in my boot," sobbed she, "and I don't know how ever I'se to git it mended." The boys laughed at the small distress of Ruth; but, after all, it was no laughing matter for her. To walk over the brush-covered plain, or among the dry reeds, was a trying exertion even for the well-shod, and Margaret was dismayed when she considered how this could be accomplished when their boots should fail. "Yet why dare I doubt?" she said. "See, Ruth; Baldabella, and even little Nakinna, walk as well as we do, and they are barefooted. We must not shrink from such small trials as this." Just then a pair of the splendid bronze pigeons, so unequalled in beauty by any of their race, winged their flight from the water above the heads of the travellers; and though they no longer had the means of obtaining these birds, as delicious in taste as they are lovely in plumage, they were satisfied to see there were animals in the waste around them. "These thin bamboos would make capital arrows," said Hugh; "and I have no doubt we can bend one of these tall canes for a bow, if we had but the means of stringing it." "We might, at all events, sharpen some of the canes for spears," said Arthur, "not only for defence in need, but to be useful if we should be so fortunate as to encounter a kangaroo, or meet with the burrows of the wombats." "What has become of our raft?" asked Margaret "You had there a good stock of bamboos ready cut." "With all my nails in them," exclaimed Jack. "What a fool I was not to remember that in time; now it will be far enough down the river." It was too true: the raft had already been carried away by the stream out of their sight; and all deeply regretted their negligence, as they moved slowly through the entangled scrub, frequently compelled to walk actually over the low bushes. On the opposite shore of the river they could still discover the wild flames flying down before the wind, and leaving behind a black smoking surface. When wearied with the excitement and toil of the day, they were compelled to seek rest among the comfortless reeds, they sat down and looked at each other for some time rather sorrowfully, for the pressure of hunger had fallen on all. It was Baldabella who first relieved their distress; with untired energy she went to the river with her spear, and returned very soon with a large river-cod, and an apron filled with the fresh-water mussels, now truly prized for their useful shells. A fire was soon made, the fish was spitted on a sharpened reed, and while it was roasting, Hugh, with Wilkins's invaluable knife, cut a number of short thin reeds into chopsticks, as he called them, to enable them to convey the roasted fish from the reeds on which it was dished to their mouths. Rude as the contrivance was, and laughable as were the failures made in using their new utensils, they managed to make a satisfactory supper, and were content to sleep among the reeds in the open air, though the nights now felt exceedingly cold. For several days they continued to toil on along the reedy banks of the river, over the same cheerless bush, and subsisting on the same unvarying fish diet. Then the banks became rocky and precipitous, and the river so difficult of access that it was only at rare openings they were able to obtain water or fish. But soon after the landscape was enlivened once more by tall trees. Their path was over the grassy plains, which were even now, in the winter of the year, gay with bright flowers. More than once they remarked with thankfulness the track of the kangaroo, and the chattering of birds gave them hopes of new food, and they anxiously sought the means of obtaining them. With what joy they recognized the stringy-bark tree, and gathered the fibres to twist into bowstrings, and with what triumph did Hugh, the first who finished the rude weapon, draw his rough string and bring down pigeons and cockatoos sufficient for an ample meal even to the half-starved, but which taxed the ingenuity of the women to cook in any way. They were finally made into what Gerald called a Meg Merrilies stew, which was cooked in a very large mussel-shell, and even without salt or vegetables was fully enjoyed by the dissatisfied fish-eaters. Then they all sat down earnestly to make a complete stock of bows and arrows; even Baldabella worked hard in twisting the bark for strings, and when they set out to continue their journey, they felt more confidence, for they were now provided with the means of obtaining food, and of defending themselves against hostile attacks; and in another day they again met with wild oats, and, to the joy of the women, with the tea-bush. The fig-trees no longer bore fruit, but they were still covered with their usual inhabitants, flocks of brilliant pigeons, chattering cockatoos, and the satin-bird, distinguished by its flossy plumage and dazzling bright eye. Occasionally they still met with the cucumber melon, a pleasant refreshment when they were weary; and now, strong in hope, they went on their way, still keeping within sight of the river. "Every hour must bring us nearer to some of the most remote settlements of enterprising squatters," said Margaret, as they rested beneath a fig-tree one evening; "and all our trials would be forgotten if we could once more feel the blessing of a roof over our heads and hear the language of civilized life." "It'll be a gay bit yet afore we come on 'em, Miss," said Wilkins. "Folks is not such fools as to squat on bare commons; and there's another thing ye'll find,--we'se meet a few more of them black dogs yet, specially if we come on a bit of good land; they're up to that as well as we are. And now, as things look a bit better, I'd not wonder if they're nigh at hand." "I agree with you, Wilkins," said Arthur. "We are now certainly in danger of encountering tribes of natives, especially as we are on the track of the kangaroos, a great temptation to them." "I wish we could see one of the mountebank beasts," said Gerald; "wouldn't I send an arrow or a spear into him. Take notice, all of you, I intend to bag the first old fellow that shows his long nose." A sudden spring from a thicket behind them brought a large kangaroo into the midst of the circle, and before they had recovered the surprise sufficiently to take up bows or spears, a succession of rapid bounds had carried the animal completely beyond their reach. A burst of laughter from his friends somewhat disconcerted O'Brien, but with his usual good-humor he said, "Very well; I allow you to laugh to-night. The fellow took an unfair advantage of me; but wait till to-morrow." CHAPTER XXIX. A Seasonable Supply.--Visitors in the Night.--Captivity.--An Old Acquaintance.--The Ranger's Settlement.--An Embassy to Daisy Grange.--Jack in a New Office.--The Grateful Native Woman.--Davy's Compunction.--Bush-ranging Life. Next morning, when the broiled fish was ready for breakfast, Gerald and Hugh were missing. With some uneasiness the rest watched and waited for an hour, when a shout announced the approach of the wanderers, and Arthur and Jack set out to meet them, and were glad to assist them in dragging in a kangaroo. "It is the same impudent fellow that defied me last night," said Gerald. "I tracked his curious boundings to a wood three miles from here; and then Hugh and I beat the bushes and shouted till we drove him out of cover; but he cost us lots of arrows and spears before we could dispatch him; and a weighty drag he has been for us this winter morning of June, when the sun is as hot as it is in our summer June at home. Now, Wilkins, help to skin him; we mean to have all our boots mended with his hide." "But, Arthur, we must tell you," said Hugh, "that when we were in the wood we saw a smoke at a considerable distance to the south-west. Do you think it could possibly be from some station? Gerald wished much to go on and ascertain whence it arose, but I persuaded him to wait till we consulted you; besides, I knew you would be all uneasy if we were long absent. Have we got so near the squatters, Wilkins?" "Not a bit of chance on 't, Master Hugh," replied he. "We're far enough from t' squatters yet. Depend on 't it's just another lot of them good-to-nought black rogues. They'll be thick enough here where there's aught to get, I'se warrant 'em." "It is most natural and just, Wilkins," said Mr. Mayburn, "that the true proprietors of the soil should participate in its fruits. I fear it is we who are, in fact, the rogues, robbing the wretched aborigines of their game, and grudging them even a settlement in their own land." "But we have not robbed them, papa," said Hugh. "Kangaroos and pigeons abound here enough for all; and we do not wish to hurt the poor wretches if they would not annoy us. Here is Margaret quite ready to open a school for them, if they would come and be taught." "Margaret has done more good than any of us," said Mr. Mayburn; "she has labored incessantly to instruct Baldabella and her child, and to open to them the way of salvation. It is thus by scattered seeds that the great work of diffusing the truth is to be accomplished; and I fear, Hugh, we have been too much engrossed with the cares of this life to think seriously." "Now, boys," said Arthur, "we had better not linger; the kangaroo is skinned, and the meat is cut up into convenient portions for carriage; let us walk on briskly till we are hungry enough to enjoy it." Onward they moved over the extensive grassy plains, recognizing with pleasure various tall trees of the varieties of _Eucalyptus_, the Grass-tree with its long weeping branches, the Pandanus with its slender palm-like stem, and the Fig-tree with its spreading roots. Beneath one of these trees they encamped to cook kangaroo steaks, and to enjoy once more what Wilkins called "a decent, nat'ral dinner." There, with strips of skin for thread and a fish-bone for a needle, Wilkins repaired the worn and tattered boots, while Margaret and Baldabella made netted bags of the stringy bark, and Jenny and Ruth bruised the wild oats which the young men had cut down as they came along. "The rest of the skin I mean to make into a bag," said Jack; "for we must carry with us a good stock of oats; we may, probably, again come to some spot where they are not to be found." Mr. Mayburn looked with pleasure on the busy hands round him; and though he deeply regretted the irreparable loss of his books, wasted on the plundering savages, his composed mind soon submitted to the trial. His retentive memory supplied the place of books, and, from the rich treasures of his reading he delighted to repeat to his attentive listeners pleasant and instructive lectures. Cheered and invigorated by labor and amusing conversation, the united party forgot all their cares, offered up their devotions with calm and happy hopes, and slept among the sheltering roots of the fig-tree without fear. Some unaccustomed sounds suddenly roused the sleepers, and they looked round to behold through the dim light of breaking day the grim visages of a numerous band of tall savages, with rough heads and beards, who were armed with spears, and who looked on their surprised captives with a sort of scornful indifference, as they beckoned them to rise and follow them. Hugh and Gerald sprung up to seize their spears and bows, but Arthur, with more prudence, ordered them to forbear making any hostile demonstration. "We are in the power of these strangers," he said; "our only hope must be in conciliation and treaty. I will try to make the best of it." Then turning to the native who stood nearest to him, he endeavored, in the few words he had learnt from Baldabella, to make him understand their poverty and inoffensive disposition, and their desire to be permitted to proceed on their journey. The man looked round, as if to call on another to reply, and, to the astonishment of Arthur, a voice from the crowd answered in English. "We are open to a fair reg'lar treatise, young man, Perdoose yer swag, which is the vulgar country word for what we English terminate _tin_, and then we will sign your disfranchisement." The voice and the extraordinary phraseology were familiar to the Mayburns, and Hugh cried out, "What, Bill, is that you? How came you here? Is David Simple with you? and where is Mr. Deverell?" The man, who had now come forward, dressed in the remnants of his formerly seedy foppery, looked annoyed at the recognition. He stared impudently at Hugh, and said, "You have mistaken your man, young master. I have no convalescence of you." "It is in vain for you to affect ignorance of us, Bill," said Arthur; "we know you to be a ticket-of-leave man, engaged as a servant at Melbourne by Mr. Deverell. I am grieved to find you in such unsuitable company, and would advise you to join us, and guide us to your master's station, where we shall be able to reward you liberally." "Thank you, sir," said the man, laughing scornfully; "but Mr. Deverell and I did not part good friends, and I have no innovation to visit him again. His ways is percoolar, and a gentleman as has had a deliberate eddication looks higher nor waiting on cattle; so Davy and I came to a dissolution to abrogate the place, and set out on a predestinarian excrescence." "He means, master," said Davy, with a downcast look, interpreting his brother's difficult language; "he means as how we took to t' bush. I was bad to win round to 't; but Bill, he'd collogued with a lot of black fellows, and had 'em all in a wood hard again our boundaries; and they thranged me round, and threaped as how they'd cut my throat if I stayed after them to peach; and, graceless dog as I were, I joined 'em to drive our best stock, when we knew as how master was off for a week. It were a sore day's work, and little good do I see in living among a set of raggles like them. I warn ye, master, if ye've gotten any cash about ye, just pay 't down, and make no words about it, afore they get aggravated, for they're a bloody set, that are they." "But, my poor mistaken man," said Mr. Mayburn, "what in the world can these savages do with money in this houseless wilderness?" "That's our affair," answered Bill. "So open your bank, old fellow, and leave it to intelligible fellows like me to transact your gold into brandy." "In the first place, Bill," replied Arthur, "I think it is my duty to remind you of the fatal consequences of highway robbery, and to beseech you to return to your duty, and endeavor to retrieve your error. In the next place, you cannot possibly benefit by your extortion, for we are literally and truly without money. We have letters of credit on Calcutta, and we could certainly obtain money at Melbourne, but only by our personal application at that place. We have been already stripped by one of the black tribes, of every article of property we possessed, and we are now wholly destitute. This is the exact truth. Now I suggest to you that your wisest plan would be to leave us to pursue our way unmolested; unless you or your misguided brother will accompany us to the settlement of Mr. Deverell, with whom, I think, we have sufficient influence to induce him to pardon your offence." "Who would be the fools then?" answered the man. "No, sir, your oratorio makes no depression on me. If you haven't got money, you're worth money. You must march in the arrear of your captivators to our quarters. You shall then write a letter, which I shall dedicate to you. I never travel without my writing impediments; and one of my 'cute black fellows, as is conservant in English, shall be dispersed away to your friend Mr. Deverell, who must confiscate to me cash or stuff for your ransom; and when I see my brandy and cigars, you are disfranchised." It was useless to attempt opposition to the mandates of the imperious and conceited bush-ranger, and the disconsolate captives reluctantly followed the man, surrounded by such a troop of natives as precluded all hopes of escape, and exposed to the insults and plunder of these savages, who wrested from them their spears and bows. Wilkins had contrived to secret his knife under his vest, and thus saved it. They had not proceeded far before they were joined by a band of women, revolting in appearance and manner, who crowded round them, rudely examined their garments, and freely possessed themselves of such as they could conveniently snatch away. Margaret looked round for Baldabella to assist her in remonstrating with these harpies, and was surprised to see that she had disappeared. Margaret then remembered that, on the previous night, the woman had selected a thicket considerably apart from the rest, as a sleeping-place for herself and her child, and she concluded that at the first alarm of the invaders, the poor woman had escaped, her dread of her fellow-countrymen overcoming even her allegiance to her friends. After all, Margaret considered it was as well; there were two less to be anxious for, and she had no fears for the native on her own soil: she would certainly find food, and would probably wait and watch for the release of the captives. The unpleasant march of the prisoners extended to nearly three miles; then, descending a low hill, they arrived at a lovely wooded valley, where, on the banks of a little creek, or streamlet, stood a number of rough bark huts. A herd of cattle were feeding on the grassy plain, and some horses, hobbled, to prevent them straying, were mingled with them. Naked children were rolling on the grass, shouting and laughing; women were busy bruising nuts, or making nets; and some aged men were seated in the sun with their knees raised to their heads, looking stupid and half dead. It was the first scene of pastoral life that the travellers had beheld in Australia, and would have had a certain charm to them had they been in a position to enjoy it. But the thoughts of their captivity engrossed their minds, and they contemplated with uneasiness the fierce and threatening countenances of the lawless men who surrounded them, and who drove them forward like the cattle they had so villainously obtained, and lodged them in a large bark hut which stood at the extremity of the scattered hamlet. This rude shelter was wholly open in front, and filthily dirty inside; but they were thankful for any shelter that divided them from the coarse and abandoned robbers; and, flinging themselves on the ground, the disconsolate captives reflected silently on their perilous situation, while their captors, assembled before the rude prison, seemed earnestly discussing, as Arthur concluded, the means of making the most profit of their destitute prisoners. After some minutes had elapsed, they were favored with a visit from the audacious and ignorant convict Bill, who addressed them with his usual pompous air, saying,-- "Gentlemen, we have dissented on dispersing one of your gang along with our embarrasser to Deverell, that he may be incensed into the right of the thing. We set you up as worth a hundred pound, hard cash, for the lot; but if we concentrate to take stuff, we shall exhort two hundred. Things is bad to sell in the bush. We expectorate a chap in a day or two as is intentionable to buy our stock, and then you must keep close quarters, for when my colloquies get their brandy they are always a bit umbrageous." When Mr. Mayburn comprehended the meaning of this elaborate nonsense, he declared positively that he would not allow one of his children to depart on such an unjust errand, accompanied by an abandoned reprobate. "I should like nothing better than to start off on such a trip," said Gerald. "What a surprise it would be at Daisy Grange when they saw my brown face; and wouldn't pretty Emma say, with tears in her eyes, 'Oh, Gerald! what has become of Arthur?' And grave Edward Deverell would fall into heaps of confusion, and say, 'Margaret! why is not Margaret with you?'" Arthur laughed, but shook his head, and refused to abet any plan of subjecting the thoughtless boy to such risk. "But might not Wilkins go?" asked Hugh. "Not I, thank ye, Master Hugh," answered the man, hastily; "we'd like enough fall in with some of them hot-headed black pollis when we got nigh to t' station, and they're all so set up wi' their guns, that afore I could get out a word they'd sure to pick me out for a runaway, and shoot me dead; and, more nor that, I'll not say if I were let loose among them care-nought rangers, as I mightn't fall into their ways, and take to t' bush like 'em; and then, ye see, all yer good work would be flung away." "Wilkins might be useful to you here, Master Arthur," said Jack; "but I don't see why I shouldn't go. I'm no ways feared; and I could put Mr. Deverell up to getting hold of these vagabonds and their own cattle; and then, you know, sir, I should find timber and tools enough, and I could soon knock up a bit of a wagon to bring up for Miss Margaret and the master, and the other poor things. What think you, sir, about it?" "I must confess, papa," said Arthur, "that I feel satisfied that Jack is the right man. But can we make up our minds to part with our tried and faithful friend? I leave it to you to decide." "My dear son," answered Mr. Mayburn, much agitated, "I cannot decide such an important question. Only consider; should his savage companion prove treacherous, our dear Jack may be sacrificed, and his blood fall on our heads. I shrink from the responsibility." "Nevertheless, dear papa," said Margaret, weeping bitterly, "I fear we must consent. Jack will be accompanied by only one man, whose policy it will be to be careful of his life till the transaction be completed. On his return, rely on it, Edward Deverell will take care he has arms and protection. Jack is sagacious, brave, and prudent. I grieve to part with him; but I believe it may be for the benefit of all. We must resign him, and pray for God's blessing on our brave deliverer." "And I say, Jack, my man," said Wilkins, "if ye should chance to light on a bonnie bit lass, called Susan Raine, down yonder, just ye say as how Wilkins is not altogether that graceless she counts him. He's bad enough, God knows; but he oft thinks on days of lang syne; and he's true, tell her, come what may." It was then communicated to the vile dictator of the dark band that a messenger was ready to set out to procure the ransom from Mr. Deverell; and the next day, amidst the loud sobs of Ruth and the silent grief of the rest, Jack took leave, and set forward towards the south, accompanied by a tall, crafty-looking savage, who had evidently been accustomed to traffic with the bush-rangers, and had acquired sufficient English to serve his purpose. One of their ablest defenders was thus severed from the unfortunate captives, who hourly became more alarmed about their position. Forbidden to leave the hut, they were merely fed, like the dogs, with the disgusting remains of the untempting food of their savage captors; and but for the secret good offices of Davy, they must have perished of thirst. He brought them every night a bark bucket of water from the creek, which saved their lives. But Mr. Mayburn and Margaret, who could not touch the decomposed fish and gnawed bones that were thrown to them, gradually sunk into a state of weakness that distracted their helpless friends. Four days elapsed after Jack's departure, and Margaret was reclining, weak and weary, yet unable to sleep, against the back wall of the hut, when about midnight, she was startled by a scratching sound outside the bark. Much alarmed, but too weak to move, she trembled, and feebly called to Jenny, who was sleeping near her. But just at that moment the low, sweet voice of Baldabella greeted her, through an opening made in the bark near the ground. "Missee, good dear missee!" murmured the woman; "Baldabella see all, look in all _gunyoes_. Baldabella come, all sleep now; bring bread, bring fish for missee and good master." Then through the opening Jenny received cakes of pounded oats, such as she herself had taught Baldabella to make, broiled fish, and a bark vessel filled with hot tea, a plentiful and luxurious repast. When she had given up her store, the grateful woman whispered, "Baldabella go make more bread, come again dark night. Pray God bless white friends." The prayer of Baldabella was gratefully acknowledged and responded to by her much affected friends, who blessed the hour they were so happy as to snatch the poor widow from the death which hung over her body and soul, and to win her affections and sympathy. Invigorated by the wholesome and clean food, Mr. Mayburn and Margaret again began to hope for better days, and to plan their pleasant journey south. For three nights Baldabella returned with her abundant and seasonable gifts; while the sordid wretch who detained them, plainly cared only for the ransom he hoped to obtain for them. But Davy continued to steal in every night with the welcome supply of fresh water, and remained to listen to their prayers and hymns, with a softened and mournful countenance. "Ye see, sir," said the poor fellow to Arthur, "our Bill, he's up to all sorts of things; he's had a grand eddication, and knows reet fra' wrong better nor me; and he orders me, like, and I cannot say him nay; he reckons I'se but a simple chap." "Did you ever learn your Catechism, Davy?" asked Margaret. "They did get that into me, Miss," answered he, "and little good it's done me. I niver like to think on 't nowadays; it's just awesome, it is." "Thou shalt not steal!" said Mr. Mayburn, emphatically. "Please, master, not to talk on't," said the agitated young man; "it's about them beasts as ye're meaning on. But our Bill says, says he, 'It stands to reason as them as has ower mony ought to sarve them as has none.' Now what think ye of that, sir?" "I think and know, David," said Mr. Mayburn, "that it is God's will that all men should obey His commandments, and do their duty in the station where He has placed them. You had no more right to take Mr. Deverell's cattle than these poor savages have to strip you naked and leave you to die alone in the desert, and in the eyes of God you are more guilty than they would be, for you have been taught His law. You know that God has said that the thief shall not enter the kingdom of heaven. Now, David, death is near to us all, young or old: think what will be your dreadful fate when you wake in another world, forsaken by God. Then turn to Him now, while there is yet time, and pray for repentance and pardon through the blessed Saviour, that your sins may be forgiven, and you may be brought to dwell with him forever." "Well, master, I can tell ye if 't were to do again," answered the man, "Bill s'ould niver talk me ower to put my hands to t' job. And, after all, a poor set we've made on 't. Ye see, this is how we did it; we darked and kept quiet till t' master was off down t' country, then we marked off our beasts, and picked out our saddle-horses, and a gun a-piece. I ought to have had warning plenty about me'ling wi' a gun. Then off we set at midnight, driving our beasts and a flock of sheep, and were soon up till them black fellows as was watin' us. First we druv' our sheep till a bush public, where a sly auld hand took 'em, and gave us a lot of bad brandy and worse tobacco for 'em, and sin' that we've run and rode about t' country, up and down, hereaway and thereaway, like wild beasts. Then we're feared of t' pollis, and we're feared of all ther' black fellows, as can turn rusty when they like, and it's nought but drinking, cursing, and fighting all day long, brutes as we are. I'se fairly tired, master, and I'd fain be back among Christians; but then, I'd niver be t' fellow to peach; and, ower that, I know there's a rope round my neck, as is sartain to be tightened if I show my face at our station again." CHAPTER XXX. A Proposal of Marriage.--Bill's Rejection and Revenge.--Pocket-picking.--Jack's Return.--Black Peter again.--Bush ranging Merriment.--A Flight in the Dark.--An Emu-chase.--The disappointed Hunters.--Pursuit.--A Stratagem. Simple Davy, the whole family believed, would not prove irreclaimable, and they used every persuasion to bring the poor man to a knowledge of his faults, and to a desire to reform them; but his blind submission to his "_eddicated_" brother proved a formidable obstacle, till his heart became enlightened by the truths of religion. The cunning villain Bill was a great annoyance to the family: he continually visited them, and his absurd speeches no longer afforded them amusement, for he had now signified his intention of becoming a candidate for the hand of Margaret. "Not that Miss would aggress," said the convict, "to live with these low _ignis fatuus_ men, that we eddicated men terminate flea-beings, seeing she is not customary to their ways. But you see, Miss, I preponderate setting up a bush tavern, quite illimitable to the beat of the imperious pollis; quite a genteel hottle, where you might prorogue like a lady, and I'd not reject to adapt these lads, and give them a job at waiting; and we might revive an opening for the old governor, if you mattered having him." Hugh and Gerald would have seized the impudent rascal and flung him out of the hut, but Arthur restrained them, and arresting his father's indignant remonstrance, he said, "Bill, my sister must never again hear such absurd and offensive language; she is too young even to think of such things, and quite unfitted by education and religion for mingling with lawless bush-rangers." "We'll see about that, young fellow," answered Bill with a diabolical grin. "You might have permeated the young woman to speak for herself; she's old enough to be deciduous. But wait a bit till I touch your ransom, and then we'll considerate about her. She was not secluded in my bargain, and you'll find as how I'm empirical here." The terror and distress of Margaret were very great, and but for the absence of Jack, who was always ingenious in affairs of difficulty, Arthur would have yielded to her wish, and attempted their escape, which by the aid of Baldabella in the out-works, and of David, who was much ashamed of his brother's audacious proposal, in the citadel, they did not think would be extremely difficult. The bark hut which was their prison, was situated at the extremity of the range of huts, and close to a thick wood, from which Baldabella made her nightly visits without disturbance. David had supplied the young men with some sheets of bark to partition off the back part of the hut for Margaret and her servants, and from this apartment it would be easy to cut open the bark, and escape into the wood, the savages usually sleeping on the ground before the hut. Still, unless they were driven to extremities, they desired to defer their flight till the return of Jack, as, besides the hope that he might bring them efficient aid from Mr. Deverell, they did not wish to abandon him to the wrath of the disappointed rangers; but they explained their intention to Baldabella, and begged her to be prepared; and they hoped that they were prevailing on David to become their companion and guide. Several days passed in the same dreary and distressing seclusion. If any of the prisoners ventured to breathe the air outside the hut, they were assailed with rude language, pelted and insulted by the rangers or the blacks. Jenny and Ruth had gone out to cut some grass to spread over the ground on which they slept, and were seized by the women, their clothes torn, their hair pulled, and the contents of their pockets discovered and torn from them. "Ragged I am, and ragged I may be, now," said Jenny. "I wonder what good my bit housewife will do them ondecent hussies; and neither thread, needle, nor scissors have I left. And Miss Marget, my honey, there was my silver thimble that you bought me in London, and my prayer-book from Master Arthur,--God bless him!--and my spectacles that master gave me; but that's little matter, I don't need them when I've nothing left to read or sew." Ruth sobbed out incoherently, "My bonnie purse; oh dear! oh dear! and my two shillings, and my lucky crook't sixpence, and my Sunday ribbons and cotton gloves, and my bonnie little Testament! Oh dear! where's I to get mair?" Mr. Mayburn consoled the women, and showed them his pocket Bible, which he had still preserved, and from which he could daily read to them the words of comfort and hope; and Margaret encouraged Jenny with the prospect of one day reaching Daisy Grange, when she felt assured that the orderly and prudent Mrs. Deverell would have needles and thread to bestow on them. One evening some very unusual sounds tempted Gerald who was always restless in his confinement, to steal out of the hut. He was absent some time, and Arthur had become very uneasy lest he should have been arrested and punished for this disobedience of orders, when, with a face full of news, he rushed back into the hut, exclaiming, "Jack is brought back! there are three or four more of those ugly convicts; and, oh, Arthur, there is Black Peter amongst them!" This was really melancholy news, and Mr. Mayburn in deep distress looked appealingly to Arthur. "Margaret must be taken away," he said; "I cannot have her remain among these reprobates. Then there is Wilkins, poor fellow! That wicked wretch has ever persecuted and hated him; he is not safe with us; we must care for him, and send him away. But ought we not all to depart? I feel that I am unable to judge the matter calmly; decide for us, my son." "I shall be better able to do that, papa," answered Arthur, "when I learn what extraordinary circumstance has induced Jack to return. It is quite impossible that he can have executed his mission; and I cannot imagine that these robbers have relinquished their desire for the ransom-money. I am very anxious to see him." The sounds of riot and discord were now heard through the hamlet; the prisoners concluded that more brandy had been brought in, and it was producing its usual delusive and fatal effects among men and women. The intoxication proceeded to madness; horrid oaths and blasphemy were the only words to be distinguished; first uttered by the white man, erroneously named a Christian, and then eagerly imitated by his heathen brother. In the midst of the confusion, Jack stole in unnoticed by the savages to his anxious friends. He was pale with fatigue, disappointment, and alarm; for he saw that the frenzy of the intoxicated wretches might at any moment lead them to murder. "Mr. Arthur," said he, hurriedly, "I have got hold of a gun and a few charges, and David will follow me here with another, as soon as the fellows drink themselves into stupor; then we must make off without delay, or we are lost. Black Peter has determined to have his own way, and you know what his way is; and depend on it, if he had not been led off with the brandy, he would have been here to bully and threaten before now." "Alas! alas!" said Mr. Mayburn, "how did it happen, my good lad, that you fell into the hands of that abandoned man?" "We met him on our way, sir," answered Jack, "mounted on a handsome horse that he'd stolen from somebody's station; he was dressed like a gentleman, and three more fellows, all bush-rangers, I'll be bound, were along with him, well mounted too. They were carrying kegs of liquor and bales of tobacco to barter for the stolen cattle, which they mean to drive down the country to sell. Peter knew me as soon as he set eyes on me, and hailed me to know what had become of my comrades. Then the sulky black fellow that rode with me took on him to tell, in his lingo, what we were after. It would have made your blood run cold, master, to hear how that brute Peter cursed Bill; he said he was nought but a poor, pitiful, long-tongued fool, to swap such a prize for a hundred pounds; and he swore he would have ten times as much for the bargain, and have it for himself too. 'I've got shot of my cowardly troop, ye see,' he said to my guide; 'they didn't suit me; they ran away at the sight of blood. I'll see now if I can't put that set-up fellow, Bill, down a peg, and manage your folks a bit better, blackey.' Then he went back to his white colleagues, and said, 'You might make a penny of these two runaways; there's money on their heads; what say ye to carrying them off?' "I cannot tell how they settled their treacherous plan; but as they had arms, they forced us to turn back with them; and Bill looked so cowed when he saw Black Peter, that I make no doubt the craftier rogue of the two will be master by to-morrow; and there will be a poor chance for us, if we do not overreach him to-night. Well, Davy, how are they getting on?" he added, as the simple fellow entered cautiously. "They'll not be lang fit for wark," answered he. "Some's down now, and Bill and Peter had come to fighting; but them new chaps, as corned with you, parted 'em; and I seed 'em wink at Peter, and they said as how it could be settled to-morrow. But it would hardly be safe to stop for that; and if ye're ready and willing, I'se get ye off cannily afther it's dark." "We are willing and ready, David," said Arthur, "and most thankful to have you for our guide. I will engage that Mr. Deverell will pardon and protect you, if we are fortunate enough to reach Daisy Grange; but how my father and sister are to accomplish the journey, I cannot think." "It's all pat, sir; see to me for that," answered David. "Not a chap amang 'em was fit to hobble t' horses but me, I had it all my own way, and I brought our two, and their four, all round to t' back of this here wood, and tied 'm up ready saddled. Afore midnight, light on me to be there, and all fettled and ready. I'se get Baldabella to warn ye at t' reet minute, and then ye can make yer way out backwards, and she'll bring ye through t' wood, and we'se get a good start afore day-leet. They've no more horses fit for t' saddle, if they were fit themselves; but it will be a fair bit afore they sleep off their drunken fit." The yells and screams of the mad drunkards grew louder and more discordant, and the trembling women clung fearfully to each other in the back apartment of the hut, where they had already cut an opening large enough to allow them to escape; but they were anxious to defer the attempt till Davy thought the moment favorable. At length they heard the oaths and curses muttered in fainter tones; and, one after another, the voices died away. Gladly the anxious captives marked the deep silence that succeeded, which was finally broken by David whispering through the opening behind the hut,-- "Come along; be sharp, and tread soft. There's a lot of chaps lying afore t' hut: ye cannot come out that way. Mind ye dinnot waken 'em. Here's Baldabella; she'll trail ye through t' bush, and I'll on afore, and make ready." Trembling and breathless, one after another they followed Baldabella, forcing their way through the thick underwood, scarcely conscious of bruises, scratches, and rent garments, till, by the faint light of the moon through a gathering mist, they saw David holding the harnessed horses outside the tangled wood. "Manage as ye like," said he; "there's twelve on us, reckoning t' babby, but some on ye is leet weights." Baldabella refused to mount, and, giving her child to Wilkins, she walked on; and so light and swift was her pace, that she kept up well with the doubly-laden horses, though they proceeded as speedily as they could over the grassy plains. For six hours they continued to travel due south, silently and uninterruptedly; then the morning light cheered their spirits, they realized the fact of their freedom, and they rejoiced as they rested on a rich plain while the horses fed, and lifted up their voices in praise and thanksgiving that they were once more free in a savage land; and even poor David, with tears of penitence, united humbly with them in prayer. All the party needed the refreshment they knew not where to seek, when Baldabella produced a netted bag of cakes and nuts, with which they were obliged to content themselves; and hoping that they might meet with water before they were again compelled to rest, they set forward with gratitude and cheerfulness. But they were somewhat disheartened as they proceeded; for though herbage and trees were plentiful, water was rarely to be met with. Hollows in the earth, which contained a muddy remnant of the well-filled pools of the rainy season, were their sole dependence--a scanty and unpleasant supply. They had long ago lost sight of the river, from which they had designedly diverged in order to mislead their pursuers, leaving it on their left hand. Fig-trees were common on the plains, but no longer bearing fruit; still, they continued to be frequented by the cockatoos and pigeons, and having made bows and arrows, they procured as many as they wished for food. On the fourth day, Baldabella, who was before them, summoned them by the welcome cry, "_Yarrai! yarrai!_--water! water!" and they saw a narrow full streamlet, rushing to the south-east, probably to swell some large river; a consideration very tempting to the travellers, who could not venture on the direct track which David was acquainted with, lest they should be overtaken. They resolved, therefore, to continue by the water, so necessary to preserve their own strength and that of their horses; and though the approach towards a large river might place them amongst the black tribes again, they would still be on the highway which led to civilization. They now selected their resting-places close by the refreshing stream, and without adventure, till it happened that one day they had indulged for some hours in a noonday repose under the shelter of some trees. Then the young men set out to beat the wood for birds; but Gerald soon cried out, "To horse! to horse! bold hunters. Emus are in view!" and, on skirting the wood, the whole family had a view of a flock of those huge birds, at some distance on the plain, grazing with all the tranquillity of domestic cattle. "We are not in want of emus, Gerald," said Mr. Mayburn. "These creatures are as free to live as we are ourselves. Why will men become hunters from mere wantonness?" "We could do cannily with one, master," said Jenny. "They're fair good eating, and ye see, sir, great strong men gets tired of these bits of birds." Mr. Mayburn sighed at the necessity of disturbing the peace of the happy creatures, and duly impressed on Arthur his wish that only one bird should be killed. All the young men, roused at the thoughts of the chase, sprang upon their horses, and, armed with spears and bows, galloped off to the field. Crafty and swift as these birds are, they were not entirely able to elude their mounted enemies, who attacked them with spears and arrows, and at last succeeded in separating from the rest and surrounding one large bird, in which several arrows had been previously lodged. Infuriated with pain and fright, the bird ran frantically round the circle, in fruitless endeavors to escape between the horses; and Gerald, piercing it with his long spear to oppose its retreat, it turned suddenly round, and, striking out backwards with its powerful leg, inflicted such a blow on the horse he was riding, that it staggered and fell. Alarmed at the accident, the hunters all rode up to assist Gerald; and the wounded emu profited by the opportunity, and effected a retreat to its companions, to the great vexation of the sanguine young men. They soon raised the horse and his rider. Gerald had escaped unhurt; but the horse was so bruised by the kick of the powerful creature, that Arthur saw with consternation that their journey must be delayed some time, till it recovered from the blow; if, indeed, it was not rendered entirely incapable of further service. Mortified and dejected, the discomfited hunters returned to the encampment, where they were received by Mr. Mayburn with a lesson on humanity to animals, by Margaret with friendly raillery, and by Jenny with ill-repressed murmurs; but all were grieved at the sufferings of the poor horse. "That beast must just lie where he is for one day, however," said Wilkins; "and I question whether that'll sarve to mend a bad job. I say, some of ye slips of lads, run up them trees, and take a look round, to see if t' coast's clear." It was at once employment and amusement for the active boys, Hugh and Gerald, to climb two tall fig-trees that grew in front of the wood, and scan the wide scene around. "Now, sentinels," cried Margaret from below, "please to report what you have observed." "I can see our little rivulet," said Hugh, "winding like a silver thread over the plains to the south-east, even to the very horizon, where a gray line terminates the view. That may be the hem of the large river Arthur has planned." "I say, Arthur, come up," cried Gerald; "I want you to look at a dark mass far away north. I could almost fancy I saw it moving." Arthur was soon by his side, and, after examining the object pointed out, he said with a sigh, "You are right, Gerald, it does move; and I fear we are pursued at this unlucky moment, when we cannot, I fear, continue our flight. You, boys, remain to watch, while I descend to hold a council about our perilous situation." "Hand us up the guns, then, Arthur," answered Gerald, "and see if we will not guard the pass. Not a single rogue shall advance, but we will mark him and bring him down from our watch-tower." "That plan will not do, Gerald," said Arthur. "Your office is to watch, and, as soon as you can, to ascertain their strength." Then the distressed youth descended to report his lamentable tidings to the tranquil party below, and great was the dismay felt by the timid. "We might send off master and Miss Margaret," said Jack. "What think you of that, Mr. Arthur? We could hold out here a good bit, to let them have a good start down south; and then, if God helped us, we might get after them." "Margaret, what do you say to this plan?" asked Mr. Mayburn. "There is Davy, who seems honest, could we not trust him to conduct us and our two poor women to our friends the Deverells?" "It must not be so, dear papa," answered Margaret; "we must live or die together. Think how unhappy we should be to leave them exposed to dangers for our sakes. But could we not hide in this thick wood? It might be that the pursuers would not discover us." "But the trail, Margaret," answered Arthur,--"the trail would betray us. Is there any mode left us to escape, do you think, Wilkins?" "Ay, ay, Mr. Arthur, ye fancy it's best to set one rogue to cheat another," replied Wilkins. "Keep up your heart, Miss; I'se thinking we can lead 'em on a wrong scent yet." The wood behind them spread for a considerable way along the side of the rivulet, from which it was about a hundred yards distant. The opposite banks were hemmed up to the water with a broad growth of reeds, beyond which lay a vast entangled scrub. "We'll see if we cannot manage to send 'em ower yonder," continued Wilkins, pointing to the opposite side; "so bring t' horses here, and come along wi' ye." By the orders of Wilkins the men mounted the five sound horses, having first led the lame one, with Margaret, Mr. Mayburn, and the women, into the intricacies of the wood, and left them, carefully arranging the bush, so that no trail could be seen. Then the horsemen, making a broad track, by riding abreast, proceeded to the shallow rivulet, crossed it, and breaking down the reeds before them, forced a pass to the scrub. Here it was unnecessary to proceed, as on the brush-covered ground it was easy to suppose the trail might be lost; they therefore returned, carefully retracing their steps to the river, and riding the horses in the water about a hundred yards down the stream, from which, at distant intervals, they brought them up singly to the wood, obliterating the trail with scrupulous care; and, finally, through several convenient openings, they introduced them into the heart of the wood, where a small grassy spot enabled them to leave the animals to graze, after carefully securing them. Here all the party assembled, to wait the event, except the three boys, who, taking guns and bows, returned to the fig-trees from whence they had first perceived the pursuers, re-ascended, and concealed themselves in the thick foliage, to watch the foe, and, if necessary, to defend the fortress. The pursuers were now plainly visible, and the watchers discovered that the party consisted of the bush-rangers, driving before them a herd of cattle, and accompanied by a band of the natives. The procession certainly formed an imposing body, but the men were on foot, and must necessarily proceed slowly with the cattle; and if all the horses had been fit for the road, Arthur saw they might easily have escaped pursuit, and he bitterly regretted the imprudent and unprofitable chase of the emu. He now considered that the most advisable plan would be, if possible, to allow the men to pass, and then to follow them. CHAPTER XXXI. The Sentinels in the Trees.--The End of Bill the Convict.--The Bush-rangers deceived.--A strange New Animal.--A Bloody Conflict.--The Mountain-pass.--The Fruit of the Acacia.--The Travellers in Custody.--The Court of Justice. Every moment increased the anxiety of the young sentinels, who were scarcely able to speak for agitation. At last Hugh said,-- "Isn't it a capital chance for us, Arthur, that the great drove of cattle are before the keen-eyed rangers? They will trample down our trail effectually." This was certainly an advantage to the fugitives, especially as they remarked the cattle followed the exact track they had made. They were now able to distinguish the powerful figure of Black Peter, who was accompanied by the three strange bush-rangers whom Jack had met with him, and followed by about fifty of the natives whom they had seen with Bill the convict. These men were painted white, as if for battle, and were armed with spears and boomerangs; but Bill was not with them,--a circumstance that gave great satisfaction to Arthur, for the sake of poor David. The whole body drew up beneath the very trees in which the young men were hidden; and whilst the cattle plunged into the river with great enjoyment, Peter was examining the trail which led to the water, and had been purposely made to mislead them. He then pointed out to his companions the broken reeds on the opposite bank, and after pouring out a volley of curses, he said,-- "They've crossed here, and not very long sin', that's clear. We're close at their heels, and we mustn't bide long dawdling here; and, Jem, see ye keep that brandy out of t' way of them black and white bugaboos, or we'se have 'em, when their blood's up, knocking out our brains, and we haven't a gun left to learn 'em manners with. Let me lay hold on my gun again, and t' first job I'll put it to will be to shoot every soul of them sneaking, preaching thieves but t' girl, and I'll set her up as a bush-ranger's jin. She's mine by right, sure enough, now that I've put an end to t' palavering of that sneaking fool Bill." "But, Peter, man," was the answer of one of the men, "I fancy them black fellows didn't half like yer putting a knife into their leader; and down t' country folks would call it a murder." "It saved Government a good rope," said Peter, "for that was his due. He was a bigger rogue than me, and that's saying a deal." The fearful oaths that these abandoned men mingled with their conversation perfectly appalled the listening boys, and they felt great relief when they rose; and each drinking a cup of brandy, Peter said,-- "Now come on, and let's get our work done. Them fools will be forced to slacken their pace soon, for the beasts will never hold out over yon scrub; and when we've got our guns and horses, and made an end of the lot of thieves, we'll push on and see if we can't do a stroke of business among any new squatters." Then the man made a speech to his black troop, in their own language, which seemed to give them pleasure, for they danced and clashed their spears, and started up to continue their route. Thankfully the watchers saw the wretches cross the river, and fall into the snare of continuing over the scrub; but they did not venture to descend for half an hour, when they had lost sight of the rangers, and concluded they must be separated by a distance which rendered them safe. "What rascals!" exclaimed Gerald. "It was well I had not one of the guns, Arthur; I don't think I could have helped shooting Black Peter, when he boasted that he had murdered Bill. I think I had a right." "No you hadn't, Gerald," said Hugh. "It would not have been English justice. The worst criminal has a right to a trial by jury. What do you say, Arthur?" "We should have some trouble in summoning a jury here, Hugh," answered Arthur; "nevertheless, I should not have liked to take on myself the office of executioner. Besides, you must remember, such an act would have brought destruction on ourselves, and on all who depend on us. God will bring the villain to justice." The boys made their way through the thick wood till they reached the little glade where their anxious friends were watching for them. "All right!" cried Gerald; "we need not call over the roll. Now you must all be content to form the rear-guard of the bush-rangers. I suppose, Arthur, there is no need to hurry; we are not particularly desirous to overtake the rogues." "But, my dear boys!" exclaimed Mr. Mayburn; "Arthur, do you speak. Is it safe to venture from this quiet retreat yet? Consider these lawless men might, at any moment, turn round; and it seems they would not scruple to commit murder." "Was Bill with 'em, sir?" asked David, looking very much ashamed. With much kindness and consideration, Arthur gently broke to the poor lad the melancholy fate of his vile brother; and David shed many tears for the unhappy convict. "I were auld enough to have known better, sir," said he; "he couldn't have gettin' me into bad ways, if I'd thought on my prayers and turned again' him; and if I'd held out, things mightn't have turned out so bad wi' him. Them that lets themselves be 'ticed to do bad deeds, is worse nor them that 'tices 'em. God forgive me for niver speaking out like a man to poor Bill!" Margaret spoke kindly to the sorrowful man, showing him the fearful warning sent in this sad catastrophe, and beseeching him never to forget it; but to pray continually that he might be kept strictly in the right path. Wilkins was much shocked at the violent death of the convict; but, nevertheless, he whispered to Jenny, "He's well ta'en out of t' way; for he were a bigger scoundrel nor Peter hisself, for all his grand rigmarole talk." As the lame horse was unfit for work yet, it was led after the rest; and Arthur, who chose to walk, selected David for his companion, and took the opportunity, while he consoled him under his heavy affliction, to direct his softened heart to good and holy aspirations. They continued their journey along the right bank of the rivulet; the country being more fertile, and the grassy plains more favorable for the horses than among the brushwood. For three days they proceeded undisturbed, and with revived hopes. Then the scenery became still more beautiful; the ground was covered with lofty trees, on which already the young buds were forming. These trees were tenanted by thousands of lovely birds; and their cheerful notes enlivened the solitude. In the distance before them rose a pile of scattered rocky mountains, which, as they drew nearer, they saw were covered with brushwood, and might have formed a barrier to their path, but they seemed to be pierced by innumerable narrow winding gorges. "We must proceed with great caution and watchfulness here," said Arthur; "for it is not improbable that we may have fallen unhappily upon the track of our enemies, and we must have gained ground on them, now that we are all mounted again. We must be careful to avoid an encounter among these perplexing mountains." "We have two guns," said Gerald, "and we should have no difficulty in keeping one of these narrow passes against the whole undisciplined gang; then we could have our bowmen hid in the brushwood above, to shower down destruction on the foe. It is a grand spot for a skirmish!" "God forbid that we should be called on to make this lovely solitude a field of blood!" said Mr. Mayburn. "How dare proud and disobedient man profane the sanctity of Nature, and desecrate her grand and marvellous works. Does not the contemplation of these mighty mountains, spreading as far as the eye can reach, broken into fantastic forms, and apparently inaccessible and impassable, startle and humiliate the presuming pride of fallen man?" "There is a voiceless eloquence in earth Telling of him who gave her wonders birth." "Keep in the rear, papa," said Arthur; "we must reconnoitre secretly, before we venture into these mazes." "Choose a narrow pass, Arthur," cried Gerald. "It will suit best for our manoeuvres, if we come to a battle. Halloo! what wild beast can that be I hear roaring. No Australian animal that we have met with yet has such a sonorous voice." "Oh, Jack!" cried Ruth, clinging to her brother, behind whom she was mounted. "Jack, honey, stop a bit, hear ye; yon's a bear, and I'se feared of my life; it's a bear like them 'at dances about at t' fairs!" "A bear growls," said Hugh; "but that is decidedly a roar; it is more like the voice of the royal lion, and we shall have some sport at last. To arms! to arms!" Jack and Ruth were some yards in advance of the rest, when suddenly from a thicket just before them, a wild bull rushed furiously upon their path, tossing his head, as if enraged that his solitude had been invaded, or probably expecting to encounter the powerful opponent which had banished him in disgrace from his own herd. He was a huge, dark-red animal, with short sharp horns and broad forehead, and his fierce and fiery eye, and loud threatening bellow, denoted him to be a dangerous antagonist. He stopped for a moment and eyed the horse, then tore round and round, throwing up the earth with his horns, and uttering continually a deep sullen roar. Jack was turning round to avoid the unpleasant meeting, when suddenly the infuriated animal arrested his whirling course, and before Jack could extricate himself from Ruth's arms, to use his spear, the beast had rushed impetuously on the horse, and gored it frightfully. The terrified horse immediately reared, and flung both his riders off. Jack, though considerably bruised, sprang up, dragged the senseless Ruth out of the path of the mad creature, and placed her under the bushes, and then returned with his spear ready to defend himself; but he found to his great grief his poor horse thrown down, trampled on, and gored by the frenzied animal, which continued to repeat its merciless attacks, regardless of the many wounds inflicted by Wilkins and Hugh, who had galloped up in haste to aid Jack. At length, tired with goring the horse, the bull turned on Jack, who faced him with his uplifted spear; but before he could strike, Arthur called out to them all to draw back, and, riding up himself, he shot the beast through the head. It fell heavily, and Wilkins dismounted, drew out his knife, and went up to finish the execution; but he was too early, for the powerful animal rose again to his legs, caught the man on his strong brow, and flung him over his head to a considerable distance. A second shot, however, despatched the bull, and then all went up to Wilkins, whom they found insensible; but, though much bruised and stunned by the fall, he was providentially unwounded by the horns of the formidable animal. The exertions of his distressed friends soon restored the poor man to his senses, and he was able to take little Nakinna, to look at the "big dingo," which astonished her so much, and even Baldabella deigned to express some interest at the sight of an animal so much larger than any she had ever beheld. Wilkins declared it was a shame to leave so much good meat lying to waste on the high road; but they were now in a land of plenty; besides, the dark coarse flesh of the bull was not of a tempting quality, and it was agreed that it might as well be abandoned. But the question arose, "Where did this bull come from?" It was certainly not an Australian animal; and should it have wandered from any settlement, they might hope that they were not so very far from civilization; and as they discussed the probability, and continued their journey, they looked out carefully lest they should encounter any more wild cattle. A very narrow passage, between two high wood-covered rocky walls, offered a convenient pass, and even suitable to the warlike plan of O'Brien; and Arthur taking the lead, with Gerald behind him, they ventured to leave the rest at the entrance of the pass, till they had first ascertained the safety and direction of the road. "Arthur," said Gerald, in a suppressed voice, "I am certain that I hear a rustling in the bushes over our heads. Do stop a moment, and let me send an arrow into the bush." "Pray forbear, my boy," answered Arthur; "if it should be another wild bull, your arrow would only irritate it; and if, as it is probable, the bush-ranger should be some harmless pigeon or parrot, let it live, we are well provided with food. Let us rather turn our thoughts to these perplexing passages, which strike out on all sides of us, and which will bewilder us till we shall never find our way back to our friends, if we go much further. Now, which of these roads shall we take? After all, Gerald, I think we had better turn back for the rest, and take our chance altogether. Which of these puzzling alleys did we come through?" "Not that dismal hole, Arthur," answered he, laughing. "We came along here, I remember this beautiful overhanging acacia." Just as he spoke, some stones fell from above on them; and Gerald, seizing the pendent branch of the acacia, leaped from his horse, and before Arthur could interfere was swinging and climbing up the rock. "Gerald, you rash fellow," cried Arthur, "what has induced you to such a wild frolic? what are you about to do? Do come down." "Not before I make out the meaning of the acacia showering down stones on my head, instead of fruit," answered Gerald; and then Arthur heard him say in a tone of astonishment, "Halloo! my friend, what will you please to be looking after?" In utter amazement and alarm at hearing the boy address any being in that strange solitude, Arthur tied the horses to the tree, and, armed with his gun, climbed the rock so expeditiously, that he arrested Gerald's spear, as he was about to strike a tall, rough-looking man, with whom he was struggling, and who turned round as Arthur appeared, saying, "How many more on ye may there be? We can match ye all, rogues as ye are. Have ye fetched our beast back?" "My good man," said Arthur, "it seems to me that we have been both mistaken. You take us for bush-rangers, and we thought you belonged to the same thievish community. Now, we are poor travellers, robbed by those rangers, who have, with difficulty, made our escape from the plunderers, destitute of all property." "Ye'll surelie, not have a face to tell me that, young fellow," answered the man, "when I seed ye mysel' atop of one of our horses." "That certainly is a suspicious circumstance," answered Arthur, laughing; "and I must tell the truth; we did borrow the horses from our jailers, that we might have the means of making our escape." "That's likely all flam," said the man. "Howsomever, ye mun come afore our master, and make out yer story. I'se not soft enough to let ye off this like." "We shall be very glad indeed to see your master," replied Arthur; "especially if he is of our country, and near at hand. Who is he? and where is he?" "He's a squatter," grumbled the man, "and he's down yonder, seeking out a road to get through these in-and-out walls fit to puzzle a conjuror." "If you will show us an easier mode of descent than that by which we reached you," said Arthur, "we will not only willingly accompany you; but we will take with us the whole of our party, and the stolen horses into the bargain." The man looked very suspiciously at the free and easy strangers, but, anxious to recover his master's property, he led them by an easy descent to the pass, and then suffered O'Brien to go and bring up the rest of the party, retaining Arthur as a hostage. But the astonishment of the stranger was very great, when he saw the long line of the travellers filling up the narrow pass; and struck by the venerable appearance of Mr. Mayburn, who rode first, his hard features relaxed, he touched his cap with respect, and rode before the travellers, to be the first to announce to his master this wonderful encounter. Keeping their guide in sight, they followed him through many narrow and intricate paths, gradually ascending, till they came on a wide and level grass-covered spot, still surrounded by high mountainous walls. A number of horses were feeding on the grass, and at the foot of a majestic and almost perpendicular cliff, clothed with a thick forest, were reposing a party of men, eating their repast, which was spread out upon the grass. One of the party looked round, and, with a cry of joy, the wanderers recognized their friend Edward Deverell. "Arthur! Hugh!" he exclaimed, "my dear and reverend friend Mr. Mayburn! Margaret too! What pleasure! and what miracle can have brought us together once more in these strange and wild mountains?" "Your man has brought us up before your worship on a charge of stealing," said Arthur, laughing; "and he certainly did not exceed his duty; he had good grounds for apprehending us, for it seems we are actually travelling on your horses." "I am glad they are in such good hands," answered Deverell; "but however did my shepherd meet with you?" "Why, sir," said the man, "ye see, I heared summut like a shot, and off I set, for I was curious like to see what it might be; and I clomb and crambled about, till all at once I hears talking, and I peers through t' bushes, and there I sees one of these here young gents atop of our Sallydun, and says I to myself, 'Them's rangers, they are;' and when young master there clomb up, and defied me like, I thought it were nat'ral that they were rangers, and I laid hands on 'em." As soon as the man had finished his narrative, repeated and joyful greetings passed between the friends, and Edward Deverell explained that his appearance at such a distance from his home originated in his desire to pursue and capture the audacious bush-rangers who had robbed him of so much property. "I have brought with me three of my own stock-keepers to identify the cattle," he said; "the rest, as you may see from their complexion and uniform, are of that useful body, the native police." These dark-complexioned officials were of very striking appearance; their dress was light and scanty, bristling with pistols and sabres; their feet bare, and their hair long and flowing. Their keen, glittering eyes ran over the strangers in a most professional manner, very embarrassing to Wilkins and David, who both held down their heads before the searching glances. David seemed afraid to appear before his injured master, who looked much surprised to see him attached to Mr. Mayburn's party; but discreetly deferred any investigation into the affair, till he should be informed what strange chance had brought the voyagers to India into the very heart of Australia. "Don't you remember, Edward Deverell," said Hugh, "that Gerald and I always wished to be here, instead of broiling among the Hindoos, and being carried about in palanquins? And I believe Arthur and Margaret longed for it in their hearts, only they conceived it was papa's duty to fulfil his engagement. Yet, after all, it is not our own will, but a happy ordination of Providence, that has at length united us; and now, I suppose, we must follow your example and _squat_ in Australia." "But consider the risk, my dear Hugh," said Mr. Mayburn. "Even our experienced friend Deverell has not escaped being plundered by these savages, who are too frequently in union with unscrupulous murderers. I should live in continual dread in these wild regions." "Why, papa," said Gerald, "there are robbers and murderers even in happy and civilized Britain." "Doubtless there are, Gerald," said Edward Deverell. "No civilization can eradicate the black spot of our fallen nature; it is only the grace and mercy of God that can keep the evil spirit in subjection. But have no fears, my dear Mr. Mayburn; we must not alarm Margaret when we hope to persuade her to visit our lonely retreat. We have an excellent police staff; and when our servants are properly drilled, and our fences made secure, we shall be as safe as we should be in Europe. Now give the horses to the servants; sit down and eat; and then let me hear your strange adventures." CHAPTER XXXII. Travellers' Wonders.--The Detective Force.--A Trap for the Rangers.--The Skirmish and the Victory.--Daisies in Australia.--The Constancy of Susan Raine.--The Trial and Sentence of the Natives.--Peter and his Colleagues. Arthur was the narrator, and his long and wonderful story produced much sympathy and astonishment in his friendly hearer. At the earnest request of Margaret, the delinquent Davy was pardoned, and reinstalled in his office of stock-keeper; and Mr. Deverell promised to interest himself to obtain the emancipation of Wilkins. "I must enlist you all to join my small force," said Edward Deverell; "for it is my intention to persevere in my attempt to recover my cattle and punish the robbers. My black allies are of opinion that the men who drove off the cattle will dispose of them to some of those unprincipled dealers who range the interior to pick up such bargains, and who can again sell them for large profits to the Macquarie gold-diggers, who make no inquiries how they were obtained. They must necessarily bring the cattle through the direct pass of these mountains, which is not quite so perplexing as that you had selected; and we are encamped here to watch for and intercept them. From your report, the party will be more numerous than we expected; but the hungry blacks who swell their train, in the hopes of receiving a share of the brandy and tobacco, are no heroes. I think, Hugh, we shall be able to give them a drubbing." "As if there could be a doubt of it!" said Hugh, contemptuously. "We are all ready to enlist into the ranks, captain, I will engage to say--that is, with the exception of papa and the womankind; the chaplain to the regiment, and the Sisters of Charity who are to attend on the wounded." "Most useful members of the army they will be," answered Deverell, "if we come to close quarters; for, greatly as I abhor warfare, I do not expect to settle this vexatious matter without bloodshed." "If ye did, sir," said Wilkins, "ye'd be wrong; and, depend on't, ye'd soon have plenty more such-like customers. If a mad dog were to bite a man, and he let it run off, he'd be safe to bite other folks, and that's not fair. I say, knock him on t' head at first." "The cases will hardly bear comparison, Wilkins," replied Mr. Mayburn; "and it has ever been a question among reasoning men whether the destitute ought to be subjected to capital punishment for seizing a share of the abundance of the prosperous." "Robin Hood law!--rob the rich to feed the poor," cried Gerald. "Only think of papa encouraging bush-ranging!" "My dear Mr. Mayburn, spare your compassion for these rogues," said Deverell, laughing. "These men are not destitute--they are worthless, idle vagabonds, and, according to the by-laws of squatters and settlers, they are amenable to justice. I shall certainly reclaim my own property, give the scoundrels a sound thrashing, and, if they show fight, we are prepared for actual service, and they must take the consequences." It was long before the party were tired of conversation, and settled to take a secure night's rest; while the watchful police relieved each other, lest the rangers should pass during the night. In the morning they placed themselves in convenient posts on the mountains, where they could command all the approaches; but the day was somewhat advanced when notice was given that objects were seen approaching at a distance. Then the work of preparation actually began; along the heights of the pass were placed the rifle-rangers, as Hugh termed them, consisting of Arthur, Gerald, and himself, Mr. Deverell, and six of the police. Margaret and Mr. Mayburn, with the women, were left in perfect security in the little glen where the encampment was formed; and the rest of the party guarded the end of the pass, to secure any of the enemy who might succeed in reaching it. "We conclude," said Mr. Deverell, "that the rangers, who doubtless are well acquainted with the pass, will drive the cattle on before them. Now we propose to secure these as they issue from this walled passage, and when they are all again in our possession, the stock-keepers must be ready to drive them off; while the rest of our troop must intercept and capture the drivers, to prevent pursuit. And now, Davy, I will test your fidelity again. Will you take up your whip and set off with our beasts to the station?" "If ye'd not object, master," said Davy, humbly, "I'd as lief have a shot among 'em afore I set out, specially at that deep, black-hearted rogue Peter, as put an end to our Bill. I can't say, master, Bill didn't get far wrang; but Peter's out and out a worse chap, and it wasn't his place to kill a better fellow nor hisself." "You will obey my orders, Davy," said his master, "and leave the punishment of Peter in our hands. I will take care he shall suffer for his misdeeds; and you will do your duty best by looking after your old four-footed friends. Have the rogues spared poor Lily, David? She was of a fine breed, Gerald, and I was deeply incensed at the rogues for selecting her to carry off." "Bless ye, master, they count nought of breeds," answered Davy; "all they want is to kill plenty for beef, and to swop all they've left for spurrits and backy; Lily was to t' fore when I cut off from 'em, bonnie cretur, but she'll be hard up, if they've brought her this far. She always kenned me, master, and let me milk her; but she niver could bide them black fellows nigh hand her." "Very good, Davy," answered Deverell. "Then your duty is to drive off Lily, and as many more beasts as you can manage, to this glen; and to remain here with Mr. Mayburn till we come up, as we hope, with our prisoners. Then we shall set out in good spirits on our long journey to Daisy Grange." In a quarter of an hour all the arrangements were made, the brave defenders were all ready: by this time the procession was close to the mountains; the bush-rangers were driving the cattle before them, followed by Peter, with his black troop. He now appeared painted like his men with the peculiar insignia of war and defiance, his body being marked in red lines in the form of a skeleton, a decoration he had probably adopted to conciliate the natives. The weary cattle were slowly urged into the narrow rock-bound path, one of the rangers heading them, to lead them along the right pass, the rest following them closely. The confined path rung with the lowing of the alarmed and reluctant cattle, forced onward cruelly by the spears of their drivers, whose wild and terrific oaths completed the discordant tumult. At length, when the cattle-leader emerged from the narrow part of the pass to a more open space, and had his face turned back to see that the line of animals was properly brought forward, he was easily seized, gagged, and bound by the dexterous police. Then, as the animals one after another appeared, they were driven off by the stock-keepers to the glen. The rest of the party were prepared to capture the rangers as they followed the cattle; but the sudden cry of the leader, who had been seized, and which was easily distinguished amidst the clamor of the noisy cattle, was heard by Peter. The shrewd man at once comprehended the opposition that awaited them, and calling on his black fellows to wield their spears and follow him, he rushed on, with his men behind him, to the scene of conflict. The police on the heights allowed him and some of his black followers to proceed a little forward, and then fired a volley down into the midst of the blacks that were left behind, who, surprised and bewildered, and ever terrified at the effects of fire-arms, turned back tumultuously and fled. In vain the desperate Black Peter shouted to rally his followers, and fought desperately against the men at the end of the pass with the few supporters he had brought on. He and his troops were soon overpowered, and all captured and bound, with very little bloodshed. "Huzza!" cried Gerald; "a glorious victory! Arthur, you must write the despatch; naming the superior force of the enemy, the cool and determined bravery of the little body of defenders, the desperate resistance of the furious bush-rangers, their complete discomfiture; and, finally, you must particularly mention the prudent, vigorous, and successful support of the young Lieutenant O'Brien, who is recommended for promotion." "Margaret will consider us all heroes," said Hugh; "and we must hasten on as speedily as possible to allay her anxiety for us. But, Captain Deverell, whatever are we to do with these prisoners?" "We are bound to convey or send the dangerous bush-rangers to Sydney," answered Deverell, "there to be dealt with according to law. As for the cowardly, treacherous, and ignorant natives, we must devise some punishment for them; but, if possible, we will not encumber ourselves with them, nor be obliged to feed them on our journey. For the present we must contrive to keep them in some place of security till the police return from their useless chase of the unhappy blacks who have fled." "And who will, I hope, escape," said Arthur; "for they are but tools in the hands of these abandoned convicts, and are scarcely themselves responsible for their deeds of evil." "See here," said Gerald; "this large cave would make a good jail, and we might build up the entrance." "Then ye'll have to look about for a lot of caves, Master Gerald," said Wilkins, "and lodge 'em, as they say down t' country, on t' separate system, or we'se find all our birds flown to-morrow morning, I'll engage. Why, bless you, if that there Black Peter was shut up for a day wi' a new-born babby, he'd make 't a rogue for life. He'd make a parson into a bush-ranger, give him a bit of time; and my fancy is as how he's helped by that bad 'un as is his master; God save us!" "There is no doubt, Wilkins," said Mr. Mayburn, "that the Great Spirit of Evil does readily and unfailingly stretch forth his hand to aid his wicked followers, and we should all join in your prayer, my good man. May God save us in the hour of temptation!" Around the little hollow where the encampment was found, and where the young heroes were joyfully welcomed, were many small caves in the rocks, in which the prisoners, black and white, were separately enclosed. One of the stock-keepers had received a spear-wound in his arm; and one of the misguided natives was killed by a rifle-shot. These were all the casualties. When the police returned from the pursuit of the black fugitives, who had taken refuge in a thick wood, after many of them had been severely wounded, Mr. Deverell requested that all further pursuit should be relinquished, as the cattle were recovered and the ringleaders were now in confinement, which he knew would be a terrible punishment to them, even though it were only for one night. Margaret and Mr. Mayburn paid every care and attention to the wounded man, and when all their duties were fulfilled, the united friends sat down, to rest on the green turf, and to talk of the hopeful future. "Now, we are all anxious to know, Edward Deverell," said Hugh, "if you have got your house built, or if you are all dwelling in tents; and, above all, what kind of place is Daisy Grange?" "I have got my house built, Hugh," answered he, "and Daisy Grange I will leave undescribed, only assuring you that it will be completely a paradise in my eyes when I see you all there, which I trust will be before many days are passed." "And the daisies?" inquired Margaret. "The daisies were at first coy and capricious in their new home," answered he, "but finally they have yielded to care and perseverance, and consented to adorn my small lawn, in sufficient numbers to justify me in retaining the dear name for my much beloved home." "And what does Emma do in the wilderness?" asked Hugh. "She cultivates flowers," replied Deverell, "sews on buttons, and performs other needful female occupations, plays, sings, reads, and is not ashamed to assist her mother, and Susan the dairy-maid, to make the butter and cheese." "Is that Susan Raine?" asked Margaret, anxiously, for she saw Wilkins looking at Mr. Deverell with much agitation. "Is that the pretty, modest Susan, that was our fellow-voyager?" "It is the same girl," answered Deverell. "Poor Susan, we are all very sorry for her; she had to endure a grievous disappointment, for she had taken the opportunity of accompanying us, as our servant, in order that she might join her betrothed, a wild fellow that had been transported for some venial offence; and when we reached Melbourne, and instituted the regular inquiry, we found the man had made his escape in an India vessel, with some vile wretches who had been working with him. I fear he is wholly unworthy of the good girl, who still mourns so deeply for him." "He's nought but a reg'lar scoundrel," said Wilkins, impetuously, "he is; and she'd sarved him right if she'd gone and wed another; that's what she has done likely, sir?" "That is what I certainly wished her to do," said Deverell, looking surprised at the free interference of Wilkins; "but the silly girl is still haunted by the wild hope of reclaiming the unfortunate man who was the companion of her childhood. She has refused the young herdsman who is so kindly attended by Miss Margaret; a worthy fellow, and has determined to remain unmarried for the sake of the convict who has so cruelly neglected her." "That's like my bonnie true-hearted lass," said Wilkins, much excited. "Scamp as I were to lose her! But now please, Miss Margaret, to put in a word like for me. Tell t' master I'se nought like so bad but that there's some hopes of me, if Sue will take up wi' me; but how can I look for't?" Margaret undertook to explain Wilkins's position to Deverell, and to plead for him to Susan; and the rough convict turned away with a tear in his eye, as the recollection of youthful and innocent days shone through the mist of evil deeds that had darkened his mature life. Mr. Deverell was pleased with the story of Wilkins, and as he would be far removed from temptation at the settlement, and would be carefully watched by his good friends, he promised to bestow Susan on him; and now they prepared to break up the encampment, and to pursue their journey under pleasant auspices. "But before we set out," said Mr. Deverell, "it will be necessary to come to some, arrangement about our troublesome prisoners. We must hold a court of justice, as imposing as circumstances will permit, and endeavor to alarm them, and make a salutary impression on them." "There is a handsome rocky throne for the bench," said Hugh. "Please to ascend to the elevation, Mr. Judge Deverell, and look as grave as you possibly can; papa will sit by you in the character of Mercy, to mitigate the severity of Justice. Arthur and Gerald must take that hill, and Jack and I will remain here to represent counsel. We will not take the trouble to call a jury, because I know my lord judge has made up his mind about the sentence. Now, all you people stand round, and leave a passage for the police to bring up the prisoners. Will this do, my lord?" "I am content, Hugh, provided you all look serious," answered Deverell. "You must make the most of our strength, and display your arms to advantage. With these ignorant natives, in their present condition, intimidation is the only mode of subjection. I hope the time is not very distant when milder measures may be used to win them to civilization. We are commencing the work by educating the children." The glen was first cleared by sending the stock-keepers forward with the cattle, as their progress must necessarily be slow; then, one after another, the police released the trembling, crouching savages from the caves, and brought them before the judge. The poor wretches, at the sight of the array of guns and spears before them, endured all the terrors of death. Deverell, who had acquired some facility in speaking their language, made a long address to the terrified men; reproaching them with their folly and ingratitude in robbing him, who had never refused to assist them in their days of destitution, and who earnestly desired their welfare. He warned them of the danger of dealing with the bush-rangers, who always deceived them, and of frequenting the bush taverns to obtain the poisonous liquor which would in the end destroy their whole nation. He threatened them with instant death if they dared to transgress again; and then, satisfied with the fright he had given them, he relieved them from their misery by giving them leave to depart; a permission which they did not delay a moment to make use of; but sprung up the rocks, and speedily disappeared to seek the concealment of the bush. There remained now only the four vile bush-rangers to dispose of; but these men, all escaped convicts, Mr. Deverell declined to punish, proposing to commit them to the charge of four of the mounted police, who were to conduct them, or, as these officials appropriately expressed it, to drive them to Sydney, and there deliver them into the hands of justice. These ruffians were therefore brought from their respective dungeons, and manacled two together; their persons were searched, lest they should have any concealed arms; and their legs were then released from the fetters. Peter, who obstinately refused to submit to the incumbrance of clothing, required no search, and was coupled to one of his bush ranging friends, loudly showering curses on his conquerors. "Do you mean us to set out fasting with these malignant scoundrels?" he yelled out. "Ye're fine Christians, to hunger folks. And ye know as well as we do these greedy black rascals will prig all our rations on t' road." Mr. Deverell did know that the black police were scandalously harsh with their white prisoners, and he therefore ordered that these wretched criminals should sit down for half an hour, and be supplied with a plentiful breakfast of cold meat, which they began to devour ravenously, watched curiously by Ruth, who concealed herself in a thicket, that she might look in safety at these terrible bush-rangers. All the rest of the party, glad to avoid the sight of the wretches, wandered off to another little glen which opened from their encampment, except Mr. Deverell and Arthur, who had called the police to one side to give them a strict charge to be watchful and determined, but at the same time to treat their prisoners with humanity. While they were conversing, they were startled and alarmed by a scream from Ruth, who, they believed, had left the encampment with the rest of the party, and on turning round they saw, to their great vexation, the ranger who had been linked with Peter galloping off on the horse of one of the police, which, ready for starting, had been tied to a tree near the prisoners. The police mounted the other three horses that were ready, and speedily pursued the fugitive; while Deverell and Arthur went up in haste, and found, to their extreme mortification, that the villain Peter was also missing. The remainder of the party, recalled from their ramble by the shriek of Ruth, had now joined them; and when the agitated girl was able to give an account of the occurrence, she said:-- "He reached out, and took a cloak off t' horse, and groped in t' pockets till he fetched out summut, maybe a key, for I heard a click; and then Peter jumped up and laid hands on t' horse; but t' other fellow was sharp after him, and pushed him off, and loped atop on his back hisself, and galloped off like mad, and left Peter standing. Oh master! how awful he swore and stamped about, and took off right up to me, and I shrieked out; and then he scrambled up yon wood." And Ruth pointed to the precipitous wood-covered wall of the glen. CHAPTER XXXIII. A Chase over the Mountains.--The Frightful End of the Bush-ranger.--Ruth's Opinion.--The Cereopsis.--A Description of the Colony.--The Dingo.--The Cattle at Home.--The Park.--The Arrival at Daisy Grange. They had not time to consider what steps to take, when Wilkins cried out, "Yon's the rogue;" and they caught a glimpse of the painted figure of the fugitive among the trees, at a height which seemed almost impossible to reach, for they all considered this precipitous rock inaccessible. "We must not let the villain escape us," cried Jack, "or he will be sure to lead more poor wretches astray. Some of you follow me." And, without further delay, he caught hold of the branches of the lowest tree, and swung himself up, grasping the overhanging boughs, and forcing his way through the entangled bushes with toil and danger, while Ruth continued to cry out like a distracted creature. It was strange, that in this dilemma the usual cool presence of mind of the fearless and determined ruffian seemed to forsake him. If he had sought the labyrinthine passages of the widely-spread mountain, he might easily have bewildered his pursuers; but he continually exposed himself to observation through the trees on the mountain-side. Wilkins and one of the herdsmen of Mr. Deverell soon followed Jack, their whole mind bent on capturing this treacherous and sanguinary villain. Behind them, urged by curiosity, anxiety for her brother, and detestation of Black Peter, the excited girl Ruth, notwithstanding the efforts of her friends, plunged through the bushes to follow them, shouting wildly to her brother when she caught glimpses of the spectral figure of the convict, with the red lines painted on his body. Onward up that tedious ascent the practised bush-ranger proceeded, not even pausing for breath; and his half-exhausted pursuers began to fear he would escape them; but, after half an hour's struggle, a light gleamed through the trees. They believed they were coming to a more open space, when, rather than allow the convict to escape, the men resolved to use their guns. The next minute they emerged from the wood, and the whole party shrunk back, astonished at the magnificent scene that lay before them. A few feet from the wood a vast abyss opened. The eye could not penetrate its depths: it appeared fathomless and dark, for on all sides it was bounded by the perpendicular cliff which descended from the verge of the forest. For a moment only could the dizzy sight regard that terrific descent, from which only three feet of solid earth separated them; and they clung to the trees, as they looked round to search for the fugitive. To their great horror, they beheld the desperate man, making his way along the narrow hem of earth, supported by a spear he had caught up on one hand, and holding by the trees on the other, and apparently seeking for a convenient spot where he might again descend into the wood. He stopped and turned round, and observing his pursuers, who feared even to use their guns in such a perilous position, the vindictive wretch poised and flung the spear. But before it had even reached its destination, a yell of mortal terror was heard; the shelf of rock on which he stood, gave way under the impetuosity of his movement; and the doomed wretch was hurled into that vast space, beyond the reach of human eyes, his shrieks of horror growing fainter as he sank into death. While at the same time, from the tree which he had grasped, and which shook as he fell, rose a flight of black cockatoos, mocking with their loud strange cries his fearful fate. "Lord have mercy on him!" exclaimed Jack, covering his face, and struck with awe. "It's a judgment, man," said Wilkins. "Just see how this poor fellow is bleeding with the rogue's last will and deed." The spear of Peter had entered the breast of the herdsman, who was bleeding profusely. Wilkins drew out the weapon, and Jack, seeing Ruth at his side, who had succeeded in reaching him in time to see the catastrophe, despatched her in haste to the encampment, to send aid for the wounded man. Fearful of looking any longer at that dark and terrible grave of the sinful wretch, the girl tumbled down through the steep wood, and rushing up to Mr. Mayburn and Margaret, said, "He's carried off alive! Them bad spirits,--them! them!--have flown away with Black Peter;" and the distracted girl positively shrieked as she pointed to a pair of harmless black cockatoos perched on a fig-tree, which were curiously peering down on the strange creatures below; and most assuredly the coal-black plumage, lofty crest, and fan tail, striped with bars of fiery scarlet, gave to the birds an unearthly and fiend-like appearance. "Can anybody extract sense from the exclamations of this wild girl?" asked Mr. Mayburn, much distressed. "Ascertain, Margaret, how the wretched man has escaped." "I tell ye," continued Ruth, with decision, "I seed them black creaters, wi' my own eyes, take him up, and flee away wi' him, down into a black pit; and poor Tom Atkinson's hit wi' a spear, and ye're to clamber up t' wood to doctor him." On the whole, the deduction drawn from Ruth's incoherent narrative was, that the presence of some of the party was needed; and Mr. Deverell and Mr. Mayburn, supplied with cold water and linen bandages, set out to climb through the wood, on the beaten track of the pursued and the pursuers; but before they had half ascended, they met with Wilkins and Jack, bearing the wounded man with difficulty through the matted and steep wood. When they were relieved by additional assistance, they soon reached the glen, and satisfied the anxiety of the perplexed family by a correct recital of the awful fate of the villanous bush-ranger. "It's just what might have come to me, and I'd been but reet sarved," said Wilkins, "if it hadn't been for ye all. I reckon it pleased God to send ye, just o' purpose to bring round a good-to-naught chap, as not a soul else would notish, or hauld out a finger to save. Poor reprobate! Ye ken a deal of things, Miss Marget; can ye say what Peter was seeing afore him, when he yelled out, fleeing down into that black hole?" "God be merciful to the sinner!" said Margaret. "It is not for us, Wilkins, to speak of that which God hides from us; but rather to prepare, that we may be ready for a sudden call to judgment." It was not long before the police returned with the fugitive, whom they had overtaken and captured. He was now secured with the other two rangers, and Peter being disposed of, there was nothing to prevent the police from proceeding with their prisoners to Sydney; and the guards and captives set out on their long journey, leaving the united party very thankful for their separation from the wretched delinquents. The next morning, after praying for a blessing on their expedition, the happy friends set forward cheerfully, now safely guided by Edward Deverell, and hoping, before long, to reach the long-desired haven of peace and rest. But many a day of toil and anxiety still succeeded: the privations of the barren and dry desert, the perils of rude mountain-passes, and the fording deep and foaming rivers, besides the subtle and vindictive pursuit of various unfriendly tribes of natives. At length they attained in safety the fertile banks of a broad and rapid river, which Mr. Deverell and his followers greeted with shouts of joy. "My good Mr. Mayburn," said Edward Deverell, "I call on you now to offer up a thanksgiving to Him who has led us in safety through the wilderness. This river is our guide and highway; it flows on to our own much-loved home; it is the blessing and ornament, dear Margaret, of Daisy Grange." All joined with Christian earnestness in a thanksgiving for the mercies which even the lately awakened and reformed criminals could appreciate and understand; and Edward Deverell rejoiced to see that the two convicts, Wilkins and Davy, would not be a dangerous addition to his little Christian community. "Now, my dear friends," said Edward Deverell, "we may trust that our progress may be unimpeded. This fertile soil, watered by the river, will restore our enfeebled cattle; then we shall have milk with our flour cakes, which, prepared by the skilful hand of Jenny, disdain fellowship with the heavy 'damper' of the Australian traveller. If this abundant food does not satisfy us, the trees will give us birds, and the river fish, to diversify our diet. Ought we not to rejoice?" "If you please, Mr. Deverell," said Jenny, "yon's a bonnie flock of geese; couldn't ye get us one for a roast?" "We must have more than one for our large party, Jenny," said Deverell, laughing. "Come, boys, let us have a shot at Jenny's geese, and secure one specially for Mr. Mayburn's new museum." Delighted with the prospect of sport, the boys were soon ready, and returned from the banks of the river with two pair of these large birds. Edward Deverell held out one of them to Jenny, saying, "Now, my good woman, can you tell me what this fowl is?" "A gray goose, Mr. Deverell, sure enough," answered Jenny. Then regarding it closely, she added, "but it has a queer short neb, sir; it's like all things in this country, it's just unnat'ral." "Nurse, it is no more a goose than you are," said Hugh; "it is _rara avis_, papa, that is,--a bird of Australia." "I recognize it with delight," said Mr. Mayburn, "from the description of Latham and later ornithologists, who class it as a new genus; and from the curious _cere_ which envelopes the base of the bill, he names it _Cereopsis_. Still it belongs to the swimming birds, though the legs are naked above the joint, and the membrane between the toes does not form the web foot. It is, therefore, less fitted for the water than the goose or swan, and is more strictly a wader, living, not on fish, but vegetable food. In fact, it is a much handsomer bird than the goose, and I would gladly preserve it, if I had the means." "You will have means and opportunity at the Deverell station, my dear Mr. Mayburn," said Edward. "My brother Charles will supply the means, and assist you to form a museum; and Emma has domesticated a flock of these birds, which in common parlance are known as the short-billed geese; and I can assure you the flesh is most delicate, very unlike that of the common water-fowls which live on fish." "I rejoice much, Edward Deverell," said Mr. Mayburn, "that you concur with me in admiring the works of nature,--a taste which I have endeavored to implant in my children. I remember the words of a clever writer. 'To look on the creation with an eye of interest and feeling, must be ever acceptable to the Creator. To trace out the several properties of his works, and to study with diligence and humility their laws, their uses, and operations, is an employment worthy the immortal mind of man; since it is one of those studies which we may reasonably hope will survive beyond the grave.'" "How delighted I am that dear little Emmy is taking the first steps of study in ornithology, by setting up a poultry-yard," said Hugh. "We had many disputes about waste of time in such useless pursuits, in which I did not escape without much contumely for my bird lore. My generous retaliation shall be to improve her collection. I will get her the black swan, the talegalla, the apteryx...." "And the emu and ornithorhynchus would look well in the poultry-yard, Hugh," said Gerald, laughing. "That would be a great error, my dear boys," said Mr. Mayburn. "The habits of the ornithorhynchus are directly opposed to the domestic arrangements of the poultry-yard: it is not even a fowl; it is an unclassed animal, of burrowing and diving propensities, and would be a troublesome, if not a dangerous, inmate among domestic fowls." "I will leave it to Hugh and Emma to arrange the foreigners as they may judge best," said Mr. Deverell; "but I know all our English fowls are furiously national, and would resent the introduction of strangers, even to bloodshed. Even the civil wars of the community tax the patience of Emma and her handmaid Susan greatly; and she has threatened to reduce their numbers, now become enormous." "I can supply her with an assistant poultry-maid," said Margaret; "my poor Ruth is devotedly attached to fowls, and can manage them better than she can do any thing else in the world. Ruth, would you not like to be Mr. Deverell's poultry-woman?" "I would like to be amang 'em, bonnie creaters!" answered Ruth, with great joy, "if you be there Miss Marget, and if they be cocks and hens; and if them black fellows will not run off wi' them." "Our black neighbors are all tame, Ruth," answered Mr. Deverell. "We employ those who can be taught to work, clothe the women, and teach the children; and in times of scarcity or sickness, we feed and attend them. As far as their ignorant and dull nature will allow, we have reason to think that gratitude or policy would prevent them from injuring us or our property." "But the bush-rangers," said Margaret; "are you not ever in fear of the crafty, vindictive bush-rangers?" "During our journey," answered Mr. Deverell, "it is necessary that we should be watchful; but our black police have reduced the number of these vagabonds greatly, and our party is too formidable to be openly defied. We must necessarily pass, now and then, one of those infamous, lonely, road-side bush-taverns, as they are called, at which these villains are in the habit of congregating, that they may exchange their plunder for spirits and tobacco with the men at the station, who then forward the cattle to Sydney or to the gold-diggings. But our police-followers are well acquainted with these detestable stations, and are always prepared for any assault. Above all, dear Margaret, we have a precious charge, and think ourselves a band of brave fellows; every day diminishes our danger, for it brings us nearer to our own inhabited grounds, where the villains might venture to plunder secretly, but would certainly not dare to show themselves." "But are your retainers spread about the estate?" said Hugh. "I thought you intended to build a town." "I scarcely aim so high, Hugh," replied Deverell. "My stock-keepers are scattered over the cleared land in huts, to look after the cattle. I live in my castle, like a feudal lord, surrounded by my vassals, who have erected rude temporary huts. But if you will all agree to settle round me, we will really found a colony. I will make an application to purchase, instead of leasing, my immense tract of land. We will divide and cultivate it, which I never could do alone; and we will begin to build a handsome village, or perhaps two villages--one named Mayburn, and the other Deverell." "Please, sir, have you plenty of timber?" asked Jack, roused at the prospect of work. "You will see my woods and forests soon, Jack," answered Mr. Deverell. "Then I have inexhaustible quarries of stone in the mountains, and some good quarrymen and stonecutters on my establishment. We will have a regular English village, with a green for sports, and pleasant gardens to the cottages." For a few days more they travelled pleasantly over the grassy turf; then they came on almost impenetrable brushwood; and as this formidable obstacle to their progress would require vigor to overcome it, they encamped to spend the night, and commence their fatigue with the morning light. But they found conversation and repose equally impossible, from the disturbance caused by the restless movements and incessant bellowing of the cattle, which struggled to escape from the pens in which their attendants had confined them. Hugh went up to them with some curiosity, to know what was the cause of this unusual excitement amongst the quiet creatures. The herdsmen were all grinning and rubbing their hands with great glee. "Well, Patrick," said Deverell to one of the men, "what is the jest that you seem to enjoy so much?" "It's the bastes, master," answered the man exultingly; "they know where they are, the craters! Don't they smell the smell of their own comrades, sinsible darlings! And it isn't the brush they'd mind if we were giving them lave to it. Isn't it a short cut they'd make to come at them as is of their own blood! True old Irish they are, and illegant bastes. Arrah, didn't them rogues see that when they came kidnapping? and didn't they choose them out, in regard that there were no bastes to be seen like them! Bad luck to the rappareens!" "Can it be possible," asked Margaret, "that we are really so near to Daisy Grange that the animals scent it?" "We are a long day's journey yet from Daisy Grange," answered Deverell; "but it is true that we are not far from the borders of my extensive estate. This formidable thorny brushwood forms, in fact, the boundary and defence on this side, neither easy nor desirable to penetrate. A very large portion of the interior of my land is not only uncultivated, but is even unknown to me. We take care, however, to have cattle-stations and hut-keepers round the boundaries, that our rights may be recognized and preserved; and doubtless these weary wanderers have been stolen from one of the border stations, and now scent with great satisfaction their old companions, and their old quiet, luxurious homes." "Then I suppose we may conclude," said Gerald, "that if we understood the vaccine gamut, we should hear that big old red cow bellowing 'Home! sweet home!' And don't I wish we could join her, for I don't like the look of that ugly scrub we shall have to carry our horses through." "Not altogether ugly," said Margaret; "look at this curious and interesting Banksia, with its stiff yellow robe; the white star-like blossoms of this shrub, which resembles our myrtle; and here is our old friend the tea-shrub." "Which Jenny will have to relinquish now," said Deverell, "for the real tea of China, of which we have a goodly store. But, Jem, or some of you men over there, be pleased to fire a shot or two to chase away those intolerable noisy dingoes, which, doubtless, like the ogre, smell fresh meat, and would like to make a foray on our game." "Let us shoot a dingo, Edward," said Hugh; "I should like to look at the fellow closely." "It is scarcely consistent with humanity," answered Deverell, "to destroy an animal that can be of no use to us; but we have an excuse in the wolfish character of the dingo, which destroys our sheep in numbers, if not closely watched; and nothing affords my shepherds and herdsmen more gratification than to trap or shoot one of these marauders." Hugh had the gratification of shooting the _dingo_, or _warragle_, as Baldabella named it, and bringing it in for Arthur and his father to inspect. Margaret retired in disgust, the intolerable smell of the fierce-looking little animal was so offensive. "From its destructive habits," said Mr. Mayburn, "I should have expected to see a larger animal; but of its wolfish ferocity there seems no doubt. It is remarkable that it is, unlike the land quadrupeds yet found in Australia, carnivorous, and not marsupial; thus confirming the theory that the race of dogs is to be found in every known region of the world. This dingo is a degraded representative of the noble animal, crafty, bloodthirsty, and untamable. I am satisfied with seeing this specimen, but I cannot admire the creature." Before the first gleam of day, while the moon yet lighted up the heavens, the impatient travellers set out to cross the bush; and for more than two hours the long cavalcade wound with toil and difficulty through the tangled thorny bush. At length the lowing of other cattle than their own greeted their ears, and the fresher breeze that came over the cleared ground announced that they had passed the boundary, and were now actually entering the domain of Mr. Deverell. In a short time the mingled and familiar cries of the drovers and their charge roused the first stock-man in his hut, who rushed out in great joy to welcome the return of the expedition. "Ay, ay, sir!" said the man, "I see they've picked out and made an end of the choicest of the stock; it's like their ways;" and he grumbled out his wishes that certain evil consequences might attend their unlawful feasts on his chosen favorites, and concluded by caressing those which had happily escaped being devoured by the robbers. He then proposed to send forward one of the shepherds to announce the good news; but the travellers, now relieved from the charge of the cattle, and having passed through the greatest difficulties of their journey, agreed to proceed forward without delay, and announce in their own persons the success of the expedition at head-quarters. They crossed a vast tract of wild and beautiful forest ground, which was still uncleared, but at this season bright with rich flowers, and noisy with the birds that thronged the tall trees; and continued to ride forward till the heat of the noonday sun compelled them to rest two hours most reluctantly in a shady grove. Then, once more mounting, they rode forward to enter on a new region. Before them lay spread large, well-cultivated, fenced lands, stocked with sheep and cattle, and dotted here and there with the snug neat huts of the shepherds and stock-keepers; while the lowing and bleating of the animals, and the distant barking of dogs, and sound of English voices, were music to the charmed ears of the weary travellers. "His name be praised!" said Mr. Mayburn, reverently uncovering his head, "who has led us through the dry and barren wilderness to a land of plenty and peace." The whole party were deeply affected at the first glimpse of home scenery and home sounds; but Deverell looked round with much anxiety till he caught sight of a respectable-looking man riding among the cattle at a distance, whom he hailed, and the man rode forward in haste, calling out, "Welcome home, master." "Thanks, Harris; but tell me, is all well at the Grange?" asked Deverell. "Charming, sir," answered he; "saw them all this morning. Old mistress quite brisk, asking after the lambs; and Miss, throng with her poultry, and telling me to look after some grain for them. And here comes Mr. Edward, sir, to answer for himself." "Halloo! Charley," cried Edward, riding up to shake hands with his brother, "my good fellow, what have you been about, and what in the world has induced you to bring the prisoners with you?" and he looked with suspicion and annoyance at the large party of distressed and ragged followers, who had purposely turned away from him. At last Margaret looked round and smiled, and the delighted young fellow laughed with joy at seeing his old friends, and with amusement at their miserable condition. "My dear Margaret! my good friends!" he exclaimed, "I am quite wild with surprise and pleasure. Never mind your ragged furbelows; little Emma is a capital needlewoman, and will sew up all those great rents." "It will be a great blessing to me," said Margaret, laughing, "to see a needle again." "A needle, Margaret!" exclaimed Charles, "we have millions of needles; Edward has a storehouse crammed with every thing that everybody can want, under every circumstance. He could supply a large English country town with goods; chests of needles, walls built up of paper, acres of that muslin stuff you wear, so suitable to the thorny bush. Ask for what you will, you can have it at Edward's grand bazaar." "If you please, Mr. Charles," said Jack, "do you think Mr. Edward has any tools?" "You have only to speak, Jack," answered he; "we can supply you with the appliances of the arts, from a steam-engine to a delicate lancet. I am a clever shopman, and shall be happy to do the honors of the bazaar." "Indeed, Charles, you are a very troublesome and disorderly shopman," said his brother, "as my store-keeper declares, creating vast confusion among his neatly-arranged shelves. Allowing for some exaggeration, my dear friends, Charles has told you the fact. I found my poor people had to pay so extravagantly for the little luxuries and necessaries of life they required, either from the extortions of itinerant dealers, who are dangerous visitors to admit into a settlement, or from the expense of journeys to Sydney or Melbourne to make their purchases, that I resolved to supply them at moderate prices myself, which I am enabled to do by bringing wagon-loads of goods from Sydney, and furnishing a large storehouse which I had built for the purpose." "But are you not afraid of the bush-rangers being attracted by your valuable storehouse?" asked Mr. Mayburn. "I have a clever-managing store-keeper, who, with his assistant, sleeps in the place, where they have arms, two fierce dogs, and an alarm-bell loud enough to rouse the whole hamlet. Besides, our bush-rangers prefer highway robbery, or raids on the cattle, to the more dangerous attempts at house-breaking. You need fear no bush-rangers, my dear Mr. Mayburn, if you were once within the walls of my castle, where I trust to welcome you speedily. Now I wish you to look at the beautiful variety of timber trees which I have left standing as ornaments to my spacious park." It was amongst these varied and extraordinary trees that the cavalcade were now passing. Several varieties of the _Eucalyptus_ and the palm tribe, with their bare tall trunks and crested heads, were mingled with white or golden-blossomed acacias; the _Hibiscus_, peculiar to Australia; the drooping grass-tree; and one spreading fig-tree stood like a natural temple, with its pillar-like roots entwined with elegant creeping plants, with a grace beyond the reach of art. Beneath these trees the turf was resplendent with spring flowers, on which were quietly grazing flocks of white sheep, supplying the place of the aristocratic deer. As they issued from the woodland upon a grassy glade, sloping gently to the banks of the river, Charles rode forward to announce the glad tidings at Daisy Grange, which was now in sight on a pretty eminence, backed by higher hills, which stretched beyond into gray mountains. As they rode slowly forward on their worn-out horses, Mr. Mayburn was lost in admiration of the curious and happily-blended trees, and Edward Deverell said,-- "The names given by the colonists to these new and remarkable trees are puzzling and inapplicable. This tree, named by them the red cedar, is certainly not a cedar; though it is very useful, being our best timber tree, the wood resembling mahogany. The apple-tree bears no fruit, and has no claim whatever to the tantalizing name. The rose-wood, so called from its delicate perfume, is a kind of _Meliaceæ_, the fruit of which is uneatable. Then we have the cherry, _Exocarpus_, the fruit of which is useless, and peculiarly unlike the dear old cherry of England, with which, however, I trust to regale you in a few months. I can already discover the white blossoms of the tree peeping over my garden walls; and I propose that we give these tired horses to the men, and walk up the hill, that you may contemplate leisurely the imposing appearance of my baronial hall." But however Edward Deverell might depreciate his mansion, the distressed wanderers regarded its appearance with admiration and delight as they passed over the sloping lawn, laid out with excellent taste in _parterres_ of gay-colored flowers rising from the green turf, which was enamelled with the daisies of England; and saw the pretty house which offered them shelter after fifteen months of wandering. The building, though entirely of wood, was picturesque and spacious. It was surrounded by a large garden, beyond which were raised the large storehouse; stables, and farm-buildings. Along the front of the house was a broad veranda, supported by columns, entwined with roses, honeysuckles, and the well-loved creeping flowers of England, now bursting into blossom; while the large portico was curtained with draperies of the rich flowering climbers of Australia--the convolvulus, the curious passion-flower, and other graceful unknown plants, to stimulate the curiosity of the botanists. But it was not at this moment that all the beauties of the Grange were observed, for the hospitable doors stood open, and the agitated party were hurried into the cool and spacious hall, where Mrs. Deverell and her smiling daughter waited to welcome Edward and his unexpected companions. CHAPTER XXXIV. The Comforts of Civilization.--Susan Raine.--The Hamlet and the Church.--Plans for the Future.--Mrs. Edward Deverell.--The Beauties of Daisy Grange. The excitement of the reception was great: such screams of wonder and delight! so many tears at the thoughts of the trials and sufferings of the wanderers and so much laughter at their tattered condition! Then succeeded such haste and bustle to procure immediate aid to restore to them the comforts of which they had been so long deprived, and to spread the hospitable board with the refreshments so long untasted. It was only by interjections and extorted answers that any details of their trials were known at first. It was necessary that they should be restored to the likeness of civilized beings; and the servants vied with their master and mistress in providing food and raiment for the needy. "Tell me, dear Emma," said Margaret, as she brushed her dishevelled hair and arrayed herself in a clean muslin dress belonging to her friend,--"tell me if you have still, and unmarried, the pretty dairy-maid, Susan Raine, who accompanied you from England. One of our faithful attendants, though rude and unpolished, will be broken-hearted if he does not find his Susan here." "But surely, Margaret," answered Emma, "you are not speaking of the graceless convict, Wilkins? You alarm me, for the good girl has told me her whole history; and, though she is unwilling to allow it, there is no doubt the man behaved basely in inducing her to come over from England to join him, only to find the worthless fellow had absconded." "But let me explain his conduct to you, Emma," said Margaret; "let me tell you his story of sins and repentance and then I hope you will consent to be his mediator and friend." Then, before they descended to join the rest, Margaret told her friend all the circumstances of Wilkins's temptation, fall, and happy reformation after having been thrown amongst them; and this was the first part of the adventures of the travellers that was related at Daisy Grange. And when the girls told Mrs. Deverell this tale of trials, she promised that Susan, who was now engaged in the dairy, should have the unexpected event properly revealed to her before she was introduced to her much-lamented friend. The travellers scarcely recognized each other in their amended appearance, for which they had been indebted to the wardrobes of their friends; and they now proceeded to the large dining-room, where the table was spread with the plenty of an English home. Beef and mutton from the fields; fowls from the poultry-yard; pastry made by Emma; fruit and vegetables from the garden, and cream from the dairy. To these homely luxuries was added home-brewed ale from the barley grown on the settlement, which Edward Deverell said must satisfy his guests for some time, till his vines produced him grapes fit to make wine. In the mean time Jenny and Ruth, with Baldabella and her child, had been properly cared for by the maid-servants of the establishment, who were in exuberant spirits at the novelty of visitors, and especially such wonderful and amusing visitors, who could tell them such strange tales of their travels; and even Baldabella in time got over her shyness, under the pressing hospitality of the reception; and little Nakinna was in ecstasies at the novelties she beheld and the dainties which she now first tasted. Wilkins moped in a corner in deep distress till his friend Hugh came to him, who insisted on his shaving and dressing himself neatly, and who then accompanied him to the dairy, where Susan, already acquainted with his story by Emma, was sitting weeping, but quite ready to receive and pardon the repentant man; and the mirth and festivity of the servants' hall were complete when the reunited pair joined the party. It was late before the wanderers had recounted their adventures; and they all fully enjoyed the luxury of beds, after being so long accustomed to the open air, though the boys declared sleeping in an enclosed room was rather confining. Next morning, after a breakfast of coffee and cream, with all the other good things of the farm, they set out to see the hamlet, which was to become in time the town of Deverell. This hamlet stood about a quarter of a mile from the Grange, and consisted of a long row of wooden huts, thatched with bark, and painted green; each stood apart in a pretty garden, and each had behind it about an acre of land fenced round, where a cow, and sometimes a sheep or two, were grazing; every thing looked clean, orderly, and prosperous. From the cottages to the river it was not more than three or four hundred yards, and before them was a green, in the midst of which was an enclosure that contained a neat stone-built church, with its low tower and bell to summon the congregation to church. Mr. Mayburn was moved even to tears at the sight of this temple of God in the remote wilds; he seized the hand of Deverell, and said, "May Heaven bless you, my son! tell me whom you expect to fulfil the duties of this holy place." "We have but just completed the most difficult and important work we have yet undertaken," answered Deverell. "The stone has been brought from our own quarry; but the labor of cutting and building was great and tedious. Our people are, however, pious and industrious, and they gladly worked extra hours to raise the place of worship they pined for. I have ever proposed to wait for you to be our priest, my good father; and month after month I have expected letters from you. For some of the graceless crew of the _Golden Fairy_, who escaped in the boats, reached Adelaide; and when they reported the vessel to be destroyed by fire, they asserted that you and your family had been taken up by an Indiaman. My plan was, as soon as I had heard from you where you were settled, to write to beseech you to join me. It is only during the last month that, afflicted and disappointed by your long silence, I have reluctantly turned my thoughts to the necessity of searching for another minister; and I was on the eve of setting out on a long journey to consult our worthy bishop, when the raid of the bush-rangers called me away to recover my property. Now Heaven has sent you to us, may I not, then, venture to hope that you are ours for life?" "For life, Edward Deverell," answered Mr. Mayburn. "I am content and happy to remain with you; and I feel sure my children are determined to do the same. Teach them to be useful and happy as you are; and allow us to form part of your new colony." "Huzza!" cried Hugh; "but you must grant us allotments to build cottages on, Governor Deverell." "You shall hear all my plans," answered Deverell. "In the first place, you must all be our guests till dwellings are provided; the Grange is large enough for a city hotel. We will begin by building a handsome manse for our worthy pastor, with a large and convenient museum, which everybody must try to furnish with wonderful birds and eggs, and all the natural curiosities of Australia. I can spare volumes of my own to fit up the library, till we can procure all that are needed from Sydney." "Delightful!" said Margaret. "I long to see you begin." "Then we must have a house and workshop for our friend Jack," continued Deverell; "and constitute him head carpenter of Deverell. On your recommendation, I will venture to employ Wilkins as a stock-keeper; he shall be placed at the dairy-house, which the prudent Susan shall manage; and they shall have a good allotment, with cows and pigs of their own, to encourage them to prudence and industry. As for your female followers, Nurse Wilson, Ruth, and the native woman and child, they must remain with us, at least till the parsonage-house is completed, and Mr. Mayburn wishes to found his household." "I propose, Edward," said Margaret, "that, if you do not object, I should teach some of the little girls of the hamlet--I see you have a number who are peeping at us from the cottages; then Nakinna will learn with them, and soon be a little English girl in all but complexion." "That is just what I expected from you, Margaret," answered Deverell; "and Emma will be delighted to have such an associate. On this pretty spot, my brother Charles proposes to build a good house for himself, that he may be near his patients, who, I am happy to say, are few. He intends, when his house is ready, to go down to Sydney, and bring thence a wife to preside over it. He has fixed on a very charming young orphan girl, who, with her two young sisters that will accompany her, will form a most agreeable addition to our society." "That is quite right," said Mr. Mayburn. "I rejoice to hear of his intention. And you, my dear Edward--would it not be also desirable that you should bring some lady suitable to you to this pleasant abode? If you have really resolved to pass your days here, it is your duty to marry." "Do you think so, my very dear friend?" answered Deverell. "Then I leave the affair in your hands; you must kindly select a bride for me." "I, my dear Edward!" exclaimed Mr. Mayburn. "I that have ever lived so much out of the world, and that am now a perfect solitary. I am actually acquainted with no young ladies in the world but your sister and my own child." "Perhaps, papa," said Gerald archly, "Edward would be satisfied to take Margaret." "How exceedingly absurd you can be, my dear boy," said Mr. Mayburn; then, after a few minutes' consideration, he added: "The thought never occurred to me before; it is not an absurd idea. I really do not see why such a pleasant arrangement might not be." Margaret fled from the delicate discussion, and Edward Deverell then assured Mr. Mayburn, that not only he should be satisfied to take Margaret, but that he had never thought of any other person; as everybody but Mr. Mayburn understood long ago. Then Margaret had to be asked if she would consent to be the mistress of that comfortable and happy household, to which she agreed, providing Mrs. Deverell and Emma would still continue to share the pleasures and duties of her home. And Edward told her all his plans for extending the population of his colony, and regulating it according to the laws of England and the commands of God. The great hall was, when needed, a hall of justice, and his people knew they were amenable to the law as much as if they lived in England. "You should see how grave I look when I am seated on my throne of office, Margaret," said Deverell: "I must have Mr. Mayburn and Arthur on the bench in future, to give more dignity to my court. And now I must show you a domain which will be especially your own--my gardens, orchards and vineyards." No labor or expense had been spared to enrich the gardens with all the fairest products of Australia and England. Conservatories and hot-houses were not needed in this charming climate, where the most delicate flowers and choicest fruits reached perfection in the open air. The rich blossoms of the apple, peach, apricot, and nectarine were now glowing on every side, and the trees, though so young, gave promise of abundant fruit; and the fragrance of the strawberry beds proclaimed the fruit to be ripe. Margaret was delighted with all she saw, and astonished at the thought of the labor and perseverance that must have been used. A long avenue was shaded with the broad and luxuriant leaves of the vine, on which small bunches of grapes were already formed, a young crop, but giving promise of the rich vintage future years would bring. "When my vines have reached maturity," said Deverell, "I shall require all the heads and the hands I can command, in order to make good wine from my own vineyard, of which, if God spare me, I have no fear. And I hope, Margaret, you are pleased with the delicate and fragrant blossoms of my orange-trees. They are yet but low shrubs; but I trust we shall live to see them tall and productive trees." But it required many pleasant days, and many rambles about the domain, to see all that had been done, and all that it was proposed to do. Mr. Mayburn's new dwelling was planned and immediately commenced, orchards and gardens were marked out, and a list of fruit-trees and seeds made out. Jack was in his element, superintending the cutting down of timber trees, and then manufacturing them into tables and chairs, and other useful furniture, to his heart's content. "It's a great comfort, Mr. Arthur," said he, as his three young friends stood near him in his new workshop. "It's a great comfort to have a good chest of tools again, and that thief, Peter, no longer here to make off with them; and to be working at good jobs that we shall not have to run away and leave behind us, as we had to do when those ugly black fellows were always hanging at our heels." "But, Jack," answered Hugh, "do you know that Mr. Deverell has a number of those black fellows employed on his estate, who not only wear clothes and live in huts, but speak English, behave quietly and honestly, and attend prayers regularly with the other work-people. Baldabella is very glad to meet with the native women, who are not _jins_ here, but wives; she certainly holds herself a little above them, but she condescends to teach them decorum and the manners of society. We are all to be employed in the schools immediately, and then you will see what wonders papa and Arthur and Margaret will effect among these poor natives." "Well, Master Hugh," answered Jack, with a certain air of incredulity, "I hope, by God's help, it may turn out as you say; but you'll not get Wilkins to believe such a thing. He hates blacks like toads, and always did. There's Susan, however, she is a quiet, good lass; but she has a good spirit, and maybe she may win her good man to think better of them. But, Mr. Arthur, now you are at your proper work among books, and Master Hugh and Master Gerald, they'll be riding about on the land, I shall not see much of you; there's no need for any of you to take up a hammer now." "Your workshop will always be a favorite resort, depend on it, Jack," said Arthur; "but I am going to read hard for the next year, to make up for lost time. Then papa intends me to go to England, to be entered at one of the universities." "And to return to us the Reverend Arthur Mayburn," said Gerald, "ready to help papa, and, I should say, to marry little Emma." "But I shall always come and help you, Jack, when I have time," said Hugh; "we should all be mechanics here, in case of vicissitudes. My particular pursuit will be to study medicine with Charles Deverell, to be fitted for the second doctor when our colony shall be so much increased that two are required. Gerald is to be farmer, and hunter, and game-keeper, and ornithological assistant to papa; and then, I think, Jack, we shall form such a pleasant, cosy family circle, that we shall none of us feel any inclination 'to take to the bush.'" "Farewell to the cowardly bush-rangers," said Gerald. "They never dare face such a band of heroes. I shall be head ranger myself; and on grand occasions I shall call you all around me for a field-day, to beat the bushes, and keep up our character of successful Kangaroo Hunters." END. STANDARD AND POPULAR BOOKS PUBLISHED BY PORTER & COATES, PHILADELPHIA, PA. WAVERLEY NOVELS. By SIR WALTER SCOTT. *Waverley. *Guy Mannering. The Antiquary. Rob Roy. Black Dwarf; and Old Mortality. The Heart of Mid-Lothian. The Bride of Lammermoor; and A Legend of Montrose. *Ivanhoe. The Monastery. The Abbott. Kenilworth. The Pirate. The Fortunes of Nigel. Peveril of the Peak. Quentin Durward. St. Ronan's Well. Redgauntlet. The Betrothed; and The Talisman. Woodstock. The Fair Maid of Perth. Anne of Geierstein. Count Robert of Paris; and Castle Dangerous. Chronicles of the Canongate. Household Edition. 23 vols. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, per vol., $1.00; sheep, marbled edges, per vol., $1.50; half calf, gilt, marbled edges, per vol., $3.00. Sold separately in cloth binding only. Universe Edition. 25 vols. Printed on thin paper, and containing one illustration to the volume. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, per vol., 75 cts. World Edition. 12 vols. Thick 12mo. (Sold in sets only.) Cloth, extra, black and gold, $18.00; half imt. Russia, marbled edges, $24.00. This is the best edition for the library or for general use published. Its convenient size, the extreme legibility of the type, which is larger than is used in any other 12mo edition, either English or American. TALES OF A GRANDFATHER. By SIR WALTER SCOTT, Bart. 4 vols. Uniform with the Waverley Novels. Household Edition. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, per vol, $1.00; sheep, marbled edges, per vol., $1.50; half calf, gilt, marbled edges, per vol., $3.00. This edition contains the Fourth Series--Tales from French history--and is the only complete edition published in this country. CHARLES DICKENS' COMPLETE WORKS. Author's Edition. 14 vols., with a portrait of the author on steel, and eight illustrations by F. O. C. Darley, Cruikshank, Fildes, Eytinge, and others, in each volume. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, per vol., $1.00; sheep, marbled edges, per vol., $1.50; half imt. Russia, marbled edges, per vol., $1.50; half calf, gilt, marbled edges, per vol., $2.75. *Pickwick Papers. *Oliver Twist, Pictures of Italy, and American Notes. *Nicholas Nickleby. Old Curiosity Shop, and Reprinted Pieces. Barnaby Rudge, and Hard Times. *Martin Chuzzlewit. Dombey and Son. *David Copperfield. Christmas Books, Uncommercial Traveller, and Additional Christmas Stories. Bleak House. Little Dorrit. Tale of Two Cities, and Great Expectations. Our Mutual Friend. Edwin Drood, Sketches, Master Humphrey's Clock, etc., etc. Sold separately in cloth binding only. *Also in Alta Edition, one illustration, 75 cents. The same. Universe Edition. Printed on thin paper and containing one illustration to the volume. 14 vols., 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, per vol., 75 cents. The same. World Edition. 7 vols., thick 12mo., $12.25. (Sold in sets only.) CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. By CHARLES DICKENS. Popular 12mo. edition; from new electrotype plates. Large clear type. Beautifully illustrated with 8 engravings on wood. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.00. Alta Edition. One illustration, 75 cents. "Dickens as a novelist and prose poet is to be classed in the front rank of the noble company to which he belongs. He has revived the novel of genuine practical life, as it existed in the works of Fielding, Smollett, and Goldsmith; but at the same time has given to his material an individual coloring and expression peculiarly his own. His characters, like those of his great exemplars, constitute a world of their own, whose truth to nature every reader instinctively recognizes in connection with their truth to darkness."--_E. P. Whipple._ MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. From the accession of James II. By THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. With a steel portrait of the author. Printed from new electrotype plates from the last English Edition. Being by far the most correct edition in the American market. 5 volumes, 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, per set, $5.00; sheep, marbled edges, per set, $7.50; half imitation Russia, $7.50; half calf, gilt, marbled edges, per set, $15.00. Popular Edition. 5 vols., cloth, plain, $5.00. 8vo. Edition. 5 volumes in one, with portrait. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $3.00; sheep, marbled edges, $3.50. MARTINEAU'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. From the beginning of the 19th Century to the Crimean War. By HARRIET MARTINEAU. Complete in 4 vols., with full Index. Cloth, extra, black and gold, per set, $4.00; sheep, marbled edges, $6.00; half calf, gilt, marbled edges. $12.00. HUME'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. From the invasion of Julius Cæsar to the abdication of James II, 1688. By DAVID HUME. Standard Edition. With the author's last corrections and improvements; to which is prefixed a short account of his life, written by himself. With a portrait on steel. A new edition from entirely new stereotype plates. 5 vols., 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, per set, $5.00; sheep, marbled edges, per set, $7.50; half imitation Russia, $7.50; half calf, gilt, marbled edges, per set, $15.00. Popular Edition. 5 vols. Cloth, plain, $5.00. GIBBON'S DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE. By EDWARD GIBBON. With Notes, by Rev. H. H. MILMAN. Standard Edition. To which is added a complete Index of the work. A new edition from entirely new stereotype plates. With portrait on steel. 5 vols., 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, per set, $5.00; sheep, marbled edges, per set, $7.50; half imitation Russia, $7.50; half calf, gilt; marbled edges, per set, $15.00. Popular Edition. 5 vols. Cloth, plain, $5.00. ENGLAND, PICTURESQUE AND DESCRIPTIVE. By JOEL COOK, author of "A Holiday Tour in Europe," etc. With 487 finely engraved illustrations, descriptive of the most famous and attractive places, as well as of the historic scenes and rural life of England and Wales. With Mr. Cook's admirable descriptions of the places and the country, and the splendid illustrations, this is the most valuable and attractive book of the season, and the sale will doubtless be very large. 4vo. Cloth, extra, gilt side and edges, $7.50; half calf, gilt, marbled edges, $10.00; half morocco, full gilt edges, $10.00; full Turkey morocco, gilt edges, $15.00; tree calf, gilt edges, $18.00. This work, which is prepared in elegant style, and profusely illustrated, is a comprehensive description of England and Wales, arranged in convenient form for the tourist, and at the same time providing an illustrated guide-book to a country which Americans always view with interest. There are few satisfactory works about this land which is so generously gifted by Nature and so full of memorials of the past. Such books as there are, either cover a few counties or are devoted to special localities, or are merely guide-books. The present work is believed to be the first attempt to give in attractive form a description of the stately homes, renowned castles, ivy-clad ruins of abbeys, churches, and ancient fortresses, delicious scenery, rock-bound coasts, and celebrated places of England and Wales. It is written by an author fully competent from travel and reading, and in position to properly describe his very interesting subject; and the artist's pencil has been called into requisition to graphically illustrate its well-written pages. There are 487 illustrations, prepared in the highest style of the engraver's art, while the book itself is one of the most attractive ever presented to the American public. Its method of construction is systematic, following the most convenient routes taken by tourists, and the letter-press includes enough of the history and legend of each of the places described to make the story highly interesting. Its pages fairly overflow with picture and description, telling of everything attractive that is presented by England and Wales. Executed in the highest style of the printer's and engraver's art, "England, Picturesque and Descriptive," is one of the best American books of the year. HISTORY OF THE CIVIL WAR IN AMERICA. By the COMTE DE PARIS. With Maps faithfully Engraved from the Originals, and Printed in Three Colors. 8vo. Cloth, per volume, $3.50; red cloth, extra, Roxburgh style, uncut edges, $3.50; sheep, library style, $4.50; half Turkey morocco, $6.00. Vols I, II, and III now ready. The third volume embraces, without abridgment, the fifth and sixth volumes of the French edition, and covers one of the most interesting as well as the most anxious periods of the war, describing the operations of the Army of the Potomac in the East, and the Army of the Cumberland and Tennessee in the West. It contains full accounts of the battle of Chancellorsville, the attack of the monitors on Fort Sumter, the sieges and fall of Vicksburg and Port Hudson; the battles of Port Gibson and Champion's Hill, and the fullest and most authentic account of the battle of Gettysburg ever written. "The head of the Orleans family has put pen to paper with excellent result.... Our present impression is that it will form by far the best history of the American war."--_Athenæum, London._ "We advise all Americans to read it carefully, and judge for themselves if 'the future historian of our war,' of whom we have heard so much, be not already arrived in the Comte de Paris."--_Nation, New York._ "This is incomparably the best account of our great second revolution that has yet been even attempted. It is so calm, so dispassionate, so accurate in detail, and at the same time so philosophical in general, that its reader counts confidently on finding the complete work thoroughly satisfactory."--_Evening Bulletin, Philadelphia._ "The work expresses the calm, deliberate judgment of an experienced military observer and a highly intelligent man. Many of its statements will excite discussion, but we much mistake if it does not take high and permanent rank among the standard histories of the civil war. Indeed that place has been assigned it by the most competent critics both of this country and abroad."--_Times, Cincinnati._ "Messrs. Porter & Coates, of Philadelphia, will publish in a few days the authorized translation of the new volume of the Comte de Paris' History of Our Civil War. The two volumes in French--the fifth and sixth--are bound together in the translation in one volume. Our readers already know, through a table of contents of these volumes, published in the cable columns of the _Herald_, the period covered by this new installment of a work remarkable in several ways. It includes the most important and decisive period of the war, and the two great campaigns of Gettysburg and Vicksburg. "The great civil war has had no better, no abler historian than the French prince who, emulating the example of Lafayette, took part in this new struggle for freedom, and who now writes of events, in many of which he participated, as an accomplished officer, and one who, by his independent position, his high character and eminent talents, was placed in circumstances and relations which gave him almost unequalled opportunities to gain correct information and form impartial judgments. "The new installment of a work which has already become a classic will be read with increased interest by Americans because of the importance of the period it covers and the stirring events it describes. In advance of a careful review we present to-day some extracts from the advance sheets sent us by Messrs. Porter & Coates, which will give our readers a foretaste of chapters which bring back to memory so many half-forgotten and not a few hitherto unvalued details of a time which Americans of this generation at least cannot read of without a fresh thrill of excitement."